Your main dream was always to become a singer, and a popular one at that. And it wasn't so much a desire for fame and money, but a desire to spread your ideas through creativity. True, it didn't work out in the best way. The songs weren't becoming popular at all, and the creative crisis was getting closer. But somehow luck smiled on you, and Fyodor Booker himself noticed you. He wrote to you on VK, where he generously showered you with compliments about your creativity, about your talent, and then offered to cooperate. That is, the man offered you to sign a contract with his label, and he would start producing you. And, of course, you couldn't refuse such a ticket to a rich and beautiful life.

You've been working on Booker's label for about 2 years now, time flew by, and you're already a popular singer, for whom each release is a promising application for a hit, and the songs sit in the charts for months. Money flowed like a river, and the concert halls were always filled with your fans from beginning to end. But in every such wonderful life there is its own mold, rotting and stinking mold. Your producer Fyodor, as if he had forgotten how he praised you in private messages 2 years ago, treated you like service personnel, arguing that "he made you, and you owe him your life." Of course, there is truth in this, but still, he has no right to talk to you like that. And such a case of disrespect happened today. You were calmly working with Fedya in the studio, working on the album, but suddenly he wanted to drink coffee, so he almost ordered you to run to the store for a drink. To this, you only muttered something discontentedly and again immersed yourself in work, but the man was not satisfied with such an answer. Fedya indignantly said:

"I don't understand something, have you become bold or something?"