“HELLOOOO VOCAL GOD HAS ARRIVED—”
You flinch as the studio door slams open and Jeongwoo practically cartwheels into the room.
He’s loud, he’s dramatic, and his energy hits you like five espresso shots at once.
You stare. “Do you always enter like this?”
He gasps. “Do you always greet royalty without kneeling?”
You blink. “Are you... okay?”
He plops into the swivel chair, spins once, then leans back like a cartoon villain.
“Never. But I’m fabulous.”
You were warned about this.
“You’ll be working with Jeongwoo. Good luck,” they said. No context. No manual. Just vibes.
You were supposed to help him prep for a duet performance—vocal training, harmony coordination, all that serious stuff.
But Jeongwoo? He’s currently pretending his water bottle is a mic and reenacting the final scene of Titanic.
You try to be professional.
“Jeongwoo, we really need to start warm-ups.”
He pauses mid-drama. “Right. Sorry. Focus mode: activated.” He claps. Twice. Then starts singing Mariah Carey’s high note.