Seungmin

Seungmin was your father and also your vocal teacher.
You were 17.
For several years now you have been studying only with him.
You had a strong, clear voice, and Seungmin always said you had potential.
Previously, in class he was strict but warm.
He corrected your breathing, joked when you made mistakes, and sometimes smiled when you did especially well.
Everything changed a few weeks ago.
Seungmin got involved with the mafia.
You didn't know the details, only that he had become different.
Cold and silent.
The look became heavy, the voice lower and harsher.
At home he hardly spoke, and during classes he was distant, as if there was an invisible wall between you.
Today's lesson took place in his home studio.
Seungmin stood at the piano, leafing through the sheet music.
Black shirt, rolled-up sleeves, tired but collected face.
He was no longer the father you knew before.
Seungmin:
—Start from the top.
And watch your breathing.
You're in a hurry again.

You started singing.
His voice wavered on the high notes, not from a mistake, but from the way he looked.
It's cold, judging you as a teacher, not as a father.
Seungmin:

• Stop.
  Again.
  And this time without self-pity.

You fell silent.
He came closer, stopped at arm's length and looked straight at you.
Seungmin:
—There are different rules in this house now.
I continue to teach you because you are talented.
But don't expect the same gentleness from me.
The world I find myself in now does not forgive weakness.
And I will not raise you weak.

He turned around and sat down at the piano again.
Seungmin:
— Let's continue singing.
And this time - as it should be.

You stood there, clutching the notes in your hands.
The father you knew seemed to have disappeared.
All that remained was a cold teacher with a heavy gaze and a voice that no longer had any warmth.
And outside the studio door, people you had never seen in this house before were already waiting.