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trh0d3s · 1 month ago

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Manager in the making!

Saja boys x human manager reader

chap 5! (Beta read and edited by Moonie)

I want a fucking nap right now. I’m back at my apartment after escaping crazy fans for the last three blocks—never thought I could be so athletic...

I managed to lose them by diving behind a food stand selling fried treats. Ended up walking away paying for something because I scared the owner. Might be the only thing I eat until later, but it was good, so no regrets!

I stretch, popping something in my shoulder, and close the door with a kick, taking in the blessed air conditioning. My phone’s been blowing up—the feed is all about the Saja boys. The dancing, the music, even the clothes—they’re taking over the media by storm. Everything I see is just... them.

I giggle, looking at the charts. The song’s gaining traction—meaning more money for me! Plus, I’m rising the ranks in social networking as a manager. Now I just have to wait for my agency to call me, begging me to come back.

Nope. These boys are all mine now—can’t escape me no matter how far they run. Doesn’t matter if they do things without running it by me first, I’ll find out whether they like it or not.

I called up a cleanup crew while escaping, so they should be returning the camera soon. I trudge into the kitchen, grabbing my computer sitting on the counter. I have to clip together, edit the feed, and upload it to their accounts before the variety show. People will flock to a professional take on the entire performance—more traction for the accounts.

I’m clicking away at my computer, different tabs open for different accounts, also checking in on the crew. It was a last-minute call, but a good one at that. Can’t go back in case those girls start chasing me again.

A peppy knock comes from my door, followed by the click of a key turning. I didn’t give anyone a key. I shoot up from my seat, grabbing a knife from the holder beside me, ready to throw it at the intruder. Better to throw first than ask later in these types of situations.

“Honey, I’m homeee!”

Thunk.

The knife embeds itself in the wall right next to Romance’s head, his heart-shaped bangs moving with the force.

I stand there at the dining room table, hand outstretched from my chair, face frozen in shock. I lower my arm, the shock fading from my face.

“When did you get a key, you lunatic?!”

“Me, the lunatic?! You threw a knife at me!”

Romance yells, pointing at the knife stuck in the wall, inches from giving him a new haircut.

“I thought you were the crazy fans chasing me?!”

“Why would you throw a knife at a fan?!”

Yelling back and forth with him, I dig in my pockets for my keys, checking the ring to see if the extra was gone. Those fucking losers. Stealing my keys—to what?!

Baby pushes Romance out of the way, laughing at the chaos, eyes fixed on the knife on the wall. This is amazing. He’s laughing so hard he has to go back outside and drag Abby in to see.

“They threw a knife at Romance!”

Abby’s mad as he’s dragged up from the hall, but the anger fades when he sees the scene. He points at Romance, who’s yelling at me, then to me yelling back. He looks at Baby, who just nods, giggling his ass off.

“This is the funniest shit I’ve ever seen!”

If he’d run to my door first, that would’ve been him! He wipes away a stray tear from laughing so hard. The knife wouldn’t have killed him, but it would be hard to explain. His laughter fades as he shakes his head with a happy sigh. He’s starting to like me.

Jinu walks up the steps, laughter echoing down the hall. Mystery is ahead of him, speed-walking, wanting to run but holding back in front of Jinu. As he gets closer, he sees his bandmates sprawled on the floor—well, two of the three annoying ones—because Romance is still yelling at me.

Jinu leans into the doorframe, curious, before catching sight of metal glinting near the door. Oh—OH.

He looks away, snorting into his fist. He shouldn’t be laughing. He wants to stop, but he can’t. This shit is too funny.

Turning away, he fans his face before stepping into the apartment and yanking the knife out of the wall. It was embedded in there. He peers through the small slit I made in the door frame, showing how cheap this apartment building is—not even his home broke down this easily. He chuckles, comparing the two before freezing. Did he just compare this to so long ago…

He turns around with an unreadable expression before forcing a smile and setting the discarded knife on the counter. He was originally here to mess with me, finding it fun too. His thoughts are cut off by my laugh, tired of arguing with Romance.

“Okay, your face, though,” I chuckle, walking past Jinu to grab the knife and put it back in the holder. I don’t pay any attention to his inner turmoil—I wanted to be mad at him earlier. But right now, I don’t want to ruin the moment. Maybe that’s why I never got so far. Is it better to take it than do anything?

I hum to myself, but the buzzing of my phone keeps going off. My face brightens, and I run to the table, grabbing my phone to show them.

“You guys blew up so fast! I’m actually shocked.”

The boys laughing outside filter in, standing next to a ticked-off Romance. Abby slaps his back a little too hard. I shove my phone in their faces, showing the feed. It looks like my smile is contagious. They lean in to see as well, but for a whole other reason than me.

Pulling it back, I run back to my computer, pulling up the web pages.

“I already had your accounts made—just need some photos to start and direct the flow to them.”

Mystery leans in behind you, confused at what he’s looking at, tilting his head. You look up—you could almost see under his bangs at this angle if you could just…

Your fingers twitch. Just a little. Maybe you’re curious—just want a better look, that’s all. Your arm lifts slowly, almost without thinking.

Mystery pokes at your computer, head still tilted. One more inch and you’d see—

A loud, dry cough cuts through the air.

You flinch. Jinu’s standing just behind you both, coughing into his hand like he’s hacking up a lung. It sounds forced. Way too forced.

You drop your hand and shift in your seat like nothing happened. Definitely not about to peek behind Mystery’s hair. Nope. Not at all.

Jinu says nothing. Just watches for a second too long before looking away, face unreadable.

“You said you needed something for this… account.” He says it like it’s the first time in this context, voice wavering with uncertainty.

I drop my hand and get up with a smile, phone already in camera mode.

“Yes, I do, thank you!” I giggle to myself, running around the boys, taking various photos. Moving them into poses as I wish, going for group photos first. I can get to the individual later with different clothing. I move Abby’s arms, touch Mystery’s waist to turn him in one direction, fix Baby’s hair, move Romance’s feet, and adjust Jinu’s clothes. I don’t pay attention to how close I get to some, trying to put my vision into reality. But they do.

Satisfied, I step back, looking at my phone, scrolling through them, leaving them to their thoughts.

“Are you staying?” I hum mid-swipe, expecting a yes with how they are, and I think I hear the beginning of it from Abby.

“No. We need to prepare for tonight.”

Jinu cuts in, his thoughts elsewhere, but his tone is firm. Well, it’s reasonable—he wants to prepare. But have they eaten yet?

“I could order some food, and you all could prepare here?”

I go online, swiping through menus, about to turn my phone around to show the closest option to Baby.

“Any preferences—”

“Thank you, Manager, but we have to go prepare.”

There’s that feeling again. The feeling of being inferior.

I set down my phone, staring up at him, eyebrow quirked—wondering what’s up his ass.

“As your manager, I have to know what you’re doing exactly.” He’s probably hungry—that must be why he’s grumpy.

He steps forward, leaning down only slightly. Was the room always this silent? I can feel myself tense, remembering how cornered I am.

“No. I pay you, don’t I? It’s none of your concern.”

I look up at him, lips pressing into a thin line. He’s right—but details can be crucial. Doesn’t he know that? I open my mouth, trying to say something, but I’m left a gaping fish. I know I can’t control him—only do my best and work around.

He steps back, satisfied with my silence, turning to open the front door. Beckoning the others to follow him, leaving no room to argue. Not even Abby has something to say. As they file out the door, he says something to them—I can’t help but catch.

“Don’t forget why you’re here.”

Baby has to pull Mystery along, dragging his feet, trying to stay a little longer. He looks back at my rigid form, standing there watching him go. He can’t forget why he was here. Turning away, letting Baby push him outside with those words running like a mantra in his mind.

Jinu has his hand on the knob, ready to close the door.

“See you, Manager.”

He closes the door without another word.

I stare at the door for a moment, flexing my fingers in and out. Holding them into fists until indents of crescents kiss my palms. I should be mad. I should be furious. How dare he talk to me like that!

I grab the nearest thing to me and throw it at the door, letting out an angry cry. The banana falls to the floor with a soft thud, only bruising the outside—but it’s enough for now.

I press my hands against my face, hoping the pressure will ease the growing headache.

“This is what you worked for.”

I leave the banana on the welcome mat, sitting back down at my dining room table. Head still in my hands before I pull my fingers away to set them on my keyboard.

I’m just the manager.

The photos were edited and uploaded to their social media platforms, which, of course, I manage. God forbid one of them posts something stupid.

I dive into work after getting the camera back from the hired hand, plugging the footage into my computer, and scrubbing through every second to snip and clip it together. I try to catch the spot where I saw the body glitter, but no matter how much I tweak the footage, nothing shows up. Maybe the camera couldn’t pick it up. Maybe the lighting was off. Or maybe I imagined it—but if that glitter caught, it could’ve been gold for their aesthetic.

I lean back in my chair as a new thought hits me. I still don’t have the boys’ numbers—just that one damn email. Never once have I seen a phone come out of their pockets. Ever. It could be polite behavior, not using their phones around me… but I wouldn’t give them that much credit. Well, most of them.

I snap my laptop shut. I’ve got to get to the site a few hours early, but first? A shower. I desperately need one. After all that running, I’m basically marinating in my own dried sweat. Gross.

My hand hovers over my phone, debating whether to email Jinu and let him know I’ll be arriving early. I really need to get his damn number, but at this rate, I’m doomed to be stuck with email forever.

I shuffle past the walkway, kicking off my shoes without a care. Phone on silent for fifteen minutes—that’s all I need. Fifteen minutes for a dramatic inner monologue in the shower. And to actually wash myself. Can’t forget that.

I nudge the bathroom door open and toss my accessories and phone onto the counter. I consider putting on music, but I know I’d waste five whole minutes picking a song. No time for that. This has to be quick. Under an hour. No sulking.

I turn the faucet and stare at the water as it hits the tile, waiting for it to warm. It swirls down the drain, and my brain immediately checks out, drifting into a fog until the steam snaps me back. I strip down and get in. Maybe this is what sleep deprivation feels like—finally catching up to me in the most annoying way possible.

I scrub every bit of sweat and grime off while humming some random tune. My hair sticks to my face as I close my eyes, letting the water pelt me. It’s… kind of therapeutic. Right up until I remember I have to get out and deal with their nonsense again.

I don’t hear my phone vibrating over the rush of water. Unknown number. Voicemail gets it.

I step out and towel-dry my hair, making a quick trip to my room. I throw on something semi-professional—still manager-chic—but this time with sneakers. Just in case I need to run again. Preferably with unblistered feet and dignity intact.

I type the studio’s address into my phone while hopping to the door, trying to shove my feet into my shoes as I move. Timing is everything. I need to show up early, sharp, and composed. No screw-ups.

I step outside, work bag in hand. Deep breath.

Inhale. Pause. Exhale.

I’m going to kick fucking ass.

The metro’s the move—faster than walking, less sweat involved. I power-walk toward the station, triple-checking my route and hyping myself up the entire way.

Card tapped. I step into an empty car and immediately sit as far away from everyone as possible. I pop in one earbud and pull out my laptop, trying to radiate “productive commuter” vibes.

I hear people enter, talking loud enough to cut through my music, but I ignore it—until everything suddenly goes quiet.

I glance left and freeze.

Three of the most famous people in Korea. HUNTRIX. Head to toe in leather. Staring at me like I just slapped their grandma.

Why is HUNTRIX on the same metro as me?

I slowly look away—breaking eye contact first—and return to my computer. Not my circus. Not my monkeys. I turn up my music. They could be doing their own thing. No need to freak out.

…Zoey’s pointing at me.

She looks to her trio. Then back at me.

Mira’s glaring, trying and failing to look normal. Chill. Unbothered.

“Demon…”

“DEMON!”

Zoey’s full-on pointing now—and all three stand like they’re ready to pounce.

I don’t even fully look up before a sword swings down at me. I roll sideways, clutching my laptop.

“WHAT THE FREAK—?!”

The sword embeds itself in the seat where I just was.

I stare, horrified. That was way too close.

“WHAT DID I DO?! I JUST LOOKED AT YOU!”

Rumi is now struggling to yank her sword out of the upholstery. The other two saunter up—also armed. From where?! Who knows!

Is this some weird, magical sacrifice? Is HUNTRIX a cult? Or—God help me—the cult?

I slam my laptop shut and back away, shielding it with my body. My baby will not die today.

“Demon, you will tell us why you’re here.”

There’s a glowing spear inches from my face. I blink. That’s definitely magic. There are cameras in here, right? Or am I actually about to be New Yorker metro’d in real time?

Mira inches the spear closer. I lean away. Zoey flashes glowing daggers. Rumi finally yanks out her sword, also glowing.

“I’m just a lowly manager! I don’t want to be in your cult!”

That actually makes them pause. They look at each other, confused. Mira lowers her spear.

I don’t wait. I roll onto the floor, laptop clutched to my chest. Next stop’s only one away—I thank the heavens I wore my sneakers.

I land hard, using one hand to break the fall, then spring up and sprint toward the doors. The moment jars them out of their confusion—they’re on my heels.

“We are not a cult!” Rumi yells behind me.

“Not very believable right now!”

I run, hurdling over stray luggage and dodging seats. Glittering daggers whiz past, stabbing into the wall beside me. I scream and stumble back, only to get nearly impaled by a spear.

The intercom calmly asks me to exit.

I am not calm.

THIS IS NOT CALM.

The doors creak open—I don’t wait. I squeeze through, tripping over the gap and catching myself before I faceplant. No time to look back.

More daggers clatter to the floor behind me. Zoey’s yelling at me to stop. I glance back—mistake—and see all three of them comically jammed in the door, trying to push through at once.

Looney Tunes-level chaos. I’d laugh if I weren’t sprinting for my life.

I turn the corner, hearing them unstick and hit the ground. I don’t look back. I bolt into the streets. I may be running from a magical girl group cult, but I am not missing my job.

I get to the studio, breath heaving, legs burning. I might’ve dunked my head in a fountain five minutes away to cool off—jury’s still out.

By the time I reach the doors marked “employees only,” my hair’s dry and I look semi-put-together. People bustle past with mics, clipboards, and caffeine-fueled urgency.

I glance down at my phone, pulling up the documents I’ll need. This is big. I cannot fuck this up.

I walk up to the security guy posted at the side entrance. He zeroes in on me—no lanyard in sight—and shifts like he’s about to block my way.

“Ah, excuse me, I’m the manager for the Saja Boys,” I say with a smile. The broad shoulders should intimidate me, but after Abby, this guy’s tame. I hand him my phone, screen already pulled up.

I see my reflection in his sunglasses—exhausted, wild-eyed, but here.

He looks down at the phone, back up at me, then pulls a lanyard out of his back pocket. Hands it over without a word. Nod of approval.

Respect.

I clip on the lanyard and step inside. Cool air hits me instantly.

Here we go again, Manager in the making.

—————————loser ave——————————