The Crushing Weight of Tomorrow, Today
The air in the practice room hung heavy with the scent of sweat and determination, a familiar aroma that usually brought a sense of contentment. But not today. For me, Manager Kim, every beat of the music, every synchronized move of the five young men before me, felt like a ticking clock. The year was 2015, and I was back. Not just physically, but spiritually. I’d lived through this year once, seen the innocent smiles, the tireless effort, and then… the unraveling. The tragic future, a whisper of a memory that now screamed in my ears, was a burden I carried alone. The group, my boys, stood on the precipice, unaware that the carefree steps they took now led straight to an abyss. My mission was simple, yet monumental: Save them.
Desperate Measures: Rewriting Destiny
The first tremor of urgency struck me with the force of a physical blow. There was no time for subtlety, no room for explanation. My hands trembled as I watched Youngjae scroll idly through his phone during a break, a habit that, in my previous timeline, had led to a cascade of privacy breaches. “Phones. All of them. Now.” My voice, usually a calm anchor, was sharp, unyielding.
Jimin, the leader, lowered his phone slowly, confusion clouding his kind eyes. “Manager-nim? Is everything alright?”
“Everything will be, if you listen,” I stated, my gaze sweeping over each member. Their phones were collected, deposited into a secure, heavy-duty box I’d “acquired” with unusual haste that morning. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. This was just the beginning.
Next came the schedule. The carefully planned appearances, the seemingly innocuous fan meets, the collaboration discussions – all were scrutinised with the surgical precision of someone defusing a bomb. “Cancel the photoshoot with Studio B,” I announced, overriding the coordinator’s protests. “Re-route their travel for the Busan concert. And no solo interviews for Jisung for the next two weeks.”
The members exchanged bewildered glances. “But Manager-nim,” Hoseok piped up, always the most vocal when something felt off, “Studio B is a big opportunity! And Jisung just finished writing that new track, he’s excited to talk about it.”
I met his gaze, my own eyes betraying nothing of the internal storm. “Trust me. There are… unforeseen complications. We’re prioritizing their safety and well-being above all else.” Safety. Well-being. Euphemisms for ‘averting scandal,’ ‘preventing burnout,’ and ‘stopping a career-ending incident that nearly shattered them beyond repair.’
The Confusion and the Silent Burden
Their confusion was palpable. My usual approachable demeanor had vanished, replaced by an intensity that bordered on manic. Meals were supervised, social media accounts put on lockdown, and impromptu “team-building exercises” became mandatory, effectively cutting off problematic external influences I remembered from before. I even changed their coffee order, remembering a minor health scare one of them had later on due to a specific ingredient.
“Is Manager-nim… stressed?” Jungkook whispered to Taehyung in the corner of the dance studio, thinking I couldn’t hear.
Taehyung shrugged, looking at me with a mix of concern and slight apprehension. “He’s like a different person. Really focused, but… kinda scary.”
Scary. That was fine. If ‘scary’ meant ‘alive and thriving’ in the future, I’d wear the label with pride. Each baffled look, each grumbled complaint about the sudden tightening of their leash, was a small dagger to my heart. I wanted to explain, to alleviate their worry, to share the crushing weight of the future I held in my mind. But I couldn’t. The paradox of time travel, the fragile fabric of causality – I understood the rules. One wrong word, one careless revelation, and I could unravel everything, potentially making things worse.
My interactions became a tightrope walk: firm but caring, urgent but not panicked. I pushed them harder in practice, knowing the stamina built now would save them from exhaustion-related mistakes later. I forced them to rest when they protested, knowing how close they’d come to collapse. Every decision, no matter how small, was filtered through the lens of a future I desperately needed to rewrite. The silence of my burden was deafening, a constant hum of dread and hope. I was their protector, their silent guardian, and my loneliness was the price of their salvation. The road ahead was long, fraught with unseen dangers, but this time, I would see them through.
original article by kpop.you
