Sol-woo’s eyes snapped open — as if his own body had reacted automatically to the invisible alarm of his discipline. He turned on the bed and looked at the nightstand. The hand of the analog clock read 6:50 AM. Late. His personal goal was to be on his feet by 6:00 AM sharp, to make the most of every minute of the day.
Without wasting time, he moved quickly through his morning routine and got dressed. When he opened the apartment door to leave, he found Manager Tae-shik waiting in the hallway — punctual as always.
Their eyes met, and the solidly built man broke the silence in his usual neutral tone:
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Mr. Manager," Sol-woo replied, accompanying the words with a respectful bow.
Both walked in silence to the elevator and rode down to the parking level. Once inside the car, as the engine began to hum in the quiet of the morning, Sol-woo decided to take the initiative and spoke with complete courtesy:
"Mr. Manager... could we move the gym sessions to the morning? I think it would help me more — starting the day active, clearing my head before going into the studio. Don’t you think that would work better?"
Tae-shik gave a single, measured nod of quiet satisfaction. Deep down, he’d been hoping Sol-woo would be the one to propose that restructuring himself. He was no tyrant who enjoyed imposing rules for the sake of it — what he truly looked for in the young man was character, initiative, and his own judgment. He had a deep aversion to guiding yet another hollow idol who functioned like a puppet, a slave to his own emotions or to other people’s orders.
"Of course — let’s go right now," the manager replied, a note of approval in his voice. "Did you bring the right clothes?"
"Yes, in my bag," Sol-woo confirmed.
In that moment, without needing further explanation, a mutual understanding settled between them. Sol-woo knew Tae-shik would take him straight to training if he proposed it — and Tae-shik trusted the young man’s instincts: if he’d said it, he was fully prepared to commit to it.
A few minutes later, the car stopped near a gym just a few streets from the building — a remarkably short distance. The facade reflected the functional, clean aesthetic so characteristic of Seoul in 2016: wide dark glass windows, white-toned lighting, and a modern atmosphere where, stepping through the door, the smell of cleanliness mixed with the faint metallic echo of equipment in the background.
Getting out of the car and taking in the calm of the surroundings, Sol-woo turned to his manager and said quietly:
"Mr. Manager — next time, let’s walk here. That way I can use the morning air to wake up completely."
He said it with his face tilted slightly toward the horizon, watching the first rays of the morning sun begin to filter between the buildings.
Tae-shik nodded once more, genuinely pleased. He was a firm believer in that kind of life — for him, true discipline was built in those small daily habits. There was nothing better than waking up each morning and meeting the sunlight at the start of the day. Sometimes something as simple as walking under the morning sun built more in a man’s mind than most people ever realized.
They entered the facility together and walked toward the reception desk. Tae-shik didn’t let Sol-woo handle the paperwork — he stepped up to the counter and requested a three-month subscription for both of them.
The receptionist, looking up to process the request, held her gaze on Sol-woo for a few seconds. All kinds of people passed through that gym, but the young man’s sober bearing, his posture, and his composed presence left a noticeably strong impression.
"That’s 660,000 won in total," the woman said after typing into the screen.
The manager nodded without hesitating and slid the agency’s corporate card over the reader. Director Yoon had personally arranged the budget, leaving available funds to cover physical conditioning expenses and the young man’s needs.
"Go to the bathroom and change," Tae-shik told him, heading that way himself.
As they walked toward the locker room, the tension and heaviness of the night before had completely disappeared. In its place, a renewed understanding. Without needing to say much, both of them felt they had moved one step further in building their relationship as manager and artist.
Once changed into their workout clothes, Sol-woo let himself be guided entirely by his manager. Tae-shik’s imposing physique wasn’t coincidence — it reflected a man who breathed and lived training with absolute passion. And that same discipline was what he demanded from the very first second in the weight room.
"We’re not here to inflate muscles mindlessly or chase heavy volume," Tae-shik clarified while adjusting the weights on one of the cable machines. "Your body matters. You need a clean structure — torso strength to hold your posture on stage."
The routine started in the free weight area. Tae-shik began by assessing Sol-woo’s shoulder and back strength with dumbbell presses and lat pulldowns. To the manager’s genuine surprise, the young man was no beginner. Years of competitive swimming had given Sol-woo a solid, well-distributed athletic base — naturally structured shoulders, a wide back, and an enviable thoracic flexibility.
"You have a good foundation from the swimming," Tae-shik commented, watching Sol-woo execute each rep with clean technique and no body swing. "That’s going to make things easier. But the gym will give you the muscle tone and definition you’re missing."
They moved to the core and functional strength zone. Tae-shik pushed him through intense sets of plank holds and leg raises, focused on strengthening the diaphragm and the lumbar area. Sol-woo gritted his teeth, feeling the deep burn in his abdominal muscles while keeping his breathing under control.
"Control the air," Tae-shik corrected from above, his voice firm but calm. "Don’t hold your breath through the effort. Inhale through the nose, exhale on the push."
To close the strength block, they worked chest and arms with moderate isolation exercises — targeting the biceps and pectorals for definition without overloading them. Finally, they moved to the treadmill for twenty minutes of incline cardio.
As sweat soaked through his shirt, Sol-woo felt the physical exhaustion completely clear the mental fog he’d carried over from the night before. The frustration of the creative block with the Korean lyrics was beginning to dissolve, replaced by a vibration of renewed energy.
When the session ended and the equipment was wiped down, Tae-shik looked Sol-woo over from head to toe — noting his endurance and the glint of determination in his eyes.
"Good work for the first day," the manager said, handing him a clean towel. "Keep this rhythm and your physical presence will change noticeably in a couple of months."
Sol-woo took the towel and wiped the sweat from his face, letting out a breath of quiet satisfaction.
"Thank you, Mr. Manager."