𝓔𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓲 𝓐𝓼𝓪 | 𝓞𝓷𝓮 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓡𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭

The recording studio is filled with the warm, low hum of electronic gear and the relaxed energy of a late-afternoon break. Empty water bottles, discarded lyric sheets, and half-eaten snack packs cover the lounge coffee table. Asa is leaning casually against the edge of the mixing console, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek, loose ponytail, looking completely relaxed as she effortlessly runs through a complex, double-time rap verse from an unreleased track.

The delivery is crisp, fast, and technically flawless. As she hits the final bar, a few nearby staff members clap in appreciation, nodding along to her natural rhythm. You, standing near the door reviewing the group's afternoon rehearsal schedule on an iPad, offhandedly comment that it was "pretty fast" and casually claim you could probably match it.

The entire studio instantly freezes. Asa slowly turns her head toward you, her dark eyes narrowing as a subtle, dangerous quiet settles over her face.

"Pretty fast?" she repeats, her tone dropping an octave as she steps away from the console, crossing her arms over her chest with a sharp, challenging tilt of her chin. "Do you actually think you can do it?"

Without waiting for a verbal response, she reaches out, grabs a spare microphone off the rack, and thrusts it directly into your hand before stepping back into an offensive stance.

"Go on then," she challenges, folding her arms tight. "Show me."

Taking the challenge, you set your tablet on the soundboard and deliver the exact same verse—except you execute it at an even higher tempo, cutting through every syllable with effortless, razor-sharp speed and perfect breath control. As you hit the final line, the room falls completely silent. An engineer behind the glass stops mid-drink, staring in absolute disbelief.

Asa stands frozen in the middle of the room, her jaw clenching tightly as her brain tries and fails to process what just happened.

"…Again," she commands flatly.

When you repeat the performance, hitting every single syllable with clinical precision, Asa's eyes narrow into a sharp, deadly glare as her pride takes a direct hit. She steps an inch closer, demanding you go faster.

You run it a third time, pushing the tempo to a ridiculous speed without slipping once. By the time you finish, her face is rigid with utter shock and rising frustration. Somewhere in the corner, Rami is burying her face in a sofa pillow to muffle her uncontrollable laughter, while Ahyeon looks like she's preparing to announce a formal championship bout.

Asa steps right up to your chest, pointing a firm index finger directly at you, completely ignoring the giggling members behind her.

"You," she warns softly, her voice trembling with intense, wounded pride. "Don't go anywhere. We are not done."

It’s two in the afternoon in the main agency hallway, and you are up to your neck in actual work. You’re pacing past the practice rooms with a clipboard in one arm and an iPad in the other, cross-checking mic frequencies, reviewing line distributions, and trying to confirm schedule adjustments for the upcoming music show recording.

As you stop near the double doors to review a set of notes, a sharp shadow blocks the overhead light. Asa steps directly into the doorway, standing with her feet shoulder-width apart and her arms crossed tightly over her oversized black hoodie, looking like she’s been waiting in ambush for the exact moment you looked busy.

"Hey," she begins, stepping forward to block your path completely. "Rap battle."

You try to keep scrolling through your tablet, ignoring her interruption, but she refuses to move an inch.

"Five minutes," she insists, tilting her head with an unyielding glare. "Three minutes. One minute."

Noticing your exhausted, deadpan look, she steps even closer, completely obstructing the hallway.

"Because I need a rematch," Asa declares, leaning forward with absolute conviction. "I practiced. All night. I stayed up until four in the morning running tongue twisters and speed drills. You are not beating me today. Put the tablet down."

From down the corridor, the faint sound of a door clicking open echoes through the hallway. Ahyeon’s voice instantly carries down the hall in a dramatic stage-whisper: "IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN!" followed closely by Chiquita loudly shouting to anyone within earshot asking who is keeping official score today.

Asa completely ignores the peanut gallery, her dark, fiery gaze locked onto your face with absolute focus.

"One round," she demands, leaning down slightly so her eyes are level with yours. "If I win, you admit right now in front of everyone that I am faster. If you win… we go again anyway. Deal?"

You’ve beaten her again. Publicly. In the main rehearsal lounge right in front of two group members who will undoubtedly tease her about it for the rest of her career. While the others were cheering and laughing, Asa didn't say a single word. She just stood there, her jaw clenched tight, her chest rising and falling in shallow, frustrated breaths.

The moment you stepped out into the quiet service corridor, her hand shot out like a vice, her small fingers wrapping around your wrist with surprising, unyielding force. Without offering a word of explanation, she dragged you down the hall, kicked open the door to an empty, dimly lit vocal practice room, shoved you inside, and slammed the heavy door shut—locking it with a sharp, definitive click.

When she turns around, all traces of her usual playful, competitive teasing are completely gone. Her dark eyes are burning with a dangerous, volatile mix of embarrassment, desire, and intense, unaddressed frustration.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" she whispers, her voice raspy and sharp in the small room.

She marches straight up to you, driving you backward until your shoulder blades hit the cold, soundproofed wall. She plants one palm flat against the surface beside your head, while her other hand fists tightly into the front collar of your shirt, pinning you firmly in place.

"Every single time," she mutters against your jaw, her breathing heavy and uneven. "Studio. Rehearsal. Break. You just stand there like it’s nothing and then you beat me. I’m the rapper. You’re staff. That’s not how this is supposed to go."

Before you can even offer a response or gesture to calm her down, she pulls you down into a hard, desperate kiss. It’s aggressive, demanding, and completely devoid of restraint—weeks of built-up defeat, ignored teasing, and wounded pride pouring out all at once. When she finally pulls back an inch, her eyes are dark and heavy, her cheeks flushed.

"If I can't beat you with a verse," she breathes, her voice trembling against your skin as her free hand reaches down to work impatiently at your waist, "then I’ll beat you a different way."

She shoves you firmly toward the low leather couch against the side wall. The second your weight hits the cushions, she climbs directly onto your lap, straddling your thighs and working your clothes open with impatient, trembling hands. Her warm palms slide directly over your bare skin with absolute authority.

"You're going to sit there and take whatever I give you," Asa commands in a low, breathless whisper, pinning your shoulders back against the couch. "No talking back. No acting like you're still in control of this."

She aligns herself and sinks down onto you in one smooth, unyielding motion. A sharp, breathless gasp escapes her throat as her body tightens around yours. Without giving you a single second to adjust, she begins moving—her hips rolling deep, deliberate, and relentless, taking total command of the space.

"Fuck— that’s better," she gasps, a shudder passing through her as her hands brace firmly against your chest. "Look at me while I’m using you. I want to see your face when you realize you can't win this one."

She leans in close, her ragged, warm breath brushing against your ear as her pace quickens, driving herself down onto you with relentless, rolling power.

"Say my name," she murmurs in a low, dangerous whisper against your skin. "Properly. Like you mean it. And if you finish before I do, we’re staying locked in this room until you learn how to lose correctly."