My Personal Popstar

Noah was late. Once again. He'd gotten so involved in working on his new painting that he lost track of time, only to look at his watch and see that he needed to be at work ten minutes ago. He threw down his brushes and hurried out, not even stopping to clean paint from his hands.

Before he reached the club, he slung his items on the counter and rapidly shed his casual gear for his more formal outfit.

As soon as he looked up, the manager was already approaching him, with a wide grin on his face. Noah knew that look too well-it translated to one thing: dealing with VIPs. A task he despised with every fiber in his body.

He took a deep breath and leaned against the counter, readying himself.

"You know what you have to do tonight, don't you?" the manager's smile grew.

"You know I detest this," Noah growled, barely hiding his irritation.

"Do you think I care? You're getting paid, and I want my customers content. You win or lose." The manager's tone held an unmistakable threat.

A knot had built in the back of Noah's throat, but he compelled himself to nod. "Just give me the orders so I can start."

"Two mojitos, one cocktail, six whiskeys, and four Bacardis," the manager stated with a wave of his hand, as if giving a decree from the throne.

Noah balled his fists on the counter. This was his existence-serving cocktails to billionaires he loathed, just to make enough money to get through college.

The moment the manager turned away, Noah let out a sharp breath and tried to concentrate. Before long, the drinks were neatly placed on a tray, ready to be served.

"Noah!" The manager's voice sliced through the din as he came running over, gasping for air.

"Are the drinks ready?"

"Yes, almost. And perhaps catch your breath before you collapse," Noah grumbled, annoyance simmering just below his forced grin.

With the tray held tight, he approached the VIP area. His hold was firm, his pace careful. But just as he arrived at his destination, he bumped-hard-into someone.

A sudden gasp escaped him as green mojito splashed onto a pristine white jacket. A $1-million pristine white jacket.

Silence descended on that part of the club.

Noah swallowed hard, his eyes up. He was gazing into the face of a tall, beautifully handsome man. Gelled bangs, heart-shaped lips, a shiny stainless-steel chain around his neck, and a small mole just above his lips-everything about him cried perfection. But his deep brown eyes, now fastened on Noah, blazed with outrage.

"Do you even have eyes?" the man snarled, his voice artificially steady but full of annoyance. "Didn't you see me approaching?"

"I'm truly sorry for what I did, sir," Noah bowed, despising every moment of it.

The man laughed. "Do you think your pitiful little sorry will remove these stains? You were given one job, bro!"

That was instant upon! Noah had had enough.

"Sir, I know you're angry, but things happen." He kept his tone calm, attempting to diffuse the situation.

The man's eyebrows rose. "Oh, fantastic. Another nobody who thinks he's superior to me." He crept forward, his tone lowering. "You sasaengs get into all the places. We idols can never be safe."

Noah's jaw clenched. "Excuse me?"

"If you'd been listening, this would never have occurred," the man went on, totally ignoring him. "And we wouldn't be having this absurd disagreement."

"How dare a waiter be so rude?" The man took out his phone. "I'm reporting to the manager."

In a matter of seconds, the manager rushed over, almost tripping over his own feet. Across from him, cameras popped at the other side of the VIP entrance of the club, where a handful of paparazzi had been on standby to grab any misstep with celebrities.

"We sincerely apologize for our staff's actions," the manager explained, bowing so low that it was degrading. "We regret this occurred, and we'll be paying you back for any damage."

Noah's head swiveled back in his direction. "What?! Why am I apologizing? He was too busy looking at his phone to notice me approaching!"

"Enough, Noah!" The manager's voice was firm. "First, you mess up, and now you're fighting with a VIP customer? Shut up and come with me."

Noah was about to protest, but the manager reached out and pulled him into his office, then slammed the door shut.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the manager spat. "I told you-win or lose. And you know what losing entails."

Noah crossed his arms. "And yet you're faulting me for something that was not my fault?"

The manager blew out a breath, pushing his hair back. "You still don't get it, do you? Do you even recognize who that was?"

"No," Noah said drolly. "And I don't care."

The manager almost screamed. "That was Kai. Lead singer of 'The Neon Hype.' One of T-Pop's biggest stars."

Noah arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Mai pen rai. Everything will be okay."

But the manager wasn't buying. "No, it won't be okay. If I want to keep this club in business, I have no other option." He took a sharp breath, his face growing cold. "Noah, you're fired."

The words hit like a bullet. Noah's heart plummeted. He must've misheard.

"What?"

"You heard me. Pack your things. You're done here."

Noah clenched his jaw, his throat tightening as he fought back the sting of betrayal. Without another word, he stormed out.

The moment he stepped outside, paparazzi swarmed him. Cameras flashed. Microphones were shoved in his face. He pushed through the crowd, escaping into a quiet alleyway.

And there, finally, he broke.

He fell to his knees, holding his head as tears streamed silently down his face. "Why? Why me?"

But before he could even breathe, his phone vibrated. Reluctantly, he took it out. His screen was filled with thousands of notifications.

His gut sank.

A vicious headline stared back at him:

BREAKING NEWS: CRAZY FAN HARASSES OUR KING KAI. LET'S NOT STAY SILENT. #FIREHIM

The phone vibrated, breaking the heavy silence in the pitch-black room. It was as dark as the depths of an Amazonian night. After a few seconds, the room fell silent once more.

"Yes?"

"Hey, isn't the guy in the latest news looking a lot like you?"

"Shut up, Pong."

"No, I mean it. It's from the club you work at, so I thought you might know this bastard."

"Stop with your bullshit, Pong."

Without another word, he disconnected the call, his grip tightening around the phone as panic and anger surged through him once again.

"It's all because of you," he muttered, hurling the device onto his bed before pulling out an empty canvas. He carried it outside to the lawn, desperate to lose himself in painting again.

As he looked up, the golden morning sunlight cast a warm glow on his face. The birds were awake, filling the air with their melodies, their songs weaving through the crisp dawn air. A small smile tugged at his lips.

"Beautiful and soothing," he whispered.

Settling into the chair in front of the enormous canvas, he stretched, then picked up his brush and began painting right away.

---☆---

The reception area of the New Entertainment Building buzzed with chatter. But the moment they arrived, a hush spread across the room like a ripple in still water.

Four men dressed in sleek black attire moved through the space with effortless dominance. They didn't need to ask people to step aside-everyone already had.

Stopping in front of an imposing office door, their gazes flicked to the bold black letters engraved across it:

"CELINE: THE MANAGER."

One of them knocked.

A faint "Come in."

One by one, they entered.

Behind a sleek, cushioned chair, a young woman sat, her fingers dancing across her laptop's keyboard. The blue glow of the screen reflected off her glasses, making her eyes gleam sharply.

"Excuse me?" A deep voice cut through the quiet.

Slowly, she looked up.

"Oh. So it's the four of you again," Celine remarked, not even slightly surprised.

"Can't you guess?" one of them teased.

"That's why I asked."

"No nonsense today. Just give us the schedule for our upcoming concert and the new song recordings."

"What's the rush, Kai? It's happening next month," she raised a brow.

"We need to start prepping early. Plus, the director told us to get the details from you."

Celine sighed, already expecting that answer.

"Fine. I'll email it to all four of you soon."

They nodded and turned to leave. But just as the last one was about to step out, he hesitated.

Celine glanced up. "What is it, Kai?"

"Uh... Nothing. Actually, could you do me a favour?" His voice was softer now.

"Yeah, just say it."

"Can you get an art tutor for my sister?"

Celine raised her brows. "You mean Cherry?"

Kai nodded.

"Hmm. I'll see what I can do. But just to confirm-would you like a girl or a boy?" she joked.

Kai snorted. "Anyone's fine, as long as they're a good person and, most importantly, not a sasaeng."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll make sure of that," Celine assured him.

Satisfied, Kai left, and as soon as the door clicked shut, Celine pulled out her phone and dialled a number.

"Pong, I need an art tutor."

"Yeah, yeah, I have one in my contacts."

"Oh, that's perfect! Send me their details."

Moments later, she received a contact labelled "Noah" from Pong. Smirking, she immediately made the call.

---

Noah was deep into his painting when his phone suddenly rang, jolting him from his thoughts. He wedged it between his shoulder and ear.

"Hello?"

"Congratulations, bro! You got yourself a job!" Pong's excited voice nearly made Noah drop his phone.

He set it down again, scowling. "The hell? I didn't even apply for one. What are you even talking about?"

"Bro, it's just an art tutor job. Nothing big."

"What? No. Not going to happen."

"I wasn't asking, Noah. I was telling you. And FYI, someone's gonna call you at 9 AM. Trust me, the pay is good."

"Wait-who-"

Click.

The call disconnected before Noah could protest further. He stared at the phone, baffled.

How had his life just taken this turn? And more importantly-who the hell was he about to work for?

What he didn't realize was that this moment was just the eerie silence before the storm. A storm that was about to change everything

The clock ticked close to 9 a.m., and his curiosity nagged Noah. Questions flooded his head in their thousands, but no answers. How was he selected for a job that he had never applied for?

He couldn't ponder it any further before his phone rang aggressively against the table. Not thinking twice, he picked it up and held it against his ear.

"Hello?" His tone was laced with annoyance.

"Are you talking to Noah Natasit Chanraiwang?" A melodic, polished voice spoke.

"Yes, I am."

"Swadee krub, Celine Saniswang, New Entertainment manager here."

"Swadee krub," Noah responded, adjusting himself slightly.

"You're being called because you were recommended for an art tutor position. I presume Pong has already contacted you?"

"Yes, she said so." His voice cracked a little.

"Good. We would like you to come in for a short interview. The address will be e-mailed to you shortly. If everything works out, you can begin tomorrow."

"Sure, but-"

The phone cut off before he could say more. Noah scowled at the phone. "What the heck?" The more he heard, the less he knew.

Putting his phone down, he sat there quietly, deep in thought. Time went by without him noticing, and before he knew it, the sun was already setting below the horizon. He stretched his arms, looked at his paintbrushes scattered on the floor, and then saw his phone flashing again.

Pong.

Noah sighed wearily before picking up. "What is it now, Pong?"

"Hey, wanna hang out tonight? I'm bored."

Noah rolled his eyes. "Mi-shai, I won't."

"Please, krub. Please, Noah-shi, please-"

"Fine," he interrupted her.

"Love you, phi-Noah!"

Noah hung up without another word, threw his phone on the floor, and headed back into his apartment. He flopped onto his bed, gazing blankly at the ceiling until fatigue dragged him under.

---

Light poured in through the curtains, heating his face. His eyes opened suddenly, and he realized something.

"Shit. Hang out."

He hastily reached for his phone, calling Pong frantically.

"Hello? Pong, I'm sorry I didn't turn up last night."

"It's okay, I get it. Best of luck with your interview today."

"Interview?" Noah's eyes cut to the clock. 8:40 a.m.

"Shit-the interview! Pong, I'll call you later!"

He hung up, hopped out of bed, snatched the first half-respectable garment he could think of, and ran out of the door.

---

New entertainment hummed with chatter and life. Noah stopped at the reception desk and asked for Celine's office location.

As he strolled down the corridor, four men walked toward him from the other side. His eyes unwittingly met one of theirs-keen, piercing eyes staring at him above a black mask. A curious shiver ran through his body, but before he could catch up to it, they passed by one another in silence.

He arrived at a modern wooden door and knocked.

"Come in."

Pulling open the door, he went inside. Celine was behind her desk, engrossed in her computer. She did not even give him a moment's glance.

"Please, take a seat, Mr. Chanraiwang."

He sat down, noticing how she finally took off her glasses and regarded his full face.

"Let's get straight to the point. "Do you know anything about Neon Hype?"

She pinned him back in his chair with her steely gaze.

"No, I don't. To be honest, I don't even listen to T-pop."

For a brief second, something unreadable flickered in her eyes before a small smile curled at her lips.

"Good enough. How much pay do you expect?"

"Not much-just whatever you think is fair."

Celine nodded. "$50,000."

Noah's head snapped up. "Wait-what? Are you serious?"

She simply nodded again.

He gulped hard, resisting the temptation to leap out of his seat in shock. That was the highest salary he had ever received for tutoring.

"You may begin tomorrow. We will provide you with the address tonight."

Noah bowed low. "Thank you very much, Miss Celine."

"You may leave."

Still in awe, he stood and left. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Celine picked up her phone and dialled a number.

"Hello, Kai. We've secured a tutor for your sister. Congratulations."

---

When the second Noah arrived home, he was bursting with excitement, capering around his apartment like a lottery winner. He picked up his phone and immediately dialled Pong.

"What? Seriously? I told you you'd get it! Congratulations!"

Pong genuinely sounded pleased to hear that Noah had gotten the job after everything he had gone through.

"This is all because of you! Let me take care of you."

"Fine, fine. Tonight at 8, Fine Dine."

Noah finally remained still as the call ended, his mind catching up with him.

"Wait. Who am I working for, exactly? And why did Celine ask if I was aware of Neon Hype?"

A weird discomfort settled in his gut.

Little did he know-this was only the start.