The studio smelled like cherry lollipops and fresh tension.
Sora dropped her tote bag next to the monitor and pulled off her headphones, pausing just long enough to clock the guy across the room—arms folded, one brow arched, half-sinked into a rolling chair like he owned the place.
Lee Haechan.
Of course.
He didn't say anything, just watched her with the cool indifference of someone used to being the sharpest person in the room. Which was fine. She didn't come to win popularity points. She came to fix what the last three demos failed to do: hit.
"Nice to meet you," she said lightly, even though it wasn't. "I listened to the version you tracked last night. There's some gold in there... but also a lot of mud."
He blinked. "Mud?"
"Yeah." She chewed on her lollipop. "Like emotional confusion. Pitch-wise, you're clean. But intention? Kinda murky. It's like you're half-daring the mic to feel something."
That got his attention.
He spun in his chair, slow and deliberate. "So, you're a vocal psychic now?"
"No," she said, tugging her laptop from her bag. "Just someone who doesn't mistake volume for vulnerability."
A beat of silence passed between them, thick with the sound of unspoken comebacks. Somewhere down the hall, someone hit a high note and missed it. Haechan sighed.
"I see you like to start fights before coffee."
"I see you like to hide behind charm and sarcasm," she said without missing a beat.
And then—God help her—he smiled. Not wide, not sweet. Dangerous. The kind of smile that said Challenge accepted, without ever needing the words.
Sora plugged in her interface and hit play on the demo track, eyes forward, heart calm.
She didn't care how pretty his voice was.
She wasn't here to fall in love.
She was here to fix the music.
But damn if that bridge didn't already sound a little like a confession.
~~ 끝 ~~