Wednesday dawned with the grim inevitability of an execution day.
I had a schedule full of classes, a bassist who played violin, a vocal who hated the world, and a drummer who was technically a spy from an enemy nation.
Period 1 (9:00 AM): Korean Language. I spent the hour drafting a text message. It had to be firm but casual. To: Jun-seo, Myung-Dae, Leo.Text: Band practice. Club Room. 5:00 PM. I found a drummer.
Jun-seo replied instantly: Understood. See you there. Leo replied five minutes later: K. Myung-Dae did not reply.
Period 2 (10:00 AM): Music Theory. I cornered Myung-Dae by the vending machine during the break. He was buying a coffee, looking like he wanted to murder the machine.
"You saw the text," I said.
He popped the tab on his can. "I didn't."
"You have to come," I said, blocking his path. "I found a drummer.He's... experienced."
"I don't care if you resurrected John Bonham," Myung-Dae scoffed, taking a sip. "I'm not playing 'band' with you, Mountain. Go tell Ms. Choi I quit."
"I will," I said calmly. "And I'll tell her why. You know, for a guy who acts like he doesn't care, you sure worry a lot about your image."
Myung-Dae laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "My image? I'm the school delinquent. I have no image to save."
"Maybe not here," I bluffed, channeling my inner Chae-rin. "But universities care. If you want to get into a higher education program... 'Chronic detention for insubordination' isn't exactly the best major, is it?"
Myung-Dae stopped laughing. The can crinkled in his hand. He stared at me, his eyes narrowing. He knew his parents—the owners of Mise-en-scène—expected him to go to a top university.
"You're annoying," he spat.
"I'm persistent. 5:00 PM. Don't be late."
Period 3 (11:00 AM): Mathematics. Mrs. Smith made us solve cubic functions. I solved them while praying that Jin-hyun wouldn't get arrested at the gate.
Period 4 (12:00 PM): English. Easy.
Lunch Break (12:50 PM - 1:50 PM). I found Leo sitting alone, picking at a pork cutlet.
"Hey," I sat down.
Leo looked pale. "Hyung, I practiced bass last night. My fingers are bleeding. The strings are like telephone wires. Are you sure about this?"
"You'll be fine," I lied. "It's just four strings. Violin has four strings. Same math."
"That is not how physics works," Leo groaned.
Ha-neul walked by with her tray. She stopped, looking down at us.
"So," she said, her voice dripping with knowing amusement. "That's where you went last night. To recruit a mercenary."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, shoving rice into my mouth.
"Good luck, San-ssi," she smirked. "You're going to need it."
Period 5 (1:50 PM): Korean History.Period 6 (2:50 PM): PE. Coach Hong made us run laps. I ran fast, trying to outrun my anxiety.
Period 7 (3:50 PM): Composition Workshop.Period 8 (4:50 PM): Modern Music History. Mr. Kang droned on about the 90s. I watched the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.
5:00 PM.
The bell rang.
I raced to the Club Room.
Jun-seo was already there, tuning his guitar. He looked tense. Leo was sitting on an amp, holding bass guitar like it was a bomb.
Myung-Dae walked in two minutes later. He didn't say a word. He just threw his bag in the corner, sat on the sofa, and glared at the empty drum kit.
"So," Myung-Dae drawled, checking his watch. "It's 5:05. Where is this magical drummer? Did he get lost? Or is he imaginary, like your brain cells?"
"He's coming," I said, checking my phone. Where is he?
Suddenly, my phone—and everyone else's phone in the room—buzzed.
Then it buzzed again. And again.
It was a notification storm. Kirin's Secrets.
"What?" Jun-seo asked.
We didn't need to look at the feed. We heard it. A murmur rising from the corridor outside. The sound of students gasping and whispering.
The door to the club room opened.
And in walked a splash of blood-red in a sea of navy blue.
He was tall. He had messy silver-dyed hair. And he was wearing the bright, aggressive crimson blazer of Hanyeong Arts High.
Park Jin-hyun.
He walked in with a casual, confident swagger, twirling a drumstick in one hand. He looked around the dusty club room, unimpressed, then landed his gaze on us.
The room went dead silent.
Myung-Dae stood up slowly. Jun-seo stopped tuning his guitar.
I remembered the list I had read on the forum late last night. The "Golden Generation."(Why do they like the word 'Golden' so much? Golden Triangle, Golden Generation, what's next? Golden toilet?) The specific group of elite male students from the rival arts schools who were famous not just for their talent, but for their visuals and their complicated history.
The "Royal Flush": Park Jun-seo (Kirin), Lee Myung-Dae (Kirin), Park Jin-hyun (Hanyeong), and Lee Seok-mal (Hanyeong) and others...
And now, three of them were in one room.
"You," Myung-Dae whispered.
Jin-hyun grinned. It was a charming, dangerous grin.
"Miss me?" Jin-hyun asked.
"You have to be kidding me," Jun-seo said, his voice low.
Myung-Dae let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.
He turned to Jin-hyun. "Get out, redcoat. Before I throw you out."
Jin-hyun didn't flinch. He walked past Myung-Dae, straight to the drum kit. He sat down on the throne, spun the stool to the right height, and hit the snare drum with a sharp CRACK.
"You never change, Myung-Dae," Jin-hyun said, smiling lazily. "Still barking. Still angry."
He adjusted the hi-hat.
"I'm the new drummer. Deal with it."
Then, Jin-hyun looked past Myung-Dae. His eyes landed on the boy sitting on the amp, holding the bass.
Jin-hyun froze. The drumstick stopped spinning.
"Leo?" he asked, his voice losing its mocking edge.
Leo looked up, his eyes wide.
"Jin-hyun... hyung?"
"When..." Jin-hyun stared at him, genuinely shocked. "When did you come back? I thought you were in L.A."
Leo swallowed hard. "Almost two weeks."
Jin-hyun looked from Leo to Jun-seo, and finally to Myung-Dae. A strange, unreadable expression crossed his face.
"Well," Jin-hyun said, tapping the cymbal lightly. Ting.
"Isn't this fun?"