The house was silent when I finally stumbled through the front door. The digital clock on the microwave blinked 3:15 AM.
There was no welcoming committee. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the smell of cold kimchi stew. On the dining table, a covered bowl sat next to a sticky note written in Mrs. Lee's elegant handwriting:
"San, eat this before you sleep. You look too thin these days. P.S. Don't wake up the house."
I smiled tiredly, shoveling the spicy stew into my mouth while standing up. It tasted like salvation.
Once the bowl was empty, I crept up the stairs, trying to avoid the squeaky third step. I was halfway to my room when I heard it.
A sound.
It was a low, rhythmic humming. A melody that was struggling to stay on key, drifting out of a half-open door down the hall.
Ha-neul's room.
Curiosity fought with exhaustion, and curiosity won. I tiptoed closer and peeked through the crack in the door.
Ha-neul was sitting at her desk, bathed in the warm glow of a study lamp. She was wearing oversized round glasses and her blonde hair was clipped up in a severe bun, much neater than mine. She was furiously scribbling on a notepad, humming a tune that sounded vaguely like a dying whale.
I snorted(or scoffed?).
She didn't hear me. She was in the zone.
I pushed the door open a little further and stepped inside.
I had never really looked around Ha-neul's room before. It was shockingly organized. But what caught my eye wasn't the tidiness—it was the glass display cabinet against the far wall.
I expected to see art supplies, or maybe K-Pop albums.
Instead, I saw gold.
Rows of trophies. Framed certificates. Medals hanging on hooks. I squinted at the text on a diploma.
"National Mathematical Olympiad - Gold Prize.""Asian Pacific Mathematics Competition - First Place.""Excellence in Advanced Calculus."
I blinked. I looked at the bookshelf next to it. It wasn't filled with romance novels or fashion magazines. It was packed with heavy, intimidating hardcovers.
Elementary Number Theory by Underwood Dudley. Winning Ways for your Mathematical Plays by Berlekamp, Conway, and Guy. And a massive, thick spine that read Gödel, Escher, Bach by Douglas Hofstadter...
"Holy cow," I whispered. "I thought you were just mean. I didn't know you were a genius."
I walked up behind her chair. She was so focused she didn't even sense my presence. I peered over her shoulder. The paper in front of her was covered in complex geometrical shapes—dodecahedrons intersecting with planes, surrounded by equations that looked like alien hieroglyphs.
"Is that... non-Euclidean geometry?" I asked, though I barely knew what that meant.
My shadow fell across her paper.
Ha-neul gasped, slamming her pen down. She spun around in her chair, clutching her chest.
"Jesus!" she shrieked, then clamped a hand over her mouth. "How long have you been standing there?!"
"Long enough to hear the singing," I grinned, leaning against her desk. "And long enough to see the shrine to Pythagoras over there. You're really good at this stuff."
"Of course I am," Ha-neul huffed, adjusting her glasses. She looked flustered, her cheeks pink. "I have to be. I want to be a mathematician!"
"A mathematician?" I raised an eyebrow. "Then why the hell are you at Kirin Arts High School? Shouldn't you be at a science academy or Hanyeong's academic wing?"
Ha-neul froze. The pride on her face flickered, replaced by something guarded. She looked down at her geometry problem.
"There's... a reason," she muttered.
"What reason? Is it—"
"Why did you enter my room without permission?" she snapped, suddenly defensive. She stood up and started pushing me toward the door. Her hands were small but surprisingly strong. "Get out! Privacy! Ever heard of it?"
"Hey, hey, watch the ribs!" I laughed, letting her shove me into the hallway.
"What did you want anyway?" she demanded, blocking the doorway.
"Come to my room," I said, pointing down the hall. "Fair trade. I saw your secret nerd lair, you come see my... disaster zone."
"Why do you think I'll listen to you?" she scowled.
"Because I have chocolate," I lied.
She narrowed her eyes, but she followed me.
My room was, admittedly, a wreck. Sheet music was taped to the walls, my guitar case was lying open on the floor, and a pile of clothes had formed a new landmass on the chair.
"Ugh," Ha-neul wrinkled her nose, stepping over a stray sock. "You live like a raccoon. You should clean up more often."
"Creativity thrives in chaos," I quoted, clearing a space on the bed to sit. "Take a seat on the chair. Just move the... whatever that is."
Ha-neul gingerly moved a sweatshirt and sat down, crossing her arms. "Okay. I'm here. Where's the chocolate?"
"I ate it," I admitted shamelessly. "But I have something better. I have a problem."
"Clearly," she said, eyeing the mess.
"No, a band problem," I said, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees. I looked at her seriously. "I need your brain."
"For what?"
"We have a song. We have a lineup. We have a demo presentation tomorrow afternoon," I said. "But we don't have a name."
I looked at her pleadingly.
"Help me brainstorm a name for the band."