The double doors of the Applied Performance hall flew open with a bang that echoed off the soundproof walls.
I stumbled in, chest heaving, blazer buttoned wrong, hair a tragic disaster. Beside me, Jin-hyun strolled in, adjusting his sunglasses before sliding them into his pocket, looking like he'd just arrived from a fashion shoot rather than a high-speed chase.
The room fell dead silent.
On the stage, the rest of the band was frozen. Jun-seo was gripping the neck of my acoustic guitar, his knuckles white. Myung-dae was glaring at the floor, tapping his foot impatiently. Leo looked like he was praying to the patron saint of violins.
In the center of the tiered seating, two figures sat like judges at the gates of the afterlife.
Professor Kim, the music theory eccentric with wild hair. And Ms. Choi.
Ms. Choi slowly lifted her wrist and checked her silver watch. She didn't look back at us. She just stared at the stage.
"14:59," she announced, her voice cutting through the silence. "Precisely on time. Take your places."
I let out a breath that was half-sob, half-laugh. I practically dragged my legs down the aisle, scrambling up the stairs to the stage. Jin-hyun moved with his usual languid grace, walking past the judges without a bow, hopping onto the stage, and settling onto the drum throne.
"Here," Jun-seo whispered, shoving my guitar into my hands. He had tuned it. "You look terrible."
"Thanks," I wheezed, throwing the strap over my shoulder. "Let's rock."
I looked back. Jin-hyun spun his sticks once, giving me a nod. Myung-dae plugged in. Leo raised his bow.
"This is... 'Frequency,'" I announced to the empty seats, my voice cracking slightly.
The count-in was silent. Eye contact only.
BAM.
We started.
It wasn't perfect. My voice was raspy from the running, and the bridge was a little shaky because we'd only rehearsed it for four hours. But the energy... the energy was volatile.
Myung-dae's bass growled, a dark, heavy undercurrent. Leo's violin cut through it like a razor wire, high and frantic. Jin-hyun's drumming was the heartbeat—aggressive, driving, relentless. And Jun-seo and I filled the middle, the glue holding the chaos together.
It was messy. It was H-Wnot.
When we hit the final chord—a dissonant clash that resolved into a sudden, sharp silence—my hands were shaking.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then, Professor Kim started clapping. Slow, rhythmic claps.
"Interesting," he muttered, scribbling furiously on his clipboard. "Structurally, it's a nightmare. You're breaking about six rules of composition. The violin clashes with the bass frequency in the third bar."
She looked up, pushing her glasses up her nose.
"But it works. It has texture. It needs polish—a lot of polish—but the raw material is gold."
I felt my knees go weak with relief.
Ms. Choi didn't clap. She stood up, smoothing her skirt. She looked at us, her expression unreadable behind her glasses.
"It is rough," she agreed coldly. "Mr. Motuzenko sounds like he has swallowed a frog. Mr. Han is rushing the tempo."
She paused.
"However, Kirin Arts needs something... disruptive this year. The Alumni Board is bored with traditional ballads."
She opened her planner and clicked her pen.
"I am registering this group for the Autumn Festival showcase. You have the closing slot. Do not embarrass me."
"YES!" I shouted, forgetting where I was.
The adrenaline spiked. I turned around and threw my arms open.
"We did it!"
I grabbed Jun-seo in a bear hug. He stiffened but awkwardly patted my back. Then, fueled by sheer delirium, I grabbed Myung-dae.
"Get off!" Myung-dae hissed, looking horrified as I squeezed him. "Don't touch me! You sweat like a pig!"
"Teamwork!" I yelled, shaking him.
"Disgusting," Myung-dae gagged, shoving me away.
I stumbled back, grinning like an idiot. I looked at Leo, who quickly stepped behind his music stand to avoid the hug.
We were in. We actually did it. The band was real.
"But..."
Ms. Choi's voice cut through our celebration like a guillotine blade.
The smile froze on my face. The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
Ms. Choi wasn't looking at her planner anymore. She wasn't looking at me, or Jun-seo, or the Professor with her usual elegant bun.
She was looking directly at the drummer.