"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 Professor Kim. She was looking directly at the drummer in the red blazer.
"Do not mistake 'acceptance' for 'victory,'" she said, her tone icy. "The Organization Committee has already finalized the roster. We have accepted $iren, Prism, and U-Two."
At the mention of those names, Jun-seo flinched slightly.
"There are also several high-profile soloist entries," Ms. Choi continued, adjusting her glasses. "Looking at your... experimental progress, the winner is not so obvious. Unlike last year."
She paused, letting the weight of history settle over the room.
"Last year, with W-Naut, the result was a foregone conclusion before the first note was played. This year? You are merely bottom feeders in a tank of sharks."
Myung-dae gripped the neck of his bass, his jaw tightening. The W-Naut comparison clearly stung.
Ms. Choi took a step closer to the stage, her gaze locking onto Jin-hyun.
"And you, Mr. Park," she said, her voice dropping to a warning register. "I am allowing this irregularity because your father... Anyways, do not think I am blind to your... proclivities."
She narrowed her eyes behind the rimless lenses.
"Do not do anything... unnecessary. We want a performance, not a scandal."
Jin-hyun didn't flinch. He slowly raised a hand from the snare drum, twirling a stick between his fingers with lazy arrogance.
"Why would I, Ms. Choi?" he asked, flashing a bright, innocent smile that looked entirely fake. "I'm just here to keep the beat. I'm practically invisible."
He was wearing a bright red blazer in a room full of navy blue. He was about as invisible as a flare gun in a library.
Ms. Choi stared at him for a second longer, as if deciding whether to expel him or believe him. She chose to ignore him.
"You may continue the lesson, Professor Kim," she announced, turning on her heel. She marched out of the hall, the doors swinging shut behind her.
The tension in the room snapped.
"Alright, alright," Professor Kim clapped her hands, her hair bouncing. "Show's over! Back to your groups! We have evaluations next week!"
The class dissolved into chaos. Students started moving around, forming their project teams.
I exhaled, wiping sweat from my forehead.
"We survived," I muttered.
"Barely," Jun-seo said, packing the guitar away. "I need to go. I have Student Council meeting." He bowed to Professor.
"I'm out," Myung-dae grunted, unplugging his bass. "Don't talk to me."
"Bye!" Leo squeaked, vanishing instantly.
They scattered like cockroaches when the lights turned on. Even Jin-hyun hopped off the stage, disappearing into the crowd to probably charm some girls or annoy some teachers.
I was left standing there, alone again.
Right. The class. Applied Performance.
This wasn't just a band audition. This was an actual class where I had to pass. And the assignment was a "Combined Performance."
I scanned the tiered seating. Most students were already huddled in groups, discussing song choices and choreography.
But in the third row, sitting perfectly still amidst the bustle, was one person.
Yoo Chae-rin.
She was sitting alone, her posture impeccable, her arms crossed over her notebook. She wasn't looking for a partner. She looked like a queen waiting for a tribute.
I swallowed my nervousness and walked up the aisle. I stopped at the end of her row.
"Hey," I said, breathless and smelling of chlorine and sweat. "Room for one more?"
Chae-rin turned her head slowly. Her hazel eyes swept over my disheveled appearance—the messy hair, the wrongly buttoned blazer, the general look of a man who had been chased by a sports teacher.
She didn't sneer. She didn't roll her eyes.
She simply nodded at the empty seat next to her.
I sat down, awkwardly leaving a gap between us so I wouldn't contaminate her expensive perfume with my 'Eau de Running.'
"You look terrible," she stated flatly.
"I've had a long morning," I admitted. "Hanyeong teacher on duty is surprisingly athletic."
"I heard," she said. She tapped her pen against her notebook.
She looked down at the stage where H-Wnot had just played.
She turned to look at me, a flicker of genuine appraisal in her eyes.
"You surprisingly managed to fulfill Condition One, San."
I blinked. Condition One? Right. The deal.
"So..." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Does this mean I'm worthy? Will we finally prepare for our combined performance? You know, the one that accounts for 40% of our grade?"
Chae-rin stared at me for a long moment. Then, the corner of her lip quirked up—just a fraction of a millimeter.
"The testing starts next week," she said, opening her notebook to a fresh page. "And I refuse to get a B because my partner is incompetent."
She wrote something on the top of the page. Duet Project.