The taxi ride from Gangnam to Hongdae wasn't long.
As the car crossed the bridge, the polished, quiet luxury of the shopping district was replaced by the chaotic, neon pulse of Mapo-gu.
Even through the window, I could feel the eyes.
When the taxi slowed down in the crowded streets of Hongdae, a group of girls on the sidewalk stopped their conversation to point at the car. A few guys in high-fashion streetwear tilted their heads, squinting to see the "visual" sitting in the backseat.
The "San 2.0" effect was no longer a school rumor; it was a public hazard.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the black face mask, hooking it behind my ears.
I pulled my cap lower.
I wasn't Lee Sora's boyfriend right now.
I wasn't the "Mountain" of the Lee household.
I was just a guy trying to disappear into the noise.
'How did I even get here?'
I leaned my head against the cool glass, watching the blur of street performers and food stalls.
My mind drifted back to the start—to the naive kid from Smila who just wanted to be in a band like the ones in the dramas.
It seemed so simple then.
Then came Professor Kim.
She was the architect of this chaos.
She was the one who had forced me into that duo performance with Yoo Chae-rin, sensing a friction that could create fire. Then came Chae-rin's "Conditions"—the makeover, the relentless pursuit of perfection.
It still felt surreal that Myung-dae and Jun-seo had actually agreed to join me. Or rather... reunite using me? Or... Whatever
There was so much I didn't know.
The rivalry between Hanyeong and Kirin wasn't just a school competition; it was a blood feud.
The coincidence of Kang Min-ah asking Jin-hyun to join... the hidden stones of Jin-woo's accident... it was a puzzle with half the pieces missing, and I was the only one trying to solve it while holding a guitar.
"We're here," the driver grumbled.
I stepped out into the humid, bass-heavy air of Hongdae.
The club was a subterranean cavern of sound.
The moment I pushed through the heavy soundproof doors, the smell of dry ice, sweat, and expensive perfume hit me like a physical wave.
Everyone was dancing—a sea of moving bodies illuminated by rhythmic stabs of purple and gold light.
I moved through the crowd, my height making me feel like a lighthouse in a storm. I reached the bar and sat on a high stool, finally peeling off the mask.
My face felt hot, and the air in the club was thick.
"You look like you're lost, handsome."
I turned.
A girl was leaning against the bar next to me, her hair glittered with silver dust.
She was grooving to the beat, a bright green cocktail in her hand.
She slid a second glass—something blue and glowing—toward me.
"On the house?" she shouted over the music.
"I don't drink!" I yelled back, waving my hand dismissively.
In Ukraine, a beer with the guys was one thing.
In Korea, as an exchange student on a strict visa with a "Mother" like Mrs. Lee?
Drinking was a one-way ticket back to the airport.
The girl laughed, unfazed. She took a sip of her own drink and shrugged.
"Your loss, Panda! I'll just leave it here in case you change your mind."
'판다?'
She winked and slid back into the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd.
I looked at the blue drink.
It sat there on the dark wood of the bar, looking like a melted sapphire. I licked my lips.
My throat was parched from the walk and the social exhaustion of the day.
I looked around.
I couldn't buy anything—I was obviously of none legal age, both in Korea and Ukraine.
I was underage, thirsty, and surrounded by people who didn't know me.
It's just one sip, a voice in my head whispered.
It's going to waste anyway.
Why let good sugar go to the trash?
I looked at the stage.
The roadies were setting up for Youthful Memoirs.
I saw a familiar guitar case.
My hand moved instinctively.
I grabbed the cold glass, the condensation chilling my palm.
One sip, I thought.
I raised the cocktail to my lips.