I woke up to a sound that was less like an alarm and more like a digital cardiac arrest. My Samsung phone was vibrating so violently against the nightstand that it was slowly migrating toward the edge.
I squinted through the morning light, my head still fuzzy from the Hongdae adrenaline. My notifications were a war zone.
Kirin's Secret [Trending]:"FRONTMAN OF H-Wnot SPOTTED IN HONGDAE!"
YouTube: "Video 'H-Wnot - Frequency (Live at Hongdae)' has reached 150,000 views in 6 hours."
Lee Sora <3: "San-ah, did you see the video? You had a fun time after our date... <3"
I felt a cold sweat break out.
The "Frequency" video was everywhere.
The internet wasn't just buzzing; it was broken.
I dragged myself out of bed, my muscles screaming in protest. I tried to slick my hair back into a "San 2.0" look, but decided not to.
I needed food.
The kitchen was dead silent.
Mrs. Lee was sitting at the head of the table, her sunglasses off for once, her eyes sharp and terrifyingly professional—the "Nation's Mouthpiece" was in full interrogation mode.
"Good morning, San-gun," she said, her voice like a velvet-covered blade.
"Good morning, Eomeonim," I croaked.
She didn't offer me toast.
Instead, she slid a single, crisp sheet of paper across the marble counter.
It was my official mid-term performance evaluation.
I looked at the numbers.
My eyes scanned past "Music Technology" and "English" (my only safe havens) down to "Korean History" and "Mathematics."
My ranking was a disaster. Out of the entire second-year class, I was hovering somewhere near the very bottom. The "rock bottom" of the elite.
"Kirin is not just a stage, San," Mrs. Lee said, her tone dropping to a level that made the refrigerator hum seem loud. "You are here on a scholarship. If these numbers don't change, you aren't just an 'outsider'—you're a liability to the program."
10:00 AM.
The Faculty Office.
The atmosphere in the office was thick with the scent of old paper and impending doom.
I was standing in front of Ms. Choi's desk.
Behind me, I could see Ji-hoon leaning against the doorframe; he had dropped us off and apparently stayed for a "legal consultation."
Ms. Choi didn't look up from her tablet.
She looked exhausted, her ponytail pulled back with clinical precision.
"Oleksandr Motuzenko," she began, using my full name—which was never a good sign. "The administration has reviewed your case. Your viral 'popularity' is noted, but Kirin cannot have a Representative of Foreign Students who is failing the basic curriculum."
She finally looked up, her gaze pinning me to the floor.
"Here is the decree: If you do not rank in the Top 100 of the entire second year by the winter exams, you are legally disqualified from all extracurricular activities. Effective immediately."
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"Disqualified?"
"That means H-Wnot is barred from the Winter Festival," she continued, her voice unwavering. "Since the festival is being held on Hanyeong's home turf this year, the school cannot risk sending a group with an academically deficient lead. If you fail, you will be forced out of the band to focus solely on your studies. No exceptions."
The silence that followed was heavy.
I looked at Ji-hoon.
He was staring at Ms. Choi with a strange, searching expression—a mix of concern and something deeper, something that looked like a question he wasn't allowed to ask.
Ms. Choi, however, acted as if he weren't even in the room.
She kept her eyes locked on my evaluation, her jaw tight.
"You have until New Year's Eve to become a scholar, San," she said, finally looking at Ji-hoon as if he were a piece of furniture. "I suggest you start now."
I walked out of the office feeling like I was wearing lead boots.
"Brother, you are not going?" I looked back at Ji-hoon.
"Ah, yes, San, just a second I'll discus something with... Ms. Choi."
The "Frequency" of my success was being drowned out by the static of failure.
The "Mountain" was under siege, and for the first time, I didn't have a plan.