I dragged my eyes open, staring up at the dark ceiling of my room. A dull, low-grade cloud of depression hung heavy over my chest. The temporary sanctuary of Jeju was completely gone, replaced by the relentless, grinding reality of a Seoul winter weekday.
My schedule for the day was an absolute minefield: survive the regular Kirin curriculum, face the terrifying Korean History assessment, sprint to the Golden Triangle evening academy, and then brace for another late-night math interrogation with the pink-pajama dictator.
'Wait... is Ha-neul even available for tutoring tonight?' I wondered, my brain desperately hunting for a loophole. 'She had all those Olympiad preparations with Mrs. Smith... Please let her be too busy.'
The mere thought of the upcoming final exams brought a sharp, throbbing ache straight to my temples. I swung my legs off the bed, rubbing my face, and turned my head toward the wooden desk.
The desk was, as usual, an absolute disaster zone of scrawled math formulas, half-empty water bottles, and crumpled practice tests. But pinned neatly to the corkboard directly above the mess were two distinct photo booth strips.
I leaned closer, my eyes softening as I looked at the printed memories.
The left photo was taken more than a month ago during the chaotic Autumn Clubs Fair. Jun-seo was in the exact center, looking like a textbook student president; I was squeezed onto the left side, broad-shouldered and wearing an expression of pure, unadulterated joy while clutching a half-eaten Korean corn dog; and Ha-neul was on the right, her arms crossed, looking thoroughly reluctant but carrying that tiny, secret smirk that proved she was secretly pleased.
The right photo was from yesterday in Jeju—the shark hat, the tangerine bucket, and the bunny ears.
'Hm,' I thought, a quiet warmth breaking through the morning fatigue. 'I should really look into buying a proper instant camera this winter. One of those vintage ones that prints photos on the spot. I want to capture as many of these stupid, beautiful memories as I physically can before my exchange visa clock runs out.'
'How much does a good camera even cost? Maybe I can find a quick part-time job during the upcoming winter break? Or... if H-Wnot actually wins the upcoming Winter Festival, there has to be a cash prize, right? It can't just be a trophy this time!' I gritted my teeth, my inner accountant rising to the surface. 'Stupid Autumn Festival... Why did the school only award us a metal cup and a certificate? Sure, we got our very first real public recognition and band clout, but still... cash flow is essential.'
And behind the finances lay the heaviest cloud of all: the ghost of W-Naut. The tragic fallout between Jun-seo, Myung-dae, and this mysterious Jin-woo guy. Min-ah had set her "JBC Backstage Access Condition," but I still had to figure out the exact shape of the drama as quickly as possible if I ever hoped to piece the band back together.
Deciding not to even bother making my bed, I threw on my uniform, grabbed my blazer, and shuffled down the hall to the dining room for breakfast.
The kitchen was filled with the rich, comforting aroma of toasted rice and grilled fish. Mrs. Lee was sitting at the marble counter, holding a steaming cup of black coffee while scanning news briefs on her tablet.
I slid onto a barstool across from her, carefully placing my hands on the granite.
"Eomeonim... about that little request I mentioned at dinner on Friday? Regarding the JBC broadcasting headquarters?"
Mrs. Lee set her coffee cup down with a precise, metallic clink. She raised her head, her anchor-sharp, intelligent eyes locking onto mine with terrifying, analytical clarity.
"I looked into the corporate calendar over the weekend, San-gun," she said smoothly. "I can organize a formal, VIP observational excursion alongside our upcoming batch of new production practitioners and junior employees. Technically, that will count as fulfilling what you asked."
I let out a breath of relief, but before I could thank her, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands.
"However," she continued, a sharp, maternal glint in her eyes, "you will eventually have to explain to me why exactly you need this access. You can try to dodge questions at school, San, but you cannot fool me. I may not be your biological mother, but I have been a mother long enough to recognize when a child is actively scheming something behind my back."
My jaw locked. I swallowed hard, offering a simple, respectful nod.
"Understood, Eomeonim. I'll explain when the time is right."
Just as the tension peaked, heavy, dragged footsteps echoed down the hallway. Ha-neul shuffled into the dining room, her blonde hair slightly messy, she was seemingly in her lenses, without glasses, as she fought off the remnants of her sleep. She was late for the table, entirely missing the JBC negotiation.
She dropped onto the stool next to me, picking up her fork to spear a piece of rolled omelet.
"Hey," I whispered, leaning sideways toward her. "Are we... having our regular math session tonight?"
Ha-neul slowly shook her head, taking a bite before answering in a gravelly morning voice.
"No. Mrs. Smith scheduled a mandatory late-night mock Olympiad session for the team. I'm actually missing our Golden Triangle evening academy class entirely today."
My heart did an instant, joyous backflip. 'YES! FREEDOM!'
Before I could celebrate, Ha-neul's eyes narrowed. She suddenly spun in her seat, aiming her silver fork directly at my chest like a lethal, short-range weapon. She glared at me through her lenses, her voice dropping into her classic vice-president register.
"But do not take it easy, Representative," she warned sharply. "Don't you dare forget about the three sets of practice equations I left on your desk. I am going to personally check every single line of your work tomorrow morning!"
I couldn't help but chuckle at her sheer, unyielding dedication to my academic torture. Seeing my amused reaction, the sharp glare on Ha-neul's face softened, and a small, rare smile caught the corner of her lips before she turned back to her breakfast.
The walk to the local bus stop was a stark reminder that winter had officially seized Seoul. The air was a crisp, biting -5°C, turning our breath into thick clouds of white steam as Ha-neul and I boarded the transit line.
By the time we walked through the massive, arched gates of Kirin Arts, Class 2-B was already settling into their seats. The heating units in the corners hummed softly against the frost creeping up the high windows.
Ms. Choi stepped up to the podium, her wooden attendance board in hand, and began calling the roll.
...
"Cheong Bo-min?.. Absent"
"Lee Ha-neul?"
"Here"
"Lim Ha-ri?"
"Here."
...
Ms. Choi paused, marking the ledger. There were quite a few empty desks scattered across the room today. Whispers drifted through the rows—a lot of the 2B class of Applied Music students were absent today because they were participating in regional winter showcases, visiting distant relatives for early holiday preparations, or simply struck down by the sudden flu wave sweeping through the cold campus.
Ms. Choi tapped her pen against the podium, her strict glare sweeping over the remaining students.
"Alright, settle down," she commanded, her voice cutting through the morning chatter. "As announced last week, we are commencing immediately with your final Korean History Unit Testing before the official term finals."
She picked up a massive stack of thick, printed paper tests from her desk and began dividing them into rows.
"Clear your desks. No phones, no notes. You have forty-five minutes. Begin."
I reached for my black pen, took a deep breath of the cold classroom air, and stared down at the first historical essay prompt. Time to fight.