The auction house hummed with tension as collectors and professionals examined the vintage music equipment on display. Silas moved scrupulously through the preview area, jotting down notes on his tablet about pieces that caught his interest. A rare Roland TR-808 drum machine caught his eye, the same model used on C7's debut album. He was examining it when he sensed someone beside him.
"Thinking of upgrading from digital?" a woman asked, her tone faintly challenging. Silas looked up to find a stylishly disheveled woman about his age studying him with narrowed eyes. She wore oversized headphones around her neck and had multiple earrings in her left ear.
"Collecting, not upgrading," he replied shortly, returning to his examination.
"Ah, display pieces rather than working tools," she nodded, her tone making it clear this was not a compliment.
Silas bristled. "I use everything I collect."
"Really? So, if you win, will it go into actual production? Not sitting pretty in some ivory tower studio?"
He straightened to his full height, irritation growing. "My production methods aren't your business."
She smiled, not pleasantly. "They are when we're bidding on the same equipment."
Recognition dawned. "You're MiRe. The indie producer."
"And you're Silas from C7. The mainstream producer." The way she said "mainstream" made it sound like a contagious disease.
"Your EP last year was... interesting," Silas complimented.
"Interesting?" MiRe repeated. "That's what people say when they have nothing substantive to contribute."
"The percussion was innovative," Silas clarified, "but the melodic structure was derived from early 2000s trip-hop, just slowed down to seem original."
MiRe's eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting actual criticism. "At least it wasn't manufactured by committee like your last album."
"Our last album sold ten million copies."
"Congratulations. McDonald's sells billions of burgers. Doesn't make them haute cuisine." Before Silas could respond, the auctioneer called for everyone to take their seats. Somehow, he and MiRe ended up in the second row beside each other.
The bidding proceeded tensely, with Silas securing several vintage synthesizers while MiRe won a collection of rare vinyl for sampling. Their real conflict came when the Roland TR-808 took the block. Silas opened with a strong bid. MiRe immediately countered. They traded back and forth, each bid increasing the tension between them. Other potential buyers dropped out, leaving the two producers locked in combat.
"Two million won," Silas offered, exceeding his mental limit.
"Two point five," MiRe countered without hesitation.
Silas gritted his teeth. The rational part of his brain knew he should stop, but something about MiRe's challenging gaze pushed him forward.
"Three million."
MiRe hesitated for the first time, and Silas felt a surge of victory, until she leaned over to whisper, "You know what? Please take it. I'm sure C7's unlimited budget can accommodate your ego purchase." She stood and walked out, leaving Silas with a drum machine he had paid too much for and the uncomfortable feeling that he had somehow both won and lost simultaneously.
After the auction, he found MiRe arguing with someone on her phone in the lobby.
"No, the budget isn't flexible. That's why it's called a budget," she said heatedly. "Just because some corporate idol group can outbid us doesn't mean…" She noticed Silas and abruptly ended her call.
"Enjoy your overpriced toy," she said, turning to leave.
"Wait." Silas was surprised at himself by the word. "Why was that specific model so important to you?"
MiRe hesitated, then sighed. "I'm producing an album for an underground hip-hop artist. He specifically wanted that vintage sound. It's his debut, and he's saved for years to make this album happen."
Silas felt a twinge of guilt. "Would you consider... sharing studio time with it?"
MiRe looked at him suspiciously. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. My studio, your project. You get the sound you need for your artist."
"And what do you get?"
Silas considered this. "Your perspective. On my new compositions."
"You want me to critique your music?" MiRe looked astonished.
"You do have opinions," Silas said dryly. "Might as well make them useful."
A reluctant smile tugged at MiRe's lips. "You're either very confident or foolish."
"Possibly both," Silas admitted. "Do we have a deal?"
After a moment's consideration, MiRe nodded. "Deal. But I won't lie about your music if I hate it."
"I'd expect nothing less," Silas replied, surprised to find he was looking forward to her unfiltered opinion.
* * *
The dance studio pulsed with energy as Julian demonstrated a complex sequence from C7's latest choreography. Twenty dancers of various backgrounds followed his movements, most of whom struggled with the precision required for idol dance.
"Remember, this style combines hip-hop foundation with martial arts influences," Julian explained, demonstrating a particular transition. "It's not just about the moves—the attitude!"
Julian moved through the room as the dancers practiced, dropping corrections and encouragement. At the back of the studio, a purple-haired woman caught his attention, not because she was struggling, but because she was adding her unique flourishes to his choreography. Intrigued rather than offended, Julian worked his way toward her. Up close, he could see the playful concentration on her face as she deliberately modified his sequence.
"That's not quite what I demonstrated," Julian noted, curious.
The woman grinned unapologetically. "I know. I'm improving it."
Several nearby dancers looked horrified, but Julian burst out laughing. "Bold statement! Show me how." She demonstrated her version without hesitation. Julian's dance composition made her more fluid, and she added a turn that complemented the original choreography.
"See? Your version is all power and precision," she explained. "Which is great! But adding this flow here…" she demonstrated again, "…creates more visual interest for the audience." Julian tried her modification and discovered she was right; it enhanced the sequence.
"I'm Hope," she introduced herself, offering a hand.
"Julian," he replied, shaking it, beaming his cheerful smile.
"I know," she laughed. "I didn't come to this workshop by accident."
"So, you came to critique my choreography?" Julian raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"I came to learn from it," Hope corrected. "Doesn't mean it can't be better." Rather than being offended, Julian found her honesty refreshing. "Want to help me demonstrate the next sequence? Show these serious dancers how to have fun with it?"
Hope's face lit up. "Thought you'd never ask."
For the remainder of the workshop, Julian and Hope developed a rapport, playing off each other's energy and creating a vibrant atmosphere that transformed the class from a technical practice to a joyful expression. During a water break, Julian noticed Hope imitating his signature heart gesture with exaggerated movements, which made the nearby dancers laugh.
"Are you mocking my fan service?" he asked, pretending offense.
"Studying it," she corrected with a grin. "Very scientific."
"And your conclusion, Professor Park?"
Hope struck a serious pose. "Too much cuteness, not enough funk."
Julian gasped dramatically. "My cuteness is legendary!"
"Your charm is what my grandmother does to get extra kimchi at restaurants."
Instead of being insulted, Julian laughed harder than he had in months. There was something liberating about being teased rather than idolized.
As the workshop concluded, participants lined up for selfies with Julian. Hope hung back, gathering her things without joining the queue.
When the last fan had left, Julian approached her. "No selfie request?"
"Nope," Hope replied, zipping up her dance bag. "I prefer memories to photos."
"So, what's your assessment of idol choreography?" Julian asked, genuinely curious about her opinion.
"Technically impressive, creatively restrictive," she answered honestly. "But you manage to bring joy to it, which is rare."
"Joy is my specialty," Julian said with his signature bright smile.
"And silliness is mine," Hope countered. "Together we'd be unstoppable."
The words hung between them, an unintentional invitation that neither had expected.
"There's a dance battle at Club Rhythm tomorrow night," Hope said suddenly. "Underground stuff, no idol polish. Want to see how the other half lives?"
Julian hesitated. A club was what the public-venue manager, Kando, had warned against. But experiencing dance outside the carefully controlled idol world was too tempting to resist.
"I'd have to come incognito," he said.
Hope grinned. "I've got just the thing." She reached into her bag and pulled out a beanie and a pair of fake glasses. "Emergency disguise kit. Never leave home without it."
Julian took the items, oddly touched by this glimpse into her whimsical personality. "You always carry disguises?"
"You never know when you'll need to become someone else for a while," she said with a wink. "Sometimes it's nice to escape yourself, don't you think?" Julian felt a connection with her words. Behind his cheerful exterior, he sometimes also yearned for freedom, without the pressure of always being positive.
"Tomorrow night," he agreed, tucking the disguise into his bag. "Show me your world."