I had exactly twenty minutes before I had to be on the roof.
I was currently pacing the length of the band's practice room, my shoes squeaking against the linoleum. In my hand, I clutched the gold-leaf Pepero gift bag like it was a live grenade.
My brain was a scrambled mess of "Comma" hair gel and sheer, unadulterated panic.
"I told her to meet me on the roof," I groaned, stopping to stare at my reflection in the drum kit's chrome. "Why did I say the roof? That's where people go to confess in dramas or jump off in tragedies. I'm an idiot."
"You're the one who accepted the gold chocolate, Mr. Popular," Myung-dae said, leaning back against an amp with his arms crossed. He let out a dry chuckle. "Why ask us? You seem to have the 'Idol' thing handled."
"I don't have anything handled!" I shouted, turning to face him and Jun-seo. "I've barely had any relationships back home. In Ukraine, you just ask someone to go for a walk. Here, there are gold leaves, third-year trainees, and public declarations. Jun-seo, Myung-dae... what do I do?"
Jun-seo, who was sitting on a stool adjusting his guitar strap, gave a small, uncharacteristic smirk. "Oh, don't ask me. Myung-dae is the one who knows all about complex social dynamics and 'secret' meetings."
Myung-dae shot him a sharp, dangerous glance. "You've got a lot of nerve, you handsome dog. You've spent your whole life being chased by girls like Sora."
"Stop!" I barked, waving my hands. "This is not the time to start a quarrel!"
I stopped for a second, looking at the two of them. They were actually looking at each other—not with the usual murderous intent, but with a strange, jagged kind of familiarity.
It was progress.
After the Autumn Festival, the wall between them hadn't crumbled, but it had certainly developed some cracks.
I thought back to what Chae-rin had told me.
She'd given me half-truths about their history, but I could tell there was something deeper, something buried under that resentment. I sighed, leaning my head against the cool wall. I was never good at understanding other people's complicated emotions.
I'd never been in a situation like theirs, caught between friendship and betrayal.
"Look," I said, my voice dropping. "We are a team now. H-Wnot. We survived the festival, we beat Hanyeong... we should be on the same page."
The room went silent. It was that heavy, awkward silence—the kind that feels like it's pressing against your eardrums.
PING.
The sharp sound of a violin string snapping echoed through the room. We all jumped. Leo was standing in the corner, looking horrified as he held his bow and his damaged instrument.
"Crap," I muttered. "We really need a catchphrase or a signal for this group. Every time we try to be emotional, something breaks."
I tried to pivot back to the victory. "Anyway, we won! We beat Hanyeong on our own turf. We should be proud of that."
Myung-dae scoffed, picking up a pick from the floor. "There's nothing to be proud of yet, Mountain. That was a home-field advantage. The crowd wanted us to win. The real test is the Seollal Festival."
"Seollal?" I repeated the word slowly, the syllables feeling foreign in my mouth. "What's a Seollal?"
Leo looked up, finally finding his voice. "It's the Lunar New Year, San. And Myung-dae is right. The Seollal Festival is hosted at Hanyeong. We'll be in enemy territory this time. We'll need a completely new song, a new concept... everything."
My brain glitched.
A new song?
Hanyeong territory? I didn't have room in my head for another festival. I barely had room for the evening cram school and the math problems waiting for me later.
"Wait, wait!" I held up my hands, checking my watch. "Stop. We can talk about Seollal later. Right now, I have a Lee Sora problem. She's going to be on the roof garden in less than twenty minutes, expecting... something! What do I say? How do I reject a legendary third-year trainee without becoming the most hated man in school?"
I looked at my bandmates, desperate for a lifeline.
"Twenty minutes, guys! Talk to me!"