The alarm went off at 5:30 AM.
Usually, I would hit snooze three times, roll out of bed at 7:00, splash water on my face, and run for the bus.
Not today.
Today, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a tub of hair wax that cost more than my monthly lunch budget. I stared at the "Comma" hairstyle guide Chae-rin had sent me at 2 AM.
Step 1: Emulsify product. Step 2: Create volume at the root. Step 3: Define the C-curl.
"Emulsify," I muttered, rubbing the sticky paste between my palms. "I am a rocker. I am a musician. I am... emulsifying."
It took forty minutes. Forty minutes of cursing, three failed attempts, and one moment where I almost glued my eye shut.
But when I stepped back, San 2.0 was looking back at me.
I put on my uniform.
But I didn't just throw it on. I remembered Director Han's advice. I rolled the shirt sleeves perfectly. I left the top button undone.
I put the blazer on.
I would look ridiculous to my friends back in Ukraine.
The walk up the hill to Kirin Arts was usually a gauntlet of indifference.
I was invisible, or at best, a curiosity.
Today, the air felt different.
As I walked through the main gates, conversations died.
Heads turned.
I felt a sense of deja vu from the Day One.
I could feel eyes tracking me like I was a moving target.
"Who is that?"
"Is he a trainee?"
"Did we get another transfer?"
"Wait... look at the backpack. Isn't that the Ukrainian guy's bag?"
I kept my gaze straight ahead, channeling my inner Chae-rin.
Ice Princess mode: Engage.
I reached the corridor of the Second Year wing.
Kang Min-ah was standing by her locker, gossiping with a group of girls.
She turned as I approached, her mouth opening to say something, probably asking where San was.
Her jaw dropped.
Her phone slipped from her hand and dangled by its charm strap.
"San?" she squeaked.
I stopped.
I looked at her.
I gave her a small, practiced smirk that I had accidentally learned from Jin-hyun.
"Good morning, Min-ah," I said, my voice low. "Have you seen Jun-seo?"
The girls behind her gasped.
Min-ah looked like she had just seen a ghost, or an angel, or both.
"He... he's in the classroom," she stuttered, her face turning a bright shade of beet red.
"Thanks."
I walked past them.
I heard a distinct thud behind me.
I think someone fainted.
I reached the main corridor.
Ahead of me was a familiar figure in a pristine uniform.
Han Min-gyu.
The First Year.
Chae-rin's "boyfriend."
He was scolding a group of other first-years, looking very self-important.
When he heard the whispers, he turned around, annoyed.
He saw me.
His eyes went wide.
He scanned me from the polished shoes to the fitted trousers and finally, the styled hair. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.
"You..." Min-gyu stammered, his authority crumbling. "Motuzenko?"
I stopped.
I looked down at him.
Even though he was tall, I felt ten feet higher.
"Good morning, Min-gyu," I said, my voice low and calm. I flashed him a small, polite smile—the kind Jun-seo used. "Study hard, Hoobae (Junior)."
I walked past him, my blazer fluttering slightly.
I heard him sputter behind me. "H-Hoobae? I'm the... wait!"
I didn't look back. Victory.
I walked into Class 2-B.
The noisy pre-homeroom chaos vanished instantly.
Thirty pairs of eyes locked onto me.
Jun-seo was at his desk, tuning the guitar.
He looked up, squinting.
Then his eyes went wide.
He stood up so fast his chair toppled over.
"San?!" he shouted. "What happened to you?! Did you get scouts?"
Myung-dae, sitting in the back with his headphones around his neck, let out a snort.
He leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug expression.
"Told you," Myung-dae muttered to no one in particular. "The cleaning lady does wonders."
I walked to my desk—the one in the back corner.
I sat down, draped my blazer over the chair, and ran a hand through my styled hair.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over my desk.
I looked up.
Min-ah dropped her pink phone.
She stared at me, her mouth hanging open.
For the first time in history, the Gossip Queen was speechless.
"Close your mouth, Min-ah," I whispered, sitting down and draping my blazer over the chair. "You'll catch flies."
"You..." she whispered, poking my arm to make sure I was real. "You're hot? Since when? Is this legal?"
"Since Chae-rin threatened my life," I shrugged casually. "Just a little maintenance. You know. Idol standards."
The class erupted into whispers. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Visual Shock, I thought. It's a superpower.
Period 4: The Grand Hall. "Kirin's Got Talent" - Live Semi-Finals.
The Grand Hall was packed.
Nearly a thousand students filled the seats.
The faculty judges sat at a long table on the raised platform.
Backstage was chaos.
Dancers were stretching, vocalists were gargling salt water.
I stood in the wings, wearing a black tank top and athletic shorts.
I had ditched the uniform for the performance, but the hair and makeup remained.
"Next up!" the MC announced, his voice booming over the speakers. "The man who surprised the judges yesterday! From Class 2-B... Oleksandr Motuzenko!"
I took a deep breath.
Do not trip.
Do not mess up the hair.
I ran onto the stage.
Usually, when I entered a room, the reaction was polite applause.
This time, a wave of sound hit me.
"WHOA!"
"Is that him?"
"OPPA!" (I definitely heard an Oppa).
"HE'S HOT!"
The sudden wall of noise almost made me stumble.
I looked out at the sea of faces.
I saw girls in the front row holding up their phones.
I saw the "F4" fan club looking conflicted.
I walked to the horizontal bar.
I chalked my hands.
The white dust hung in the air under the spotlight.
I jumped.
Muscle-up.
As I pulled my body over the bar, my biceps flexed under the stage lights.
The tank top highlighted every muscle fiber I had earned through years of training in Ukraine on my rusty bar and boxing.
The crowd erupted.
I swung into the routine.
Front lever.
360 spin.
The Gienger release.
With every move, the screaming got louder.
Surprisingly, the scream of the girls overlapped with the sceam of the boys.
They were from the Sports Wing.
It wasn't just appreciation for the gymnastics anymore.
It was the "Idol Effect."
Chae-rin was right.
The packaging mattered.
I finished with a double backflip dismount, landing squarely on the mat.
I threw my arms up, chest heaving, sweat glistening on my skin but—miraculously—my hair still perfectly in place thanks to the industrial-strength spray.
ROAR.
The applause was deafening.
Mr. Oh was standing on the judge's table again, flexing his own biceps in solidarity.
I bowed, grinning.
As I walked off stage, I saw Chae-rin standing in the shadows of the curtain.
She was next up for her solo stage.
She was wearing a stunning white dress, looking like an angel descended from heaven.
She looked at me—sweaty, in a tank top, with the crowd still screaming my name.
She crossed her arms.
"Not bad, Commoner," she whispered as I passed her. "You didn't ruin the hair."
"I try my best, Princess," I panted.
"Go get changed," she commanded, adjusting her microphone.
She walked past me onto the stage.
As the spotlight hit her, the crowd went silent instantly, mesmerized.
I watched from the wings as she began to sing.
The "Visual Shock" was fun.
But listening to her voice... that was the real magic.
And tomorrow, I had to stand next to that magic and not disappear.