The morning of the Autumn Festival didn't smell like autumn leaves.
It smelled of tteokbokki, diesel fumes from generator trucks, and pure, unadulterated hostility.
I arrived at the gates at 8:00 AM.
The campus had been transformed.
Colorful tents lined the main walkways—culinary club stalls, art exhibitions, face-painting booths.
It should have been festive.
Instead, it looked like a battlefield.
On the left side of the courtyard: The Navy Blue Blazers. The Kirin students, huddled around their stalls, eyeing the "invaders" with suspicion.
On the right side: The Crimson Red Blazers. The Hanyeong students moved in packs, critiquing everything.
"Their sound equipment is vintage. Like, museum vintage."
"Is that supposed to be an art installation? It looks like trash."
I tightened the strap of my guitar case and adjusted my cuffs.
My hair was styled again—I had woken up at 5:00 AM to recreate the "Comma" look.
It wasn't quite as perfect as the professional job, but it was close enough to turn heads.
"San!"
I flinched.
I knew that voice.
I turned slowly.
Standing near the entrance to the Grand Hall was Kim Yu-jin.
She was wearing her red Hanyeong blazer, a camera strap around her neck, and a look of deep betrayal on her face.
"So," she said, walking up to me. "The 'laundry mix-up'?"
"It was a metaphor," I tried, offering a weak smile. "Life is a laundry mix-up. Sometimes you get the wrong socks."
She didn't smile back. She crossed her arms, looking me up and down.
"You're the 'Foreigner' everyone is talking about on the forums. The one who did the muscle-up routine. The one in H-Wnot."
"That's me," I admitted.
She stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment.
Then, she let out a sigh and shook her head.
"You're a good liar, San. For a moment, I actually thought you were cool."
"I am cool!" I protested. "The suit is expensive!"
"You're Kirin," she corrected, tapping the crest on her own blazer. "And today, that means you're the enemy. Don't expect me to vote for you just because you caught me falling off a chair."
She turned on her heel, her long black hair whipping around.
"Good luck," she called over her shoulder. "You're going to need it. Our vocal team is brutal."
'You told me that you didn't care about the rivalry, bruh.'
I watched her disappear into the sea of red blazers.
"Great start," I muttered. "One friend lost. Zero enemies defeated."
10:30 AM.
Backstage was a pressure cooker.
Chae-rin was pacing back and forth in the dressing room, her heels clicking rhythmically on the linoleum. She looked terrifyingly beautiful in her white shirt and black trousers, her hair slicked back into a high, elegant ponytail.
"Stop pacing," I said from the sofa, where I was tuning my acoustic guitar for the tenth time. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor."
"My father is in the VIP box," she hissed, stopping to glare at me. "He is sitting next to Chairman Park. If I fail... I will be sent to a boarding school in Switzerland."
"Switzerland is nice," I offered. "Good chocolate."
She threw a makeup sponge at me.
I dodged it with my ninja reflexes.
"Team C, $iren! Standby!" the stage manager shouted.
We watched on the monitor.
$iren—boy band—were polished machines. Their hairs were a like a rainbow. One had greenish, other pumpkin... My eyes hurt as I tried to focus... not on their hair colors.
Then came Team D. The "Mystery Team."
They walked onto the stage.
Three third-year boys in matching grey suits.
They didn't dance.
They just stood there and sang an operatic trio that shook the walls.
"Opera?" I groaned. "Who brings opera to a pop festival?"
"It's impressive," Chae-rin murmured, her face paling. "Their projection is massive."
"Team A! Yoo Chae-rin, Oleksandr Motuzenko! You're up!"
I stood up.
I unbuttoned my shirt. I checked my reflection.
The "Comma" hair was holding.
The freckles were covered.
I looked like I belonged.
I walked over to Chae-rin.
She was freezing up.
Her breathing was shallow.
"Hey," I said, stepping into her space.
She looked up, her eyes wide with panic.
"Condition One," I whispered.
"What?"
"Condition One was getting the band together. Condition Two..." I leaned down, lowering my voice to the raspy register G-Dragon liked. "...is making them regret ever doubting us."
I held out my hand.
"Trust the Commoner. I'll catch you if you fall."
She stared at my hand.
Then, she took a deep breath, her "Ice Queen" mask snapping back into place.
She slapped my hand away, but the panic in her eyes was replaced by determination.
"Don't trip, San," she commanded.
We walked onto the stage.
The lights were blinding. The audience was a mix of Navy and Red.
I could see the VIP box in the center balcony.
I sat on the high stool, resting my guitar on my knee.
Chae-rin stood next to the microphone stand.
The room went silent.
I strummed the first chord.
It rang out, warm and melancholy.
Chae-rin began to sing.
"무너진 시간 속에서..."
Her voice was crystal. Perfect. But cold.
Then I joined in.
My voice was rougher, deeper. It wrapped around hers like smoke around ice. I wasn't trying to out-sing her; I was grounding her.
We moved through the first verse.
The audience was quiet—the good kind of quiet.
They cheered and clapped in unison to the chorus.
Then came the bridge.
I leaned into the mic.
I closed my eyes.
I switched to Ukrainian.
"Крізь терни до зірок ..." (through the hardships to the stars).
I neared to face Chae-rin's eyes.
For some reason, she was extremely beautiful today.
She touched my face. Her hand gently hovered down my cheek to my neck.
A ripple of surprise went through the crowd.
The language was foreign to them, the sounds softer, more sorrowful.
It added a layer of exotic longing that English or Korean couldn't touch.
Then, the climax.
We turned our determined faces to the crowd.
Chae-rin hit the high note—the one we practiced a hundred times.
But this time, she took my advice. She didn't just hit it perfectly; she let it break.
Just a fracture.
A tiny, desperate cry in the middle of the perfection.
"WE ARE ALIVE!"
I slammed the chords, adding the percussive slap on the guitar body, driving the rhythm.
I rasped the harmony underneath her, pushing her voice higher.
We faced each other again.
Our hands touched.
There were just two of us on the stage.
Our fingers interlocked.
We ended on a soft, unresolved line.
"We'll be fine."
I let the guitar silent until recording faded into silence.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
The Hanyeong side of the audience stayed seated, arms crossed.
But the Kirin side exploded.
"CHAE-RIN UNNIE!"
"THE FOREIGNER IS GOOD!"
"ENCORE!"
We bowed.
Chae-rin grabbed my arm as we walked off stage, her grip tight.
Once we were in the wings, out of sight, she slumped against the wall, exhaling a breath she seemed to have been holding for ten minutes.
"We did it," she whispered.
She looked at me, her eyes shining.
"You didn't trip."
"I told you," I grinned, feeling the adrenaline crash. "I have good balance."
"Don't get cocky," she straightened her suit.
She checked her watch.
"You have two hours until sound check. Go find your band. And San?"
"Yeah?"
She looked away, her cheeks flushing slightly pink under the stage lights.
"It wasn't terrible."
"High praise," I laughed.
I packed my guitar and headed out the back door toward the amphitheater.
I felt invincible.
I had survived the duet.
I had survived the haircut.
But as I walked into the sunlight, my phone buzzed.
A text from Jun-seo.
[Jun-seo: Get to the amphitheater. Now. Trouble.]
My stomach dropped. I started running.