Audition Day
About half a year had passed since the miracle at Aram Middle School's Arts and Culture Festival. It was November now, so closer to seven or eight months. I'd done a lot of thinking. 'With a face like this, couldn't I make it as an actor or idol?' No matter how much more handsome I looked in the mirror—twice as good as before—I could tell. Objectively, rationally, realistically, handsome was handsome.
'It's not like I haven't heard it before.' Someone who doesn't know they're good-looking? Impossible. Even the most oblivious person figures it out eventually. I'd heard the same thing over and over in the past seven months—how could I not know?
"So handsome...."
Whispers like that followed me every time I walked the school hallways.
"You ever think about acting?"
That was from my uncles during Chuseok greetings.
"Seryeon, any plans to audition?"
Even my homeroom teacher said it during career counseling the other day. Nine out of ten people on the street turned to stare, though no one's asked for my number yet. Not many women would hit on a middle schooler, right? Anyway, people treated me like a celebrity without me lifting a finger. No way I could miss that.
'An idol, huh.'
But I couldn't do it. I suck at lying, which rules out acting, and I don't like people enough for idol life.
'I don't hate the stage, though.'
Just... no confidence in committing to that path. At least not right now.
'Composing's what I really want.'
On the flip side, I loved composing too much. It had become part of me. And right on cue, miracle-level luck had come my way. Getting handsome was huge, but regressing back in time was even bigger. So yeah, I wanted to succeed—at least once. Through composing.
The first hurdle? Hanseong Arts High School.
Past-me couldn't even dream of it. By the time I got into composing, I was already in college. A high school grad going back to high school? No way. But now? Fresh middle school third-year, full of potential. Tuition was shaping up too.
How?
Altcoins are a godsend. Shame I couldn't sweep up all the Bitcoin—the regression didn't go back quite far enough. A little earlier and I'd be set. Still, buying coins I vaguely remembered paid off big. This covered arts high tuition and gear no problem.
I locked my phone screen and looked around. Lunchtime bench outside, golden autumn sun pouring down. A beautiful day. Birds singing, kids playing, maples blazing red. I hadn't just been staring at coins. Why else would I sit out here?
Sunlight shattering on the field. Wind whispering. Horizon in the distance. All of it—chords. I had this kind of synesthesia. See an image, and a fitting melody pops up naturally. Wild ability. At first, I thought I was a genius. That delusion faded after enough tracks bombed.
'Can't just switch up my process now.'
Outside, I soak in scenery. Pull melodies from images, record them rough. At home, refine with theory and tech. Tracks were nearing completion. Time to test them.
And perfect timing—a spot opened up.
Aram Middle School Arts and Culture Festival
Just yesterday, I'd submitted my performance application.
Late autumn outside the window. Bench in the sunlit courtyard. Kim Seryeon sat there like a movie scene. Third-year middle schooler, age of chuunibyou delusions. Cringy concept for most, but he pulled it off.
"He looks so cool like that."
Any flaw in his looks, and it'd scream try-hard. Seryeon allowed none. What seemed weird on others became charm on him. Magnetic, secretive allure that demanded a closer look.
"Kim Seryeon's aiming for composition, right?"
"For real?"
He hadn't broadcast it, but class 3-2 gossip spread fast. Third semester, seniors shared exam intel inevitably.
"Our homeroom teacher mentioned it."
"I asked him once."
"Whoa, you talked to Seryeon?"
Credible sources reframed him.
"Kinda has that artist vibe."
"Music playing in his head, right?"
"Genius types do that."
Even clueless, he seemed deep—turns out, music prodigy. Talk shifted.
"So he's really going to arts high?"
"Yeah, Hanseong Arts High."
"How'd you know?"
"Overheard teacher on admissions."
Middle school endgame: high school next, arts exams looming.
"Bet he'll perform at the festival then."
"Huh?"
"Think so?"
"I'd faint."
"Me too."
Amid the buzz, one girl stared quietly out the window. Friend poked her soft arm.
"Kang Saero, you're prepping for arts high too, right?"
"Yeah, vocals."
Kang Saero, class 3-5. Envy magnet like Seryeon—or more. Dad: national actor. Mom: OG idol. Prime genes, killer looks and talent. Perfection incarnate.
"Heard Seryeon's going too."
"Composition major."
"End up at the same school as you?"
Jealous questions flew; Saero shrugged.
"Maybe."
Gorgeous people? Childhood norm. Handsome actors? Peak idols? Mom and Dad's juniors, dropping by for hellos. No thrill in peers—especially concept kids.
She propped her chin on blanket-draped hands, glancing out.
"Not worth the hype."
"Gasp."
"Seriously?"
"Only Saero could resist."
No—just a side-eye, but damn, he was different. Kim Seryeon.
'...Kinda is, though.'
Back door flew open; girl burst in panting.
"Saero here?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"One more festival applicant. Audition today."
"Ehh?"
"No 'ehh'! We gotta judge!!!"
Saero was student council exec. Pre-screened acts for smooth fest: check basics, weed out jokes. Simple stuff. So why the panic?
"Not a big deal, is it?"
Auditions were routine. Why the drama?
The girl shook her head, catching breath.
"It is this time."
"Why?"
"Kim Seryeon applied."
Gasps filled the room before Saero reacted. Message delivered.
"After school for auditions, got it?"
"Yeah, heading right over."
Post-lunch to dismissal—time aplenty. But Saero's head filled with him.
'Is he really that big a deal?'
Today's auditionee: fellow arts hopeful Kim Seryeon. Knew he was hot—endless chatter. Curious, sure. But never classmates in three years. End of story.
'How handsome can one guy be?'
Didn't chase like other girls. Looked desperate. But chance sightings? Unavoidable. Honestly? Each time, a little spark. Maybe that's why she dodged him. Cool aloof miss who ignores the chased guy?
'...'
'Annoying.'
Saero scowled, shaking it off.
After-school music room: silent. Late afternoon sun filtered through windows, dancing on dust motes. Dry, peaceful scene—but fleeting. November's near-winter; sun set early.
Saero and two execs sat at a long table, score sheets ready.
Click. Click-click.
Saero's pen cap clicked loudly.
'When's he coming?'
Whiney—five minutes early still. Soon, door eased open. Seryeon entered with acoustic case.
"Hello. Kim Seryeon, class 3-2."
Low, calm voice. He bowed lightly, sat, unpacked guitar smoothly.
Saero's breath caught. Routine setup. But on him? Cinematic slow-mo.
'Hoo.'
Swallowing a gasp—or whatever—she asked evenly,
"What piece did you prepare?"
"Original composition."
No more words. Eyes closed, opened. He sank into his world.