Morning light came pale and cold, filtered through thin clouds that refused to break.
The exhibition’s main day had arrived. Banners hung straight, tables gleamed, and the whole academy buzzed with a tension too tidy to be excitement.
Everything looked ready. It wasn’t.
Mirae arrived early, her hoodie traded for the red STAFF lanyard and a pressed white shirt that Yuna had bullied her into wearing. The air smelled of paint and paper and coffee. The auditorium was already half-full—vendors checking lists, students taping last-minute signs, Taewoo perched on a stage edge like a cat pretending he didn’t care.
“Morning, Hoodie—oh,” he corrected, grinning, “no hoodie. Civilized. Should we be scared?”
“You’d be lost without someone to annoy,” she said, keeping her tone even.
“True,” he sai
