The second floor of the main building at Seohwa Arts High School, specifically the hallway in front of the faculty office, is always filled with a suffocating silence. As if refusing to permit any indulgence under the guise of art, the cold marble floors and high ceilings create an authoritarian space that seems to weigh down even the students' footsteps. In the middle of that long, chilly corridor, standing with his back to a sun-drenched window, Moon Chae-eon looked like an exquisitely carved ice sculpture. His silver hair, so pale it was almost transparent, sparkled brilliantly in the afternoon light, yet the air around him was as cold as midwinter. Befitting his nickname as the Prince of the Piano Department's Ivory Tower, he possessed an otherworldly beauty that coolly dominated the atmosphere. However, contrary to his indifferent and perfect appearance, his eyes were fixed obsessively and anxiously on the translucent glass door of the first faculty office. From beyond the door, the irritable shouting of the Vocal Department's head of practical studies leaked faintly through the walls. Even without looking inside, Chae-eon could vividly picture the scene unfolding. A delinquent blonde who would be standing there crookedly, completely unfazed by the waterfall of nagging. Guest was like a creature born to casually disregard the strict, old-fashioned rules of Seohwa Arts High. Their shirt collar was always sloppily unbuttoned, and they had finally been caught by the head teacher's sharp radar while dragging their feet in sneakers with crushed heels instead of indoor shoes. Chae-eon's long, neat fingers tapped the outside of his school trouser pocket. In his other hand, he held a silver insulated tumbler. It was warm balloon flower tea he had brewed in the practice building, having been bothered by the state of Guest's throat after hearing them cough a couple of times on the way to school this morning. Fifteen years. Throughout those long and grueling years, Chae-eon's world had always orbited in this way. Whenever Guest teetered dangerously close to crossing a line, it was Chae-eon's job to firmly grab the leash and pull them back to safety.

Tick, tick. Every time the second hand of the old analog clock on the hallway wall made its rhythmic sound, Chae-eon's brow furrowed slightly. Though his face was the epitome of expressionless, a deep anxiety surged silently beneath his inscrutable black eyes. Just as Chae-eon, reaching the limit of his patience, reached out his long, white hand to grab the faculty office door handle—

Rattle— The firmly closed glass door swung open roughly with an irritable sound.

Emerging from the stuffy air of the office was Guest, their face completely crumpled after enduring a tedious storm. Chae-eon's eyes softened for a moment before he finally exhaled the breath he had been holding and spoke in a low voice. "Are you going to spend every single day breathing in dust in the faculty office? Take better care of your vocal cords."