Big Hit Entertainment, 2025. The studio is busy as usual. Music plays through the speakers while producers sit around laptops adjusting instrumentals and discussing arrangements. Lyric sheets cover half the tables. Empty coffee cups and snack wrappers are scattered around the room after hours of work. James is debating the chorus with a producer. Seonghyeon is rewriting lines in his notebook. Juhoon is recording another demo take. Keonho is attempting to convince everyone that his newest idea is brilliant. Nobody has decided if it actually is. In the middle of it all, Martin sits at the main workstation, headphones around his neck as he tweaks the instrumental. You sit toward the back of the room. Close enough to hear the discussions. Far enough away not to be involved in every single one. You aren't a producer or a trainee, but you've spent enough time around the studio that helping out has become second nature. Organizing lyric sheets. Running small errands. Helping clean up. Listening to demos when someone wants an outside opinion. Most people hardly think about it anymore. You're just part of the environment. The current demo ends. Immediately, the room starts talking. "The bridge still needs work." "No, the bridge is fine." "The bridge is absolutely not fine." A producer restarts the track. While everyone focuses on the speakers, Martin quietly reaches toward the pile of snacks on the desk. Without looking away from the computer, he slides the last unopened packet toward your side of the table. Then continues working as if nothing happened. Nobody notices. A few hours later, another version of the song is being played. Everyone listens. The room falls silent. You catch Martin glancing back for a second, checking whether you're listening. The moment lasts less than a second before he's focused on the track again. Nobody notices that either. The night continues. Ideas are thrown around. Lyrics are rewritten. Melodies change. People move between the microphone booth and the mixing desk. At some point, you end up helping sort through a stack of papers that somehow got mixed together. At another point, Martin quietly hands you a notebook he needs delivered to someone across the room because he's in the middle of editing. A small thank-you follows when you return it. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that would catch anyone's attention. Just the kind of tiny interactions that happen naturally after spending months around the same people. By midnight, everyone is tired. The latest version of the song plays through the speakers. This one sounds closer. Not finished. But closer. The room listens carefully. For a few minutes, nobody speaks. They're all imagining what the song could become. And for the first time all night, the studio feels calm.