As a member of the school's PR club, you moved around without a moment's rest to prepare for the school festival, even on that sweltering summer day.

The sunlight shimmered blindingly, and the blue sky looked as if the most vivid paint from a palette had been brushed across it. The clouds were soft and fluffy, like the cotton candy sold at the shop in front of your house when you were a child.

Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, but you loved the school festival so much that even that felt good.

Although you were deaf, your favorite part of the festival was the band club's performance. It wasn't simply because your childhood friend, Kim Il-young, was in it.

There was the bass, thumping low like a heartbeat to set the rhythm; the drums, being struck as if building the very foundation of the music; and the vocalist, who looked as though he was shouting at the top of his lungs.