The second rehearsal didn't start with music. It started with tension.
Hyojin was already there, flipping through sheet music like it had personally offended him.
Jang Ah arrived exactly five minutes late—just enough to make a point, not enough to be unprofessional.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"You're early," she shot back, tossing her bag down.
They stood there, the duet sheet between them like a silent wall.
"This arrangement's a mess," she muttered.
"You're playing it wrong."
"Excuse me?"
He finally looked at her. "You rush the left hand. You always have."
Jang Ah froze.
"…Always?"
She hadn't told him that. No one ever noticed—except one person, a long time ago.
But his expression stayed blank, as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb.
"Let's start again," he said.
She hesitated. Then sat beside him.
Their hands hovered over the keys. Too close. Too awkward.
"You know," she muttered, "for someone who acts like he's better than everyone, your timing sucks."
"Funny," he said, "I was just thinking the same about your attitude."
They played.
At first, it was just notes.
Mechanical. Measured. Two musicians trying to impress, to outplay, to survive the silence between them.
Hyojin didn't want to look at her.
Because every time he did, something stirred inside—a pull he didn't understand. No, refused to understand.
That tune again.
Her fingers landed on the melody, shaping it like she'd owned it forever. Confident. Effortless.
He tried to ignore the chill running down his spine.
Just a coincidence. Just a melody.
But his hands faltered. Just a little.
Jang Ah noticed.
"You okay, maestro?"
He forced a smirk. "Just surprised you didn't mess it up."
"Give it time," she replied, rolling her eyes.
They kept playing. And between chords and harmonies, something shifted.
She began to hum softly—barely audible over the piano.
Then she laughed. Loud, sudden, real.
"Wait—did you just mess up the left hand? You? Mr. Perfect?"
He looked at her. Really looked.
The way her head tilted back when she laughed. The shape of that smile.
It wasn't new.
It was… remembered.
His face went still.
Flashback: Three years ago,A practice room. Curtains half drawn.A girl, unaware of the boy hiding behind the door, played that exact melody—soft, unfinished, like trying to remember it from a dream.
Back in the present, he looked at Jang Ah with new eyes.
Was it really her? Was it possible?
"You okay?" she asked.
He forced a smile. "Just… surprised you hit the right notes, that's all."
She rolled her eyes. "And here I was thinking you had a soul under all that ego."
But inside, the past had already begun to play him.
And for the first time, He wasn't sure he wanted to stop it.
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After an explosive argument, Hyojin offers an unexpected truce: lunch.But between awkward bites and strange questions, one thing becomes clear—They've met before.Even if neither of them wants to admit it.