Iris

The first time Iris stepped into Korea Arts High School, she wasn't supposed to be there.

Not because she wasn't talented enough.

Because, technically, she hadn't even applied.

Only a few weeks earlier, Iris had been attending an ordinary school, struggling to keep up with classes while spending most of her time working part-time jobs. Her life had become a constant cycle of school, work, and trying to avoid the people who came looking for her father's unpaid debts.

Her father had never been good with money.

After her mother's death, things only became worse.

Debt collectors had started appearing at their home more frequently. Iris learned to recognize their voices before they even knocked. Sometimes she would come home from school and find strangers waiting outside.

Eventually, Iris stopped going home whenever she could avoid it.

She worked wherever she could find a job.

One evening, while working at a small restaurant, the owner came rushing toward her.

"You're good with music, aren't you?"

Iris blinked.

"What?"

"The pianist didn't show up. Just for tonight. Please. You know how to play, don't you?"

Iris hadn't touched a piano seriously in years.

But when she sat down in front of it, her fingers remembered.

The music came naturally.

She didn't play like someone who had spent years being drilled by professional teachers.

She played instinctively.

Emotionally.

Like she wasn't performing for anyone.

She was simply remembering what music used to feel like.

And sitting quietly among the customers that evening was Principal Kim of one of the most prestigious arts schools in the country.

He watched Iris until the final note.

Afterward, he approached her.

"What's your name?"

"Iris."

"Which music school do you attend?"

"I don't."

He paused.

Then asked,

"Would you like to attend Korea Arts High School?"

Iris stared at him.

Principal Kim offered her a full scholarship.

Tuition.

School fees.

And, most importantly, a free dormitory.

Everything covered.

It was an offer Iris couldn't afford to refuse.

Especially not when she had already decided she couldn't safely return home.

And so, only days later, Iris arrived at Korea Arts High School with a suitcase, an old bag, and absolutely no idea what she had just gotten herself into.

---

On her first day, Iris wandered through the unfamiliar corridors until she heard music.

A piano.

She followed the sound.

The practice room door was slightly open.

Inside sat a girl.

She was alone.

Her posture was perfectly straight, her fingers moving across the keys with controlled precision. Every note sounded deliberate. Nothing was rushed. Nothing was wasted.

Iris stood outside the doorway, completely mesmerized.

She didn't recognize the girl immediately.

But there was something strangely familiar about her.

A girl passing behind Iris noticed her staring.

"You shouldn't get involved with her."

Iris glanced back.

"Who?"

"Rein."

The girl lowered her voice.

"Nobody really likes her. She's cold, arrogant, and impossible to talk to. Just stay away."

Iris looked back into the room.

Rein.

The name suddenly clicked.

Seven years ago.

A piano competition.

A little girl sitting nervously backstage.

Iris had won first place.

Rein had come second.

But Iris didn't remember Rein because she had lost.

She remembered her because after the competition, when Iris had been overwhelmed and upset, Rein had quietly approached her, handed her a handkerchief, and stayed beside her.

They had even played four-hands piano together that day.

Iris remembered those hands.

Those eyes.

That quiet kindness.

It can't be the same girl.

As if sensing someone watching her, Rein suddenly looked toward the door.

Their eyes met.

Rein stopped playing.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then Rein stood, walked toward the door, and stepped outside.

She gave Iris a brief, annoyed look.

Then simply walked past her.

Iris stared after her.

"...Well."

She frowned.

"That was rude."

Still, Iris wasn't going to give up that easily.

---

At lunch, Iris finally found Rein sitting alone.

She walked over with a smile.

"Hey."

Rein looked up.

"I have a question."

Silence.

"Do you remember me?"

Rein stared at her.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then something flickered in her expression.

Recognition.

The girl who had beaten her.

The first person Rein had ever lost to.

The memory she had spent seven years trying to bury.

And yet Rein's face remained completely blank.

"No."

Iris blinked.

"...No?"

"I don't remember you."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

Rein returned to her food.

"You should leave."

Iris stared at her.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened to me."

"You definitely remember me."

"I don't."

"You gave me a handkerchief."

Rein's hand stopped.

Just for half a second.

Iris noticed.

She smiled.

"Aha."

Rein's expression hardened.

"Go away."

And that was their first proper conversation.

It went terribly.

---

Things only became more complicated during piano class.

The teacher announced an upcoming four-hands piano competition.

Then came the pairings.

"Rein."

Rein looked up.

"And Iris."

Iris's eyes widened.

The classroom immediately became noisy.

Rein slowly turned toward Iris.

Iris grinned.

"Looks like we're partners."

Rein looked like she had just been given the worst news of her life.

"I'll manage."

"You don't sound very happy."

"I'm not."

Despite her reluctance, Rein eventually agreed.

And somehow, the two girls began practicing together.

They were completely different.

Iris played with emotion and instinct.

Rein played with discipline and precision.

Iris followed feeling.

Rein followed structure.

And yet, when they sat beside each other at the piano...

Their hands fit together perfectly.

There was something neither of them could explain.

During one rehearsal, Iris froze.

Stage fright.

Her hands trembled.

She couldn't make herself play.

Rein noticed immediately.

She didn't mock her.

She didn't tell her to get over it.

She simply stayed beside her and quietly helped her through it.

"Don't think about everyone watching."

Iris looked at her.

"Then what do I think about?"

"The music."

Rein placed her fingers on the keys.

"Just play with me."

And Iris did.

The fear slowly disappeared.

For the first time in years, Iris felt it again.

The reason she had loved music in the first place.

Because of Rein, the piano no longer felt like something she had lost.

It felt like something she had found again.

Iris became grateful to her.

And, slowly, they became close.

---

Rein had her own reason for wanting the performance to succeed.

She wanted her grandmother's approval.

She had spent years trying to prove herself.

If she could give a flawless performance with Iris, perhaps her grandmother would finally acknowledge her.

But when the performance ended, something unexpected happened.

People were talking about Iris.

Not Rein.

Iris.

Her natural talent had stunned everyone.

Even Rein's grandmother, who had watched the performance with an unreadable expression, gave Rein a rare, indirect acknowledgment.

It wasn't warm.

It wasn't affectionate.

But it was approval.

At the same time, she couldn't hide her interest in Iris.

Iris didn't realize the woman was Rein's grandmother.

The two barely acted like family at all.

Their interactions were distant, formal, and painfully restrained.

Rein's mother, however, was furious.

"How did you let her overshadow you?"

Rein said nothing.

The next morning, she realized everyone had been talking about the same thing.

Iris.

Students gathered around her desk.

"How did you play like that?"

"Did you really teach yourself?"

"How long have you been playing?"

"Where did you learn?"

"Can you play that piece again?"

Iris was practically trapped in her seat.

She laughed awkwardly, trying to answer everyone.

But through the crowd, she noticed something.

Rein.

Quietly leaving the classroom.

Iris immediately excused herself.

"Sorry, guys. I'll answer later."

She followed Rein into the hallway.

"Rein!"

Rein stopped.

Iris caught up with her, smiling.

"That performance was amazing!"

Rein looked away.

"Thank you."

"And you were incredible too."

"..."

"We should practice again."

"No."

Iris blinked.

"What?"

"Find someone else."

Rein walked away.

Iris stared after her.

"Seriously?"

She tried again the next day.

Rein refused.

Again.

And again.

Every time, the same answer.

"No."

"Not today."

"I said find someone else."

Eventually, Iris's patience ran out.

One afternoon, she caught Rein alone in an empty hallway.

"Okay. What is your problem?"

Rein stopped.

"I don't have a problem."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"You've been avoiding me for days."

"I've been busy."

"You're lying."

Rein's expression tightened.

"Iris—"

"No."

Iris stepped closer.

"Every time I talk to you, you act like I did something to you."

Rein said nothing.

"Did I?"

Silence.

"Did I do something?"

Still nothing.

Iris's voice became louder.

"Then tell me!"

Rein finally looked at her.

There was something behind her eyes.

Something Iris hadn't seen before.

Hurt.

"I said I'm fine."

"You're obviously not fine!"

"Iris."

"What?!"

Rein flinched slightly at the sharpness in Iris's voice.

Iris immediately noticed.

Her anger faltered.

But she was still frustrated.

She reached for Rein's hands, stopping her from walking away.

"Look at me."

Rein hesitated.

Slowly, she did.

Iris's expression softened.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

Rein's lips pressed together.

She couldn't say it.

She couldn't admit that she was jealous.

That everyone was looking at Iris.

That her mother had asked why Iris had been better.

That Rein had spent her entire life trying to be perfect, only to realize that someone with almost no formal training could walk into the room and make everyone forget about her.

But Iris wasn't trying to take anything from her.

She never had been.

"I don't want you to worry about me," Rein finally whispered.

Iris stared at her.

"Why would I not worry about you?"