The beat dropped like a bomb.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
The amphitheater didn't just vibrate; it quaked.
I was wearing a stolen Hanyeong blazer, a cheap wig, a mask, and a blueish baseball cap, standing next to a masked Jun-seo ("Jay"). We weren't H-Wnot anymore. We weren't Kirin students. We were just two guys on a stage, fueled by adrenaline and BigBang.
I knew the choreography. Every Korean teenager—and every exchange student who wanted to survive karaoke—knew the choreography.
I spun, pointing my finger-guns at the crowd.
The crowd screamed the lyrics back at us. A thousand hands shot into the air, mimicking the move. It was a sea of Red and Blue, united by the sheer power of Kings of Kpop.
Jun-seo was laughing behind his mask. He leaned into my shoulder, riffing on his guitar, while I hyped the front row.
The bassist of Youthful Memoirs—a lanky guy wearing a fox mask—stepped up to the mic as the song hit the bridge.
"Who is this guy?!" he shouted, pointing at me. "Is he Hanyeong? Is he Kirin? Make some noise for the Mystery Guest!"
ROAR.
The bassist leaned over to me, covering his mic.
"Hey! Do you have a name? The crowd wants a name!"
I froze. A name.
I looked at Jun-seo. I remembered the ballad he sang in the club that night. Chingu. Friend.
"Friend..." I muttered. Then I anglicized it.
I grabbed the mic.
"I am..." I deepened my voice to a growl. "Fred."
"FRED?!" the bassist shouted to the crowd. "GIVE IT UP FOR FRED!"
The crowd chanted.
"FRED! FRED! FRED!"
The drummer, a guy in a rabbit mask, hit a rimshot.
"Nice moves, Fred! You should join the band. We need a dancer!"
I checked the time on the stage monitor. The song was ending. The magic hour was over.
"I can't," I said into the mic, bowing dramatically. "My friends are waiting."
The final note hit. BANG.
I didn't wait for the applause. I dropped the mic, threw a peace sign, and sprinted into the darkness of the wings before anyone could stop me.
"Fred! Wait!" Jun-seo called out, reaching for me.
But Fred was already gone.
I tore the wig off my head as I ran behind the props shed. I stripped off the Hanyeong blazer and tossed it onto a pile of cables. I ripped the mask off, shoving it deep into my pocket.
My white dress shirt was soaked with sweat. My chest was heaving.
"Compose yourself, San," I hissed. "You are not Fred. You are a sick patient."
I wiped my face with my sleeve, messed up my hair just a little to look disheveled, and walked back toward the seating area.
I found my row. Leo was sitting there, clutching his glasses. Ha-neul was guarding my bags like a bulldog.
"San!" a classmate sitting next to Leo shouted over the noise. "Where have you been?! You missed it! Youthful Memoirs had a guest performer! A Hanyeong guy named Fred! That mysterious fan from Hongdae! It was insane!"
I slumped into the empty seat, clutching my stomach and groaning.
"Ugh..." I grimaced, crossing my fingers inside my pocket. "Don't talk about loud noises. My stomach is killing me."
"What happened?" Leo asked, his eyes wide with concern.
"Kimchi," I lied smoothly. "I think I ate too much bad kimchi at the food stalls. I spent the last ten minutes fighting for my life in the bathroom."
"Oh no!" Leo immediately stood up. "Take my seat, San-ah. It has a cushion. Sit, sit."
"You're too kind, Leo," I said weakly, sinking into the chair.
I smirked internally. Oscars 2016, here I come.
"And now..." Kang Min-ah's voice returned, but this time it was serious. "The moment we have all been waiting for."
The lights dimmed. A drumroll started.
"To present the Grand Prize of the Autumn Festival... please welcome the Principal of Kirin Arts High School, Mr. Kim Dong-wook!"
Leo stiffened next to me.
An elderly man in a sharp grey suit walked onto the stage. He had a cane, but he walked with dignity.
Why is he using a cane? I've never seen him use it, lmao.
He adjusted the microphone, looking out at the students over his spectacles.
He held an envelope.
"Good evening," he said. His voice was raspy but commanding.
He opened the envelope. His hands shook slightly. He squinted at the English letters.
"The decision... was very hard," Principal Lee said slowly. "Both schools... excellent."
The silence was suffocating. The Red side held its breath. The Blue side prayed.
"But... the winner... for impact... and originality..."
He brought the paper closer to his eyes.
"H... Double... Not?"
He looked up, confused by the name.
"H-WNOT!"
For a second, I didn't process it. He was wrong with the spelling.
Then, the Blue section erupted.
"WE WON!"
"KIRIN! KIRIN!"
"H-WNOT!"
Myung-dae's friends in the back row were screaming, jumping on the benches.
I sat there, frozen. We won? The rejects? The 'Sabotage'?
"San!" Leo shook my shoulder. "You won! Go up! Go get the trophy!"
I looked around.
"Where is Jun-seo?" I asked.
He was nowhere to be seen. He was probably still stuck backstage changing out of his 'Jay' costume.
I looked at Myung-dae. He was standing near the exit, looking shocked. His friends were pushing him toward the stage, but he was shaking his head, crossing his arms, refusing to go. He was too cool—or too scared—to accept it alone.
"San!" Leo urged. "Someone has to go! Grandpa is waiting!"
I looked at the stage. Principal Lee was holding the golden trophy, looking around awkwardly for someone to claim it.
I stood up.
"Fine."
I scanned the area. My eyes landed on a figure standing near the aisle.
Park Jin-hyun. The drummer.
I smiled ominously.
"HE-HE-HE-HE!" I laughed like some maniac.
He was clapping politely, a bitter-sweet smile on his face, looking ready to leave.
I walked over to him.
"Let's go," I said.
Jin-hyun blinked. "What?"
I grabbed his wrist.
"We won, idiot. We're going up."
"No," Jin-hyun pulled back, his eyes widening. "I can't. The Hanyeong guys will kill me. My dad is watching. Let go!"
I tightened my grip.
"You played the drums, didn't you?" I said, flashing him an ominous smile that I had learned from Chae-rin. "You made the noise. You take the credit."
I pulled.
Jin-hyun dug his heels in, but it was useless. I had spent months doing pull-ups on a rusted bar. My grip strength was rated for gymnastics, not for dragging reluctant drummers, but it worked just fine.
"Wait! San!" Jin-hyun yelped as he slid across the floor. "Why are you so strong?!"
"Shut up and smile," I hissed, dragging him toward the stairs. "We're making history."
I hauled him up the steps. The spotlight hit us.
Me, with my rolled sleeves and messy hair. Jin-hyun, looking terrified and flushed.
I let go of his hand and shoved him toward the center.
"H-Wnot!" I shouted into the mic.
The crowd roared.