Before the Performance
What truly pushed Yoonjung over the edge wasn't just Jihoon's relentless meddling or his bizarre outbursts of creativity.
No—it was that moment.
The moment he looked her straight in the eye, as if he'd just unlocked the secrets of the universe, and said:
"Hey, what if… you played your cello like a guitar?"
She blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
"You know," Jihoon said, eyes lighting up like he'd just invented fire, "just lift it up and strum it—super spontaneous! Revolutionary, right?"
She stared at him, dumbfounded.
Her cello was nearly as tall as she was. The idea of hoisting that heavy, full-sized instrument—which already reached her shoulders—up to her waist like some overgrown ukulele and strumming it like a busker on the subway platform wasn't just absurd.
It was borderline offensive.
And in that moment, something inside her snapped.
The calm composure, the manners drilled into her by a lifetime of elite etiquette, the polished restraint expected of a chaebol daughter—they all shattered under the sheer weight of disbelief.
"YA! LEE JIHOON! HAVE YOU EVEN HEARD YOURSELF?!"
Her voice cracked through the music room like a cymbal being smashed against a wall. Jihoon, still mid-rant about musical innovation, blinked as if he couldn't comprehend why she wasn't seeing his genius.
"Eh… Yoonjung-ah, listen. Art is about freedom, okay? You can't box yourself in. You've got to feel the music. Flow with it. You're being too rigid—"
But she was already gone. Done. She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, her ponytail snapping behind her like a warning flag.
Jihoon, ever the optimist—or maybe just clueless—scrambled after her.
"Yoonjung! Wait! Hear me out, I wasn't done explaining!"
"YA! CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP FOR ONE SECOND?!" she shouted, whirling around in the middle of the hallway.
Everything fell silent.
Passing students froze in their tracks. Gasps. Whispers.
Everyone knew who she was: Choi Yoonjung, heiress of SK Group and arguably the most elegant girl in the second year class.
And now here she was, yelling in public like a character from a soap opera. At him.
Worse still—for Yoonjung—it wasn't just about being insulted. It was how he insulted her.
Jihoon didn't see her as a woman. Not as the polished debutante she was raised to be. Not as someone with grace, pride, and limits.
To him, she was just a prop in his grand creative vision—another tool to experiment with.
That's what truly broke her composure.
Meanwhile, Jihoon, completely missing the emotional landmine he'd stepped on, glanced around and noticed the crowd.
Eyes. Dozens of them.
The guys in the hallway were glaring daggers at him, like he'd just slapped Beethoven across the face.
A few of them looked ready to throw punches for her honor.
Jihoon's survival instincts finally kicked in.
"Uh… actually, I just remembered—I have a… a thing! Somewhere else!" Jihoon stammered, already backing away.
And before anyone could throw a violin—or something heavier—he spun around and bolted down the hallway.
Yoonjung stood frozen, fists clenched, chest rising and falling with each breath.
All around her, the corridor hummed with whispers.
But Jihoon was gone. And if he had even half a brain, he'd think twice before ever treating her like some kind of science experiment—or worse, a cello-shaped toy.
And yet—somehow, despite the chaos, the shouting, and the bruised egos—they finished the song.
The collaboration was a mess of trial and error, bickering and compromise.
But a week before the school's anniversary ceremony, their piece "Michael Meets Mozart" was finally completed.
Now, it was just a matter of rehearsing, finalizing the digital accompaniments, and preparing for the big stage.
Jihoon had originally wanted Yoonjung to perform live by playing the cello while stomping on a bass drum pedal—because of course he did.
But after her very 'firm' refusal, which may or may not have included a life-threatening warning, and the practical concern of her wearing a skirt onstage, Jihoon finally relented and converted the drum part into a digital loop.
Their final rehearsal was quiet.
No fighting. No arguing.
When they played the full piece together, something shifted.
For the first time, they weren't just two students forced into a project—they were performers, artists, syncing in rhythm.
Their eyes met at the final note, and for a moment, both were surprised by what they'd just created.
Even Yoonjung, who had never cared much for pop music, felt a spark. The melody was haunting yet hopeful, classical yet modern.
She had to admit: Jihoon's madness had a method.
And for the first time, she actually looked forward to stepping on stage.
On the day of the ceremony, Jihoon stood backstage, watching the earlier performers with mild amusement, nodding here and there in appreciation. His usual energy was strangely calm, focused.
Then he turned—and froze.
There she was.
Yoonjung stood quietly in the corner, dressed in a simple yet stunning white gauze dress, her cello by her side, flipping through her music sheet.
She looked ethereal. Like something out of a painting. Still the same Yoonjung, but now softened—her hair tucked neatly, her brow furrowed in quiet concentration, fingers adjusting her bow.
Jihoon couldn't help but smile.
"Hey," he said, walking up and gently taking the music sheet from her hands. "Don't worry. We've got this."
She looked up at him, eyes narrowing for just a second—then relaxing. No words. Just a small, almost imperceptible nod.
For the first time, they were in tune. And the stage awaited.
Seeing Yoonjung holding her cello and walking towards the stage, Jihoon followed behind her with his electronic device on his hand and a wry smile.
When walking behind the curtain, Jihoon heard a cold voice.
"Fighting..."
Jihoon blinked. Then chuckled.
It was the most un-Yoonjung thing she had said all month.
[Michael Meets Mozart]
As the lights dimmed and the screen above the stage flashed the title of their performance, a ripple of curiosity swept through the auditorium.
Michael Meets Mozart.
Whispers erupted.
"What does that even mean?"
"Michael… like Jackson?"
"Wait, Mozart? Together?"
A hybrid of pop and classical?
It sounded like a bad punchline—or an impossible experiment.
Most couldn't imagine how that would sound, but the intrigue was undeniable.
One represented the heartbeat of pop culture.
The other, the spirit of timeless classical music.
And now… they were about to collide.
Then came the bigger surprise.
Yoonjung walked onto the stage with her cello.
Gasps.
It wasn't just that she looked poised and graceful—it was that she was even there.
Most students knew her only as the elegant, untouchable "goddess" of the art department.
Rumors swirled about her family background, her top-of-the-class scores, her perfect drawing.
But no one had ever actually seen her perform onstage outside of stiff competitions or school award ceremonies.
And now she was here—center stage, cello in hand.
The crowd was stunned. Some students nearly choked on their snacks. One guy's jaw literally dropped.
Even the teachers sat up straighter.
Then, right behind her, came Jihoon—wearing a checkered plaid shirt, jeans, and sneakers, looking like he had just rolled out of a music café in Hongdae.
If Yoonjung was elegance incarnate, Jihoon was the very definition of casual rebellion. Together, they were a walking contradiction—but somehow, it worked.
Their outfits, much like the music they were about to play, seemed to harmonize. It wasn't planned, but in that moment, it felt deliberate. Yoonjung was tradition, discipline, legacy. Jihoon was innovation, risk, and rhythm.
She sat tall with her cello, poised and dignified. He busied himself setting up his laptop and MIDI keyboard next to a sleek digital piano.
As Jihoon finished plugging in his cables and queuing the digital loops, he glanced over at her.
She met his eyes.
A silent nod passed between them—steady, sure.
The auditorium lights slowly dimmed, signaling that the performance was about to begin...
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu and Daoist098135 for bestowing the power stone!]