The annual Kirin's Summer Camp was in full, chaotic swing.
Cicadas buzzed relentlessly in one of the two tall zelkova trees oposite the last row of sakuras at the central promenade, their chorus nearly drowned out by the muffled collision of sound drifting from the main practice wings.
Melodies from grand pianos, the staccato thud of tap shoes, and the soaring vibratos of vocal majors spilled through half-opened windows, turning the sweltering campus into an open-air conservatory.
Somewhere at the back of Kirin the stadium was bustling with local competitions and summer tournaments involving Sports Wing students.
Under the covered pergola near the fountain, a small crowd had gathered around Kang Min-ah.
Min-ah, armed with her camera and a notebook already stuffed with scribbled memos, was in her absolute element. She adjusted her visor, squinting through the viewfinder at the courtyard.
"I'm telling you, this year's evaluation roster is completely different from last year. Something shifted at the last Board of Trustees assembly."
A few second-year vocal students leaned in, fanning themselves with plastic score binders.
"What shifted? Did the quota for the autumn showcase change?"
Before Min-ah could drop whatever speculative bomb she had cooked up, Student Council President walked briskly down the brick path, holding an immaculate clipboard with color-coded practice schedules.
Even in the sweltering July humidity, his uniform shirt was pressed without a single wrinkle, his posture as sharp as a ruler, radiating golden aura and barely visible flowers drifting around him.
"If everyone has finished their lunch break, the ensemble rooms are open," Jun-seo announced smoothly, his tone cutting through the chatter with effortless authority. "Class 2-A has Hall B until three o'clock. Class 2-B is in the auxiliary wing. Please do not leave empty water bottles on the soundboards like yesterday."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Wait. Just a reminder, WE ARE SECOND YEARS, so our signature numbers are 2, respectively. Not 1-A and 1-B. Please don't mess it up like the last time"
Someone grumbled playfully, though everyone immediately began packing up their bags.
A few yards away, slouched beneath the deep shade of a weeping willow, Lee Myung-dae sat with one leg pulled up onto the wooden bench, his dark hoodie pulled halfway over his face and headphones clamped firmly around his ears. He was actively ignoring the entire world, thoroughly committed to doing as little camp-mandated bonding as humanly possible.
Over by the classical hall's glass entrance, Yoo Chae-rin stepped out into the courtyard, clutching her brand bag. Han Min-gyu materialized almost instantly at her side, dutifully offering a chilled thermos of iced citron tea.
Chae-rin took the thermos with a slight nod, her expression unreadable, though she didn't swat his hand away.
The summer camp was bustling with its usual high-stakes Kirin energy—rivalries brewing, duet partners bickering over keys, and trainees obsessing over the upcoming semester.
Yet twelve kilometers across the district, in the lush, air-conditioned pavilions of the inter-school cultural center, a completely different camp was unfolding.
Sitting cross-legged on a low stone retaining wall, casually twirling a polished hickory drumstick between his fingers, was Park Jin-hyun.
His striking silver hair, which he recently dyed, caught the afternoon sunlight, making him immediately conspicuous among the cluster of students gathered around him. Jin-hyun wasn't even supposed to be here—he had ditched his own scheduled rhythm workshop across town just to visit the shared arts summer program, mostly because the vending machines had better imported soda.
"I'm telling you guys, you don't understand the situation," Jin-hyun said, his eyes gleaming with chaotic delight as he leaned toward his audience. "Kirin is bringing in an exchange student."
A trio of students wearing the red-and-gold blazers of Hanyeong High School looked at him, completely unimpressed.
One of the Hanyeong guys, an oboist with neatly parted hair, let out a dry snort and took a sip of his iced latte.
"That's your huge breaking news, Jin-hyun-ah? An exchange student?"
"Do you know how boring that sounds?" a Hanyeong girl chimed in, rolling her eyes. "Hanyeong literally has over fifty international exchange students enrolled every single academic year. We have kids from the States, France, Germany, Japan... it's just standard global curriculum. Why are you acting like the sky is falling over one foreign kid?"
Jin-hyun chuckled, pointing the tip of his drumstick straight at the oboist's forehead.
"Because, my sweet summer child, we go to Hanyeong," Jin-hyun drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. "This school was built by modern venture capitalists who love flaunting international partnerships for marketing brochures. Kirin Arts High is the exact opposite."
He lowered his voice, tapping the drumstick rhythmically against the stone ledge.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Kirin's Board of Directors is run by ancient, stiff-collared aristocratic families who still think the Joseon dynasty had the right idea about border control," Jin-hyun explained, his silver-grey eyes flashing with amusement. "They find the very idea thoroughly disgusting. In Kirin's entire seventy-year history, they have rejected every single international exchange proposal that crossed the Chairman's desk. To them, Kirin is a sacred sanctuary for domestic elite lineage."
The Hanyeong students blinked, the skepticism on their faces beginning to waver as Jin-hyun's words sank in.
"So," Jin-hyun continued, leaning in until he was practically whispering, "if Kirin is suddenly opening its iron gates to a complete outsider from abroad... it means somebody with terrifying, god-level influence forced their hand. Or somebody is setting up the most dangerous, unhinged game of chess this school has ever seen."
The oboist swallowed nervously.
"Who is the student?"
Jin-hyun twirled his drumstick in a dizzying loop, catching it cleanly in his palm with a wide, wicked grin.
"No idea yet," he said cheerfully. "All I know is... the second semester at Kirin is going to be an absolute circus."
He chuckled.
"And I like it."