After three more run-throughs, Conductor Lee dismissed us.
We stumbled out into blinding afternoon sunlight.
Starving.
The courtyard had been transformed—long wooden tables covered in plastic-wrapped kimbap, convenience store sandwiches, sliced watermelon, and crates of sports drinks.
Nothing elaborate.
Just fuel.
Orchestra musicians scattered across benches, equally exhausted.
We collapsed onto whatever seats appeared first.
Jaehyuk grabbed two sandwiches, scanning the courtyard briefly before choosing the quieter corner bench—then gestured Sunwoo over.
Harin stood, plate loaded, obviously prepared to start distributing food—
Then caught himself.
He blinked.
Sat down.
Actually ate.
Seungho moved through the chaos with his usual efficiency, passing out drinks—until Woobin intercepted him mid-distribution and physically handed him one first.
"You're not a vending machine, hyung."
Seungho accepted the bottle with visible surprise.
