The auditorium hummed with nervous energy.
It was the preliminaries for "Kirin's Got Talent," the solo competition that served as the appetizer for the main Autumn Festival.
Backstage, the air smelled of hairspray, rosin, and fear. I stood in the wings, wearing a tracksuit, stretching my shoulders.
"Next up," the student MC announced, checking his cue card with a frown. "From Class 2-B, the transfer student... Oleksandr Motuzenko!"
A ripple of whispers went through the crowd.
"The foreigner?" "Is he going to play guitar? I heard he's good."
"Maybe a Ukrainian folk song?"
I smirked. Sorry to disappoint.
I jogged onto the stage.
The spotlight hit me.
There was no microphone stand.
No amplifier.
Just a portable, competition-grade horizontal bar standing center stage, dusted with white chalk.
The judges' panel was a study in confusion.
Professor Kim adjusted her glasses and her bun.
Ms. Choi looked mildly offended by the sight of gym equipment.
Mr. Harz, the visiting European vocal coach, looked bored.
But Mr. Oh, the head of the Physical Education department leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with interest.
I didn't waste time bowing.
I chalked my hands, clapped a cloud of white dust into the air, and jumped up, grabbing the bar.
I didn't do a simple pull-up. I exploded upward, pulling my entire upper body over the bar in a fluid muscle-up.
The audience gasped.
I didn't stop.
I transitioned immediately into a front lever, holding my body perfectly horizontal to the ground, defying gravity.
Then, I swung into a 360-degree spin, catching the bar again with a satisfying thwack, and went straight into a series of rapid-fire freestyle bar hops.
It wasn't art.
It was raw power and physics.
When I finally dismounted with a backflip, landing perfectly on the mat, there was a second of stunned silence.
Then, Mr. Oh leapt to his feet, slamming his hands on the judges' table.
"YES! THAT IS CORE STRENGTH! THAT IS DISCIPLINE!" he roared, giving a standing ovation of one.
Professor Kim looked baffled but pressed the 'PASS' button.
"Unconventional... but rhythmically sound."
Ms. Choi sighed, pressing her button.
"At least it wasn't a folk dance."
Three greens. I was through.
Twenty minutes later, the atmosphere shifted from a gymnasium to a cathedral.
"From Class 2-A," the MC announced, his voice respectful. "Yoo Chae-rin."
The Ice Princess walked onto the stage. She wore a simple black dress that probably cost more than my host family's car. She stood center stage, no props, just a microphone.
The lights dimmed to a single, dramatic beam of white.
She didn't need a warm-up. She opened her mouth, and the first note was absolute perfection—a high, sustained pianissimo that shimmered in the air like spun glass.
She sang a heartbreak ballad, a technically impossible song that required insane breath control. Every note was hit with laser precision, every emotion curated and delivered with devastating impact.
The auditorium was deathly silent. You could hear a pin drop.
At the judges' table, Mr. Harz, the stoic European, was dissolving.
He held his smartphone up, recording the performance with one hand while openly weeping into the other.
Tears streamed down his face.
"It's too beautiful," he sobbed quietly in German, checking the translated lyrics on his screen. "The pain... the technique..."
Professor Kim had to lean over and aggressively poke Mr. Harz in the ribs with her clipboard to stop him from making a scene.
When Chae-rin finished the final, dying note, she lowered the microphone and bowed perfectly.
Mr. Harz slammed his 'PASS' button three times rapidly, still crying.
The other judges followed suit instantly.
It was a unanimous, overwhelming victory.
"AND WE ARE ROLLING!"
Kang Min-ah, the school's resident gossip reporter, shoved a microphone between my face and Chae-rin's.
We were backstage, the camera light blinding us. I was still sweaty in my tracksuit; Chae-rin was immaculate.
"The dynamic duo of the parallel classes!" Min-ah chirped, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of the scoop. "San the Jock and Chae-rin the Diva! Both passing with flying colors!"
She turned the mic to me.
"San-ssi, everyone expected music. Why the bar routine?"
"Gotta keep them guessing," I winked at the camera, wiping sweat from my forehead with a towel. "Music is for the main event. This was just a warm-up."
"Ooh, mysterious!" Min-ah turned to Chae-rin. "And Chae-rin-ssi, you made Mr. Harz cry! How does it feel to compete individually against your partner?"
"Is it a competition if the outcome is obvious?" Chae-rin said coolly, looking down the camera lens.
Min-ah squealed delightedly at the shade.
"Spicy! Now, the big question everyone is asking on the forum. You two are paired for the Applied Performance group assignment. How is the preparation going amidst all this solo rivalry?"
Chae-rin didn't hesitate.
She didn't look at me.
She stared directly into the camera, her expression steely.
"Tell the school to prepare themselves," she stated calmly. "We will win."
Min-ah looked like she might faint from excitement.
"You heard it here first, folks! The declaration of war!" She pulled the mic back. "That's a wrap for the preliminaries! Get some rest, competitors, because the real heat starts tomorrow!"
She pointed dramatically at the camera.
"The next round is live, in the Grand Hall, in front of the entire student body and faculty! The day before the Autumn Festival! Be ready, or go home!"