A dazzling display of talent strikes the stage, making it impossible to lower the curtain or anticipate an end.

The music, filled with disdain and contempt, progresses as the keys follow the sheet music, introducing new emotions.

Even in this moment,
there is nothing by my side but broken fragments.

Lee Jae’s eyes shift beyond the camera, gazing at the audience. Many are watching in a daze, yet none of the people he desires to see are there.

Neither his distant mother,
nor his father, who built a new family and pretends he doesn’t exist.

In the end, no one came to see him. What meaning does this world hold, filled only with broken pottery fragments?

The feeling of loss, mixed with the anger that fills that void, presses down on the keys.

La Campanella.

A piece praised in both the past and present for its difficulty to perform, now reborn under the fingertips of a genius fueled by hatred.

Even the most musically ignorant could see the undeniable truth:
High Dream can never defeat Lee Jae.

How could a mere high school club-level band possibly overcome that? A performing arts academy, sure, but at the end of the day, they’re just high school students.

“It’s incomparable.”

Edward Park’s gaze stayed glued to Kim Dong-hoo, no, to Lee Jae.

“A maestro.”

That was the realm of a maestro. The ideal destination for those who seek perfection.

It was a dictatorial talent—mocking and trampling others in order to rise higher.

A position that some could never even glimpse, no matter how hard they tried.

With every note Lee Jae played, the story warped and twisted.
Could the audience still call for High Dream’s encore after witnessing this?
Do you think that’s even possible?

Lee Jae seemed to be asking Lee Min-ha, the writer.

Are you really giving those beneath me a chance,
just to show some shallow beauty from the bottom? Are you forcing this opportunity?

Crackle.

The script Lee Min-ha had been holding crumpled in her hands.
A story she had stayed up countless nights writing.
A script she believed would certainly succeed, convinced it was the key to her next hit.

The story of an underdog rising against a genius,
a narrative that was destined to win, where effort would ultimately triumph over talent.

But now...

“How arrogant was I?”

Only now does she realize how absurd that story was.
A genius who doesn’t put in the effort can eventually be caught by a hardworking average person.

But what about a genius who does try?
Could someone who has lost everything, sinking into deep loss and clinging only to the piano, be defeated?

There was no glimmer of hope in Lee Jae’s eyes.
They said it was garbage not worth playing.

“What am I even watching?”

Lee Min-ha stared blankly at Lee Jae.
Could that performance truly be defeated?
Could the story really flip with just one encore from a band?

“I can’t imagine it.”

The story she had worked so hard to build was slowly unraveling in her mind.

Thud.

The script she had been holding fell to the ground, becoming soiled.

Lee Jae wouldn’t lose.
There wouldn’t be any encore for High Dream,
and the stubborn judges wouldn’t change their minds after seeing High Dream’s performance.

As the music raced toward its conclusion, Lee Min-ha’s thoughts grew increasingly chaotic.
For a satisfying ending, High Dream had to win.
The show was called High Dream, after all. It made no sense for High Dream to lose.

But...

“Will people still think that after seeing this?”

Her gaze shifted from Lee Jae to the faces around the set.
Faces filled with shock, dazed expressions all around.
Some were gripping their bodies as if to shake off the goosebumps.

Even the cinematographer couldn’t keep his eyes on the camera.
If he let his focus slip for even a moment, his body would naturally gravitate toward the real Lee Jae, not just through the lens.

The relentless violence of talent overwhelmed the story, urging everyone to face reality.

“…!”

At the peak of the performance, Lee Min-ha felt as if she had locked eyes with Lee Jae.

I am the character you created.
Do you think it’s right for someone as perfect as me to lose?

Tell them,
tell those beneath me to admit defeat right now.

The delicate, intricate performance wrapped around her neck like a noose.

A commanding presence that would not allow for defeat.

Under that pressure, Lee Min-ha unconsciously lowered her head.
And at that moment, she realized.

“I need to prepare.”

A second story would be necessary.

“The story is going to change.”

For now, things would follow the original script,
the flow that had been promised couldn’t be altered.

But when Lee Jae is revealed to the world,
everything will be upended.

+++++

“I’m supposed to beat that?”

Jin Soo-hyuk looked up at Lee Jae’s performance with a dumbfounded smile.
High schoolers are supposed to beat that? No matter how you slice it, even for a drama, that’s ridiculous.

He was witnessing a performance that could easily be taken on a concert tour, and somehow, they were supposed to win against that?

“The whole theme of High Dream is falling apart.”

The story of underachievers whose efforts eventually shine through.
A hopeful message that if you don’t give up, you, too, can succeed.
That very theme was about to be tainted by one person.

“Kim Dong-hoo.”

If he were simply playing the piano, one might say this wasn’t really acting.
But right now, Kim Dong-hoo was fully immersed in the role of Lee Jae while performing.

The overflowing contempt was unmistakable.
It felt like he was continuously demanding reverence.

He was different.
Originally meant to be a villain designed to lose within five episodes, he was fighting back.

No, calling it a struggle would be laughable.
How is it struggling when he was completely trampling everyone else beneath him?

Tremble.

His hands trembled slightly.
Was it Song Chul-soo who was trembling, or Jin Soo-hyuk, the actor playing him?

It was hard to tell, as his mind was spinning in confusion.

He was supposed to rehearse for the encore scene in a bit,
but his hands wouldn’t move.

No matter how much they struggled, it would be pointless.

His body already understood this.
No matter how hard they fought, there was no escaping Lee Jae’s warning in the music.

+++++

The performance was racing toward its conclusion.
The time allotted to me was coming to an end.

More, more, more.

I wanted to crush those insignificant beings beneath me.
I wanted to engrave into their bones just how high the wall of talent stood,
how futile it was to try and break it.

“What a shame.”

With a final touch of all ten fingers on the keys, the performance ended.
A crisp, resonant bell marked the conclusion of this violent display of talent.

But not everything had ended.

After the performance, I slowly surveyed my surroundings.

Judges filled with shock, people beyond the cameras in a trance.
Yet, the face I longed to see was not among them.

“…”

Without a word, I grabbed the microphone attached to the grand piano.
Originally, I was supposed to sing while playing,
but I had changed everything to showcase the realm of true genius.

To display this dazzling brilliance.

“Thank you for listening.”

I offered a calm thanks to the judges and the audience.

Then, passing by them, I walked slowly toward the back of the stage.
The camera followed, and I looked up at the ceiling with an empty expression.

“In the end, no one came today either.”

A packed audience didn’t matter.
If the person who needed to hear it wasn’t there, what was the point?

I glanced over in the direction of the High Dream members.

“Those idiots, laughing without a clue.”

It was hollow.
I hated myself for having to face these pathetic beings alone after the performance.

The reality of feeling inferior to such lowly people,
being envious and jealous of those beneath me...

“How foolish.”

It was unbearably shameful.

Backstage.
Alone once again, all I could do was bury my face in my knees
and quietly cry where no one could hear me.

“Kaaaah!”

As soon as the OK signal came from the cinematographer, I shot my head up.
Lee Jae vanished completely from my body, leaving not a trace of the emotions behind.

“Dong-hoo! How? How did you even think of that?”

PD Kim Young-mo shouted, rushing toward me in excitement.

“Kim Dong-hoo! Can you... can you shoot multiple takes of this? Are you alright physically?”

But someone was even more excited.

“Kim Dong-hoo! How did you interpret Lee Jae to come up with this? Tell me!”

“Uh, what?”

The cinematographer Ji Jang-min and writer Lee Min-ha were both charging at me with intensity.

+++++

After deciding to take a break and reshoot the scene from different angles, I let out a deep breath and chewed on some fishcake.

“I thought ad-libbing by not singing was risky, but it worked.”

Not bad at all.

As I sipped the fishcake broth, someone approached.

“Dong-hoo, there you are.”

It was Kim Yu-ryeon, the mother of Soo-jin and a once-famous actress.

“Yes, we’re taking a break before continuing the shoot.”

“Christmas is coming soon. Do you have any plans?”

“Uh...”

Do I?

I glanced at Seok-ho hyung, and being quick to catch on, he shook his head.

“No, I don’t.”

“Really? Then how about we have a meal together?”

“It would be an honor.”

“Honor? It’s just a meal.”

Kim Yu-ryeon smiled brightly, apparently pleased with my response.

“Oh, and by the way, if you’re taking a break, it might be better to rest in the classroom.”

“The classroom?”

“Yeah, it’s indoors, and we’ve turned the heater on, just in case. It’s nice and warm. We were resting there earlier.”

“Really? Thank you for telling me.”

“Go to Classroom 1 on the first floor. That’s where we’ve set it up.”

“Got it!”

Wait, there's a heated room and no one told me?
Oh well, at least I know now.

There’s nothing better than warmth in winter, so I headed straight for Classroom 1.

“Why’s it so dark in here?”

Shouldn’t the lights be on if it’s a rest area?
I thought as I flipped the switch.

“Huh?!”

“Oh my, it’s been a while, and the first thing you say is ‘Huh?!’”

“Kim Dong-hoo, you’ve lost it, haven’t you?”

Grinning widely at me was Soo-jin.