The next day, Haru decided to skip his break time. He quietly sneaked past the exit of the vocal studio, trying to be as silent as possible. Minju followed closely behind him, looking unusually serious. Normally, she was full of mischief and playful energy—but today, she seemed focused on something much more important. Something that felt real. And heavy.
"I swear it was up here somewhere," she said, pointing toward the stairwell that led up to the roof. Her eyes sparkled with determination.
Haru shook his head. "This door's always locked," he replied, jiggling the handle, hoping it would magically open.
To his surprise, Minju simply walked right through the door as if it wasn't even there."Not for me," she said with a confident smile.
Haru frowned, feeling a little frustrated. "That's not helpful," he muttered, wishing he could pass through doors like she could.
Just then, as he turned back, Riki walked by with a plate full of gimbap. He glanced at Haru and said,"There's a rusted utility door around the side. It's in the left hallway. Nobody really uses it."
Haru blinked in surprise. "Thanks?" he said, unsure how to respond.
Riki shrugged casually. "Well, you're obviously ghost-hunting again. I thought I'd help you out before something haunts us all," he added, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Minju giggled at Riki's comment. "He's growing on me," she said, still smiling.
Haru couldn't help but smile back, thinking that maybe—just maybe—Riki was turning out to be more helpful than he'd expected.
Feeling a mix of excitement and determination, Haru decided to follow Minju and see where this adventure would take them. He was curious about what they might find behind that mysterious utility door. The thought of exploring something unknown made his heart race with anticipation.
With Minju by his side and Riki's unexpected tip, he felt ready to uncover whatever secrets awaited them.
The rusted door groaned loudly as Haru pushed it open, its hinges protesting with a loud, drawn-out screech that sounded almost theatrical. The sound echoed through the silence of the abandoned building, as if the door itself was begging to be noticed. It was the kind of noise that could easily make someone imagine a scene right out of a horror film, full of suspense and dark secrets. Once the door swung fully open, Haru stepped inside a long-forgotten maintenance stairwell. The air was thick with the smell of dust and old snacks long past their prime, remnants of hurried visits by previous tenants or careless students. The walls were coated in grime, and cobwebs clung stubbornly to every corner. At the very top, a sturdy metal hatch lay slightly cracked open, revealing a glimpse of the roof beyond. Haru reached out and pushed it upward, the metal groaning in protest once more. As it swung open, the rooftop stretched out before them, revealing a wide view that had been etched into Minju's memory. That same view she remembered from her fragmented memories: the city skyline shimmering with distant lights, the silhouette of the practice building below, and the faint glow of stars that struggled to shine through the glow of the city below. It all looked the same, as if frozen in time, waiting for someone to notice it again.
Haru looked at Minju, who whispered softly, almost afraid to disturb the quiet, "I used to sneak up here." Her voice was faint but tinged with a mix of nostalgia and longing. "After evaluations, when everything felt too heavy. I was never top-ranked, not the best, but I wanted to believe I could make it someday." Her words drifted into the cool night air, revealing a deep desire to be recognized, to be seen for who she really was. She paused, eyes fixed on the distant skyline as if recalling memories that pulled her back in time. Haru watched her, understanding that this place meant more than just a view; it was a symbol of hope, a symbol of her dreams that once burned bright.
They moved slowly, walking toward the far corner of the roof where a rusted, old bench rested under a broken spotlight that hung haphazardly from a bent pole. The bench looked battered, worn by years of weather, yet it still held a quiet dignity. Next to it, a chaotic pile of debris had collected—discarded bits of broken equipment, crumpled papers, and other forgotten junk. The debris looked like the residue of many past nights and days spent hidden away, avoiding the chaos of the world beneath. But amid all this clutter, something unusual caught Haru's eye—a freshly faded, spiral-bound notebook almost buried under the debris, as if someone had carelessly tossed it aside and forgotten about it.
Minju froze mid-step, her body momentarily stiff with anticipation. Her eyes fixed on the notebook, her breath catching in her throat. A quiet sense of certainty enveloped her as she whispered, "That's it." Her voice was filled with quiet wonder. Haru dropped to his knees carefully and reached out, gently pulling the notebook from beneath the debris. It looked fragile, the cover peeling and torn in places, but something about it felt alive, meaningful. The words "Star Rain" were scrawled in wild, purple marker across the cover, as if the writer had thrown all their emotions into that simple phrase. Haru's fingers trembled slightly as he held it, knowing how much this meant to Minju.
He hesitated only for a moment before opening the notebook. Inside, the pages were filled with scribbled lyrics, chaotic yet passionate. The handwriting was frantic, running across pages with no clear pattern, some lines crossed out, others rewritten and emphasized. Intertwined among the words were sketches of constellations, imagined stars, and abstract designs—frozen moments capturing dreams, fears, and hope. Each page seemed to hold a storm of emotions—anger, sadness, longing—expressed through ink and paper, like a diary of someone wrestling with their innermost feelings. The air seemed to still as Minju leaned closer, her glowing aura pulsing softly, illuminating her face with gentle light. She inhaled deeply, her voice almost a whisper, sharing a memory that suddenly felt very real.
"I remember this line," she breathed, voice trembling, "it's from one of these pages. I wrote it myself." Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she recited softly, "'If I fall tonight, let it be in starlight – so no one sees my ending, just my shine.'" Her voice quivered with emotion, and tears welled up, shimmering against her skin like fog illuminated by moonlight. She didn't try to hide her feelings. Instead, she let the tears fall, quietly, as if finally releasing a burden she'd carried for a long time. The weight of her words and feelings hung in the cool night air, heavy but cathartic.
Haru watched her, silent and understanding. His voice was gentle but firm, "You were good." He wanted her to know her efforts mattered, even if she hadn't always seen it herself. Minju's voice cracked as she whispered, "I wanted it so badly. Not fame. Not awards. Just… to be seen. To matter. To have proof that I existed beyond the surface, that my struggles were real and worthy of acknowledgment." Her words revealed a desire that went deeper than superficial success—an earnest plea to be recognized for who she truly was. The night around them seemed to pause, holding their secrets and hopes close, as quietly as the stars above.
They spent hours flipping through the notebook, their fingers gently brushing against the worn pages. Some of the pages were filled with a different handwriting—it was messier, bolder than the rest.
"That's him," Minju whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "The boy. He added verses. He even wrote the chords to the songs."
As they continued to scan the notebook, they stumbled upon one song that was fully written out. It had a title that caught their attention:
"Final Debut."
The lyrics read:
"Two hearts out of sync, still beating the same.Two ghosts on a stage, whispering our name.If no one hears us, it's okay.The stars did."
Minju clutched her chest as she read the words, a rush of emotions surging through her.
"I think… he loved me," she said softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
Haru felt his heart do a strange little flip at her words.
"You think?" he asked, surprised.
She blinked at him, her expression a mix of sadness and hope. "Are you jealous?"
"Absolutely not!" he replied quickly—too quickly.
She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. "You totally are."
"You're a ghost!" he exclaimed, trying to remind her of the impossibility of it all.
"I'm still me!" she shot back, fierce and proud.
He let out a long sigh, somewhere between exasperated and fond. "You're insufferable."
Minju grinned at him through her tears, her eyes sparkling. "But you like me."
He paused, caught off guard, then finally muttered, "No comment."
But the corner of his mouth was already giving him away.
Later, they sat together under the worn-out spotlight that flickered above them, casting strange shadows on the walls.
Haru turned to a blank page in his notebook, feeling the rough texture of the paper against his fingers.
"I'm going to perform one of these songs," he declared, a spark of excitement in his voice.
Minju's eyes widened in surprise. "What? Are you serious?"
"Someday. On stage, in front of people. I'll finally give this song the attention it never received," he explained, his eyes shining with determination.
She gently floated down beside him, her heart racing at the thought.
"You'd really do that? For us?" she asked, her voice full of hope.
He nodded confidently. "For you. For him. For every dream that got buried before it could shine bright."
Minju stared at him for a long time, taking in his words and the passion behind them.
Then she whispered softly, "I'm so glad you found me."
"I didn't find you," Haru replied, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "You crashed into my life like a glitter bomb—exploding with energy and color."
"Romantic," she teased, giggling.
"Tragic, actually," he countered, raising an eyebrow.
"Both," she agreed, a grin spreading across her face.
They both laughed, their voices blending into the quiet night—like two echoes meeting in the dark—feeling, for a fleeting moment, like the only two people in the world, lost in their dreams and the strange, tender magic of the moment.
Back inside his room, Haru carefully tucked the notebook beneath his mattress. It felt too important to share with anyone just yet. The secrets written inside were his alone—for now—and he wanted to protect them.
That night, as darkness settled and he closed his eyes, a beautiful melody began to drift into his dreams. It was soft, enchanting, filled with feeling. A girl's voice sang sweetly, and a boy's harmony joined in—blending perfectly. The music didn't carry sound in the traditional sense; it pulsed through him, like the beat of a heart, filling him with warmth, sorrow, and something strangely electric.
In the middle of it all, he saw Minju.
She was floating gently above his bed, her form glowing faintly in the moonlight as she gazed at the ceiling, thoughtful and still.
"I don't remember dying," she said softly, barely more than a whisper. "But I do remember this moment. And I really want to remember everything else too."
Haru felt something stir inside him—a spark of quiet determination.
"We'll figure it out," he told her, his voice steady, full of promise.
He turned toward her, focusing fully on her presence. "You're not done chasing the light."
She looked down at him, her smile soft and radiant, full of something deeper than comfort—belief.
"Neither are you," she replied, her eyes shining with trust.
In that moment, neither of them needed anything else.
Together, they would chase the light.Together, they would find what had been lost.