It was almost nine when Lexie pulled out from the basement parking of her apartment building, the soft summer light already bright over Seoul's skyline. Morning traffic was steady but forgiving — the kind of weekday flow that hummed with people heading into office towers, cafés setting out chairs, and delivery scooters weaving between lanes.
On the passenger seat, a neatly packed tote bag held her old USB drives, a few printed lyric sheets, and a slim leather notebook she hadn't opened in years. The sight of it made something catch quietly in her chest — like meeting an old version of herself she wasn't sure she fully recognized.
A week from now, she reminded herself, heart beating a little faster, Omega Camp starts.
Her phone buzzed with a short message:
Junny Canadian brotha🍁🍂
L:EXIE:
Morning!
I'll wait near the café at the corner
Alright omw 🚗🚗
Eased the car onto the road — city sliding by in glass and concrete, a familiar half‑finished beat playing low through the speakers from her laptop the night before.
When she pulled up, Junny was already waiting on the curb, cap low, coffee cup in hand. He popped the door open, flashing a grin.
"Wow, fancy ride. Morning, Lex."
Lexie huffed a soft laugh, shifting the gear into park. "Morning. Buckle up. And don't spill that coffee, please."
Junny clicked his seatbelt, still eyeing the polished interior. "Seriously though — this is nice."
She shot him a sidelong look, amusement flickering behind her quiet tone. "You could always google me," she teased lightly, almost embarrassed at how it sounded.
"You know I won't hesitate," Junny fired back, already pulling out his phone.
"Look it up," Lexie shrugged, playful but a little shy. "You'll know."
Junny paused, thumb hovering. "Wait — your real name?"
She laughed, warmth chasing away the small nerves. "Alexandra Haerin Jung," she offered, voice softer than before.
Within seconds, Junny's grin stretched into surprise. "Woah... hold on..." His eyes scanned the screen — article after article flashing past:
"Cebu‑based aspiring architect Alexandra Jung bravely leads design team for Papua New Guinea urban development..."
"Award‑winning designer Alexandra H. Jung at the forefront of sustainable master‑planning in Southeast Asia..." ...
Photos of Lexie in sleek black slacks and hard hat, half‑smiling at a groundbreaking ceremony.
"Urban master‑planning? Papua New Guinea?!" he blurted out, laughing under his breath. "Why is it every time we hang out, I get to know something new about you? And not just some small something — like, big something."
Lexie's shoulders relaxed, her laugh quieter, tinged with a faint blush. "Guess I'm full of surprises?"
"You never cease to amaze me, Lex," Junny said, voice softer now, a note of real awe threading through. "Seriously. You amaze me every time."
"Years ago," she added, almost reflexively, as if to downplay it. "Different life, sort of."
He turned to look at her, eyes still lit up. "Still you though," he said simply. "That's badass, Lex."
She caught his eyes for a beat, then looked back at the road as the light turned green. "Thanks," she murmured, the corner of her lips tugging into a small, unguarded smile.
Outside, Seoul kept unfolding — wide boulevards and crooked alleys, signs in Hangul she was still relearning to read without stumbling.
Beside her, Junny leaned back, coffee forgotten in his hand, still half‑smiling at whatever he'd just read.
And though Lexie's chest tightened at the thought of Omega Camp — of the people she might meet there, of Mark — something in that summer morning felt quietly possible.
A reminder that even after years of building walls — sometimes, someone could still see over them.
* * *
When they reached the SM building, Junny tapped his staff ID on the gate scanner, and the barrier lifted smoothly.
Lexie followed, guiding her SUV into an open slot in the underground parking lot reserved for staff and guests.
The engine ticked quietly as she shut it off, hands still resting on the wheel for a second longer than needed.
Here we go, she thought, trying to steady the flutter in her chest.
Junny slung his backpack over one shoulder and glanced over at her, catching the small hesitation in her movements.
"You good?" he asked, voice softer now — not teasing, but gently checking in.
Lexie exhaled, letting her shoulders drop. "Honestly? Half excited, half terrified."
Junny's expression eased into something reassuring, his smile small but real.
"That's normal," he said, nodding toward the elevators. "Means it matters to you. And that's a good thing."
She managed a quiet laugh, the tension loosening just a little. "Guess so."
"And hey," Junny added, voice low as they walked toward the glass doors, "whatever happens inside — you've already got people rooting for you. Including me."
Lexie glanced at him, gratitude flickering in her eyes. "Thanks, Jun."
"Don't mention it. Now come on — the first time only happens once, yeah?"
Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and printer paper, bright light bouncing off polished floors.
Lexie found herself scanning everything: the small plaques listing past awards, framed concert posters, and a wall lined with staff IDs and black‑and‑white trainee photos.
Every few seconds, her gaze darted unconsciously — what if Mark walked by? What would I even say? — but she kept moving.
They checked in at the front desk. The receptionist, polite and brisk, handed Lexie a temporary ID with a small sticker that read Guest 506. Even seeing it in print feels surreal, she thought, running a thumb over the smooth plastic.
Junny guided her down a polished corridor, nodding back at a few staff who greeted him with casual familiarity.
"Most of the producers and creative teams are on the fifth floor," he explained, voice low but animated. "But let's swing by the practice studios first. It's usually quieter this time of morning — easier to settle in."
Lexie followed, her steps slowing as she took it all in:
The faint scent of floor wax and coffee drifting together; walls lined with framed photos from past concerts, muted spotlights catching on glossy surfaces.
An intern hurried by, balancing a cart stacked with bottled water and neatly labeled snack boxes.
Further ahead, soft laughter spilled from a meeting room, blending with the distant thud of bass from somewhere unseen.
She paused near a frosted glass door where a delicate cascade of harmonies escaped — layered vocals and the faint scratch of a pencil keeping time.
It wasn't the size of the building that caught her breath, but the quiet pulse beneath it: the shared language of half‑finished melodies, late‑night edits, and creative sparks catching in real time.
I missed this, she thought, surprised by how true it felt.
Not the spotlight. Not the name on credits. Just... this — the hum of people building something from nothing.
Junny slowed his steps too, glancing back at her. "Hey — before we go up, I wanna introduce you to someone."
They turned a corner and stepped into a glass‑lined lounge area where two people were deep in conversation over a laptop.
Junny raised a hand. "Yo, Eunjae‑ya — got a minute?"
A young woman in jeans and an oversized shirt looked up, friendly curiosity flashing across her face.
"Lexie, this is Lee Eunjae — genius vocal arranger, keeper of coffee secrets, occasional life coach," Junny teased lightly.
Lexie offered a small bow, feeling the polite nerves flutter in her chest. "Nice to meet you."
"Welcome," Eunjae said warmly, pushing her hair behind one ear. "Junny never shuts up about your busking set, so now I'm curious too."
Lexie laughed softly, ducking her head. "He's overselling it."
"Trust me — if he says it's worth hearing, it probably is," Eunjae said, voice light but kind.
Before Lexie could say more, footsteps clicked across the polished floor, and Junny straightened slightly.
"Oh — and speak of legends... Lex, this is Kenzie‑sunbaenim."
For a half‑breath, Lexie felt her heart stop.
Kenzie. The Kenzie — whose songwriting credits had shaped so many tracks she'd quietly studied and admired for years.
Kenzie offered a small, easy smile. "So you're the one everyone's been talking about? Nice to finally meet you."
Lexie blinked, then managed a small laugh that barely hid the rush of adrenaline. "I... wow, it's really an honor. I'm Lexie."
Behind the words, her thoughts tumbled:
You've listened to her harmonies. Learned from her bridges. Borrowed courage from tracks she helped write.
Kenzie just nodded, her tone warm but business‑like. "Junny says you've got something special. Looking forward to hearing it."
Lexie could only nod, heart hammering but steadied by the simple, genuine welcome.
Eunjae gave a small grin, catching Lexie's eye. "No pressure — but hey, if you feel up for it, why not show us some of your live stuff? Just for fun."
Lexie blinked, heat rising faintly to her cheeks. "Like... right now?"
"Yeah," Junny chimed in, his tone light but excited. "Just a few tracks or a quick mix. You don't have to make it perfect — we just wanna hear what your vibe's like live."
Kenzie's expression softened, almost amused. "Think of it less like a test, more like... letting friends peek at your sketchbook."
Junny tipped his head toward the elevators. "Come on. Let's head up to the fifth floor — studio's open, and the monitors there are way better than anything on a laptop."
They stepped inside the mirrored elevator, the soft hum of its ascent filling the momentary silence. Lexie caught her reflection: eyes a little too wide, shoulders drawn tight.
Okay, breathe, she told herself, grounding in the quiet hum beneath her feet.
You've done harder things — whole builds from scratch, sleepless nights with Ethan. This? This is music. This is yours.
Junny shot her a sidelong glance, reading the nerves she tried to hide. "Hey. Doesn't all have to happen today, you know. Just play around."
"I know," she murmured, voice a notch steadier now. "It just feels big."
"It is," Eunjae offered softly. "But the good stuff usually starts when it feels big."
Kenzie, arms loosely crossed, added, "Nobody's looking for perfect. We just want to see you — that's it."
The elevator doors slid open to the fifth‑floor studio — a warm, open space scattered with speakers and a console that felt both professional and lived‑in.
Junny gave her an encouraging glance. "Show them what you've really got, yeah?"
Lexie nodded, rolling her shoulders back as if shaking off the last of her nerves.
She pulled her small MIDI pad and laptop from her tote, fingers moving with quiet certainty as she set it up.
With a single breath, she pressed record and began:
A low kick pulsed first, steady as a heartbeat. Then her voice — soft at first, almost a hum — looped back on itself, layered until it shimmered like something fragile and luminous.
She added a clipped snare, a scatter of hi‑hats, and a deeper vocal harmony twisting under the melody. The loop built and shifted — raw, unexpected, yet deliberate.
Kenzie's eyes lit up, head nodding as she caught the syncopation Lexie threaded through the beat. Eunjae exchanged an impressed look with Junny, who stood quietly, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips.
Lexie's breath caught when she dropped the beat completely for a second — leaving only her voice, raw and unadorned, before sliding it back under a fresh layer of chords.
The room felt like it was breathing with her, every tap and modulation pulling them closer into the pocket of her sound.
As the last echoes faded, Kenzie tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering behind her thoughtful smile.
"Can I ask — are you pitch perfect?"
Lexie hesitated, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. "Partially, I guess," she admitted with a small laugh. "Not fully perfect... but I've always had a pretty strong relative pitch."
Kenzie's grin widened, clearly amused and impressed by Lexie's honesty. "Either way, that's a gift," she said, her tone warm rather than patronizing.
Junny, leaning back against the console, chuckled. "Don't let her fool you — she can build harmonies in her sleep."
Lexie shook her head, cheeks flushing at the teasing, but there was a quiet pride behind her lowered gaze. It felt good to be seen for this part of herself again — the part she'd nearly buried under blueprints and project deadlines.
And standing here, across from people she'd looked up to from afar, she realized just how far that voice — even if only "partially" pitch perfect — had really brought her.