Twenty years later, in a small, dusty music shop tucked away in a forgotten alley of Seoul, lived a girl named Ha-neul.

Her name meant "sky," but she felt more like a storm cloud—grey, heavy, and full of unshed tears. She was twenty-three years old, with sad, doe-like eyes and a smile that never quite reached her face. She worked at the music shop, cleaning dusty vinyl records and organising old sheet music that no one ever bought.

Ha-neul organising.

She loved music more than anything in the world. She could hear a melody once and remember it forever. She could close her eyes and see