The Echoes of the Piano

The Opera and the Mask

The announcement was a buzz that rippled through the entire school: a prestigious opera grand hall, known for its world-class productions, had agreed to host a special school event, showcasing young talent from their institution. The event would be unlike anything they had done before—a full-scale opera performance. But there was a catch: only two main roles would be cast, the lead soprano and the lead tenor. The competition for these roles was fierce, as every student wanted to be recognized by such an elite institution.

Auditions were set for the following week, and the anticipation was palpable. Minji, as always, seemed at ease with the idea, her confidence unwavering. She loved the art of performance, and she loved the idea of being surrounded by beauty—music, theatre, and the admiration of her peers. Haerin, on the other hand, saw this as an opportunity to prove, once again, that she was the superior talent. It wasn't just about winning anymore; it was about making sure Minji never stood a chance.

The audition day arrived, and the tension in the air was thick. The school's music room was buzzing with nervous energy, students warming up, adjusting their voices, perfecting their techniques. Both Minji and Haerin stood among them, warming up too, but their approaches were drastically different. Minji was calm, taking deep breaths, focusing inward. Her bright smile never seemed to leave her face, even as she noticed the other students whispering about her. Her natural charm always seemed to lift the atmosphere around her.

Haerin, however, was on edge. She was hyper-aware of every other competitor. She had watched them all—their postures, the way they sang, even their mannerisms. She had no time for distractions; she needed this role, this validation, more than anything. *Minji* couldn't have it.

The audition was nerve-wracking, but it was also thrilling. The judges were professionals, assessing each performer with a practiced, critical eye. Minji went first. She stepped into the spotlight with an easy confidence that Haerin couldn't help but notice. Her voice was beautiful, precise, and effortlessly graceful. It wasn't the power that Haerin thrived on, but there was a quiet strength in Minji's performance—a purity that captured everyone's attention. When Minji finished, the judges were immediately impressed, their applause ringing out in approval.

Haerin's turn came soon after. She stood tall, a mixture of anticipation and controlled aggression in her posture. She poured every ounce of her skill into the performance, her voice powerful and sharp. Each note rang out with precision, but it lacked the softness Minji possessed. Haerin's delivery was brilliant, but in a different way. Her voice commanded attention through force and technique.

When Haerin finished, the judges exchanged glances, impressed by the intensity of her performance. Though they appreciated Minji's subtler beauty, they acknowledged Haerin's strength and technical mastery. After what seemed like an eternity, the results were announced.

Minji and Haerin had both been selected for the main roles—the soprano and the tenor. The news was bittersweet for Haerin, who had expected to dominate, but she could still feel the thrill of victory in securing the role. The truth was, Minji's effortless grace had earned her a place in the performance, but Haerin had made sure that, when it came to sheer vocal power, she stood just a little ahead.

---

As the weeks passed, the practice sessions began. The opera hall was magnificent, with its grand chandeliers and velvet-draped walls. The space itself felt magical, like something out of a dream, and Haerin reveled in every moment of it. She was on top now—everything was aligning according to her plan. But as the rehearsals continued, she began to notice something that she hadn't expected: Minji was always there, at her side, offering warmth and friendship.

They spent hours rehearsing together, learning the duets, working on their harmonies, running lines. Minji was focused but never dismissive or competitive. She had a way of making the work feel lighter, more enjoyable. After practice, the two would often go for coffee or a quick meal at the small café near the opera hall. Minji would chatter about school, ask how Haerin was feeling about the performance, or joke about the challenges they were facing in the rehearsal.

Haerin, in turn, played her part. She smiled, nodded, even laughed at Minji's jokes, but inside, she felt a growing unease. Minji's kindness was so *genuine*, and it unsettled her. Every time they hung out, every time Minji made her laugh or complimented her, Haerin felt like she was being pulled in two directions. There was a certain tenderness in Minji that Haerin couldn't deny, and it both frustrated and intrigued her. Minji had no idea about the game Haerin was playing.

At first, Haerin found herself enjoying their time together—enjoying the way Minji's presence calmed her nerves, enjoyed the quiet comfort they shared. But then doubt began creeping in. Why did she feel this pull toward Minji? She wasn't supposed to feel *anything* but rivalry. Minji was her competitor, nothing more. And yet, Minji's warmth felt so easy to be around, so effortless. When Minji smiled at her, it was like the entire world brightened, like everything Haerin wanted to be was just within reach. But that didn't matter. She couldn't afford to feel anything but *dominance*.

Minji, on the other hand, had no idea what Haerin was truly feeling. To her, the time they spent together was just a natural continuation of their friendly rapport. She had always been the kind of person who found it easy to get along with everyone. And with Haerin, it was no different. She had no idea that Haerin saw her as a rival, or that there was any underlying animosity. Minji just enjoyed the time they spent together, finding comfort in the shared experience of being chosen for such an important role.

They were rehearsing one afternoon when Minji suggested they go over some of the duets alone in the practice room. Haerin agreed, though her mind was already somewhere else. The opera was drawing nearer, and the thought of losing to Minji gnawed at her.

They began singing the duet, their voices blending in harmony. Minji's voice soared effortlessly, so light and pure, and Haerin matched it with precision, holding the power of her voice steady but never quite matching Minji's purity. It was moments like these, when Minji's voice wrapped around hers, that Haerin felt a flicker of something—*something* she couldn't quite place.

"Your voice," Minji said, breaking the silence after a particularly beautiful section, "It's so strong. You really know how to make each note feel like it matters."

Haerin blinked, surprised by the compliment. Minji's words were always so sincere, so *pure*, and Haerin wasn't used to receiving compliments from her competitors. Minji wasn't a threat in the way Haerin thought she would be.

"Thanks," Haerin muttered, but the words tasted different. Not quite like victory, not quite like rivalry. She had to remind herself: *Minji's nice, but nice won't win this competition. It's just another thing to manipulate.*

And yet, a tiny part of her didn't want to play that game anymore. A tiny part of her felt the temptation to step away from the rivalry, to just allow herself to *be* with Minji—without the games. But then the sharp, cold reality of her mother's expectations and the desire for control over everything she touched dragged Haerin back to her true goal: Minji had to lose.

But for the first time, Haerin couldn't shake the feeling that, perhaps, in the end, *she* might be the one who lost.

The opera was growing nearer, and with it, Haerin's heart twisted further in confusion.