354: Best season

Seoul's Subway Line 2 is always surging with crowds.

That day, I was leaning against the corner by the carriage door, listening to a newly mixed demo in my headphones, my mind still agonizing over the harmonic progression of that bridge. The carriage swayed gently, my gaze wandering aimlessly, and then—

It stopped.

On a seat diagonally across from me, a girl was looking down at her phone. A black mask covered most of her face, and her beanie was pulled down low, revealing only a few stray strands of hair. She was wearing white wired earphones and an oversized hoodie, curled up in her seat like a small animal afraid of the cold.

There was nothing special about it. In the Seoul subway, such outfits are everywhere.

But for some reason, I couldn't look away.

She occasionally swiped the screen with light movements. The carriage lights cast a small shadow over her downcast eyelashes. Suddenly, she seemed to see something interesting, and her eyes crinkled—even with the mask on, I could tell she was smiling.

In that very moment.

It felt like my heart had been gently bumped by something.

I had never felt this way before.

I thought of the half-line of lyrics I had just written, which I hadn't had time to compose music for yet. At that moment, I suddenly understood how that line should be sung—gently, as if afraid of disturbing something.

The train arrived at the station; she stood up, walked past me, and disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there until the chime for the closing doors rang out.

Later, I thought, if I hadn't taken that subway that day, if she had sat in a different carriage, if I hadn't looked up at that exact second—

But there are no 'ifs'.

Or rather, fortunately, there aren't.

---

A new batch of trainees arrived at the company, but I wasn't very interested. Training rookies is too exhausting, and for most people, I know whether they have 'it' the moment I first lay eyes on them.

That afternoon, I was adjusting tracks in the recording studio when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door pushed open a crack, and half a face peeked in first—covered by a mask, but those eyes...

I froze for a moment.

It was her. The girl from the subway.

"Hello!" She bowed slightly, her voice sounding a bit nervous. "I heard Producer-nim is giving free guidance to trainees... I don't know if there are any spots left, but I want to..."

She paused, as if gathering her courage: "I want to try."

I leaned back in my chair, looking at her.

She took off her mask. She was clearer than the fleeting glimpse I'd caught on the subway—her features were delicate, but not a cold kind of delicate; they were... how should I put it, like a small animal. Her eyes were bright, filled with a bit of anticipation and a forced composure that said, 'It won't be too embarrassing if I'm rejected.'

"Name?"

"Kim Minjeong," she said. "I am trainee Kim Minjeong."

I pointed to the microphone in the corner: "Can you sing 'Into the Unknown'?"

She nodded, walked over, and put on the headphones.

Then she opened her mouth.

I had originally intended to just give her a casual try—many trainees get nervous the moment they enter the recording studio, their voices becoming as stiff as wood. But she didn't. Her voice had something very special: clear, but not thin; powerful, but not forced.

More importantly, when she sang, there was something in her eyes.

That thing is called 'desire'.

When the song ended, she took off the headphones and looked at me somewhat anxiously.

"Tomorrow at 3 PM," I said, looking down to pretend I was checking the sheet music. "Don't be late."

She was stunned for a moment, and then her eyes crinkled—that same smile from the subway.

"Kamsahamnida!" She bowed. "I will definitely work hard!"

The door closed.

I continued looking at the sheet music, but found I couldn't focus on it at all.

---

From then on, she came three times a week.

I called it "free guidance," but I actually taught her very seriously. She was very serious too—whatever I asked her to practice, she would definitely have it perfected by the next time she came. Sometimes when I said, "You can ponder this part a bit more," she wouldn't ask further questions; she'd just nod, and when she came next time, she would indeed have figured out a better version.

But as we became familiar, her true self began to emerge.

For example, once I pointed out that her handling of a certain high note wasn't relaxed enough. After listening, she blinked and whispered, "But I thought it was pretty good..."

"You thought?" I raised an eyebrow.

She immediately cowered: "Okay, I'll practice more."

But two minutes later, she muttered softly again: "Actually, it really was pretty good..."

"I can hear you."

She immediately shut up, pretending nothing had happened.

I held back a laugh.

Another time, she was practicing particularly smoothly. After recording a take, she looked at me proudly: "How was it?"

"It was okay."

"Okay?" Her eyes widened. "Just okay?"

"What, do you want me to praise you?"

She thought about it and nodded: "I do."

"...Go back and practice three-stage breathing."

"Ah..." She pouted, but she was still smiling.

That smile, how should I put it.

It was like a puppy running over with a toy, then running away, waiting for you to chase her.

Later, during a group dinner, she mentioned she was born a few days earlier than me, and from then on, she found her "weapon."

Every time I couldn't win an argument with her, she would put her hands on her hips—

"Yah! I'm the Noona!"

"You're clearly just..."

"Noona!" She interrupted me, her eyes round as she tried to put on a dignified look. "Noo—na—"

She dragged out that "Noona," her voice rising at the end, carrying a bit of pride, a bit of coquettishness, and a bit of smugness that said, "You can't do anything about me, can you?"

I really couldn't do anything about her.

"Ne, ne, Noona-nim." I raised my hands in surrender.

She smiled with satisfaction, her eyes curving into two crescent moons.

At that time, I hadn't realized that this feeling of "having no way out" might not just be because she was my Noona.

---

Later on, she debuted.

aespa, Winter.

I saw her debut stage on TV—was she the same person as that girl curled up in a ball on the subway wearing a mask, and that trainee who carefully asked "Can I try?" in the recording studio?

She was.

Standing on the stage, Winter was so dazzling that one couldn't look away. When the lights hit her, her whole being seemed to glow. Her dancing was sharp and clean, her voice was full of penetration, and her gaze—she was no longer that anxious little trainee; she was confident, resolute, and possessed the air of "I know what I'm doing."

But some things hadn't changed.

In the backstage of a music show, she saw me, her eyes lit up, and she came jogging over.

"How was it?" she asked, her tone exactly the same as back then—clearly wanting praise but insisting on pretending to ask casually.

"It was okay."

She immediately glared: "'Okay' again?"

"What, not satisfied?"

She thought for a moment, then suddenly laughed: "I'm satisfied. When you say 'okay,' it means it's very good. I know."

"You know?"

"Of course I know." She tilted her head slightly. "I'm the Noona, of course I know."

At that time, people were coming and going backstage, staff members were passing by pushing clothing racks, other artists were walking past, and her teammates were calling her from not far away to get ready for the stage.

She just stood there in all that busyness and noise, looking at me and smiling.

That smile was the same as the fleeting one on the subway, the proud one in the recording studio, and the one when she put her hands on her hips and shouted "Noona" at the dinner.

I had never felt this way before.

This sentence suddenly popped into my mind.

I want to pull you into my arms and dote on you.

---

The work in the recording studio ended late that day.

She came to record a new song—one I wrote. She was singing inside while I listened outside. On the other side of the soundproof glass, she wore headphones, her eyes closed, completely immersed in her own voice.

I had been writing that song for a long time, revised it many times, and always felt it was missing something.

Until I heard her sing it for the first time.

The sentences in the lyrics suddenly gained color, warmth, and—her.

She finished the last line, opened her eyes, looked at me through the glass, and smiled a bit proudly, yet a bit shyly.

That smile made me feel that this song had finally found where it belonged.

"Let's go," I pushed the door open. "Work's over."

As we walked out of the company's main entrance, she suddenly stopped.

"Look."

I followed her gaze and looked up—

It was snowing.

Fine snowflakes drifted down from the night sky, sparkling in the light of the street lamps, as if someone had crushed the stars and scattered them down.

She reached out to catch them; the snowflakes landed in her palm and quickly melted. She didn't mind the cold, keeping her hand outstretched, watching the snowflakes fall, disappear, and fall again.

She was wearing fluffy earmuffs, and her scarf was wrapped tightly, revealing only half of her face. Snowflakes landed on the top of her head and on her eyelashes; when she blinked, the snowflakes melted.

"The first snow," she whispered, as if talking to herself.

I looked at her.

Watching the snow fall on her, watching her focused way of catching it, watching that tiny bit of white on her eyelashes that was about to melt.

Yes, Winter.

This thought suddenly came to me.

Not the season. Her.

The stars in the sky are now in your eyes as you look at me.

You are the unparalleled only one in this world.

You are the cold yet warm only one among the four seasons.

You are my favorite season.

Dear Winter.

"What are you thinking about?" She suddenly turned to look at me.

"Nothing."

"Liar." She leaned in a bit closer, her eyes bright. "You were definitely thinking of something just now."

"I was thinking..."

She waited.

"I was thinking," I said, "that your name was chosen really well."

She was stunned for a moment, then laughed, her eyes curving, forgetting to wipe the snowflakes that fell on her face.

"Yah," she said, her voice soft, "I'm the Noona."

"I know."

I looked at her, looked at the snow, and watched the streetlights stretch our shadows very long.

The four seasons rotate without stopping.

I will eventually meet you again.

But actually, there's no need for rotation, nor for meeting again.

You are right here.

By my side.

The one I can catch just by reaching out—my Winter.

Winter's Heart

I've never had this feeling before

I want to pull you into my arms and dote on you

The stars in the sky

Are now in your eyes as you look at me

You are the unparalleled only one in this world

You are the cold yet warm only one among the four seasons

You are my favorite season

Dear Winter!

The four seasons rotate without stopping

I will eventually meet you again

---

Winter's Heart

This feeling is a first

I want to hold you in my arms

The stars of the sky

Are now within your gaze

You, the only one in this world

You, the only one among the four seasons, cold yet warm

The season I love the most

My beloved Winter!

The seasons keep turning

And I eventually meet you again