Eight Count had existed long before most people noticed them.

They were the campus’ official band — not by title, but by reputation. The group professors recommended for events. The name whispered between freshmen after their first open mic. The sound drifting out of the music building long after midnight.

Always eight. Always boys. Always on key.

They weren’t loud about it. They didn’t need to be.

Hongjoong had become their leader early on, almost by accident. When Eight Count first formed during his freshman year, it had been nothing more than a few borrowed instruments and a shared hunger for sound. But by his sophomore year, it was obvious — when Hongjoong spoke, the room listened. When he counted in, everyone followed. Someone had jokingly called him Captain once, and the name stuck.

Now he was a senior. Now graduation loomed. And for the first time, Hongjoong wasn’t ready to move forward.

He loved this band too much to imagine leaving it behind.

Seonghwa had been one of Hongjoong’s first deliberate choices — the piece that made the dream start to feel real. They were the same age, walking similar paths, and Seonghwa had an edge that balanced Hongjoong’s intensity perfectly. Handsome, composed, quietly striking — and when he sat at the keyboard, the room changed. He didn’t just play notes. He filled space. He still did.

Yunho joined during his freshman year and immediately carved out a place that hadn’t existed before. Chimes, auxiliary percussion, soft harmonies — things most bands wouldn’t risk, Yunho made essential. He brought light where others brought weight, grounding the group in something warmer, something human.

Then came Yeosang, San, and Mingi — all at once.

Three very different energies that somehow fit together perfectly. Yeosang’s steady rhythm, San’s raw, aching vocals, Mingi’s thunderous drumming. They didn’t just add to Eight Count; they completed something. Hongjoong remembered watching them rehearse together for the first time and thinking, I’m so close now. This is almost it.

Almost.

This year was when everything shifted.

Wooyoung joined with his bass and his chaos, his confidence and his undeniable groove. Jongho followed — young, quiet, and devastatingly talented. The first time Jongho opened his mouth to sing, the room went silent. After that, there was no question.

Suddenly, people were coming early to shows. Staying late. Bringing friends.

Eight Count wasn’t just respected anymore — they were wanted.

Everything was perfect. Hongjoong couldn’t have been prouder of the band he’d built with his own hands, his own heart.

Knock.

The sound was small, almost hesitant, echoing through the front hall of the house they half-jokingly called their frat. Practice had just ended. Instruments were still out. Sweat hadn’t dried.

Seonghwa was the one who opened the door.

And there you were.

A girl.

You stood on the threshold like you belonged there, like you weren’t intimidated by eight pairs of eyes turning toward you at once. When you spoke — when you asked about joining Eight Count — Hongjoong felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

Audacity. Disruption. Change.

His first instinct was disbelief.

But Seonghwa stepped aside, calm as ever, and invited you in.

Now you were standing in the middle of them — the legacy of Eight Count surrounding you, eight histories woven together — and for the first time since its creation, the future of the band felt uncertain.

“So,” Yunho said, offering a small smile, “what’s your name?”

You met Hongjoong’s gaze as you answered.

“And why,” Hongjoong added quietly, “do you think you belong here?”