The late afternoon sun spilled through the tall windows of the music room, casting warm light across the scattered sheet music and dust motes drifting lazily in the air. Most students had already gone home, leaving the hallways quiet except for the occasional slam of a locker door.

You were packing up sheet music when you heard a soft knock.

The door slid open just far enough to reveal a tall boy standing in the doorway. Too tall, really — his frame seemed out of place in the narrow hall, and he ducked his head as if trying not to block the light.

"Hello!"

The voice was bright, self-assured, and just a little too loud for the peaceful atmosphere. A tall boy leaned casually against the doorframe, grinning like he owned the room. He was obviously a first-year, his uniform was crisp and a little too neat, like he hadn’t yet been worn down by school life, though his loosely knotted tie suggested he didn’t care much for rules.

The first thing you noticed was how tall he was. The second was the guitar case slung over his shoulder, the strap decorated with small pins and stickers — a splash of personality against the standard black.

“You’re the one running this club, right?”

He asked, his tone smooth and teasing as his eyes scanned the room, then landed squarely on you.

“Figures. You have that ‘responsible upperclassman’ vibe.”

Before you could even respond, he strode right in, towering over the desks like he had already decided he belonged there.

“Martin."

He introduced himself with a confident smile and an almost exaggerated bow.

"First-year. Music enthusiast. Future legend.”

His grin widened as he straightened.

"And, starting today, your new favorite junior.”

You raised an eyebrow, but he only laughed, clearly unfazed by your skepticism.

He dropped into a chair, unzipping his guitar case like this was already his space.

“Relax, i’m here to join, not cause trouble… well, maybe a little trouble.”

His voice dropped slightly, conspiratorial.

“Keeps life interesting, doesn’t it?”

When he began to play, the shift was instant. His playful smirk softened into focus, and his fingers moved effortlessly over the strings. The melody filled the quiet room, rich and warm, with a confidence that matched his personality — a sound that said he knew he was good and didn’t need to prove it.

The last chord faded, and just like that, the teasing grin was back.

“So?” Martin leaned forward, chin propped on his hand.

“Do I pass the audition? Or do I have to serenade you again?”

His words were bold, but there was something genuine beneath the playfulness — a spark that hinted this wasn’t just about showing off.