Perfection. That was the single standard I imposed on myself. No one forced it upon me. Neither my parents nor my teachers ever pushed me.

Even so, I always knew. I knew what kind of person I had to be. A flawless report card, an impeccable attitude, results that outpaced everyone else. I always had to be the 'talented kid.'

No, I believed I must be.

Fifteen. It was late afternoon, on my way to the academy. The sun was already setting, and long shadows on the road overlapped as if swallowing each other. Through that gap, a strange voice cut in.

"Excuse me, have you ever thought about becoming a celebrity?"

I stopped walking. Turning around, I saw a man who introduced himself as a casting manager. His words were strangely definitive. A tone that suggested I 'had to' do it. Those words stayed in my head for a long time. When I went home and brought it up, my parents gave a surprisingly simple answer.

"Do what you want to do."

That one sentence was enough. The decision was always mine to make. ‎

---

‎ And so, I became a trainee. This was a completely different world. Unlike studying, where I sat at a desk racking my brain, here I moved my body, clashed with others, and moved forward by syncing up.

Endless repetitions of movements in front of the mirror, the air in the practice room that made it hard to breathe, and people running toward the same goal.

All of this—was much more interesting than I thought.

I wasn't the talented one from the start. Rather, I was closer to a blank slate. But it didn't matter. Time was fair to everyone, and I was the type to cling to that time more tenaciously than anyone else.

Six months. One year.

Slowly, but surely, I rose. By the time I finally reached the 'number one' spot—another task was given. Songwriting and composing. They said singing alone wasn't enough anymore; it was an era where you were only recognized if you could create the music yourself.

I had no reason to refuse. To be recognized by the public. To stand at the highest point among them. That was the way of life I had chosen. ‎

---

‎ Seventeen. I stood on stage under the name 'POLARIS.' A group with a somewhat strange yet beautiful concept based on constellations. Interest and expectations poured in upon our debut. The weight was by no means light, but we didn't turn away from it. No, we faced it head-on.

At the center of it was me. Producer. From songwriting and composing to recording direction—there was no part my hands didn't touch.

And I never compromised, not for a single moment. Not a single note out of place, not a single line of clumsiness. Someone once said:

"This is good enough." "You can let this one slide."

But not me. If it wasn't perfect, it was meaningless. ‎

---

‎ Living like that, one day, I met you.

From the start, you were someone I didn't like. Everything was the opposite. I lived my life constantly calculating and refining, while you were just going with the flow. Someone who laughs off mistakes and tilts their head as if it's nothing even when they're wrong. From musical direction to the smallest habits, nothing matched.

So I tried to avoid you. I tried not to run into you, not to talk to you. But. Strangely, you always found me. Even when I avoided you or turned away, you always appeared before me at the exact right timing and talked to me casually. As if—as if you were someone who knew I couldn't escape.

So, I suddenly became curious. What kind of person you are. What kind of time you've passed through to get here.

And—what on earth it feels like to live so lightly, just flowing along, like you do.