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Ji-ya had drifted off on the couch again, the TV casting flickering shadows across the room.

Everything was still-until there was a knock at the door. A familiar voice called from outside, muffled but unmistakable.

"Ji-ya, open the door. It's Dad."

She wasn't surprised. He often came home late, always with that tired, drunken voice.

Half-asleep, Ji-ya pushed herself up and padded to the front door. Peeking through the peephole, she saw him. Her father. Same coat. Same slouch. But... something was wrong.

He wasn't facing the door. He stood the other way, frozen, like he was staring at someone else.

"Please... don't hurt my daughter. Not my Ji-ya..." he whispered. A plea. Quiet. Desperate.

Her breath caught.

"Dad?" she called, her voice trembling.

She twisted the doorknob, but it wouldn't move. He was holding it from the other side, unmoving.

"Let me open the door, what are you-"

BANG!

The sound shattered the silence. Ji-ya stumbled back, her hands frozen, a scream caught in her throat. Her heart thundered in her chest, vision tunneling, darkness creeping at the edges. Her ears began to ring.

Loud.

And louder.

Then softly, there was... classical music?

A gentle piano, like it was drifting from a faraway memory.

...

She gasped awake, lungs hungry for air, drenched in cold sweat. Around her, the dorm stirred with other players beginning to wake.

It was just a dream.

But not just a dream.

A memory.

Her father had died that night. The nightmare was warped, surreal-but rooted in something real.

She hadn't dreamed of that night in months. So why now?

Why did it feel like her past was clawing its way back to her?

Ji-ya sat up, rubbing her face. Her mood was shot. She didn't want to remember that. She wanted to bury it. But the nightmare wouldn't let her.