The Refusal
"Ugh."
The stylist glanced out the window and pulled a disgusted face.
"It's like a zombie horde out there. Don't they ever get tired of it...?"
A crowd had gathered in front of the hotel—such a mass of people that, just as the stylist said, they looked like a swarm of the undead.
How am I supposed to get through all that?
A sigh escaped me before I could stop it. Who would have thought a few paparazzi would leave me stranded like this? The paparazzi in New York were even more relentless than I'd imagined. They held their ground without a flicker of hesitation even when the police showed up, and honestly, it was enough to make me click my tongue in admiration.
"Would it work if I went out with a hat on?"
Add a mask and nobody would recognize me at all.
"No, sir."
But Jinbae-hyung was firm.
"If there's an accident in that crowd, it'll be a disaster."
"Then what about just walking out there? I'll write it off as a few photos getting taken."
"It's not the photos I'm worried about. It's the process of getting them taken."
He went on to say that people shoving was practically guaranteed, and there was a strong chance someone would block the car itself. I had no answer to that.
"And you could get hurt in the middle of it, Actor-nim. The company's sending bodyguards over soon, so please just wait a little, even if it's inconvenient."
"Okay."
I'd already done enough acting practice today, so there was no real danger of me getting hurt—but I couldn't exactly explain the Misfortune Factor to Jinbae-hyung, so I kept my mouth shut.
"I'll step out for a moment. Stay put like a good boy."
"Yes, sir."
"Promise me."
Only after I'd linked my pinky with his did Jinbae-hyung finally leave the room.
Nothing to do now, I guess.
I was thinking I might do some more acting practice when a sudden thought crossed my mind, and I spoke up.
"Do you happen to know a singer called Lily Sweety?"
At my offhand question, an awkward silence fell over the room.
"What? Did I do something wrong?"
When I asked urgently, the stylist looked at me with a bewildered expression.
"It's just... you're asking something so obvious that I didn't know what to say..."
Oh. It's that obvious, huh?
As I stood there looking sheepish, the stylists began whispering among themselves.
"Honestly, sometimes he scares me."
"Where on earth did a kid like this come from?"
"Don't say that on camera. I'll get flamed for it being a concept."
Was it really that bad?
I pouted a little at their collective groaning.
"...Well, she's a foreign singer, that's why. I know pretty much all the Korean artists."
When I'd been studying up for Noh Bihyuk's sake, I'd memorized nearly every Korean singer there was. It wasn't like listening to music was my hobby, so it made sense that a foreign artist might slip past me.
This is so unfair.
I was busy feeling hard done by when I tuned back in to the explanation.
"Lily Sweety is famous beyond famous. Every comeback she hits the Korean charts too. Even people who don't listen to pop know her name."
Lily Sweety. She'd debuted young in an American musical sitcom, and apparently had now been active as a singer for over a decade. A singer-songwriter who wrote her own music and lyrics, a name that always came up among the stars Americans loved most, a vocalist who rewrote Billboard records with every single comeback. A born top star, through and through.
"You've never heard this song? It's from her last album."
The song the stylist played sounded oddly familiar, as if I'd heard it dozens of times before. It was one I'd caught on the street or at events now and then.
So she really was that big a deal.
Noh Bihyuk's reaction—and the stylists'—finally made sense.
Still, it's not like you can't fail to know a singer's name.
With everyone making such a fuss around me, I felt a little sulky, so I opened my memo pad.
Angae-yah. What are you doing right now? I miss you.
With Jinbae-hyung gone too, I felt lonelier than usual. I'd been hunched in the corner clutching my phone for ages when the stylists cautiously approached me.
"Yeonjae-yah, are you upset?"
"Lily Sweety... who was she again? Never heard the name, honestly."
I swallowed a snort at their shamelessly straight faces.
"No. It was my fault for not knowing."
"Oh no, he's seriously mad. Noona's sorry, okay?"
"I'm not mad."
I kept staring at my phone as I answered, and the stylists only grew more frantic, fussing over me like they were coaxing a small child. It was absurd—until I belatedly realized I was, in fact, acting exactly like a sulky kid.
...Have I lost my mind?
Heat rushed to my face. I tore my eyes from the phone and snapped my back straight.
"I'm really fine, noona."
I added, embarrassed:
"Sorry for throwing a tantrum like that..."
The stylists' faces briefly filled with question marks, and then they burst out laughing.
"Why are you apologizing? What do I do, you're so cute."
"Why are your ears turning red? Haha."
Thankfully, their expressions looked nothing but fond. I was relieved they weren't actually offended.
Why on earth did I do that, though?
The whole thing had felt so much like childish pouting that even I was puzzled by my own behavior. While I was busy nursing my bruised pride over the cringeworthy display, Jinbae-hyung returned—accompanied by a whole retinue of bodyguards in tailored suits.
"Everyone, let's head out."
"Yes~!"
Jinbae-hyung paused, studying the laughing stylists for a moment, then came over to me.
"Actor-nim, did something happen?"
"No. Let's get going..."
"...?"
Though his face was full of doubt, Jinbae-hyung silently gathered my things anyway.
"Oh, Actor-nim—may I hold onto your phone? Every so often a paparazzo will try to rifle through pockets. I'll give it back the moment we reach the airport."
They really will try anything, won't they.
Clicking my tongue inwardly, I handed my phone over to Jinbae-hyung.
And in all the chaos of escaping the hotel and finally making it back to Korea, I completely forgot something. I'd never erased what I'd written in that memo.
"Good night, Actor-nim. Sweet dreams."
Ahn Jinbae stood in the doorway as he said it, and Lee Yeonjae, who had just been about to sink into bed, smiled.
"You too, hyung."
Ahn Jinbae gazed for a moment at the boy's drowsy, jet-black eyes, then closed the door. Returning to his own room, he sank deep into thought.
Angae...
He'd handed the phone back to the actor only after glancing at the memo by accident—and his worries had only deepened since. Angae. A friend the actor had briefly known a very long time ago. And yet even after investigating through multiple agencies, Ahn Jinbae hadn't been able to turn up so much as a single clue. He'd even searched assuming it might be a nickname rather than a real name, but there'd been nothing to show for it.
And now, that untraceable "Angae" had just appeared on the actor's phone. Not as a text message that could be sent to anyone—a private memo, addressed to no one.
An imaginary friend?
Imaginary friends were presences children created to endure their own emptiness. It was a universal phenomenon in early childhood—but the problem was that the actor was a teenager, about to enter high school.
I've never seen him talking to himself, though.
Engaging in one-sided conversations with an imaginary friend would normally raise the question of schizophrenia. But to Ahn Jinbae, who spent nearly twenty-four hours a day glued to his side, the actor had never shown any such symptoms.
And if it really is an imaginary friend, what am I supposed to do?
Even mid-hyperventilation, even in the grip of a full panic, the actor had regained his composure the instant he heard the word "Angae." That was how deeply—perhaps excessively—he depended on this supposed friend.
Or could it be a second personality? Should I be approaching this as dissociative identity?
There had to be a reason the actor would write something like that in a memo only he would ever see. Ahn Jinbae gripped his aching head.
And I truly believed he was getting better...
Why, then? Why did everything feel so precariously balanced on a knife's edge?
The actor had let his guard down completely around him. Ahn Jinbae could feel it clearly—the way the boy trusted him, relied on him, almost past the point of affection. And yet, for all that, Ahn Jinbae couldn't shake the sense that the actor was hiding something enormous from him.
A secret sealed so tight that he couldn't bring himself to pry.
"Haah."
Ahn Jinbae let out a long, heavy sigh. If he asked about the memo outright, the actor would only look troubled and deflect. Which left, in the end, exactly one answer.
To wait, quietly and patiently, until he could learn that secret himself.
That was all he had. And he was starting to grow impatient.
And here I thought I was fairly patient by nature.
Ahn Jinbae blinked slowly. His eyes, moving sluggishly, were brimming with worry.
"You really are a difficult person to read..."
"What."
Kwon Inah, president of the Lee Yeonjae fan club, stared wide-eyed at her screen.
"This many people actually visited?"
The international Lee Yeonjae intro page she'd set up long ago in advance was seeing its visitor count skyrocket. Every time she hit refresh, the number jumped by the hundreds, and the president nearly lost her mind.
"At this rate the server's going to crash. I'd better warn them ahead of time."
That's our Bambi for you.
So Bambi's beauty works overseas just as well as it does in Korea.
It was an obvious fact, and yet she couldn't help finding it unbearably delightful.
An entertainer who delivers at their day job really is the best.
'Hon', the character Bambi had played, had met the gruesome ending the president had predicted all along. As a drama, it was a striking, impactful close—but viewed through the eyes of a Lee Yeonjae fan, it was an ending no amount of composure could carry her through dry-eyed.
Ugh, I just want Killing Horn reruns already.
Right now, this very minute, she wanted to dissect every nanosecond of footage featuring white-haired Bambi—but a fan club president had duties to fulfill.
I'll make sure there's not a single person overseas who doesn't know Bambi.
These days everything moved at breakneck speed. In the chaotic age of social media, even the slightest delay in response spiraled into uncontrollable noise. And she had confidence. Confidence that she could make Bambi the greatest star in the universe.
Once word spread of the offer for Lee Yeonjae to appear in Lily Sweety's music video, she moved faster than ever. Wooyeon Entertainment had released only a brief official statement saying the matter was "currently under discussion"—but everyone knew.
Everyone knew that Lee Yeonjae would ultimately appear in Lily Sweety's music video.
Starring in an MV that racked up view counts in the hundreds of millions was a massive opportunity. No matter the size of the role, no matter the storyline, Bambi stood to gain far more than he could ever lose.
People were already buzzing.
Lee Yeonjae was hot, apparently hot enough that posts about him kept popping up in general community boards that had nothing to do with entertainment. The antis, itching to tear him down the moment they got the chance, and the fans, desperate to sing Bambi's praises, were both crawling out of the woodwork.
The answer's already decided—why are they so slow to say it out loud?!
Hurry up and officially announce he's appearing in it!
That way people could write whatever they wanted—snark threads claiming the kid had gotten a taste of money, or hype threads proclaiming our boy was a megastar. Either way, someone would finally have something to post.
And so, at long last, the official statement from Wooyeon Entertainment that everyone had been waiting for arrived.
And Lily Sweety, who had it relayed to her by her manager, shot up out of her chair.
"(He refused??? He refused??)"
Lily's eyes went huge. Like someone who had just witnessed the impossible, her gaze shook violently. A long silence stretched before she finally managed a single sentence.
"(Why? Why did he refuse?)"
Her manager answered carefully, watching her face.
"(He says he... has to go on a school field trip.)"
"(...What?)"
Lily's eyes went blank.
A school field trip? What on earth was that?