Page 3 of K-Pop Double Life

“That’s him.”

I moved closer.

The man never looked away from Jin. Not admiration. Not casual professional focus. Something more personal.

Obsession, maybe. Or love. From a distance, the difference could be hard to spot.

Song after song, the group delivered on their promise. Their repertoire alternated between power ballads and love songs that had the audience swooning. Their voices were strong, either individually or together. Their dance moves were carefully choreographed. It was probably one of the best concerts I’d ever experienced, and I’d grown up on a steady diet of Bruce Springsteen and Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, with occasional spectacles by America, Chicago, and the Rolling Stones.

The final song built toward its crescendo, the crowd screamed, and the crewman I’d been watching took a half-step forward. Then the first firework exploded over the bay.

Gold spread across the sky, reflected in the black water below us. Another shell followed, then a third.

Something cracked. The next shell didn’t climb. It streaked sideways from the fireworks barge and slammed into equipment along the outer edge of the performance platform. White fire burst across the rigging.

The concussion rolled through the stage beneath my feet. The platform jolted and the lights flickered.

Someone screamed. Onstage, choreography broke apart as Jin stumbled sideways, his headset shrieking feedback.

Smoke drifted across the stage. Crew members shouted and stagehands ran for extinguishers. And the man I’d been watching bolted toward Jin.

“Unknown moving toward the performer,” I said.

“On my way.”

I intercepted the man in black halfway to the ramp and grabbed his arm. “Sir, stay back.”

“Let go.” His English was accented but sharp. “I need to get to him.”

Another burst of sparks rained down across the rigging. The man twisted free with surprising strength and sprinted forward.

I followed. He vaulted a cable coil and reached Jin just as the singer staggered again.

Instead of attacking him, he caught him under the elbow, steadying him with practiced familiarity. His free hand went straight to Jin’s face, checking him for injury.

Jin locked onto him instantly. Not in fear, but in recognition.

I caught sight of the credential clipped to the man’s belt. Starhouse Entertainment. A licensed crew member.

“Who are you?”

“His stylist,” he snapped. “Sang-hoon.”

Another blast sounded from the bay, and the slim dancer fell to his knees as the quarterback reached for him.

“Liam, we need to evacuate. Landward gangway.”

“Moving.”

I grabbed Jin’s other arm. “Go.”

Sang-hoon already had him by the shoulder, and the three of us headed for the gangway as Liam came in from the opposite side, gathering the other members of Pryzm and driving them toward shore.

The gangway pitched beneath us, but nobody stopped, and Sang-hoon never let go of Jin.

Jin didn’t let go of him either. We hit solid ground, where EMTs were already converging under a medical tent. “Sit,” I ordered. Jin dropped into a chair.

Sang-hoon crouched beside him, checking a scrape at his temple with hands that shook only slightly.