Page 80 of K-Pop Double Life

The room stirred around me, chairs scraping, people standing, Woo immediately asking if “make history” meant we might get pizza afterward.

As everyone filed out, Aidan stopped Sang-hoon. “Stay a minute.”

I lingered outside the conference room door, pretending not to listen.

“You’re good for him,” Aidan said. “That matters.” He paused. “But if you’re staying, you’re part of the security plan now. Which means you follow protocols too. No improvising. No heroics.”

Then Sang-hoon said, dryly, “Does that specifically include running onto burning stages?”

“Very specifically.”

When Sang-hoon joined me in the hallway, I raised an eyebrow.

“Am I allowed to ask?”

“Apparently I’ve been officially classified as a tactical liability.”

Despite everything, I laughed.

An hour later, we walked into the lobby. Outside, the black SUVs waited in a line at the curb, engines running, security already positioned around the doors. Through the glass, I saw a cluster of fans behind the hotel barricades, phones raised, signs pressed against their chests.

Aidan’s rules followed me out into the sharp New York air. No stopping. No gifts. No breaking formation. We moved fast, surrounded by security, and the fans screamed anyway.

I lifted one hand before Jason guided me into the SUV, and the pitch of the screams rose an octave.

The ride to the arena took only a few minutes, but every red light felt too long. When we finally turned toward the secured entrance, I caught a glimpse of the arena above us, massive and familiar from a hundred videos, suddenly real.

The SUV descended a concrete ramp beneath the arena, away from the screaming fans and bright marquees, into a world of freight elevators, loading bays, and security checkpoints where Madison Square Garden felt less like a dream venue and more like a fortress.

Tonight, we were determined to prove we belonged on an American stage.

32

BACK ON THE TEAM

SANG-HOON — NEW YORK

I’d seen Madison Square Garden in photos and in videos of other artists’ performances, but the sheer size of the building rising out of the plaza around it gave me a new understanding.

Our convoy pulled into the secure entrance, and Jason’s team immediately formed a perimeter. I noticed the difference from Cannes and Paris. More personnel, tighter coordination, the kind of military precision that suggested they were taking no chances.

Aidan appeared at our vehicle. “Everyone stays together. We’re going directly to the secure backstage area. No stopping, no deviations.”

We moved as a unit through the bowels of the arena. The concrete corridors smelled like industrial cleaner and decades of performances. Periodic security checkpoints where Jason had to show his ID to get us past.

I’d missed whatever precautions they took in London. The backstage area was significantly different from what I’d seen in Paris. Instead of individual dressing rooms scattered along a hallway, they’d created a secure green room, one large space with privacy screens dividing it into sections. One for costume changes, one for makeup, one for rest. All visible from a central security station where Liam sat with multiple monitors showing every angle.

“This is our controlled environment,” Aidan explained to the group. “Everything you need is here. If you leave this space, security escorts you. No exceptions.”

Jin looked around, and I saw him calculating. Understanding the implications and accepting the restrictions even though I knew he hated feeling caged.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “We’ll make it work.”

Sun-hee-noona was already organizing the space with practiced efficiency. Costume racks here, makeup stations there, water and snacks in the corner. The other members scattered to their designated areas, the nervous pre-show energy starting to build.

I set up my station in Jin’s area, laying out my tools with the same ritual precision I’d always used. Foundation, brushes, powder, the specific shade of lip tint Jin preferred. Familiar. Grounding.

Jin appeared beside me, still in his street clothes, hair messy. “Ready to make me beautiful?”