Season's Greetings : Christmas Box Set

My heart pounds as we walk through the darkened space. I can hear the low murmur of voices already. Sweat coats the palms of my hands, and the muscles in my back tighten. My breath quickens as I remember the mauling that happened to me in the mall during my time in the K-Pop Band Super X.

The minute we pass the escalator that overlooks the floor below, high-pitched screaming begins. Cameras click, bright lights flash. I smile harder to mask my discomfort as we’re ushered into an elevator. The girls swarm around the yellow barrier railing like a group of fish. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. Ding. The metal door opens. The security guards bark orders as they push forward ahead of us.

I wave, keeping my cool, the way I’ve been taught. The bodies surge forward, and the barriers become obsolete as they are climbed over and pushed aside. I go with the flow as we’re moved from left to right. A hand grabs my shirt. I push forward, and it gives, ripping. I duck down to avoid the reaching hands. A small hand slips between the guards’ bodies and grasps my hair. I bite the inside of my cheek ’til I bleed as she escapes with a DNA-laden prize.

“Run,” the guards yell.

Rushing forward to the van waiting with open doors, I throw my body across the bench as Jiwoo follows behind me, and the managers pile on next. The tires squeal as we pull away from the curb. I rest my head against the cool glass of the window, grateful to be out. My shoulders slump as the fatigue washes over me. The wheels on the road rock me to sleep. All too soon, my manager is shaking me away.

“Wake up, look alive. Even here, you might encounter fans,” Sang murmurs.

I shove down my negative emotions and follow my manager into the hotel. A few fans are seated around the front entrance with their mothers.

“Do you have time to sign an autograph, please? My daughters and I have been waiting here since yesterday,” the woman, who I assume is their mother, asks politely.

“Of course, we love our fans,” Sang replies.

Jinwoo and I bow and smile. “Thank you for welcoming us to Austin,” I say. The two girls, who can’t be more than fifteen, giggle and hold out their Secret Heiress posters. They’re wearing hand-decorated shirts with our faces on them. This is the type of interaction I prefer.

“You’re welcome. We love you, Yoon.” They move to Jinwoo. “You’re so pretty.”

“It would seem to me that you honor me with your words.” She bows, and they gush. She has a sweet spirit. It’s been a pleasure working with her on this series. I’m glad it was renewed for a second season. K-Dramas have been gaining success here in America, but not on this level. We’re paving the way for others. I’m proud of that. When one of us wins, we all win.

I DRINK MY WATER AND nod at the young girl nervously speaking into the microphone.

“My name is Snow Kim, and I’m eighteen years old. I want to compete because I love K-Drama, and I want to grow up to be an actress.” She’s adorable with large, brown eyes and sleek, black hair cut in bangs across her forehead and hanging around her shoulders. Her crooked smile is charming, and I can feel her excitement from here.

“My family and I watch to help me maintain my fluency in Korean. My parents moved here from Seoul when I was young, and I try my best to stay bilingual.”

“You’re doing an excellent job,” Jiwoo praises her. The translator repeats everything in English for the audience.

“Gam sa ham ni da.” Snow grins.

“What would you consider your talent to be?” the host asks.

“Singing.” Her tone is good, and she has the right attitude for the variety show style contest. She finishes her song, bows, and exits the stage.

“Number seventy-four.”

A slender woman with glowing brown skin walks forward in a white polka dot dress and steps onto the stage. She bows. I exchange surprised looks with Jiwoo. None of the other native Texans have adhered to our customs.

“Hello. My name is Hartley Warren, and I’m twenty-six, and I’m here for my sister. We lost our mother to cancer two days before her sixteenth birthday this year, and she’s grieved hard ever since.”

I sit up. This is the last thing I expected—an utterly selfless reason for competing.

“K-Drama brought joy and laughter back to her life. I want to win this contest, not for myself, but for her. Because she deserves it.”

“That’s very admirable, Hartley.” The petite host smiles.

“My sister is worth it.” She smiles, and I find myself enchanted.

“What is your talent?” Sang asks.

“Skin and beauty. I’m a make-up artist. I work for a department store and freelance for different events and occasions. I also make my own all-natural beauty products.”

Sang turns to me. “She would be a perfect match for our audience,” he whispers.

I nod.