My Summer in Seoul

“You don’t understand.”

I knew she wasn’t trying to make me feel stupid, but I still felt stupid for not understanding.

“The day it hit the news stocks fell fifteen percent, the Instagram account for the group lost almost fifty thousand followers, and two fans egged the side of the apartment building, so no, he doesn’t get to have a life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have meetings. You have my cell. Call me if you need anything. They’ll be busy eating, so I wouldn’t worry too much during dinner. Grab a chair, place it in front of the door, plant yourself in it, and study all the material.”

I nodded in stunned disbelief as her words washed over me. In the US entertainment industry, something like this would go viral on YouTube and give fans something to gossip about, so why was it different here? I was trying to wrap my head around it and realized I really didn’t have any time to do that—I had a job to do. I just wish there was someone else that could let me ask at least a dozen questions so I didn’t do my job wrong, especially if lives hung in the balance. It wasn’t what I was expecting and was so different than what I was used to seeing on TMZ with celebrities.

I didn’t realize I was chewing my fingernail until I looked up, and Solia was already halfway to the door.

“What about sleeping?” I called after her as she hurried out of the small apartment door.

She looked over her shoulder with a laugh. “Learn to embrace caffeine, your nights of sleeping are over.”

“Great,” I croaked, and then because I was paranoid and a bit panicked, I followed after her, grabbed one of the metal chairs from the kitchen and set it in front of the door, and got to work.

Chapter Four

Blood Type

Grace

There wasn’t enough coffee in the world for what I was trying to accomplish—I was instantly brought back to finals week, where I had been so worried I would fail my Econ class that I stayed up until four a.m. studying and almost missed the entire final.

I got a B.

I still blame lack of sleep.

It wasn’t just the exhaustion that was kicking in; it was the fact that this group, SWT, wasn’t anything like I’d ever seen in the US, and I’d been a One Direction fangirl.

I was adult enough to admit to screaming at one of their concerts when I was fifteen and crying when they broke up the following year, so I thought I understood what true fandom was.

I was wrong.

So very, laughably wrong.

K-pop fandoms brought fangirling to a whole different level. Idols didn’t just write and record albums and go on tour. Nope, they had their own merchandise. Their name was on every piece of candy, every soda, friggin’ ramen noodles, socks… People consumed it, they branded it, and the fandoms devoured it.

Furthermore, they didn’t just have group fans but individual fans that made groupies look tame. They even had leaders of the fan clubs, and if you did something wrong? Those leaders would gather up everyone in the fan club and get them to cancel the K-pop group. Basically, the fans held a huge amount of power. Even worse? Those were the fans that just liked them—the other fans? The Sasaeng went to tremendous depths—even dangerous ones—to get the idols’ (see, I’m learning!) attention, from stalking them outside their apartments to actually breaking into their apartments; their only hobby in life was the K-pop group, which just brought the insanity to a whole other level.

I wasn’t trying to judge; I just couldn’t comprehend that level of obsession—I tried to compare it to some of my celebrity crushes and realized I didn’t even know where most of them lived. LA? A few lived in Sun Valley, Idaho, but I would never be so bold as to send something to their house… on the other more positive side, some of the fans would get together to honor their favorite celeb on their birthday, which was actually really cool, and I could totally see myself participating in something like that.

It was just so foreign to me, and I felt stupid that I knew nothing, not when I looked like I should on the outside. Would that be a problem? Who was I kidding? It already was a problem.

I looked kind of Korean—at least according to everyone in middle school who used to make fun of me.

And I knew how to say hi.

Fantastic.

With a sigh, I grabbed my phone again and brought up YouTube.

I saw one whole video on an idol who was sent a dead pigeon because the girl thought he was dating some actress he’d worked with. This girl also broke into his apartment, stole one of his shirts, sent another dead pigeon, and honestly, it just got weirder by the second.