29
Asthewomendriftedpast him — Haewon in a brutally crisp white button-down shirt, Soyeon with her face hidden behind massive Ferragamo sunglasses — Eunjae was almost afraid to look away. Was this a hallucination? Here were the two people who controlled his fate. Now that they were right in front of him, now that his silent pleas to the universe had been answered, should Eunjae be grateful or wary?
Soyeon acknowledged him with the barest inclination of her head, nothing more. But Haewon paused to flick a lock of hair out of Eunjae's eyes, murmuring, “You've had a haircut. It suits you.”
Eunjae bowed his head, a gesture of respect for his superior but also a tactic for self-preservation. The intensity of Haewon’s gaze felt like something to be avoided, much like staring into the sun.
“Why don't you sit down, Ari? There's a lot to talk about.”
“Thank you,” he replied quietly, head still bowed, staring at his shoes. “I think I'll stand, if that's alright.”
“Whatever you like,” said Haewon. She left him and went to perch on the glossy wooden expanse of Mr. Yoon’s desk while Soyeon took the leather chair behind it. The upholstery seemed to swallow her slight figure, as if she'd curled up in the palm of some monstrous hand.
“Would you like me to try and get Jaehwan on the line?” inquired Mr. Yoon, addressing the women who had taken over his desk. Soyeon dismissed the suggestion instantly.
“We shouldn’t disrupt his duties. Jaehwan can be notified once a decision has been made.”
“I agree. No need to cause a commotion just yet. And there may be no reason to call him at all. That depends on Ari, but I’m confident he’ll make the right choice.”
Haewon smiled at him from across the room. Eunjae couldn't help noticing the way this smile failed to reach her eyes. It reminded him of his mother and summoned, from the depths of memory, a rising tide of dread.
But Haewon hadn’t always been like this. Eunjae remembered her fingers flying over piano keys, drawing melodies out of guitar strings. There was a period when, every time she ran into him, Haewon would make an exaggerated show of bribing Eunjae into a solo debut. She and Jungwoo were ready to write all the songs, produce the whole record themselves. She’d buy him a dozen new cameras. He could ask for anything he wanted in return: a pony, a library, her firstborn child.
They used to laugh together. And Soyeon, she used to pop up at Eunjae’s voice lessons every week if she had time. When Apollo stopped in Sydney on their first tour, it was Soyeon who came to his hotel room and listened, patiently, as he explained why he didn’t want complimentary tickets sent to his parents, or seats reserved for them in the front row. She never judged or tried to change his mind. It was also Soyeon who arranged for Ezra to come watch, with two friends, when Apollo performed in Singapore.
What happened? When did it all change, and why?
A hand gripped Eunjae's shoulder. Kazu stood beside him now, mouth set in a firm line. “I’m the eldest here,” he said, with a formal bow. “I take responsibility.”
“Kazuhiko, how admirable. Please, lift your heads, stop looking so sad. This isn't an execution.” Haewon punctuated this statement with a laugh. Light and airy, it somehow managed to set Eunjae's teeth on edge nonetheless.
“Let's just get started,” Soyeon sighed. Juxtaposed with the sound of Haewon’s brittle laughter, the weariness in her tone stood out in sharp relief.
Mr. Yoon took over. “Ari, we’re relieved to have you back. You gave us quite the scare. And I have to admit that I never expected this kind of behavior from you. It’s grounds for termination, really. Missing your flight, getting yourself adopted by strangers like an abandoned dog. Forcing us to send staff to Australia when you were right there, just a few miles from the original hotel. And your parents have been distraught, of course. We had to plead with them not to pull Ezra out of school and go searching for you themselves.”
Eunjae bit his tongue. The thought of those two scouring the globe for him was only marginally more ludicrous than Ezra being jolted out of his regular life on Eunjae's behalf. Leila and Simon would never do something like that.
His younger brother was fourteen now, leading a busy life at his illustrious and expensive international boarding school. The tuition came out of Eunjae’s share of Apollo’s album sales and concert tours. He received quarterly dispatches from Blackridge Academy, by request; over the years, he’d seen pictures of Ezra on intramural sports days, winning medals, having some of his artwork shown in the school’s front hall for an event. On Eunjae’s birthday and at Christmas, there would be a card from Ezra or a letter on Blackridge stationery. Sometimes he’d get an email out of the blue. Just a few lines in polite English, businesslike and concise.
If Ezra needed it, Eunjae covered the cost. It was never the money that bothered him about this setup. Rather, it was the experience of watching his parents protect Ezra’s childhood so zealously. They showed up for his awards ceremonies and attended family days. There was no pressure on Ezra to work with a voice coach or take piano lessons. In his latest Christmas card, he’d mentioned maybe becoming an accountant. How freely he could choose — it was beautiful, and it hurt.
Fourteen years old. The same age Eunjae had been when he signed with Emerald and gave up his own normal existence for the foreseeable future. For the entirety of his youth, or possibly even more.
And the founders didn’t intervene, even though they should know how preposterous Yoon was being. Bitterness welled up inside him. “You can tell my parents that the money will keep on coming. There won’t be any issues with Ezra staying at that school.” Eunjae knew how much he’d saved. There was more than enough to cover tuition until his brother graduated, even if this mess resulted in legal fees. He’d been so careful to make sure Ezra wouldn’t be affected because he didn’t think that would be fair.
“I'll accept whatever punishment you think I deserve. No one else should be blamed, though. Just me.”
“We’re aware that you asked your brothers to help you, Ari. They deliberately concealed your location from us, and even if they weren’t lying outright, they were lying by omission. These breaches in behavior have cost Emerald a fair amount of money. We had to cancel a fanmeeting and refund tickets at short notice. Venue deposits were forfeited. All of that, just so you could have a little holiday.”
“But it wasn’t just a little holiday,” Haewon said, interrupting Mr. Yoon midsentence. “According to what Jungwoo told us, you want to break your contract. And you want to do that with our blessing.”
Behind the desk, Soyeon shifted in her chair, a frown marring the flawless impassivity of her expression. “Is that true?” she asked Eunjae.
He’d lived almost a straight decade in the public eye, every move and every breath monitored by millions of people he didn’t know and would never meet. Even so, it took every ounce of strength to endure the pressure of his brothers’ stares in that moment. The bonds that held them together were powerful enough to exert their own gravitational pull. These were the bonds that Eunjae might sever just by making the choice that felt right to him — the choice that would save him.
He took a deep breath. “Yes,” he told them. “It’s true.”
30
