It was at this point that Eunjae finally noticed the signs of dismay etched onto Denny's face, growing rapidly more pronounced as he watched Jiyeon like a hawk. “Yeonnie,” he said, in a warning tone. When this didn't register, Denny took his sister by the shoulders and marched her into the kitchen. An urgent conversation ensued, too low for Eunjae to parse except for the occasional snippet with no context:mistake,heroics,bad idea.
“Hyung. Ari-hyung.” Jesse was waving both hands less than an inch from Eunjae's nose. “Hyung!”
“Do a backflip,” Nick suggested wryly. “Maybe that'll do it.”
“Sorry, I'm listening. What's wrong?”
He realized that the others were clustered around Kei and his tablet. Apollo’s Instagram account filled the screen. Now, the cryptic post with its green square had been bumped down by a newer one.
“It’s an event announcement. The same one is posted on everything — Star-Connect, social media, the fan café.”
Eunjae stared at the photo that came with the event details, horrified and yet transfixed. Emerald’s marketing team had layered the event details on top of a picture that showed a familiar street, palm trees evenly spaced down its length.
Max turned to Eunjae, slack-jawed. “Hyung, isn't that…?”
“It is,” Eunjae replied faintly. He’d seen it too, right away: there in the background was an unmistakable orange door.
39
Justliketheattemptto send him back to his parents, the choice of venue felt like a personal attack. Of course, that was the precise intent. Eunjae recognized this move as an incursion. A way of shoving him off balance, desecrating a place that was important to him. He gripped the back of the nearest chair, dizzy with the sense that this was a loss for him and a win for Emerald. It felt so wrong, a few nights ago, to see his brothers standing in the dining room at Wanna Waffle. This was different. It was a thousand times worse.
There were no concrete details in the post except for an address — not Wanna Waffle’s but the karaoke bar two doors down — and tomorrow's date, minus a specific time. It was a tactic the agency had used before, since vague announcements garnered huge interest. The secrecy never failed to goad fans into a frenzy.
“Another surprise fanmeeting,” grumbled Kazu. “I hate the surprise fanmeetings.”
They all did. Surprise fanmeetings were a mess. Already, Kei had discovered multiple news mentions of Apollo fans converging on the area. Two different Apollo-related hashtags were trending across multiple social media platforms. When Namgyu clicked on these, he found a video that showed a line forming in the shopping center’s parking lot. The most dedicated Sunshines had brought tents to sleep in, determined to hold prime spots in the queue.
Hearing this, Denny took a break from his intense conversation with Jiyeon. He whipped out his phone and berated the owner of the karaoke bar for renting their space to Emerald. “Sandra, please explain to me where my customers are supposed to put their cars in the morning if the circus has moved into town.” A pause. “I don’t care that your granddaughters love Apollo. I care about providing adequate parking to the patrons of my small business. Jesus.”
“Emerald sucks,” mumbled Max. “Bringing the fans into it isn’t even kind of fair.”
“I guess Yoon’s betting that we won’t pick a fight with the agency at a fanmeeting.”
“They’re using our own fans against us. No, wait. They’re using our fans as meat shields.”
Nick shook his head at Kei. “We let you play too many of those violent video games and it shows.”
“I have to get my aggression out somehow.”
Jesse winced as YouTube auto-played someone’s vlog about their undying love for him, how handsome he was, and how ardently they wished to be his bride one day. He locked his phone in a panic and buried it under Max’s discarded hoodie. “I don’t get it. Why did Emerald announce that we’ll be here? I mean, doesn’t this make them look bad? First Ari ran away, and now the rest of us did too.”
“It’s smart,” Eunjae replied. “If the company can claim that we’re here on official business, the media can't claim that we ran away. It isn't a potential scandal if all we did was leave Seoul with their permission.”
The agency had gone into aggressive damage control. It confirmed Eunjae’s theory that waiting too long to speak would give Emerald the devastating power of speaking for them.
“Let's make new accounts,” he announced to the table. “We have to post tonight. If we end up in a position where we’re just reacting to whatever they've got planned tomorrow, we lose the advantage.”
“Won't people just think these are fake accounts?”
“We’ll make them anyway. Emerald is trying to keep us quiet. We need to be as loud as we can. New accounts won't have the traction or the reach that we would've gotten with our actual accounts, but it's better than —”
“Better than nothing,” Jiyeon argued at Denny in the kitchen. They were back at it again. This coincidental echo of his words caused a temporary glitch in Eunjae's brain.
“It's better than nothing,” he continued, recovering some momentum. “I wish we could have more time to rest, but Emerald isn't pulling any punches. We shouldn't either.”
His brothers reacted with trepidation at first. Eunjae understood the mood very well. No one really felt that they were prepared for this battle now that it was here. He was no exception.
“While we're all waiting backstage,” he said quietly, “I know we’re thinking the same thing. Can we really do this? Sometimes we’ve barely had three days to learn the choreo. In New York last year, we’d gotten no sleep and only had one chance to rehearse before we performed. But we went on stage anyway, because there were people out there waiting to see us. We weren't about to let them down. And we knew we wouldn't let each other down, either. That's why Apollo works. It's why we're good at what we do. We trust each other to do the job.”
