31. Possession
POSSESSION
JIN — NEW YORK
The morning of our Madison Square Garden concert, we had one more interview, with a major K-pop news outlet, conducted in Korean, which was a relief after speaking English the day before.
The interviewer was professional, asking thoughtful questions about the tour, our creative process, what it meant to bring K-pop to international stages.
“There’s been some speculation about security incidents during the tour. Can you address fans’ concerns about your safety?”
I gave the approved answer automatically. Technical malfunction in Cannes, enhanced security protocols, full confidence in our team.
But as I spoke, I remembered the young woman at Genesis House.
Most fans weren’t like that. Most waited behind barriers in the cold, spent money they probably shouldn’t on albums and merch, cried when we noticed them in a crowd. They loved the version of us we gave them, and usually that love stayed harmless, even when it felt overwhelming.
What had happened at dinner was something else.
Not admiration. Possession.
But I couldn’t say that to the interviewer. Instead I said, “We want to be able to interact with our fans, to give them back some of the love they give us. But it’s a dangerous world, and Starhouse has provided us with a great security team. They walk a delicate line between protection and access.”
When we returned to the hotel, Eun-ji called us into the conference room for one more security briefing before we left for Madison Square Garden.
Usually, the hours before a concert had their own rhythm. Soundcheck. Wardrobe fittings. Hair and makeup. Vocal warmups. Haneul checking that everyone had eaten something more substantial than protein bars and water.
Today, the atmosphere felt different.
Aidan stood at the front beside Liam and Jason, a hotel monitor behind them displaying a schematic of the venue that meant nothing to me except entrances, exits, and too many places for something to go wrong.
Eun-ji folded her arms. “Last night’s incident changes nothing about tonight’s performance,” she said. “But it does reinforce why we’re taking these precautions.”
Woo shifted in his chair. Tae rubbed absently at his knee.
Min-kyu sat forward. “That woman was just a sasaeng.”
Liam’s expression didn’t change. “An obsessive fan,” he said. “Yes.”
“Not the person targeting Jin,” Min-kyu pressed.
“No.”
“Then why are we acting like every fan is a threat?” Silence settled over the room. I understood what Min-kyu was really asking.
Why were we being punished for someone else’s obsession?
Eun-ji answered. “Because yesterday proved our perimeter can be breached.”
Min-kyu exhaled sharply. “These are our fans.”
“Most of them,” Aidan said quietly, “are exactly what you hope they are.”
That got everyone’s attention. “But security planning doesn’t happen around the best-case scenario.”
He gestured toward the venue map. “Same protocols for tonight. No unscheduled movement. No splitting off. No accepting gifts, letters, or physical items from anyone. No stopping outside the venue.”
Woo frowned. “No waving?”
A faint smile tugged at Liam’s mouth. “Waving is not currently considered a tactical vulnerability.”
That got a weak laugh, which I suspected was the point, though Min-kyu wasn’t amused. “Fans have probably been outside since dawn.”
“And they’ll still be fans if you walk inside without stopping,” Eun-ji said.
“That’s not how this works.”
“No,” she said evenly. “It’s how this works tonight.”
The room went quiet again. So many people believed they loved me, even though they didn’t know me. The problem was that some didn’t know where to draw the line.
Sang-hoon hadn’t said a word. I looked at him across the room. He stood beside the wall, posture rigid, beside the two Starhouse security guards. That unsettled me more than anything Aidan had said.
Jason stepped forward. “Transport will use a revised route. Dressing rooms have already been swept and will be re-swept before your arrival. If anything unusual happens tonight—anything at all—you follow instructions immediately. No improvising. No heroics.”
His gaze landed very briefly on me. Then Sang-hoon.
Eun-ji clapped her hands once, briskly reclaiming control. “Good. Hair and makeup in thirty minutes. Let’s make history at Madison Square Garden.”
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.