Chapter 35
Jiyeon woke in an unfamiliar bed, beneath an unfamiliar ceiling. The sky showed violet through the window, not quite lightless in this hour before dawn. She'd forgotten to pull the drapes.
Remembrance came on a slow wave. This wasn't her room at Langley House.
At the moment, this was something of a prison cell.
Jiyeon had been told to go to her hotel room and stay there.
The night had ended badly. Eunjae. She needed to know if he was okay, if Apollo was okay.
Where was her phone? She couldn't find it.
Right, it was with Eric. Prism wanted to keep information contained. Liberated from endless digital noise, she couldn't be overly connected and wired and informed. It created new depths of isolation.
Never mind. She had a phone on the nightstand, and Jiyeon knew Eunjae's room number. If she called the front desk at the Grand Empress, maybe they could connect her.
Or maybe not. Maybe they'd tell her the room was vacant.
Both hotels were accustomed to high-profile guests and the security measures that came with them, so her best bet would be to figure out the direct number.
Well, she could do that. She'd talk to him somehow.
Jiyeon sat up, twisting her long hair into a bun.
By habit, she tried to use the elastic on her wrist and couldn't find that, either.
Of course, because she'd given it to Eunjae, for good luck.
Undaunted, she pushed through possible solutions, everything from trying the front desk anyway to simply getting up and walking over there, Eric be damned. But now there were heavy footsteps thumping down the hall outside Jiyeon’s door.
Denny didn't knock. His words were battering rams made of pure, thunderous sound. “Yeonnie, we have to go.”
She flew out of bed and threw on a sweater. Fingers on the deadbolt, Jiyeon hesitated. Eric was out there with her brother. She recognized the calm, even cadence of his sentences, smooth as lines read from a teleprompter.
Denny had his suitcase, passport slung around his neck.
He wasn't dressed for the weather. He wasn't even dressed to be out in public, not by his own standards.
Her brother wore sweatpants only to sleep, but here he was, still in the pair he'd worn to bed.
The rumpled t-shirt was old enough to bear the original Wanna Waffle logo, which they'd redesigned more than two years ago.
There was a hole in the right sleeve. And it was raining again, but Denny didn't have an umbrella. Nor had he bothered with a coat.
In her head, sirens blared. Something must have happened to their parents, or Janie. An accident, an emergency. “Hang on,” said Jiyeon, rushing to pack her own bags. Eric said something about staying in Japan. Words reached her, fragments without context: obligation, image, optics.
Optics. Repulsed, she lost her hold on a tube of lipstick. It rolled into the sink with a clatter. “I understand that you're upset,” said Eric, “and there's no question of sending your sister home. We’ve got a flight booked. Consider that handled.”
“We’re both going,” Denny replied. He came in to help and she could tell he hadn't slept a wink.
Since he'd stashed his phone in the same pouch as the passport, she was able to see part of the screen. Messages kept coming in, so many that the notifications stopped showing previews. The sender was Kazu, Kazu, Kazu. They must’ve allowed him to keep his phone, as leader.
Jiyeon dropped the lipstick again, missing the mouth of her makeup bag entirely. “Denny, what happened?”
He cleared the bathroom vanity, working so fast that she couldn't keep up. “It's the shop,” he answered, brusque as always. But this was different, this was worse, because Jiyeon had known Denny since the day he was born. He wasn't just angry. He was miserable.
The shop. What went wrong at the shop?
Eric entered the room uninvited. He'd been joined by one of the Erins, who returned Jiyeon’s phone.
“This is the earliest flight we could get you,” she said, babbling about transportation to the airport and which approved responses were to be given in case of media inquiries.
Jiyeon tuned her out. Her battery was at a precarious twelve percent, but the screen was powered on now, flooded with notifications.
She scrolled, frantic. Eleven messages from Mom. Eight from Dad.
They'd sent pictures, too shaken to manage much else. The first one hit with such force that Jiyeon had to lean against the nearest wall, seeing stars. She sucked in a breath and forced herself to keep looking.
It was the orange door at Wanna Waffle. The stained glass panels were shattered, reduced to shards on the pavement. Remnants of their father's plants filled the foreground, a carpet of spilled soil and trampled leaves.
Emma had been tagged in dozens of posts across multiple apps. Most of the content was the same: spilled food, cracked plates, chairs overturned in the dining room. Piles of colorful packaging, long since gutted. Here, half of Apollo smiled from a sign ripped in half. A table had collapsed.
Sunshines had started lining up for the exclusive merch drop on Friday afternoon, with many camping out overnight.
And that would've been fine; Wanna Waffle had seen that kind of deluge before. But this time, certain factors were in play. Lumina’s music video had broken streaming records, fueling rumors that devoured Star-Connect and social media with the brutal speed of a wildfire.
Some were blaming Hazel for posting, but the email leak wasn’t her fault, and neither was the severity of Zenith’s reaction.
Fan speculation went wild. Max and Jungwoo were leaving the group.
Emerald had resorted to sabotage, unwilling to part with proven hitmakers.
At first it was just Jungwoo, but now they had the nerve to take Max as well.
And Zenith? They’d gotten greedy. They’d have every member of Apollo, or none at all.
Stuck in line for hours, the majority left empty-handed.
It took just one angry voice to set things off.
A fight broke out, escalating too rapidly to be contained.
Maybe they’d never be clear on what the argument was about, but that didn’t matter on the Internet.
People focused on videos of crazed Sunshines shouting, pushing, shoving.
By the thousands, they reposted footage of Joey Han roaring at the crowd.
“He thought they hurt Jeannie,” Denny said, dragging Jiyeon out of her feed.
“She’s fine. Fell down for a sec, but Dad found her.
Customers were freaking out, thinking they’d get crushed.
No serious injuries reported. Nobody pressing charges, either.
For now.” He whisked her shampoo and conditioner out of the shower.
“Not sure we’ll be on the same flight. Eric might try to keep me here, but I'll get going as soon as I can.”
She echoed Max’s words from last night. “He can't make you stay.”
“That’s true,” Eric concurred, “but the terms of Manager Han’s employment are very clear.
He has obligations to fulfill. This isn't the time to be leaving Apollo in Tokyo.
How would that look? They might be losing two members, and now their manager, too?
If he wants what's best for Apollo, he'll stay right here.”
Jiyeon locked her phone, banishing the news and the notifications and the pictures, that sickening gleam of glass on concrete. “The guys would want him to go. I know that's what they're telling him in all those messages.”
“If that's the case, and the group is fine with him leaving, then management of Apollo will be transferred to Prism.
Their agency has no staff members on site.
There's also the matter of Emerald Entertainment potentially bringing up a legal breach. The contract requires Manager Han to be present during a crisis, and this qualifies as a crisis.”
“He isn't an Emerald employee,” she argued.
“There are two binding agreements in place,” Eric argued back.
“Your brother signed legal paperwork with the agency in order to be allowed access to agency talent and facilities.
Even when artists personally choose their own staff, it's still necessary for managers to be cleared through the company.”
Denny shook his head. “Yeonnie, let it go. Grab your clothes and get moving.”
“What about you?”
“You heard him. I’m their manager. I… I need to stay.”
Out in the hall, an explosion of noise. Apollo peered inside, faces drawn and pale. “Let Denny go home,” said Eunjae, shouldering past Prism staff. “We’ll pay for the flight.”
Eric tapped a stylus on his tablet screen, tap tap tap.
His demeanor oozed sympathy. “I think he’d rather be here to support you.
Isn’t that true, Manager Han? You said this in an interview, if I recall correctly.
You’re very attached to Apollo. They’re your friends, and they mean a lot to you.
Making friends was never your strong suit, growing up.
Now, these friends need you more than ever.
I understand why you’re so torn. You care about your restaurant, but isn’t that just a place?
People are so much more important. Your words exactly. ”
Unbidden, Jiyeon’s eyes filled with tears. She would make him take that back. She would smash that stupid tablet to pieces and make him sorry he ever dared to weaponize Denny’s feelings about Apollo. She would—
Eunjae took her face in his hands. “Hey,” he murmured. “Look at me. Just me. You can’t listen to what he’s saying, okay? We need to get you out of here. Denny, too. I’ll fix this. I’ll find a way.”
“What about you? What about your contracts?” She’d skimmed the statement issued by Emerald. The agencies were locked in a very public dispute, trapping Apollo in the middle.
“Never mind about us. Jiyeon, the shop… I’m sorry. I’ll fix everything.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
He didn’t answer. And then Denny was there, urging her to finish packing. “Staying here won’t kill me. Just go.”
But it was killing him. The shop had been everything to her brother from the second he walked in. If anyone should be there, it was Denny.
“Boss, we’ll talk to Emerald,” said Eunjae. “They won’t take this to legal. It’s a family emergency, so you need to go.”
“No.” Denny pointed at the door. “Back to your rooms.”
“But—”
“Now, Ryan.”
No one budged, not Eunjae or anybody in the hall, and then Denny was roaring at Apollo, roaring like Joey in the videos online. “Go!” he yelled at them. “Do what I told you to do! Can’t follow a direct order to save your lives. Jesus, I can’t deal with this right now.”
He pushed a sweater into Jiyeon’s arms, a rain jacket, her purse. All the fight had drained out of him. “If I leave, management transfers to Eric. You know he won’t treat them like people, Yeonnie. That’s not how he sees them, or any of us. We’re pieces on a board.”
The hallway was empty now. Eunjae kissed her goodbye.
Eric had the gall to pat him on the back as he left. “If there’s anything I admire,” he mused, “it’s how much your manager cares about you. That kind of loyalty is hard to find.”