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I went back and forth on this at intervals throughout the night, but eventually my curiosity overruled my apprehension, and the following day, I followed a crowd of other people headed to the coach that would take us to Kyoto.

But, as it turned out, the plan for a Kyoto field trip had not stayed amongst the lower ranks, and there were three coaches waiting by the side of the road. I boarded the last coach with spaces, along with a mix of tech crew. It was as I was staring off into space that I saw more people boarding the bus, and I watched with interest as a handful of managers and security climbed up and filed into the empty front seats, followed by all five members of GVibes. It was a big coach and I was closer to the back, but when he boarded, Jihoon’s eyes seemed to lock with mine with unnerving precision. Like he’d sought me out. It only lasted a few moments, until Woojin nudged him with his shoulder, making him take a seat.

The drive from Osaka to Kyoto only took about an hour, and when we pulled up at the coach stop in downtown Kyoto, everyone scattered to go on their own side-quests. Some, I knew, had specifically come to visit the historic Gion district, while others came for the shopping. I got off the coach and sat down in the bus stop to pull out my phone and check out the local area. I was just here for the plot, not the plan.

There was an almost overwhelming amount of things to do, so I picked the one that seemed like it would be a little less intense than famous shopping districts.

It wasn’t far away. Just one train stop and about a ten-minute walk and then I stood in a courtyard, surrounded by people wearing kimono, staring up at an inclined path lined with tall, bright vermilion torii gates. I stopped to read an information board, outlining a brief history of the Fushimi Inari Shrine. I had just gotten to the part where it stated the ascent took about two hours, when someone grabbed my shoulder. I spun around, ready to either politely shrug them off, or belt them in the face – depending on the situation, when I froze, my mind throwing up the word ‘Ace’.

“Oh!” I exhaled heavily, dropping my hands to my sides.

“Noona!” He grinned at me. “I did not know you would be here. Are you lonely?”

Lee sidled up next to him, nudging him with his elbow. “Alone, pabo. Not ‘lonely’.”

“It’s the same!” Ace argued, pushing him back.

“You can speak in Korean if it’s easier,” I offered.

“No,” Lee protested, waving his hands, even as Ace opened his mouth to reply. “We need to practice.”

“Aish,” Ace protested.

Lee ignored him. “We did not speak English at all in the military. We are very rusty.”

I raised an eyebrow at Lee because to me, he spoke it perfectly.

Ace huffed, but then said in clipped English. “Are you here alone, Kaiya?”

They were dressed warmly in plain clothing and hats pulled low, and unless you were looking very closely, they were essentially nondescript. Hiding in plain sight, as Jihoon once put it.

I snorted, smiling softly at the ridiculous circumstance that found the three of us in the middle of Kyoto, of all the places we each could have chosen to visit.

“Yup, just me.”

“Would you like to come with us?” Lee asked politely. “We were just about to walk up.”

“Sure,” I agreed easily. “Although…” I looked around them, trying to find the tell-tale height of any of their security detail – all of whom were bizarrely tall. “No guards?”

Ace grinned. “They’re at a coffee shop. Not far. They know where we are, but they are having a break.”

“Good for them. They deserve it, with all the running around you make them do.”

Just before we’d left Korea, a video had gone viral of Ace running down the road in Hongdae, giggling like a child because apparently he’d wanted to join in with a random dance challenge he’d seen while passing. His security had had to run after him. The video had been edited so many times to include funny music, video-game graphics and commentary. I must have watched half a dozen fan-edits, and honestly, it got funnier every time.

Together, the three of us began to walk up the trail, stopping often to take pictures with the imposing torii gates and miniature shrines along the way. I took so many photos of them on their phones as they posed, but then they insisted I take out my own phone to pose for selfies with them. It was understood that I wouldn’t publicly post any of them.

At first the conversation between the three of us was stilted in a way that couldn’t be blamed on language, as we all knew enough of Korean and English that language wasn’t really an excuse. It was like we were friends who had forgotten how to act around each other, and we were all aware of it. Ace made the most effort, taking pains to include me in every conversation, or to point something out to me. Lee had always followed Ace’s lead even though he was the older of the two of them. It was in some ways a comfort to notice this dynamic hadn’t changed.

So much of my life, and my connection to the life I’d led before had changed, or disappeared entirely. Sometimes it felt like I’d dreamed it all up: this impossible story of an extraordinary life wrapped in the normalcy of routine and eating fried chicken in front of the telly. Maybe it was silly, but seeing the way Ace and Lee played with each other, taking goofy selfies, it was validating in a way I hadn’t expected.

We continued up the trail, and I began to concede that maybe I hadn’t misread the information board at the bottom; perhaps this trail really would take two hours to traverse. We passed several other tourists going up or down, and no one paid us much attention, too focused on the scenery.

We stopped at a little cluster of buildings that looked like single-story houses. Drinks fridges were outside, filled with cans and bottles, and I was silently relieved for the excuse to stop, as my thighs had begun to ache from all the stairs.

Ace was just debating whether to get a fizzy drink or a bottle of water when three figures emerged from the darkened interior of the nearest building.

Minjae, Woojin and Jihoon.