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The security guard moved to stand discreetly in front of Ace and Minjae, blocking them from view. I scoffed. It felt a little late for that.

I explained briefly to Youngsoo, ending with me sending him the brief video I’d filmed of the women. He thanked me, perhaps more graciously than I’d ever seen him, before he and the security guard got Ace to his feet and hustled him inside the minibus.

Minjae moved to my side. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Really not a big deal,” I said, waving it away.

“It could have been,” he replied firmly. “Thank you.”

I didn’t quite know what to do with myself under the weight of Minjae’s intensity. It wasn’t often turned in my direction. It felt as if he wanted to say more, but before he could, he looked over my shoulder and exhaled.

I followed his line of sight and saw the rest of the group, flanked by the other managers and security that had come with us. Jihoon moved to my side, while Lee moved straight past me and into the bus, followed by Woojin.

“What happened?” Jihoon asked, leaning in so close I felt his breath on my neck.

“Jihoon.” Minjae’s voice cut between us. “On the bus. Time to leave.”

Jihoon’s eyes held mine for a few heartbeats longer before he moved away. I followed the group onto the bus, taking a seat near the front while they settled at the back. No one spoke as we drove back to the hotel.

Chapter 26

Moving from Toronto to Mexico City was as much of a culture shock as any so far. When you travelled predominantly in air-conditioned planes and buses, and went from generic hotel rooms to almost-identical backstage corridors, it became easy to forget that we were moving through countries with the kind of regularity as a commuter going through toll booths.

Mexico would not be so easily ignored. It wasn’t just the climate that hit me as we moved from the airport to the bus, or the Spanish being shouted at the procession of tour vehicles. The entire colour palette changed. If Toronto had been vibrant blues and purples, here, my eye kept catching on flaming orange, and summer-green leaves.

I forced myself to leave the hotel and join the other staff on what my mum would have called ‘whistle-stop’ tours. Rushing through the city in our brief pockets of downtime.

I saw Frida Kahlo’s blue house, and stood in the Zócalo, staring up at the Catedral Metropolitana, sweating through my shirt.

I bought my dad another fridge magnet.

My passport gained another stamp, my phone filled with photos I barely remembered taking, and each night I crawled into another bed, in another hotel room, my ears still ringing from the screams inside the venue. Different languages, yet the crowds singing in Korean had remained one of the few constants along the tour, and never failed to astound me.

May 24th

São Paulo

We had come to the last stop on the Americas leg of the tour, and possibly the only thing stopping me from collapsing from exhaustion was the energy of the city. The group was shown around by officials on a sort of victory lap, as if they were proudly displaying them to the city. It was a kind of warmth, a welcoming that felt almost familial, and I loved to see the members bask in it.

On the concert days, Vibers congregated for what felt like miles outside of the stadium. Thousands, and thousands of people who didn’t have tickets, but showed up just to be in the vicinity.

Despite the recommendations of the tour manager, I went outside the venue in the middle of day one to see for myself. I walked through the assembled crowds, seeing people vibing with the music audible from the stadium. Some Viber lightsticks had even synced to the Bluetooth from inside, pulsing in time to the beats. People were singing along, exchanging freebies, braiding friendship bracelets and having picnics. It felt more like a festival than a lot of real festivals I had been to. These fans would not be able to see the actual concert, but that wasn’t stopping them from enjoying the atmosphere of it. I was amazed by how orderly and peaceful it was. No one was pushing, no one was trying to jump barricades, and the nearby police – called to monitor the crowds – were just standing around in shaded areas. I spent the rest of the concert out there, feeling lucky to be a part of it as I took notes for my next piece.

For the second day in São Paulo, I planned to spend the concert in one of the suites with Sihyeon. I had stayed outside too long the previous day, and as my mum would have put it, I’d had too much sun. Thankfully, I’d been slathered in sun cream, so my skin hadn’t burned, but it felt like my brain had, and even being backstage in the hustle and bustle of it all felt like way too much effort.

I was tired and hot before we even pushed open the suite door. The aircon inside was a welcome balm to my overheated face as we stepped inside. It was busier than normal. Usually, the crew suites were only populated with other staff members, or occasionally, local well-to-do’s. Today, there was a larger crowd, speaking loudly in Korean, that I didn’t recognise. Sihyeon and I claimed an empty sofa to wait for the start of the concert, and I gratefully sank into it with a soft sigh.

“Oh. I didn’t know they’d be here today,” Sihyeon said.

I looked at her, taking in her raised eyebrows, and turned my head to follow her line of sight. She was looking at the group, and I paid them a little more interest, trying to figure out what the big deal was.

“Oh, shit,” I exhaled hard, turning my head away like if I couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see me.

“I didn’t know PrettyYOUngthings was coming,” Sihyeon went on, either oblivious to my reaction, or used to my occasional dramatics.

“Why are they here?” I groaned, leaning my head against the sofa cushions.

Sihyeon hummed, tapping her chin. “I know they played at Lollapalooza a few days ago. They must have stayed a few days extra. You okay? Still feeling a bit fried? You do look very red, Kaiya.” Sihyeon pressed a cool hand to my forehead. “Aish,” she hissed. “You could barbecue meat on your face.”