Chapter 104
The morning of his first official fan meeting did not arrive with a fanfare; it came with the quiet, unyielding chill of dawn, the sky bleeding from indigo to a bruised, translucent gray.
Long before the city's choked with rush-hour traffic, Sunghoon was awake. He sat on the edge of his bed, the silence of the apartment wrapped around him like an old coat. For a man who had lived two lives, mornings were usually a battleground of orientation, a brief, disorienting second where he had to remember which face he was wearing, which decades of memories belonged to the current hour. But today, the adrenaline was already humming beneath his skin, localizing into a sharp, tight knot in his stomach.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen illuminated his face, casting a sharp, blue glow over his features. Without thinking, his thumb navigated to the messaging app.
[Haru]: The sun is just coming up here. Heading out soon. Wish me luck today
He didn't wait for a reply. London was miles away, buried in the deep, late-night hours of a grueling music video shoot. He set the device down and made his way to the bathroom.
The steam from the hot water filled the small space, blurring his reflection in the mirror until he was nothing more than a pale silhouette. As he soaked, his mind drifted back to his past life as Sunghoon. In that lifetime, he had been an industry titan, an actor whose name carried the heavy, clinical weight of box-office guarantees and critical acclaim. He had attended grand premieres, stood before flashing walls of paparazzi, and sat through stiff, corporate press conferences.
But he had never had a fan meeting.
In his previous era, the barrier between an actor and the public was an iron curtain. You existed as an untouchable, pristine projection on a silver screen. The idea of standing in a room with two thousand people who had willingly parted with their hard-earned money just to look at him, to hear him speak as himself rather than through the safety of a screen, was a terrifyingly modern phenomenon.
Would they like him? he wondered, the thought carrying a faint, familiar sting of imposter syndrome. He had never been overly self-conscious about his appeal, but inside the quiet sanctuary of his chest, a rare, vulnerable truth existed: he wanted them to like him.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel, he bypassed his own wardrobe. Instead, his hands reached into the back of the closet, pulling out an oversized, heavy cotton hoodie. It was heather-gray, smelling faintly of cedar, sandalwood, and the distinct, expensive laundry detergent of the penthouse. Raiven's hoodie.
It swallowed his frame, the sleeves pooling around his wrists, but as he pulled the hood up, he felt an immediate, grounding warmth. It was a superstition he would never admit aloud ,wearing his lover's clothes for luck, building a small, secret fortress of comfort before throwing himself to the hands of public scrutiny.
By the time he sat at the kitchen table with a simple breakfast, his phone pinged with a rhythmic vibration.
[Raiven]: I'm awake. I didn't sleep yet anyway. The director wanted another lighting setup.
[Raiven]: did you have breakfast?
[Haru]: I'm eating right now. Are you still at the set?
[Raiven]: I'm fine. Focus on your day. I have a present for you, by the way.
Haru paused, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl.
[Haru]: A present? What is it? Don't tell me you ordered something ridiculous to the venue.
[Raiven]: You'll see.
[Haru]: Jae-wook. Tell me.
[Raiven]: No. Go to work, Actor Haru.
A soft, genuine smile broke through the tension on Haru's face. He shook his head, locking the phone and slipping it into his pocket. The sense of warmth stayed with him all the way down to the outside of the gate where the company van was already waiting.
The venue was a prestigious university grand hall nestled in the heart of Seoul. It was an auditorium designed with steep, cascading rows of plush velvet seats, capable of holding at most two thousand people. To a global idol like Raiven, who routinely filled stadiums of fifty thousand, it was a intimate pocket; to a rookie actor like Haru, whose career was barely an infant, it was an immense, daunting cavern.
Haru arrived hours before the doors were scheduled to open. He was, by nature, a perfectionist. He often teased Raiven about his obsessive, high-intensity discipline, but the truth was that Sunghoon was no different. He was simply subtler about it.
As the van pulled through the security gates of the university, Haru's breath caught. The sun had barely cleared the horizon, casting long, golden shadows across the asphalt, but a crowd had already gathered. Hundreds of young women and men were lined up along the barricades, wrapped in heavy coats, holding customized banners with his face on them.
"They're here already?" Haru murmured, leaning closer to the tinted glass.
"Fans are terrifyingly diligent, Haru-ya," the driver noted with a chuckle.
An instinctive surge of gratitude washed over Haru's chest. He didn't wait for the security staff to shield him completely. As soon as his boots hit the pavement, he turned toward the barricades. He walked over, his stride easy and unhurried despite the sudden, collective gasp that rippled through the crowd.
"You came so early," Haru said, his voice soft but carrying clearly in the crisp morning air. He bowed deeply, a perfect forty-five-degree angle. "It's cold today. Please make sure you have something warm."
"Haru-ya! Look over here!" a fan screamed, her hands trembling as she held up a camera with a massive telephoto lens. "Did you eat breakfast?"
"I ate properly," he replied, offering a warm, direct eye contact that made a group of teenagers behind her clutch their chests. He spent another five minutes signing a few stray notebooks and waving before Alice practically dragged him by the elbow into the warmth of the backstage corridors.
"Save the charm for the stage," Alice muttered, though her expression was bright.
"We have a tight cue rotation. Let's move."
Backstage was a controlled chaos of wardrobe racks, makeup lights, and bustling production coordinators.
Haru set his bag down. He turned to a passing stage hand, his expression turning serious. "The boxes I requested... are they set up in the main lobby?"
The staff member nodded quickly. "Yes, Mr. Haru. Alice supervised the entire layout. The distribution teams are ready."
For the next three hours, he ran the technical rotations with a clinical precision that stunned the university stage crew. He walked every inch of the wooden floorboards, checking the blind spots of the lighting rigs, ensuring the monitor speakers didn't produce a piercing feedback whine when he stepped near the edge, and reviewing the exact timing of the video cues with the production coordinator.
"Haru-ya," Alice called out from the wings, gesturing toward a mountain of neatly stacked paper shopping bags near the dressing room. "The go-bags you requested are fully assembled. I checked the inventory myself."
Haru walked over, his dark eyes softening as he inspected the packages. He had spent hours online weeks before, meticulously researching what fans actually appreciated during events. He had flatly refused the standard, cheap agency merchandise. Instead, he had ordered custom-designed insulated tumblers filled with high-end throat-soothing tea packets, small packs of organic hand warmers for the winter chill, a premium leather-bound notebook embossed with a small, minimalist leaf, and a handwritten note from himself reproduced on heavy, high-grade cardstock.
"Thank you, Noona," Haru said, giving Alice a warm, genuine smile that made the stressed-out manager momentarily blink in surprise. "Make sure every person who enters the hall gets one. If we run out, pull from my personal account to source more from the local vendors."
"You're too soft on them," Alice grumbled, though her lips twitched into a fond smile as she checked them off her list.
"You spent a fortune on those gift sets," Alice noted, watching him with an analytical gaze. "Most rookies don't do that, Haru. It sets a dangerous precedent for your wallet."
"They spent their time and money to sit in a room and watch me talk," Haru replied simply, his dark eyes steady as the makeup artist began prepping his skin. "A little warmth in return is the bare minimum."
His grounded, respectful attitude permeated the entire backstage area. He greeted every audio technician, every camera operator, and every security guard by name, bowing politely. In an industry where young stars often let sudden fame turn them into cold, demanding divas, Haru's serene, bright demeanor was a breath of fresh air. In turn, the entire atmosphere of the venue shifted, lifting into something light, cooperative, and genuinely joyful.
At exactly 6:00 PM, the house lights slammed to black, and a deafening, unified roar shook the concrete foundation of the university hall.
The stage erupted into a soft, cinematic amber glow as the opening notes of a melancholic ballad played through the speakers. Haru walked out from the wings, dressed in a sharp, tailored casual suit that accentuated his long legs and elegant frame. He held the microphone with a practiced ease that belied his rookie status, singing a classic soundtrack piece. While he wasn't a powerhouse vocal like Raiven, his voice was a rich, warm baritone.
When the song ended, the applause was deafening. Haru smiled.
The show transitioned into the Q&A segment, hosted by a comedian who kept the energy lively. A large digital screen behind them lit up with questions submitted by fans before the show.
The MC adjusted his cue cards, leaning forward with a dramatic flair. "Alright, Haru-ya. Let's look at this question from user Lover99. They ask: 'As a rookie actor, everything moved so fast for you. You went from being an unknown trainee to a household name almost overnight after the show. How does it feel to be discovered so early in your career? Do you ever feel burdened by the sudden weight?'"
The audience went still, waiting for the standard, media-trained response.
Haru sat back on his high stool, his long legs crossed at the ankle. He let the silence linger for a brief moment, his mind drifting to Sunghoon to the decades he had spent hiding behind scripts, the tragic end of his first life, and the miracle of this second chance. When he looked back at the crowd, his eyes were incredibly deep, filled with an ancient, unshakeable sincerity.
"I think about that a lot," Haru murmured, his voice dropping into an intimate, honest register that made the fans in the back row lean forward. "But the truth is... this dream has been burning inside me for a very long time. Longer than most people realize. Before I got this chance, there were moments when I felt like I was completely suffocating inside my own skin. Like I was a man standing under water, looking up at the surface but unable to breathe."
He paused, a soft, incredibly beautiful smile breaking across his lips. "Getting discovered early didn't feel like a burden. It felt like someone finally reached into the water and pulled me out. If I hadn't pursued this now, if I hadn't thrown everything I had into this fire... I think I would have ceased to exist. So, I don't wish for more time. I only wish to use the time I have perfectly."
A collective, emotional sigh rippled through the auditorium. Several fans in the front row pulled out tissues, visibly moved by the raw, poetic gravity of his response.
To break the heavy emotional atmosphere, Haru shifted his weight and leaned toward the mic with a conspiratorial glint in his eyes.
"But, you know... the agency really tried to make me a well-rounded star for today. They insisted I should perform a song or show off some choreography."
The crowd screamed in excitement, but Haru immediately raised his hands in mock panic, shaking his head. "No, no! Please, have mercy on your ears. I spent days trying to learn a basic vocal run in the studio, and the producer looked like he wanted to report me to the labor union for emotional distress. I can't dance, and if I try to sing high notes, the glass in this beautiful hall might shatter."
The auditorium dissolved into wild, roaring laughter.
"So, instead," Haru continued, his eyes crinkling with amusement, "I think it's only fair that if I have to suffer through learning a trend dance, some of you should come up here and suffer with me. Who knows the choreography for Raiven's latest title track?Is there anyone in the audience who can show me how it's done? Come up here and teach me, and if I fail miserably,which I will,you can take home a special signed poster."
The hall went chaotic. Hands shot into the air, people jumping in their seats. For the next hour, the fan meeting became an chaotic, incredibly lively interactive playground. Haru brought up fans, completely breaking the traditional, rigid boundaries of idol-fan interactions. He stumbled through the high-intensity hip-hop movements with a clumsy, easygoing charm that had the audience groaning with laughter, his face flushing red as he accidentally tripped over his own feet while trying to mimic a high-speed spin.
He was a complete anomaly. In an industry where rookies were often rigid, terrified of making mistakes, and buried under thick layers of curation, Haru was a breath of fresh air. He was easygoing, incredibly witty, and entirely unafraid of looking ridiculous if it meant the people in the room were having fun.
The two-hour session flew by like a heartbeat. When the MC finally announced the closing remarks, a unified, collective groan of protest echoed from the velvet seats.
"We have to take a beautiful picture before I leave," Haru comforted them, walking down to the very edge of the stage. He crouched down, his back to the audience as a professional photographer stepped forward. "Everyone, hold up your banners. On three!"
The camera flashed, capturing two thousand smiling faces behind a young man whose eyes were bright with a profound, quiet triumph.
Backstage, the comedown from the stage high was immediate. Haru sat in front of the vanity mirror, letting the stylist gently remove the heavy stage makeup and style his hair back into its natural, casual fringe. He changed out of the tailored suit, slipping back into his comfortable trousers and the oversized gray hoodie he had arrived in.
"Excellent work, Haru-ya," Mae-rin said, handing him a clipboard with the post-event analytics. "The live feedback on the community forums is exploding. The fans are calling the go-bags thoughtful . You're trending at number two on the search portals."
"Thank you. For everything," Haru said, standing up and grabbing his dark overcoat. He gave her a smile which she returned he wasn't sure whether to giver her a hug but he didn't want to cross her boundaries she instead gave him one seeing his hesitation as she encouraged him. Haru felt his heart leaped at the gesture. He was glad he had his sister with him although she didn't know it.
When he walked out of the backstage exit toward the parking lot, he expected to see the usual clearing of a concluded event. Instead, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The university courtyard was a sea of people. The security staff had been forced to call in reinforcements, erecting double-layered steel barricades along the entire perimeter of the exit path. Earlier, a staff member had mentioned that there were some people who couldn't secure tickets waiting outside, but Haru had assumed it would be a small pocket of a hundred or so people.
There were close to five thousand people packed outside.
The moment his tall figure stepped into the crisp evening air, a roar went up that was louder than the one inside the auditorium. The sheer volume of it hit his chest like a physical wave.
Haru didn't run to the safety of the van. He walked slowly toward the center of the steps, his hands coming out of his pockets. He bowed deeply to the left, then to the right, and finally straight ahead, holding the position for several seconds to show his respect.
"Thank you for waiting!" he shouted, his voice straining slightly to carry over the din. "Please go home safely! It's getting late!"
Suddenly, a strange, low whirring sound echoed from above.
The crowd gasped, thousands of heads tilting upward simultaneously. Haru followed their gaze, his breath catching in his throat. A massive fleet of synchronized light were rising from behind the dark silhouette of the university library. They climbed into the night sky like a swarm of glowing fireflies, shifting and turning with a military precision until they formed a massive, brilliant constellation of pure white light against the dark Seoul sky.
The drones shifted again, lines of light connecting until they spelled out his name in bold, English and Korean characters:
[ CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR FIRST FAN MEETING, HARU. ]
[ THE PATH AHEAD WILL BE SHINING. ]
The crowd gasped, thousands of phones instantly tilting toward the sky to capture the massive, aerial display.
Haru stood on the steps, a wide, genuine smile slowly forming on his face. The sheer scale of the surprise, the absolute luxury of the execution,it didn't take a genius to figure out who was behind it.
A deep, bubbling warmth settled into Haru's chest. He spent another ten minutes on the pavement, signing a few final posters through the gaps in the barricades, his expression entirely serene despite the chaotic wall of sound around him. When he finally slid into the back seat of the company van, his ears were ringing, and his muscles were trembling with exhaustion.
Mae-rin was already sitting inside, her tablet illuminating her face as she looked at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated triumph.
"Well," Mae-rin said, her voice dripping with satisfaction as the van began to crawl through the crowded gates. "Your boyfriend certainly knows how to make a statement.
He's thoroughly whipped, is what he is," Mae-rin countered, though there was a soft, affectionate glint in her eyes. "Look outside."
The van rolled down the main commercial avenue leading away from the university district. Haru looked out, and his breath caught for the second time that day. Every single digital billboard, every massive electronic display wrapping around the skyscrapers, and every bus shelter ad space was flashing with his face. High-definition clips from his episodes, pristine promotional stills, and giant typography illuminated the entire street in a brilliant, neon glow.
He couldn't even begin to calculate the cost. To clear out the advertising inventory of a major commercial district for even an hour required a level of financial leverage that defied logic.
Ping.
The phone in his lap vibrated.
[Raiven]: did you love the gift?
[Haru]: I did. The drones were beautiful, Jae-wook-ya. But the billboards... you spent an absolute fortune. The entire district is glowing with my face. It's slightly embarrassing.
[Raiven]: It's not enough. You deserve the entire city. Did you like it?
[Haru]: I loved it. Truly. Thank you, Jae-wook. I'll video call you the second I get back to the apartment.
"The results are spectacular," Mae-rin announced, interrupting his thoughts as she swiped through her tablet. "The brand reputation index for this month is going to clear the roof. To celebrate, I've already authorized a full company dinner for the entire staff and production crew at a premium hanwoo restaurant down the road. You're coming, right?"
Haru let out a soft, exhausted sigh. " I'd love to, but I'm completely drained. My brain is operating on zero sleep, and I still have to pack for the Jeju trip next week. Please treat them well on my behalf."
Mae-rin pouted, a theatrical expression of disappointment crossing her features. ""Just for thirty minutes, Haru-ya. The junior stylists and the stage crew will be too intimidated to eat properly if the star doesn't make an appearance to pour the first glass. Don't be so cold."
Haru looked at her, seeing the genuine hope in her eyes, and let out a defeated, breathless laugh. He was entirely shameless when it came to giving in to the people he cared about. "Fine. Twenty minutes. But the moment the clock hits 9:30, I am sliding out the back door."
"Deal!" Mae-rin cheered.
The local restaurant was a bustling, high-end establishment filled with the rich, savory scent of charcoal-grilled beef and aged kimchi stew. The atmosphere inside was electric. The twenty-odd staff members, production assistants, and backup dancers were already loud, their tables littered with green bottles of soju and brass bowls of rice wine.
When Haru walked in, the entire room stood up, cheering and clapping.
"To Actor Haru!" the main stage director shouted, raising his glass.
Haru bowed repeatedly, a warm smile on his face as he navigated the tables. He didn't sit in a secluded VIP corner with Hae-rin and Se-hee instead, he moved from table to table, pouring drinks for the junior crew members, asking about their families, and thanking them for their hard work. He kept his own glass filled with simple barley tea, taking only a few modest sips of alcohol when standard etiquette demanded it. His past-life instincts as Sunghoon made him an expert at socialization,he knew exactly how to make everyone feel seen and respected without losing his own sobriety or dignity.
As the night wore on and the conversations turned louder and more uninhibited under the influence of the alcohol, Haru quietly caught Hae-rin's eye from across the room. She gave him a subtle, knowing nod.
While Alice was busy challenging the head lighting technician to a drinking contest, Haru slipped his overcoat on, jammed his black baseball cap low over his eyes, and snuck out through the kitchen exit into the crisp, quiet midnight air.
The taxi ride back to his neighborhood was a soothing, dark blur. When he finally arrived outside his residential complex, the heavy, metallic gate clanked shut behind him with a comforting familiarity.