Page 35 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

If anything, it made it harder because I’d been labouring under that misapprehension.

The tutor was very kind, though. Honestly, I think she was just surprised I’d taken the effort to learn any Korean before coming, beyond, “where’s the train station?

” and “how much is this tteokbokki?” She’d practically fallen out of her chair when I’d been able to demonstrate I could at least identify the Hangul characters in the alphabet. Most of them.

At least I now had my expectations set as to my Korean proficiency. My tutor was convinced I’d be conversational within a year – provided I attended at least one in-person lesson per week, and followed up with the online class.

She gave me the option to pay the whole year up front, but I opted for paying monthly.

It felt like too much pressure to sign up for a year when plans were so uncertain, and also, Jihoon had flat-out insisted on paying, and I just couldn’t bring myself to smash through that much of my boyfriend’s money. Ick.

Jihoon was going to a Pilates class after his recording session, so I had a bit of time to kill before meeting him back at the apartment.

He kept trying to insist that I call a driver to ferry me around, but I refused.

Having moved from the back-of-nowhere country side in the north of England to London the year I turned eighteen, I’d had a fast education in city-life.

Then moving to LA the year after I graduated meant cities no longer fazed me, whatever side of the globe they were on.

I just kind of enjoyed wandering around, seeing what I could see.

When Jihoon and I went out into the city, it was usually to well-known places where he could either blend in with the crowds, or exclusive places where people were less likely to pay any attention.

Walking around like this, just me and a maps app, felt more like I was getting to know the city I was potentially going to be calling home for… who knew how long.

Though I didn’t like to do it often, just following the roads and exploring really did allow for comparisons to be made between Seoul and the cities I had known before, and honestly – aside from the obvious things, like the language on the signs and some of the architecture – there were a lot of similarities.

The centre of any city was always a theme park; it’s usually where all the big touristy places are, the shiniest malls, the most famous streets for food, even the most eccentric streets became a tourist attraction. The suburbs of any given city all kind of had the same vibe.

Every city had something unique though, something different.

With London, I’d always thought it was the way the modernity of it went head-to-head with the hundreds of years of history.

Awkwardly shaped skyscrapers locked in a perpetual staring match with Westminster Abbey.

Shakespeare’s Globe a stone’s throw away from Millennium Bridge.

Bumped up against a shiny, modern building was always some crooked little alley with the original cobblestones.

LA didn’t have quite the same opposing personality. It’s just complete chaos, and absolutely unapologetic about it. You either lean into it, or get out of its way.

Seoul? I wasn’t sure yet. Sure, the city centre was all shiny, and modern, and just down the way from those skyscrapers were picturesque walks, lined with blossom trees. Beyond that, I didn’t feel qualified to make a real assessment of it yet.

I walked around for a couple of hours after my language lesson, using my app to navigate to some interesting areas including this bomb cafe where I got a pastry shaped like a fish, called a bungeo-ppang – which meant ‘carp bread’.

The word ppang I knew from my language app, but not having moved onto aquatic species, I’d Googled the rest of the name.

I don’t know why it’s named carp bread, because the one I got was filled with a sweet, red bean paste which sounded weirder than it tasted.

The owner of the cafe was a cheerful, older man who’d been so charmed by my clumsy attempt to order in Korean, that he’d sprinkled extra sugar on my still-warm pastry, and insisted I try it right there.

After I’d awkwardly taken a bite, and involuntarily done my happy-food-dance, he’d clapped in delight and told me in broken English to come back and eat more pastries.

It was probably one of the most wholesome encounters of my life.

With the help of the Naver app, I mapped my route back to Hannam. It was only a fifteen-minute walk, but Jihoon was already back by the time I pushed open the door to the apartment.

He said something to me in a stream of Korean so fast that I was only able to pick out a word or two, and one of them was my name.

“Well, annyeong to you, too.”

“Wah, what are we paying your seonsaengnim for, if you don’t speak Korean yet?”

“My teacher has more patience than you do, Mr Baek.” I toed off my shoes and walked towards him to give him a kiss.

I’d meant it to only be a little drive-by peck, but instead, he grabbed me around the waist and yanked me against him.

I squealed, and batted at his chest as ineffectually as I might have batted against a boulder.

“Hmm, you’re in a good mood.” I grinned against his lips.

“I have good news.”

He leaned in to to kiss me again, but I pulled back before his lips could touch mine, scrutinising his face.

“What news?”

He smiled lazily at me in a way that told me exactly how pleased with himself he was.

“You have a meeting with Kang Jihye tomorrow.”

I stared at him, blankly.

“She’s a director at the company.”

“A director?” I yelped, and Jihoon flinched.

“Ky, my ears are right here,” he moaned, pulling at his earlobe.

“Sorry,” I said in a more measured, quieter tone. “A director of what?”

“Creative production. She…” he paused, eyes drifting to the side as he thought through his words. It was so cute when he did this; he’d once described it as like writing a script in his head. A trick they’d all learned from their media training days as rookies.

“She is in charge of everything about how a group looks. Their outfits for comebacks, the stages, music videos, even our… hmm, brand.” He snapped his fingers on the word. “Personality of the group.”

I wrinkled my nose. “She decides what your personality is?”

He shrugged and shook his head slightly. “Not us, not anymore. But at the start, yes. She decides what look is best for a group.”

“It feels like that should be something a group should decide for itself.”

To my surprise, he laughed. “No. Rookie groups don’t always make good decisions about how to look.

“A group can only debut once. You make a good impression or you fail.” He shrugged again.

“It is Kang Jihye’s job to know what the fans will want, so she decides, and the entire launch is designed around that.

Each comeback is different. Sometimes a group will be cute, but next they will be dark, sexy. ” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

I nodded, getting the idea. “But I have no experience with anything you just described.”

“Her department is the biggest. They have lots of smaller teams that work together, and there are usually juniors who help with everything. I’m hoping she will give you work as a junior assistant. You’d be helping on things like music videos, shoots, stages, variety shows. Lots of things.”

“Ahh,” I nodded slowly, “a roadie.”

Jihoon frowned. “A roadie?”

I waved a hand, nonchalantly. “Basically, what you just described. And I’m meeting her tomorrow?”

“Yes. We’ll go in tomorrow.”

“You’re not coming in with me!”

He held up his hands. “I’ll go to my studio and film a live. Don’t worry, jagiya. You won’t need me. I told her how brilliant you are. World’s best intern.” He grinned, and I rolled my eyes before stepping away from him and heading into the living room.

“What are you doing?” He followed me.

“I’m going to Google her.”

“Why?”

“So I can find out how to butter her biscuit.”

“Her… butter – what?”

I just laughed.