Page 26 of Wish Upon a K-Star
I don’t really go out that much.
After the first few times random people yelled at me on the street for being a bully to Ana, I’d slowly stopped going out unless absolutely necessary. Choosing instead to order most things online, even groceries. Plus, I had Sohee, who almost willfully refused to change her routines just because of her fame. She’d always go out on random errands or to grab us late-night snacks.
And, at first, I didn’t mind staying in. I like being at home most of the time. But now, it’s not the lack of going out that gets to me. It’s the lack of options. I’d like the choice of going out, even if I ultimately decide to stay in.
So, I started going to the one place that I always know is safe. The company building.
It’s actually a really nice place, with multiple dining options and cafés. There’s a gym and a screening room we can watch movies in. There’s even a bowling alley and arcade in the basement. And it has a convenience store inside that only employees can access where I can use my company points.
I know I sound like a weird advertisement for the joys of the Bright Star Entertainment building, but if there’s only one place I can go to every day, at least it’s a place with a lot of things to do.
Plus, the two things I am always expected to do, even on break, are to keep up my practice and keep up my skincare. And Bright Star even has a skincare clinic in the building. (Insider hint: Celebrities will be in dozens of commercials for miracle products, but the real secret to our flawless skin is almost daily clinic visits.)
Today, I’m antsy, and Sohee is busy with the photo shoot for Kastor’s album jacket. She texted me photos of her outfits this morning. They’re going with a mermaid concept, a play on Kastor being part of the Gemini constellation, known for guiding sailors in the olden days. It’s also why there are six members, because of the six stars in the Castor constellation. I used to love how deeply complicated the concepts were for idol groups. But now, I just get confused trying to memorize all the details for all the new hoobae groups.
Yet more proof that I was probably never truly cut out for being an idol. It’s why I need to safeguard my new life as an actress with everything I have. Even if it means playing nice with Minseok for another couple of months.
“It’s fine, the show is being well-received. You’re doing well,” I whisper to myself.
“Shin Hyeri.” Someone shouts my name and I spin around in surprise.
Did they hear me talking to myself? I’m already mortified before I recognize who was calling me.
Kwak Dongha is standing by the curb wearing a protest sign about “artists ruining the image of Bright Star.” And I know it’s about me.
I take a step back, ready for anything. Food projectiles, spit, even a slap—which has happened to me once before.
He thrusts out a paper, and I skitter back, almost falling on my butt. But he shakes it at me until I finally take it.
It’s a list of my perceived crimes (I’m not explicitly named, but I know it’s about me). I try not to read it, but I spot Kim Ana’s name and the words stolen costume . I sigh. Of course he believes the lie. Why wouldn’t he?
I want to ask him to leave me alone, but I just know it will spur him on. So, I just walk away as fast as I can without breaking into a run.
An employee is already coming out of the lobby, having witnessed the situation, and I breathe out a sigh of relief as he ushers me inside.
“You shouldn’t be so shameless!” Dongha shouts after me. “How dare you film a show when you should be reflecting on your bad behavior!”
I can’t help the reflexive hunch of my shoulders as the Bright Star employee uses his bulky arm to shield me and the automatic doors slide shut behind us.
But I can still hear Kwak Dongha shouting outside, even if I can’t hear the words he’s saying.
“Don’t worry, Hyeri-ssi. I’ve already alerted security.”
I nod, grateful, but also worried that they won’t be able to do much. He isn’t breaking any laws. Technically. I might have to wait in the building all day before I can leave.
I’m also embarrassed. Other artists don’t cause this kind of trouble to the company. I wonder if I’ll ever be free from this kind of hate. And if not, when will the company finally reach their limit when it comes to me?
The front desk guard opens one of the glass security gates for me with a polite nod. I can barely return the greeting as I keep my head down. I hate that this keeps happening to me. I hate that they keep witnessing it. I wonder if they will talk about it after. They must. Who wouldn’t? If I didn’t know how much gossip can truly hurt, I’d do it too. It’s human nature.
Luckily, there’s no one else in the elevator bank and I snag one alone. Finally able to lean against the back bar and settle my nerves.
“You’re going to be okay. You have things to do here. You can wait for him to leave. One anti doesn’t matter.” Except Kwak Dongha represents hundreds of faceless keyboard warriors who say so much worse behind their anonymity. He’s just the one who’s willing to show up and harass me in person.
The doors of the elevator open, and I start out before I realize it’s not my floor. I step back to let the others on, smoothing out my shirt and putting a polite smile on my face. It drops when I see Minseok with two of the younger producers. Thankfully, they don’t stop talking just because I’m here, and I slide to the corner, trying to make myself as small as I can.
Minseok doesn’t even glance at me as he listens to one of the producers explain the jazz concept of the sample.
“It sounds like his thing, but I thought he was leaning more hip-hop and R it’s too good a piece of content not to have for the show. And I hate it. Because I already feel like a fraud, and I know that we’ll create a much friendlier version for the cameras. Just another way of watering down the reality of my life so I’m palatable for the viewers.
“Screw you, jagiya .” Now it’s easy to say the word, as it’s saturated in all the sarcasm and frustration I feel.
“See you on set,” Minseok calls after me cheerfully as I let the door slam behind me.