Jang Hyunseung trampled on the autumn leaves and arrived on time to the quaint café bar in Chungdam-don.  He recognized it from a music video and knew that the Americano served was caffeinated enough to keep him up at night.   

“Oppa,”  a smiling long hair brunette called out.  “I ordered your favorite coffee.”  The warm brew of fall pumpkin spice filled the air.

“There was a long line.  I know how busy you are with the comeback and all, but I’m really worried about you.”

“I’m fine,”  he acknowledged.  “The comeback is not until next summer.”

“Your face is so thin.  Have you been eating?”

“Somewhat,”  he answered.  “It’s been tough these past few weeks with practice and promotions and I’ve been really thinking hard. . .  I’ve been thinking about abeoji.”  His sparkling eyes faced down towards the floor. 

“Oppa, don’t get sad.”  She lightly touched his hand. 

“I still think about what happened.   I wasn’t expecting it.  It was so sudden.  He was healthy.  He never got sick and he ate like a horse.  He always liked my singing no matter how off tune it was.”  He half smiled. 

“It’s hard for all of us.  But harder on you.  He was always proud of you.”

He nodded.  “His memorial is coming up soon and I’m traveling to Singapore for fan meets.”

“Can’t they make exceptions?”

“No,”  his gaze turned down. “It gets hard with time.  It passes but it doesn’t make it better.”  He choked down the rest of his coffee like a shot of soju.

“What about Hyuna?”  she asked.

Jang Hyunseung stalled for a second.  Hyuna had crossed his mind, but he didn’t mean to dodge the answer to her question since across the room, he spotted a girl in a burgundy sweater with a shiny silver cell phone camera. She dashed towards the left of his field of vision.  She seemed familiar, but he didn’t need any super powers to be a k-pop idol since years of practice led him to recognize the nuances of the hater, the anti-fan especially of the one who stood at 3 o’clock from the table who gawked and pointed the cell phone for her final shot in his direction. 

“We need to go.  Pack up your things and go,”  he signaled.  "Pali, pali.. . ”

The next morning, he was called into Cube Entertainment’s CEO’s office without a warning. 

“Let’s make this simple.  I know that you didn’t really go work out with Gikwang after the gather.” 

“Dancing is enough exercise,”  he answered.

“And I know that you came late to the fan meet.”

“My watch battery stopped,” he said.

“I also know that I have 1000 angry netizens complaining over a picture posted on Instagram of your whereabouts in a café in Chungdam-don.  Thirty fans traveled from Japan are demanding refunds.  They paid 1.8 million won a pop to see you sing, dance and tell stories.”

They should have saved their money and gone on YouTube, he thought.

“You should know by now how this works.  How long has it been?

“Six years, sa jang nim.”

“And in th