Chapter 1: Once

I knew a guy who knew a guy who worked at JYP, hence why I was standing in front of their headquarters in Seoul. My resumé had been sent in the week before after extensive surveys and tests and I had been filled into a spot for 10:30.

I checked my watch; I was half hour early.

Good.

I walked inside and towards reception after getting past security by pulling up my conformation email on my phone.

"Hey, I'm here to check in for my 10:30 interview." I spoke in Korean.

"Sure!" she said in perfect English, recognizing my accent.

She was kind of cute.

Why do I have a thing for receptionists? I thought.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Y/N."

She clicked a few keys on her computer. "Alright... it seems like Mr. Lee has finished with his meeting early. You can head down that hall, there." She pointed to the side of the lobby to a large, windowed hall.

"Thank you."

I walked down the hall and found a man texting in front of a meeting hall. The windows peering in were frosted to obscure the view inside.

He looked up at my approach and smiled. "Y/N?"

"Yes, that's me."

He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Daniel Lee."

"English?" I asked, shaking his hand.

"My father is American, just like yours. Come on in."

He opened the door and gestured me to head inside. I did so and sat down at the side of the table next to his laptop setup.

"That's a nice laptop," I joked, scratching the back of my neck.

"Oh, yes, here's yours."

He sat down at the head of the table and pulled a laptop from out beside him, wrapped and packaged like brand new.

"Oh, wait, I was kidding—"

"Consider it a gift."

He withdrew a portfolio from his bag and placed it on the table, opening it to review a paper.

"You worked at NASA?"

I smiled softly. "I did. I worked for the analytical department." I neglected to add that living prices in Florida were too high, forcing me to quit just six months later.

"You're good with numbers, then? Timetables, unsuspected changes, calculations...?"

"Absolutely. Things often changed without warning and we needed to be prepared at all times."

He marked a box on his paper. "Any previous experience in the music industry?"

The questions continued like that for the next fifteen minutes. I answered each one carefully but nervously, for this was my thirtieth interview for a formal job in Korea after moving from America. Evidently, I had had little to no success and had to pull all of my connections to get this interview. You'd be surprised at how little an American engineering degree can get you when looking for a job overseas, though I figured the difficulty was appropriate given that my university was an obscure one.

The final question was tricky. "Are you a fan of any K-Pop groups?"

I was internally screaming Hell yes.I was a ONCE through and through, even though I had never been able to attend any concerts or fan signs as a poor college student.

"Yes," I said, my answer prepared. "I've always been a big fan of the music."

"Nothing that will get in the way of the job, I presume?"

"No," I said.

Hopefully not,I thought. Not unless I get Twice. Ha.

"Thank you for your patience. We'll get back to you soon."

"Thank you for the interview," I said, rising and shaking his hand.

I was unconfident as always, for I felt as though I'd flubbed a few business questions.

I walked out after waving bye to the receptionist and thinking better about asking for her number. My brother's place was a thirty-minute walk away and there was no way that I was paying a cab fare. Plus, my Korean was still marked by my accent and, frankly, I didn't want to talk to anyone. I made a detour to two places.

First, I headed to the small tech store halfway between JYP HQ and the flat and sold the laptop. It was with a heavy heart that I handed over the sealed-in-box MacBook Pro for a million won. I needed the cash to pay my rent (which my own brother charged after I freeloaded for three years, and which I'm pretty sure was illegal considering that my brother himself was renting out the apartment) and for groceries, since my brother didn't cook. I didn't bother budgeting and put it all into checking, committing to sort it out later.

I next went to the grocer, stocking up on ramen for the nights where neither my brother or I could be bothered and purchasing an assortment of vegetables and sauces. I bought meat sparingly, for my brother's fridge had a tendency to break down and meat would often spoil overnight.

I collapsed against the inside of the entrance to the flat twenty minutes later, sweating and lugging eight very heavy plastic grocery bags that had begun digging into the skin on my wrists. I placed them on the kitchen counter, sorting them quickly since the fridge and cabinets were empty (did I mention that I was broke?) and sitting on the couch to browse Twitter.

Everything was the same.

More climate protests where I wish I could help.

More politicians saying stupid things and making me glad that I wasn't still living in America.

The level of incompetence was staggering, and I made personal entertainment out of laughing at adults beating up on memes and news articles like children.

I looked up after what felt like five minutes to find that nearly an hour had passed.

God, I needed a job.

I went to my room, leaving the door open, and sat, pulling my tangled earbuds from my pocket and not bothering to untangle them like the madman I was. I played my Twice playlist.

I had a small desk better fit for a primary school student and a bed that took up most of the room. The walls were stark, bleach white under all of the stains, and a single, dingy lamp hung from the ceiling. It was no mansion, but it certainly wasn't a college dorm.

At least my brother is quiet,I mused, sitting down on the chair to an ominous creak and opening the laptop I had owned for ten years. It whirred like an old motorcycle, making my painfully aware that I had sold a top-notch Mac for some eggplant and ramen.

I pulled up my email, sorting monotonously through the junk for thirty minutes. Then, as I tended to do when I was bored and didn't want to go outside, I started doing physics.

I was halfway through reading a research paper about Minkowski space when I heard the door swing open and shut with a loud bang.

I rolled my eyes and stood. My brother must have been in a mood. I walked out of the open door to my room and froze.

The man in front of the TV was most definitely not my brother, for the man in question was wearing a flannel shirt he'd deem "tasteless" and rummaging through the trashed electronics bin in the corner.

I immediately turned and hid against the wall in my room, beginning to hyperventilate.

"****," I whispered, glancing around my room for a weapon.

I spotted a broken stapler. It was black and shiny, just like one a school teacher might have.

I cursed myself and snuck out of the room.

The man was now in the kitchen going through the fridge. I snarled. I might have turned murderous if he began ruining the vegetables but, luckily, I didn't need to.

My brother entered a moment later, wielding a baseball bat he'd likely borrowed from a neighbor. He crept in under the noise of the man crinkling ramen packets and nodded at me in the corner.

I was still frozen. How did he know there was a robber in the flat? I thought.

I didn't bother questioning it any more as my brother ran quickly, knocking the robber in the back of the head as the man turned around and began yelling. He dropped to the floor heavily.

I bit my lip. "That was very hard."

"He'll survive," my brother said. "I'm going to let the neighbors know what happened."

He pointed to the trash corner.

"Get a rope and bind him to the couch. Then call the cops."

I nodded as he made his way out. "Wait!" I said, remembering something.

He stopped. "What?"

"How did you know?"

He pointed to the doorknob.

It had come apart and was dangling by a string connecting either half through the circular hole in the door.

"Don't try anything until I get back," he said, closing the door somewhat futilely, as it swung back open two seconds later.

The police arrived half hour later and the man was taken into custody. My brother did most of the talking for the police report and a policeman took my brief statement afterwards.

I felt helpless as they drew tape around our apartment unit and my brother assisted with the official stuff since the apartment was under his name. The neighbors, the same people who'd lent my brother the bat, offered to let us stay with them for the night. We agreed and thanked them, with the police allowing me to grab a few items from my room before heading over.

It was that night at two in the morning when a notification lit up the top of my phone screen as I laid on my sleeping bag. I paused the YouTube video I was watching and tapped the bubble. It redirected me to my email.

I scanned the subject line, preparing to send the message to trash and resume my video, when I stopped.

I blinked and read the email again to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

I woke up my brother to confirm I wasn't dreaming, much to his annoyance.

I was hired.

By JYP.

For assignment later that day as a junior manager.

Bring all my stuff.

And that wasn't even the best part.

I got an even more spec-ed out laptop.

A company card that covered sweet, sweet groceries.

A living assignment with the group I was managing.

A company car.

A ******* car.

I wanted to cry, scream, and laugh at the same time but held it in in fear of startling the neighbors.

So, I headed outside, trying not to make noise.

I went to the roof of the building.

And I screamed, laughed, and cried, cradling my poor iPhone SE until sunrise.

I imagine I stole the thunder of about three roosters that morning.

It was on that roof that I realized that the email neglected to inform me of what group I would be helping manage.

My hands grew clammy.

What if... no, they wouldn't.

I wasn't a female.

But what if... it was Twice?

I would probably curl up and cry, I thought, curled up and crying on the concrete. I figured it would likely be a rookie group, yet to debut or about to.

The police cleared my brother and I to come back to our flat around 9:30.

The realization finally sunk in that I would be moving out and my brother yelled euphorically, exasperated with my "needy nature" and glad that I would be out of his hands.

"You aren't even home half the time," I pointed out.

He shrugged. "Girls, man. They require attention."

I cooked us a final goodbye meal using the groceries I had bought the day before, composed of an odd combination of shredded pork with barbecue sauce, mashed potatoes, and bibimbap. I said a tearful goodbye to my vegetables and left with the same two suitcases I'd moved in with.

I arrived at JYP HQ at noon, having allotted extra time to lug my suitcases through downtown Seoul on a busy Saturday. The receptionist greeted me warmly.

"Back again already, Y/N?"

I smiled. "Yep. Seems my interview was good enough."

"It does. Here's your company card," she said, sliding it across the desk. "I'm sorry about your flat, by the way."

"Oh, wow. Your police records update that quickly?" I asked while placing the card in my wallet with extra care.

"They do, in real time. Seems like we didn't need to worry about the background check much, though." She tilted her head slightly. "NASA?"

I furrowed my eyebrows until realizing that she was staring at the logo over the ****** pocket of my shirt. "Oh, yeah. I used to work there."

"Not that I know much about American space programs, but that's impressive."

"Thanks." Did I mention that she was cute?

There was a beat of silence before she grabbed a pen from a mesh pencil holder and jotted something down on a sticky note, placing it on the raised counter.

"You should tell me about it sometime."

It was her number.

I tucked it into my back pocket; I guess I still had it. "I might take you up on that."

There was another beat of silence before she gasped. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Mr. JYP is ready for you."

I blinked.

"Come again? The JYP?"

"Yes, he's waiting for you in his office." She looked at me apologetically. "You might want to hurry. He's expecting you at 12:30."

"Can I leave these here?" I asked, gesturing to my suitcases.

"Sure," she said, but I was already gone.

I hurried my *** off, passing several rooms and a camera crew on my way to the elevator. I made it to his office at 12:29 sharp, taking a moment to catch my breath before knocking lightly.

It took me a second to realize that my knock was far too quiet.

I knocked again, and this time the door swung open.

Standing there was J.Y. Park himself, founder of JYP Entertainment.

I was totally fanboying.

"Good morning, sir," I said in Korean.

"Thank you for being on time," he said in English. "Come in."

He bade me to sit, so I did. The seat was cushy and much more comfortable than anything I had ever owned.

"Thank you so much for this opportunity, sir. I promise, I will do everything in my power to assure that the group is managed properly and content with their surroundings," I gushed.

"That's what I assume having hired you," he said.

I was respectfully silent.

He frowned. "That... was a joke?"

"Oh, sorry. I'm just a bit..." I squeezed my fingers. "Tense."

He chuckled. "K-Pop fan?"

I nodded. "Yes, but a fan of you, too. I mean, the CIC model is just brilliant, and the application process was so simple..."

I went on for two minutes praising the JYP business system. "And your kitchen here is something I need to see some time," I said. "I'm an amateur cook myself, you see."

"I know. That's part of the reason we hired you."

"Really?"

"Yes. That one hundred question survey you took as part of the application process was simply designed to verify the skills we needed to see in a manager, not to be a personality test. We think those aren't always conclusive considering workforce efficiency. You see," he said, crossing his arms, "I failed one."

I was surprised for the umpteenth time that day. "You? Failed?"

"I'm not infallible, Mr. L/N."

"Of course, sir." I thought over the answer in my head. It wasn't meant to be insulting... but it might have come off as so.

JYP just smiled. "I see that your humor has returned."

That was a good response.

"Thank you, sir."

That was a bad response. I internally cringed.

I opted to change topics. "What group am I assigned to, exactly?"

"Ah, yes. We will send you an email detailing their mission statement, previous concepts, and past and present schedules for your review. For now, this is the address to their dorm."

He passed me an official looking email print-out with a bold address on it.

"Take especially good care of them. Your lead manager will inform you of the specifics. Keep in mind that either one of my associates or myself might drop in at any point for examination."

"Of course, sir. I won't let you down."

"We've also taken care of your International Driver's License. Here are the keys to the car and the dorm."

He handed over a set of obnoxiously large keys and the license.

I wanted to jump up and down. "What should I look for?"

"Head down to the carpark and look for a black Escalade with this license plate."

He pointed at a series of letters below the bolded address. "Just input the address into the GPS. Your lead manager will give you the rest of the items once you arrive."

He stood and held out his hand.

"Welcome to the JYP family."

I said my thanks once more and we exchanged final pleasantries before I made my way to the lobby. I picked up my suitcases, winked at the receptionist (rather sexily, I thought), and headed to the carpark.

The beautiful thing was waiting there, all black with tinted windows.

I unlocked the van and placed my suitcases in the back. The driver's seat hugged me like a pillow, and I secured the international license in my wallet. There was a giant screen between the driver and passenger seat as a Tesla might have.

The time read 1:05.

I figured out the interface for a while and hooked up my Bluetooth to receive calls and, most importantly, play music.

I double checked to make sure I hadn't yet received the email detailing my assignment.

My anxiety grew looking at the blank Unread Mailtab.

Which group could it be?

I patted my pockets.

Wallet?

Check.

Shitty phone?

Check.

Disbelief?

Hella checked.

I punched in the address and left.

I then immediately stopped on the ramp to join the highway as the traffic piled up. I distracted myself by putting on my Twice playlist.

Sixteen measures into TT, the stop cleared.

The time was 1:12.

I inched forward about a hundred meters and came to another stop.

By the time TT and Heart Shaker had finished it was 1:23 and I was cruising on the highway, wind in my sails. The dorm was about forty-five minutes away and I belted out the lyrics to Cheer Up, Signal, Look at Me, Like Ooh-Aah, and many others with unparalleled enthusiasm.

I arrived an hour later due to traffic.

It was 2:36.

For once, my road rage was nonexistent. I passed through the gate with ease after presenting my license. The sunlight came out from behind the clouds and shined on cinematically. It made the house look picturesque.

The dorm was massive, like a modern home. Its architecture was geometric and accented by large windows and white marble. There was a small yard out front with manicured grounds and trimmed hedges.

It was incredibly bougie.

I noticed an inflatable pool flamingo sitting on the grass near a hose. I frowned in mild confusion.

Which group could it be?

I pulled up in the driveway, which was big enough to fit six cars. The fob on the sun guard opened the garage door and I maneuvered the van into what I could only assume was an eight-car garage. There was another Escalade, the same model and year, just white instead of black. It was similarly unmarked.

I turned off the ignition and stepped out. The suitcases were easy to get out given the adrenaline coursing through my veins as my anticipation mounted.

Which group could it be?

I opted to knock rather than using my key since it was my first time there. That option was likely the most prudent, for a woman who I assumed was the lead manager opened the door.

"Mr. L/N?"

"Yes," I said in Korean. "You can just call me F/N, there's no need for 'Mister.'"

"Good," she responded in Korean. "I imagine both Mr. Lee and JYP spoke to you in English, so you'd better get used to speaking in Korean."

"I think I have a good enough hold on it after three years," I said, bringing my suitcases into the room connected to the garage. It seemed to be a kind of foyer but for the back entrance, marked by some simple benches and an empty shoe rack.

"Your accent is fine. Don't worry about it," she said. "My name is Kim Na-yeon, but Kim is fine."

She looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Thank you." I looked around. "Where should I place my things?"

"Ah, here, let me take you to your room."

We walked through the spacious living room as she explained. "The backyard is out that way," she pointed, "past the couches and the sliding door. We have a pool, a grill that we never use, and a basketball net."

That explained the pool toy on the front lawn.

"These are the rooms," she said.

There was a bottom corridor longer than three of my brother's flats combined with a mirror at the end. The carpet along the hall was red velvet. Doors adorned the walls, presumably leading to rooms. There was also an upstairs section with a small staircase leading up to it.

"Our rooms are up there," she said, pointing upstairs. "The girls' rooms are downstairs."

A girl group?

That seemed a bit odd, seeing as I was definitely male.

It only made me more nervous, seeing as JYP trusted me enough to live with multiple girls and interact with them on a regular basis.

"The kitchen is over there near the front door," she said, gesturing in the opposite direction from the rooms.

I could see the kitchen from here and was already excited. I vowed to case it later, after I had put my stuff down.

"Which room is mine?" I asked.

"The one on the left," she said. "I'll go make sure the garage door is closed."

I hauled my suitcases up the stairs and deposited them in my fully furnished room.

There was a desk akin to one a higher up at JYP might have, just made of glass instead of polished wood.

There were neat stacks of printer and lined paper and a set of pencils, pens, a sharpener, a stapler, binders, notebooks, folders, and a hole puncher.

There were color-coded files in a crate near the swivel chair full of what I assumed were the group's previous concepts and schedules, as JYP had mentioned.

There was a closet big enough for my suitcases to fit into unhindered. A small niche was recessed into the wall perpendicular to the balcony.

Yes, the balcony.

It was relatively small but seemed massive to me, with a reclining chair on one side and a coffee table surrounded by straight-backed chairs on the other.

A manila folder was on my queen-sized bed with white sheets.

"I'll open it later," I said out loud, preoccupied by my surroundings. "I'm in heaven."

I should have read it right then.

That way, I might have been prepared for the shock that would hit me later.

I squealed a very high-pitched squeal and jumped around like a little kid before collecting myself with some deep breaths and heading downstairs to speak to Kim.

She was just coming from the direction of the garage.

"Good timing. Come, I imagine the girls want to meet you. They're in the backyard."

We exited the house into the backyard. "Wow."

It was beautiful.

We were standing on a cobblestone patio with a ball rack for basketballs and footballs. There was a tire swing hooked onto a tree and a bunch of assorted pool toys next to it.

Farther, behind a row of hedges, I heard some excited giggles.

Kim sighed. "I'll go bring them." She ran off in that direction.

I merely took in the surroundings, thinking about how drastically my life had changed in twelve hours, give or take.

My brother was probably sitting sadly on a barstool in the fully stocked kitchen chewing on crunchy, undercooked ramen.

A family of roaches had likely already settled into a corner of my old room.

The eggplant was probably wasting away.

And I didn't give a flying ****.

"Hey, Y/N!" I heard Kim call. "You might just want to come here! They don't want to get out of the pool."

I wouldn't want to, either,I thought as I stepped into the sun. There was probably a heat wave washing over Seoul, for the hairs on my neck immediately prickled and beaded with sweat.

I stared up at the fluffy clouds dotting the blue sky around the sun. I made my way past the hedges which brought me to the edge of the pool deck.

I tore my gaze from the clouds just in time as I almost stepped into the pool.

I stepped back and looked up to a series of laughs.

I froze.

Standing in the shallow end of the pool were Im Na-yeon, Yoo Jeong-yeon, Momo Hirai, Sana Minatozaki, Park Ji-hyo, Myoui Mina, Kim Da-hyun, Son Chae-young, and Chou Tzu-yu, all wearing swim outfits JYP would likely balk at.

I had seen all of the signs but somehow ignored them. Sadness unnie was standing in front of me plain and clear.

I wanted to faint.

My mind was blank.

My eyes were still.

My heart palpitated like a helicopter rotor.

It was 2:55.

They smiled and bowed to me. "One in a million! Annyeonghasaeyo, Twice imnida!"

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