Chasing Fame

Z I X U A N

The rain in Seoul always smells like asphalt and old exhaust pipes, a heavy, metallic scent that clings to the wool of my coat long after I've stepped indoors. I pulled my collar up a little higher, my head down, staring at the wet concrete beneath my boots.

People surged past me on the subway stairs, a blur of grey coats, umbrellas, and hurried footsteps. Someone bumped roughly against my shoulder, sending my bag sliding down my arm. I opened my mouth to murmur a quiet apology, though it wasn't even my fault, but the sound died completely in my throat. The man didn't even look back. He was already swallowed by the crowd, just like everyone else always seemed to do.

It's not that I mind the invisibility. Most of the time, I prefer it.

Being an introvert in a city that never stops moving is like living behind a thick pane of glass. I can see everything, and people can technically see me, but there is an absolute barrier between us. Whenever I try to speak up in a group, my voice has a habit of getting lost, swallowed by the ambient noise before it can reach anyone's ears. People look right through me, as if my outline is made of pale smoke.

Nobody at Nova Entertainment and certainly nobody on the streets of Seoul would ever guess who my mother is.

To the world, Madam Huang is a titan, a formidable name whispered in boardrooms across Asia, a woman whose face occasionally graces the business and lifestyle columns. But to me, she is just Omma, or rather, the voice on the phone reminding me to eat properly and stay grounded. I am never in her social media posts. There are no glossy family portraits of us online, no paparazzi shots of me trailing behind her at charity galas. She made sure of that long before I was old enough to understand why. She didn't want me living under the crushing weight of public attention, didn't want every mistake I made dissected by strangers.

Because of that, my life is blissfully, quietly ordinary. Or at least, it's supposed to be.

I walked the final stretch toward the quiet residential pocket where I live. The streets here are lined with old cherry blossom trees and low brick walls, hushed and deeply peaceful compared to the frantic flashing lights of Gangnam or Hongdae. My mother had personally looked at this house before she bought it for me, ensuring it had enough space, enough quiet, and most importantly, that it was close enough to my school and work. It's a short enough walk that I never need to catch a bus. I love these walks—the rhythmic tapping of my shoes against the pavement, the cool night air clearing my head after a long day at the office. I didn't need to wait for transit, didn't need to cram myself into a suffocating metal box with fifty other exhausted commuters.

When I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the silence wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I kicked off my shoes, set my umbrella in the stand, and reached up to unhook my glasses. I only ever wear them when I'm reading thick reports or studying for exams late into the night; my vision is fine for everyday navigation, but my eyes strain easily under office fluorescent lights.

Tossing my bag onto the sofa, I padded over to my desk and flipped open my laptop. The screen glowed softly in the dim room, revealing a blinking notification from my favorite messaging app.

Wei: Are you alive, or did the Seoul humidity melt you into a puddle yet?

I couldn't help the small, genuine smile that touched my lips. Wei. We had met online through a gaming forum months ago, bonding over obscure strategy games and a mutual exhaustion with real-world social expectations. On the screen, I went by 'Lu'. Wei was funny, sharp-witted, and possessed a dry sense of humor that kept me sane during particularly grueling weeks. He spoke both Mandarin and Korean, just like me—being half-Korean and half-Chinese meant we could effortlessly slip back and forth between languages depending on our mood.

I typed back quickly.

Lu: Not melted yet, just thoroughly waterlogged. Today was a disaster.

Wei: Let me guess. The human tornado strike again?

I let out a soft sigh, resting my chin in my hand. The human tornado. That was one word for him.

Lu: You have no idea. Yiran managed to get into another physical altercation with a paparazzi photographer right outside the building. It's a complete mess.

At Nova Entertainment, I am just an ordinary employee, quietly handling logistics and administrative nightmares behind the scenes. But my primary, most exhausting assignment is keeping track of Xu Yiran our agency's crown jewel, a wildly popular solo Chinese singer whose talent is matched only by his explosive temper.

I feel genuinely sorry for him sometimes. He lives his life trapped in a fishbowl, pursued relentlessly by flashing cameras and intrusive strangers who refuse to grant him a single moment of peace. But knowing why he acts out doesn't make cleaning up his messes any less irritating. Whenever he blows a gasket, it's people like me who have to sift through the legal fallout, draft damage-control statements, and listen to upper management scream into their phones.

Wei replied almost instantly.

Wei: Ah, your favorite pop star client. Sounds exhausting. Do you want me to virtually strangle him for you?

Lu: If you could do it without implicating us both in an international conspiracy, I'd supply the rope.

We bantered back and forth for a little longer, the comforting anonymity of our chat providing a safe harbor. Little did Wei know—and little did I know—just how tangled our real lives actually were beneath the digital surface.

The next evening, the atmosphere in the office was thick with lingering tension. To blow off steam after the paparazzi scandal, our department head organized a team dinner at a bustling, smoke-filled barbecue restaurant tucked into a narrow alleyway near the office.

The tables were crowded, plates piled high with sizzling pork belly, kimchi, and garlic cloves, while green bottles of soju and beer multiplied by the minute. Everyone was shouting over the roar of the restaurant and the clinking of glasses.

I sat near the corner of the table, as I usually do, quietly turning my meat over on the grill and sliding pieces onto my colleagues' plates whenever they looked empty. People thanked me with bright smiles, but within seconds, their attention would snap back to the louder, more animated conversations happening down the table. I didn't mind. I took a small sip of water, perfectly content to fade into the background.

"Hey, look at Zixuan!" One of the senior coordinators yelled suddenly, waving a fresh bottle of soju in my direction. "She's been awfully quiet tonight. Time to initiate our quiet little accountant into the fold!"

A chorus of cheers erupted around the table. "Yes! Bottoms up! Let's see what our resident mystery girl is made of!"

I tried to politely wave my hands, offering a faint, apologetic smile. "Oh, no, I'm really fine with—"

"Nonsense! Pour her a glass!"

Before I could protest, a heavy shot glass was slid right in front of me, filled to the absolute brim. The clear liquid practically shimmered under the harsh overhead lights. Across the table, our department boss a notoriously heavy drinker who took great pride in his capacity laughed heartily, clinking his glass against mine.

"Come on, Zixuan. Just one round with the boss. If you finish this, I'll let you leave thirty minutes early tomorrow."

The temptation of leaving early was almost weaponized against me. Sighing inwardly, I picked up the glass. I knew what everyone at the table didn't: despite my shy demeanor and my quiet, unassuming presence in the office, I possessed a terrifying, almost supernatural alcohol tolerance. It was a genetic trait courtesy of my mother's side of the family—gatherings back in Beijing had always featured fiery spirits that would knock out a grown man, leaving me entirely unscathed.

I knocked the glass back in one smooth motion, swallowing the burning liquid without so much as a cough.

The table went dead silent for a split second before erupting into deafening cheers and applause. My boss's eyes widened in sheer disbelief, his jaw dropping open.

"Mother of God," He gasped, clutching his chest. "She drank it like water! Again! Pour her another one!"

Two hours and countless rounds later, the dynamic of the table had completely shifted. Most of my colleagues were slumped over the sticky wooden table, slurring their words, their faces flushed bright red. Even our formidable boss was currently massaging his temples, looking completely defeated, muttering about how a twenty-something introvert had utterly humiliated him in a drinking contest.

And me? I felt completely fine. My head was remarkably clear, my steps steady as I stood up, bowed politely to my incapacitated coworkers, and excused myself for the night.

"Are you sure you don't need a cab, Zixuan?" someone slurred from the corner of the booth. "It's late!"

"I'm fine, really. I live close by," I said softly, my voice barely carrying over the restaurant's din, but I offered a reassuring wave as I slipped out the door.

The cool night air hit my face, crisp and refreshing. The streets of Seoul were quiet now, bathed in the amber glow of streetlamps. I walked at a relaxed pace, hands tucked deep into my coat pockets, listening to the distant hum of traffic fading into the gentle patter of a light drizzle. No one looked twice at me as I strolled down the familiar pavement toward my front door. Just another quiet girl walking home in the dark.

Little did I know, the fragile, carefully guarded walls of my quiet life were about to collide violently with the very chaos I spent all day trying to avoid.

The moment I unlocked my front door and stepped into the quiet refuge of my house, all the lingering tension from the team dinner evaporated. I didn't even bother turning on the entryway light. I just shuffled down the hallway, let my coat slide unceremoniously to the floor, and pitched myself forward onto my bed.

My face pressed deep into the cool, forgiving mattress, and I groaned into the fabric, wishing the floor would suddenly open up and swallow me whole. Between enduring my boss's relentless drinking challenges and pretending to enjoy the suffocating noise of the barbecue restaurant, my social battery was entirely depleted.

Right as I was contemplating how long I could realistically stay lying face-down without suffocating, a sharp vibration buzzed against my ribs from my jacket pocket.

Groaning again, I rolled over onto my back, staring up at the shadowy ceiling as I fished my phone out. The screen flashed with a new notification.

Wei: Still breathing, or did your coworkers manage to feed you enough soju to turn you into a permanent fixture of that restaurant booth?

A tiny, fond smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I typed back, holding the phone above my face.

Lu: Worse. They survived, but I want to jump off my balcony. Or better yet, crawl under a rock and hibernate until 2027.

Almost instantly, a reply popped up.

Wei: 😂 Dramatic much? Come on, tomorrow's a new day. Things always look better after a good night's sleep.

Lu: I genuinely hope so. Honestly, one of these days I'm just going to walk in, drop my ID badge on my boss's desk, and quit. I'm only an intern, but because I actually do my job without screaming or crying, I end up carrying the workload of three entire departments.

Wei: Well, you certainly complain to me enough. That has to count for something.

Lu: That's a completely different story! You're my digital therapist; you don't count.

Wei: Flattery will get you everywhere, Lu. But seriously, take a breath. Don't you have tomorrow off? No office, no spreadsheets, and most importantly, no pop stars.

My shoulders instantly relaxed at the reminder.

Lu: Thank god, yes. Tomorrow is my glorious, uninterrupted day off. I don't even need to step foot near the building unless, of course, Xu Yiran manages to start a literal forest fire and ends up on the morning news right when I wake up.

Wei: Ah, the ever-reliable human disaster zone. If he ruins your day off, let me know. I'll personally drive over and kickbox him for you.

I let out a soft huff of laughter, staring at the screen in the dim light of my bedroom.

Lu: You wouldn't.

Wei: Try me.

Lu: You're right, you would. Besides, I wouldn't even have the courage to do it myself. I'm far too shy. Honestly, I get so nervous around that man that I feel like I forget how to breathe the same air as him.

Wei: Is Yiran really that terrifying in person? I figured celebrities were mostly just arrogant or hollow underneath all the makeup and media training.

Lu: Yes, he is. You would never understand just how easily he can make an entire corporate building go up in absolute flames. One wrong look, one bad mood, and suddenly senior executives are sweating through their tailored suits. It's exhausting.

Wei: Sounds like you need hazard pay, not an internship stipend.

Lu: Tell me about it. But anyway, I'm logging off before my brain completely turns to mush. Goodnight, Wei. Don't stay up all night gaming again.

Wei: No promises. Sleep well, Lu. Try not to dream about your boss or your favorite pop star.

I locked my phone screen, letting it drop onto the mattress beside me as I finally closed my eyes. The silence of the room settled over me like a heavy, comforting quilt, completely masking the fact that my quiet little world was about to be turned entirely upside down.