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The flashing lights of Seoul usually felt like a crown, but tonight they felt like a firing squad. Ji-Yong Kwon—known to the screaming masses as G-Dragon—pressed the brim of his black bucket hat lower, trying to disappear into the oversized collar of his vintage Chanel coat. His hair, currently a shocking shade of electric blue that shimmered like a peacock’s tail under the streetlamps, was tucked away as best as he could manage.

He was supposed to be enjoying a rare, quiet exit from a private gallery opening in Hannam-dong. Instead, the familiar, cold prickle of anxiety was crawling up his spine. His palms were damp. To the world, he was the King of K-Pop, a fashion icon who breathed confidence. In reality, without a stage between him and the public, Ji-Yong felt like a man without skin.

"Ji-Yong! Ji-Yong-ah!"

The voice was too loud, too close, and lacked the polite distance usually afforded by fans who spotted him in the wild. Ji-Yong quickened his pace, his boots clicking sharply against the pavement. He didn't look back. Experience had taught him that eye contact was an invitation he couldn't afford to give.

"I know it’s you! I saw the shoes!"

The footsteps behind him weren't just following; they were running. Ji-Yong’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. The social anxiety that shadowed his fame began to swallow his peripheral vision, narrowing the world down to the asphalt beneath his feet and the desperate need for a locked door.

He reached the corner where his black sedan was supposed to be idling. His eyes darted frantically across the line of luxury cars. There—the sleek, tinted windows of the Audi.

"Wait! Just an autograph! Ji-Yong, look at me!"

The man was barely ten feet away now, a tall figure in a heavy parka, his face flushed with an intensity that bordered on manic. It wasn't the usual adoration; it was a hungry, frantic energy that made Ji-Yong’s stomach churn.

Ji-Yong didn't wait. He lunged for the rear door of the Audi, pulling the handle with a strength born of pure panic.

"Go! Just go!" Ji-Yong gasped as he scrambled into the plush leather interior, slamming the door shut and hitting the lock button in one fluid motion.

He threw himself onto the floorboards, hiding his face in his hands, his chest heaving. Outside, a heavy thud echoed through the chassis as the fan slapped his palms against the glass.

"Ji-Yong! Open the door! I’ve been waiting for six hours! You owe me a minute!"

The car rocked slightly under the man’s weight. Ji-Yong squeezed his eyes shut, his flamboyant blue hair spilling over his fingers. He felt small. He felt like a target.

"Sir? Mr. Kwon?"

The voice from the driver’s seat was calm, low, and steady—a sharp contrast to the chaotic banging on the window.

Ji-Yong didn't look up. "Please, just drive. Get me out of here. Don't stop for the lights if you don't have to. Just... move."

The engine purred to life, a low-frequency hum that signaled safety. With a smooth jerk, the car pulled away from the curb. The muffled shouts of the fan faded into the distance, replaced by the soft, climate-controlled silence of the luxury vehicle.

Ji-Yong stayed on the floor for a full three minutes, waiting for his pulse to drop below a sprint. Only when the city sounds became a rhythmic, distant wash did he finally pull himself up onto the seat. He adjusted his hat, his fingers trembling slightly as he straightened his coat.

He looked into the rearview mirror and met the eyes of his chauffeur, Min-ho. Min-ho had been with him for nearly a year, a man of few words and impeccable timing. He was the one person who saw Ji-Yong at his most unraveled and never asked for anything in return.

"Are you unharmed, sir?" Min-ho asked, his eyes returning to the road.

Ji-Yong exhaled a long, shaky breath, leaning his head back against the headrest. "Yeah. Just... he was too close. He was waiting by the side exit. I don't know how they find out where I am."

"They are persistent," Min-ho remarked neutrally. "Would you like to head straight to the penthouse, or do you need a moment to breathe before the cameras at the gate?"

Ji-Yong looked out the window. The neon signs of Seoul blurred into streaks of pink and gold. The thought of his apartment—while safe—felt lonely tonight. The adrenaline was leaving his system, leaving behind a hollow, cold ache.

"Just drive for a bit," Ji-Yong whispered, his voice cracking. "Away from the city center. Somewhere quiet. I can't... I can't deal with the gate yet."

"Understood."

They drove in silence for a long time. Ji-Yong watched the reflection of his own hair in the window. He’d changed the color four times in the last three months. Sometimes he felt like if he kept changing his skin, the anxiety wouldn't know which version of him to haunt. But it always found him. It didn't matter if he was the silver-haired rapper or the blue-haired artist; the fear of the crowd was a constant shadow.

"You're shaking, sir," Min-ho said softly.

Ji-Yong looked down at his lap. His hands were indeed trembling, the heavy silver rings on his fingers clinking together. He tucked them into his sleeves, embarrassed.

"It’s just the caffeine," Ji-Yong lied, though they both knew he hadn't touched a cup of coffee all day.

"There is bottled water in the side compartment," Min-ho suggested. "And the seat heater is on. It helps with the shock."

Ji-Yong followed the instructions mechanically. The warmth began to seep into his lower back, and he felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders. He looked at the back of Min-ho’s head, wondering what it was like to be a man who simply drove, who wasn't a commodity, who could walk into a convenience store for a pack of gum without a tactical plan.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" Ji-Yong asked suddenly.

Min-ho glanced at the mirror. "Tired of what, sir?"

"The chaos. Being the one responsible for keeping the 'King' from falling apart." Ji-Yong let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "I’m supposed to be this untouchable figure, and here I am, hiding on the floor of a car because a guy with a Sharpie shouted at me."

"You aren't hiding from a fan, Mr. Kwon," Min-ho said, his voice firm but kind. "You are protecting your peace. There is no shame in needing a barrier between yourself and the world. Even kings had castle walls."

Ji-Yong went quiet, processing the words. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "The walls feel like they’re closing in sometimes. I love the music. I love the stage. But the rest of it... it feels like I’m performing twenty-four hours a day. Even now, I’m worried if my hair looks okay for when we eventually hit the garage cameras."

"The blue suits you," Min-ho said, a small, rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth visible in the reflection. "It looks like the ocean at night. Very calm."

Ji-Yong blinked, a genuine smile finally touching his lips. "The ocean at night? That’s poetic, Min-ho. I might steal that for a lyric."

"Feel free. I won't sue for royalties."

The tension in the car finally broke. Ji-Yong reached out and turned on the radio, low. A jazz track was playing, something smooth and instrumental that didn't require him to think about pitch or rhythm.

"Min-ho?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Thanks. For being fast. And for not asking why I was on the floor."

"It’s my job to be your sanctuary, sir," Min-ho replied. "The world can have G-Dragon tomorrow. Tonight, you’re just a passenger."

Ji-Yong closed his eyes, the neon lights of the city finally fading as they reached the outskirts of the Han River. For the first time all day, the buzzing in his head stopped. He wasn't an idol, a rapper, or a fashion icon. He was just Ji-Yong, safe in the dark, drifting through the city in a cocoon of leather and silence.

He stayed that way for hours, watching the world go by through the tinted glass, a hidden ghost in a shimmering blue crown. When they finally turned back toward the glittering towers of the city, he felt ready to face the cameras again.

"Home now," Ji-Yong said, his voice steady.

"Home it is," Min-ho replied.

As the car glided toward the high-security entrance of his building, Ji-Yong straightened his hat and wiped the last of the cold sweat from his neck. He was G-Dragon again. But as he stepped out of the car, he caught Min-ho’s eye one last time.

"See you tomorrow, Min-ho."

"Tomorrow, sir."

The door closed with a solid, expensive thud, and Ji-Yong walked toward the elevators, the blue of his hair catching the light, his head held high, his secret sanctuary already driving away into the night.