Ii

The fluorescent lights of the corridor hummed with a low, predatory intensity that made Kwon Jiyong want to peel off his own skin. At thirty-seven, he was a living monument to an industry that usually discarded people by twenty-five, but the passage of time hadn't thickened his skin. If anything, it had worn it down to a translucent thinness, leaving his nerves exposed to the air.

He stood in the shadow of a heavy fire door, his fingers twitching rhythmically against the silk of his designer trousers. He was dressed in a suit that cost more than a mid-sized sedan, his hair slicked back into a sharp, intimidating obsidian wave, yet he felt like a small child hiding in a closet.

"Jiyong-ah, you’re vibrating. I can literally hear your teeth chattering," a dry, exhausted voice said from the shadows beside him.

Kon Sonhyun looked like he hadn't slept since the previous lunar cycle. At twenty-nine, he was nearly a decade younger than the superstar he managed, but he carried the weary aura of a man who had seen the heat death of the universe. He was currently staring at his tablet, his thumb scrolling through a never-ending barrage of notifications.

"I'm not vibrating, Sonhyun. I'm oscillating," Jiyong corrected, his voice barely a whisper. He pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from his pocket and slid them onto the bridge of his nose, creating a much-needed barrier between himself and the world. "How many are out there?"

Sonhyun didn't even look up. "The press corp is about fifty deep. The fans? Probably three hundred at the main entrance, another hundred at the VIP exit. And before you ask, no, we can’t tunnel out. I checked. The foundation is solid concrete."

Jiyong let out a shaky breath, his chest tightening. "They’re going to ask about the album. They’re going to ask why I haven't done a variety show in three years. They’re going to stare at the wrinkles around my eyes and wonder when I’m going to retire."

Sonhyun finally looked up, his expression softening just a fraction. He reached out, placing a firm, grounding hand on Jiyong’s shoulder. Unlike the managers of Jiyong’s youth, who had been trained to push and prod and demand, Sonhyun belonged to a new school of thought. He understood that a panic attack wasn't a tantrum; it was a malfunction of the soul.

"First of all, you don't have wrinkles. You have 'distinguished character lines' that the brand sponsors pay millions for," Sonhyun said firmly. "Second, you don't owe them an explanation for your heartbeat. You walk in, you pose for the photos, you give them the three-second 'King of K-pop' smirk, and I handle the rest. That’s the deal."

Jiyong adjusted his cuffs, his hands still trembling. "The noise, Sonhyun. It’s the noise that gets me. It sounds like... like a swarm."

"I have the noise-canceling buds in your pocket," Sonhyun reminded him. "And I’m right behind you. If you give me the signal—the double tap on your left wrist—I’ll claim you have a sudden migraine and we’re out of there in sixty seconds. I’ll take the heat. I’ll let the reporters call me the 'Ice Manager' again. I don't care."

Jiyong looked at him, truly looked at him, through the dark tint of his glasses. "You're too good to me. You should be managing some twenty-year-old who actually wants to be seen."

Sonhyun snorted, turning back to the door. "Twenty-year-olds are loud and they lose their passports. I’ll stick with the legend who has a panic attack over a red carpet. It’s more interesting. Ready?"

Jiyong took one last, deep breath, expanding his lungs until they ached. He pulled his shoulders back, his posture shifting. The slumped, anxious man vanished, replaced by the sharp, angular silhouette of G-Dragon. It was a mask, a beautiful and expensive one, but it was heavy.

"Ready," Jiyong lied.

As they stepped out of the service hallway and into the main lobby of the luxury brand event, the world exploded.

The flashbulbs were a physical assault, a staccato rhythm of white light that burned through even his dark lenses. The shouting started instantly—a cacophony of his name, titles, and demands for his attention.

"G-Dragon! Over here!"

"Jiyong-ssi, look to your left!"

"Is the comeback happening in October?"

Sonhyun moved like a prowling wolf. He didn't push, but he occupied space in a way that forced the crowd to part. He kept his body positioned just slightly ahead of Jiyong, acting as a human shield against the most aggressive photographers.

"Please move back," Sonhyun said, his voice loud and clear without being a shout. "Give him space to walk. Thank you."

A reporter from a major entertainment site lunged forward, thrusting a microphone toward Jiyong’s face. "Jiyong-ssi! There are rumors you’re collaborating with a fourth-generation girl group. Is it true you feel the need to stay relevant by working with younger idols?"

Jiyong felt the familiar cold spike of adrenaline. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. *Relevant?* The word tasted like ash. He felt the urge to turn and run, to find a dark corner and disappear.

Before the silence could become awkward, Sonhyun stepped into the gap. He didn't stop walking, but he tilted his head toward the reporter, his eyes cold.

"Jiyong-ssi is here to celebrate the brand’s new collection," Sonhyun said smoothly, his tone dripping with a polite professional disdain. "As for relevance, I believe the five-minute sell-out of his last sneaker collaboration speaks for itself. If you want to talk music, please contact the PR department during business hours. Move along, please."

They reached the step-and-repeat wall. This was the hardest part. Jiyong had to stand still. He had to be a statue.

He stepped onto the marked 'X' and turned. He felt the sweat beginning to prickle at his hairline. The noise was a roar now, a sea of voices demanding pieces of him. He felt small. He felt like he was thirty-seven years old and entirely out of place in a world that moved too fast.

He felt a light brush against his elbow—Sonhyun, checking in.

Jiyong forced his face into a mask of cool indifference. He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and gave the cameras the sharp, enigmatic look they craved. Inside, he was counting his breaths. *One, two, three, four. Hold. Five, six, seven, eight. Release.*

"He looks tired, doesn't he?" he heard a stylist whisper to a photographer just a few feet away. "Maybe the hiatus isn't about the music. Maybe he’s just done."

The comment cut through the noise like a knife. Jiyong’s hand drifted toward his left wrist. He wanted to tap. He wanted to go home, lock the door, and sit in the dark with his cat.

Suddenly, Sonhyun was there, leaning in as if to whisper a schedule update, but his voice was low and private. "Don't listen to them. They’re vultures looking for a carcass because they can't handle a king. Ten more seconds, Jiyong. Just ten. Look at the camera in the center, give them the smirk, and we’re going to the private lounge. I’ve already ordered the tea you like."

Jiyong drew strength from the mundane detail. *Tea.* There was a world after this.

He gave the center camera a slow, deliberate smile—a flash of the old, dangerous G-Dragon charm—and then turned on his heel.

Sonhyun was already moving, carving a path through the VIPs and the hangers-on who tried to grab Jiyong’s sleeve. They made it to the glass doors of the private lounge, and the moment the heavy doors swung shut, the roar of the crowd vanished, replaced by the soft, ambient jazz of the inner sanctum.

Jiyong collapsed into a velvet armchair, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. He was shaking violently now, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps.

"Too much," Jiyong wheezed, clutching his knees. "Sonhyun, it was too much today."

Sonhyun didn't hover. He moved to a small sideboard, pouring a glass of room-temperature water. He set it on the table next to Jiyong and then sat in the chair opposite him, maintaining a respectful distance that didn't feel like abandonment.

"You did twenty minutes," Sonhyun said, checking his watch. "That’s five minutes longer than the contract required. You did great."

"I felt like I was dying," Jiyong whispered, covering his eyes with his hand. "Every time they shout my name, it feels like they’re pulling a thread out of my sweater. Soon there’s going to be nothing left."

Sonhyun sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his own long day. "They shout because they’re hungry for something real, and you’re the only real thing they’ve seen in years. But you don't have to feed them your whole soul, Jiyong-ah. Just give them the crumbs. I’ll make sure they don't get the rest."

A soft knock at the door interrupted them. An assistant poked her head in, looking terrified. "Um, Manager Kon? The CEO of the brand is asking if Jiyong-ssi could do a quick video greeting for the social media team? It’ll only take a minute."

Sonhyun stood up. He didn't even look at Jiyong; he knew the answer. He walked to the door, his posture regal in its own right—the protector of the gate.

"No," Sonhyun said.

The assistant blinked. "But it’s in the—"

"The contract specifies one red carpet appearance and three photo placements," Sonhyun interrupted, his voice like rolling thunder. "The social media greeting was a 'maybe' based on the artist’s schedule. The artist is currently occupied with a creative consultation. If the CEO has a problem, he can call me tomorrow morning. Not tonight."

"Oh. Okay. I’ll... I’ll tell them," the assistant stammered, scurrying away.

Sonhyun closed the door and locked it. He leaned his back against the wood, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Creative consultation?" Jiyong asked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"You’re consulting with your inner peace," Sonhyun muttered, rubbing his temples. "It’s a very intensive process. Very time-consuming."

Jiyong picked up the water, his hands finally steadying. "Why do you do it? You could work for a label that doesn't require you to be a bodyguard, a therapist, and a professional liar all at once."

Sonhyun opened his eyes and looked at Jiyong. The exhaustion was still there, but there was something else—a fierce, quiet loyalty that Jiyong didn't always feel he deserved.

"Because the kids out there? The new ones?" Sonhyun gestured vaguely toward the door. "They’re all carbon copies of a dream someone else had for them. You’re the only one who’s actually human. Even if that human is currently a mess."

Jiyong laughed, a genuine, rusty sound that filled the quiet room. "A mess. Thanks."

"Anytime," Sonhyun said, finally cracking a small, tired smile. "Now, drink your water. We have to sit here for at least thirty minutes so it looks like we’re doing something important. Then I’m taking you home, and I’m turning off my phone for at least six hours."

"Make it eight," Jiyong said, leaning back into the velvet. "I'll pay for the overtime."

"Deal," Sonhyun replied, pulling out his tablet again, already drafting the polite but firm emails that would keep the world at bay for one more night.

In the silence of the lounge, the legend and his keeper sat together—one protected by fame, the other protecting the man beneath it. Outside, the world continued to scream for G-Dragon, but inside, Kwon Jiyong finally found enough air to breathe.