The admission elicits no reaction from Sangki. My confession isn’t the Hester-Prynne-wearing-a-scarlet-letter-around-town-on-her-dress Boyoung made it out to be.

“We should go inside. The main act is about ready to perform,” Sangki suggests.

“Or we can stay out here. I haven’t finished counting all the cranes yet,” Yujun says, a silent offer to remain with me, but I’m done getting fresh air.

“No,” I say with a shake of my head, “I want to hear them.”

Sangki bounces on the balls of his feet like an excited boy. His anticipation is infectious and I’m tempted to give him a pat on the head, but I settle for exchanging grins with Yujun like we’re old friends. This feels comfortable. In this other country, Yujun and now Sangki are this comfortable island. I’d like to attach myself to them—Yujun specifically, and hide in his pocket or maybe put him in mine and take him out whenever I’m feeling nervous or need reassurance. Sangki bounds up the stairs, a bundle of energy. He bypasses the front entrance and instead approaches the side of the giant cube. One set of the LED screens opens as if someone has been waiting for him. I guess Sangki isn’t an ordinary person.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” he explains. “If I go through the front, I’ll be creating more work for everyone.”

“Sangki is famous here,” Yujun adds, confirming my suspicion. I feel bad for not recognizing him.

“Famous everywhere.” Sangki laughs as he ducks underneath a rather tall security man’s outstretched arm.

“Famous in his head,” Yujun replies drolly.

I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’ve never heard of Ahn Sangki, so I keep my mouth shut and smile and nod as if I’m in on the joke. First chance I get, though, I’m googling him. Or maybe it’s navering in Korea? Wait. I don’t know how to spell his name, either in English or in Hangul. I guess I’ll remain ignorant until I get home or I see Boyoung. Along with finding my mother, can you explain who Ahn Sangki is and how to spell that?

“You came with someone, right?” Sangki asks as we walk down a dark hall.

“Yeah. I should get back to them.” Maybe Anna and company can supply the answers.

“Invite them here! I won’t take no for an answer.” “Here” is a private room overlooking the dance floor. Two uniformed waitstaff stand at strict attention as we enter the room. One of them is dispatched to find Anna and the others. Sangki explains, in an apologetic and serious tone, that going down to the floor could cause a problem.

“He is actually very famous,” Yujun admits. “He doesn’t want to take away anything from his friends.”

The friends being the other very famous people onstage. I’m starting to realize that Sangki is famous here in the way that someone like Bieber is back home. He must be some sort of a musician—a rap star? A pop star? An actor? One of those. My guess is partially confirmed when my flatmates are ushered into the private space and gasps of shock and screams of glee fill the space.