It wasn't long before the car finally rolled to a stop. The blacked-out windows slid open, revealing a massive elevator door. It parted for us, and the car drove straight inside.
The place looked like a club hidden inside an enormous parking structure. Crowds of people in fly-shaped masks packed both sides of the driveway—men and women, all dancing, swaying their hips, splashing liquor onto the car as we passed. Their cheers rose in waves.
"He's here! Woohoo~~!"
"Have fun at the party. And greet the elders properly," Daejung murmured, kissing my forehead before putting on a golden butterfly mask. Then he kicked the door open and stepped out to present himself. Spotlights hit him immediately; the crowd fell into a hush.
"Did I keep you waiting, ladies and gentlemen~?" His voice boomed outside.
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!
"Haha! I knew you'd start the party without me. Ah! I brought something good for you tonight. Someone you all know well." He gestured for me to step out. "Come on, kid."
The moment they saw my face, the crowd froze. They knew exactly who I was.
Daejung clasped my wrist and jumped onto the hood of the car with me. People surged forward, reaching up to touch my legs.
A man in a necktie shouted, "Th-that's… that idol! The one my wife screams over! What's his name—Whitey? Whitet—?"
"White! From D8, you idiot!" another barked. "Holy hell, he's even hotter in person. No wonder his aura's insane—!"
"The real deal! Let me touch—please, please—!"
Hands clawed at me from all directions, nearly dragging me off. Daejung yanked me upward and hopped onto the roof to avoid their grasp.
"Don't touch him too much," he announced. "He's a priceless asset."
"Someone get the kid a drink! Now!" A man in a luxury suit and a cat mask commanded. A barely dressed woman brought up a bottle of aged wine—clearly, only the wealthy came here.
"And this," he said, holding the bottle up, "is Sangue Divino, 79 years old. Only three bottles left in the world, including this one. Traveled all the way from Italy back in 1990 to this peninsula. Hashtag, White, seeing that number takes us right back to the beginning, doesn't it? Back when K-pop was still being built. The foundation of a house still under construction. And this boy—this boy was born into that house."
He paused; the crowd quieted.
"K-pop is falling hard now. The artists we love are being sold off overseas one by one."
"Stocks are crashing! Damn it!" someone in the crowd yelled. "What do those foreigners have that we don't?!"
"They're trying to choke our economy. We can stand on our own," Daejung declared, raising a hand.
"That's right! White alone can reach global! We'll show them what we're made of!"
He looked at me and popped the cork. "Hope you can swallow, my boy," he whispered. I nodded.
"Don't worry, brothers and sisters! The boy will be our pride, our shining face to the world. So bear fucking witness. He'll reach Asia, the globe, even the universe! K-pop will roar back stronger than ever! A toast to OUR GODDAMN FUCKING SAVIORRRR!"
YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
He poured the wine over my head. The beat slammed back in, shaking the entire floor. People rushed forward, licking and drinking the wine that spilled down my body—even as it soaked and stained me crimson.
My white suit turned dark with the deep red wine.
Then, with a final shove, Daejung pushed me off the car and splashed wine around me. A hundred hands lifted me up and carried me through the crowd like a tide, mouths open, catching the drops running from my clothes—worshipping me like some deity.