That was the night I met Yujin. I had just finished singing “Style” by Taylor Swift and my cousins were all cheering, when I heard someone clapping behind me. I turned around and saw a woman with electric-blue hair leaning against the open door (my cousin had forgotten to close it when she came back from the bathroom). She asked me what my name was and told me I reminded her of a K-pop star she used to know. Then she winked and handed me her card and told me to have my parents call her.

I grab a pair of gray grid-print wide-leg pants from the top shelf of my closet, along with a cropped white turtleneck sweater. Shutting the closet door, I poke through the jewelry tray on my desk until I find my big gold hoops, sliding them into my ears as I tug half my hair into a messy topknot. Perfect, I say to myself as I grab my bag and slip on a pair of leather clog sandals.

Yujin’s been by my side ever since. As a kid, I’d loved K-pop. But she helped me turn my small, seemingly unrealistic dream into a reality. She showed me that there was an entire world of people who felt the same way about this music that I did—and that’s why being a K-pop singer is so special. It’s about storytelling, connecting with audiences all around the world. She told me how being Korean American would make me special in this industry. She made me fall in love with K-pop in a whole new way. I can’t let her down. Not again.

* * *

“I’m pretty sure we’re lost.”

I look down at the business card Yujin gave me. Akari and I have been wandering around the same street in Itaewon for the past twenty minutes, but this address is nowhere to be found. We’ve walked by the same dak-galbi restaurant so many times that people sitting inside have started looking at us suspiciously through the window.

“Let’s try walking that way one more time,” Akari says. She adjusts the collar on her flowy, off-the-shoulder yellow top, and I can see that the back of her neck is turning pink and sweaty the way it does when she gets flustered. “We didn’t look behind that Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, did we?”

“Only about six times,” I say. I blow a strand of hair out of my face and sigh, zooming in on my Naver Maps app. “I don’t get it. It should be right here.”

“Oh my god,” Akari says.

“I know, right? I don’t even know what we’re looking for!”

“No, not that!” Akari grabs my arm, dragging me behind a row of parked motorbikes. She points across the street, where a bearded man with broad shoulders and a stubby ponytail has just stepped out of a squat little brown building with a scratched-up steel door. He slides on a pair of sunglasses and a knit cap that pulls down over his forehead. “It’s Han Minkyu from Oh My Dreams,” Akari squeaks out, aghast.

I stare at her blankly. I haven’t really had much time for K-dramas the past six years.

“You know. He’s the one who kidnapped Park Dohee after she lost her memory falling off her lover’s motorcycle. He pretended to be her doctor to sneak into her hospital room. Rachel, he made her believe that she was in love with him the whole time!” Her forehead creases with worry. “We’d better hide. Who knows what he’s capable of? He could kidnap us right now if he wanted to.”

“Um, Akari, that’s just his character. You know he’s probably not a kidnapping memory hacker in real life.”

“Oh. Right.” Akari pauses, narrowing her eyes in his direction as he disappears down the alley. “Still. I don’t trust him.”

I glance over at the building. It’s nothing remarkable—I hadn’t even noticed it before: all the windows are tinted so you can’t see in from the outside, and the walls are desperately in need of a new paint job. But maybe…

Curious, I gesture for Akari to follow me.

I pull on the handle and the door swings open smoothly, revealing a tiny, wood-paneled hallway. We step inside, and the door slams shut behind us. Akari looks at me, face pale. “You want to rethink what you said about us not being kidnapped today?” I shush her, straining my ears.

“Do you hear that?” I ask.

“The sound of our imminent death? Why yes, I do,” Akari whispers dramatically.

“No, you dork. It’s music.”

The hallway ends in a thick velvet curtain. I can hear music pouring through from the other side. I turn to Akari. “Ready?”

She looks around nervously. “No?”

I laugh and take her hand, pulling her through the curtain to the other side.

Around us the walls burst to life with ethereal images of gardens that look plucked straight from the French countryside. Above us, pink and purple wisteria vines sweep across the ceiling, hanging heavily from an angular chandelier, all gold and milk glass. The room is filled with people seated in plush jewel-toned booths, chatting and listening to a man playing jazz tunes on the piano atop an impressive stage that covers the right side of the room. The entire place smells like a mix of baked croissants and rose petals. I glance down at the table near me to see a woman sipping her drink with a latte art swan so delicate and perfect that I feel like it might stretch its wings and fly straight out of the mug.

Holy shit. What is this place?

A voice calls out, “Rachel! Akari!” breaking me out of my trance. Yujin rushes toward us, her pink hair and dangly bronze earrings flying in a wave behind her. She puts an arm around both of our shoulders, beaming. “It’s about time you got here. Welcome to Kwangtaek.”

“Where are we?” Akari asks. “Also, do you know Han Minkyu?”

“I could tell you,” Yujin says, laughing, as she guides us across the room. “But I think I know someone who would do a better job.”

She stops in front of a cozy corner booth where a vaguely familiar older woman is already sitting, drinking from a porcelain tea set. She looks like she’s stepped straight out of a 1940s Hollywood movie, with her silver hair swept up in an old-school glamorous updo and the most luxurious embroidered silk shawl I’ve ever seen draped casually over her shoulders.

“Rachel, Akari, meet my mother,” Yujin says, sliding into the booth next to the woman. “Chung Yuna.”

Chung Yuna? Did Yujin just say her mother is Chung Yuna?

Next to me I hear Akari gasp. “You’re the Chung Yuna?” Akari says. She turns to face Yujin. “Ooh-ahh, Unni, how come you never told us that your mom is the OG K-pop star?!”

I can’t believe this. Chung Yuna is truly a legend. Before her, K-pop music didn’t even exist. Now, forty years after she retired, everyone still knows her name—and loves her. Electric Flower even did a twenty-minute homage to some of her biggest hits during their last world tour.

I immediately straighten my back and bow at a ninety-degree angle. “Ahnyounghasaeyo.”

Akari quickly follows suit. Yuna pats the seat next to her. “Ayy, that was a long time ago. I leave the K-pop to girls like you now.”

Yujin grins. “You two look like a pair of fish. Close your mouths before you catch some flies.”

I force my mouth closed and smile as calmly as I can, even though this is all blowing my mind. “So, where exactly are we right now?” I glance over at Akari, whose eyes still look like they might pop out of her head.

“Kwangtaek is an underground café I started for the celebrities of Korea,” Yuna says, sipping from her teacup. “A place for people to relax and escape from fans and paparazzi, even for just a moment. We didn’t have anything like this when I was in the industry, and I always longed for such a place. And then several years ago, I thought: if I want it so much, why don’t I build it? It took a while to find the perfect location, but this one has been serving us quite well.”