Busan girls scare the shit out of me

Jo Yuri has always been a fan favorite. Her soft voice was like no other, possessing an incredible versatility that showed in her numerous songs: Taxi, Round and Around, Glassy, and more. To go along with her refined skills were her visuals and soft features to match her angelic singing. You started liking her as soon as you discovered the ex-group Iz*one. Her calm yet fun demeanor caught your eye right away. You started by watching her fan cams, covers, and compilations, and when the group disbanded, you had no doubt you’d still follow her no matter what she decided to pursue.

Luckily, Jo Yuri continued her musical path, and her talent did not go to waste. You watched her MVs during the afternoon, when you were done with your classes and study sessions. Occasionally, you’d watch her game streams when she went live. It was relaxing and comforting. 

Thanks to your part-time job at the convenience store, you were able to buy her albums. The CD and the photocards were nice and all, but what really interested you was the raffle for the fan sign. You patiently waited for the message, and then, it came… You got in!

You went to the fan sign during the weekend. It was held in a mall to let a large number of fans in.

The place was filled with people and posters, her face being plastered everywhere. You could feel the anticipation of the fans rubbing on you; everyone was incredibly excited and loud. You were very happy for Yuri. Usually, soloists can’t maintain a good fanbase, but she did.

The crowd erupted into a symphony of cheers and applause when she made her grand entrance. Her smile was bright, radiating enough light to outshine the stage lights themselves. You clapped as well, joining the fans.

The staff gave Yuri the mic, she checked a couple of times, and cleared her throat.

“Hello, everyone! I'm very happy to see all of you here today!” she announced, and the audience erupted once again. She gave her greetings and explained how the fan meet was gonna go, and sat down at her little table while the rest of the audience was patiently waiting in line.

The first girl came to Yuri’s table, holding her album tightly.

“Yuri–ssi, I've been your fan since day one! Can you please sign my album?” she asked, almost jumping from excitement.

“Of course!” Yuri answered, offering a bright smile. “Thank you so much for your support.”

A quick signature and a small message like ‘thank you for your love,’ and the girl was walking away happier than she had ever been.

The next fan walked on. She put the album on the table and fiddled with her dress. “Um, Yuri-ssi, could you do some aegyo for us?”

Yuri looked behind the fan and saw all the cameras pointing at her. She thought for a moment about all the poses she had practiced and chose one. “Okay, here I go,” she announced before throwing five heart signs at her audience.

Everyone went absolutely crazy and screamed at her cuteness.

“You've inspired me in so many ways! Can I have a hug?” a little girl said. Of course, without hesitation, Yuri rose from her seat and enveloped the little fan in a big hug.

“Thank you for your kind words. I’ll cherish them dearly,” Yuri says.

Your turn came as well, and you didn’t bother with anything too crazy. You just told her you appreciated her music and hard work, letting her sign your album and shaking her hand. You couldn’t help but notice the smell of her, probably, expensive hand cream. She was so sweet, and the way she tilted her hand to look at you through the glass was simply adorable. 

The fan meet kept going with fans showering her in compliments, giving her gifts, trying cheesy pickup lines, and asking her to act like their girlfriend. Yuri must have bowed down at least a thousand times throughout the whole event. It took several hours until the line was empty and the event came to an end.

She thanked everyone, bid farewell, and stepped away from the spotlight.

When the fan meet ended, you left the avenue and found a small bench to arrange your things. You wanted to make sure the photocards and the album were neatly put in your backpack so as not to damage anything. By the time you were done, most of the fans had already left the parking lot, which was right in front of the building. 

Before you started walking, you pulled out your phone and started a video. It wasn’t usual for you to attend these kinds of events; you wanted to remember everything. You recorded the building and all the places around it. 

You kept recording behind the building as well, where you were forced to park your car in some hidden corner of the street. You arrived late, and the parking lot was already full. The place didn’t look clean either; there was trash everywhere, and it reeked of smoke. You really hated people who smoked; they contaminated the whole area, and it was impossible to breathe.

The smell got stronger when you turned the corner. You seemed to find the smoker; it was a girl. She was rather attractive; you found yourself staring at her from afar. Your hand followed your eyes, and you intentionally started recording the girl as well. 

“I swear I’m going to quit this job!” you heard her say. Satoori? You heard that accent before on TV, but never really encountered someone like that.

“Unnie, don’t say that. What happened?”

“Those guys fucking stink! And they’re so ugly! Why do I have to deal with these pigs?” she said into the phone. “Fuck! And they keep asking me to call them shit like oppa and honey. They’re really losers!”

Yikes. She’s really mad. She seems kinda violent, too. It’s better not to get too close to her.

Suddenly, she turned around, and her eyes met yours.

Fuck. She noticed you.

Her eyes widened, and so did yours. She stared at the cigarette for a moment before screaming at you, “YAH!” She roared and started sprinting towards you. “Get over here!”

You weren’t left much choice to but to start running in the opposite direction. She looked furious. She could have been a gang member for all you knew. Cute girls don’t smoke, right?

You ran for as long as you could, trying to turn as many corners as possible, to lose her. However, she always found you in one way or another and was fast enough to catch up, trailing 5 or 10 metres behind you. 

“Stop running, you asshole! I swear I’ll kill you!” she screamed with all her might. How was she not out of breath? Her voice was as clear and as piercing as possible. You had no chance of outrunning her. 

There comes a moment when you stop thinking about getting away, and you start to think about how you can keep your limbs intact. First of all, get rid of the evidence. Sloppily, you take the phone out of your pocket. A very difficult task, as you couldn’t afford to slow down at all, and your phone was trying to jump out of your hands. 

You managed to delete the video. At that point, your lungs had burned all the oxygen you had, and your legs gave up. She had the pace of an Olympic sprinter. It was over. You were cooked. This was your last day. 

Your sudden deceleration was enough for the girl to jump on you. She slammed you against the cold bricks. Her hands were twisting into the collar of your shirt. 

She yelled again, “The video! Delete it now!”

At a couple of centimetres away, you could smell her perfume, which wasn’t a Bohem or an Esse; instead, it was a very feminine, flowery scent. The reason revealed itself very soon: she wasn’t a thug at all; instead, she was the very idol you found yourself cheering for a couple of minutes earlier, Jo Yuri. But it couldn’t be her right? The run must have fogged your mind. There was no way this smoker was your loving idol. 

“I’ve deleted it! Look!” you said quickly, and shoved the screen towards her. She snatched your phone away and looked at your gallery. 

Your heart was hammering against your ribcage. This chick was crazy. You might actually die right now.

“Great,” she grunted when she saw all the photos of herself. She scrolled through hundreds of photos and videos of her stage outfits, her aegyo, her singing, her poses. 

You were dumbfounded, embarrassed. She didn’t really seem to pay attention to her own photos, which comforted you a little bit. 

She returned your phone and sighed heavily. “You better not tell a living soul about this,” she said, pointing her finger at you. “Understood?”

You couldn’t answer immediately, still shocked at the sight in front of you. You furrowed your eyebrows. She seemed… familiar?

“Yes or no?” she repeated, raising her voice and getting closer to you.

“Y—yeah!” you mumbled. “But what’s the issue?”

“What did you say?” the girl asked in disbelief. She furrowed her eyebrows, confused at your statement, and pointed at your phone. “That’s the issue.”

“What about it?”

“Are you stupid? You got thousands of pictures.”
“Ah, Yuri? Are you her stuntwoman or something? You two look really alike.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “I’m her, you dumbass. I’m Jo Yuri.” You were taken aback. The singer you liked certainly wasn’t this blunt, aggressive, and foul. Her voice was gentle and sweet. This girl… she was rough.