Chapter Text

Chapter 1

“What ever happened to Ryu Seu-min?”

It’s been 15 years since the accident that claimed the life of pop superstar Ryu Mi-yeong. It’s a testament to her stardom that even all these years later, offerings are being left for her all over the world. Her musical legacy looms over the entire K-pop world.

But what about her more literal legacy? Her son Seu-min has remained one of the industry’s greatest enigmas. Most sources agree that he survived her tragic death. For a few years after there are sporadic, uncorroborated sightings with former Sunlight Sisters members and staff. But after that the trail goes cold.

Some speculate he was smuggled out of the country, set up with a trust fund in America or Europe. Others say he changed his name and ducked the limelight for a normal life. The conspiracy-minded imagine him pulling the strings of the booming industry. Wherever he ended up, nobody’s talking.

What are your speculations? Let us know in the comments!

A lifetime of media training kept Rumi’s facial expression neutral as Zoey watched the video next to her. This day was hard every year, but the arrival of Zoey and Mira had made it even more challenging. Zoey especially. She had been a fan of Ryu Mi-yeong, in a way Rumi was very careful to never unpack. She would probably bring flowers to one of the makeshift shrines that appeared this time of year. Every time she asked if Rumi wanted to come, and every year she made a polite excuse.

Rumi made a lot of polite excuses to hear fellow idols. Why she never joined them in the bath house, the reason she had a separate dressing room, the way she never talked about her family. Careful half-truths, or outright lies.

It was a bad feeling, having to put her media training to use on Zoey and Mira. They respected her boundaries implicitly, which just made Rumi feel that much more guilty. The three girls were supposed to share everything with each other.

The other two made good on that promise. Rumi knew about the time Zoey had set off the sprinklers in her high school to get out of an exam. About the fanfiction she’d written (and wasn’t that a conversation). Rumi knew that Zoey still got nervous when people argued because of her parents’ divorce, and that despite speaking better Korean than most anyone she was self-conscious about her “accent.”

Rumi knew exactly who Mira had snuck into her dorm room at her stuffy private school. She knew, notably, that they had all been girls. She knew that was why Mira was estranged, the prodigal daughter they wouldn’t acknowledge. Rumi knew that Mira had a sweet tooth, and that she’d had to get several cavities filled when she was younger. Rumi knew that Mira hated anyone two-faced, who said anything less than exactly what she meant. Mira hated lies.

Rumi tried to answer with secrets of her own. The other two found them laughably tame. Apparently staying up past your bedtime reading manhua wasn’t a secret, even if Celine was “really scary when she’s mad.” And sneaking a sip of soju didn’t mean much when Zoey had first been drunk at age fourteen. How was Rumi supposed to know how much more Americans swore? That it didn’t count as “sneaking out” if your guardian greeted you when you came back in.

But the big capital-S Secret, the one her entire life revolved around concealing, the one Celine had devoted half her life to protecting, that stayed inside. Her “operational security,” as Celine called it, was extremely strict, and no one who didn’t absolutely need to know knew. The easiest secret to keep is one you didn’t know you were keeping, Celine would say. Her bandmates weren’t ready, Celine would say. The world isn’t ready, Celine would say.

Celine knew best. She had always taken care of Rumi, had given her a home and a life and a purpose. Had protected her from the worst of the world, and showered her with the best of it.

And it all came back to her mother’s tragic death, twenty years ago today.

Rumi made her excuses to Zoey, then grabbed her purse and pulled a black baseball cap low. She had business with Celine today, after all.

Rumi had grown up knowing she wasn’t like other kids. She had a caretaker instead of a mom and dad. She took classes online instead of going to school. Any time she went out, she had to keep her face covered. She had a little necklace with a button on it, and whenever she pressed it a couple of scary men appeared and asked her if she was okay.

And also, despite everyone else in the world being convinced otherwise, she knew she was a girl.

It wasn’t terribly hard to figure out, for a kid. She’d met boys, spent time around them, seen the men they grew into, and decided she wanted absolutely nothing to do with that. The scratchy facial hair, the boring shirts, the smell… Rumi hated it. Girls were soft and they smelled nice. They had smooth skin and pretty long hair. They got to wear the cutest dresses that Rumi had always envied from afar.

The first few people she’d tried to tell hadn’t been particularly helpful, though. She’d asked her biology tutor once if boys always grew up to be men, if perhaps there was another option available? At first he’d treated it as a joke, but when she’d persisted he’d snapped angrily. Apparently boys were boys and girls were girls, and “nothing could change that.”

That didn’t seem right to Rumi. The tutor seemed confident, but he was also confident when he mixed up adenosine triphosphate and diphosphate, and got just as mad when she corrected him. He was hardly trustworthy.

After all, she already knew she was different from the other kids. Every moment of every day made that abundantly clear. So why should this be any exception?

But she had absolutely learned from her question. Regardless of what he’d intended to teach, she learned that a lot of adults were very foolish and couldn’t always be trusted. Despite the respect they demanded of her, very few of them seemed especially interested in what she had to say. And they had a lot of very dumb ideas about what little girls and little “boys” were supposed to be like. So she kept this secret close, and waited patiently.

Rumi was a very patient kid.

It took a couple more years before she found an adult who would listen. She remembered a lot of different aunties taking care of her at various times, then for whatever reason she’d be passed on to someone else. Rumi didn’t really know why. She had learned how to be very polite and respectful, and she kept to herself. She took her lessons, watched whatever shows others were watching, and read quietly in her room.

But every time, after a few… weeks? months? She’d be passed on to another auntie. A dark black car would pull up to the door, and she had to pack her belongings and go. Eventually, she stopped bothering to unpack.

Until she met Aunt Celine.

Aunt Celine had been different. She was familiar to Rumi, and she’d known Rumi’s mother before…

She was friendly, and as the months stretched on, it became apparent that Rumi was going to be staying here for quite a while. After a month, Rumi unpacked her suitcase. At two months, she even put up her only decoration, a small framed photo of her mom.

Rumi had been putting on her best good girl impression. She kept to herself, was gracious when spoken to, and studied hard. Her room was always perfectly organised, and she was almost always out of bed before Aunt Celine came to fetch her.

Aunt Celine praised her when she had good marks, and she brought Rumi little presents. She remembered what Rumi had made conversation about and brought them up again. She let Rumi decorate her room with posters, and they even painted a wall to her favourite shade of purple.

Eventually, over many months, Rumi decided that Aunt Celine was a different kind of adult, that she could be trusted. And so when the opportunity arose, Rumi took it.

“You’re growing into a handsome young man,” Aunt Celine said.

“I’m not going to be a man,” Rumi corrected her.

“No?”

“Mm-mm. I’m going to be a girl when I grow up.” She spoke with as much conviction as she could muster.

Aunt Celine laughed, as thought Rumi had told a joke. But when Rumi stayed serious, she became serious as well.

“Boys don’t turn into girls,” she’d said gently. “You’ll grow up to be a nice young man.”

“I’m not a boy,” Rumi had insisted. “I’m not sure why everyone thinks I am.”

“Well, when you’re born, the doctor tells everyone whether you’re a boy or a girl.”

“Do they ever make mistakes?”

Rumi knew she made the right choice when Aunt Celine actually considered this. Instead of dismissing her or yelling, she spent several moments deep in thought.

When she opened her eyes, her expression was kind but concerned. “Min-seong, are you sure about this? You’re not just telling a joke?”

Rumi frowned. “What would the joke be?”

“Well, sometimes people just want to see how people will react.”

“I know how people usually react,” Rumi told her. “But I’m hoping you’re different.”

Aunt Celine was quiet after that, returning to her thoughts. That was okay. Rumi went back to her book, content that her issue had been communicated.

That turned out to only be partly true. Over the next few weeks, Aunt Celine and Rumi had several conversations that went in a similar manner. Rumi didn’t really understand why, since Aunt Celine already knew the answers to the questions she was asking, but she answered as best she could every time.

Then, eventually, a very nice doctor came to visit.

He used a lot of big words, like “transgender” and “hormones,” but Rumi got the gist. She would get special pills that kept her from turning into a boy. Then, when she was a little older, she’d be able to take different pills that let her turn into a girl.

He asked Rumi if she was sure this was what she wanted, and she gave very polite answers even though she’d answered the questions for Aunt Celine several times already. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t “want” anything. Rumi knew exactly who she was, and the rest of the world needed to get onboard.

She told the doctor as much, and he smiled and nodded along. “Good answer,” he said.

Both Aunt Celine and the doctor emphasised that she shouldn’t talk about this with anyone. That this was a secret. Rumi already knew she was different from other kids, but the other kids wouldn’t. Aunt Celine said they were going to move to a different place where nobody knew her, which was weird because Rumi didn’t know anybody anyway. Except for Aunt Celine and the nice lady who delivered groceries every week.

None of that mattered, though, because Aunt Celine said she could start going to regular school! That since nobody would know who Rumi was, she just needed to keep her secret. Two secrets, but also kind of only one.

Rumi was old enough to know that her mom had been pretty famous, and because of that people wanted to know about her. And apparently it was ‘serendipity’ that everyone else had thought she was a boy, since nobody would be looking for a girl.

Aunt Celine told her that before she was born, nobody knew if she was going to be a boy or a girl. And her mom had picked out one name for a boy and one name for a girl. So eventually, with the help of one of many lawyers, the child everyone else had known as Ryu Min-seong ceased to exist, and Kim Rumi took his place. Aunt Celine’s family name, and the chosen name from her mom.

And of course, nobody besides Rumi, Aunt Celine, her doctor, and some lawyers knew. It was the most important secret Rumi kept. If nobody knew who she was, she was safe. If anyone found out, it would be very bad.

It became a mantra, repeated over and over. Nobody could know. No exceptions.

#

Celine drove them to the memorial plot in silence. Rumi and Celine already didn’t tend to talk much at the best of times, and the solemnity of the occasion weighed heavy on them both.

Of course, Rumi barely remembered her mom at all. But Celine had a small altar in their home with a photo of her, and they observed her memorial every year. Celine had done her best to make sure Mi-yeong wasn’t a stranger to Rumi. She wasn’t sure if she’d done well, or if it was even the right thing to do.

The car bounced down a dirt road. All over the country and all over the world, folks were offering Ryu Mi-yeong flowers, CDs, memories, photos. An international day of mourning, impromptu shrines all over the world. Thousands of people singing her songs and remembering her.

In the small clearing that was Mi-yeong’s final resting place, it was quiet. They were the only ones here. Like a lot of their life, its location was closely guarded secret.

Rumi didn’t say anything as the car rolled to a stop. Without speaking, they both grabbed the bouquets of flowers. Celine grew them herself, in a small garden plot by the kitchen window.

Azaleas. They were always Mi-yeong’s favourite.

The rest of the world was putting out sunflowers and daisies. That was what all the official guides said her favourites were, and there were always sunflower motifs all over her clothing. Asked in interviews, she said she liked the way they always faced the sun.

A marketing firm had decided on that line. Azaleas were too expensive for some people, and of course the association with death was a non-starter. Sunflowers were cheap, and daisies were plentiful. They made Mi-yeong seem approachable, in that carefully curated way that kept the parasocial relationships alive.

Celine knew Mi-yeong’s favourite flower. She knew that Mi-yeong loved incredibly spicy food, even though everyone else thought she had no tolerance. Mi-yeong was the youngest in the group, but their third member had tested better as the maknae. Every aspect of their personalities had been carefully planned and run by focus groups, lies repeated until they almost believed themselves.

Mi-yeong had loved Celine. It was amazing how a group of people could be on top of the world, but still completely beholden to it. They never even bothered asking if they could go public. Just being seen with the wrong man was enough to ruin an idol’s life. Outside of their trio, nobody had ever known the truth. The rest of the world thought she only had eyes for her husband.

It wasn’t a PR firm who picked him, of course. Something far more powerful: The Ryu family and generations of tradition. As many times as the two of them fantasized about running away to Canada, leaving it all behind, it was just idle fantasy. In the end Mi-yeong had caved to her family’s demands. She had kissed Celine, just once, and left. After a perfunctory courtship, she settled down with… some suitor. Celine had made a point of not remembering his name.

Celine hoped, for Mi-yeong’s sake, that she’d truly moved on and forgotten about her. The alternative was that Mi-yeong had been suffering the way Celine had, having everything in the world except the one thing she wanted most.

Celine had never stopped loving Mi-yeong, and so when the accident happened there was no question she’d taken care of her child. She pushed her grief to the side and started the complicated legal process of extracting a kid from the foster care system. Mi-yeong’s awful husband hadn’t even tried for custody. That was how she became Aunt Celine, and eventually just Celine.

Rumi might’ve slipped up once or twice and called her “mom,” but Celine would gently correct her. She’d been too much of a coward to reach Mi-yeong when she was still alive. She wasn’t going to put herself there afterwards.

Celine looked over at Rumi, laying a bouquet at the grave of a mother she barely remembered. Rumi looked so, so much like Mi-yeong. She truly was her mother’s daughter. For better and for worse.

As Rumi grew up, Mi-yeong slowly emerged from her features. Not exactly the same – different nose, hair just a bit thinner — but the resemblance was unmistakable. Seeing Mi-yeong re-appear like this was joyful and crushing all at once. Celine woke up one day to realise Rumi had Mi-yeong’s laugh, and had to excuse herself to cry.

Mi-yeong would be proud of Rumi, Celine was sure. She hoped Rumi knew that.

She hoped Rumi was happy. That would have to be enough.