Page 98 of When Worlds Collide
“Hana, this is our newest junior assistant. She’s English. She will be with you this week. Show her how we work.”
Turning back to me, he offered a small, but seemingly genuine smile.
“Welcome to ENT, Kaiya. I hope you’ll be successful.”
That was apparently all I was going to get, as he turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing me. I muttered a quiet, “thank you, Mr Park,” as I got to my feet.
Hana, the owner of the soft-spoken voice, was waiting for me by the door.
My eyes widened as I took in that short, sharply-cut bob. It was the young woman from the night of the masked ball. I almost expected her to have a similar reaction to seeing me, but of course how could she recognise me, when I’d been wearing a mask, and a literal ball gown? Not to mention the fact that how could I – ENT’s newest intern/junior assistant – possibly attend an exclusive, media industry party?
The young woman offered me a small smile, and cocked her head to the side as she ducked back out of the office, indicating I follow.
Behind me, I closed the door, and we stood in the corridor, staring at each other for a moment, before she spoke.
“Hana Park.” She held out a hand, which I gratefully took. She had a firmer grip than I would have expected from the look ofher delicate features. “Welcome to the most glamorous circus you’ll ever find.”
I laughed in an exhalation of relief. Her accent sounded familiar, and I wanted to ask, but as I’d only just met her, I held myself back.
“I’m just happy to be here,” I admitted.
“I’ll bet,” she said, and the way her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly gave me pause.
“Well, Kaiya from England, let’s get you started on your first day.” Hana took my arm like we’d been best buds for years, as opposed to strangers less than five minutes ago, and led me down the corridor.
By midday, my head was spinning. Hana had taken me on a far more detailed tour of the building than the brief one Jihoon had given me when I’d had my interview with Director Kang. It wasthe kind of tour that only the worker ants of an organisation ever got to see.
From the outset, a person would probably assume the ENT building was mostly offices and recording studios. Basic but fancy music corporation stuff. But there were warrens of backstage places. It was a positive hive of never-ceasing operations.
We went down to the trainee dance studios on the lower floors, where the scuffed wooden floors and worn-down ballet barres stood as quiet proof of the hours poured into these rooms. I wondered if this was where Jihoon had honed his dance skills. Then she took me to the far end of the building where ‘the staircase’ could be found. It was a service staircase, but because of the lighting, and wide, open landings, it was regularly used by idols and groups to film videos on their social media for dance trends. I’d recognised it instantly, and for a moment, I’d had to step back and recalibrate as I had a moment of ‘what the fuck is my life’. The surreality of standing in that staircase was similar to the days when I’d first started working at Pisces, and wasn’t used to the revolving door of celebrities. I’d been so wide-eyed, back then. I felt wide-eyed again.
Becka would have called me a ‘Bambi’. I missed her.
Hana took me upstairs, where we’d briefly walked past the lounges, but not gone in. That was considered a private space for the actors and singers managed by ENT. Apparently, they’d often be in there mingling where it was safe away from the prying eyes of the press, or even just people with mobile phones. A little hideaway from the spotlight, which I could respect.
Next, she'd taken me to the back of the building where the service elevator was. A massive thing – probably big enough to drive a car onto. Hana called it the 'Hellevator', because that'sapparently what the ENT trainees called it. She waved it away dismissively but did answer when I pressed.
"It's because this is the one they ride the most often to get to the training rooms, but it doesn't go all the way to the top of the building," she explained. "It's a metaphor." She scoffed, but I kind of got it.
We rode the 'hellevator' down to ‘the warehouse’ – a massive sub-level where a whole load of props and sets were stored, held for the next music video, or ‘stage’ – which is what I’d learned a concert was commonly referred to as. It was jaw-dropping. There were plain backdrops, entire walls of stage lights, stacked staging units, even cars. It had literally never occurred to me before where a company might get the props used in music videos, but now I guess I knew.
The last thing Hana showed me was the infamous wardrobe – which was really several rooms containing a vast collection of shoes, outfits, even hair. When we’d gone up, there had actually been a girl group getting fitted for various outfits. Hana had explained they were going through a ‘look book’, which is apparently a process where the stylists find different ‘looks’ for the performers, based on the theme of their upcoming release. The look they were currently styling was ‘girl crush’.
We looked on for a while, staying out of the way, watching as they took Polaroids in different outfits, until one of the stylists shooed us out.
Our tour ran on so long that Hana decided the next logical stop was the on-site cafeteria.
We walked in, and I didn’t bother to stifle my gasp, because, holy hell. It was like walking into a bio-dome, or one of those natural reserves where nature has been allowed to take over. The entire space was filled with natural light from the walls of windows, and plants were everywhere. There was an entire wallthat was just plants, or moss, or something like that. Plants were hanging down from the ceiling in special hanging baskets. They were in little pots on every table, and the room had even been divided into sections by raised planters. There were creepers, vines, flowering plants, succulents, and I’m pretty sure a whole row of fluffy carrot tops made up one of the long dividers.
“This is incredible,” I said, once I’d put my eyeballs back in my head.
Hana laughed. “It’s pretty neat, huh?”
“Can just anyone come in here?”
“Oh God, no,” she said, horrified. “This is just for staff and talent. That means us,” she pointed a finger between us, “and them.” She discreetly moved that finger over to the side, indicating a table full of young women, all dressed in workout clothes, and caps, but somehow still managing to look like a superior bunch of humans to me, even on my best day.
“Who’s that?” I asked in a hushed tone.
