IDOL: Dancing in Chains

(TW: Stalking, psychological abuse, invasion of privacy) The entertainment industry is the most socially acceptable form of p**********n known to humankind. * The Alps at the end of the year are never welcoming to strangers. But for him, this was no foreign land. Ever since he was a child, this place had been a prison for him. The chair he was sitting in was too hard. Something was wrapped tightly around his wrists, securing them to the chair's armrests. Something cold encircled his ankles. It felt like metal he couldn't see, but could feel every time he tried to move. He didn't need to look down to know what it was. His wrists felt hot, not from injury but from having struggled to free himself for so long. Outside the thick, tightly locked glass window, Mount Jungfrau stood white and silent. Just like him. Trapped. Silent. Slowly freezing. The door to the room opened. An elderly servant entered, carrying a tray with dinner. His face had never changed in the years he'd served the Seki family. Flat, expressionless, devoid of compassion as he carried out his master's orders. "Young Master," he called respectfully. "I don't want to be called that." "Kaichou instructed you to eat your dinner heartily tonight. Tomorrow morning, a team of lawyers from Tokyo will arrive for... further discussions." He didn't answer. He just stared at his reflection in the windowpane. The same face, but different eyes. Eyes that had no more tears left to shed. "I'm going to get out of here," he whispered. "Somehow." Before everything turned out like this, he was still in Seoul. Breathing. Fighting. Unaware that the world was preparing to bring him down. "How did everything turn out like this…?" The old servant heard the young master's words. He chose to ignore them. * The twenty-year-old man's heart was pounding. His breath came in ragged gasps. Anxiety consumed every corner of his being. His eyes were fixed on the screen. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of messages flooded the notifications on his personal social media account. The phone screen flickered on the purple sheets. Piercing the darkness of the dorm room that was supposed to be Hinata's escape from the world. Dzzzt. A single soft vibration. Yet, to him, the sound felt like an explosion inside his already throbbing head. He curled up, clutching his knees, so tightly his knuckles turned white. Cold sweat trickled down his temples. Dampening his usually neatly styled blonde bangs under the stage lights. He didn't want to look at it. He swore he wouldn't touch that thing again tonight. But a poisonous curiosity, the kind of fear that forces you to look at the monster under the bed, drew his fingers back to grasp the thin phone. [Hinata'sAngel]: Take a deep breath, Hinata. Don't be so tense. You look even paler in that white T-shirt. "Impossible, impossible, impossible…" He looked down at the oversized white T-shirt he was wearing. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel his heartbeat on the tip of his tongue. He had just changed his clothes five minutes ago in the tightly closed bathroom. The curtains in his room were also completely drawn. His eyes instinctively glanced at the locked door several times. Dzzzt. [Hinata'sAngel]: Why did you close the curtains, Sweetheart? I prefer it when you let the dim glow of the Mapo streetlights fall across your face just like when you were daydreaming behind that third-floor window ten minutes ago. Oh, or would you rather I go in there, past that rusty iron gate with the key that's always stuck, just to open it for you? "HAAAAAARGGHHH!!!" Instinctively, he flung his phone to the far end of the bed. As if the object were a burning ember searing his skin. He crawled backward until his back hit the cold wall. His eyes scanned every corner of the room's ceiling. Searching for a tiny camera lens that might be hidden behind a smoke detector or an air vent. Empty. Visually, nothing suspicious was visible. "Impossible," he said, staring at his phone in horror. In the digital world, everyone is essentially naked. He felt as though thousands of invisible eyes were crawling over his skin. Every inch of his privacy had been forcibly stripped away. He was an idol, accustomed to being watched by millions of human eyes on stage. But what was happening now was different. It didn't feel like a look of admiration, but rather an assertion of ownership. The phone lit up again. This time it wasn't a text message. The screen displayed a photo sent via private message. Hinata mustered the courage to look at it. It was a photo of him sleeping in the clothes he'd worn three nights ago. Taken from an angle right above his pillow. So close he could see the strands of his eyelashes falling onto his cheek. "Who… Who are you, really?" he whispered. His trembling voice breaking the silence. There was no answer. Only a few final messages appeared before his phone's screen went completely dark. As if the sender had just cut the connection from afar. [Hinata'sAngel]: I am the only one who knows how lonely you are behind that fake smile, Little Bird. Don't worry, and don't be afraid. [Hinata'sAngel]: I will never let you be alone for much longer. [Hinata'sAngel]: Because God has destined us to be together. [Hinata'sAngel]: We will meet. Hinata buried his face between his knees. He began to sob silently. Amid that paralyzing fear, there was one thing that caused him more suffering than the threat of death. The reality was that even with the new identity he had painstakingly built as Hinata Iseki, he still couldn't escape. The outside world was a stage where he had to always smile, be perfect, and make others happy. But now, even his private room had become a glass cage where the predator sat calmly watching every tear that wet the slope of his cheek. Three knocks sounded at the door. The sound of the knocking on the wooden door sounded like the hammer of a judge in Hinata's ears. He jolted violently. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic. His sobs stopped instantly. Replaced by a breath caught in his throat. Is it him? Has that 'Angel' truly come to break through the jammed iron gate and take my life right now? "Hi-chan? Are you there? Why is the light off?" asked the person knocking on the door in Japanese. That voice. Deep, familiar, and always carrying a hint of warmth that could calm him in an instant. It was Hidehira. Hinata didn't answer. His body was still frozen, stiff as a wax statue in the corner of the bed. He was sure he'd locked the door tightly. He was afraid that if he made a sound, the door wouldn't be strong enough to hold back the monster that might be hiding behind Hide's voice. Click… Clack. The sharp clang of metal echoed. Hinata watched in horror as the doorknob turned from the outside. He'd forgotten or perhaps was too panicked to remember that, as both his leader and closest friend, Hide, had a spare key to his room for emergencies. The door opened slowly, letting in a sliver of light from the dimly lit dormitory hallway. The tall silhouette of Hidehira stood there. He squinted into the darkness of the room, holding the spare key in his left hand. "Hi-chan? Are you asleep? I called you several times out front but got no answer. I was worried..." Hide stepped inside. His fingers felt along the wall, searching for the light switch. "Don't! Don't turn on the lights!" Hinata screamed hoarsely. His voice cracked. It was filled with despair he could no longer hide. Hide's footsteps halted in the middle of the room. "Hi-chan? What's wrong? Your voice…" Click. Too late. The pale neon light instantly flooded the room. Hinata instinctively closed his eyes. He felt naked and exposed. He curled up tighter. Hiding his swollen face behind his knees. He could hear Hide's hurried footsteps approaching, then felt the weight on the edge of his bed sink as he sat down beside him. "Oh my God, why are you shaking so badly? What happened?" Hide asked. His hand reached out hesitantly to touch Hinata's shoulder. "What's wrong? Is it because of that scandalous article from VER? Hi-chan, listen to me. We'll get through this. The agency is trying…" "He knows everything, Hi-kun…" Hinata whispered, switching to Japanese. Without lifting his face. "Who? You mean those trouble-making people at the agency? Just let them be…" "No. Not them." Hinata slowly looked up. Staring at Hide with red, vacant eyes. His cold hand reached for his dark phone at the edge of the bed, then held it out to Hide as if it were a burning ember. "Someone... someone is watching me right now. In this room. Right this very second." Hide took the phone with a furrowed brow. "What do you mean? Your phone's dead, Hi-chan. Besides, there's no way anyone could…" Hide flipped the device over. He studied it for a moment, as if searching for cracks or irregularities on the black screen that reflected his own face. Silence. Hinata held his breath. He knew what was about to happen. Or maybe nothing would happen. And that was what was most terrifying. Maybe the screen would stay off. Maybe tomorrow morning he'd wake up and convince himself that all of this was just a hallucination caused by exhaustion. Maybe. Hide's sentence trailed off. His eyes were fixed on the phone screen, which suddenly lit up on its own without being touched. It wasn't the home screen that appeared. Nor was it the lock screen. Instead, a new line of text appeared in the middle of the black screen. Written in an elegant yet cold font. As if the sender were whispering directly into the back of both their necks: [Hinata'sAngel]: Get those filthy hands off his shoulder, Hidehira! [Hinata'sAngel]: He's mine. Hinata saw Hide's face go pale. The man quickly turned toward the window covered by curtains, then stared at him as he once again began sobbing into the void. That night, on the third floor of an old apartment building in Mapo, Hinata realized one thing. The devil wasn't just waiting outside the door. The devil was already inside. And on the other side of the world, someone smiled as they tapped the screen of their phone, which displayed footage from a hidden camera. An image of Hinata sobbing in Hide's arms. "Who does he think he is? Daring to touch my little bird." Someone who now identified Hidehira Kiyokawa as a threat. For his ambition to control something he claims as his own. Idol.