Idol of the Heavenly One - Chapter 30.2
“Our order is seventh, okay? After the stage ends, don’t change outfits, just go straight to the artists’ section.”
Our manager confirmed the schedule with us in the waiting room before rehearsal. I had to memorize everything, from the stage movements, to where we would sit, to the timing of re-entering. At a big awards show like this, you never know where the camera will land. One mistake could turn into a broadcast accident.
Maybe because today was such an important event, not only were our usual managers with us but even the director who had overseen our debut trailer came along. The director was the kind of person who paid attention to backstage setups and to managing our image.
“Oh, and everyone, be careful about this.”
In the middle of all the explanations, the director lowered his voice for a moment, warning us.
“Since the AAM is being held in Korea for the first time in a while, the crowd is expected to be massive. When you get out of the car, when you move around, be careful. If something happens, it’ll be a big problem.”
The air instantly grew heavy at those words. I only nodded to show I understood, but strangely, his warning lingered in my mind. A crowd? Of course fans and spectators would come in large numbers, but to the point that it required a warning like that?
Soon we got into the car and headed for Incheon. The winter scenery passing by outside the window felt familiar, yet today it seemed strangely unfamiliar.
“But… Incheon Arena? Why does that sound familiar somehow…”
As the car entered the highway, that sense of déjà vu grew stronger. I recalled some recent news. Faint fragments floated up in my mind—words like “Incheon,” “accident.”
“The traffic’s awful…”
The manager at the wheel muttered under his breath.
I lifted my eyes from my phone and looked out the window. Cars lined up in every direction, red brake lights stretching endlessly. Hopefully we wouldn’t be late. Thankfully we had left early. If we had been even a little late, we might have ended up causing a broadcast no-show only two months after debuting.
Accident…?
A shiver ran down my spine. What was this déjà vu? Had I only seen a traffic accident in the news? Or was there something about Incheon Arena itself? Restless, I turned my phone back on and started searching.
<Repeated fall accidents at Incheon construction site…>
That headline caught my eye. Ah, right. I had seen this in a recommended video on YouTube. But it didn’t feel like this was the source of my unease.
Other articles popped up.
<AAM to be held at Incheon Arena, first time in six years!>
<Korea’s first arena, Incheon Pirios—see AAM live!>
<Another Awesome Music, returns to Korea after six years!>
Yes, these were the reports I remembered. But there was no mention of “accident.” Was I just mistaken?
I shook my head. Nothing will happen. I must just be mixing up bits of information.
Drowsiness pressed down harder. Today we had to remain seated in the artists’ section even during downtime, so we never knew when the camera might catch us. That meant I couldn’t even yawn freely. If I didn’t sleep now, I might not get another chance.
But just as I was about to close my eyes, a memory flashed across my mind like lightning.
“After the AAM ended, there was a fire at Arena Station. Because of the crowd, people couldn’t escape, and there were casualties. One of them was a YEARZ fan. She was so young… such a tragedy.”
My breath caught in my throat, and I shot upright. This was not a simple déjà vu. This was a memory. Not even mine, but something Ji-eun from my past life had told me.
She had once been a fan of DIAI, but as soon as YEARZ debuted, she switched to supporting them. And that year, after the AAM ended, the terrible incident occurred. Some fans couldn’t get out of the crowd, and one of them died at a young age.
Cold sweat broke out on my skin. If that was true… would the same thing repeat in this life too? Was my past life memory warning me right now?
“Hyung, do we have any schedule after the awards today?”
I asked cautiously.
“Today? No, nothing. Why?”
The manager replied. I felt relieved. That meant there was a chance. A chance to do something.
“No reason.”
Then how could I stop that accident? More than doing well on stage, more than winning an award, the only thing filling my head was that thought.
Could I prevent it? Or would tragedy strike again?
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