Peninsula diplomat: My second life with a top celebrity

The phone rang at 7:30.

He reached for his phone; the caller ID on the screen read Pei Dongyong.

"Clerk, there's something I need to report to you, it's quite urgent."

Bae Dong-young's voice carried a hint of helplessness. Jung Do-hoon walked to the window, pulled back the curtains a crack, and listened to him finish speaking—

Following the concert in Jakarta, the local organizers were investigated for non-compliance with tax procedures, resulting in the confiscation of the passports of all participating artists, who were stranded in a hotel with no return date in sight.

Pei Dongyong said, "I contacted the Indonesian embassy, ​​and they said they were following up on it..."

Zheng Daoxun rubbed his temples. He had a premonition that the project would run into problems when he was going through the documents yesterday, but he didn't expect it to happen so quickly.

"...I understand. See you at the office. Take your passport with you."

He hung up the phone and stood by the window for a while. It was still dark, and the city's outline was blurred against the deep blue sky, like an out-of-focus photograph.

Then he dialed the number of the Indonesian embassy in South Korea.

The person who answered the phone was a counselor. It was the weekend, and he clearly had no intention of talking about work, but I had no choice but to answer his call.

Zheng Daoxun explained his purpose, and the other party listened quietly before deflecting the question by saying that the matter needed to be discussed with the Jakarta authorities and that it was inconvenient for them to intervene directly.

Then he politely hung up the phone.

Zheng Daoxun smiled silently.

He certainly knew what this meant; the activity was initiated and led by the Cultural Exchange Department.

The Indonesian embassy in South Korea has no reason to clean up other people's messes, and it certainly doesn't want to get involved in tax-related troubles.

After hanging up, Jung Do-hoon made another call, this time to the South Korean embassy in Indonesia.

The other party was more polite and their words were more diplomatic.

The gist is that they are already following up and will coordinate as soon as possible, but the tax process in Indonesia has its own pace, so it's not convenient to exert too much pressure.

Zheng Daoxun didn't say anything more. He thanked him and hung up.

Through the gap in the curtains, a thin, grayish-white hue began to appear on the horizon.

He got up from the sofa, opened the wardrobe, and took out a neatly pressed white shirt.

He arrived at his office and quickly drafted a diplomatic note. As he printed out the document and stamped it, Pei Dongyong walked in with two cups of Americano, his steps unsteady.

"Clerk, what are you doing—"

"Let's go," Zheng Daoxun said, putting his passport and official letter into his briefcase. "To Indonesia."

Pei Dongyong opened his mouth. He wanted to suggest that this kind of thing could be handled gradually by the embassy.

The previous secretary certainly wouldn't have personally flown to the scene for something like this.

But seeing Zheng Daoxun's expression, he swallowed his words.

There was no extra emotion on that young face; he was simply calmly doing something he had to do.

"Once the public outcry gets out of hand, we'll have to step in and resolve it. Let's get this sorted out as soon as possible." Zheng Daoxun picked up his briefcase and walked out. "I've already bought your plane ticket."

Bae Dong-young sighed and downed his cup of coffee in one gulp.

The flight from Incheon to Jakarta takes seven and a half hours.

We took off at 10 a.m., and the cabin wasn't full; several window seats were empty.

Jung Do-hoon chose a window seat in the back row, with Bae Dong-young sitting next to him. Bae Dong-young closed his eyes less than twenty minutes after takeoff, and his snoring kept Jung Do-hoon from feeling sleepy at all.

He read the official letter again, confirmed that the wording was correct, then closed the folder, leaned back in his chair, and looked out the porthole.

As the plane's wings sliced ​​through the clouds, he had a vague premonition that the more he tried to cut ties with or avoid certain things, the more fate seemed to push him in the same direction.

His hand unconsciously touched the keychain. The orange bear felt nice to the touch. Perhaps this was how he had plucked the teddy bear bald in his past life.

But that little bear—

It was taken from Sana Minatozaki by chance when Jung Do-hoon was packing his luggage during their breakup, and then hung on the car's rearview mirror.

By a twist of fate, the orange bear accompanied him to the very last moment of his life.

Sana Minatozaki was awakened by her own breathing, her throat tightening.

She opened her eyes, reached for the pillow, and her fingertips touched a damp patch.

I had another dream.

Sana Minatozaki propped herself up on the bed, the shoulder strap of her nightgown slipped to one side, and the slight sweat on her back dampened the thin nightgown.

Fragments of a dream still lingered in her mind—

In her dream, she was snuggled up on the sofa with someone.

They were painting an oil painting of an orange flower field on the canvas, and the two of them signed their names together in the lower left corner of the painting.

She tried to see the name clearly, but her vision remained blurry.

Then the scene changed. She was sitting alone on the same sofa, the TV was on, but she couldn't remember what program was playing.

There was the sound of suitcase wheels rolling at the door, fading into the distance, followed by the soft sound of the door closing.

In her dream, she didn't chase after him; she just wrapped herself in a blanket and wiped away her tears on the sofa.

Sana Minatozaki pressed her hand to her chest; her heart was pounding.

Who is that person?

Why couldn't she make out that face clearly, yet it felt so familiar?

I think I've seen him recently.

She shook her head, got out of bed, and the moment she drew back the curtains, the Jakarta sunset poured in like spilled orange soda.

She squinted; it was already evening.

The Twice chat group was deathly quiet. This unexpected delay not only disrupted their schedule but also put everyone on edge.

The latest message was sent by Jihyo at 3 a.m.: "Everyone, get some rest." After that, no one spoke in the group.

This matter will eventually be resolved, right?

Perhaps because she had slept all day, Sana Minatozaki's head was aching slightly. She knocked on the door of the next room, but there was no response for a long time.

Tzuyu did send her a message in the morning, asking if she wanted to go shopping, but at that time, Minatozaki Sana was probably entangled in a dream with a man whose face she couldn't see.

It's likely that the other members are in the same boat, finding joy amidst their hardship and taking advantage of the time they're stranded to go out and have fun.

In the hotel, I guess I'm all alone now? Dusk is falling outside the window, and my shadow on the floor is long, yet so lonely.

She had no choice but to call her agent, intending to inquire about the progress of her passport issue, but instead, she heard her agent's tired yet gentle voice on the other end of the line:

"Sana, have you had dinner yet?"

"not yet……"

Only now did Sana Minatozaki realize that her stomach was actually aching slightly, feeling empty and uneasy, and her heart was feeling similarly empty.

"Let's go out and get something to eat, I haven't eaten yet. By the way, what did you want to ask me?"

"I just wanted to ask if the passport issue has been resolved."

"Let's talk when we meet..." The agent sighed and hung up the phone.

Sana Minatosaki changed into a light blue cotton-linen shirt, casually rolling up the sleeves to her forearms, paired with black flared pants, and a baseball cap and mask were her standard accessories when going out.

She arrived at the hotel lobby to meet her agent, who had just returned from outside. His hair was soaked with sweat and stuck to his head, and he looked dejected, presumably because the passport issue was still unresolved.

"There's been no response from the South Korean embassy. We were thinking of contacting the Japanese embassy to get Misamo back first, but they're not even open for business. It might be delayed until Monday..."

But on Monday, Misamo has to go back to Japan for a photoshoot, and after that, she'll immediately participate in a variety show recording...

If it drags on, the schedule will be compressed to the point where there is almost no breathing room—this is not just being stranded, it's practically being imprisoned.

However... it's better to leave it until Monday so she can buy some sleeping pills and catch up on sleep on Sunday.

Recent recurring dreams have made her increasingly tired, and she even has trouble distinguishing between reality and fantasy when she first wakes up. She even feels that she shouldn't look so young in the mirror.

just like……

Lately, I've had so many of these inexplicable sensations: myself in the mirror, the teddy bear keychain I casually hung on my suitcase, and that left-handed guy named Jung Do-hoon...

Why was he, completely drunk, showing up at her doorstep? How did she know he was left-handed? It was strange; the two were complete strangers, yet the fact that he was left-handed was as instinctive as drinking water when thirsty.

Jung Do-hoon, Jung Do-hoon... This name seemed to be engraved in her mind, but she had clearly only met him once.

"Where should we eat?" Sana Minatozaki rubbed her throbbing temples as she walked out of the hotel with her manager. The tropical humidity blowing in her face made her feel dizzy for a moment, and her heart skipped a beat—

Then an orange taxi stopped at the entrance of the hotel lobby, and the man who got out was none other than the man she had met the night before.