"Up next is underground rapper Silver performing her track, Calling."

The announcer seems immensely bored and uninterested with my introduction. I'm not particularly surprised. Since I was so late to submit my backing yesterday, I'm towards the end of the queue, and everyone's tired by now. Nonetheless, I'm excited to get out there and share my song with the public. I give my head a quick shake before heading out onto the stage.

Before I start the song, I'm allowed to give a quick introduction. I look down at my feet, take in a scuff on my white tennis shoes. The rolled up cuffs of my blue jeans aren't even, and I'm being nagged by a poorly sewn seam in my white sweater. I've never done this type of performance before, and I'm nervous, but it's now or never.

"Hi, everyone," I begin, looking out at the crowd of people before me. "My name is Silver, and I'm a twenty-two-year-old underground rapper from Busan. This song is about me coming here to Seoul to pursue my dream of making music. I hope you enjoy my performance."

I take a shaky breath and the backing for my track begins to play. I count myself in in my head before I finally begin.

As the words of the first verse spill from my mouth, I find myself scanning the audience and the street in general. I see people towards the back of the crowd just standing and watching. A couple people are taking videos on their phones. Towards the middle and front of the crowd of about two hundred are more enthusiastic festival-goers. They tend to nod their heads to the beat and just feel the music in their own way. Right up at the barricade are a couple of people who I recognize. They're fans of mine, and I've seen them in attendance of at least three of my shows. They know the words to the song and are chanting it along with me. A smile creeps up my face as I see them, and I focus less on the audience and more on my performance.

I let myself shine once I hit the first chorus. Rather than focusing on the reaction of the audience, I let myself get lost in my own words and story. The tension in my muscles fades and I loosen up, getting more comfortable and moving around the stage more. I sing the chorus with vigor, and channel that same enthusiasm into the second verse. I don't feel myself breathing; I don't hear myself speak the lyrics. Everything is in my head, and yet I know it's being transferred to the audience. Scanning again, I notice more people are bobbing their heads and having a good time. I occasionally snap back into it, finding myself on the other side of the stage and hearing myself speak the lyrics again. It's almost like my body's being piloted by someone else, and I'm just along for the ride.

It comes to the bridge, and I slow down, taking my time and calming my body down. I sing a bit and find it a requirement to concentrate on the notes so I don't get them wrong. I don't let myself tense up, though. At least, not until I see a familiar face in the back of the crowd.

It's shrouded by sunglasses and covered with a backwards white cap, but it's unmistakeable. The face belongs to none other than Min Yoongi, dressed in a white t-shirt and black shorts and nodding along to my song.

Immediately, I know I won't be able to get back into the song again. Not with him watching me. I suddenly feel a rush of heat overcome me, almost like my blood is literally boiling. Seeing that face is enough to dig up four years of anger that I'd previously been trying to keep buried. Being this pissed will be good for the show, at least. I'll have enough enthusiasm to carry me through without a doubt.

I pour my whole damn soul into the final portion of the song, and when the track finally cuts, I'm still fuming. The crowd, however, is very pleased with my performance. I hold the mic to my mouth and speak one last time, my eyes trained on Yoongi. God, I wish I could shoot missiles from them right now.

"Once again, my name is Silver and thank you for being such a great audience. Have a great rest of the day, thank you again!"

As I turn around to head offstage, I hear the voice that matches the dreaded face.

"Rin!"

I pause momentarily on the steps as I hear him, surprised by his actions. I pass the mic off to the next performer and just move. Juyoung sees me and comes over, slapping me on the back before he speaks.

"You killed it, Rin!" He exclaims. "That's one of the best shows I've seen from you."

"That's great, Juyoung," I manage, trying not to seem too out of the ordinary. "Thank you. Look, I'm tired, I'm gonna head home. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess." He stammers, obviously caught off guard by my statement. "Rest easy."

"Thanks."

With that, I move past him and the other staff members, and out of the rap stage area entirely. I move briskly towards my car and jump in, letting myself go into autopilot as I drive. I can't believe he showed up. Why would he have bothered to show up?

Entering my house, I pull my trusty black notebook from my backpack by the door and sit down on the couch. My blood is still boiling. If I was a cartoon character, my face would be crimson and there'd be steam coming from my ears. Yeah, I'm that pissed.

Notebook lying open in front of me, I try and collect my thoughts. I jot down words about how I'm feeling, but nothing will come to me. Everything I try to write falls flat. Why can't I make sense of why I'm so damn angry? Why does everything in my life involving that boy end up not working?

I sit there for an hour trying to puzzle out witty quips and lyrics, but nothing works. When I do eventually give up, the notebook page is littered with very mean-spirited adjectives and the scribbles of crossed out lines. Frustrated, I tear the page from the book entirely and crumple it up, throwing it away.

I need to clear my head. There's only one place I know that can help me do that. I grab my apron from the hook by my front door and get back in the car, my destination being the library. A little overtime certainly never hurt anybody.

It takes me fifteen minutes to get there, and when I arrive, my coworkers are surprised to see me. Kyeonghwa, the shift manager, questions me as I enter the building.

"What are you doing here?" She asks. "Don't you have that performance today?"

"Yeah, I finished up a little while ago. I just wanted to come in and help out, get a little overtime."

"Okay, if you say so. How'd the show go?"

"Good," is all I have the heart to say.

"That's nice. If you could shelve in the YA section, that'd be lovely."

"Can do."

With that, I depart from Kyeonghwa and get the cart of books I'll be shelving. The books in my possession, I advance to my newest destination, the Young Adult Fiction section.

YA is a relatively small area of the library. There's an abundance of children's books here, and our nonfiction and adult fiction sections are practically overflowing, but young adult fiction is usually low on content. It makes sense why, though. Kids are usually eager to devour any story they can get their hands on, and adults often like to read just to escape the monotony of daily life. Teens, though, are so busy with school that they hardly have time to read for fun. That, and they're already having book after book forced down their throats, and that takes all the fun out of reading. Due to all that, YA's a pretty small section.

I've only got about thirty books to shelve, and I perform the task quickly. There's a sort of calm when it comes to doing things like this. I find that the simple organization of things is very calming. When I was younger, I used to clean my room when I was angry, just to ease my nerves. That's ironic now, though, given the disheveled state of my house. But still, there's just something about putting something right where it belongs that's satisfying and calming. It's one of the main reasons I chose my second job to be here at the library. Plus, I'm surrounded by books. If I ever need an escape, I've got thousands of stories to choose from; thousands of other lives to live for awhile. It's perfect for me, and a total contrast to the hecticness of the rap world. The library is a soothing and therapeutic place for me.

I move out of YA when I'm finished shelving and bring the cart back to the main checkout desk. I keep one of the books I could've shelved because it snagged my interest. I check it out for myself and then head back over to Kyeonghwa to see if she has anything else for me to do.

"Is there anything else for me to shelve?" I ask her.

"Nothing yet. Dabin is taking care of the adult fiction right now. If I need you to do something, I'll find you."

"Okay, thank you!"

I make my way over to youth fiction because it's usually quiet there on Saturdays. That, and there are bean bag chairs there. I sit down in one of these chairs and relax, stretching out my tired joints. Once I'm comfortable, I crack open the book that'd caught my eye and start reading.

The story is set in America and follows a boy named Jack as he and his friends form a band. He plays lead guitar and his friends cover bass, drums, rhythm guitar, and vocals. The band gets rather well-known in the Maryland local scene, and the story follows just their shenanigans for awhile. Suddenly, though, another local band goes missing, and Jack and his friends have to investigate for themselves to see what's become of them. Sure, the premise is pretty typical for a YA mystery, but I can't help but let it draw me in. I'm about fifty pages into the book when a sheepish voice pulls me from the city of Baltimore.

"Excuse me, do you think you could help me with something?"

The voice is female, and when I look up I see it belongs to a child that's about five or six years old. She's wearing a blue skirt and a white shirt, and her black hair is done up in pigtails. Next to her is a boy about her age, wearing blue jeans and a The Hulk t-shirt.

"Sure," I say cheerfully, marking the page in my book with a slip of paper from my apron pocket. "What do you need?"

"There's a book that we want to read, but we're too short to reach it," the boy explains.

"Oh, okay! I'll get it for you," I say, standing up. "Where is it?"

The kids lead me to the shelf and show me the book they've been looking for. It's a silly kid's mystery, not wholly unlike the book I'd been reading a few minutes prior. I get it down for them and give it to the boy.

"Do you guys know how to check that out so you can take it home?" I ask.

"We don't have library cards," the girl explains. "We just come here and read what we can."

"That book's pretty big, though," I say. "How about I check it out for you? And when you're finished with it, you can just give it to me and I'll return it."

"You'd do that?" The boy questions.

"Sure! Here, give it to me and I'll go check it out."

The boy hands me back the book and I head to the checkout counter with it, the kids in tow.

"What are your names?" I ask them. "So I know who to look for when you're done with the book."

The girl speaks for the both of them. "I'm Jieun, and this is Jintae."

"Those are both great names. I'm Rin! So, if you come to return a book and I'm not here, just tell the people behind the desk that Rin checked it out, okay?"

Jintae nods, and I get their book checked out.

"Have fun, okay? You've got two weeks before that book is due. In case you forget, there's a slip of paper in there that'll tell you."

"Okay, thank you!" Jieun exclaims. Then, to her companion, she says, "c'mon, Jintae! We've got to go!"

I watch the two kids leave and smile, feeling wholeheartedly good for the first time in quite awhile.

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Hey! Sorry for the long wait, guys!

I hope you all liked this chapter, I had fun writing it. Yoongi and Rin have quite the past, it seems. Anyway, if you'd like, vote and comment! Your reads mean the world, but, hey, a book's gotta get exposure somehow. If you'd like to see this story get more popular, then voting and commenting is all ya gotta do! That, and if you spot any typos, it'd be lovely if you could point them out. My editing software doesn't catch everything.

Thanks again and listen to Crown the Empire,

Sam

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