"Welcome to Seoul and welcome to our band! You are now a member of the IX!” 

"IX?”

After a horrible chatty ride through one of the biggest cities I have ever been to, I stare into four almost identical faces. Minho smiles at me and shows his perfectly white teeth. The other three band members smile, bow down, then look up at me. If they hadn´t all different hair colors, I´d totally confuse them.

Minho´s the only guy with black hair. The others have white blonde, light pink, and bluish (?) hair. They all wear skinny jeans, jewelry and other things a guy from Germany would never think of wearing in public.

But here I am!

I guess that´s my life now.

"Why IX,” I ask Minho, still confused by the similar-looking faces in front of me.

It means Itaewon Exes.”

That even sounds more stupid than just two letters.

I rise an eyebrow at that.

I only want to sleep and wait until my clothes arrive!

"Yes. Itaewon is the part of the city, we all were raised. So, we´re all Itaewon exes.” “Uh-sure,” I reply. I don´t give a damn about the name! If they wanted to call themselves the Simpson Squad, it would be the same for me.

Then more things happen at the same time. I want to turn around to the manager to ask if there was a room I could nap for a few minutes. At the exact moment I turn around, two of the boys start talking in Korean, and Minho replies in Korenglish, which sounds pretty funny.

"Sorry, I don´t speak any Korean,” I tell the boys. Minho says something in Korean, then turns to me, smiling. “They don´t speak any English, either.”

Just. Great!

How am I supposed to-

"What did you want to say?”

"I – uh” “Ah, I totally forgot to show you the other guarding employees and your sleeping rooms next to the dorm.” “The dorm?” “Yes. The dorm´s right next to the dancing academy. It´s very useful to have everything in one spot, right?” “Right.”

I am currently not able to respond in full sentences anymore and just follow the manager out of the entry hall.

---

We walk for about five minutes until we reach a small side building. The manager takes me to the third floor into a dark and gloomy corridor. This looks like a scene out of a horror movie.

"The boys' dorms are just one floor higher than yours.” We walk past a small lounge, where three European-looking men are talking to each other.

"You can talk to the other bodyguards after I showed you your room,” he says, stops and pushes a small door open.

"Here we are. This is your sleeping booth for when we are in Seoul.” I stare at the tiny room. There is only a bed and a shelf in there.

I blink.

"That´s my room,” I question and turn around. He nods in respond and beams a smile. His hands reach in his pockets and he gives me a key-card.

Number 13.

I don´t feel like smiling.

"What about – my clothes? Are there any shops here?”

"Sure, you can ask the others for help. Get some rest. We´ll have a meeting at about five.”

And then he´s off.

I stand there and watch him walk away.