Brian Bennett couldn’t be bothered with him, slumping heavily against the back of his chair. “Then learn this first: a person must have principles. I can tell that Rachel Cooper’s feelings are very special. I can’t treat her like some casual fling. That would be as outrageous as having a son born without an anus, Tyler.”

He had no idea whether Tyler took it to heart or not, when Brian Bennett’s phone rang. As soon as he picked up, a deafening roar blasted through the receiver: “You brat, you’re really living it up! Get your ass home for dinner!”

……

Brian Bennett still underestimated the impact of those two awards he won in America.

Koreans are a very peculiar people. After over a thousand years of being a vassal state, the repression and inferiority complex built up over centuries suddenly erupted in these past few decades of meteoric development. They are desperate to prove themselves to the world, both historically and in the present. On Korean soil, where US troops are still stationed, Koreans’ feelings toward America are extremely complicated—part awe, part longing to surpass them—just like their feelings toward China, their suzerain for a thousand years. This unique sentiment makes them fanatically passionate about any achievements their compatriots earn in America.

When Ban Ki-moon successfully beat out his rivals to become Secretary-General of the United Nations, all of Korea felt a newfound confidence. But that success only represented political progress and the economic achievements backed by the chaebols. What about culture? That couldn’t be represented. Especially since, deep down, they’re painfully aware that their cultural heritage comes entirely from China, so they’re obsessed with cultural accomplishments to the point of mania—hence the constant claims that so-and-so is Korean, or that such-and-such was invented in Korea. And now, with the national policy aiming to establish Hallyu culture as the foundation of East Asia, the lack of convincing achievements by Korean artists is a real embarrassment. That’s why Natalie Morgan’s Cannes Best Actress win caused a sensation, and why Samantha Carter’s figure skating championship was idolized.

But Cannes is still Cannes; in the eyes of ordinary people, the Oscars are more impressive. And Best Actress only represents acting skills—when it comes to cultural achievement, it still falls short compared to creation and direction. Korea had never produced such a person; in directing, screenwriting, music, and other fields, not only had they failed to break into Europe and America, but even compared to Japan, they lagged far behind. This left the Korean public, who boasted daily about Hallyu’s influence, feeling deeply embarrassed. Sadly, they couldn’t even find a single person to pin their hopes on.

But then, overnight, such a person suddenly appeared.

The creator and performer of the Grammy Song of the Year! The winner of the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay! This person is also a Harvard PhD in music! He’s only twenty-five years old! And he came back—he didn’t get lost in the glory of his American achievements, he didn’t abandon Korean soil, and he declared firmly that he would return home to support the development of Hallyu culture!

Several gaps were filled in an instant, and Koreans felt a rush of euphoria from head to toe, as if they’d taken opium. In that moment, it was as if a deity had appeared in the clouds, radiating a dazzling, glorious halo, inspiring worship even before showing his face.

Last night, the reposts online and the major traditional media were caught off guard, giving little response. But after cautious verification early this morning, Korea’s major media outlets erupted with tsunami-like force!

That day was September 8, 2008. Koreans suddenly found that every media outlet they could see, every radio broadcast they could hear, was talking about the same person, the same event.

Upon investigation: a bona fide Korean, with his entire academic record from elementary school to university dug up.

Upon verification: he did indeed attend Seoul National University, and there was even an exclusive interview with his former advisor—Brian Bennett was a hardworking, optimistic, cheerful, and positive student who got along well with his classmates, and so on.

According to classmates: his first girlfriend seemed to be Sophie Carter, though it’s unclear if they’re still together.

Confirmed by the US: he’s also a shareholder in Facebook and Apple. Jobs called him “my friend across generations, a great mentor and companion,” and Zuckerberg said he “has countless genius ideas that are simply breathtaking.”

Koreans, feeling happiness had come too suddenly, rushed online to search. Hey, someone already created a Fans Club—who moved so fast? Looking closely at the fan club president’s name: Madison Morgan?

Vice presidents: Sophie Carter? Chloe Scott??

Is this for real? Reporters called to check, and the answer was: Yes, we registered with our real names.

And then Koreans went crazy. In just a few hours since its creation, the FC was instantly overwhelmed. An internet expert urgently contacted Madison Morgan and, at record speed, switched the FC to a new server, barely preventing a riot among the frenzied netizens.

Brian Bennett never imagined that after just one afternoon at SM, his Fans Club’s paid membership had skyrocketed from 150,000 at noon to 330,000, and was steadily approaching 350,000—more than doubling in size. The FC was now filled with countless resumes and childhood photos of him, no one knew where they’d all been dug up from.

You have to know, TVXQ’s legendary 800,000 Cassiopeia fans took five people several years to build up, but he, just one person, in less than a day, was already close to half of TVXQ’s total.