Echoes of Tomorrow:2015

The eight-hour flight from Tokyo to Seoul was a passage into a different stratosphere of fame. If Japan's welcome had been one of respectful, intense adoration, South Korea's was a full-blown, high-decibel hurricane. When their jet touched down at Incheon Airport, their security chief, a stoic ex-special forces soldier named Gregor, gave them a final briefing.

"Alright everyone, stay tight. The welcome party is… substantial."

"Substantial" was an understatement. As they were led through a private corridor into the arrivals hall, they were met with a wall of sound so immense it was physical. Thousands of fans, perfectly organized behind velvet ropes, screamed in a single, unified voice. They held up glowing light sticks and professionally printed banners with their names written in Hangul: 알렉스, 빌리, 칼리드. Many were sobbing with joy. The precision and passion were on a level they had never encountered. Alex saw one girl faint, only to be immediately and efficiently attended to by uniformed fan-club members.

Billie's eyes widened, her usual cool demeanor momentarily replaced by sheer shock. "They're… so organized," she whispered to Finneas, half in awe, half in terror.

They were whisked away in a convoy of black SUVs, the roar of the fans a constant presence that followed them all the way to their hotel in central Seoul. The city itself was a dazzling, futuristic landscape of glass, steel, and neon, a stark contrast to the historic European capitals they had just left.

The two sold-out nights at the Gocheok Sky Dome, an architectural marvel of a baseball stadium, were some of the most intense of the tour. The Korean fans sang along to every lyric, whether they knew the English words or not, their energy a relentless, tidal wave that crashed against the stage. On the morning of the first show, Alex decided it was the perfect time to inject a dose of pure, uncomplicated fun into the tour's narrative. After the heavy emotion of "Summertime Sadness," he wanted to show the world—and remind himself—that music could also just be a good time.

As fans were filing into the stadium, Echo Chamber's social media dropped the surprise. A bright, sunny graphic of a pineapple wearing sunglasses, with the caption: "Why you gotta be so…? Alex Vance - Rude. Out Now."

That night, after Billie's dark, theatrical set had plunged the dome into an emotional abyss, the stage remained dark. The crowd buzzed, unsure what to expect from Alex. Instead of the familiar opening of one of his power ballads, a breezy, upbeat reggae guitar riff filled the stadium. The stage lights snapped on, not with intense strobes, but with warm, sunny yellows and vibrant greens, transforming the futuristic dome into a tropical oasis.

Alex strolled onto the stage, having swapped his usual electric guitar for just a microphone. He wore a loose-fitting silk shirt, his movements playful and relaxed. He looked like a man on vacation, and he invited the entire stadium to join him.

"Saturday morning, jumped out of bed and put on my best suit…" he began, his voice light and infused with a charismatic swagger.

The reggae-infused beat was infectious. The crowd, initially surprised by the complete sonic left turn, was quickly won over. Heads started bobbing, people started to dance. By the time he hit the massive, impossibly catchy chorus, the entire dome was swaying. His performance was pure joy, a celebration of defiant love wrapped in a sunny, irresistible package. It was fun, it was carefree, and it was a side of Alex Vance no one had ever seen before.

In a section high above the stage, 22-year-old Jae-sun's heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs that had nothing to do with the bass drum. The small, velvet-covered ring box in his jacket pocket felt like a heavy, impossibly conspicuous stone. He was here with his girlfriend of five years, Mi-na, and tonight, after the concert, he was going to propose.

He'd spent weeks planning a serious, heartfelt speech, trying to channel the epic romance of Alex's ballads. He loved how Alex's music, like "Hello" and "All of Me," seemed to capture the profound, earth-shattering depth of his feelings for Mi-na. He wanted his proposal to be just as profound. Now, waiting for Alex's set, his nerves were shredding his confidence. What if he sounded stupid? What if he fumbled the words?

Then came the surprise. The sunny, upbeat reggae of "Rude" filled the dome. Mi-na, who loved to dance, was instantly captivated. She grabbed Jae-sun's hands, pulling him up to dance with her, laughing as he clumsily tried to find the rhythm. As Alex launched into the chorus, she sang along, her voice full of delight.

"Why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know I'm human too? Why you gotta be so rude? I'm gonna marry her anyway…"

She nudged him playfully with her elbow, a wide grin on her face. "Marry that girl… Marry her anyway…" she sang, pointing at herself as a joke.

In that moment, watching her so completely happy, so beautifully silly, all of Jae-sun's carefully planned, serious speeches evaporated. Who was he trying to be? This—her laughter, her playful spirit, their shared joy—this was them. The song wasn't a poetic masterpiece, but it was earnest, a little goofy, and defiant in its love. It was perfect.

He didn't wait until after the show.

During the song's sunny instrumental break, fueled by a surge of love and a newfound sense of fun, he dropped to one knee right there, in the middle of Section 412, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans. Mi-na stopped dancing, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

He didn't say anything poetic or grand. He just held up the open ring box, its small diamond glinting in the stadium lights, and shouted over the music with a grin as wide as hers.

"MARRY ME ANYWAY?"

Through tears of laughter and pure, unadulterated joy, she screamed back, "YES!"

He slipped the ring on her finger as the song came to a triumphant close. The strangers around them, who had witnessed the entire scene, erupted in cheers for them, a small, personal celebration within the massive one. The song would forever be their song, not a memory of a perfect proposal, but of a wonderfully imperfect one that was so much better.

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