In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Got to note this.

For trainees, the cure-all is the broadcast station camera...

“Jung-hyun hyung, do you think we’re showing up well on camera?”

“Definitely a hundred percent.”

I smiled at our kids whispering. In that moment, as I was worrying how to lift their fallen morale, I had a great realization. At the instant both Street Boys and NewBlack became part of One World.

From the Street Boys’ side, the pink-haired member nodded and gave us a thumbs up. It meant something like, “Camera’s great. This is awesome. Thrilling.” On our side, Kim Jung-hyun nodded and gave a thumbs up too.

“Hey, don’t do that,” I thought in disbelief. Weren’t these the same kids who were in a nervous standoff a moment ago? But it was kind of cute, so I quietly laughed. Then I suddenly locked eyes with the Street Boys’ leader. We had the same look—a look of disbelief watching our juniors giggle at the camera and the broadcast crew.

“Same for you then.”

“Good work, everyone.”

We nodded to each other.

While NewBlack practiced, Yoon Seok-hwan waited outside for someone. A very important person.

Before long, he spotted her in the crowd: a woman in her seventies wearing a mink coat. Yoon Seok-hwan checked her face against a photo on his smartphone and approached with a smile.

“You must be Woo-ju’s grandmother, right?”

“Yes, that’s me...”

She gave him a suspicious once-over.

“And you are?”

“I’m Yoon Seok-hwan. I’m the manager in charge of Woo-ju.”

“Ah, I’ve heard about you.” Mrs. Kim Deok-soon showed a toothy smile. “They say the teacher begged my grandson to become an idol again.”

“Pardon?”

“He told me he knew a manager and begged me to let him do it, so I had no choice but to agree.”

Yoon Seok-hwan realized the full story. Sun Woo-ju—that brat—had sold him out to his grandmother for fear Seok-hwan would scold him if he went back to being an idol.

“What are you standing there like some magistrate for?”

“Pardon?”

“Aren’t you here to guide me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then guide me—I can’t find my way. I’ve been wandering this neighborhood. My legs hurt so much I could die.”

“Yes, yes, grandmother. Of course I’ll guide you.”

Mrs. Kim Deok-soon grimaced as she climbed each step complaining of knee pain, so Yoon Seok-hwan ascended slowly with her.

As they headed toward the auditorium, Woo-ju’s grandmother asked cautiously, “By the way, Director-nim, are you an important person?”

“I’m not important. Just a staffer who takes care of the kids.”

“I was worried I might cause trouble for my grandson by acting up earlier.”

The same person who had been shouting angrily a moment ago suddenly grew cautious when it involved her grandson. Yoon Seok-hwan responded with a gentle smile.

“You don’t have to worry. Really.”

“I’m sorry. I was in so much pain earlier.”

“It’s fine. Haha.”

“But is he really that good?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean, when he joined that other company before, I only handled contracts. I never saw him sing or dance.”

“You didn’t know?”

“I tried to get him to perform, but he was stubborn. He’d twist and hide as soon as I asked, saying ‘Grandma, I can’t do it.’”

“That’s surprising. He’s not like that.”

By now, the auditorium was packed. Including staff from the five companies and the trainees’ families, there were over a hundred people.

Yoon Seok-hwan led Mrs. Kim Deok-soon to a chair and said with a smile, “You can look forward to the performance today. Really—it’s a stage your grandson has prepared with blood, sweat, and tears for a month.”

“Is that so?”

“You’ll see.”

Yoon Seok-hwan gave a meaningful smile.

With the trainees’ families and company officials gathered, the year-end evaluation finally began. The host was a fairly famous comedian.

“That’s someone you see on TV.”

“Oh my, is that the one from that fishing show?”

Unlike the calm officials, the trainees’ families chattered in awe at seeing a celebrity. Every time the host quipped, laughter burst from the audience.

Of course, not everyone enjoyed it.

“Hurry up and get on with it.”

“Be patient, oppa.”

“Aren’t you bored? I just want to finish and go eat.”

The ballad singer Yoon Chan-hyuk yawned widely. Jang So-won looked at him disdainfully.

“You haven’t been doing events lately, so why are you so tired?”

“Try preparing a comeback and a concert at the same time.”

“Oh right—when did I say I was coming back?”

“Next month.”

“That’s a relief. I thought it was overlapping.” Jang So-won sighed.

When a ballad powerhouse’s release overlaps a streaming period, it’s usually a loss. So it was fortunate to avoid that.

Yoon Chan-hyuk asked disinterestedly, “When are you releasing yours?”

“I’m discussing with the company.”

“Still?”

“They say the company’s finances aren’t great. I want to release around February next year, but it depends.”

Yoon Chan-hyuk then remembered So-won’s recent project.

“You said you’re doing a collaboration, right?”

“Yes.”

“Have you found a singer to sing with you?”

“No, not yet.” Jang So-won let out a big sigh. “I’ve laid down the melody, but I can’t find someone to sing it with me. I want someone with a fresh vibe.”

“How about me?”

“Oppa, you’re hardly fresh.”

“Stop it, you jerk.” Yoon Chan-hyuk grumbled. “I’m too busy to do it anyway.”

His excuse made So-won smile. As drinking buddies, they spoke freely like jokers—but when the performances began, their expressions changed 180 degrees. Their eyes sank into professionalism, and they quietly began checking their scoring sheets.

It was a year-end evaluation. With so many participants, there were ten stages in total. Because trainees’ families were watching, it wasn’t like the month-end evaluation where judges blasted or praised right after each stage. This was an event for families—to show them what their sons and daughters are doing. Under those circumstances, no judge could say, “My score is...” in front of all the families. Instead, they announced first through third place based on the judges’ scores.

After each stage, sharp evaluations came from the judges.

“What do you think?”

Some harsh words too.

“At first I thought they were trying to appeal sexiness. But I don’t find it sexy at all. Their expressions are forced.”

“They seem nervous.”

“Being polite to trainees only goes so far. Nervousness is fine, but you can’t show it on stage.”

On the other hand, there was praise.

“Overall, it was good. Their voices, pitch, and tone were stable.”

“They could use a bit more confidence. With their skills, they don’t need to be that humble.”

And there was consensus.

“Overall, the standard is high this year.”

The nodding judges looked at the running order.

“Only two left, right? Lemon and DNS.”

“DNS are the debuting kids, right? Street Fighter?”

“It’s Street Boys, teacher.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Who goes first? Oh, it’s Lemon. They’re coming out now.”

“Wow, they’re all handsome.”

Five trainees appeared in stage outfits. As customary at school plays, polite applause rose. The brown-haired handsome leader took the mic.

“One, two, three, hello! We are NewBlack.”

“Please introduce yourselves.”

“I’m Sun Woo-ju, a trainee who’s turning twenty-two soon.”

Each introduced themselves in turn, all looking clearly nervous. Holding the mic and arranging themselves into formation.

“They’re so fresh.”

“They’re all my type—cute.”

As they exchanged comments, Jang Chan-hyuk and Jang So-won frowned when the backing track started. The music from the speakers was trot.

They weren’t the only ones reacting that way. The judges and officials raised their heads at the unexpected sound, but the most dramatic ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) reaction came from the audience: middle-aged spectators who had been openly yawning now stared at the stage like bears awakened from hibernation.

The familiar classic “Please Stay with Me” played. Though modernized in arrangement, the main melody was the trot everyone knew. The trainees shifted into formation. During the long intro, the audience began clapping in rhythm—a response unlike before. The members who had stood stiffly exchanged glances, then simultaneously looked at one person. Sun Woo-ju smiled as if to say, “See, I told you.”

“Starting with trot?” Four weeks earlier in the practice room, Seo Ri-hyeok frowned.

He couldn’t accept it. Not insulting trot—veteran trot singers of the older generation were undeniably skilled even if young people didn’t care—but that and trainee performances were separate.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s refreshing and good, isn’t it?”

“There’s a limit to fresh. The stage isn’t a joke, and like your attire, performances have a proper time and place.”

“That’s why we should do trot all the more.”

Sun Woo-ju smiled.

“First, think about performance time. Our stage is ninth or tenth, right? By the last slot, even the judges and audience will be exhausted. Our families might enjoy anything we do, but what about others?”

It was a logical tone.

“Playing it safe isn’t bad. But if trainees pick songs, they’ll choose pop or electronic tracks with booming sound. They may sound different to us, but to the audience they’ll all seem similar. In contrast, if we start with trot, we’ll have half the battle won.”

Woo-ju’s argument was persuasive. In fact, a legendary singer once won a grand prize at a music festival with a similar strategy. Everyone agreed, and Woo-ju continued.

“Also, this concerns the venue. Have you performed at Taehwa High School before?”

“No. We did at Chanyeong High School.”

“While you were discussing, I looked up photos of Taehwa’s auditorium. See here? As you can see, the stage is narrower than you think.”

It was a point no one had considered. As Seo Ri-hyeok expressed subtle admiration, Woo-ju displayed a photo on his smartphone and said:

“With trot, it’s possible to keep choreography paths small. From what I see, other teams will fumble because they didn’t consider this.”

He was right. Teams that had performed so far made small mistakes repeatedly because the stage was narrow. They created flashy choreography but lacked the space to execute it. Even if they revised their paths right after rehearsal, if you change moves on the day after a month’s practice, you’ll fumble. That changes expressions—distracted by paths, they can’t focus on the stage. If a performer can’t focus, the audience can’t either.

But NewBlack was different. They had matched paths precisely in advance, so they could focus fully—and that showed in relaxed expressions. The audience relaxed. Unlike the anxious previous stages, this was the first performance that put spectators at ease.

“Look at them.” Jang So-won smiled at our bold juniors.

“I don’t know who choreographed it, but they’re no ordinary team.”

“What about it?”

“Look at their paths.”

“What’s... oh.”

As a pro singer, Yoon Chan-hyuk realized what she meant.

“They’re not fumbling.”

“Their use of space is impressive. Whoever’s smart among them did prep research. Otherwise you couldn’t choreograph like this.”

So-won propped her chin and her eyes sparkled.

“This could be an interesting stage.”

Finally the intro ended and the real song began. The first to go up was Wang Ji-ho. When the middle schooler with a youthful face took the mic, all eyes turned to him.

“Where are you

Are you here? Are you there?

Why do you keep distance

I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The rich trot made the adults smile as if finding him cute. Beyond the song, it was his facial acting that was excellent—not overdone but just right, the playful charm of someone his age, and the audience looked on warmly.

At that response, Wang Ji-ho smiled.

Thump. You could hear the heartbeat—anyone who’s been on stage feels that. The stage is where performer and audience exchange emotions. Feeling the audience’s favor made his heart sting and the hairs on his neck stand up. Trot was an excellent choice.

“First verse has to be you, Ji-ho.”

“Why me?”

“Why do we do trot? To capture attention. So the member who can attract the most should go first.”

Then Woo-ju said:

“Your strength is facial acting. You have the power to draw the audience’s gaze by showing your charm. You need to use that.”

As Ji-ho finished his part, he winked and made a finger-heart at the audience. Everyone except the healthy young men smiled.

Exiting to the side, Ji-ho exchanged eyes with Woo-ju coming on stage—a soft smile answered his grateful eyes.

When Sun Woo-ju appeared center, a different smile sprang from the audience that had just been beaming maternal pride at Ji-ho.