In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

After the weekend passed, a thank-you message arrived from the distributor of The Little Witch’s Grand Adventure.

They said that thanks to us, word of mouth had driven up ticket reservations—and they expected to earn even more than projected.

“Tell them we saved them,” Seok-hwan hyung said with a laugh.

“Say we saved a life. They were so grateful, they insisted on sending gifts. I couldn’t stop them.”

“Just tell them it’s fine—nothing special.”

What we did that day wasn’t extraordinary. We simply comforted a crying child, and it happened to become a hot topic. Our director was thrilled by the results.

“Do you know how many ambassador requests came in over the weekend?”

“How many?”

“Fifty-four. Fifty-four organizations asked to appoint you as ambassadors—sports, food, charities, you name it.”

He read off the list—mostly organizations none of us had heard of, though a few were familiar. He said each had its own reason, but probably they liked our attitude. In the entertainment world, the biggest risk when hiring celebrities as ambassadors or for ads is whether they actually promote sincerely—jeans models wearing other brands’ jeans, paid millions to be ambassadors but showing no real interest or taking the money without effort. In such a field, they’d liked that we studied our characters enough to improvise a play for an event, even if only for an hour or two.

Hyung handed us the paper. “Before it goes to the company for review, see if there’s any category you like.” Our eyes lit up immediately.

“Jiho, is there a vacuum cleaner? We need cleaning—”

“Hold on. Junghyeon and I are checking food options... broccoli? I wouldn’t eat that even if they stabbed me.”

“You’d eat it if they stabbed you, Jiho.”

“Huh? Rihyeok, there’s an air purifier here.”

“Really? Circle that big—in red.”

We whispered and circled the items we liked or could handle. Most were food. Seok-hwan hyung took back the paper and laughed, “You guys really love to eat.”

“In that case, burgers and cola tonight?”

“No. We’re too busy.”

“You’ve been so busy lately.”

He tucked the paper into his briefcase with a smirk. “Of course. The busier you are, the busier my job gets. If I ever have free time, you’ll all be miserable.”

“That’s scary in its own way.”

We laughed at our manager, flitting around like a swallow pitching sponsorships. Then he remembered his original errand.

“By the way, about the gifts—they’ll probably send a food truck or coffee truck to the studio, with a photo op in front of the movie poster.”

“There’s never truly a free lunch.”

I asked, “Could we have some of that sent to our soufflés—the fans—instead of the staff? On mini fan-meeting day, the fans could eat it, and we could take promo photos with them.”

“Good idea.”

Biju nodded. “I noticed at every pre-recording there were so many sniffles—it’s freezing moving between outside and the studio.”

Every time we heard sniffling, it made us uncomfortable. We joked about building a soufflé-only waiting room near the station once we made enough money. Seok-hwan hyung agreed on the spot—and handled it skillfully, leaving only one question:

“They asked if you have any menu requests.”

“Like coffee?”

“Yeah, that sort of thing.”

“I have one idea—give me a moment.”

We whispered for under a minute, then I said a single word. Seok-hwan hyung burst into laughter.

Later on SNS:

@Souffle_from_Hell

(photos)

Just left the studio—

and behold,

there’s fish cake soup!

Treasured indeed

#expressing_mood_in_classical_poetry #with_tteokbokki

Fans sipping fish cake broth from paper cups in delight. Over the monitor, soufflés gazed at photos of tteokbokki and fish cake soup, mouths watering.

– Why didn’t they call me?!

– I want to jump into the monitor!

– LOL I was there—it was hilarious. They hesitated at the branded cups with your faces, then everyone slurped it down...

– Sorry guys... I need the broth more right now

– Everyone’s posting food pics, but this came from the film studio! They sent it to thank us for the last promo... they said kids can come to the mini fan meeting later to take photos

Soon the board was filled with tteokbokki photos, and Jiho’s selfie was completely buried. Then, on the free board:

[Everyone! I posted that selfie!]

Within ten minutes: “That selfie! SELFIE!!!” But enjoying the silence, the maknae kept posting:

[I... posted a pic...]

[Is it broken? I can’t see it?????]

[Secret reveal—Woojoo hyung’s face spying on the fan café: へ(￣∇￣へ)]

[What? Woojoo hyung says everyone sees posts!!!!]

[Since you ignore my selfie, I’ll communicate via title...]

-[Re] LOL Jiho, take it sweet

Only then did fans start commenting on his red-dyed-hair selfie. Jiho’s heart raced as he saw “14 comments” and clicked—

[Insufficient permissions]

He tried again: [Insufficient permissions]

[Please upgrade to full member~~^^]

Blinking, he checked his messages. Fan-café admin had sent:

[Demoted for spamming 5+ consecutive posts—rule violation]

Jiho spun around. Seated next to him, fan-café admin Sun Woo-joo sipped banana milk with an elegant expression.

“....”

Jiho vowed to get revenge someday.

-TNT tops all music shows #1 for 2nd week in a row

-1st week of December: ‘No surprises’... TNT wins four crowns again

-[Music Hot!Issue] Streaming chart: NewBlack weekly #3... can they keep the momentum?

In week three, the trend continued: TNT dominated music-show wins, while NewBlack held firm on streaming charts. PBS variety PD Baek, looking at his tablet, said,

“The dynamic is strange. TNT keeps #1 on broadcasts, but their streaming rank keeps falling. Meanwhile NewBlack stands strong on streaming.”

“Yes, I think our boys are gaining public recognition.”

Director Yoon Seok-hwan answered cautiously. As the PD scrolled NewBlack news, Masquerade’s familiar intro played over the café speakers. Baek PD chuckled,

“I heard it on the radio this morning. Everywhere I go, I hear NewBlack.”

He continued,

“It’s a shame. If you hadn’t overlapped with TNT, you’d be doing #1 encore stages on every music show by now.”

“Well, there are pros and cons. For buzz, being matched with a top act actually helps.”

“True.”

By the first week of December—TNT and NewBlack’s third week—the situation shifted. NewBlack stayed within the top five streaming; TNT fell to between #10–20. The gap closed—from 100 meters to about 10 meters—and next week it’s expected to narrow further.

Still, if NewBlack continues to outpace TNT on streaming, TNT’s fandom power in other areas will keep them at #1. Yet even TNT fans admit they may need to prepare for NewBlack.

And as Director Yoon said, head-to-head competition with a top-tier act is huge for buzz. Even without a #1 win, NewBlack’s name value rose by battling a dominant group.

In entertainment, who you’re seen with defines your status. By being cast as TNT’s rival, NewBlack’s image soared. In fans’ minds, NewBlack belongs in a different category from the June-debuted Street Boys.

Yet the PD lamented,

“If only you’d won #1 once... it would boost promotions.”

“We’re giving our all,” Seok-hwan replied.

“As the PBS music competition’s director who cast you, I’ve had to defend you to higher-ups. They wonder why you’d cast a rookie group when so many big idol acts exist.”

PD Baek, who begins recording that competition in January, had reserved that idol slot for NewBlack—so higher-ups were wary.

Sipping coffee, he asked,

“By the way, you’re not going to the Hong Kong KMA this week?”

“We weren’t invited.”

“NewBlack?”

“Yes. Jang So-won sunbaenim has a personal conflict, and you must be nominated to attend. Our comeback was in November, so we didn’t qualify.”

“Oh...”

“Instead, we’ll appear at the Mango Chart Awards next week.”

“That’s good. Any buzz helps now.”

They chatted about the program two months out, wishing us great stages. After the meeting ended,

“I’ll head in now.”

“Take care.”

Seok-hwan saw the PD off, then paused in the PBS café, smiling. Earlier this year he’d chased producers and writers here—now, chatting comfortably felt surreal. Watching his phone’s lock screen—our smiling members and managers—he laughed.

“Excuse me, are you NewBlack’s director?”

He confirmed the face, beamed, and bowed.

“Yes, hello, PD-nim.”

They chatted:

“Your songs are everywhere—soon you’ll blow up big.”

This PD had once booked NewBlack for an outdoor # Nоvеlight # event, kept us waiting, then canceled. Now, thinking we’d be huge, he gushed again—and Seok-hwan laughed along.

“Do you have a business card?”

“Yes, here.”

He took it reverently—unlike before, when he shoved it in his pocket—and walked off. “What a world,” Seok-hwan thought, approaching our van, hoping this momentum continues into next year.

His phone buzzed:

Ding—

A new message. He opened it.

Woo-joo: [Seok-hwan]

Woo-joo: [What are you doing?]

...Seok-hwan?

Woo-joo: [ㅇㅁㅎㅁㄷ]

Woo-joo: [This isn’t me, hyung—I swear]

Woo-joo: [Jiho took my phone for revenge on the fan café... argh]

Woo-joo: [Anyway, hyung, you’re amazing—so thrilling, always new, you’re the best]

A coffee-and-waffle gift arrived too. Feeling his spirits lift, Yoon Seok-hwan opened the car door.

December.

Year-end wrap-up season. For everyone, December is important—but for singers, it’s especially meaningful: a time to review the year’s achievements and to shine.

Two award shows and three year-end stages. For rookies, even one appearance means “You truly succeeded this year.”

But we were invited to four.

“All three places...?”

“Yep. And the other two networks will give you full stages, not just one song.”

Unlike the PBS special stage, the other two guaranteed individual performances. For a small agency, making year-end lineups is nearly impossible—usually only about five rookies, yet 64 debuted this year. Excluding the Big Four, only two slots remained, and one went to us.

“Woah—!”

We’d collapsed from award-stage practice, but hearing the news we sprang up like mummies and danced. Then promptly collapsed again.

Buoyed by that news, we threw ourselves into award-stage prep. Even when news spread that at the KMA in Hong Kong, TNT won the grand prize and Blink won Rookie of the Year over Street Boys, we practiced whenever we could.

Time was limited, so we cut sleep—after schedules, midnight lessons with trainers, then dawn practice.

Finally, the long-awaited December 11th arrived.

“Hyung, how do I look?”

In the van to the Olympic Gymnastics Arena, Biju checked his face in his phone.

“Your dark circles are covered?”

“Yes. I see nothing. Great coverage.”

As Biju relaxed, the maknae poked his head from the back seat.

“Ha... I really aged these last few days. My skin was so bouncy.”

“And now?”

“Just bouncy.”

Should we just erase him? His dermatologist always asked, “Woojoo... you have such great skin—why treat it like this?”

Jiho declared,

“Tonight after the awards I’m sleeping like a baby. What time will we get home?”

“Around midnight.”

“Mu-on tomorrow, so wake at 3:30... ugh, I can already hear my sweet-sleep plans unraveling! Ugh!”

“Knock it off, Jiho. My eardrums can’t take it.”

Unlike our tireless maknae, our main vocalist Rihyeok was near-zombie level—though he’d undoubtedly flash a business smile once we exited.

“We’re almost there.”

Junghyeon pointed out distant buildings. In the cold van—heater barely on—we all moaned. We were moments away from our first-ever red carpet.

I texted my grandmother:

Me: [Grandma fix to my channel]

Me: [Fixed]

She replied:

Grandma: [You fix yourself]

Grandma: [A man needs broad shoulders...]

Grandma: [Millet-faced]

The juniors burst out laughing. Wait, Grandma. I’ll show you a rice-grain white face, not tiny millet.

As TINSPIRIT finished their red-carpet interviews and staff cleared our path, we huddled:

“I want to be the first to get out—hands.”

“....”

“Why’s everyone staring at me?”

After friendly bickering, we agreed I’d exit first. Then the staff signaled, the vehicle moved, and we began to shake off nerves by waving our hands.

“We’re here, guys.”

Through the tinted window, an overwhelming sea of fans, cameras, and the red carpet appeared. My heart pounded. Before the door opened, I looked at my juniors and laughed—they’d put on serious expressions as if they’d never shouted.

Rrrr—

The door slid open—and an indescribably intense barrage of camera flashes erupted from every side.