In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

The rules are simple.

Pick up a snack bag, open the package, and eat without exceeding 70 decibels.

Then you succeed.

We’d planned to promote the new song afterward and happily return to the dorm with the younger members.

But the moment the real game began, that thought disappeared.

Maybe because Jung-hyeon’s “ASMR” echoed like a spell in our ears.

Just looking at each other made us laugh.

“Pfft!”

There are times like that.

When you steel yourself not to laugh, and suddenly everything makes you laugh.

I sniffled at the maknae’s quivering nose.

Hold it in.

Just hold it in.

But despite my resolve, I burst out laughing at Ri-hyeok wrestling with the snack bag.

He gripped the opening edge with both hands.

Tap-tap-tap.

Cold sweat dripped from his face, his hands shook, and we all held our breath, eyes fixed on the decibel meter.

Snap!

The bag ripped open, and crumbs flew everywhere.

“......”

Crumbs settled on Ri-hyeok’s face, like he’d been hit by a flour bomb—and we exploded with laughter.

“Pfft!”

“Don’t laugh! It’s humiliating!”

“Pwahahaha!”

Every time we tried the practice game, someone inevitably cracked up.

The two MCs commentated like sports announcers.

“Oh, this isn’t easy.”

“They’re on the verge of laughing at every passing flower. Can NewBlack actually succeed...?”

“I never expected such trouble even in the practice round.”

“It’s a shame. They have to succeed to promote their new song.”

...Saying it’s a shame while laughing like that, seniors?

We sighed among ourselves.

“Let’s do it properly. We need to promote the new song.”

“You’re the problem! You are!”

Ri-hyeok glared, anger burning in his eyes.

“You’ve been snickering beside me, that’s why I can’t help laughing.”

“Ri-hyeok, that’s your fault. No matter how I breathe, you have to hold your laughter. Promoting our new song is crucial. Have some grit.”

“Huh?”

Jung-hyeon cocked his head.

“Hyung, didn’t you just laugh at Bi-ju?”

“......”

I couldn’t deny it.

Bi-ju sat there, seriously holding the snack in his mouth, fists clenched, saying, “I will definitely eat you!”—how could I not laugh?

Bi-ju wiped crumbs from the maknae’s mouth and asked,

“Hyung, were you laughing at me?”

“I guess I just laugh whenever I see you.”

“Really?”

Seeing him smile so brightly pricked my conscience, but I couldn’t say, “You were so funny just now.”

I cleared my throat to change the subject.

“Now isn’t the time to assign blame.”

“That’s right.”

The two biggest laughers in the practice game—me and the maknae—said that, and the others widened their eyes.

I said,

“Now for the real game we must do our best to make no sound. Let’s all work together to get that new-song promo.”

“Yes. Let’s go for it.”

Bi-ju reached out and we all shouted fighting.

As we strategized, the two MCs pricked their ears and smiled at how cute we looked.

“Oh my, they’re so cute.”

“They remind me of when we were that age, unnie.”

“Right? We were adorable.”

“......?”

Then their eyes met ours again.

Like bewildered ancient birds facing sparrows, we burst out laughing.

Fanning themselves with cue cards, they said,

“Ahem, now that your strategy meeting is over, let’s move to the real game!”

“Yes. Exactly. The practice was just child’s play.”

Wait.

...There’s more?

The production team immediately offered a prop basket.

Looking at long-nosed glasses and historical-drama fake beards, we asked, stunned,

“What’s this?”

“Oh. We thought the game might be too easy, so we prepared props in advance. It seemed a shame not to use them, so we decided to.”

“Huh?”

Our practice game was already tough.

“In return, we’ll reward you. We’ll increase your three tries to five, and you can wear any prop you like.”

After deliberation, we accepted.

We each plucked one from the basket.

Just as Jung-hyeon reached for a Santa beard, I grabbed his hand.

“Jung-hyeon.”

“...Yes?”

“If you put that on, I’ll die laughing.”

“Hmm. How about this?”

Pfft!

Jung-hyeon stuck on a historical-drama beard and I couldn’t help laughing.

It was just too ill-fitting.

Eventually I handed him the cutest option.

“Jung-hyeon, how about this? This suits you.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Wow, isn’t our Jung-hyeon so perfect with goblin horns? It’s like a live-action goblin. Right, Ji-ho?”

“That’s right. You look like a handsome corn snack.”

Jung-hyeon, with goblin-horn headgear like corn cones, dangled the chin strap in delight.

Okay. Handled him.

The maknae looked at me in a reindeer headband.

“How do I look, hyung? Like Rudolph?”

“You look ready to pull a sled. Your antlers look as cool as velvet.”

“Wah!”

The maknae danced a joyful shoulder-shake in his reindeer headband. Laughing, I reached into the basket.

“Then I’ll take this...”

Our kids flinched.

“That one’s good though...”

They shook their heads.

“No?”

They nodded at my hesitations.

I finally gave up and picked a beauty mark.

As in the drama Grandma Kim Deok-soon loved, I stuck a mark under my eye.

Bi-ju, wearing scuba goggles, clapped and cheered.

Soon Ri-hyeok donned devil horns and we stared at each other resolutely.

After three seconds of determined eye contact,

“Pfft—!”

...We hadn’t even started, and I already felt doomed.

Thankfully, once the real game began, we got serious.

Laughing and work were separate matters.

But succeeding was really hard.

On the first attempt, the maknae rifled through snacks and exceeded 70 decibels.

On the second, Bi-ju tore open a bag—shhhhh—and blew past 70 decibels.

“Then we challenge the third attempt!”

From practice runs we’d devised a strategy:

If all of us grabbed snacks together or tore bags together, the noise would spike—so we’d go one at a time.

Consequently, I volunteered first.

I carefully pinched the corner of the plastic bag between thumb and forefinger and lifted it.

Tap—the bag brushed the basket, and the younger members held their breath.

The decibel meter’s color flickered, spiking then dipping.

“Fight—!”

“We’ll do it this time—!”

“Quietly now, you fools—!”

As if tiny bacteria cheered us, staff and MCs twitched their cheeks or covered their mouths.

I took a deep breath and tore the bag. After a few tries, I mastered the move.

Truly a soundless, silent feat.

I succeeded in eating under 70 decibels.

I nodded, and the four gave thumbs-up waves like a victory wave.

“......”

Up next, a tense-faced Ri-hyeok stepped up.

His fingers trembled as he tore the bag, but he succeeded smoothly.

More thumbs-up followed.

The third challenger was Jung-hyeon.

He’s notorious for large motions and every breath roared on the meter.

I raised my fist and whispered,

“Go, Jung-hyeon-mon.”

Like a bear lifting its paw, he replied,

“Jung-hyeon-mon, dispatch.”

Bi-ju nearly laughed, but the maknae clamped his mouth shut.

Ignoring Ri-hyeok’s reproachful glare, I cheered Jung-hyeon on.

Jung-hyeon reached into the basket and picked one.

Okay.

He had me proud for a moment—then realized a problem.

Perhaps the adhesive was off, but snack bags had stuck together like Vienna sausages.

Clink—crunch.

When the extra snacks clattered back into the bag, one dropped—and hit the floor...

“...!”

Thankfully it snagged on the basket’s rim, dangling.

A hair’s-breadth moment.

Knowing if it fell it would exceed the limit, Jung-hyeon sprang up from his seat and moved toward the basket rim.

“...!”

He froze mid-reach, heedful of our frantic signals.

Hands crossed or waving “Don’t do it!”

“Tta! Tta!”

“Tte tte tte tte!”

“Ni ni!”

Nonsensical alien noises spewed in urgency.

Like castaways signaling SOS to a plane, our silent “stay still” signs stopped him.

Pause.

He turned his head in a “What now?” look.

In that instant, Bi-ju tip-toed forward to help. As he reached for the dangling snack,

Ji-ho motioned for Jung-hyeon to return, but I waved him back.

“Tta!”

“Tte?”

We clashed over whether to go for it, leaving Jung-hyeon confused. Then...

Tap.

The snack fell.

We held our breath, but fortunately the thud registered just under 60 decibels before fading.

Relieved, we relaxed—until Jung-hyeon, stepping back with a safe smile, accidentally stomped on that fallen snack.

Crunch.

He lost his balance and slipped, but somehow, as though in The Matrix, twisted and landed seated, one hand bracing the floor.

“...!”

When the snack bags touching his pants rattled, Ri-hyeok gagged, saying “He can’t eat that.”

“......”

In this fresh chaos, every staff behind the camera—and everyone watching—stood slack-jawed.

So quiet you could hear ants.

Jung-hyeon fumbled, found footing, rose—basket stuck to his rump like a shell.

“Kuup!”

Calm expression.

But with the basket stuck, he looked like an insect standing tall.

No.

What insect?

With goblin horns, arms outstretched for balance, plus the brown basket and today’s outfit.

That dignified posture defied any insect comparison.

The moment I saw him, Ri-hyeok, dazed, muttered,

“...A rhinoceros beetle?”

And behind the cameras, uproarious laughter burst out.

“Pfft!”

The staff, unable to hold back, cracked up first.

Though we ‘failed’ on the third try, the production team declared us successful.

“There’s no denying this.”

We were running short on recording time anyway.

Above all, I think they planned to let us win from the start.

Even if we all failed, they’d have given us an acrostic-verse chance or something.

With all props cleared, we returned to our usual clean selves in the ‘police station’ set.

“Pfft!”

Buk-buk saw Jung-hyeon’s face and burst out laughing.

“Just looking at Jung-hyeon is hilarious now.”

“Now you understand our hearts, sunbae-nim.”

“Yes... hic. I fully understand. At first I wondered why we laughed at Jung-hyeon’s face alone.”

The noble rhinoceros-beetle image stuck in everyone’s mind.

Some staff couldn’t stop chuckling behind the cameras.

Producer Ko earlier exclaimed, “I think the entertainment gods are helping this kid!”

We certainly extracted lively footage.

“Huh...”

Why did I keep sighing?

I couldn’t put my finger on this subtle emptiness.

Where was our image headed?

We smiled on the outside, but inside felt hollow.

Buk-buk said,

“Well then, as promised, shall we promote your new song?”

“Yes! We present ‘Masquerade’!”

While the two MCs stepped aside, the five of us arranged our formation.

Without needing to decide who goes first, we closed the gaps within the ‘station.’

After deciding, I asked the performance lead,

“Shall we move in two steps, Bi-ju?”

“Hmm... maybe three steps closer.”

“Okay, three steps it is.”

The space was cramped, hard to showcase the wide, blooming ‘Masquerade’ choreography.

After one demo move, we all nodded.

“We’re ready!”

“Then, ‘Masquerade’s’ highlight part! Please enjoy!”

The highlight blared from booming speakers. Instantly adapting to the new spacing, we performed.

Though brief, the intense moves left a bead of sweat.

We finished in the final formation, gazing steadily into the camera, and the MCs applauded, smiling.

“Wow! So cool! You looked like different people!”

“You ended with style, NewBlack!”

“Thank you for watching kindly.”

We bowed to our teasing seniors.

Now, as the show wrapped, they asked for a viewer message. I stepped up.

“Viewers! Thank you so much for enjoying our show. We still have much to improve, but we hope you look upon us ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) kindly.”

I smiled and added,

“And our soufflés!”

Behind me, the younger members waved, drew hearts, danced shoulder-shakes. I glanced back and laughed.

“I don’t know if you’ll like these silly sides of us...but if you do, we’re so grateful. And you know we’re not always like this, right? It’s because we’re excited for variety shows.”

“That’s right. That’s what it is.”

“And since this is our first recording after winning number one on a music show...”

I wanted to say this:

“We’re rookies. We’re very hungry. So we’ll eat well and work even harder to rise! Please watch over us!”

“Please watch over us—!”

“And one more thing.”

I faced the camera with a serious look.

“Please forget today’s broadcast...”

Trailing off, staring into space, everyone on set burst into genuine laughter. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

“Great job!”

“Thank you for your hard work!”

We greeted the staff tidying the set as we left the studio.

Managers were talking with Producer Ko; we descended to the first-floor lobby and inhaled the outside air.

For about five seconds.

A biting winter breeze sent us all—“Cold!”—scurrying back inside.

“Phew...”

Watching the mid-day outside, white puffs puffed from our mouths.

Sighs.

Ri-hyeok said,

“What on earth did we do today...?”

“What was it? We ran so hard, but only got bruises.”

“But our soufflés will love us for it.”

“...Will they?”

We looked at each other, chuckled emptily, and stared at the sky. Bi-ju tried to lift the mood.

“Well, morning recordings like this are nice. We finish early and still have the day.”

“Right. Feels like we used the day well.”

“And we made friends, too.”

Pleased by our all-out effort as first-episode guests, the MCs came over and punched our phone numbers into their devices, saying, “Contact us when you’re bored; we’ll buy you a meal.”

The maknae, delighted, said,

“Now our contacts include Se-ri sunbae and Buk-buk sunbae’s numbers.”

“So what? We all got black-history episodes today.”

Ri-hyeok started, then paused.

The one who sent a cease-and-desist to a cat.

The one whose confession was thwarted by a broken lie detector.

The one who felt sad not knowing new slang.

Once the broadcast airs, friends at school will tease him, “Growing pains, Wang Ji-ho? Haha!”

And the rhinoceros beetle.

...The last was the strongest—but our rapper just smiled serenely, hands in his hoodie pockets.

Black history only becomes black history if you see it that way.

Yet Jung-hyeon felt no shame.

His mobile-game ID with Ji-ho was probably “Daegili’s Friend.”

We whispered as we watched magpies flitting in the distance.

I said,

“Truly, beetles are happy.”

“I want to live my own way like that once.”

“Don’t worry. You’re already on that path, Ri-hyeok.”

“...Quiet, please. Really.”

As we chatted and awaited our managers, phones vibrated.

“Who is it?”

“Our manager.”

Our manager—but in fact our director.

A file had arrived via messenger:

[Attachment] TBC_End-of-Year Song Festival_Rookies_Collaboration_Overview

The guys clustered around me.

“What is it?”

“Seok-hwan hyung sent it. Looks like our end-of-year song-festival collab is finally fixed.”

“Oh, a joint stage?”

“With whom?”

“One moment.”

We downloaded and opened the file. At a long-forgotten name, our eyes blinked.

“...Street Boys?”

Our rival group we’d been competing against since last year’s year-end evaluation.