In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“Do you have any notes you’ve been studying from? Anything like that?”

“Oh, I do!”

At my question, Biju hurriedly pulled out a notebook. I inspected it carefully.

“Hmm.”

Though my expression was neutral, I was inwardly amazed.

Wow—when did you ever find time to study this much?

What Biju had written in the notebook was far more advanced than I’d expected.

“You had time to study all this?”

“Not really, but I did it bit by bit. I’d peek over at stuff whenever you were working.”

“When did you start?”

“I think it was when you first worked on ‘Fireworks.’”

Biju recalled.

“You looked so exhausted back then. I thought I should help, so I started—but after a while, I found it fun and got serious about it.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Ugh, don’t flatter me, hyung. I get embarrassed if you hype me up.”

“No, really—I mean it.”

I truly admired him.

Biju’s current level was that of a beginner who’d drilled basics for three months. But the important part was how he’d ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ reached this point on scraps of spare time over six months. When we all trained all day and collapsed asleep, he’d spend his leftover ten or twenty minutes studying another page, memorizing, learning.

It sounds easy—but who can keep that up every single day for six months? I felt genuine respect for him.

“You did this all self-taught?”

“Yes.”

Biju answered readily, then paused and asked, “Is it a bit lacking?”

“No way. It’s more than enough. You must’ve had tons of questions—why didn’t you ask me?”

“At first, I thought of asking you,” Biju said, scratching the back of his head. “But whenever I tried, you were always working—reading scripts last time....”

“In the waiting room?”

“You’d be reading fan letters, or checking posts on the fan café.”

“In the car?”

“You’d be jotting something down in your notes while listening to music.”

“...Our timing just never matched.”

We shared rueful looks.

“But we can fix that timing now. Right?”

“Right.”

“First, before we start, let me praise you.”

I smiled at Biju.

“You must’ve worked so hard studying alone to get this far. You did amazing. Director Jo would’ve praised you too.”

“Huh...”

“Really, you did great work.”

“It’s not just me—I had lots of help from Jung-hyun.”

“Well, if you ask him, he’d say, ‘Hmm, ask Woo-joo hyung about that.’”

I did a perfect impression of Jung-hyun, and Biju covered his mouth, giggling. I said to him warmly:

“From now on, I’ll help you. Anything you’re curious about, ask me. I’ll answer it all.”

“I will, hyung.”

We looked at each other, beaming.

We dove straight into work, setting A4 sheets on the table and kicking off our brainstorming.

“What concept for the next album?”

“Can we decide ourselves? Director Jo—”

“That’s fine. I talked with him last night: he guaranteed us autonomy on the next album, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, as long as it isn’t something like bread-and-butter pop.”

Thanks to our hit title track, I’d earned “Producer Privilege.” Not complete control—company could still step in—but after back-to-back homers from “Something” through “Masquerade,” my standing was high. A&R recognized me as NewBlack’s producer, and my ideas now passed unless frankly bizarre.

I asked Biju, who clapped like it was his own project:

“What have you always wanted to do? You’re the star next time.”

“Hmm...”

“Don’t worry about the others—I can tell you’re thinking of them. Be honest.”

I wanted to hear Biju’s artist vision—what music he dreamed of. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

After a thought, Biju spoke.

“I want... to sing, hyung.”

“To sing?”

“I still want dance elements, but more subtly—stronger vocals, less choreography focus.”

“Suggest cutting down the dance?”

I asked, sensing something.

“Not for Ri-hyeok’s sake or anything.”

Biju waved me off. “I really want to sing.”

“It feels odd—you’re the dancer. Exclude your strength to go vocal-first?”

“Yes. This time I want to do a proper vocal song.”

He nodded.

“Honestly, aside from degree, ‘Fireworks’ and ‘Masquerade’ were both dance tracks. ‘Something’ was vocal but a duet. Except for that one-off café performance, we’ve never sung five-part vocals.”

It was a fresh, exciting idea. We’d never truly sung as five—even in the café event. This would be a new challenge, and I liked it.

“But can I ask why? It’s surprising.”

“My dream was to be a singer.”

Biju spoke calmly. “I love dance, but since childhood, I wanted to be a singer—someone confident singing in front of people.”

That was unexpected.

“As a kid, I was so shy I never spoke in kindergarten. During ‘show-and-tell,’ the teacher always skipped me because I’d cry.”

Imagining little Biju crying in kindergarten was both sad and sweet. He continued:

“I didn’t speak a word until graduation. My mom sent me to dance class over winter break to build confidence.”

“That helped?”

“Yes. Studying with adults, they found me cute. The instructor even had me teach sometimes. I started talking more then.”

Dance had been Biju’s life since age seven—14 years now.

“I got dance opportunities—joined teams, got scouted by B-boy crews in middle school, though I was too scared.”

“Why didn’t you join?”

“They wore skull necklaces. Very intimidating.”

I laughed; Biju insisted, “I’m serious, hyung.”

“Your dream was singing, but you love dance too. You wanted both on stage.”

“That’s why I became a trainee.”

“If dancers or ballad singers force a choice, you can only focus on one. I wanted to do flashy dance and sing.”

“I get that—I joined for the same reasons.”

As a kid I watched first-gen idols switch from heartfelt ballads to energetic dance—variety was my draw.

“So what kind of song do you want?”

“Something popular,” Biju said earnestly. “Like first-gen idol hits—something everyone can hum, like our ‘Pa!’ or ‘Sunshine.’”

“That’ll be tough.”

“Right?”

I smiled. “But it’ll be fun to try.”

I opened my laptop and created a new file: “Untitled No.2.”

“Hyung, what’s with your face?”

“Why?”

“You look like a sad steamed bun.”

“Meeting me after six hours and that’s your greeting? Our Jung-hyun has manners.”

Only after Ri-hyeok explained “irony” did Jung-hyun smile in understanding—he’d been setting down his “Practical Spanish for Beginners.”

“But really, why do you and Biju look like soaked tissue paper?”

“Don’t mention it. It’s been tough.”

“I was fine!”

They lay on the sofa, panting. Ri-hyeok shook his head.

Jung-hyun sat beside me and offered a bottle. “Want a drink, hyung?”

“What is it?”

“A protein shake. Director said it’s fine, so you can have some too.”

“Tastes good?”

“Like chocolate tofu... or tofu chocolate?”

I waved it away. Though fresh from my shower, Jung-hyun’s muscles were pumped—and he’d had protein. I laughed at the thought he’d turn into the Terminator by departure.

“Jung-hyun. Mind lending me your knee?”

I rested my head on his firm thigh. The TV filled my view—HBS MTV’s logo in the corner, showing Teen Spirit shouting “Na gisingkkungkkotto!”

“....”

Silence.

“Is that auditory hallucination? Why do I hear ‘joon’ in front?”

“Maybe it’s ‘joon-na gisingkkungkkotto.’”

“Don’t worry—you’re not alone. I hear it too.”

Knowing that idol’s real “I love you, Nuna” origin, I just felt uneasy.

Ri-hyeok said, “Hang in there. After this, it’s our turn.”

We’d converged to watch our own Idol Show debut at 6 p.m. on January 2—equal parts excitement and nerves.

My phone buzzed.

Ziiiing—

I answered to see Grandma’s face.

“Who is this?”

“Your granny, you brat.”

“Straight to insults—classic Kim Deok-soon. Love it.”

“Don’t babble. Why only you? Switch to the others. No sense!”

“Aww, nag nag.”

I swiveled the phone to show my brothers, all smiles.

“Grandma! Hello! How have you been?”

“Fine. Good to see Biju and Ri-hyuk okay. Look at Jung-hyun—his body, he’s like a laborer!”

“My body’s fine, right?”

“That should be hidden—public display is lewd.”

“...Yes, Grandma.”

They laughed as Jung-hyun lowered his sleeves from nearly sleeveless status.

Grandma praised Biju and Ri-hyuk, too.

“Right, Ri-hyuk, good job studying at Lunar New Year.”

“Ah, Chuseok?”

“At Chuseok, you were studying Chinese.”

“It was Japanese.”

“Switch to someone else. Talking to him heats me up—his mouth alone could conquer the world.”

“...Sorry.”

Ri-hyuk got scolded again, and we all cracked up.

“Where’s Ji-ho?”

“He’ll be here soon, lost in a game.”

“Really?”

“But Grandma—why call now?”

“To ask: why didn’t you tell me about your broadcast today?”

My heart thumped—I jumped up.

“What? How did she know? I didn’t tell her.”

“She knows everything—it’s all in the parents’ support group chat.”

“We’re doomed.”

My brothers laughed. I laughed too.

“Grandma—listen. Don’t watch that show. It’s embarrassing.”

“Woo-joo hyung’s black history is all over it.”

“Ah, geez!”

Ji-ho joined in as we each tried to testify—so I covered my phone’s speakers.

“Grandma, whatever you do, don’t watch it! Especially you, Nabi—definitely not you!”

“Why not? Now I’m curious.”

“Don’t watch it—or we’re done!”

“You—!”

I hung up.

Jung-hyun shrugged: “Should’ve told her the truth—now she’ll watch out of curiosity.”

“Would you tell your granny you made a cat video letter?”

“I wouldn’t have made one.”

“Well, your shock collar would’ve shorted.”

“...I win.”

“You said it last, so I win.”

While Jung-hyun and I joked, Ji-ho slurped a popsicle:

“How old are you guys?”

“Ji-ho, your HP bar is in the red.”

“It’s a clan battle with Street Boys. Ji-ho’s side is losing—Mint-Choco Squad.”

“Their opponent?”

“Kuryong Elementary, Grade 5, Class 3.”

We laughed so hard we nearly fell down.

5:58 p.m.

I refreshed our fan café and idol forums, anxiously reading:

– So excited lol

– My heart’s fluttering—what will come?

– If our ‘Past Life Pro’ airs, Conan or Kindaichi will guest, 100%

– This is random-box excitement, not fangirling

– Congrats! SS-rank black history card “Oh, it’s real?” winner LOL

From my grandma to the internet, it felt like I had no allies.

I imagined the flood of posts once Idol Show ended and vowed to go offline for a bit.

“Hey—it’s starting!”

The dark screen brightened—Idol Show began. Ji-ho covered his mouth:

“No way! Hyung’s logo song is playing.”

“Really?”

As preview clips rolled, my logo song—fresh and catchy—played. I smiled... until

“Pfft!”

I burst out laughing: the first on-screen image was a tablet PC with a pig’s head. It was the exact blessing ceremony we’d performed on arrival, subtitled:

– “Hyung, how many bows do I owe you?”

– “Feel it out.”

The mic was so good it picked up our awkward bows. From the first scene, viewers online were in stitches.

The MCs introduced us, showed our bouncing around, our impressions of performing on a police-station set, and 1st-gen vs. new-gen idol banter—Biju misinterpreting “golden love” had everyone laughing.

And then...

“Ugh...”

My most dreaded segment: the “Electric Shock Corner,” where I’d penned a heartfelt letter to a cat, filled the screen.