In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

It felt as if a factory was running inside my head.

A monotonous tone entered the factory.

Notes placed on a conveyor belt were processed by various machines and emerged as refined elements.

In that way, arrangements to support the main theme began to materialize in my mind.

My eyebrows trembled.

I had never experienced anything like this before.

Stimulated by the familiar yet unique melody, my brain was automatically adding color to the grayscale notes.

Notes dancing lightly in the air.

I was entranced by that beautiful swirl of sound when—

“...Hey, mister. Hey.”

“Hm?”

When had I closed my eyes?

I opened them to find Riheok tapping me on the shoulder.

What was going on?

Why were they all staring at me?

Why—

Jang Sowon blinked, then burst out laughing.

“Were you sleeping?”

“Pardon?”

As I blinked “Me?” Riheok spoke up.

“You were like that for almost five minutes.”

“Me?”

“If you don’t believe me, ask someone else.”

“That’s not true.”

I muttered, “It was only ten seconds.”

“Well, anyone could doze off if they’re tired.”

If it had been anyone else, they might have frowned or taken offense, but Sowon laughed cheerfully.

I felt unfairly accused and hurried to explain.

“Senior, that’s not it.”

I waved my hands and tried to describe what had just happened—edited to sound normal.

“I was just thinking of an arrangement in my head because I liked the melody so much.”

It was true, but why did it sound like an excuse?

“Hmm. Really?”

Sowon narrowed her eyes.

“When you hear a melody, do you get arrangements popping into your head?”

“Well, um...”

She chuckled and teased.

“Our leader is a musical genius? How did I not know about this genius? Did you guys know?”

“Yes, Senior.”

“We call him the maestro among us.”

The others poked fun at me nonstop.

Okay. You lot have got me good.

“The melody you heard just now is exactly why I called you.”

Sowon’s smile vanished as she got to the point.

“You know I’m releasing a new single?”

“Yes.”

“I planned three tracks. The title track and one other are already mixed and nearly finished. But the problem is this one.”

She tapped her laptop.

“I managed to create the main theme, but I haven’t been able to progress it any further.”

She continued.

“The melody itself...I think I wrote it around mid-November last year. It was CSAT day, and it snowed that day.”

I knew that well.

It was how I came to be here.

Sowon smiled as if recalling it.

“I was on my apartment balcony watching the snow. It was gorgeous—dark sky in daylight, white flakes piling up. I hummed a little tune without thinking, and suddenly it just clicked. You know that feeling? A jolt of electricity, a shiver.”

I nodded in agreement. That was exactly how I felt when I first heard the melody.

It felt like a connection.

“So without looking back, I wrote the main theme for the next album... but it hasn’t been easy.”

“You’re stuck.” I observed.

“Right. Why do you think I’m stuck?”

At her question, I answered.

“This melody suits a fresh yet unpolished feel.”

“Oh, you noticed too?”

Her eyes widened as something sparked within her. She’d taken my earlier joke lightly, but it turned out I was serious.

The others looked puzzled.

Junghyun asked, “What do you mean, Senior?”

“Leader, explain it.”

Feeling all eyes on me, I said, “The melody you sang fits a naive, youthful atmosphere more than a sleek one.”

“Is that what’s difficult?”

“It is. Professional producers and engineers will polish it. The moment they touch the track, it’ll become super refined.”

In other words, the melody calls for a slightly imperfect, youthful vibe—yet pros tend to smooth out those very imperfections.

As my explanation earned head nods from the juniors, Sowon said, “Exactly.”

She smiled.

“At first I entrusted it to producers I knew, but it never came out the way I wanted. That’s why I called you.”

Her words revealed it: she couldn’t give up on her melody, so she sought a solution.

She asked around, attended every indie band show in Hongdae, scoured the internet—yet found no one fitting the melody. That was until she saw us at the year-end evaluation under the CEO’s “You have nothing else to do, so serve as judges” decree.

“When I heard your arrangements, I felt it immediately. I loved each of your voice colors and how you interpreted the song.”

“Um, Senior,” Riheok asked, “How did you know it was our arrangement you heard?”

“You just know when you hear it.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s a difference between what professionals produce and what amateurs do.”

She added, “Not to offend anyone—it’s just how pros and amateurs feel different. Amateurs can boldly try things pros on a paycheck might avoid. Does that make sense?”

We roughly understood. Basically, they discovered us when they couldn’t advance their new melody.

The mystery of why she gave us her card that day was finally solved.

“Well, enough preamble.”

Sowon clapped her hands.

“So how was the melody?”

“It was great.”

“No, not that. What thoughts or feelings came to you? Anything. Each of you, say one thing.”

We glanced at each other, and Biju spoke first.

“I thought of two lines.”

“Lines?”

“Yes—two parallel lines that never meet. So it felt like they wanted to meet but couldn’t.”

“I think I know what that feels like.”

Sowon nodded and began jotting notes on her phone. While her long nails tapped the screen, Junghyun spoke.

“It felt like a beat that’s hard to rap over.”

“Rap?”

“I’m a rapper.”

“So you want rap in it?”

“Uh... no?”

Junghyun paused, then corrected himself. “Actually, I think rap would suit it.”

Though it sounded cocky, his simple, rural tone made Sowon laugh.

“Okay, let’s consider rap. How about the song itself?”

“You said you wrote it after seeing snow, but I got a different vibe—it felt like cherry blossoms falling in spring.”

“Cherry blossoms?”

“Yes. You know when you sit at a bus stop and petals drift down?”

Surprisingly poetic junghyun. When I looked at him, he beamed with pride.

Why are you proud of your own words?

“Next is our Riheok?”

“Riheok.”

“Right, Riheok.”

His ears turned red, and we giggled. Sowon, blinking, asked, “What was your name again?”

“I’m Seo Riheok, Senior.”

“Sorry, sorry. Got mixed up. You were the best singer at the year-end evaluation, right?”

Her face was expressionless but the corners of her mouth twitched up fast—her mood shifted in an instant.

Riheok opened his notebook. He’d written a lot while listening, and he began reading.

There were several points, but his conclusion was simple.

“...Overall, I felt like junghyun. It’s a song for late March or early April.”

“So you all felt something similar.”

Sowon said, intrigued. She’d written the song while watching snow in winter, yet three of us called it a spring song—it was fascinating to her.

Tapping her phone, she called the maknae.

“What about our lovely baby?”

“I’m not a baby...”

The middle schooler entering high school mumbled, and we all found him adorable. Jiho thought carefully, then said, “If it were me...”

“Yes?”

“I’d want to play it for someone I like.”

Someone he likes? I wondered if there was more to it, and Jiho quickly added, “If I had someone to like.”

“I see—a spring song you’d play for someone you’ve just started liking.”

As Sowon jotted notes, she finally looked at me. I had nothing different to say—our impressions were alike. But I wanted to find the common thread. Though each had said something different, all our comments pointed to the same theme.

Imagine a tree. We’d each described a branch, but none had named the tree. I wanted to discover its name.

My lips tingled. If I thought a bit more, I felt I could grasp it. Knowing the tree’s name would make our work so much easier.

Ah!

Suddenly an image flashed in my mind.

One word that unified everyone’s impressions.

–Parallel lines that never meet yet seem close.

–Cherry blossoms falling at a bus stop.

–A song for late March or early April.

–A song you’d play for someone you like.

Following the branches my teammates described, I felt I’d found the tree’s name.

“I share the same opinion as the others.”

“Really?”

Sowon looked a bit disappointed.

“But I think I know what everyone’s saying.”

“Hm?”

“Though you each said different things, when you combine them, it points to the same theme.”

“And what is that?”

I answered the curious question.

“There’s a lot of talk online these days about having ‘some’ with someone—‘sseom.’”

“Keep going.”

“When we combine what you said: springtime, a bus stop, someone you like, yet someone you can’t get close to...”

That was my conclusion.

“I think that kind of ‘sseom’ is the theme of the ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) melody.”

“Oh, that’s it!”

Sowon clapped like someone who’d found a long-sought answer. The juniors stared, amazed.

“I’ve been trying to find the melody’s theme, and now I get it.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it? It’s perfect. It couldn’t be better.”

Ecstatic, Sowon said, “That can be the title too. What should we call it? Sseom-eul Tada? Uri Sayi? Between? Hmm...”

Senior, could you slow down? It felt like waiting at a red light for a billion years and then flooring the accelerator at light speed.

As she spit out ideas, Riheok raised his hand.

“Yes, Riheok.”

“Seo Riheok, Senior.”

“Right, Riheok. Sorry.”

“Since ‘sseom’ is a Korean slang, how about using the English ‘Something’?”

At Riheok’s suggestion, everyone silently agreed.

Perfect.

Thus the song we’d record together came to be titled Something.

With the title set, the session gained momentum.

Though the original creator, Sowon, was proactive, we too began voicing opinions. We were trainees, but our main job is singing. With Riheok and Junghyun able to arrange, ideas for lyrics and composition flooded out.

There was a shared excitement—a thrill only music lovers feel when connecting over common ideas.

As we debated, my stomach growled loudly.

We all checked our watches. So absorbed in work that it was already 2:00 and lunchtime was ending.

“My goodness. You must be starving.”

“We’re fine.”

“I’m hungry. Have you planned where to eat?”

I answered, “Just in case, I got a company card from Director Yoon. We can grab something simple at the convenience store.”

“Can a convenience store be a meal?”

Sowon let out a little laugh and stood up.

Where was she going?

Her sleek frame rose, the wine-colored coat she’d draped earlier floating down her shoulders. She looked at us elegantly, like a model.

“What are you doing?”

When she spoke, we cheered.

“Let’s go. I’ll buy you samgyeopsal.”