In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Early Sunday morning, after arriving at the dorm from Incheon Airport, we immediately passed out.

And I had a nightmare for the first time in a while.

“Ungrateful brat!”

The piggies from Crayon Shin-chan kept trampling me.

“Aaah! Why are you doing this?” I protested, and they beat me savagely, accusing me of not knowing my own sins.

“Thanks to our dream, you live off eating infinite refills of pork in Taiwan?”

When I vowed henceforth to live on beef, a hog’s hoof smacked my back, asking if I had money to spare.

They reprimanded me for ages.

Perhaps feeling sorry for battering me so much, the piggies offered me a bowl of dark soup.

“What is this?”

“Dark matter cold soup. It restores HP when you eat it.”

“Noooo!”

I screamed in the dream—and woke up with a start.

It was the most horrifying nightmare I’d had recently, so I grabbed my brothers and shared every detail as soon as I woke.

Most burst out laughing, but one looked at me with a stony expression.

“So what’s the conclusion?”

“That it’s your fault I had that nightmare.”

“What did I even do?”

“Ri-hyuk, you gave it that weird title ‘Dark Matter,’ so of course I’d have nightmares.”

“Then you should blame your own weak mind. Anyway, stop blaming others...”

Of course, it wasn’t solely the title ‘Dark Matter’ that triggered the nightmare.

To be precise, the plane counted for seventy percent, but dark matter also had a huge impact.

At first I thought it was a joke I could ignore, but it turned out he was serious.

“How is it? Not bad, right?” he asked, displaying a pleased expression that took my breath away.

I wondered how to reject it without hurting his feelings—thankfully our youngest solved the problem.

With a sweet smile he said:

“Dog.”

“Dog?”

“Dog–ugly. The title.”

And so the title was once again undecided.

Over breakfast that Bi-ju had prepared, we held a meeting and agreed anything would be better than ‘Dark Matter.’

“Well, we have plenty of time to decide the title later. Let’s think it through slowly.”

I pointed at my laptop and said so.

Sunday afternoon.

At the company studio, we were refining the song to be our Album 3 title track.

Bi-ju and I sat before our laptops arranging harmonies and atmosphere to match Ri-hyuk’s lyrics. Ri-hyuk tapped his notebook with a pen, pondering the title.

“Should we try something a bit softer and more lyrical?”

“Hm... I think Part B as is sounds prettier. If it’s too lyrical it might sag.”

“Okay, we’ll stick to the original.”

Like crafting a gem, we carved and added each detail deliberatively with my brothers.

Meanwhile, behind me others were working on different tasks.

“What’s the problem, hyung?”

“Here... the bridge part isn’t sitting right with me. I think we need a smoother transition before the hook.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure.”

“Really?”

I heard Jung-hyun’s gentle laugh.

“Good. I was worried it was just me.”

I smiled quietly at the two fools sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the sofa staring at the laptop.

I turned and asked,

“Need any help?”

“It’s rap.”

Jung-hyun shook his head.

“It’s my field, so I’ll take it, hyung.”

To cheer him on, I tossed him a slice of apple, and he opened his mouth wide and caught it.

I was proud of him.

The way he effortlessly caught it at that distance—or rather, the fact that he volunteered to do it himself—made me feel proud.

Pleased, even.

On the next album, the title track will feature contributions from me, Bi-ju, and Ri-hyuk, but Jung-hyun’s mixtape, which he makes, will also be included as a track.

After our showcase in Taiwan, he said:

“This time I want to do it on my own power.”

Of course the A&R team and external producers would help in the final stages, but until then he’d do it all himself.

Unlike when he used to work alone by habit, his eyes now shone with enthusiasm.

“...Next time we go abroad, I want to show something with my own rap.”

Seeing the surprise gift I prepared for overseas fans inspired him to dream of creating his own music.

That was a great thing.

I wholeheartedly welcomed Bi-ju or Jung-hyun wanting to create their own songs.

The more they study and dig into music, the greater asset they’ll be to our group. Even if it’s not a visible “level up,” it will certainly help.

Right now, our work speed is absurdly fast.

In the past I might’ve said, “Hm, that feeling is a bit...” and spent ages discussing, but now if Bi-ju says, “The latter half of the chord progression feels unnatural,” I can fix it in an instant.

Thanks to that, I finally completed our final version.

“Okay, here it is.”

I hit play, and we all huddled together on the sofa, eyes shining as we stared at the speakers.

“Whoa... this is good.”

“I can’t believe we made this.”

“Ooh.”

As the song played, we trembled with pride.

I said happily,

“What do you think? The A&R team will love it, right?”

“They’ll be so happy you’ve made a title track. When they meet us tomorrow they’ll be cooing over Woo-joo like a lucky charm.”

“Probably, huh?”

My heart swelled just thinking about tomorrow’s meeting to discuss our new song.

Lemon Entertainment.

The office marked “A&R” looked gloomy from the morning.

“Ugh...”

“Phew...”

Sighs broke out everywhere. Even for a Monday morning, the faces seemed unusually downcast.

“Come on, you should warm up your voices.”

“Give me one too.”

Watching them unwrap throat lozenges in a glum mood, the A&R team leader let out a hollow laugh.

“Hey. It’s not like we’re off to die. Our artist’s just coming in—what are you so scared of?”

“Then you go see him.”

“Hey.”

He scowled.

“Wanna die?”

“See? Always all talk with that guy.”

Someone mumbled as they popped herbal pills, while another sipped iced Americano to soothe a knotted stomach.

The staff’s collective stress response was because of the source of all that fear:

‘Woo-joo is coming.’

Like a horror movie tagline, it circled everyone’s mind.

“He’s going to walk in with a happy smile. ‘Everyone! I’ve made a song!’ carrying a USB.”

“That’s not it. They still haven’t grasped his character.”

Seopil-geun from the composition team shook his head.

“First he’ll hypnotize us with his gift bags.”

“Right.”

“Then he’ll hand us the USB and start his spiel.”

“...Hey, thinking about it, doesn’t it feel like a rancher feeding cattle before making them work?”

I heard sad chuckles around.

“Still, it’s been a few days— I do miss them. I want to see them.”

“Me too.”

As they spoke lovingly of the artist they managed—

“Good morning, everyone~”

Tall and handsome in a coat, holding a tumbler, and draped fashionably in a scarf, Director Jo Gyu-hwan entered.

Noticing the office’s gloomy atmosphere, he sipped his Americano and asked,

“Why is everyone so glum?”

“Because of Woo-joo.”

“Woo-joo? Oh, he returned at dawn after Taiwan. Why Woo-joo?”

“We got a text this morning. He said he’d finished the title track and was coming up to play it... Why are you backing away?”

“Me?”

Director Jo blinked, then coughed awkwardly as he retreated a few steps.

“I just suddenly remembered something I had to do.”

“...”

“Let’s see, prepare materials for today’s meeting...”

His heels clicked rapidly in small sharp steps. Then came a flurry of elevator-button mashing sounds.

Someone tilted their head.

“Maybe it’s just me, but haven’t you noticed the director avoiding the NewBlack guys lately?”

“Yeah. His behavior’s been off. Last time we went to the wine bar together, he got drunk and started crying ‘Gil-dong! Gil-dong!’”

“Like the name of his old dog?”

As they all speculated, an alert employee raised a hand.

“He’s coming!”

Silence fell in the office.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor—lively, weighty, sharp... the five of them each with distinct paces announcing their arrival.

Soon the door opened and the five of us appeared.

“Hello!”

The A&R team smiled as NewBlack members burst in energetically.

As if spreading good cheer, the members fanned through the office, brightening the mood.

“We missed you, for real.”

Woo-joo greeted each staff member, handing out bundles in both hands.

Seopil-geun, who had predicted “He’ll display his gift bags,” smiled slyly at the others’ glances.

Like a grandfather bringing gifts, Woo-joo began unpacking the parcels.

“Being away somewhere strange made me think of you all in A&R a lot. I missed you. So I bought you tons of gifts.”

“We got them too~!”

“Me too.”

To celebrate receiving our pay, each member °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° presented various snacks and souvenirs.

A&R staff’s eyes grew as wide as saucers.

“Oh my, I really wanted to try these pineapple cakes—thank you. We’ll savor them all together.”

“Why savor them?”

“Obviously everyone will share...”

“Ah.”

Woo-joo shook his head.

“One box per person.”

“...!”

“We’re the kind of people who insist on one chicken per person.”

“Woo-joo...”

“Heh, what a classy move.”

As A&R staff accepted the large gift packages, their eyes glistened.

‘They’re such good kids.’

After the gift presentation, a warm conversation unfolded about our overseas schedule.

Everyone erupted in laughter at the Wu-Zhenmin incident.

‘This is a healing Monday morning.’

They nodded, smiling pleasantly.

Yes. They’d treated us so well—subjecting our eardrums to torture during work was easy to endure.

In my mind I pictured the future.

Soon the other members would head down to the practice room to work on their tasks, leaving Woo-joo alone to offer the USB.

He’d then drag someone over, pepper them with questions, and ask for opinions.

‘But...’

Something about this unusual sight unsettled the staff.

‘Why aren’t those two going?'

Jung-hyun and Ji-ho had left, but the other two remained in the office.

Bi-ju, with a gentle smile, pulled a notebook from his chest pocket, as if he had a hundred things he wanted to say.

‘Come to think of it, didn’t Bi-ju say he composed the melody?’

It made sense if he was participating as a co-composer.

But Ri-hyuk...

‘What’s that?’

Staring at his densely packed list—“Dark Matter,” “Cosmic Dust,” “Invisible Hand”—they wondered aloud.

As if to answer their question, Woo-joo smiled and said:

“This time Ri-hyuk handled the lyrics, and there’s the title issue too. He had so many questions that we decided to all stay together.”

“All together?”

“Yes, all of us.”

Woo-joo slapped each brother on the shoulder and smiled.

They smiled back—one gently, the other awkwardly brushing the hand off his shoulder.

On the surface they were radiant young men, but to the A&R team...they appeared like Cerberus from hell.

Three-headed hounds: Beagle, Schnauzer, Cocker Spaniel.

“...”

Seopil-geun of the composition team felt dizzy for a moment.

Was it an illusion?

The faces of the two members before him looked like mild-mannered Woo-joo and the prickly Woo-joo—like amoebas splitting.

Bright-eyed like the leader, Ri-hyuk looked around expectantly.

“Which studio should we go to?”

“It’s amazing—seeing things from another perspective. So this is what Woo-joo feels like. I’m already excited to work.”

Even Bi-ju was beaming like the sun.

‘...Someone please take them away.’

A&R staff’s eyes grew moist as they watched these—not one, but three of them—prepare to work.

While we prepared our third album anew, we returned to our everyday schedules.

Everyone moved busily.

The video production team edited the footage we shot in Taiwan into colorful reality episodes:

The B-level thumbnails with rainbow letters were cringeworthy, but at least our fans enjoyed them.

One sad thing: now not a single soufflé fan was unaware of the Wu-Zhenmin incident.

Whether on M-Tube comments, the fan café, or official SNS, Zhen-min was everywhere.

If not that, then:

Nothing but sad comments begging me to save myself.

When my grandmother wears flowers they look lovely, but sadly they didn’t suit me.

I packed every floral item—except pajamas, blankets, and sweatpants—into boxes, sealed them with tape, and stashed them in the wardrobe.

My brothers teased me that it was a “clothes cupboard,” but I just felt sad.

I thought I heard Ri-hyuk in my half-sleep ask, “Should I send them to the incinerator?” but that must’ve been a dream.

Though Taiwan gave me loads of cringe-worthy memories, the company was overjoyed.

“You guys did great!”

Called by the publicity team, I went to find Assistant Manager Hong Seo-young giving a thumbs-up.

She spun her laptop to show me various metrics and articles, her voice excited:

“Your Taiwan trip got an amazing response.”

Thanks to the Wu-Zhenmin incident, we trended online—and that fueled other promotions in a strange chain reaction.

The Taiwanese weekly magazine “HIT!” where we shot a pictorial sold more than usual, and our MTV interview and showcase videos racked up high views.

The web buzz was several times greater than what you normally get from a first overseas schedule.

“Wow.”

As she said, our official SNS and M-Tube follower counts had jumped noticeably.

“You’re off to Singapore and Shanghai this month, right? Let’s aim to get this kind of response there too. You all did so well.”

“Yes, leave it to us.”

As my brothers looked at me with expectant eyes, I brushed back my hair.

“Hey, cringe moments don’t just come on demand. They happen by accident.”

When I said that with a grin, my brothers’ eyes lit up.

“That was so cool.”

“That’s the vibe that comes from cringe history.”

“...I’ll have my revenge on you later.”

Assistant Manager Hong turned and pursed her lips. There was no way I could scold them in front of the staff.

Ignoring my teasing brothers, I asked,

“Why did you call us here?”

“Oh, to update you. Your new cat-food commercial, video emojis, talks with the History Expedition producers—various things.”

They were all routine, but there seemed to be more than usual.

As the department in charge of public communication, the publicity team had a lot to discuss about our activities.

“But the most important thing is this.”

She handed me one of the piled-up proposals on her desk.

Titled “Challenge: Hit Song Discovery Unit!” it was the music competition program on PBS we were slated to appear on.

In fact, it was the most crucial project of this downtime, and the company’s top priority.

Was something wrong with it?

“A bit...”

Assistant Manager Hong stroked her chin and said,

“There’s something worrying about it.”