In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“Ah, well, I should tell you who it is—”

“Wait a moment!”

An unfamiliar voice interjected. Through the doorbell camera, a middle-aged woman exclaimed, “Oh my!”

“Just a moment! I’ll open the door!”

With a bustle, an ajumma appeared and introduced herself.

“I’m the one who takes care of the grandfather here.”

“Hello.”

Together with the crew, we shuffled inside, five pairs of socks on the wooden floor advancing hesitantly.

We glanced around and asked, “Where is the teacher...?”

“He’s in the living room.”

But no one was there. As the ajumma tilted her head in confusion, noises came from another room. The camera followed us.

At last, when we entered the study, we faced the person we’d waited for. A disgruntled sigh sounded.

“Aigo.”

“Teacher, our broadcast—”

“The broadcast isn’t what matters right now.”

In the sunlit study, an elderly man sat in a wheelchair. No Jae-hyun. The legendary senior singer looked much as he did in old footage and photos. His wild-featured face framed by a neatly trimmed white beard, wearing a cardigan rather than casual clothes, he looked like a grand old gentleman. Yet his seated frame was as gaunt as a dried branch.

What was he doing?

Ignoring the cameras, No Jae-hyun stared lovingly at a book he’d just taken from the shelf. Its title, “Silent Spring,” made Ri-hyeok light up, and he whispered, “That’s Rachel Carson—what a masterpiece.” We smiled at his excitement.

When should we greet him? As we pondered the timing, No Jae-hyun tapped the book’s cover, sending up a cloud of dust.

“This place hasn’t been cleaned properly.”

“It’s been done properly.”

At the ajumma’s protest, he grumbled,

“No, I’m right. It isn’t done enough.”

As if to prove it, his wheelchair began to roll through the study. He brushed dust from a vase and held up a finger.

“See? It’s full of dust.”

“Who cleans that far back?”

“Of course every corner must be spotless. If left like this, all that dust will end up in my lungs. Reading in conditions like these will give me illnesses I didn’t have.”

“Oh dear, enough nagging.”

“It’s not nagging but constructive advice. Mrs. Kang, haven’t I told you time and again—a healthy mind resides in a healthy body, and a healthy environment makes a healthy person.”

Watching him extol cleanliness, we blinked.

“...That’s Ri-hyeok!”

It was definitely Ri-hyeok. Somehow, his face overlaid the senior singer’s. Even the ajumma’s exasperated expression matched how we react to Ri-hyeok.

“......”

When we turned to look at him, he glared back.

“What’s this?”

At that moment, No Jae-hyun’s gaze swung to us behind the caretaker.

“Are you the people on the broadcast?”

“Yes, teacher.”

His bushy white brows scanned us before he slowly spoke.

“Why are you standing around staring?”

In his low, booming voice, he snapped, “Go sit on the sofa! It’s awkward looking up at you like this!”

Our first impression of the eminent singer was exactly like someone we knew.

“Do you like tangerines?”

“Yes.”

“Have one.”

His wrinkled hand offered us a tangerine, which we accepted gratefully.

Munching like a troop of hamsters, we ate as he, displeased, asked,

“Tea? Do you like tea as well?”

“Ah, that’s fine—”

“Mrs. Kang! Bring the tea!”

Soon five cups of tea arrived.

“Do you like cake?”

“Uh, I—”

“Mrs. Kang!”

A slice of tangerine cake was brought to each of us.

“Chocolate?”

“Uh—”

“Mrs. Kang!”

The ajumma in the kitchen yelled, “Gosh! Stop piling on work all at once!”

We tried not to laugh every time the senior called for Mrs. Kang, and even the staff bit back smiles. Though he complained, he kept an anxious eye on her, which somehow felt endearing. The ajumma, though rolling her eyes, still complied with a smile.

No Jae-hyun cleared his throat.

“Don’t misunderstand me.”

“Yes?”

“I want to treat guests well—I'm not that bad a person.”

His modest interpretation of kindness also mirrored someone we knew.

“Even though I may seem like this, I treat her well. There’s no one in the country who pays Mrs. Kang more.”

“That’s true.”

The ajumma nodded vigorously.

“But if not me, who else would indulge the teacher’s whims?”

“What are you saying?”

“You complain about the food and follow me around nagging about cleaning...”

“Ahem, that’s just a few words.”

As she opened her mouth to retort further, No Jae-hyun waved for her to rest.

“When I get difficult, that’s what I do.”

We stifled laughs at the sight of her leaving with a tray. We knew someone like that ourselves.

“Eh, not tasty.”

He set down his teacup and grumbled, then turned to us.

“What will you do now?”

“We plan to rearrange your song in a modern style and perform it.”

“A contest like a song festival, right?”

“Yes.”

I spoke for the group.

“It’s an honor to take on your song, teacher. We—”

“Enough of that.”

He raised a finger.

“Win first place. First place.”

“...We’ll do our best.”

“That’s not nearly enough. If you’re performing my song, you must win.”

“Then we will win.”

At last, No Jae-hyun stroked his beard in satisfaction.

“Which song of mine did you choose?”

“It’s ‘Life’ from your 1990 album.”

“Life?”

He cocked his head.

“Was there such a song?”

“...”

“Understand— I’ve so many songs, you know.”

It was true. No Jae-hyun had composed hundreds of songs, dozens of hits; he could forget one album track.

Then our main vocalist stepped forward.

“It goes like this, teacher.”

Ri-hyeok, poised, sang a snippet:

“Your sunlight

Becomes my memory

On a tranquil night

It will be my solace”

In the spacious living room, his clear voice floated softly. It refreshed the ears to listen. We and even the observing writer nodded unconsciously.

No Jae-hyun, quietly enjoying the song, said,

“You know how to put emotion into a song. You’ve been well taught.”

“...”

“What’s your name?”

“I, Seo... Seo Ri-hyeok, teacher.”

The ENG camera instantly cut to a close-up of Ri-hyeok’s reddened face.

No Jae-hyun shook his head.

“Don’t be shy. You deserve the praise.”

“Th-thank you.”

Ri-hyeok bowed deeply, looking like a ripe tomato. Meanwhile, another camera caught our delighted faces. Of course—our junior’s personality aside, he sings beautifully.

“Um...”

Ri-hyeok stammered,

“I’ve watched many of your videos... you sing so well, I respect you.”

“Ah, hem, heh.”

The embarrassed veteran gazed into space with an awkward smile—as though two tomatoes ripening together.

“My, why’s it so hot by the heater?” 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

He fanned himself with a sheet of paper. Bi-joo and Junghyun fluttered their hands at his face to cool him.

Lost in thought, No Jae-hyun spoke again.

“Life, huh.”

He nodded.

“Now I remember a bit. Was it twenty years ago? I’d just turned fifty when I wrote it. Let’s see... that record...”

He called the ajumma and retrieved a notebook from the study. Donning reading glasses, he beckoned us closer.

Jiho admired the handwriting.

“Wow, your writing is so beautiful. My dad says handwriting shows one’s character.”

“Ahem.”

No Jae-hyun cleared his throat.

“What is there to praise? Anyone could write like this.”

...Yet it was meticulously neat. Notes on ideas and compositional trials covered the pages.

“Here it is: ‘Life.’”

He read as if recalling the memory, then removed his glasses.

“Read it.”

The once-skeptical singer logically explained facets of the song, then asked,

“Who will do the arrangement? Will you commission the composer?”

“I will, teacher.”

“I see.”

He inquired,

“Then I have a question: how did it sound to you?”

“Um...”

I glanced around nervously. Though he seemed to want honesty, I hesitated—this was a broadcast. I feared sounding like an arrogant idol daring to critique a senior legend.

But he pressed,

“Speak frankly.”

“It was wonderful—subtle yet powerful in the chorus. When we picked this as our competition song, I thought ourselves lucky.”

My juniors nodded in agreement, but he seemed unsatisfied.

“Is that all?”

“Um...”

“Did you find any flaws?”

Hesitantly I said,

“A little... it felt somewhat plain.”

“It would.”

He asked,

“Where was it plain?”

“In the melody overall, one pillar seemed missing. Like a house should have four columns, but it felt like three.”

At first listen, I’d marveled at the hidden gem. But the more I heard it, the subtler its nuance—an unfinished sense, like when I first found the a cappella source for ‘Fireworks.’ A painting that looks perfect but hides flaws. No Jae-hyun’s ‘Life’ felt like an uncolored landscape painting.

Wait.

At first I took it as my own impression, but given how much he probed, an insight crystallized.

“Did you leave it this way on purpose?”

“Exactly right.”

He spoke at last.

“This song’s unfinished state was intentional.”

Silence fell in the living room.

Our jaws dropped at learning the competition piece was “unfinished.” But it wasn’t a catastrophic shock—‘Life’ was already high-quality.

We were just surprised: our song was deliberately incomplete. Like we planned only to recolor a finished painting, and the artist leans over to say, “Actually, it’s unfinished—there should be clouds and trees in that blank spot.”

My throat felt dry as I reached for my teacup—empty.

“Mrs. Kang.”

No Jae-hyun broke the quiet.

“Bring drinks for our guests. The juice I made recently.”

Immediately tangerine juice arrived. It tasted unusual, but we had no time to dwell. The singer began.

“When I wrote the song back then, I thought—people ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) say the landscape changes in ten years, so the view of life at fifty must differ at sixty or seventy.”

“...”

“At just fifty, it seemed wrong to define life so soon. So I omitted part of the melody. Later, I could fill that gap as needed.”

Sipping juice, I asked,

“So there’s no melody ready to fill the gap?”

“None.”

He replied firmly.

“When we tried to add it back, issues arose. Originally, I didn’t even intend to include the song on the album, but the company insisted.”

It was understandable. To feature so prominently on a hidden-mastery show’s first episode, the song had to be excellent. Even incomplete, its quality was undeniable.

“You have two options: arrange it as is and perform it,” he said. We nodded at the safe choice. It wouldn’t overcome the original’s blandness, but a modern faithful rendition would earn praise.

“Or you can add your own melody to fill the gap.”

We swallowed. The second option was a gamble. Success would win acclaim; failure would draw criticism—“What did you do to a great song?” Statistically riskier, though more appealing to me. Any melody I added would inevitably differ from the original. This competition was about making the masterpiece shine, not stamping it as New Black’s song. If I arbitrarily added parts, it would feel off.

Then—

Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. Why was I agonizing before the composer? I should simply ask.

“Teacher, could I—”

“Speak.”

“If I compose a melody to fill the gap here, could I play it for you and hear your opinion?”

My juniors’ eyes lit up. This was the safe gamble: present several melody ideas to No Jae-hyun for approval. If none worked, revert to the original. But if he liked one, it would be doubly beneficial: enriching the song and avoiding complaints. Who’d question the composer’s own endorsement?

Since we planned only a brief behind-the-scenes segment, I looked to the crew. The assistant director asked,

“Do you think it’s possible in the short time we have?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll check with the PD.”

After all, we were flying back tomorrow anyway. The crew’s reaction stayed neutral. The choice lay with the artist.

Fortunately, No Jae-hyun nodded calmly.

“Why not? Let’s do that.”

“Thank you.”

“Um... I have a favor too.”

He said,

“Could you help me with chores? There are some tasks Mrs. Kang can’t manage alone.”

“We’re very good at that.”

His wry smile greeted our confidence.

As the mood lightened, Junghyun, impressed, raised his juice glass.

“By the way, this juice is delicious, teacher. What is it?”

“Juice? What do you mean?”

“...”

No Jae-hyun said,

“This is a cocktail.”

“...”

“A cocktail?”

At “alcohol,” my juniors’ heads turned reflexively, staring at me holding the glass.

“Oh, no!”

Bi-joo snatched it and gulped it down herself.

“Why are you drinking that?” I exclaimed.

“I—I didn’t realize.”

As the sudden black knight, Bi-joo placed her hand on my forehead, asking,

“That’s not important right now. Hyung, are you okay?”

“Me?”

“You okay? Who am I?”

Then Ri-hyeok grabbed my shirt and shook me.

“Mister, don’t faint!”

“I—I’m fine.”

Because it was a cocktail? I felt no buzz. Could it be—

“Oh!”

I realized.

“Whoa. Guys, I think my tolerance has improved.”

“What nonsense.”

“You seem drunk from all that nonsense.”

“Hyung.”

Junghyun pressed on my shoulder with surprising force, like a bear’s hug.

“Not the time for this. Hyung, lie down.”

“No, I’m okay...”

Suddenly my eyelids grew heavy. Sleep washed over me. My juniors panicked and called out as I blinked off. The astonished crew members tilted their heads.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s alcohol—no, he’s really sensitive to alcohol.”

“He’s got the tolerance of one drop.”

At Jiho’s voice, my eyes slid closed and limbs loosened.

As the absurd scene unfolded, No Jae-hyun’s low voice echoed in the living room.

“It’s non-alcoholic.”

“...?”

“The cocktail you drank—it was non-alcoholic.”

“...”

“They say mind controls body—so this placebo effect proves it.”

A moment of stunned silence. Though my eyes were closed, I felt everyone staring at me. Ri-hyeok shook my collar.

“Sir, stop pretending to sleep—open your eyes!”

“...”

“I can see your eyeballs moving under your lids.”

Ah—how do I open them now?