In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Seo Ri-hyeok narrowed his eyes.

‘Hmm...’

The black and white of the chessboard intersected like a checkerboard. As the second hand on the chess clock signaled the remaining time, his mind raced.

‘Where should I move?’

Each time his gaze shifted, the elderly man sitting opposite him smiled.

“Can’t find the right move?”

“Just a moment.”

“Take all the time you need. Ha ha ha! Although I don’t know if it’ll help.”

He was infuriating. A venerable senior, yet teasing him right to his face.

Of course, he wasn’t in any position to judge.

“Pfft, Uncle. Is that really your best move? Leaving it there?”

“Jung-hyun hyung, I’ve got Seoul in check. Twenty million won toll, please. ...What? No? You won’t agree to a seed-bank loan?”

“Pwahaha! Hey, Wang Ji-ho, even an elementary schooler could play better than you.”

He cleared his throat as memories of taunting his members during every brainy game surfaced.

He briefly reflected on his past self, but the ticking clock drove him back to the present.

‘How can I lose without him noticing?’

He wasn’t squeezing his brain dry because he lacked confidence in winning. Far from it—he intended to lose.

Thirty minutes earlier, Teacher No Jae-hyun, brimming with excitement over their discussion of reading, had asked casually,

“Do you play chess at all?”

“Yes. I know how to play.”

At that, the veteran singer beamed and brought out a chessboard immediately.

“Mrs. Kang isn’t interested in this at all, and neither are the neighbors. I’ve no one to play a game with.”

That was why Ri-hyeok decided to lose. He didn’t want to burden such an enthusiastic man with the memory of defeat.

He hated losing to others more than anything—but now, he disliked the thought of the teacher’s spirits drooping even more.

Not out of mere respect for his seniors, but because he genuinely liked him.

‘Let’s see now.’

Winning would have been easy—move the knight and bishop a couple more times and he could claim victory.

But deliberately losing, and doing so without the opponent sensing it, was a challenge.

“Hmm....”

After much deliberation, Ri-hyeok raised a finger and moved a piece, faintly enough to seem like a slip.

“Oho.”

The old man’s lips twitched. Sure enough, in short order his stiff fingers tapped a response.

“Checkmate.”

“Ah....”

“Ha ha, well, I’ve won again. You need more chess study.”

“I lost.”

Ri-hyeok sighed and stretched. The old man in the wheelchair also shifted to relieve his stiffness.

“Well, I need a little break.”

He called to the cameraman nearby.

“Can we «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» pause for a rest?”

“Yes, Teacher.”

“Thank you.”

At his gentle cue, the crew filed out, leaving only the idol singer and the nearly eighty-year-old man at the table.

“Ugh....”

Teacher No Jae-hyun blinked and groaned. Startled, Ri-hyeok stood.

“Are you all right?”

“...I’m fine. No need to fuss.”

That morning the teacher had seemed rather bright, but now his complexion was ashen. The teacher waved him off.

“Really, don’t worry. I’m okay.”

“Still....”

“No, don’t worry about it. It pains me more to see you worry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Bring me a glass of water.”

Ri-hyeok hurried to the kitchen, took water from Mrs. Kang, and offered it to the teacher.

The teacher gulped it down, relief flooding his face, then quipped,

“I must have overdone it using my head after so long. Kept every nerve on edge trying to beat a youngster. Eh.”

Ri-hyeok thought it wasn’t the chess—it was his physical condition that looked weak.

‘What should I do?’

He didn’t know how to help, and there was nothing he could do.

He suddenly understood why the team leader always prayed to the full moon for Kim Deok-soon’s health.

“Hey now.”

The teacher let out a crooked smile.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“...Sir?”

“Don’t give me that fond look. You can’t just go around giving your heart to anyone.”

“I—it’s not like that.”

He glanced away, cheeks warming at his reflection in the window. The teacher laughed quietly, then gazed out at the lawn beyond the glass, and further still at the village.

“Spring’s still a ways off, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?”

“The seasons. To see spring here, we’d have to wait a long while, right?”

At the sudden question, Ri-hyeok paused to think.

“Jeju’s about five degrees south of Seoul, plus winters here are mild... so spring might arrive sooner?”

“I see.”

The teacher in the wheelchair smiled, and Ri-hyeok tilted his head.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing much. There’s a canola flower field nearby. I can’t wait to see it, but it only blooms in spring.”

His wrinkled finger pointed off in the distance.

“When spring comes, the canola blooms along the path over there. It’s so beautiful you’ll stand there spellbound. When the wind blows, the yellow blossoms nod and rise—it’s quite the spectacle.”

“....”

“I’ve seen canola fields since I was a child, so when I smell that scent, memories come flooding back.”

“You said you’re from Hwanghae Province, right?”

“That’s right. A place I can never return to.”

The veteran singer nodded, eyes distant in recollection.

“When spring came, flowers would carpet the village. Do you like flowers?”

“No. Everyone else likes them, but not me....”

He thought of the senior who crouched to sniff wildflowers, the one whose profile picture was a sunflower with the status ‘Happiness and Joy Today,’ the one who tucked blossoms behind an ear for selfies, the one obsessed with floral patterns.

But he wasn’t one of them.

Teacher No Jae-hyun nodded in agreement.

“I don’t like them either. Pretty to look at, but useless.”

“I think so, too.”

“Oh, another point of agreement.”

The two exchanged satisfied smiles over their shared disdain for impractical things.

Gazing out the window, the teacher said,

“Anyway, seeing canola makes me nostalgic. Maybe it’s age, but I find myself thinking of the past more these days.”

“Hmm, I don’t quite get that yet.”

“That’s to be expected. You shouldn’t feel that way so early.”

With those words, he turned silently back to the window, tapping his forefinger on his hand.

Yet it trembled.

Ri-hyeok took out his smartphone and flexed his finger for five minutes, so focused he didn’t realize the teacher was watching.

“What are you looking at?”

“Oh, this.”

He held up his phone and spoke cautiously.

“I looked it up—there are places you can photograph canola in January, around Seongsan Ilchulbong. If you want to see flowers sooner....”

Teacher No Jae-hyun, who had been listening quietly, suddenly widened his eyes—and burst into laughter.

“Ha ha! Ha ha ha!”

“...?”

“Cough! Oh dear, ha ha!”

Ri-hyeok handed him a tissue and blinked. Not understanding why, he asked when the laughter subsided,

“Why the sudden...?”

“I laughed because you’re so endearing.”

The old man, as if the thought alone amused him, clutched the tissue tight.

“You’re a good person. You even let me win at chess to spare my feelings.”

“Ah....”

“Don’t give it a second thought. I had a wonderful time because of you. I just wanted you to know that you’re a good person.”

“Thank you. No one’s ever called me kind before.”

“Oh? Your members don’t say that?”

“They always say I’m mean.”

“How odd. Mrs. Kang always says I’m mean, too. People these days have no eye for character.”

As the two lamented modern harshness, a commotion sounded outside.

Through a cloud of dust, the handcart came speeding into view—and the New Black members dismounted it as stylishly as if from a sports car.

Ri-hyeok blinked.

‘Why on earth are they striking cool poses getting off a handcart...?’

Meanwhile Wang Ji-ho flashed a V sign.

Soon all four began their remaining chores outside. The walls muffled the noise, but their lip movements betrayed the racket.

At one point Sun Woo-joo stood with one foot on a rock, playing his ukulele like a rocker, sending everyone into peals of laughter.

Before long they spotted Ri-hyeok and Teacher No Jae-hyun and waved energetically.

‘Wait a second?’

Sun Woo-joo mouthed something, then grabbed several sheets of A4 and scrawled large letters. He stood up, holding the sheets like a choreographed confession.

[Ri-hyeok]

As Ri-hyeok stared, another sheet appeared.

[Are you comfortable there?]

“....”

[You guys, huh? We’re over here like this]

[It’s sweaty and cold, though]

It repeated.

[Ri-hyeok]

[Are you comfortable there?]

Kim Bi-ju nearly fell backward laughing. In the chaos Wang Ji-ho intervened, redrawing the line until ‘Ri-hyeok’ became ‘Ri-hyeom.’

[Ri-hyeom]

he muttered.

“Honestly, those people....”

“Ha ha ha.”

But Teacher No Jae-hyun’s smiling reaction left Ri-hyeok pursing his lips.

“You’re a good person next to good people. It’s heartwarming.”

“I don’t think so, Teacher.”

“But still, having people like that by your side is a wonderful thing.”

At the old man’s chuckle, Ri-hyeok only stuck out his lip.

“Oof.”

After finishing the chores, they finally went back inside.

“Home is the best, after all.”

“Right? I never thought labor suited me.”

“Mm-hmm.”

While cooling off in the living room, Ri-hyeok rolled Teacher No Jae-hyun’s wheelchair back in.

“Well done, all of you.”

“It was nothing, Teacher.”

“Well then, as promised, shall we go make that song?”

He motioned for them to head upstairs. Ri-hyeok and Teacher No Jae-hyun took the home elevator together, but something felt off.

Climbing the stairs, someone asked,

“Doesn’t Ri-hyeok seem strange?”

“Yeah. His expression’s a bit odd.”

Bi-ju nodded in agreement. The other two looked clueless, but it felt odd that Ri-hyeok was so stiff.

Had something happened while they weren’t around? 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

“Hey! Why aren’t you coming up?”

“Let’s go, Teacher!”

At his command, they hurried to the second floor. He led them into the upstairs living room.

There was a sofa and various instruments scattered about.

And...

“...A piano?”

“An instrument he plays when he has time.”

“Ooh.”

I sat at it and pressed a few keys. Though aged, its sound was lovely.

“Hmm....”

“Something bothering you?”

“Some keys are slightly off. These keys sound a bit different.”

“Keen ear. You’re right.”

As an old instrument, some keys rang slightly sharp or flat. The crew and juniors looked puzzled.

Once everyone was gathered, I tapped a light rhythm and played.

“So, have you thought of a melody?”

“Yes.”

As I played a few options, I explained,

“When I tried on the ukulele, nothing felt quite right. Since this is your song, nothing I created captured its essence.”

In art terms, our styles clashed: he painted broadly, I polished every detail.

“So I approached it differently—by using your songs.”

“Intriguing. What’s the plan?”

“I researched your signature songs by era, then mixed their main melodies in chronological order.”

My fingers danced over the black and white keys, playing each of No Jae-hyun’s hits in turn. He listened with interest.

“Nice. But... your playing feels familiar.”

“Is that so?”

Did he know my father? The thought flickered, but I returned to my point.

“Life is the sum of time. So I thought of weaving your melodies in time sequence to create a composite ‘Life.’ I hope I’m not being rude by doing this without asking first...”

“No, don’t worry about that.”

He waved it off, his eyes fixed on the music.

“Let’s hear it.”

“As you wish.”

I launched into the medley. From his youthful hits to his pre-retirement works, they flowed seamlessly. The crew stared in astonishment, adding another camera to capture the moment.

“So combining them all gives us....”

The full ‘Life’ theme emerged.

“....”

The crew whispered among themselves in confusion, while our juniors beamed. Ri-hyeok alone looked serious, and Teacher No Jae-hyun nodded thoughtfully. His expression was hard to read, and I tensed.

‘Is this okay?’

Would he be angry for such an arrangement? Would he click his tongue?

As we all waited, he finally nodded.

“It’s good.”

Blinking in relief, I exhaled. He continued,

“I have a few suggestions. Some parts feel rough.”

“Oh, yes, please tell me.”

“First, in the chorus the harmonies....”

I jotted down his notes. His seasoned insight was remarkable—pointing out things I’d never considered, as sharp as the producers who trained me as a TJ trainee.

After about a hundred points, he said,

“Other than that, nothing more. Excellent work.”

“Thank you.”

“Any thoughts, you all?”

The juniors chimed in briefly but had nothing to add. Only Ri-hyeok eagerly offered advice.

Curious why he was so animated, I resolved to ask later as I returned to the keys.

“Then I’ll adjust those parts...”

I played again. Though imperfect in places, the new version was much improved. He smiled, seemingly energized by my playing.

His lips parted as he sang:

Your sunshine

Becomes my memory

On a tranquil night

A comfort to me

Though it was a verse Ri-hyeok had sung earlier, its feeling now was entirely new.

‘Incredible.’

He sang flawlessly, despite the penalty of sitting awkwardly in a wheelchair. As I admired his skill and the crew excitedly panned cameras for the dramatic shot, our juniors clapped.

“Ugh!”

But as he continued, his voice wavered, his breath grew ragged—and he began to cough.

“Cough! Cough!”

The sudden hacking turned violent; he squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body trembling.

“...Teacher?”

Startled, Ri-hyeok shook him. The sight of the frail veteran struggling to stay upright froze everyone in place.