In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

My heart lurched.

“Teacher!”

I sprang up so suddenly that the piano bench tipped over.

“Teacher, are you all right?”

I put my hand to the trembling man’s nose. He was breathing normally. Though he trembled with closed eyes, it was more like pain than fainting.

“Ri-hyeok. Support his head, please.”

“Yes. Right away.”

Ri-hyeok cradled Teacher No’s head, finally steadying him. Jung-hyun and Bi-ju approached.

“Hyung, what should we do?”

“First, let’s get ajumma. We’re not doctors.”

The younger boys nodded. I brushed my hand across my forehead—cold sweat clung to my skin. My heart pounded like mad. Not fear, but shock. Since saving that old man from the car, I hadn’t faced such urgency. My mind scrambled: What do we do? Should we take him to the hospital? Did our filming bring this on? What if something happens to Teacher? The juniors must be terrified—what about them? And the broadcast? Even as I berated myself for thinking of the show in this moment, ajumma and a staff member came up from the first floor.

“Oh, dear! What happened?”

Ajumma dashed forward, checking his pupils and breathing at once.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Fortunately, it’s nothing serious.”

She pointed at Jung-hyun and me.

“Help me move him to the bed. He can’t rest in this state.”

“All right.”

“Open the bedroom door! There!”

Together with the crew, we carefully lifted Teacher No from his wheelchair onto the bed—as if shifting a bag of liquid. At the touch of hands, his face contorted in pain.

“Oh, dear....”

Half a dozen of us gently laid him down. As we wiped sweat from our brows and sideburns, his face relaxed compared to before, and the trembling subsided. Yet another tremor ran through him.

“...?”

I glanced at our maknae’s ashen face. Shock had him trembling, lips parted white, hands gripping his jeans. Understandably—if I was that startled, how must he feel?

“It’s going to be okay.”

I whispered, wrapping J-ho’s shoulder. He nodded wordlessly.

About ten minutes later, Teacher No slowly opened his eyes.

“W-water....”

Ajumma supported him upright, and Ri-hyeok handed him a paper cup of water.

“Oh, dear, I thought I’d die.”

He sat hunched blinking for a long moment, then surveyed us.

“Why’re you all staring? Embarrassing.”

“Ha ha.”

We laughed awkwardly, relief plain on our faces. Thank goodness. Really.

Ri-hyeok asked, “Teacher, are you okay?”

“I am. I’m fine.”

He waved us off.

“Don’t stare like that—I’m not terminally ill.”

He sipped water.

“I had three or four major surgeries last year. My body’s still not fully recovered.”

“I see....”

“But don’t worry. It’s nothing immediately dangerous.”

Ajumma shook her head.

“Still, rest is best. The doctor said never to strain your abdomen until you’ve fully healed.”

“Ah, ajumma. I couldn’t resist the fun.”

“Going to enjoy yourself, are you?”

“Why not.”

“Teacher!”

“Ow, my ears. You kids are killing me.”

Watching them chat, he looked much better. Judging by how things played out, it must have been a temporary strain from singing earlier.

Ri-hyeok ran a hand through his hair as Teacher No cracked a crooked smile.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Non-Alcohol and cohorts were startled, weren’t you? Sorry about that.”

“No, Teacher.”

“I got carried away in the moment and made a mistake. I’ll be more careful— don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry....”

“It’s fine.”

He waved his hand and averted his gaze.

“Ahem, and don’t give me those doting looks. It’s mortifying.”

Teacher No said,

“Use that time to prepare your song. Didn’t I say? If you perform with one of my songs—”

“First place.”

“Yes. You have to come back first place. It’s one of my songs. If you don’t, I won’t let it slide—focus on the song.”

We nodded.

“We’ll definitely get first place.”

“I already planned to practice like dogs; I’ll run like sled dogs.”

At Jung-hyun’s sled-dog quip, the teacher laughed until he choked, then turned to the crew, especially the flustered assistant director.

“Listen. We wrap up filming soon.”

“Yes, Teacher.”

“I want to re-shoot that scene. I don’t want to show me collapsing.”

“Of course we can, Teacher.”

Their faces lit up as if it were their request.

“All right, you’ve rested enough. Let’s go again.”

Paler than before but much improved, Teacher No remounted his wheelchair. Back in the living room:

“Let’s start filming!”

The red light illuminated the camera and I resumed playing the piano. They were all professionals. The crew recovered from their shock and shot with serious expressions. Our juniors clapped and cheered as if nothing had happened. Teacher No listened with a gentle smile.

Watching him, I pondered again what it must be like to be a singer unable to sing. He said he’d recover soon, but I doubted it would be fast. What would it feel like to live your life devoted to song yet be unable to sing? My thoughts churned—and my hunger to win first in the competition grew stronger than ever.

We finished filming in Jeju and returned to Seoul. There was no free time. We had planned to stroll the markets, try omegitteok where Jung-hyun had sung its praises, maybe buy some sashimi to eat with cider—but unexpected delays derailed everything. Still, I didn’t mind. We’d gotten great broadcast material and bonded with a legendary singer. Plus, I had a souvenir.

“Ta-da.”

At Jeju Airport, Deok-soon and I each bought matching tees featuring a thumbs-up dol hareubang statue. The juniors were enthusiastic.

“Ugh, seriously... first flowers, now dol hareubang. Isn’t there anything else?”

“Hyung, why you doing us like this?”

“I absolutely will not let you wear that.”

Undeterred, I wore mine landing at Gimpo. When I parted the zipper to show off the dol hareubang, reporters burst out laughing.

– [Photo] New Black’s Woo-joo returns bearing a hareubang~

– [Photo News] Woo-joo’s fashion leaves members hanging their heads

– [Photo] New Black’s Ri-hyeok wrestles with leader over zipper

But my reign was short-lived. Back in Seoul, after a thirty-minute private session with the dismayed stylist, the dol hareubang tee went into the closet.

“All right, everyone, let’s go again!”

Back at the company, we threw ourselves into practice for the Challenge, Masterpiece Discovery! finals as if preparing an album. It was serious. While I had personal drive—winning “Deok-soon,” plus meeting Teacher No provided fresh motivation. We learned the live audience from Jeju would come to Seoul for the performance despite his frail condition. We couldn’t slack on anything. Throughout, the crew dropped by to film our rehearsal and looked surprised by our solemnity. But time was short; we couldn’t afford lighthearted moments. We juggled:

Busier than even pre-album release—but not tiring. Everything felt like riding a wave of rising momentum. Meanwhile, we had another key schedule to prepare.

On January 28th, at the final music awards show, we achieved the feat of winning Rookie of the Year again—five crowns in total. Excluding KMA, which conflicted with the aggregation period, we’d won rookie awards at every ceremony we attended. By special permission, we did a live broadcast with Soufflés—about an hour and a half. Frankly, it felt too short to express our gratitude. I couldn’t pull out my heart and say, “Hey, you wanna see it?” Still, I thought we’d shown them well enough.

“Don’t worry. They got it—they saw your eyes welling up saying ‘ev-ry-one...’ Anyone could tell you were emotional. Even idiots know gratitude.”

Ri-hyeok sneered.

“You cried, too.”

“I didn’t! I’m a cold-blooded person.”

As we laughed at his swollen eyes, he defended himself.

“It’s all because of the winter fine dust.”

“Hmph.”

“Anyway, we both went overboard.”

The maknae, nose red, interjected.

“Ri-hyeok hyung sniffled every ten seconds. Woo-joo hyung was slurring like a drunk, ‘Souff-lé fans... I’m... I’m Deok-soon...’”

“....”

“....”

“You two were so embarrassed. We weren’t.”

As Jung-hyun nodded with misty eyes, Ri-hyeok and I explained.

“That was a slip of the tongue.”

“Because of the fine dust.”

But the others didn’t believe us. Bi-ju dabbed his wet eyes with a handkerchief, showing a message on his phone.

“Fans decided to replace ‘I love you’ with ‘I’m Deok-soon’ on the fan cafe.”

“...Thanks, I guess.”

But unlike usual, I didn’t mind them teasing me. I had no right to complain. During the live, we cried so hard fans were crying too—then fans started trolling us with “Stop crying, guys.” Anyone would’ve thought we were drunk. Saying things over and over, laughing about happiness, then suddenly crying with thanks—it turned into “Sorry you have such a lousy group of fans.” We even had to pause laughing halfway. Then sniffing, Ri-hyeok folded his tissue and scoffed.

“Guess we’re cursed to create embarrassing histories?”

“Jung-hyun.”

“Yes, hyung?”

“Shut it. I can’t ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) focus.”

As Ri-hyeok dragged Jung-hyun away, I took a deep breath and focused on the target before me. A target board with concentric circles—yellow center, ringed by red and blue. Squinting one eye, I released the arrow.

Thwack!

It landed dead center—ten points. Bi-ju erupted into seal claps. Giving him a high-five, he said,

“Hyung, that was amazing. How are you so good?”

“Want the secret?”

“Yes.”

“When you see the old man with the handcart, go help him.”

“...?”

I smiled at Bi-ju’s puzzled head-tilt and eyed the arrows on the target. This was an indoor archery range, set up for the upcoming idol sports event—the “Dollympics.” Late at night, only we and One-seok hyung were here.

“Then I’ll be the first archer.”

I wrote on the paper, “Men’s Archery Team (3) — Sun Woo-joo,” and looked at the juniors.

“We’ll pick the other two here.”

Ri-hyeok raised his hand.

“I pass.”

“You’ve already marked an X.”

“....”

“All right, Jung-hyun, you go next.”

Time to select the final two for the men’s team. Jung-hyun took the bow I handed him, loaded an arrow, and prepared earnestly.

“Jung-hyun.”

“Yes, hyung?”

“The arrow point faces the other way.”

“Oh, right.”

He fixed it properly. As the juniors cheered, One-seok hyung, filming on the handycam, laughed.

Finally Jung-hyun assumed his stance.

“Ooh, very proper.”

We clapped in admiration—he moved like an athlete. Ji-ho cheered,

“You look like a historical drama hero, hyung.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, try a line.”

“Hmm.”

Jung-hyun drew and whispered in the most serious tone, eyes on the target,

“I am the brewer of Joseon.”

Pfft.

We all cracked up.

“Pwahaha!”

“Kya-haha!”

One-seok hyung even paused filming to laugh. I was dying. The era was wrong, the line was wrong—where to even start?

“This is insane.”

“Hyung, sniff, it’s not brewer—it’s queen.”

“Oh, right?”

He scratched his head calmly while we laughed.

“Let’s see—Jung-hyun scored ten points.”

“Impressive, right?”

“Indeed.”

I smiled and pointed to the next lane’s target.

“And over there—”

“...Yes?”

“Jung-hyun, you’re in. You should keep practicing shooting with me before you enlist.”

With Jung-hyun on the team, the final two became Bi-ju and Ji-ho. The lineup for other events also sorted itself.

“Who’ll do the 60m dash?”

“Ri-hyeok should, hyung.”

Bi-ju said,

“He’s fast in short sprints.”

“I can’t argue with that.” 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

“Does he excel at any sport?”

“Don’t insult him. It’s rude.”

Ignoring the flushed face, I asked Jung-hyun.

“He’s best at running away, you know.”

“Ooh, fitting.”

I admired,

“Perfect. Sneaky and all.”

“Really?”

“I won’t let any of you off easy, all of you.”

As Bi-ju soothed the fire-breathing crane, I listed the names for the sprint. Then:

“And relay, 4×100m...”

“Hyung and Woo-joo, what else?”

“I’ll do basketball.”

“I’ll do futsal.”

For the mixed-team ball events, I’d chosen basketball, Jung-hyun futsal—this had been pre-arranged with the crew. The maknae glanced at the paper ruefully.

“No equestrian events?”

“You ride horses?”

“Yes—when I visited Daegwallyeong with my dad, those uncles let me ride.”

Sadly, no such event existed. Having decided quickly, we returned to archery practice when my phone buzzed: a message from Han Tae-hyun, full of question marks.

Han Tae-hyun [Basketball???]

Han Tae-hyun [You’re playing basketball???]

Han Tae-hyun [You???]

Han Tae-hyun [Dribbling???]

Han Tae-hyun [You don’t even know what basketball is, read this]

He’d linked to Wikipedia about basketball. I replied,

Me [What are you talking about?]

Me [If you want to spout nonsense, whisper it into your pillow]

He answered immediately,

Han Tae-hyun [We’re on the same team]

Han Tae-hyun [Oh no]

Tilting my head as I read, I realized:

Ah. He only remembers me from TJ—he doesn’t know how I’ve changed.