In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

As the first half was drawing to a close.

Having taken an unexpected hit, the “ziJon Basketball” team gritted their teeth and surged forward.

“Pass!”

“Here! Here!”

Buoyed by that momentum, they counterattacked, and before long their efforts culminated in several scores.

“Nice!”

Everyone exchanged high-fives with joyful faces.

Hearing the cheers of their fans, they pressed the attack with renewed vigor.

Especially Jun from Daydream, whose incredible dribbling skills earned him scoring opportunities one after another.

Yet the point gap refused to shrink.

Every time they scored, the opposing team matched it.

“Waaah—!”

Tae-hyun of TNT executed another layup, drawing screams from the crowd.

Jun wiped the sweat dripping down his face.

What the hell? Where did it all go wrong?

He’d played on his school’s basketball team for years, and these teammates had been last year’s championship lineup.

By individual skill, they were clearly superior.

The moment he saw their roster, he’d thought they could afford to relax in the semifinals and give it their all in the finals.

But the actual result was...

“‘Left hand for show’ are on fire.”

“How will the second half play out? Will they maintain the flow? Or will the ziJon Basketball team pull off a miraculous comeback?”

A miraculous comeback. As the commentators said, at this rate the odds of their overturning the score were nothing short of miraculous.

After the first half ended.

Gulping down water, Jun glanced over at a rookie idol.

“...Woo-joo, was it?”

A member whose clever New Year’s greeting at last year’s TBC Year-End Music Festival had stuck in his memory.

Watching him drink the bottle of water handed over by Hwiyun of Teen Spirit as if in a commercial, Jun narrowed his eyes.

He was the key player.

The most threatening and irritating one.

How could he handle it?

Whenever Jun’s attention wandered, Woo-joo would suddenly appear out of nowhere, drain a three-pointer, and exclaim “Whoa” all by himself.

When they tried to mark him, he’d whip out a behind-the-back pass that split their defense and set up a teammate’s assist.

He did manage to intercept a few passes here and there, but it was no match for Woo-joo’s skill.

How could someone be so good at passing?

Jun admired not only the precision of his three-point form but above all the way he picked out gaps and threaded the ball through them.

I’d love to have him on my team.

Between someone who shoots well and someone who passes well, the choice was obvious.

That was exactly why Sun Woo-joo was the core of the opposing team.

He supplied the ball as naturally as water flows, letting his teammates play with complete confidence.

So how do we handle him?

Just then the coach, apparently thinking the same thing, called the players over.

“This isn’t working.”

The coach issued his orders.

“Keep marking him nonstop. Don’t let him pass to anyone else. Assign one player to him exclusively.”

“Yes, coach.”

“The game isn’t over yet! Play with spirit!”

Encouraged by the coach’s shoulder-pat, the players dashed back onto the court.

“Phew...”

Exhaling deeply as he headed toward the half-court line, Jun spotted Sun Woo-joo warming up nearby with some calisthenics.

Should I say something?

He set aside team loyalty and let his personal curiosity take over.

“Hi.”

“Hello, sunbae.”

Woo-joo greeted him politely, and Jun asked,

“Do you play basketball a lot?”

“...Huh?”

“You’re good at passing.”

“No, I’m not. It just happened somehow.”

Jun tilted his head at the embarrassed wave of his hand—not humility, but genuine embarrassment.

“You’re good. Why deny it?”

“It’s just luck. I haven’t really played sports much.”

Jun fell silent.

“But....”

Woo-joo hesitated, then asked,

“Do I look like I’m good?”

“Yeah.”

When Jun nodded, Woo-joo’s face lit up.

While Jun mulled over what a strange kid he was, the second half began.

“Block him!”

“Run, run!”

The second half unfolded with the same intensity as the first.

But now more players were openly marking Sun Woo-joo.

And...

“ziJon Basketball is launching a counterattack!”

“Daydream’s Jun is not done yet! Last year’s MVP living up to his title! Can they challenge for a comeback?”

The strategy to mark Woo-joo was working.

By cutting off his long passes and three-point attempts, the game became much easier.

It might be overkill to devote so many resources to one player, but it was worth it.

Thud!

Jun saw Woo-joo’s shot get blocked, his face a mixture of frustration and thoughtfulness.

Then he called over the captain, Han Tae-hyun.

Are they changing tactics?

Jun followed their secretive whispers, covered by their hands, as they conferred.

After Tae-hyun nodded and Woo-joo did the same, they lightly slapped palms and created some distance.

Jun called his own ace, Hojin.

“Hojin.”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Mark him tighter. There’s something about him.”

Hojin nodded and sprinted off.

The game resumed.

This time the marking was even more thorough.

“They’ve got Woo-joo chained up! Such beautiful devotion from senior artists to their junior.”

“When it comes to team unity, they’re on another level.”

The commentators joked about how they’d ensnared him like a second shadow.

Meanwhile, Jun kept his eyes on Hanjo.

The serious rookie orbited the court, then suddenly threw the ball to Woo-joo.

Jun signaled his teammates.

“Guard the others!”

From outside the arc, Woo-joo wasn’t much of a threat when he came inside. In this cluster of players, it was hard for him to find gaps.

Yet...

“And there’s the pass to Woo-joo!”

“He’s open!”

With two defenders on Tae-hyun, he quickly angled a pass to Woo-joo.

The defense closed in.

Jun, watching possible passing angles, blinked.

That movement looked familiar.

Could it be...?

He dashed forward, but in that moment Woo-joo, back to the defender, dribbled, spun lightly, and launched a fade-away shot.

A jump backward as he faced the basket, sending the ball on a high arc that left every player wide-eyed.

What the hell?

As Jun stood dumbfounded, the ball bounced softly off the rim.

Come on...

But mercilessly, it fell through the net.

“Waaah—!”

The cameras caught the stunned expressions of the crowd, while the commentators shouted excitedly.

“A fade-away shot!”

“In the Olympics I’ve never seen that executed so well!”

A fade-away is fired while angled in the air, making it hard for defenders to contest—but it demands incredible balance.

He was speechless.

What kind of player is this?

As he watched the bouncing ball, Woo-joo smiled and exchanged high-fives with his teammates.

Jun could only laugh wryly.

So he’s just good at everything?

He’d assumed Woo-joo only excelled at long-range shooting from outside the arc.

Then he realized everyone around him was equally amazed.

In the stands, fans and members of NewBlack screamed their support.

“U-joo hyung!”

“Woo-joo light!”

“You saw that? He’s my closest hyung!”

Their wild cheering drew laughter all around.

They positively glowed.

“I feel so great. I shouldn’t feel this way but I’m so proud of Woo-joo hyung.”

“That’s only natural.”

A broad-browed member nodded.

“Woo-joo hyung is our nobi.”

“Pfft!”

Another idol cracking a soda burst out laughing.

Meanwhile, affectionate remarks floated around.

“A nobi who composes songs is fine, but a nobi who can move like this too is great.”

“Like a nobleman eyeing a hot stone pot.”

“It must be stressful. The hot stone pot is bibimbap.”

“Right. Should we have that for lunch tomorrow?”

“I have to get photos of this. Woo-joo hyung scoring goals...”

Each person spoke their own thoughts, a chorus of private monologues.

Then a sharp-eyed member, aware of stares, grumbled,

“If you keep calling him nobi, everyone stares. I told you to say dobi in public.”

“Oh, right. Dobi.”

They began dancing and chanting, “Dobi-ya Dobi-ya, give us screen time.”

Fans higher up in the stands cheered along, unsure what to make of it all.

To everyone’s amazement, this idol with uncanny athletic ability—he could’ve put Taereung Training Center as his address—was performing spectacularly.

He’d hit a perfect ten in archery.

He’d dazzled on the court, both in team play and individual heroics.

A newcomer asked,

“Does Woo-joo always play sports this well?”

“Yep.”

The maknae answered with a grin.

“He’s good at everything except picking clothes and playing games. Well, his personality’s a bit odd....”

“Once he made a shot from one end of the court to the other.”

“I wrestled a black goat once. Without Woo-joo, I never would’ve done it.”

For ten minutes straight they boasted, “That’s our hyung.”

Meanwhile, those who’d known Woo-joo as a clumsy trainee back at TJ sat aghast.

“He... is that him?”

As one of the biggest companies, many TJ alumni had spread out, and they all reacted the same.

He’d been so bad at dancing they’d joked he was a log.

Yet here he was, gliding across the court.

“This is unbelievable.”

“My heart’s racing.”

TNT’s leader, Seon-woong, spluttered soda down his chin.

Another member quipped nonsense until Seon-woong smacked him upside the neck.

“You can still joke? Look at Sun Woo-joo.”

He swallowed.

“He’s handling the ball just fine.”

“It’s mind-blowing.”

“He used to avoid anything round, saying his fate told him to.”

“This is absurd. The same guy who’d break his nose just falling backwards.”

He’d done things so bizarrely athletic in the past: catching a shuttlecock face-first, tangling steps on stairs, using both legs at once in taekwondo and getting a full refund.

That was why, when trainees rode bikes by the Han River, they always got a training wheel for him.

Of course...

“Watch out Woo-joo! Tree!”

“Oops. Hit it again.”

“Does he see Pokémon in every bush?”

Even that was a struggle.

Given those worst-case motor skills, it was a miracle he made the debut lineup at all—on looks, composition, and vocals alone.

But now...

He was agile, athletic, and astonishingly skilled.

“I thought dancing was his only talent....”

TNT members tore at their hair in disbelief.

“Am I the only one who can’t fathom this?”

“We’re all the same.”

“How does a person change so much?”

But no matter how they racked their brains, they found no answer.

It was a mystery.

“The NewBlack members don’t know his past, do they?”

“Seems not.”

They simply wore happy smiles.

When the second half ended and Woo-joo’s team won the finals, they outwardly smiled but inwardly remained stunned.

Not bad, but...

It was joyful that someone who’d suffered from poor motor skills no longer had to—but honestly, it was bewildering.

Then came the trophy ceremony.

“Through a vote among today’s participants, we’ve chosen the MVP.”

“Congratulations! NewBlack’s Woo-joo!”

As Woo-joo, dazed, ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) stepped forward to accept, someone pointed toward the entrance.

“Huh?”

A figure peering through the door.

“Isn’t that the CEO of Lemon Entertainment?”

“Must be.”

“And he’s crying?”

Amid complex emotions, everyone laughed at the sight of the middle-aged man weeping into a handkerchief.

“Well done, everyone!”

In the players’ waiting room they clapped and cheered.

“Champions! Champions!”

“Shall we lift it again?”

They hoisted the trophy and laughed together.

It was an amateur idol tournament, not a pro league—but the thrill of victory was no less sweet.

Amid the raucous celebration, Hwiyun shouted,

“Photos! We need to take photos!”

“Who holds the trophy?”

“Our MVP hyung, of course.”

All eyes turned to me as the trophy was handed over. Teammates beckoned.

“Come to the center! The center!”

“You’re all seniors...I don’t want to....”

“Enough talk—hurry up!”

I laughed and took the center, gripping the trophy’s handles, bent into a V-pose.

Some teammates placed hands on my shoulders.

We’d just met, yet their expressions were warm and close.

This is the power of sport.

For the first time I understood how youthful sports felt, something I’d only seen in comics.

“Well done!”

After a selfie with the coach, we patted each other on the back and parted ways.

Tae-hyun slung an arm around me.

“Great work today.”

“You too.”

“MVP...can you believe it? Our Sun Woo-joo, who wasn’t even P before, is MVP now.”

“I know. It feels so strange.”

I stared at the mini plaque I’d received. It wasn’t on par with professional achievements, but knowing I’d helped someone felt wonderful.

It was surreal.

I looked over at Tae-hyun, whose eyes were full of curiosity. He must have tons of questions.

But I couldn’t answer.

Feeling a bit awkward, I waited as he spoke.

“I’m curious about a lot of things...but congrats. Whatever happened, congrats.”

“Thanks.”

“Also....”

Tae-hyun looked at me, then at Hanjo, and beckoned us close.

“Lean in.”

“Huh?”

As we brought our ears together, he whispered something that made both our eyes widen.