In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“The call couldn’t be connected, so you hear a beep....”

Hearing the polite message asking if I’d like to be transferred to voicemail, I set my phone down.

“They’re not picking up.”

“Who is it? Grandma?”

I shook my head at Jung-hyeon’s question.

“No, the director.”

He’d asked me to call as soon as the Olympics ended yesterday. I guessed he wanted to congratulate us on our hard work and talk about the composing equipment. But now...

“They’re not picking up...”

Ji-ho said beside me, “Try calling once or twice more later. He might be super busy right now.”

“No. It’s fine.”

He’s not my friend. I can’t keep leaving missed-call messages because he didn’t answer.

Bi-ju spoke carefully, “Maybe it’s because of that. After he saw the price of the composing gear yesterday, he was a bit shocked...”

“Come on. Director wouldn’t...”

In my head I started picturing his usual self: the classy but worn-looking coat, the day-laborer’s bag, the joy on his face when he got a free stamp on his café coupon, him roaming the office bathrooms to turn off lights...

“...”

I couldn’t speak freely about the director, but the juniors and I exchanged glances and nodded.

“...Maybe he really was shocked.”

He’s so frugal that the equipment price might have knocked him for a loop. Ji-ho tilted his head.

“But is it really that expensive? It’s the kind of price I could ask my dad to buy me for my birthday.”

“Right? It’s not that bad... huh?”

Someone poked me in the ribs with a notebook. I turned, and a pale face held out a notebook filled with neat handwriting.

[It’s not expensive? Where’s your conscience?]

“Why now? My conscience’s long gone, that’s the accepted truth, right Jung-hyeon?”

“That’s right.”

As Jung-hyeon agreed, Ri-hyuk quickly scribbled in pencil.

Scratch scratch.

I asked, “How long are you going to use that notebook to have a conversation?”

“...”

He held up a finger as if to say “wait.” Erasing what he’d written with care, he began writing again.

I asked again, “Does your throat still hurt that much?”

“...”

Scratch scratch!

With a hint of irritation, Ri-hyuk erased and started scribbling again. Ji-ho teasingly asked,

“Hyung. Please tell me how I should sing this part. I have no idea.”

“...!!!”

“Don’t mouth curses at me. You look like an ugly goldfish.”

“...”

That’s how Ji-ho and I made him rewrite passages over and over. Then—

Snap.

With the pencil lead, Ri-hyuk’s patience snapped. He gave an uncharacteristically gentle smile, flipped the page, and wrote a single character on the clean paper. Then he held it out to Ji-ho.

[┌∩┐]

“Wow.”

The maknae fussed and grabbed Bi-ju.

“Bi-ju hyung. He’s cussing me.”

“Ri-hyuk’s just having a hard time.”

Ri-hyuk added another stroke and aimed it at me this time.

[┌∩┐┌∩┐]

“Oh.”

I smiled.

“Our Ri-hyuk is so kind—putting up two middle fingers for me. I’m so touched.”

“...!!”

“Look at that expressive mouth—he’s sending me his thanks, right?”

At my teasing, he pounded his chest and mouthed “Aww!” Bi-ju slid her hand onto my arm and laughed.

“Hyung, stop teasing Ri-hyuk.”

“Okay.”

I nodded with a smile. Bi-ju handed Ri-hyuk a thermos as he glared at the sky in pent-up rage. He poured barley tea into his tumbler and I asked,

“Are you really not going to speak all day?”

He nodded.

“Only when singing?”

Nodding again, he tapped his throat as if it hurt. I smiled in silence. If that’s his judgment, there’s nothing to do. I looked around at the other juniors.

“If you feel bad at any point, let me know right away. I’ll find a way.”

“We will, hyung.”

Bi-ju smiled and continued, “But I think you’re so tense you don’t even know if you’re hurt. You might come down with something after this...”

We all agreed. Today’s Tuesday. Having finished the Olympics yesterday, tomorrow we had our first round on Challenge: Masterpiece Discovery! But we felt terrible. Yesterday we did basketball, archery, running—and sat crouched, smiling, in the arena from 7 a.m. to 1 a.m. the next day. Our bodies ached so much I could understand why Mrs. Kim Deok-soon sometimes looked sour. We were all on the verge of exhaustion.

“What should we eat for lunch later?”

Except for our muscle man humming over the delivery app menu like he was digging through a honey jar.

“...”

“Hyung, what should we order? Spicy pork stir-fry or tonkatsu?”

“Tonkatsu.”

If a virus got into his head, I think even the virus would say, That’s too much and run away. Meanwhile, the rest of us were groaning. Our weakest member looked particularly drained. Even now his eyes scanned the lyrics hard, but his face was deathly pale. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

“Ri-hyuk, want to try this?”

“...?”

I offered him red ginseng. It was a big decision. He took the packet, gulped it down, and gave me a grateful look. Normally he’d have declined, but he must be feeling rough today.

“...”

Seeing the three glancing at the one holding the ginseng, I laughed and took out more.

After four packs “toasting,” we took a moment to drink.

“Ugh, that’s bitter.”

The maknae pulled a face.

“To think we have to drink this bitter stuff to keep going... After the round tomorrow, I’m really going to rest all day.”

“Definitely.”

I patted him on the shoulder with a smile. That’s how I watched and managed the juniors’ condition. Tomorrow’s round was a crucial opportunity. The Olympics with our soufflés was important, but it was extra. The core of our activities was the fixed music program. We would’ve skipped the idol sports meet if it weren’t for the penalties for absence. So the juniors pushed their stamina to the limit during practice. Seeing their determined expressions and clenched teeth, I felt reassured. They were pros now.

“All right, rest’s over—let’s start practice!”

I clapped and called them together. Standing before the chairs set up in the practice room, I played the MR.

“The points we need to highlight in this round are the performance. If it’s just purely singing, we’re at a disadvantage. There are seniors in Korea who are the best singers, so...”

They all nodded.

“Before we practice, let me briefly recap the performance highlights to keep in mind. Remember them well.”

As a gentle backing track played through the speakers, I calmly explained.

Finally, the big day arrived. 10 a.m. A car pulled up in front of the PBS Broadcasting Center in Yeouido. As we donned our masks before getting out, we tilted our heads.

“So many people here.”

This was the new building’s public hall. Since PBS did music shows, it felt similar to our usual Music On arrival. There seemed to be a lot of reporters with cameras.

“They must be fans of reporters and other seniors.”

“Better take off our masks, then.”

We removed our masks, having only minimal makeup, and stepped out to cheers.

“Ah-ha.”

They were our fans. We looked like disheveled cats but put on big smiles and hurried forward. Half the crowd were entertainment reporters; half were fans waiting for singers. Ninety percent of them were our fans. Sending hearts and smiles, we heard reporters shout,

“Here! Wave here!”

“Show us a heart!”

“Strike a pose! Manager, come out here, don’t stay there!”

Older brother Won-seok awkwardly stepped aside as we posed. While we all made V signs, a reporter asked,

“What ranking are you aiming for today?”

We folded down our V-sign fingers, leaving only the index. The maknae nonchalantly danced his shoulders and sang “Number one, for sure~,” prompting laughter from the fans.

“Thank you, thank you!”

We bowed as we entered the public hall. My heart was racing already.

“There are more reporters than I thought.”

“Right.”

“It’s for the program launch? It seems more than a music-show arrival.”

Given PBS’s ambitious promotion, the press turnout was huge—even for the first «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» recording. Only then did I realize all over again that this round was really happening. I felt nervous as if for an important exam, yet excited to showcase what we’d practiced.

“Hello!”

We greeted passing staff cheerfully as we headed to the waiting room.

New-building Public Hall. The place where we always performed felt strangely unfamiliar today.

“Oh, this is interesting.”

“It feels a bit different from usual.”

As we came out to draw performance order, we looked around. The red-cushioned seats were unchanged, but the camera setup was different. On the open area before the audience, where three standard cameras and two jibs usually cluttered the live show, temporary chairs were placed—presumably to fill more seats. Two areas stood out.

“That must be where the original composers sit.”

In seats installed beside the stage, the original composers who came to watch the competition had places to sit. Later, Mr. Roh Jae-hyun would sit there to watch our performance. Ri-hyuk wondered,

“Doesn’t that look like a lot of seats?”

“Those are for the judging panel.”

“No—they’re over there.”

Following Ri-hyuk’s finger, we saw extra seats in the audience for the judges who’d evaluate and comment on the performances. As we puzzled over it, a gentle voice said,

“That’s where the celebrity panel sits.”

“Ah, hello, sunbaenim.”

“Hi.”

Lisa, smiling warmly at us, explained, “If it’s just serious competition, it’d be boring. Other singers and comedians will sit there to watch our stage and react—making funny comments in between.”

“I see...”

We nodded in understanding. Lisa then cocked her head and asked,

“Where’s LisaJoAh?”

“She’s next to the writer over there.”

“Oh! There she is.”

Lisa waved quietly with a laugh. Soon our manager Seo’s nose bridge and cheekbones began to rise in delight at his favorite’s fan service. Watching his ecstatic face, we twitched our cheeks.

“Wow. He doesn’t smile like that at us.”

“Maybe because we don’t wave at him normally.”

At Jung-hyeon’s remark, we all smiled brightly at Manager Min-gi and waved. He returned a reluctant face, shaking his head as if disgusted. Lisa giggled. We shot Manager Min-gi a glare.

“Just you wait.”

“If someone forms a NewBlackJoAh fandom, we’ll make him so jealous.”

“I don’t think he’d really be jealous.”

Ignoring that logical voice, we glared back. Then we chatted with Lisa mainly about the competition.

“You’re ready?”

“Yes. But time was tight.”

“It’s crazy. I’m also preparing for a musical, so it’s hard to coordinate.”

“We had the Olympics in between.”

“Ugh, I hate that.”

As a former Sugarfish idol, she knew about the Olympics too—but we couldn’t complain to her.

“Back in my day, we performed outdoors in summer...”

“Oh, ah.”

Like the Imjingak year-end stage—an outdoor Olympics! My respect for senior idols swelled anew. While chatting with Lisa, we greeted other arriving singers.

“Have you all eaten? Food?”

A cheerful smile on a man in his thirties: trot singer Song Bo-hyung, dressed in calm casual instead of glitter suits.

“...Uh, hello.”

His tone still rubbed me the wrong way. With hair stiffened by super-strong spray and a leather jacket painted like a motorcycle gang’s, Jo Yuri Band barely greeted us as they climbed the stage.

“Long time no see.”

Police or soldier vibe with a rugged look: Cha Woo-hyun, the most experienced senior, led his band up. After trot singers, indie bands, and ballad stars arrived, finally MC Baek Sang-joong appeared. With stage setup complete, the recording began immediately.

“Now, Challenge: Masterpiece Discovery! The long-awaited first competition day is here.”

The announcer flashed a playful smile at the camera.

“Are you all nervous?”

“Yes.”

“For being nervous, you look pretty relaxed. It mustn’t feel real yet since this is the first stage.”

We nodded in agreement—most people seemed to feel the same. Baek Sang-joong laughed.

“In a bit, six hundred audience members will come in that hall.”

All eyes turned to the empty seats.

“And you will showcase your skills and decide today’s winner with your performance... soon.”

He dropped his tone calmly, drawing viewers’ and participants’ attention. Glancing at his cue card, he continued energetically,

“Now, before the rehearsal, we’ll decide the order. You all know the importance of order, right?”

Everyone’s eyes grew serious. In today’s competition, the six hundred audience members holding remotes vote for first place. The audience doesn’t give perfectly objective AI scores—they use subjective judgment. Thus order matters. Even if you perform well, going early and overshadowing others can earn a harsher score, while a weaker performer after a poor act can look comparatively better. Plus there’s condition: going later means you must keep your voice tense and warmed up, increasing fatigue. Obvious, given the rehearsal is by day and the show is at 10 p.m. Anyone would be tired.

The MC looked around and asked,

“Shall we hear desired order? Song Bo-hyung, what position would you like today?”

“Hmm.”

Song Bo-hyung grinned slyly.

“Considering my condition, earlier is better, but middle isn’t bad either. Above all... my goal is to go before Cha Woo-hyun sunbaenim.”

Small laughter rippled. Not just us, everyone shared that thought: a singer with such outstanding vocals that you’d avoid them.

“Cha Woo-hyun, how about you?”

“I don’t mind anytime.”

Ri-hyuk looked at him with admiring eyes. Lisa and Jo Yuri Band each picked early or middle, then it was our turn.

“NewBlack, what about you? With all these great senior singers, must be nerve-wracking as rookies.”

I answered for us, “Yes, there are really amazing seniors... so we’d like to perform first.”

Better to go quickly before Olympic fatigue worsened. If it didn’t work out, oh well. The MC nodded.

“Okay. Then we’ll go in reverse order of drawing last time. NewBlack, who drew last before, gets to draw first.”

A box with numbered sticks like maki-sushi arrived: numbers 1 to 5.

“And who...?”

Before I could speak, the juniors poked my back or pointed like “Pick this person! This person!”

Why me? I looked around, seeing warm smiles.

“A leader must handle the hard stuff.”

“Go, nobi. Go.”

Laughing at their gestures to hurry me, I stepped up to draw.

“Phew...”

I took a deep breath and extended my hand into the air. Please. Buddha, help me perform first so I can claim Deok-soon. I prayed more earnestly than usual, closed my eyes, and waved my hand around. When it felt right, I stopped.

“Feeling it?”

“Yes, this is it. I think this is number one.”

I pulled out stick four.

The MC solemnly untied the string and unfurled the stick, then smiled and raised his mic.

“Congratulations!”

As expected.

“It’s the last order! NewBlack!”

I blinked at the laughter around me. It seemed I’d prayed to Buddha, but the god of cringe replied.