In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Lemon Entertainment.

It was just after lunch, when the A&R team staff were returning with iced Americanos in hand.

They stopped in their tracks at the light spilling out from the conference room.

“...Huh?”

Someone pointed at the glow with a finger.

“Looks like someone’s in the conference room?”

“Isn’t Director Gyuhwan meeting with the Scarlet girls? There’s no way anyone would be in the conference room at this hour on a Sunday...”

As they spoke, someone peered through the glass of the conference room door and gave a start.

“Woo-joo...?”

“...!”

They all recoiled in shock, faces like herbalists who’ve accidentally startled a sleeping tiger they came to gather plants from.

“Whoa. That was close.”

“He didn’t see us, right?”

“Probably not. Jung-hyeon maybe, but Woo-joo wouldn’t spot us from this angle.”

After a brief moment to catch their breath, embarrassment set in as eyes met among the flustered group, and an awkward silence fell.

“...”

One by one they cleared their throats and restored their composure.

“After being hassled so much, my body reacts before my brain does.”

“Exactly.”

They all gave wry smiles.

Every time they passed Woo-joo in the hallway, he would light up and grin as if thinking, “They must want to talk music with me!” Then he’d be pulled back to the studio ceiling when he blinked, and before they knew it they were slaves to his praise, working like mad.

Those memories crept unbidden into everyone’s minds.

“Ah.”

Someone spoke up.

“Come to think of it, it’s fine now. He just finished the final edits on the third album’s title track recently.”

“Oh! That’s true.”

“So there’s nothing for Woo-joo to hassle us about anymore.”

Their expressions turned from fear to relief, like realizing the tiger they glimpsed was already well-fed.

With their fear gone, curiosity took its place.

“What are they doing in there? They’re always holed up together like it’s their hideout.”

“Looks like they’re studying something.”

“Foreign language study?”

At first they thought it might be foreign languages. Under plans to expand overseas starting in East Asia, New Black had been in intensive foreign-language coaching—native instructors even coming to the company.

So naturally they expected Chinese or Japanese.

But instead they could hear:

“All together now.”

Following Ri-hyeok’s prompt, the others began:

“Comb-pattern pottery.”

“Neolithic era.”

“Plain pottery.”

“Bronze Age.”

The sharp-featured member clapped and said again:

“All together: bit-sal-mun-i-cheong.”

“Bit-sal-mun-i-cheong.”

“Which goes with plain pottery?”

“Mi-song-ri style pottery.”

“And so the answer to question four is? That’s right, number five.”

Ri-hyeok turned to the leader and said, “Here you go,” and Woo-joo distributed silver chocolates to those who answered correctly.

Watching the members eagerly unwrap and munch them, the A&R staff blinked.

“...”

For some reason, the New Black members were diligently studying Korean history.

Whenever Ri-hyeok explained something, the other three would widen their eyes and absorb it like sponges.

At their side, Woo-joo tapped away on his laptop with a proud smile, like the head instructor.

Amused by the unexpected sight, the A&R staff chuckled.

“These kids really are unpredictable.”

“Definitely unique.”

Yet they watched the conference-room scene fondly.

“Wow, Ri-hyeok’s a good teacher. I heard his dad’s a professor or something.”

“Sounds right.”

Someone nodded.

“He’d do well as an instructor. Though with his personality, the students might quit quickly...”

“Even if they hadn’t become idols, they’d be doing great.”

They joked as Jun-hyeon, who had been perking up at the noise, whispered something to Woo-joo.

Swoosh.

As Woo-joo turned his head, the staff ducked out of sight.

“...But you said we didn’t have to hide.”

Watching the A&R staff resort to stealth without realizing it, someone sighed.

Footsteps approached from inside.

“Oh, he’s coming out!”

“Back to the office!”

In a panic, some dashed into the office, some bolted for the restroom, and others pressed themselves against the hallway wall.

Just when they thought they absolutely must not be seen, the door slid open with a creak.

“...No one here.”

Woo-joo’s quiet voice came from inside.

“Did Jun-hyeon hear wrong?”

Then the door closed again.

Hidden staff breathed sighs of relief—until phones began buzzing.

“Eeek!”

Seo Pil-geun’s phone rang with the ringtone “Don’t Answer,” and as he tried to switch it to silent, he felt a gaze on him.

“Oh. So you’re here.”

Seeing Woo-joo’s bright smile, Pil-geun felt a cold rain of dread inside.

“I actually wanted to ask you something. Are you alone in there?”

“No. Assistant Manager Oh went to the restroom.”

A sulky voice came from the bathroom, and one by one the despondent staff were coaxed out.

Woo-joo grinned.

“I wanted to get your opinions on the album. Oh, not the third album’s title track—no need to worry.”

“Oh, really?”

So it was about the album concept, not a song—far less painful.

“Okay.”

Woo-joo opened his laptop with a smile.

“This time it’s the b-sides!”

“...”

“Around twenty-three tracks, after narrowing down?”

The staff’s faces turned ashen at the sight of the full folder of session files.

While Ri-hyeok was teaching Korean history in the conference room, I came down to the second floor to work with the staff.

The third album’s title track was nearly done—no changes needed.

All that remained were the b-sides.

“How’s this one?”

“I’m not sure the tone shouldn’t be a bit brighter? It has to match the title, but this one feels too lively on its own.”

“How about if we try it like this?”

“Oh, that’s much better.”

They gave thumbs-up, but I wasn’t convinced.

“Hmm... Still feels off in a subtle way. How about this one?”

“...That one was fine too.”

“How about this?”

“...”

“And this? Or should we add some drums at the start?”

After tens of revisions per track, we narrowed the candidates down to six or so.

Of course, not all will make the album.

At the producing meeting—attended by A&R, Executive Producer Gyuhwan Jo, and myself—we’ll decide the album concept direction, then choose from songs submitted by other composers and my own demos.

Meanwhile the staff showered praise on my compositions.

“Wow, your skills keep improving every day. These ones that don’t make the cut could go on the next album.”

“You’ve really leveled up. Been studying a lot, huh?”

I just smiled at their compliments.

Actually I’d been a bit lax on theory lately, but seeing Biju study hard reinvigorated me.

I bought new books and dug deep, and thankfully the results earned praise.

“No joke, at this rate we could just let you ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) handle the final production. There’s nothing to tweak.”

“No, we’ll still need help. You’re not making it alone, after all.”

“...”

Why did they all look so sad? Seeing their eager desire to escape, I offered some sweet snacks, and happy expressions returned at once.

I wanted to ask so much more, but they looked too exhausted, so I let them go.

The thought of how a simple snack could bring joy to tired staff made me smile.

“By the way.”

One staff member said,

“We started the open call for third-album b-sides. Do you know who’s on the list?”

“Who?”

“JCM.”

“Oh... him?”

At my mention, they all sighed, “Seriously, no shame.”

JCM—last year, if I hadn’t written ‘Fireworks,’ he would have composed our first album’s title track. He got rejected, jumped to DNS, and made things difficult for us there.

“This industry is like that.”

Said the A&R staff.

“When someone’s doing well, they sneak back in. With our sales trending upward, everyone sees the third album will do great too.”

“What should we do, Woo-joo? Block him outright?”

“No, no. You don’t refuse this kind of thing. Just keep him hanging, that’s best.”

Smiling at the hopeful looks on their faces,

“I want to hear it first. I’d like to refuse, but if it’s really a good song, it could do some good for him.”

“Well, we thought the same, so we listened. Want to hear it yourself?”

We played the guide vocal track. After listening through, I said urgently,

“I’ll pass.”

The A&R team burst into applause and laughter.

They’d listened to the whole thing—objective consensus: the song was bad.

Given JCM’s stellar debut with Street Boys’ “Hunger,” I’d hoped it’d be good, but it felt like a piece of Trojan-horse sabotage.

As album producer, I couldn’t allow it.

One staff stretched and stood.

“We should get back to work.”

“Thanks for all your hard work.”

As they headed out, someone asked,

“By the way, Producer, what’s your schedule? When should we set the internal meeting?”

“This week’s packed with recordings. Thursday’s our earliest. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, then....”

“Oh, when we hold the meeting, can we bring the members? Biju co-wrote the title, Ri-hyeok did lyrics, and Jung-hyeon’s putting one or two mixtape tracks on.”

“And Ji-ho?”

“He’d feel left out if he didn’t come.”

“Huh, you’re right.”

They laughed.

Usually only A&R and I attend the internal meeting before the formal one, but now I planned to bring the younger members too.

At my words, the A&R staff said,

“You’re the producer—why ask permission? Just bring them along.”

“Thanks.”

Grateful for their trust, I saw my siblings walking down the hallway.

Our kids trudged over, giving shy “Hello...” greetings.

Standing at the door, I smiled brightly.

“Learn a lot?”

“It was informative and satisfying.”

Ri-hyeok glowed, while the others looked ashen.

“...Hey guys?”

Jung-hyeon looked at me with hollow eyes and then pointed.

“Serf.”

Ji-ho continued.

“He who steals another’s property becomes a serf, and to be forgiven must pay 500,000 jeon.”

“Law of eight articles of Gojoseon.”

Jung-hyeon added, and now Biju blankly said,

“It’s a record showing that Gojoseon was a stratified society that used currency.”

I stared at them.

As they trudged into the room looking like withered spinach, I turned my gaze away.

“What did you do in class? Why do they look so beaten up?”

“We, uh, just used various teaching methods.”

Interpreting my question as a rebuke, they began to defend themselves.

But I shook my head, put an arm around Ri-hyeok, and said,

“Ri-hyeok.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me your secret.”

“....”

“Could you make them love production with that method?”

“Don’t even dream it. Seriously.”

A studio in Yangcheon-gu, Seoul.

The set for HBS’s “History Exploration Squad” first recording was busy preparing.

The set, evoking a mushroom village with warm wood tones and greens, glowed softly.

A table like a tree stump sat center-stage, with lighting and equipment around it.

With a tight budget, the staff and studio size were modest.

This spot, once used for “Children’s Quiz Adventure!” had been quickly revamped.

“Hey, where’s the cast’s refreshments? We need to put them out.”

“We’ll get them right away!”

One priority was making New Black, the cast, feel comfortable.

“Treat them well.”

PD Seong nodded. With a small budget and a poor time slot, New Black wasn’t exactly at the level for a fixed children’s program.

Compared to the buzz they generated on other variety shows, “History Exploration Squad” lacked clout.

“Why did they agree to this?”

Though one member was known as a history geek, it was still business. They wondered what the group hoped to gain.

“When we first met, Ri-hyeok suggested it, but after reading the writers’ proposal, Woo-joo hyung said, ‘Let’s do this.’”

I asked Woo-joo what appealed to him.

“It’s a children’s program, but it seemed to have broad scope. I thought parents would enjoy watching it too.”

I tried to understand, but it was puzzling. A children’s show is a children’s show.

Anyway, it was significant that a hot rookie idol was appearing.

“Hello!”

New Black entered to warm welcomes.

“Come on in. Sit here and rest.”

“Drinks! Bring some drinks!”

The staff bustled like hosting VIPs, and our members giggled.

After brief chatter with the crew, they pulled scripts from their bags and read seriously.

Even as stylists tidied hair, their eyes stayed glued to the pages.

PD Seong watched, and the head writer approached.

“They should have memorized the script, right?”

“Look at their expressions.”

“I thought they were concentrating since we’re short on time and their schedules are tight...”

They worried we might be unprepared.

Just then, a staff member handed out printed materials. Jung-hyeon said,

“Huh?”

He called a staffer over.

“What’s this?”

“Writer, the order of the leaf-shaped swords and trapezoidal swords is reversed. Leaf-shaped goes first, right?”

“Oh, hang on.”

Checking immediately, the staff confirmed and corrected the order—avoiding a major error.

The pale-faced member beamed and offered Jung-hyeon a chocolate.

PD Seong, pleased, said,

“Ri-hyeok really is good at history... Wait, that was Ji-ho.”

I recalled the member who’d said at our first meeting, “I don’t know much history...”

The PD and writer exchanged glances.

“...”

“...”

PD Seong asked,

“Wasn’t the one who’s good at history Ri-hyeok?”

“I think so.”

Meanwhile, they overheard themselves discussing the broadcast content.

“When explaining Gojoseon’s founding, should we talk about the bear and tiger tribes entering?”

“That’d work best.”

“And for the Ban-gudae petroglyphs, we label this one as whale, right? We should mark that.”

Seeing them seriously plan the show, the PD and writer blinked.

“They prepared so thoroughly...?”

They were pleasantly surprised.

“Hello, children.”

In front of the red light of the camera, we all smiled brightly.

“I’m Woo-joo of New Black, here to explore fun events in history with you.”

“And I’m Biju.”

We each introduced ourselves.

“History Exploration Squad” was a multi-format program.

Sometimes we’d dress as hwarang and reenact Silla daily life; other times we’d tour a museum.

The key was that it was a children’s variety show.

“Kids today don’t like childish stuff.”

Originally the concept was a true exploration squad chasing a villain who distorted the timeline, but after many meetings it transformed into its current form.

I remember the PD saying he wanted the show to be a history variety that kids would enjoy.

So while we followed the script, we had freedom to improvise.

“Today, let’s learn about the prehistoric era. Looking at these panels...”

As I spoke, Jung-hyeon, holding a set of panels depicting prehistoric life, scratched an itchy nose—and dropped them all.

Crash.

Jung-hyeon’s stunned face and the others scrambling to pick them up came into view.

“...”

Would this be okay?

I considered reshooting, but decided to go with it.

Smiling brightly at the camera, I said,

“All right—now let’s piece this scattered history back together again, shall we?”