In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“Hyung? Why does your face look like that? You didn’t sleep at all on the way here?”

“There was a reason for that.”

As soon as we arrived at the shop, Bi-ju wore a worried expression. It felt like we’d all become cameramen in an Antarctic documentary—little penguins stumbled to their feet on the sofa and waddled after me.

“Hyung, did you do well?”

“You look like your mind got blown. Did someone annoy you there? I’ll curse them out for you from behind.”

“Eat this, hyung.”

I plopped onto the sofa, chewing on the gummy bears Jung-hyun had given me. Maybe considering we’d been recording until dawn, they greeted me with brighter smiles than usual. My tense shoulders gradually relaxed. A senior who’d debuted at TJ once told me that the members you debut with are the best, and now I understood what he meant. It felt like returning to family.

“Guys...”

I spoke with weary eyes, and their worried gazes turned to me. I sighed deeply and told them what had happened with PD Do Joon-gi on Sanai-ga Ganda.

“I’m going back to the military.”

“Ahahaha!”

This really is family. Some looked so upset they were about to cry, while others laughed until tears streamed. Only Bi-ju reacted differently.

“Oh my, really? What should we do...”

“Bi-ju, lower your hand from your mouth.”

“Uh, hey. Kim Jung-hyun. Cut it out.”

Jung-hyun grabbed Bi-ju’s hand and pried it down, revealing the corners of Bi-ju’s mouth pulled up in a grin, just shy of bursting into laughter.

“I figured as much.”

But instead of glaring, I just smiled warmly. I looked at the members whose excitement had exploded with, “He’s going back to the military~” and smiled.

“I knew this would happen, so I told PD Do that I’d bring at least one of you along.”

Their expressions turned frantic.

“That’s weird!”

“Why! Why would he insist on bringing our Woo-joo hyung? Huh? This is utterly inexplicable!”

“Seriously, why take such a good person? I can’t accept it. Don’t go, please.”

“The military is a bit...”

Even Jung-hyun, who normally had no strong dislikes, expressed disapproval—such was the show’s notorious reputation. I put my hand on my shoulder.

“Ugh, it’s stiff.”

“Yes.”

“My legs are aching.”

“Why don’t you stop tapping and rub it already?”

Feeling my cramped muscles loosen in real time, I summoned the younger ones to work for me. Meanwhile, I explained what had happened on New Rabbit.

“Han Jo turned into a muscle monster.”

“...?”

“During the break he was resting, and PD Do came looking for me to take a selfie.”

“...?”

“And my military junior called to expose my dark history, but it turns out he’s preparing to debut as an idol.”

“...?!”

Each time I spoke, my brothers’ expressions grew stranger.

Yeouido. PBS Broadcasting.

From early morning on the way to work, my mind was consumed by the music show dry rehearsal. The familiar drowsiness of fatigue made everything blur past me. Too drained even to manage my expression, I wore a mask. I’d seen a mocking headline—“Masked! Bare-Faced Protection!”—perhaps from the reporter who’d earlier shouted for me to drop my mask. I just let it slide. Fortunately, I’d grabbed naps whenever I could while waiting, and was soon back to normal.

“Hello!”

“Hello.”

A girl-group member with a ponytail greeted us. Jeon Yu-bin. A member of La Vie en Rose, she’d been an MC on Music ON since our Something days. I nodded in greeting.

“Please look after our maknaes.”

“Grmph, grmph.”

Ri-hyuk, leaning beside me, tapped my side as if doing ventriloquism. Ji-ho glared at me. Today’s hosting trio would be our veteran MC Jeon Yu-bin joined by special MCs Ri-hyuk and Ji-ho. Originally actor Kang Hyun-min had the role, but he’d been dropped over a drunk-driving incident. Rumor had it he’d taken it badly after low ratings on his drama “Windmill.” He’d since left all his shows, and his lead drama faced crisis, too.

“I don’t know if you’ve eaten, so we brought some food.”

“Ooh! Thank you. I love pizza, so we’ll enjoy it.”

Jeon Yu-bin’s round eyes sparkled with gratitude. When we handed over the box of artisanal pizza, her manager accepted it. “We prepared zero-calorie cola,” he said, passing two bottles—and both of them burst out laughing.

“Please take good care of Ji-ho and Ri-hyuk. They’ve never been MCs before.” 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

“Woo-joo hyung... glmph.”

Ji-ho forced a smile with his mouth while glaring with his eyes. Bi-ju, Jung-hyun, and I pleaded earnestly.

“Ri-hyuk gets so nervous...”

“And Ji-ho’s actually quite shy. We were worried, so we wanted to ask you to take good care of them.”

With eyes begging “please!” Ri-hyuk and Ji-ho gazed at us like students watching their parents reassure a homeroom teacher: “Our child is delicate.”

“Hey, you two! We’re not babies!”

“Go rest! Right now!”

Unable to bear it, Ji-ho and Ri-hyuk ushered the three of us out of the MC waiting room. Even as we were pushed out, we bowed to Jeon Yu-bin and her manager.

“Please look after our kids...!”

“They’re good kids...!”

“Ah, really!”

Blushing deeply, Ri-hyuk gave our backs a final nudge. As soon as we left, Ji-ho grabbed the door handle. We all pumped our fists in encouragement until it slammed shut.

“Ji-ho, Ri-hyuk! Don’t be nervous! We believe in you!”

“Make sure to chew the pizza thoroughly.”

“Eat it and send us a review.”

Ri-hyuk whispered, trembling.

“...Don’t pretend to know me from now on. All three of you.”

The door banged shut. From inside, two people laughed like maniacs.

Popcorn is needed.

While the waiting-room TV showed ads, the manager, staff, and the three of us huddled together. All of us wore excited faces. The ads ended and the new boy group’s debut stage finished.

“Fantanis’s ‘Lord,’ NewBlack’s ‘Windflower.’ Who will be this week’s Music ON number one?”

We’d heard the familiar voices reciting the lines countless times, and laughter threatened to burst out.

“This is insane.”

“Look at them acting all dignified.”

“Ji-ho’s voice sounds different, right? That’s an acting tone.”

Then our two maknaes appeared on screen, smiling alongside Jeon Yu-bin in the center.

“Hello, K-pop’s hub uniting fans worldwide!”

“This is live music show, Music—”

“ON!”

And so began the cringeworthy in-between-talk unique to music shows.

“I want to go see the flowers.”

“No, Yu-bin ssi.”

Ji-ho said,

“Why go look at flowers? You’ve got us here.”

“See? A field of flowers, right?”

At Ri-hyuk’s “field of flowers, right?” everyone in the waiting room burst into giggles. If it were me, I’d have laughed outright, but Jeon Yu-bin remained entirely professional. Though the corners of her mouth twitched, she handled the line without a flinch.

“Indeed. No need to go see flowers. Then shall we all do the flower pose?”

“One, two, three—woo woo—”

Bi-ju nearly started crying with laughter. We all lifted our phones to film the three on TV making the flower pose with both hands. As the segment introducing today’s lineup continued, we watched the screen.

They’re good.

Even beside a girl-group member who’d MC’d for over a year, they didn’t look lacking. Plus, our maknae’s acting tone made him look almost like a different person. Jung-hyun chuckled softly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Ji-ho’s imitating hyung.”

“Really?”

Bi-ju chuckled and said,

“Ji-ho must think hyung is the epitome of grown-up charm.”

“Me, embody that?”

Because I never smile that cheesy. But the staff saw it too and murmured, “Oh, that’s Woo-joo. Mini Woo-joo.” I blinked in surprise. When the managers confirmed it looked the same, I tilted my head. It can’t be...

“Now, on this week’s live Music ON—”

On screen, our maknae delivered his lines smoothly. Well done. His pronunciation and projection were so good his voice sunk right in—like listening to an audiobook.

“Ri-hyuk’s good too.”

“Right? He’s good.”

“He practiced a ton yesterday. While hyung was recording, they wrestled with the script for ages.”

The stiffness I’d seen in the first rehearsal was gone—Ri-hyuk looked adept. But one thing still hadn’t been hidden: his reddened ears. And another conspicuous area stood out. I asked the makeup artists,

“Did you put his foundation on thicker today?”

“Yes. You’re right...”

I’d asked them to apply a heavier layer so he wouldn’t flush during his lines. It definitely matched his usual complexion. His face wore the usual cool expression and relaxed smile. His ears were a touch red, but not noticeable unless you looked closely. Maybe a bit of BB cream there next time. But...

“Hyung, look at Ri-hyuk’s neck.”

Bi-ju pointed with his finger. Sure enough, Ri-hyuk’s neck was blazing red against his otherwise pale face. Online boards were going wild.

Just as I thought, everyone laughed at Ri-hyuk’s calm “hmph” smile.

“Ah, what do we do... He’ll be so embarrassed if he finds out.”

“Hyung, he’s smiling, right?”

As Bi-ju lowered my hand, the corners of my mouth twitched. I was genuinely thrilled. I wanted to join our Soufflés capturing gifs and screenshots live on fan communities. Every time he spoke, his neck glowed red, then faded, then flushed again. I should send it to No Jae-hyun teacher, too. We really enjoyed ourselves until the final stage.

When we stood backstage for the ending performance, our kids ran down from the MC desk.

“How was it? Did I do well?”

“You nailed my impression.”

“...No, I was imitating someone else I know.”

I praised the maknae who stuck to “I don’t know” and then glanced at Ji-ho, who coughed awkwardly while seeking praise.

“How about me? Was I good too?”

We answered his eager face with warm smiles.

On Friday, NewBlack took number one on PBS Music ON.

The same on Saturday and Sunday.

Next week, we heard we’d be locked in as candidates for every music show we appeared on. I could feel our success on my skin. The “rookie” label vanished from headlines. Everywhere we went, we were treated like top artists. Whether at mini fan meetings near the station or events, the crowds were on a different scale.

Even two weeks after its release, Windflower clung to number one on daily and weekly charts. Plus Something had revived as a spring song. It felt like the world had changed.

“Oh, hello. You must be NewBlack’s manager?”

Maybe because we were asked to events so often, our managers’ faces brightened too. It’d upset me to see them overlooked before, but now event organizers and advertisers respectfully called them “manager” every time. Their spirits soared as they sorted through the mountain of event requests.

“Oh dear, I hope I’m not interrupting your busyness.”

“Not at all, director.”

Meanwhile, I was working with the music director of the drama “Sleep.” Touring the studio, the director marveled,

“Your CEO is so generous. He owns all these expensive pieces I never had access to...”

“Shall I let you try them?”

“Ooooh...!”

As the director and I fondled the gear saying “ooh, hot hot hot!” the nearby A&R staff shivered in envy.

“All right, shall we finish up the final mix?”

While the company engineers handled the final adjustments, Director Kang and I offered comments. The track was complete but needed fine-tuning. Our OST featured our five voices, each distinct, so we had to tweak subtle parts for a cohesive feel.

“Wow.”

As he heard the finished version, Director Kang exclaimed,

“I love it. Among all the OSTs I’ve heard, this is the one I like best.”

“Really?”

“The song itself has power.”

He spoke earnestly.

“Often an OST enhances a drama’s impact, but this stands on its own. You can feel the force within.”

“Do you think it will do well?”

“I’d say it’s worth expecting.”

He praised it as a track you’d want a writing credit on. We joked it might even chart.

“So it airs next Friday?”

“Yes. It’ll feature in a crucial part of episode seven. I’ll confirm with the executive director...”

“Sleep,” now on episode six this week, was approaching its climax. Ratings climbed each week, and word was it would soon set GTV’s record. Our OST would debut in episode seven—the moment we’d long awaited. Could we hope it’d chart? I’d never seen an OST hit the charts in a genre drama, but I couldn’t help feeling excited—especially after getting the music director’s stamp of approval.

“All right, let’s touch base again midweek.”

“Thank you for your hard work, director.”

Accompanied by the A&R staff, we saw the director off with his coat. He tilted his head over his phone.

“One of the songs NewBlack sang just charted too, didn’t it?”

“Yes?”

What was that? I stared blankly until he held out his phone. An entertainment headline was displayed.

“...?”

The A&R guy next to me picked up his phone and checked the Mango real-time charts.

“....”

And I wore a stunned expression. Right—I’d forgotten. I’d been glued to my work with my phone off these past hours. Right now, replacing Windflower at number one was a new track.

Number one. NewBlack – Deok-soon-ah (PBS Challenge, Classic Discovery)

I blinked as I stared at the chart. What on earth was this?

Gunsan.

Under a bright spring sky wandered a figure wearing an expression full of irritation all day long.

“Deok-soon-ahhh...!”

“Goddammit.”

While a plush doll danced in the window of a phone shop, a trot-style, lively “Deok-soon-ah” blared from the speakers.

“Deok-soon-ahhh...! Deok-soon-ah~”

“Damn everywhere.”

At the supermarket, as an employee hawked a discount sale, “Deok-soon-ah” played merrily. From a street cassette vendor’s van, “Deok-soon-ahhh!” blared. Each time it played, the catchy tune put people in high spirits. Though Deok-soon-ah had become known online as the ultimate “work song,” the subject of it couldn’t care less.

“Eeeek!”

Madam Kim Deok-soon suppressed her rising fury.

“Why everywhere I go is just damn Deok-soon!”

All around her the song “Deok-soon-ah” resonated. With the voice licking a wink like her grandson’s. As she fumed, the song began playing outside a cafe.

“Don’t frown your face~ Deok-soon~”

Madam Kim Deok-soon felt like throwing her shopping bags in anger.