In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

News that all NewBlack members passed the Korean History Level 1 test spread rapidly.

Idol communities were the same.

「Idols who got Level 1 in today’s Korean History Test.jpg」

(A photo of NewBlack members all gathered holding their test papers)

Subject: NewBlack

They say they got Level 1 in today’s history test

Soon another photo was attached.

The maknae turning his back on the sofa, avoiding the camera, while the other four laugh dynamically—so energetically that you could see afterimages.

Comments calling his back-turned posture cute appeared—like a puppy averting its eyes when angry.

But as soon as the initial wave of comments died down, malicious replies appeared like ghosts.

“Yeah right, fake,” “Explain your chart-fixing,” and the comment section instantly turned into a battlefield. Soufflés muttered “Ah. Comments are ruined...” and hit delete.

Meanwhile, news of NewBlack’s Level 1 achievement spread elsewhere:

[ All NewBlack members pass “Korean History Level 1” ... “Maknae Jiho is Level 2” ]

As a rookie boy group with high public affinity, they received overwhelmingly positive comments.

Meanwhile, the main entertainment headlines spread to the community of today’s history-test takers:

– “They say there are idols among today’s Korean History examinees. NewBlack got Level 1 (one got 69 points).”

– “69 points lol whoever that is must feel so unfair”

– “If it were me I wouldn’t sleep lolol”

– “I saw reviews earlier saying they spotted idols, it was them”

– “I scoffed at what their scores would be... they beat me”

– “Eh??”

Then people viewing SNS screenshots began to realize a shocking fact one by one:

– “Wait. In that post, wait... the summary they’re holding that’s circulating online was made by NewBlack...?????”

– “Yeah.”

– “It was made by that scholar on History Expedition.”

– “Which scholar? Serious-type scholar or blonde scholar?”

– “Isn’t it the fan-folding scholar?”

– “The fan-folding scholar is Daegil from the Khitan episode.”

– “Wtf why do they have so many alter egos lol I’m more surprised I recognized that...”

– “Serious-type scholar made it.”

– “What;; I was the only one who didn’t know?”

– “You’re the only one who didn’t know lol”

– “I just found out now, shocking.”

– “So those kids were ridiculing the materials THEY made...??”

– “My score was the one being ridiculed.”

– “That was legendary in my life.”

– “Fact: They’d only been studying history for about three months.”

Two months had passed since History Expedition started on MiTube.

In people’s minds, “history + idols = NewBlack” was now imprinted.

And then...

“Jiho must have gotten 69 alone. Biju did well too. Woo-ju and Rih-yeok got really high scores? Oh. Junghyeon is surprising... hmm?”

People looking at the SNS photos attached to the article paused and furrowed their brows.

“When did I start knowing all their names?”

Every time History Expedition aired, the members’ names—“Woo-ju,” “Biju”—had been printed in huge letters on their costumes.

Hundreds of thousands of subscribers who watched faithfully, and people who saw the memes on SNS, had stored their names in memory.

“What is this.”

When had it become like this?

I’d only been laughing at idols dressed like scholars reciting diss-shijo on MiTube, but before I knew it I was remembering their names fondly—like neighbors’ younger brothers or nephews.

Reading the article, the public blinked.

“Amazing.”

Since when had this started?

I used to know all the idols’ names on TV; now I knew none.

Maybe ever since the so-called third-generation idols appeared.

Girl groups emphasizing public appeal fared slightly better, but boy groups were completely unknown.

Even top idols like TNT or Teen Spirit I only recognized as “Oh, they’re the hottest idols right now.”

But now...

A rookie idol group I barely knew shot onto MiTube and SNS like a comet, and now people even remembered their members’ names.

As people’s thoughts reached that point, their fingers moved.

Tap-tap-tap.

Scattered across the country, people each typed “NewBlack” into their phones.

Familiarity turned to curiosity, and curiosity led to watching NewBlack’s performances and variety appearances.

It was still small and few had noticed, but beneath the surface a quiet shift was underway.

It had already been a month since our comeback with “Wind Flower.”

Time had flown by.

Having achieved Level 1 in the history test (Jiho Level 2), we were wrapping up our fifth week of “Wind Flower” promotions.

“NewBlack vs NewBlack” ended in a complete victory for “Wind Flower.”

“Wind Flower” was achieving outrageous results: five consecutive weeks at No. 1 on the Mango weekly chart.

People were already saying it would win Best Song or digital awards at year-end ceremonies.

At this rate it would surely rank in the year’s top five.

It was unprecedented.

“This is an exceptional situation. Objectively, it’s rare for such a hit to occur again...”

Director Jo Gyu-hwan’s words resonated with everyone.

Album sales might increase further, but achieving pure digital success like this was difficult.

On the bright side, this digital breakthrough meant our next album would start from a far more advantageous position.

Through the A&R team we’d heard from composers—when we hold song contests next time, we won’t worry about lacking submissions.

“Everyone wants to work with you, Woo-ju.”

A&R Assistant Seo Pil-geun said with a lascivious grin every time we met.

“Be sure to collaborate, Woo-ju. Definitely.”

“They all seem really excited.”

“They’re all asking me to introduce them to you, to get your email address. I even pitched in on arrangements for this album, and they looked at me like I was lucky...”

“Really?”

“Yeah...”

“Working with me wasn’t... enjoyable?”

“No! Who said that! Working with you is the best!”

“Is that so? Then let’s do it right now.”

“...”

“We should start preparing for the fourth album.”

It might have been early, but we had to start now or time would run out.

We’d planned to return with a repackage after our solo concert.

We simply didn’t have time for another mini-album.

I’d heard from Tae-hyeon that the rising period—when everything you do gets a reaction—is the busiest. He was right.

We appeared everywhere.

We sat in cooking shows clapping enthusiastically, went on radio to talk behind-the-scenes of History Expedition and Jiho’s 69-point story, and met reporters during music shows for interviews.

“Are you guys okay?”

Entertainment journalist Oh So-hee stared at us, dark circles under our eyes making her flustered.

“We’re fine...”

“We’re managing... right?”

“Rih-yeok hyung hit a wrong note...”

“Hey, how can the main vocalist hit a wrong note?”

“Woo-ju hyung...”

“Ah, ah...”

Through weeks 3 and 4 we were fine, but by the follow-up promotions we were all starting to crack.

Our soufflés were chanting “Gyu-ho conscience = bald” calling on the CEO, but it was a gray area.

Even though the company tried to stop us, we still had schedules we insisted on.

Rising means an idol fully becoming a trend.

When everything you do gets a reaction, you accept every offer.

The entertainment world is fickle, and there’s no guarantee the next album will be as successful.

“...Guys, wake up. We’ve arrived.”

Hyungseok carefully roused us. Outside the window we heard a ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ racket.

We’d come to a university festival in Sinchon. May was festival season, and events were everywhere.

“I didn’t know there were so many festivals in our country.”

“Me neither.”

“Hey guys. After this we have to get tteokbokki. Tteokbokki.”

“Sure. Let’s do it.”

I smiled and asked,

“Six servings or nine servings?”

“Sixty-nine servings? Hahaha!”

“...”

“Jiho. Jiho, look at this.”

I bent my arm like a big heart, and Jiho looked on curiously.

Then I raised my arm over my head for six, and Junghyeon crossed his legs for nine, making Jiho tremble.

Biju chimed in, looking amused.

“Hey, Junghyeon. Let’s make one with me.”

“You’re too short for that.”

“...”

Overjoyed by the soundtrack drifting from the event, we strolled into the venue.

Our appearance was the highlight.

“Waaaaa!”

Amid cheers we finished the “Wind Flower” stage.

Junghyeon skillfully called out the university’s name into the mic and the crowd cheered back.

Then I took over.

“One, two, three...!”

“Hello! We’re NewBlack!”

We were so used to the cheers by now we smiled calmly.

Like anything can be mastered with practice, since Something we’d become smooth at event banter.

“This was one of the events we really wanted to come to. We’ve heard from senior idols that no venue responds as enthusiastically as this. Feeling it firsthand is different.”

The crowd cheered in response.

Watching our juniors glare side-eye, I knew they’d tease us later: “The heat was literally different~”

We bantered to keep the mood high.

“It’s hot. Already.”

“When it’s like this you need a cool song, right?”

We plugged “Flower Dance” here and, as with all events, closed with “Deok-soona.”

As an outdoor event there were many variables.

“Kyaa... ah?”

Snap.

On the final stage the MR cut out abruptly.

At debut I’d have panicked, but now...

Biju smiled and kept singing, and cheers erupted.

To keep the sound from going dead, we held our mics and harmonized while Junghyeon stepped forward.

He led clapping by slapping his hands over his head, then Jiho softly stepped out to pick up Biju’s part.

“Everyone, together!”

I smiled and held out the mic as the audience joined the chorus, filling the void with claps and song.

With our five-way teamwork the event’s energy revived astonishingly fast.

After ten seconds the sound returned, and we danced joyfully to amplify the excitement.

That day a fan-cam of us handling the audio accident went up on MiTube.

While preparing for our follow-up “Flower Dance,” unwanted things began to approach one by one.

– “‘A Man Goes’ confirms NewBlack Woo-ju appearance ... ‘Members TBD’”

– “‘Reserve Forces Idol’ NewBlack leader Woo-ju joins ‘A Man Goes’”

No recording dates were set, but as soon as PD Do Jun-gi confirmed my appearance, he released an article at once.

“Hyung, are you okay? Are you crying?”

“No. Something got in my eye...”

It felt like re-enlisting rather than a two-night, three-day trip.

I hoped it wouldn’t be anything like combat training.

I wished the music show promotions would never end.

Like during the month-end dance exam when the trainee before me danced—I felt that way.

Our soufflés reacted similarly.

Our soufflés couldn’t understand.

They’d been teasing me “Haha, going on A Man Goes~?” until recently, but now that I actually was going, they worried I’d get hurt.

I still couldn’t fully grasp a fan’s heart.

Meanwhile, as Part 1 of Shintokki approached, my anxiety peaked.

We’d worked hard on image management so the public would remember me as diligent and cool, but...

Would they suddenly think I’d turned strange?

“Too late for that.”

“Junghyeon.”

“I’ll lead them, hyung.”

Hearing “Neuaaa!” I sketched eagerly on A4 in the company lounge late at night after schedules and practice, each holding a drink and doodling designs for the lightstick.

“Woo-ju hyung. Woo-ju hyung.”

Biju waved a sheet at me excitedly.

“How is it? Pretty star shape, right?”

“Biju.”

“You like it, hyung?”

“If you wave that wrong, the person in front might lose their head.”

“Ah...”

Though better than the apple design earlier, without the adorable rendering it looked like a medieval mace.

“Jiho.”

“Yeah?”

“You want tteokbokki, right?”

“Wow. How did you know?”

“That’s because you drew tteokbokki?”

It looked exactly like a tteokbokki stick—just lacking color. With red it’d look like glowing tteokbokki.

Junghyeon asked,

“Rice cake or wheat cake?”

“Rice cake.”

“Oh, I see.”

...“Oh, I see” indeed.

I always think that if I leave NewBlack in their hands, the group will explode.

Rih-yeok’s design was the only decent one.

“Aren’t your specs too over the top?”

“Over the top?”

“If you want all those functions, you’d need at least one reactor inside.”

“Uh...”

As they each drew their ideas and critiqued, Jiho puckered his lips and said,

“Hyung, how well did you make yours? Show me.”

“Here.”

He leaned over and the others crowded round.

I asked with anticipation,

“So?”

“...”

“...”

No answers.

Biju pointed at the center of my design.

“Hyung, what’s this in the middle of the petals?”

“It’s a soufflé—a bread.”

They froze.

Rih-yeok asked,

“So the structure is a soufflé in the middle and five petals around it?”

“Exactly.”

“And the letters above the five petals?”

“They’re color instructions: red, yellow, green, blue, purple.”

“...”

I explained earnestly,

“See, the soufflé is in the center, and our five members are the petals protecting it.”

“...Five petals each a different color?”

“Yes. And if you press the ‘Air’ button, the petals spin like a fan.”

“...”

“In summer, press it and the petals whirr out a cool breeze. They’re detachable so you can swap them.”

The more I spoke, the more my juniors’ faces fell.

Jiho’s appetite vanished.

Rih-yeok slicked back his hair and swallowed.

Biju stood frozen “Uh...”

Junghyeon looked at me as if saying, “This is a bit...”

“What’s wrong? Is it that bad?”

“It’s that bad?”

Rih-yeok gave a wry laugh, and Jiho took my arm and said earnestly,

“Hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“Hyung should just make songs...”

Everyone nodded seriously.

No.

Was it really that bad?

I asked again and again, but the reaction remained the same.

Lemon Entertainment.

In the conference room where staff gathered, dozens of fan-light design drafts from NewBlack members lay spread out.

“Oh.”

Each design elicited “Oh” or “Uh...” as people marveled at human imagination.

Then Woo-ju’s design appeared.

“...”

A chilling sight: a five-colored petal fan.

“Who is this from?”

“A spy from a rival company?”

“It says ‘Woo-ju’ on it.”

“...”

Director Yoon Seok-hwan stared at the ceiling in silence, and PR staff, shocked by the note “Press to spin,” were struck dumb.

A long silence followed.

“Toss it. Toss it.”

“If the CEO sees that, it’ll be chosen instantly.”

“Phew, that was close...”

By unanimous vote, it was set aside.

The fan-petal draft slid off to the side.

Meanwhile, from the leader’s drawing, staff caught a familiar scent.

“The CEO...?”

For a moment everyone wondered if the CEO had secretly slipped it in.