In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

The world went dark.

I let out a hollow laugh at the screen showing Rupert Dean confidently explaining the origin of “chichi-pong.”

“No, even picking the word—”

“Maybe ‘jjijjippong’ just made that much of an impression,” Junghyun replied.

On the talk show, the host was practicing the pronunciation:

“Fun to say, isn’t it? Chicoo-pong.”

“Right? I’m totally hooked lately.”

Rupert grinned, flashing his white teeth.

“Lately I’ve been spreading it to my agent and everyone around me.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Everyone, remember it: chichi-pong.”

The audience laughed at his cheeky grin as he demonstrated. But we couldn’t laugh. It felt like Korea’s “jjijjippong” was sweeping across North America via live TV.

Ri-hyuk said, “It’s okay. Rupert hasn’t said who taught him yet.”

“Really? But if we said anything it’d be obvious right away.”

And then:

“By the way, where’d you learn ‘chichi-pong’?”

“From NewBlack.”

“NewBlack?”

“They’re friends I made in Korea—the band I mentioned. I learned it from the guy named Woo-ju.”

We were doomed. I could already picture people pointing and mocking, “Was it you who spread ‘chichi-pong’?” Nothing else could be more embarrassing than “jjijjippong.”

“Oh no. What do we do?” I ran a hand through my hair.

“I think I’m screwed.”

“If you ask TeenSpirit seniors, that’d be ‘you’re toasted,’ right?”

“Junghyun.”

“I’ll zip it, hyung.”

Junghyun mimed snapping a Lock&Lock lid on his mouth. I shook my head, then glanced back at the screen. The clip was the network’s official promo.

“Views are still low,” I told my laughing brothers, holding up my palm.

“Calm down, guys.”

“Huh?”

Viju blinked and smiled.

“We’re as calm as ever, hyung.”

“Still under ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) the radar. It could just die out.”

“Do you really think so?”

As I tried to psych myself up, our maknae poked his face in like “ebebe.” My hand shot toward a playful snap, and he braced—when suddenly the practice-room door clicked open.

“Hi!”

Scarlet, the four-member girl group, poked their heads in, as if dropping by. Their flawless, mochi-like faces looked around, spotted me, and lit up.

“There he is!”

“Nayoon, let’s do it—do it!”

“Hold on, unnie. Let me get ready.”

Daisy leveled her corn dog at me with a serious expression, then intoned like a spell:

“Chichi-pong.”

“....”

“Kya-ha-ha-ha!”

The rest doubled over, clutching their stomachs with laughter, waved “bye!” and shut the door. All that remained was the faint scent of corn dog.

I laughed and flopped to the floor with my brothers. Between laughs I muttered,

“How do they even know about that?”

“Obviously I sent it to them.”

“....”

“To the director, the managers, those unnis, school friends, the A&R and producing teams...”

“....”

“And some acquaintances and the PR team... AAAAAAH!”

“Hey! That’s everyone!”

That evening:

–“Rupert Dean, Certified K-pop Superfan: ‘I Love NewBlack’s Nine’”

–“Rupert Dean Flaunts His Korean on US Talk Show: ‘Chichi-pong’”

–“‘Have You Heard of Chichi-pong?’... ‘Nostalgia’ Actor’s Love of Korean”

Clips of the US actor humming “Nine” and “chichi-pong” went viral in Korea. Subtitled reposts sprouted everywhere, hitting popular video lists and igniting people’s curiosity. Comments like:

“LOL I’m losing it.”

“Every time he says chichi-pong at 0:47 and 0:58 my face goes red lol.”

“What did NewBlack even teach him?”

“Everyone’s watching ‘jjijjippong’ going nationwide.”

“Do I have to wave now?”

“Should I open the shop because of this?”

“When a foreign star praises a Korean song I’m proud—until one word ruins it all.”

“We need an antonym for ‘kokumbong’ for the chichi-pong part... it’s like shame overload.”

“Usually Japanese or Chinese say foreign praise is theirs, but it’s so quiet lol.”

“I wouldn’t have taught that word either...”

Screenshots stitched together spread across humor pages and communities, echoing YouTube comment vibes. As “Rupert Dean,” “NewBlack,” “Nine,” and “jjijjippong” trended, one group remained serenely unfazed:

“When our oppas trend we panic, but this is oddly calming.”

“Even in the trends, this Zen vibe.”

“It’s like... NewBlack.”

“Next time, it’ll be about our members donating hair to Gyu-ho lol.”

“When others do dance relays they smack and tumble, but ours smash stones, Junghyun shatters them.”

“How do we even promote with this...”

“If you told me a year ago my faves would promote with a Hollywood actor’s jjijjippong, I’d have called you crazy.”

Super-lay strategists buzzed over Rupert’s SNS posts and Viju’s Hongdae fan-cam, plotting their next move. Meanwhile, as Chuseok neared, “jjijjippong” offered moviegoers an answer to “What should we watch?”

“I’m checking out Nostalgia.”

“I hated the kokumbong marketing, but after this post-service lol.”

“I’ll only watch till break-even.”

“Not a musical fan, but out of loyalty lol.”

Ticket sales, which had stagnated after the director’s visit, spiked again: 38.6% booking rate. In the crowded Chuseok lineup, a little-known musical film hit number one—a rarity in Korea. Competing studios and PR agencies tensed up.

“...This isn’t normal. They say the film quality is great too?”

“The buzz is insane—NewBlack’s talk show appearance sent us back to real-time search.”

“Ugh...”

“Should’ve used NewBlack in promo sooner. Last year the animation word-of-mouth was huge.”

“Not sure. Six months ago, maybe...”

“We can’t afford their ad rate now—they’re the hottest male idols for mass appeal.”

“My parents know them too.”

As horror at the idol pay scale swept through the room, they realized: NewBlack combined boy-group fandom with girl-group mainstream appeal.

Meanwhile at the distributor “Forest,” they toasted quietly. Foreignly known but domestically ignored, Nostalgia suddenly topping preseason bookings made hearts race.

“Let’s call the PR agency and mobilize our media contacts.”

Everything was perfect—except one thing:

“Um, what should our press release title be? ‘The Power of Jjijjippong’?”

A hush fell as they agonized over their headline word choice.

Last weekend of September, on the eve of Chuseok, we donned hanbok.

“One, two, three!”

“Please accept our bows~!”

We laughed and performed a deep NewYear-style bow for a phone camera.

Thud!

Ji-ho’s scholar’s cap toppled, and Viju’s gat flew off, sending us into giggles as we writhed like overturned cockroaches.

“Should we edit this and reshoot?”

“Nah, let it be.”

“If we look too neat, fans’ll be disappointed.”

Behind the camera, Deputy Hong gave an OK sign. I beamed and spoke:

“On this great holiday, Chuseok~”

“It’s upon us!”

“It’s cooler now—dress warmly, and may everyone have a happy holiday.”

We finished with “Have a plentiful harvest festival!” and launched into a Chuseok version of “Nine” choreography—our own holiday stage.

We danced, ad-libbing:

“Hey, where’s Hanyang-yo?”

Junghyun, in Joseon court attire, flourished a medicinal prescription envelope, and we erupted in laughter. Ri-hyuk, dressed as a pungmul drummer, whipped around and pounced the maknae with a ribbon. I, in literati silks, twirled my fan like a dragon’s mane, and the kids squealed with delight.

“Waaa~!”

We ended with a collective bow:

“Have a wonderful Chuseok!”

“Phew, that was tiring.”

“Maybe we should’ve just said hi.”

We crouched to rest.

“Good job, everyone!”

“You too.”

We said goodbye to Deputy Hong’s camera, changed back into track suits, and collapsed onto the floor.

“Tomorrow’s already Chuseok,” Junghyun sighed.

“It flies by,” I nodded.

“Last year’s Chuseok feels like yesterday.”

“Didn’t we go watch Ju-se-han with our families then? It was so nice.”

I remembered: Ji-ho’s dad rented an entire barbecue restaurant, and we ate while watching Ju-se-han’s Act One.

“Does anyone else get choked up over this?”

“Me too.”

“Back when people online asked ‘who are these guys?’ everyone cheered us on.”

It was surreal compared to today’s “NewBlack!” recognition. All in a year.

We lay back, smiling at each other—

“Ugh... my neck’s stiff.”

“Should’ve just waved.”

Our necks cramped from all that dancing; we grimaced, then laughed.

Ri-hyuk said, “This situation itself is nice.”

He was right. Concerts, our songs being heard, our growing recognition—it felt incredible. There’s a long road ahead, but what we’ve achieved by now was unimaginable last Chuseok.

The only downside:

“I miss my grandmother.”

“We talked for an hour last night.”

“No, I need to see her in person.”

We laughed. The only flaw this holiday: not seeing our families. We’d planned to visit home before our overseas tour, but increasing sasaengs made the company decide we should stay in Seoul for safety. TNT had similar incidents in their second year, so we agreed. Better to lay low until things calm.

“And now... let’s prep for schedules.”

I clapped to lift my brothers. For our main vocalist, struggling on fumes, I brandished a ten-thousand-won bill featuring King Sejong to perk him up. We gathered our limp siblings and headed from the office to the salon.

One reason we couldn’t go home was our packed Chuseok agenda.

“Hello, readers of Future Economy News.”

“Chichi-pong! We are NewBlack!”

We filmed greeting videos for various companies celebrating the holiday, visited radio shows for an hour-long talk segment, and prepared to appear on Chuseok specials and panels.

That evening we were at Taehwa High School’s auditorium—where we judged a quiz show featuring top students, with a 20 million–won prize. Backstage in costumes, we waited as cheers swelled outside.

“Should’ve been me,” Ri-hyuk murmured, envious of those outside.

On the intercom:

“To give you a hint: the number nine...”

“Wow, that’s loud!”

“Let’s bring them out!”

The floor erupted as we, costumed, strode on. Two hundred students in varied uniforms screamed our names. Every time we sang “Nine,” they echoed “Nine!” in the chorus.

“Hyung.”

“Okay.”

As agreed with the station, we descended into the audience, and they shrieked. We borrowed their phones while singing and took selfies in performance.

“Waaa!”

Then back to the stage for “Nine”’s chorus.

“Whew, hello!”

Catching our breath, I grabbed the mic:

“Hello, we’re NewBlack!”

“Waaa!”

“We didn’t expect such a response—thank you! Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yes!”

Ji-ho quipped:

“Right before coming up, Ri-hyuk said he’s jealous of ‘High School Quiz King’ contestants and wanted to be on a quiz show.”

“I really love quizzes.”

“So we prepared one for you.”

On the show, celebs often give nonsense or hard questions after a celebratory performance. With the students tense and pens ready, Ri-hyuk smiled:

“We’ve prepared a really fun quiz.”

Junghyun read from cue cards:

“The category is Korean literature. Here is the first line of poet Noh Cheon-myung’s poem: ‘O sorrowful beast with the long neck.’”

“When you’re always so refined, you hardly say a word.”

“What is the title of this poem?”

I called out the options:

“One: Elephant. Two: Giraffe. Three: Deer. Four: Dragon.”

A brief moment of hesitation. I thought it easy—until 86 students blinked with option two raised. Their eyes screamed, “You said it was easy! Why not giraffe? Am I eliminated?”

The PD, expecting quiz whizzes, looked mortified. I smiled and said,

“This was a practice question.”

“Ah...”

“Did you think we’d give something this confusing?”

The guilty author’s ears reddened. My smooth damage control earned impressed looks from my brothers and relieved laughter from the students. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

“If that warmed you up, let’s move to the real quiz—about deer itself.”

After a solvable question:

“I told you it’d be hard.”

“You said they’d be Quiz Kings—they’d breeze through this.”

“I was so nervous earlier.”

We scolded the one who’d written the tough question as we moved to our next schedule.

On Chuseok eve, our final clip was at a small theater for a fan screening of the newly released Nostalgia.

“There they are!”

“Looks like fans are gathering!”

We rode by car and spotted Super-lay fans outside, each clutching a Dalbong light stick.

“Shall we greet them?”

As we asked our managers to roll down the window:

“....”

“....”

The fans danced a bizarre routine while holding their light sticks and giggling. We averted our eyes.

In the rearview, Manager Mingi’s eyes twinkled.

“You said we’d say hi.”

“We will—later.”

The dancing fans faded into the distance.

“I feel like we did something wrong.”

“...”

It was a moment to reflect on our actions this year.