In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

The Malaysian team “one hit,” appearing last, danced as if they owned the stage.

“Waaaah—!”

For the first time, cheers rose from the audience.

As people from twenty countries performed the group choreography to “Nine,” one hit stood in the center, leading the routine.

“Hmm? They’re good.”

Baek Yoo-jin of La Rose widened her eyes.

“Really good. They’re the best among them.”

“Yeah. Impressive.”

Baek Sang-joong agreed, then turned to me.

“Were they dancers before?”

“Yes.”

No, they weren’t.

“They were already great, so we just gave them a few tips. Haha.”

We, the dance world’s harshest in-laws, had taught them.

“I see.”

...said Baek Yoo-jin, nodding, while Baek Sang-joong simply blinked slowly.

Maybe because he’s watched me as co-MC for a long time, he looked at me in disbelief.

“A few tips?”

“......”

“From you?”

“Yes. It’s true.”

“At your third round, wasn’t it? You made them practice in the hallway for an hour just because one hand motion was off?”

The one who seemed to think “That can’t be” asked.

“How many minutes did you teach them?”

“Well....”

“......?”

“It wasn’t minutes. It was hours.”

Only then did they burst into chuckles, realizing what had happened, and I felt embarrassed.

The girl-group member co-MC still looked entirely clueless.

Lucky for us—no one else would know that we’d driven them to dance with such fierce determination.

“They’re wrapping up, I think.”

Reading a signal from a distant crew member, Baek Sang-joong gestured for us to get ready.

Baek Yoo-jin and I nodded, lifting our mics.

When the twenty-country participants hit their ending pose to TNT’s hit, the audience erupted again.

“Waaaah—!”

We walked onto the stage.

—Yes, what an amazing opening performance.

—Participants, please line up here.

Holding the mic, I delivered instructions in English as teams from Nigeria, Thailand, the Philippines, and others passed by, eyes shining.

“......”

With triangular eyes like “How was it, teacher?” the Malaysian team shot me intense looks as they passed.

—Now, we’d like each team to introduce themselves. Let’s start with the participant from Bonn, Germany.

While Daniela from Bonn introduced herself in English, the interpreter’s voice echoed.

—Your schedule here in Korea these past few days has been beautiful. I’ve been a K-Pop fan for a long time, so I really wanted to come.

After each introduction, the mic reached the smiling Philippine team, then the Malaysians.

“Ehehehehe.”

A laugh that stood out.

While everyone else was all “Dream Korea!” these dancers laughed like villains just recruited by some evil organization.

Their dark circles showed through even on stage makeup.

—Nice to meet you. We are Malaysia’s “one hit.”

The leader, JJ, spoke in a robot-like tone.

—We will win today. We learned to dance directly from NewBlack. They remade us.

It sounded like an android proclaiming, “Our manufacturer is NewBlack. Bzzzt bzzzt,” and laughter rippled through the audience.

I feigned ignorance and glanced down at my cue card, but the Malaysian dancers were nodding fiercely at me, their eyes blazing.

“......”

It was impossible to keep pretending not to know them.

The K-Pop Festival moved swiftly.

Between amateur teams from each country, pro idols took the stage—and each time, the roar of 10,000 fans shook Changwon Sports Complex.

After the Philippine cover finished:

—Now! The team you’ve all been waiting for. The hottest act right now.

—Oh my, what time is it now?

Before the co-MC even finished, the Soufflé crowd bellowed, “Nine o’clock!”

So loud that we, waiting on the lift, jumped in surprise, then exchanged grins.

Performing on a stage this large after so long gave us a delicious tension...

Ding-ding-ding.

I glanced at Ri-hyuk, crouched and trembling, and caught Jung-hyun’s eye.

“Jung-hyun.”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Lift him up.”

As if lifting a glass jar, Jung-hyun grabbed Ri-hyuk under his arms and hoisted him.

The sight of Ri-hyuk vibrating in midair looked like a cellphone on vibrate, and a staff member holding a mic beside the lift pursed their lips.

“Waaaah—!”

As the MCs’ hyping ended, the lift rose slowly.

A cool night breeze—and in contrast, the stadium’s heat and cheers washed over us.

The intro beat started, and as we formed our formation, chants thundered.

“Sun Woo-ju! Kim Bi-joo! Kim Jung-hyun! Seo Ri-hyuk! Wang Ji-ho!”

The vibrations of ten thousand voices crawling over my skin gave me goosebumps.

A crowd of that size, from fans of various groups—half felt like TeenSpirit fans, half like our Soufflé fans.

“Waaaah—!”

When we stepped onto the extended stage, an even louder roar exploded.

From the stands, wave after wave of fans held up signs: “Ji-ho! Ji-ho!” or “Woo-ju, no floral prints, only plain.”

Backstage, the younger members and I exchanged gleeful smiles.

“What—the Soufflé fans are this many?”

“Have you ever felt it so directly before today?”

“Before, it never felt this loud.”

“Yeah. I thought we were in a concert for a moment. They even sang along.”

“Regular people were singing too, just now.”

We slapped high-fives: the taste of popularity.

In all past joint stages, we’d never felt so much like the main act.

Remembering how at last year’s DreamCon the audience watched us as “Who are they?” felt like two worlds apart...

“Fuck.”

A sudden curse made me blink.

Adolescent high-schoolers, sniffling, approached in fluffy outfits, trembling.

TeenSpirit greeted us.

“H-hello......”

“I’m not cold. Not cold. Fuck. Who said this would keep me warm? It’s useless.”

“I’m warmed by the love of fans... warmed...”

They hugged themselves, self-hypnotizing with their hands, and I joked, smiling.

“You freezing cold?”

“Uh.”

Hwi-yeon froze—and the other members stiffened. Their serious reaction threw us.

“...Why?”

“You can’t say that word.”

“Right. Not allowed.”

“If idols curse, it ruins our image.”

It reminded me of a senior in the army saying, “Don’t learn this stuff,” then puffing cigarette smoke at me.

Bi-joo smiled and asked, “We have an image?”

“Yes.”

TeenSpirit stared at the air, then said:

“A bit like firm tofu.”

“......”

“Tofu that, if hit by a brick, the brick would break...?”

They all nodded vigorously at “That’s right,” and I couldn’t help laughing.

What on earth is firm tofu?

Admiring teenage expression, I handed a hot pack to the sniffly TeenSpirit.

“Ah. So warm...”

They sniffled and asked, “Your cheers were fucking loud earlier.”

“Right?”

“Yes! We were shocked. We thought it was our turn.”

We beamed, proud that they mistook our entrance for theirs.

“Definitely not a mistake.”

“So satisfying.”

Then TeenSpirit’s manager called them.

“Well, we’re off.”

“Thanks for the hot pack. I’ll return it.”

The members of TeenSpirit flitted away like delinquent angels, then adjusted to a ladylike walk mid-stride.

We marveled at their professional pre-stage warm-up—

“Waaaahhh—!”

The cheers that followed made our earlier roar feel like a teaser, and we blinked in astonishment.

“......”

A reminder that we still have a long way to go.

The festival’s final stage ended, and I changed back into MC attire and returned to the stage.

Now, the awards.

—Excellence Award goes to... Team Nigeria!

Scores from the judges plus live voting determined the winners, each holding a plaque reading “₩5,000,000 Prize.”

And then...

—Next, the ₩20,000,000 Grand Prize. Who will it be?

While Baek Sang-joong built suspense, I opened the envelope and announced:

“Congratulations! Malaysia’s one hit!”

“Waaaah—!”

Only then did the Malaysian cover-dance team, now with human expressions, jump and hug.

Other cover teams applauded in respect.

Tears welled in one hit’s eyes as they took the mic.

“Thank you.”

They spoke of how worthwhile their practice had been.

“Of course there were hardships, but...”

Their voice cracked as they looked toward me.

What the—why now?

“This experience has been very meaningful. I’ll never forget what happened in Korea.”

Everyone applauded, celebrating the champions. After the festival, participants hugged and wiped tears.

“Hi!”

“How have you been?”

We found the Malaysian team to congratulate them.

Seeing our faces, they burst into tears again.

“Thank you so much.”

The four-member team rubbed swollen eyes.

“At first, we never thought we’d win...”

We asked, smiling,

“Did we help you?”

“Yes. Really. Thanks to NewBlack, we won this prize.”

“That’s not true.”

We replied,

“You practiced so much and are so talented that you won the prize. Not because of us.”

“Uhhh—!”

Bi-joo smiled and said,

“We saw you practicing everything we taught you. We were so proud.”

“Th-thank you.”

Their words “We were proud” turned the waiting room into a flood of tears again.

The PBS documentary crew had been filming us.

Amid busy cameramen, we quipped,

“How was it? Fun, right?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll come again next year?”

“......”

Their expressions fell.

“Thanks, NewBlack.”

“It looks like there’s a group photo. We need to go.”

“Thank you!”

They waved and hurried off, cameramen sprinting after them. Jung-hyun sighed.

“Usually fans cling to idols, scared time will run out. They don’t want to leave.”

“That’s true.”

“Then why are fans running away from us?”

“......”

October passed, and November arrived.

Winter.

Year-end shows and awards were approaching one by one.

In early December was our first invitation, Hong Kong’s KMA; and in early November, the Mango Chart Awards.

—NewBlack, Girls on Top, etc. confirmed for 2015 MCA first lineup

—TNT, TeenSpirit, NewBlack to appear at ‘2015 Mango Chart Awards’... All the hottest acts gather

—‘Billboard Hot 100’ #65, breakout idol NewBlack heads to MCA

Every day, articles about awards appeared in droves—far more than last year.

Alongside our elevated status, our latest OST, “Thousand Dreams,” had charted respectably on the Billboard Hot 100 and OST charts, steadily climbing since debuting in the 70s.

“Wow. Did you guys see this?”

“So cool.”

“They say Hailey Swan covered our song.”

“Really?”

“And some famous American country singer covered it too.”

Not on the level of Falling Stars, but covers by famous U.S. artists of “Thousand Dreams” appeared.

A popular teenage singer, and on MeTube, a middle-aged country artist strumming it—seeing them was amazing.

And domestically, TNT’s Shin Joo-young made a Korean-version cover; girl group Daylight’s seniors uploaded a cover that became a MeTube hit.

“Hey, check ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) this out.”

“What is it?”

“TJ trainees covered our song in their video.”

Knowing TJ Entertainment’s trainees—those who once cut me—were covering our song gave me a strange feeling.

I’d imagined this when I’d barely made debut: my juniors using my song for their monthly evaluation or covers.

Though the situation had changed, actually seeing it was indescribably surreal.

And matching our song’s popularity, our schedule got busier.

“TBC year-end music festival wants our OST performance.”

“Really?”

“They asked us to prepare something.”

They were already bookmarking us for year-end broadcasts.

“So busy.”

“Seriously, no free days until early next year.”

“No spaces left on the calendar.”

We’d have to run as fast as our eyebrows flew.

Between wrapping up overseas tours and award schedules, the nearest was the Mango Chart Awards.

“But...”

While resting during award-stage practice, the youngest looked at their phone and asked,

“What award do you think we’ll get this time?”

“We’ll get Top 10, right?”

An award for the ten tracks with the best chart performance and popularity. We’d heard we were in the Top 10.

We’d also heard we ranked third in popularity voting, behind TNT and TeenSpirit.

“Not that one.”

“Huh. Then what else is there?”

Though we were nominated for many, we had no idea which award we’d actually receive. Last year, only the Rookie Award had caught our eye; this year had so many categories.

“Winning any one of them would be great.”

“Right. I’ve never actually won a major award, aside from things like OST awards.”

Although we’d been nominated for Grand Prize this year, whether we’d win was unknown. Especially since TNT and TeenSpirit also had record-breaking years.

“...I really don’t know.”

“It’s confusing.”

“At times like this, we have only one thing to trust.”

We had only one thing to trust.

“Jung-hyun.”

“Yes.”

“How’s your gut feeling? Think we’ll win?”

“Hmm....”

And with his answer, we continued practice happier than anyone.

At the same time, in a dim office, a man brushed back his hair and asked,

“How’s the preparation going?”

“Good.”

Director Yoon Seok-hwan replied.

“We’re preparing as hard as possible.”

“We need to be thorough.”

CEO Park Gyu-ho said,

“From the first Red Carpet outfits for the Mango Chart Awards to stage costumes and set design.”

“Yes, CEO.”

“And the stage VCR. Dancers.”

He spoke seriously:

“Use the best experts in each field. Make jaws drop when they see the stage.”

“Yes, CEO.”

“Don’t spare the budget.”

Park Gyu-ho gave a benevolent smile.

“Our kids are worth every investment.”

“Yes, CEO.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

After Yoon bowed and left the office, Park Gyu-ho relaxed, swiveling in his chair and tapping his foot.

In his hand was a document.

“Haha! Ha-ha!”

Park Gyu-ho burst into manic laughter as he looked at the statement showing overseas tour profits from October.