In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Samseong-dong COEX.

Stylists carrying piles of clothes and manager hyungs clutching phones pushed through the crowd.

“Sorry! Excuse us!”

We hurried along behind them, breaking into brisk steps.

We wandered through the large exhibition hall’s partitioned waiting rooms until we found the one with the “NewBlack” sign.

Hyung Mingi lifted the draped curtain in place of a door and frowned.

“What the—why is this so cramped?”

Our ample luggage barely fit; there was almost no extra space.

Seeing the staff’s slightly puzzled expressions at the HBS Music Awards production team’s choice of cramped quarters, we smiled and said,

“Well, at least it’s bigger than last year.”

We held out our hands to receive our stage outfits in plastic garment bags from the staff.

Because the space was so tight, the stylists and others had to step out while we changed.

Viju slipped his arm into his jacket and said, “It’s so hectic, I feel like my mind’s completely blank.”

“After doing a live broadcast stage, too,” the maknae said, gently smoothing his hair.

“When we filmed for Masterpiece it was pre-recorded so it was OK, but today was live and there were so many lines.”

“Seriously,” I agreed. “The MC kept handing me the mic whenever there was a gap.”

“That’s only because hyung answers so well. I heard the MC saved your lines as a ‘Line Fairy’ in his phone.”

“That’s flattering... but maybe I overdid it?”

“Uju hyung, I remember what you told me: ‘Junghyun, if you stay still, you’re half the stage.’”

We burst out laughing at Junghyun’s words.

Finished changing, we called out to those outside. “We’re all dressed!”

The staff reentered, touching up our makeup and tidying our hair.

It felt totally insane.

Maybe because we’d rushed all the way from Yeouido’s PBS studios to COEX in Samseong-dong, or because our previous broadcast had been the two-hour, live Masterpiece stage that averaged 15% ratings.

The tension was unreal.

We’d even heard that year-end specials would spike ratings higher than usual.

And as one of the most recognizable groups among Masterpiece’s original members, a few cameras frequently cut to our reactions in the singer seats.

To avoid being caught making the slightest odd expression, we spent those two hours beaming, waving and cheering “Wow!”

“Hey, look at this,” Ri-hyeok said, holding out his palm. We all cracked up.

“Hahaha!”

He’d applauded so hard that the inside of his pale hand was reddened.

When Viju rummaged in his bag to pull out lotion, I teased, “Take it easy.”

“Gotta be careful not to get called out. These days you have to watch out even for falling leaves.”

“True.”

With the year-end season in full swing, new Souffle fans had swelled our ranks, puffing up the atmosphere. Being one of the year’s most popular idols, every little thing became a news item: even a photo of us savoring a sip of water at a corporate year-end party ran as “I’m savoring water today, too...☆.”

“All right, ready? Let’s go rehearse!”

“Go-go!”

We laughed and left the partitioned waiting room together.

Thanks to our mad dash after Masterpiece, we still had time before rehearsal.

We bowed to people we passed in the exhibition hall on our way to the stage.

Greeting the HBS Music Awards staff holding the cue sheet, we smiled and said, “Hello, we’re NewBlack!”

“Glad to meet you. Let’s start NewBlack’s rehearsal right away.”

Although the company and the network weren’t on great terms at the moment, the rehearsal felt no different from a typical music show.

The PD seemed disinterested.

Aside from the reduced segment length and the adrenaline of an impending live broadcast, the staff looked extremely tense.

“That was good,” they said. I expected to run through camera blocking notes and do a couple more takes like at Masterpiece, but the rehearsal wrapped up in just one run, leaving me wanting more.

Hiking his heel to test the stage floor’s material, Viju said, “Hyung, everything seems fine, but it’d be good to redo our walk up the stairs once more.”

“I was thinking the same.”

Unfamiliar with the stage layout, I wanted one more practice on the stair entrance. Scanning the gap until the next rehearsal, I picked up my mic and asked cautiously, “Sorry to bother you, but could we redo our entrance walk once more?”

“Sure.”

The PD glanced at the cue sheet and lazily flipped on our mic. Then there was a snap as if he’d cut the main mic feed.

Silence fell on the empty stage.

We climbed the stairs onto the stage, walked, stepped down, and climbed again.

“One-two-three, four.”

“One-two-three, ta-ta.”

Viju and I synchronized our timing with the others. Remembering the camera positions, I pointed out spots on stage to my brothers.

“Camera One was over there—angle-wise, Junghyun, you should look that way.”

“Got it, hyung.”

“And Jiho, check our expressions, please.”

After Jiho gave a quick expression check, the surrounding staff eyed us like, “Why are they doing all this?” It seemed like just two minutes of rehearsal wasn’t worth the fuss to them—but this was our stage, so of course we’d give it our all.

“Thank you!”

We waved and smiled, then stepped off stage.

Watching the rehearsal footage that the managers recorded on their phones, we shared feedback. Ri-hyeok looked a bit bothered.

“Ah, um, the sound was...”

“Wasn’t the mic too low? Only the backing track was blasting.”

Hyung Wonseok said, “I talked to production—they said the sound setup’s always like this.”

“...Really.”

I had plenty to say but held my tongue. From the lighting to the sound, everything felt off. The stage layout felt odd. I began to wonder if it was intentional.

“Phew...”

In a corner of the exhibition hall I spotted the “pretty boys” crouched, sucking Chupa Chups like cigarettes, their faces full of frustration. I whispered to my brothers, “They’re in a bad mood. Let’s pass by.”

“Eyes down, let’s go.”

As we tried to hurry past, one of them lifted his head.

“...Hello.”

His voice was low and weary; we smiled.

“Hello, sunbaenims.”

“Yeah, hey.”

“Why do you look so wiped out?”

“After rehearsal we got so pissed we kept practicing... now we’re exhausted and resting.”

“Why?”

At our maknae’s question, the other young members sighed deeply.

“The sound is fucking terrible...”

“And the lights are blasting right into our eyes—I feel like I’m under a microscope.”

“That’s a magnifying glass, you idiot. Expand your vocabulary.”

“This guy’s highest education is Pizza School.”

“Shut up, all of you. Anyway, no matter how many times we complain about the sound, it’s the same... argh...”

We listened, laughing, to their rehearsal woes and realized the problem was universal, not just us.

Our maknae Woobin, who looked tough on the outside, asked, “Hyungs, was your rehearsal OK?”

“We? Yeah,” we replied warmly, nodding. They narrowed their eyes.

A silent, smiling nod.

Then, in that friendly vibe, we exchanged a heartfelt high-five.

December 27.

In the evening, the HBS Music Awards officially began.

“Oooh.”

Since all the acts stayed in the partitioned waiting room, we watched the live broadcast on tablet PCs.

After a VCR campaign promoting the HBS Music Awards and each singer’s promo activities:

“Go Street!”

“Make some noise!”

Delinquent rappers in hip-hop attire swaggered toward the camera for the opening performance—a joint stage with Street Boys and Wild leading five boy groups.

“Woah!”

LB’s member tripped off another’s hand, kicked into the air like a spinning flip, and did a perfect landing—earning us seal-clap applause.

“Go, our street boys!”

“They must’ve practiced so much—it makes sense they kept telling us to hype up.”

The nine-member group stood out amid the sharp-cut choreography. Only pity the poor sound—it was hard to hear the vocals.

“Waaaaa!”

Far-off cheers drifted through the tablet. After the joint performance closed with a group shot centered on a smirking Hanjo, the male and female MCs appeared in tux and gown.

“This year’s HBS Music Awards have prepared stages for you with the most dazzling lineup ever!”

“An absolutely powerhouse roster.”

As the MCs bantered, a VCR played. When our image popped up next to Serenity’s logo and a teaser poster, the crowd roared.

“Waaaaa!”

Logos for Street Boys and the other artists streamed by until Teenspirit and TNT closed the intro.

“Then let’s begin the 2015 HBS Music Awards!”

From Girls On Top’s solo stage onward, the main show rolled. There were occasional sponsor-driven idol events, but none applied to us, so we relaxed and watched.

“This is so chill.”

“It’s been ages since a broadcast where we could just sit back like this.”

Lately, wherever we went the station staff harried us nonstop—but tonight was different. Aside from our solo in Part One, there were no random tasks.

“OK, clockwise~”

“Counterclockwise~!”

Using the downtime, we lounged with our brothers, shoulder-rubbing and enjoying the show.

“Ooh, I like that stage effect.”

“We should use that at our concert—fans would love it.”

“Oooo...”

Since most acts had only brief slots, they aimed for maximum impact in minimal time. Our company seniors impressed me most: Yun Chanhyuk’s ballad medley, then...

“Oh.”

Scarlet’s main dancer Rina suddenly launched into the air on a pumping lift—compressed-air powered, shooting her up like a rocket.

Her long legs landed gracefully, and the audience went wild.

“Waaaaa!”

She tapped her jacket with rider gloves, eyes locked on the camera. The girl group assembled on stage, powering through their hip-hop title track’s choreography. We admired their strength.

“Look at that power. No wonder they eat meat.”

“Right.”

“Maybe that’s why our choreography’s felt light lately. Shall we grill beef back at the dorm?”

The managers next to us made baffled faces: “What do you mean, you’re light on power?”

“Check it out,” Jiho tugged on Junghyun’s bicep and waved his hand.

“My arm’s all weak... hyung, relax your hand.”

“Okay.”

“See! My hand’s dangling ’cause there’s no strength!”

“Dangling, dangling.”

The managers laughed. With a meat-eating excuse secured, we casually watched the remaining performances.

“NewBlack! Please stand by!”

“Yes!”

We stretched and rose from our seats. Calling our brothers over with determined faces, I said, “No need for long speeches.”

Two minutes thirty seconds.

“Let’s make it impactful. Two-three!”

“Military-roasted sweet potato, military chestnut, NewBlack!”

We joined hands and shouted together.

Midway through Part One.

Before NewBlack’s stage, the idol community was in chaos.

“Is the next one really NewBlack???”

“Yeah, seems so.”

“ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Was that cue sheet for real?”

“Huh??? They’re up now?? Why?”

“I’m not even a fan and this is ridiculous.”

The cue sheet—printed with “Absolutely no leaks”—listed each act’s running order for the show. Such sheets often leaked online during year-end season.

[Today’s HBS Music Awards Cue Sheet.jpg]

The uproar began when someone posted it that day.

“Girls On Top live AR again—give us real vocals.”

“Singers should sing... why lip-sync their own song?”

“Enoti?? Who are they? Why so many of them?”

“Teenspirit can never get the ending lol, give it to Teenspirit this year.”

“MOP’s not in a position to complain about airtime... Teenspirit’s got airtime, but look at Serenity’s.”

“Knew it lol, last year was KM Party, this year it’s a TJ and MOP fest.”

People criticized TJ Entertainment and MOP Entertainment’s heavy representation. But the biggest headline was NewBlack’s airtime.

[HBS Music Awards airtime controversy]

After navigating the year-end awards, NewBlack was supposed to perform near the finale, followed by Teenspirit and TNT. Yet the cue sheet placed us not at the ending but smack in the middle—with [N O V E L I G H T] exactly one solo slot marked “[‘Wind Flower’ + ‘Nine’ medley].”

“What the?? What is this?”

“I’m not really into them, but one solo slot is weird.”

“ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Among boy groups this year, who was more mainstream than them?? So absurd.”

“What were they thinking?”

“Has the PD never bought NewBlack bread?”

“These bastards played pre-recorded tricks last year, and every year they outdo themselves.”

Even non-Souffle idol fans were stunned. Some wondered if the sheet was fake. Most speculated there must be some trouble behind the scenes.

“......”

Souffle fans gritted their teeth and watched TV. Their only consolation: they weren’t the only ones baffled by HBS’s year-end show.

“Why’s the MR so loud today?”

“I can’t hear their voices...”

“Just focus on the dancers! Why is the camera swaying with them?”

With twisted camera work and poor sound, fans of other groups were exasperated. Finally, NewBlack’s time arrived.

And then...

“Dad!”

“What?”

“Come quick! NewBlack’s on right now!”

“They said we’re later...”

Souffle fans at home franticed their families. “What? Why are they on so early?” Meanwhile, family members watching casually said,

“Why are they up already?”

“They must have somewhere else to rush to. Didn’t they just do Masterpiece live?”

“Oh. They’re popular, so that makes sense.”

As they accepted it, the intro played and NewBlack strode onto the stage.

“Wow.”

All in suits, NewBlack’s members looked sharper than ever—their smaller haircuts and long limbs emphasizing perfect proportions. They walked toward the camera like models on a runway.

Uju, singing the lyrics to “Wind Flower,” walked elegantly, then turned to the camera with a soft smile.

“Are they just nailing the camera every time?”

I doubted it was intentional—but at each cut, a member ghosted into frame with perfect timing, head tilt or smile.

After one minute and the chorus, the big LED screen lit up behind Ri-hyeok as he reached out with a longing smile—and the crowd went wild.

“Waaaaaaaah!”

With the sea of waving lightsticks shaking, the mood shifted in an instant. Neon beams shot out as nearly thirty dancers flooded the stage.

In suits, NewBlack rode fierce choreographic waves.

“Damn, they’re good,” someone murmured.

“Told you they’re real idols.”

“But do they always do such a short set? Isn’t that a famous song?”

“It can’t end here—they must be teasing us.”

“Ah...”

As the middle-aged viewers nodded in understanding, the thirty dancers joined NewBlack for the full “Nine” routine, dancing until their bodies felt like they’d break. Viju, at center, led the flow with skate-like arm moves, flanked by Uju and Jiho spreading the momentum outward. Junghyun’s deeper-than-usual voice delivered the addictive “Nine-nine” chorus; within seconds the members were drenched in sweat, glistening under the lights.

“Wow.”

Uju, front hair soaked, shook his head, taking center stage for the dance break. Then the leader thrust the mic-hand toward the camera like firing a gun, winking.

“Waaaaaaah!”

The lights instantly cut.

“Is that it?”

Viewers across the country stared in disbelief.

“What? That’s the end?”

“Weren’t they supposed to sing a carol? I thought they’d do something like on Masterpiece.”

“Is this how they do trailers now? It’s been so long I don’t even know what’s going on.”

Yet seeing them shout “Thank you! Happy New Year!” as they exited into darkness confirmed it was over. At Souffle fans’ homes, after hearing the backstory, they cursed, “What jerks.” But unaware viewers began googling.

When “HBS Music Awards NewBlack” trended in real time, entertainment articles sprang up.

“This is blatant abuse of power.”

Viewers who’d joined via Masterpiece frowned, turned off the TV, and left the show.

Then...

“Huh?”

The real-time ratings graph suddenly dipped. In HBS’s control room, staff monitoring the show blinked.

“What’s happening?”

Staff who’d celebrated the highest first-half ratings in three years now looked stunned.

And after Part One ended, entertainment news sections and HBS’s viewer message boards buzzed with commotion.