In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

2 minutes and 30 seconds.

It may be short or long, depending on how you look at it, but compared to the impact NewBlack delivered this year, it was a brief slot.

Even after NewBlack left the stage, the murmurs among the idol fans in the venue wouldn’t die down.

“What the... they’re just leaving right now?”

“Seems like it.”

“They did this and then bowed out...?”

The two most successful idol tracks of the first and second halves of this year were “Wind Flower” and “Nine.” With either song alone, they could have done a full 3-minute-30-second stage. Yet they combined both into a 2-minute-30-second medley, leaving fans speechless.

Online, it was the same uproar as offline.

“Wait, they really ended just like that? lololol”

“What just passed by?”

“Seriously, HBS is trash lol”

“I’m here live and the vibe is... tense. The fans are going nuts and even other fandoms are whispering.”

“Lemon Ent. isn’t some small fry—they’re mid-to-large scale. Look at this abuse.”

“Even at peak popularity they pull rank. Amazing, for real.”

Everyone was incredulous. On Souffle fan sites and social media, posts laced with four-letter words flew in at lightning speed.

“But seeing them do this bullshit every year is maddening lol. Even if idol fans riot, the networks never budge.”

Year after year, idols have been nearly edited out, or injured by poor event management, only for the broadcasters to feign ignorance without a word. Knowing how these incidents always end, other idol fans could only shake their heads.

Meanwhile, something different was happening.

“I popped in because they’d hyped NewBlack’s stage... this is absurd;;”

“About two minutes? Then they left.”

“ㅋㅋㅋ If they’re going to do this, they shouldn’t promote it at all.”

“I was so dumbfounded I turned it off.”

The general public’s communities were buzzing, too. In promos, NewBlack was presented as one of the main acts—yet now they’d vanished. Add to that PBS Masterpiece’s 19% ratings aired just before, and viewers who normally avoid year-end music shows had tuned in for Part One, boosting the ratings.

But the problem was...

“Huh? Why is...?”

“Why’s the ratings graph doing this? This can’t be right.”

The chart, which had been climbing steadily and even surpassed the past three years, suddenly began to dip—exactly at the moment NewBlack exited. It defied all common sense.

“Maybe it’s because NewBlack didn’t come back on?”

“That makes no sense. How many idol fans even matter enough to sway ratings?”

“If not that, then what...?”

“Hey, someone look into this! We already texted the director that we hit the three-year high ratings!”

HBS scrambled to figure it out, but before they could, the cause became clear—from the barrage of posts on the viewer board:

“If you’re going to do this, don’t do it.”

“I almost stayed silent, but this behavior is so nasty and pathetic, I have to speak up.”

“We’re not fools. Get your act together -_-”

“‘Abuse of power’ in this day and age... unbelievable.”

“May all of you who exploit the passion of young people be cursed.”

Even staff who usually ignored idol-fan posts noticed the unusual trend.

“Why are there so many regular viewers?”

Normally, idol-fan uproar stays in fandoms while general viewers remain oblivious. This time, middle-aged and older viewers were leaving protest messages.

“So... does this mean there are this many people who actually like NewBlack?”

“That, and PBS just did their massive year-end Masterpiece special. It smashed ratings—right now.”

“...”

“They were already well known...”

They belatedly realized what they’d overlooked: NewBlack’s widespread recognition. Their powerful appearances on variety shows aside, the older demographic’s habit of replaying favorite videos and songs meant Masterpiece’s NewBlack performance stuck in their minds. Their contest tracks—like “Deoksun-ah,” which topped charts among those over fifty, and “In-saeng”—all resonated.

“Other age groups, too...”

Thanks to nostalgic OSTs and various commercials, they were the most publicly familiar idol group. Most importantly, MiTube. Though HBS downplayed the “History Expedition” Season 2 project’s failure, NewBlack’s 6 million subscribers made them essentially the country’s largest MiTube channel, idol-wise, even counting fans.

“I guess the timing was just awful—Masterpiece and their carol release overlapped...”

Even so, a new carol wouldn’t normally grab such attention every day. But after a nearly 20% footfall from Masterpiece and then HBS Music Awards, the sequence backfired.

And for those at the center, it was a headache.

“You guys only figured this out now?”

“Well... there’s never been an idol like them.”

“...”

That lack of precedent was the root of their misjudgment. News outlets soon ran:

“HBS slammed for year-end ‘power tripping’... ‘Just differential slotting by tenure, no foul’ says network.”

“PPL over substance at ‘power-tripping’ Music Awards Part One.”

“Entertainment Awards ‘power tripping’ backlash.”

Anonymous sources spilled on the long-standing discord between Lemon Ent. and HBS. Then...

“Griiing—”

An executive, off duty on a Sunday, got a call. The HBS Music Awards staff and control-room crew gulped. They’d celebrated historic ratings, only to have the graph plunge.

“Contact Kang PD—put NewBlack back in the corner, even now. It’ll calm the uproar.”

As they instructed adding NewBlack to the “2016 Idols to Watch” interview slot in Part Two...

“He already went home,” someone said blankly.

“What...?”

“They told him he didn’t need to stay and just left....”

“You can’t send him home! Tell him to come back!”

“He said traffic in Gangnam is a nightmare—he’d only make it after Part Two ends....”

Shouts echoed in the station. Meanwhile, on NewBlack’s official SNS:

@thenewblack.official

(Photo: NewBlack dressed for the Music Awards, smiling brightly backstage.)

“Just finished our Music Awards stage today! >ㅇ< Love you, Souffle!”

Uploaded immediately after Part One, innocently posted—but enough to rile up HBS.

“Ants?”

“Dun-dun.”

“Us?”

“Dun-dun!”

On the ride home, NewBlack members clapped and giggled.

“Today’s my 개인카드.”

“Oooo!”

“What’s 개인카드? Jiho?”

The leader held up his personal card with a gleeful face; the others shielded their eyes as if dazzled.

“Let’s grill tons of beef at the dorm and get dun-dun!”

“Dun-dun~!”

“Early off, thank you!”

“Early off! Early off!”

Managers in the car covered their ears as NewBlack chanted “early off.”

After the HBS Music Awards ended, while we dove into rehearsals for the PBS Year-End Festival, plenty happened.

“We had a major fight,” Hyung Seok-hwan told us the behind-the-scenes story when he came to the practice room. Our maknae’s eyes lit up.

“So did you win?”

“No, Jiho—it wasn’t about winning or losing....”

“But if winning or losing makes you a dork either way, the winning dork is best, right?”

When we nodded, calling ourselves “winning dorks,” Seok-hwan laughed.

“Anyway, we really tangled with HBS. Even our CEO was furious—it was the first time I’d seen him so red-faced.”

“The CEO got angry...?”

“His face was flaming... scary enough I couldn’t even talk to him.”

Our CEO never loses his cool, except over DNS matters—so imagining him that angry was surreal.

“HBS’s Drama Dept. is a separate issue, so no problems there. But....”

“The variety side’s the issue.”

“Expect we won’t appear on HBS music shows from next year. It’s basically a ban.”

“Oh.”

“He was really insulted.”

The HBS power-trip controversy still raged—during broadcasts it was fireworks; now it was a full-on blast. While fueled by public interest...

“[Exclusive] HBS defends Music Awards ‘power trip’: ‘Just tenure-based distribution. No foul.’”

HBS’s own statement poured oil on the fire. It shouldn’t have become such a big issue, but their gleeful self-congratulation did it. We even found ourselves applauding spitefully.

They’d claimed, “NewBlack debuted only last year, same tenure as Street Boys,” but that excuse rang hollow after this year’s SNH Ent. rookie Enoti got five minutes and Serenity got six-and-a-half.

Seok-hwan said, “No real reconciliation. They just wanted us to grovel and then it fell apart.”

“What did they offer?”

“They said they’d invite us on their year-end shows to save face.”

“Oh god....”

We laughed at the absurdity, even Jung-hyun’s scowl and squinted eyes.

“Well, can’t help it then.”

Except for feeling bad for company seniors like Scarlet and Yun Chanhyuk, it was predictable. As we accepted it, Seok-hwan said:

“Since it’s come to this, we’ll push more projects with PBS and TBC.”

“Oooo!”

“And other offers keep coming. Remember we met PD Shin Murok at the TBC Entertainment Awards?”

“Yeah.”

We recalled the sullen-faced 30-something PD of “Mr. Producer,” PBS’s flagship variety show.

“He wants to do a new project with us next year. We’re moving that forward.”

“Oooo!”

We shared excited looks.

“The Sejong Science Station trip looked fun—should we do something like that?”

“Let’s put that on the table. Ri-hyeok—”

“The project where we met the mountain tribes and caught salamanders and snakes—wasn’t that fun?”

“Right, Junghyun? Let’s go holding hands.”

When I tried to link Junghyun and Ri-hyeok’s hands, they both tensed.

“I want to go to an apple orchard....”

“Acting special? This should be a drama-special.”

Their blissful chatter and self-centered ideas made me chuckle.

“If we do it, let’s... composition special—”

My mouth snapped shut.

“Hyungs! Cover that filthy mouth!”

“Damn you, composition goblin!”

At Ri-hyeok’s fierce jab, Viju burst out laughing.

Then...

“Sssizzl...”

Unbidden, the sound of grilling meat cut through our banter. We all froze and turned. Saliva pooled in our mouths.

A phone nearby played a video of beef sizzling.

“...”

Our manager’s innocent smile lit up the room.

“Nice effect.”

“...”

“Wonseok suggested it—I didn’t think it’d work. But it really focuses you guys.”

As we sheepishly nodded, he continued:

“I’ll let you know details once the project’s set. It’s sensitive—leaks could ruin it.”

“True.”

“It’s music-related.”

“Oooo...”

While we dreamed up ideas, he gathered paperwork and said, “Jiho, when you have time, swing by Management’s office. We need to talk.”

“Yes!”

“Not now, though.”

Jiho’s eyes lit, ready to dash upstairs; we laughed at him.

Seok-hwan smiled and said, “We probably won’t see each other until the 31st—happy New Year in advance.”

“You too, director!”

“And... huh? What’s this?”

We presented him a gift. He looked puzzled.

“We figured we wouldn’t see you next year, so we got this.”

“Thanks.”

“It was pricey, even by Jiho standards.”

Seok-hwan chided them, but the grin on his lips betrayed him. Hearing Ri-hyeok’s handwritten note was enclosed, he laughed.

“Open it.”

The manager carefully unwrapped it. When Seok-hwan saw the watch inside, his eyes widened.

“Whoa, this—”

“You guys made good money; you had to get him something nice.”

I gently fastened the watch on his wrist. Still stunned, he looked up at me as I said,

“You worked hard this year, hyung.”

“...”

“And next year, too—please take care of us. In that spirit...”

As I searched for the right word, Jung-hyun beamed and cut in:

“This is the shackle we prepared for you.”

“Junghyun.”

Viju jabbed him in the side; Junghyun corrected it.

“It’s a gift, director.”

We all laughed, and I added warmly,

“Half of that was serious.”

Seok-hwan’s smile froze. His pupils trembled as we whispered:

“A lifetime contract.”

“...”

“Lifetime contract. Lifetime contract.”

When we said we wanted him to manage us until we hold our dinner show in our eighties, his face drained of color.

December 30.

Just two days before the 2016 New Year, word arrived that Souffle Bread’s production line would expand—and that HBS, worried about image, proposed a face-saving compromise.

“Waaaaaah!”

We were attending the PBS Year-End Festival.

Opening stage. With each singer rising on a lift to cheers, we stepped onto the platform.

[NewBlack!]

Our logo flashed on the giant LED screen as the crowd’s roar reached us. Cameras rolled, and we walked to the center protrusion, microphones in hand. As the backing track began, our main vocal started singing—and the cheers swelled.

“Waaaaah!”

It was the opening sequence where each group’s main vocalist sang a famous line. While the camera focused on us, the screen showed a family—recently featured in a VCR handing out tickets—the Powerw Souffle family waving lightsticks. We grinned and waved back.

“Welcome, everyone, to the 2015 PBS Year-End Festival!”

MC Oh Hyung-seok of “Mr. Producer” fame emceed with Girls On Top’s Ju Hana and Teenspirit’s Hu-yeon as co-hosts. As the MCs basked in the spotlight, the singers who’d just performed exited backstage.

“Woah...”

Even exiting, people kept scanning the packed stadium. Viju, back in the waiting room, stared at the Gocheok Dome on TV.

“Wow. It’s huge.”

“Told you—it’s built for baseball, so it’s massive.”

Opened last month, Gocheok Dome hosted today’s event, with around 20,000 attendees—the scale was breathtaking. The acoustics weren’t perfect, but the crowd’s energy more than made up for it. Teenspirit was set to hold their solo concert here next month.

“I’d love to do our concert in a place like this, too.”

Everyone agreed. We’d felt the same thrill at a handball arena; the bigger the venue, the higher the excitement.

After the opening and a short break...

RATTLE!

The door burst open as the FD called out, “Ri-hyeok, get ready!”

“Yes!”

“Viju and Uju, suit up and stand by!”

“Yes!”

Unlike two days ago, today was truly hectic. We had unit stages with other groups, duets with Masterpiece’s singers, and more. The cue sheet made it clear they aimed to milk us for every second.

“Nyaaah...”

The toughest part was our main vocal being shuttled around like rental equipment during Part One. PBS had many Masterpiece-themed stages this year. After each set, he’d be drained, so we’d circle around him in ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) a traditional ganggangsullae dance to recharge his energy.

“All right! You can do it! Nyaaah!”

“Nyaaah.”

“One more time. Nyaaah!”

“Nyaaahhhh...!”

“Reading fan-café comments: ‘Our main vocal’s singing skills are unreal. My shoulders are so proud they climbed the Himalayas. My nose is so high it snagged a satellite.’”

“...!”

That final comment hit the mark—Ri-hyeok left the wing with a charged smile saying, “I’m off!” We and the staff beamed. The maknae popped his phone onto the charger.

“My battery died, so it was off.”

“Then what were you reading?”

“I made it up.”

Jiho’s straight face made us all burst out laughing.

At Gocheok Dome.

“Waaaaah!”

As Ri-hyeok joined ballad singer Cha Woo-hyun on stage, the audience roared. His thunderous high-range chorus, even in duet, showcased his volume and skill. Families watching on their living-room TVs nodded along appreciatively.

“Wow, he’s good.”

“He’s slim but packs so much power.”

“Skinny sticks often have the strongest stove... didn’t you know?”

Though inside he was thinking “Nyaaah, nyaaah, nyaaah!” with every note, his outward expression remained calm. As the song reached its climax and he signaled, the stage LED floor shifted. Blue light spread like a carpet from the protruding stage, drawing awe from viewers.

“Hahaha!”

At PBS’s headquarters in Yeouido, ratings for this set came in—turning the responsible PD’s grin into ear-to-ear joy. Producer Baek Seong-hyun, head of the Year-End Festival and Masterpiece, beamed at the ratings that had easily surpassed HBS’s Music Awards just days ago.