In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

The following is the literal, faithful translation of the provided passage, with names and transliterations checked against the cheat sheet. Dialogues are in straight double quotes only, and nothing has been omitted or paraphrased.

Next Monday, after Ri-hyeok’s graduation ceremony had ended.

By the time I’d finished nodding off and waking up repeatedly in the car on the way to the airport, it was already almost time.

“Aigoo.”

I couldn’t help but mutter.

Seeing the crowd waiting in front of the third-floor terminal at Incheon Airport felt overwhelming.

“...How are we supposed to get through that?”

“Wow. Look how tight it is.”

The hommas who’d climbed ladders held their long-lens cameras like cannons, and the entertainment reporters were already warming up to sprint.

Not a single gap anywhere—it was packed solid.

If any soccer coach saw this, they’d probably use it as a textbook example of perfect defense.

“I still think we could break through, though.”

At Junghyun’s muttered attempt to spot a gap, Ri-hyeok and I waved our hands.

“Let’s not make any controversies, Beetle.”

“I’d rather create a dark history than a controversy, hyung.”

Our manager-hyungs drove on with blank looks.

“Maybe we should move over to Gate 3 instead....”

“They’ll follow us.”

The hommas with ladders and the reporters began chasing us madly to set up in the new spot.

I traded forced laughs with the managers.

After a breathless exchange between airport security, the hired guards, and our staff...

“Waaaah!”

My brothers and I got out of the car.

With a roar that turned Incheon Airport into chaos, camera flashes rained down.

We paused at the crosswalk, struck photo poses, and smiled.

“Excuse us, please!”

“Don’t push! Please don’t push!”

“Step back!”

Thanks to the guards forming a human corridor on both sides, we managed to slip through safely.

Aigoo.

Some sasaengs slammed into me as though ramming me with their bodies and fell over.

Someone screamed as their camera clattered to the ground.

They swore at each other after colliding; passing passengers gaped at the mayhem.

“Ahk!”

I gently caught Ri-hyeok’s arm as someone nearly tore at his hair, then guided him in front of me.

Hands kept reaching in between the guards’ elbows and shoulders.

Swoosh.

Each time, I twisted my body and dodged them all.

“...?”

One of the guards, puzzled by how calmly I passed through, cocked his head.

As the saying goes, “Even a temple dog can recite poetry after three years,” and after doing this enough times, I’d developed a knack for it.

I kept evading their hands and shepherding my brothers forward.

“Uh...? Uh!”

I caught our main dancer, who looked as startled as a deer that’d wandered into an herbalist’s shop, and guided him onward.

Once we’d checked in for our flight, the press managed to tail us all the way to the departure gates and the airplane, but they couldn’t get any closer.

“It feels like we’re surrounded by fortress walls.”

“Right?” Viju murmured. All the passengers seated around our area were company staff.

Sticking to the window seats, we passed the time with our brothers until...

“How have you all been?”

At the familiar voice, I saw the face of the “Math Ghost” settle into the seat beside me.

My brothers and I greeted him with smiles.

“Congratulations on your promotion, team leader.”

“Thanks to you, singer-nim.”

Seok-hwan hyung grinned as he sat down. Unlike the other staff, he was even in a suit, which made him stand out more.

“Isn’t that suit uncomfortable?”

“Once we land in Japan, there are tons of places to go. Business meetings, too.”

“Ohh....”

We all went “Wow, team leader~” and he laughed broadly. Sometimes a suit really does make the man—Seok-hwan looked older than his age since his promotion.

It was an unbelievably fast rise—most of the acting team leaders in our company are at least in their forties.

“Is that your new business card?”

“I wasn’t planning to make one, but the CEO handed it to me.”

On the crisp new card it read “TF Team Leader.” The NewBlack TF Team: a small unit drawn from finance, PR, and management, like a mini-company under the newly created second headquarters alongside Scarlet.

“Team leader, huh.”

Though Seok-hwan blushed each time we gushed, he seemed secretly proud.

“Stop boosting me. You did well, so this happened because of you guys.”

Watching him shoo away our praise, we smiled.

Seeing “Team Leader” before Yoon Seok-hwan’s name felt strange yet wonderful. So much time had passed since we first met—and now someone who’d stood by me wasn’t just my manager but a partner in success.

“By the way...”

I lowered my voice. The managers and staff we passed in the hallways, including Section Chief Hong Seo-young, were the same faces joining us on tour. Yet hard as I looked, our schedule sheet showed nothing beyond the concert.

“I didn’t see anything on the itinerary except the concert.”

“Ah.”

“There’s usually at least a TV interview or some promotional event lined up before an overseas tour.”

I shook my head, and Seok-hwan gave an embarrassed smile.

“Well...there’s a bit of an issue.”

“Issue? What issue?”

From the back row, the maknae and Junghyun craned their necks, eavesdropping. Seok-hwan locked eyes with me and said, “The situation in Japan is ambiguous, so I can’t give you a clear answer yet.”

“...?”

“I’ll have to get a feel for things once we’re there.”

His cryptic remark left me blinking, but there was no time to press further—boarding was about to begin.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and the plane roared down the tarmac toward the vast sky.

With the engine’s drone filling my ears, I squeezed the toy in my hand.

Squaaawk—

It was the chicken squeaky toy Junghyun had given me. I pressed its belly over and over, as it calmed me down.

Once we’d taken off smoothly, a flight attendant pushing the beverage cart locked eyes with me and broke into a sweat as she saw me clutching the chicken.

Trying to make sense of the situation, she hesitated.

“She’s my friend.”

I tapped the chicken squeak-toy again, and she finally laughed.

Why did she find that funny...? Lately, everyone we met seemed unable to stop laughing whenever they saw us.

Kansai Airport.

We had landed at the international airport in Osaka. Our concerts would take place in a hall in nearby Kobe, then later in Yokohama. In between, we’d do fan signs and other promotions to draw in Japanese fans.

“Our goal this trip is to make our name even more known among idol fans in Japan!”

That had been the plan, but—

“...?”

The moment we stepped off the plane, security staff were moving busily. My brothers and I blinked as we carried our suitcases.

“Please wait here until the situation calms down.”

“What’s going on?”

When I asked, the airport staff looked at me as if to say, “What are you talking about?”

A man wearing a police-style hat spoke:

“You have...many fans.”

“Oh.”

“A lot.”

He made air quotes around “a lot” as he exchanged frantic radio chatter with his colleagues.

While the managers and other staff tilted their heads, wondering, I felt tremors underfoot, as if hundreds of cattle were stampeding, like in The Lion King.

Gulp.

Ri-hyeok ducked behind Junghyun and me.

“What if we get left behind?”

“...”

He formed a pout and stepped in front of us. When Viju and Jiho moved up alongside him, he froze.

Like a figurehead at the bow of a ship, he stood at the very front.

“Wait a minute—now I’m the human shield.”

We gave him warm smiles.

“You’re overestimating yourself.”

“I’m the decoy, not the shield.”

We joked that we’d lure the Japanese fans toward him while we escaped—and he practically breathed fire at us.

While we stalled for time, Viju asked in confusion:

“When did we get so many fans in Japan?”

“I have no idea.”

“Last time we came, it wasn’t this crazy. I don’t think they even knew our name.”

Last spring, we’d wrapped up the Windflower album promotions and done a K-Net K-Pop Concert and showcase. Other than an internet variety show and some magazine interviews, that was it.

Ri-hyeok said, “Honestly, a lot of things about this feel strange. Starting with the concert scale.”

Compared to the 1,000-person showcase in Shibuya last year, this was dozens of times bigger. I’d heard tickets sold out in mere minutes back then, but this...this was on another level.

Our main vocalist looked around and lowered his voice:

“Do you know what the weirdest thing is?”

“What?”

“The airport staff here—they look like they already know us.”

I turned to look. Whether friendly or not, the staff all had expressions that clearly recognized who we were. That made no sense—outside of the idol-obsessed, most people in Japan wouldn’t know our name.

“Maybe it’s because of MTube?”

“That’s the most likely.”

“But those staff look too old to watch MTube, don’t they?”

As we whispered back and forth, a young male security officer approached.

“Excuse me...could I get your autograph?”

“An autograph?”

“Yes—if it’s not too much trouble, for everyone standing over there, too.”

His seniors standing off to the side shyly waved. We drew spaceships on the paper and asked for their names; they beamed.

“Asuka,” she said.

“How did you know about us, Asuka-san?”

“Oh. I see you on TV all the time.”

“On TV?”

She nodded as if it were obvious. Japanese TV...?

Seok-hwan gave a wry look, and as we were about to question him, the airport staff announced we could finally exit.

“All right, let’s go.”

“Go-go-go~!”

We pushed our suitcases through the screen doors, and—

“Kyaaaaah!”

A banshee-wail greeted us. The crowd was maddeningly huge. Flashbulbs popped, fans waved placards, and cheered.

“...?”

We froze in place, eyes wide. This was Osaka, not the capital Tokyo area, yet the crowd far outnumbered what we’d seen in Tokyo.

“One, two, three!”

“Hello! We’re NewBlack!”

We smiled and waved; the cheers roared back even louder.

Wow...so many people.

We exchanged excited looks. “How did you all find out?!” Ri-hyeok shouted, and answers flew at us from every direction, blending into an unintelligible roar.

Meanwhile, cameras stuck to us like glue, panning and zooming. I thought they were local stations, but the tripods bore major network logos.

After greeting the fans—

“Thank you! See you at our concert~!”

We climbed into the waiting minibus outside Kansai Airport.

My heart was pounding harder than ever—the biggest crowd I’d ever encountered at a foreign airport.

“Whew...”

Back on the bus, I took off my cap and felt sweat trickling down my back. I slipped off my damp gloves and took a deep breath.

“Ouch, my shoulder hurts. Someone must’ve bumped me when we were running.”

“Sorry—that was me.”

“Was that you, Junghyun hyung? I thought I’d been hit by a truck.”

“Wonseok hyung! Can I have some water?”

As we chatted, the crowd outside pressed closer, so our driver floored the accelerator in panic.

“Beep...!”

“Beep...!”

Japanese fans reached in desperation; the beeping reminded me of little chirping birds. Meanwhile, I walked to where Seok-hwan hyung sat drinking water.

“Hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“Now explain—what’s going on?”

He held up his finger as if to say “one moment,” finished his drink, then said in a measured tone:

“As you can see, you have quite a few fans here.”

“I can see that.”

“Not as big a frenzy as when TNT or TeenSpirit came, but...groups this popular are rare.”

“I know that, too.”

Gasping, I asked:

“But where did all these fans come from?”

“This is the first time I’ve seen this many fans at an overseas airport. We almost lost you guys.”

“This is Japan, too—I still don’t get it.”

Different countries have different idol cultures. In the U.S., fans tend to be K-pop generalists rather than exclusive to one group; in China, they focus on individual members. Japan’s idol market is insular: groups usually debut in Japanese with local promotions or TV appearances.

“But we only came here once last year.”

Ri-hyeok was right: we’d only popped in and out. No Japanese single, no local push—nothing. Normally, success in Korea would carry over proportionally, but we’d done practically nothing.

“Half of that is true,” Seok-hwan said, eyes on his buzzing phone before looking at us.

“You haven’t done anything here...yet.”

“...?”

“After you started blowing up in Korea, you’ve been on Japanese TV a lot.”

“Us?”

“It’s hard to explain, but if you search ‘NewBlack’ on Japanese MTube, you’ll see.”

Ri-hyeok typed “ニューブラック” and a slew of videos appeared. Thumbnails looked like talk-show panels.

“Is that a news debate program?”

We clicked one. Middle-aged men sat in panel seats, talking seriously. I pieced together enough Japanese to get the gist.

“Here’s the amount of soufflé bread NewBlack sold in one month!” an MC said, pointing to a chart reading “Super-popular! NewBlack bread!”

A female panelist gasped, “Heeey, that’s incredible!” “Wait—this is real?” “They even brought actual soufflé bread imported from Korea,” another said, tasting it. “It’s soft, sweet with a heavy sugar aroma.”

We blinked at each other.

“Why are they eating this on national TV?”

“Right?”

Skipping the taste tests, the MC asked a male panelist:

“This so-called ‘NewBlack Phenomenon’ has caused your popularity to skyrocket in Korea. Professor, what do you make of it?”

“Well, although their popularity is undeniable, I think we should look beyond their music or talent to explain this.”

“Look beyond?”

“It’s odd. No Korean idol group in the past decade has captured public interest like this without some external influence.”

We leaned in. The professor continued:

“K-pop is a government-backed soft power initiative, right?”

“Ah—so it has government support?”

“In my view, NewBlack is possibly a Korean government project to boost soft power...”

We watched in astonishment as they debated whether our rise was a covert national strategy. They even questioned how our Nostalgia OST reached the Billboard Hot 100, or the viral New Year greeting video we filmed looking east toward Ullengdo just two weeks ago.

“Ugh...”

After endless clips of us on Japanese TV—from political talk shows to variety and news footage—our maknae’s eyes went wide with shock.

“What the...? They’ve been broadcasting our every move on terrestrial TV, too?”

Charts showing our Billboard trajectory for our album and OST played out. I felt like the guy across from my apartment watching through a telescope.

Seok-hwan scratched his cheek and said, “437 times.”

“Huh?”

“That’s how many times /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ you’ve appeared on Japanese TV since your visit last year—that’s our staff’s count.”

“...”

“Once the media started calling you ‘the nation’s idols,’ mentions exploded, especially after the soufflé bread incident.”

Realizing something we’d completely missed, I gasped:

“Viju, did you hear? The soufflé bread...”

“Hyung, the soufflé bread...”

We stared in disbelief, but just then Seok-hwan’s phone rang again.

“Yeah, Wonseok? What’s up?”

His eyes met ours, and at that moment we pictured whoever was with Wonseok at the airport.

“Viju!”

“Kim Viju!”

“Viju, baeoooh!”

We snatched up the phone.

Kansai Airport.

In the lost-and-found rest area set up as a holding room, NewBlack’s main dancer sat pouting, nose red from sniffling. An airport staff member handed him two cups of cocoa, and he bowed his thanks.

“Hyung, let’s drink together.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s have ours before everyone else gets here.”

“Sounds good.”

As Dowon-seok and I sipped cocoa, a five-year-old girl holding balloons patiently waiting for her mother asked nearby:

“Hey—”

“Hm?”

“Are you lost, too?”

“No.”

He stared into the distance.

“My hyung and brothers left me behind.”

“They’re mean.”

“Yeah. They’re really mean.”

Viju clenched his cup, determined to give us a good scolding when we all reunited.