In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Concert.

At the news that they’re planning an official second concert, everyone’s attention snaps into focus.

Jiho swallows hard.

“A concert?”

“Yeah. We’ve already secured the venue...”

“Wait a sec.”

Jiho places a hand on his chest and begins to take deep breaths.

We all do the same, closing our eyes to calm ourselves, and the staff laugh and ask,

“Why are you all doing deep breaths all of a sudden?”

“We wanted to compose ourselves before hearing the good news.”

Honestly, we’re all trembling. We have a rough idea of the venue: it’s a huge step up from last summer’s three-day, 5,000-seat handball arena shows. Our special album has nearly sold 400,000 copies, and 60,000 people attended our Japan tour without any separate promotions. With results like these, we dare to hope even higher this time.

Junghyun opens his mouth.

“The ge....”

“Ah!”

We raise our hands to stop him.

“Why?”

“Let’s not say it out loud yet, Junghyun. Don’t jinx it.”

“Ah, right.”

While Junghyun nods, Rihyuk shakes his head.

“But Seokhwan hyung already said the venue is booked. What difference does it make if Junghyun says it?”

“...True.”

Convinced again, Rihyuk nods at Junghyun, who smiles warmly and says,

“So it’s at the gymnastics arena?”

The moment Junghyun finishes, all five of us clasp our hands and wait eagerly. When our desperate gazes meet, Seokhwan sets down his pen with a grin.

“That’s right. It’s the gymnastics arena.”

All at once, the collective sound of deflating air escapes our lips. A hiss of relief, and a wave of happiness washes over us. We exchange grins with our brothers. If we weren’t in a room full of staff, we’d all be bouncing up and down.

Viju wiggles her fingers and laughs,

“It really is the gymnastics arena...”

“It really is...”

The Olympic Park Gymnastics Stadium—a massive venue that can hold over 10,000 people per performance. It’s top-tier for concerts, but it also carries special symbolic weight.

Jiho scratches the back of his head.

“Wow, we’re actually doing a concert in the gymnastics arena. I never thought this day would come.”

“Are we really doing this concert there?”

Rihyuk asks again, and the staff nod. While my brothers comment one by one, I sit quietly, stunned. Performing at the gymnastics stadium is the ultimate sign of success: bringing over 10,000 fans to an offline venue once is no small feat. That’s why first- and second-generation idol seniors held their triumphant concerts there. It’s so symbolic that they speak of ‘entering’ the arena.

I say,

“...This feels strange.”

“Why?”

“I thought we might do it there this time, but now that it’s real...”

Seokhwan just smiles. He’s the same person who used to chaperone us to seniors’ gymnastics arena concerts back when we were trainees at TJ. He understands exactly how I feel.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen them lose their voices,” someone teases.

“This calm... it’s been so long,” another adds.

The staff begin to poke fun as we all sniffle. From beside me I hear Rihyuk blow his nose on a tissue. His face is so small that one tissue covers his features entirely.

I chuckle and ask,

“Rihyuk, are you crying?”

“...”

His ears glow bright at the question, and everyone laughs at the sight of him hiding behind that tissue. Jiho bows his head and looks up at Rihyuk with pity.

“Awww, did our Rihyuk get tears?”

“Damn it!”

“Mission ‘Stop Crying’ accomplished!”

Angry, Rihyuk tosses the tissue, and Jiho ducks it. We all burst out laughing. Even Rihyuk cracks a smile at how ridiculous it was.

I ask,

“Why were you crying?”

“Just thinking that the five of us are going to perform there...”

Our maknae pokes his head in.

“Was it moving?”

“Until you interrupted,” Rihyuk says.

“Hey!”

As the two of them bicker like Tom and Jerry, I exchange meaningful looks with the others. We may not be in tears like Rihyuk, but we’re all feeling the same emotion.

After our reflections on the gymnastics arena, Seokhwan continues the explanation.

“We know it’s sudden without notice, but we booked the venue long ago.”

We ask,

“When did you book it?”

“Last winter.”

“...That’s really early for a gymnastics arena. Is that why?”

“No—it’s because the gymnastics stadium starts remodeling in September this year.”

They say the construction runs until 2018.

“So the booking schedule was tight, and we barely found an opening. Everyone wanted to have a concert before the remodel.”

“I see.”

“If not now, it wouldn’t be until summer two years from now.”

That’s why they applied so early. The concert is slated for mid-to-late May. Last year we worried about summer heat; this spring date will have perfect weather.

“The concert will run three days.”

“Three days?”

“Don’t worry. We planned it knowing you can fill it.”

“Hmm...”

Three days means 30,000 to 40,000 people total. Only a handful of idol groups in Korea could draw that many domestically. It’s nerve-racking, but our manager’s expression says the numbers check out.

Seokhwan says,

“That part’s all set. What we want your input on is this: the schedule will overlap with your album release. How should we coordinate?”

“Should we do the comeback first or the concert first?”

“Exactly.”

I exchange glances with my brothers and speak up,

“We want the concert first.”

“Like last year, pre-releasing the title track at the concert?”

“Yes.”

If we hold the concert right after the comeback, our setlist would be filled with new album tracks—but most Soufflés want to see live performances of Nine and Winter Sleep tracks. We’ve seen many comments from Japanese Soufflés wishing they could. Choosing between finishing the comeback then the concert, or doing music shows while preparing the concert, the former is obviously better.

Seokhwan jots in his notebook,

“Okay, we’ll coordinate for that direction.”

With the concert discussion concluded, the meeting ends. Once everyone trickles out, I wave my brothers off. Then I approach the two who stayed behind: Director Jo Gyu-hwan and producer Ha Seungjoo.

“Thank you for waiting.”

“No # Nоvеlight # problem.”

Director Jo waves off my thanks with a laugh.

“So what’s up? You seemed to have some issues with the album during the meeting.”

“Ah, that...”

I explain to them both,

“I’m having some trouble with the song I wrote.”

Second-floor studio. Two composers sit around as I hit play on the music file. The track is in raw form, like a building’s foundation. As the intro plays, Director Jo and Ha Seungjoo nod thoughtfully.

“The intro’s great...”

To puzzled Ha Seungjoo I say,

“Please listen further.”

“Okay.”

The music evokes choreography that makes Rihyuk want to curse: “What the hell is this intense dance...” Director Jo smiles and says,

“If this becomes the title, they’ll have a hard time with rehearsals.”

“Director.”

“Okay... I’ll focus.”

He widens his eyes as if to say, “See?” The intro flows into verse one and then the chorus. At the chorus’s first note, both composers exclaim,

“Ah.”

“Ah.”

They’ve caught on to my dilemma. I glance at them and silently ask, “Should we stop?” They nod. Ha Seungjoo says,

“Wooju, I know what you mean.”

“It’s vague, right?”

“Kind of... It’s definitely good, but it doesn’t hit you with ‘This is it!’”

This song is one we’re considering for the next album’s title track. From the intro through the chorus it’s well-crafted, but overall it feels ambiguous. It’s not bad, but it doesn’t scream “title track.”

Director Jo says,

“Your previous title tracks felt like they had to be the title. This one... I really pity it. If we tweak it a little, it could be perfect.”

“That’s the problem. I’ve tried every tweak I can think of.”

“It does sound tricky.”

He agrees.

“We shouldn’t mess with it haphazardly. You’ve already tried this and that, right?”

“Yes...”

I’ve cut here and raised there—tried everything—but the song is so delicate that even a small change topples its balance. We even got advice from A&R and production, but

“They said Director or PD needs to look at it. They can’t help it.”

“Hmm.”

Both of them are stumped. I make and hand them two cups of green tea. Sipping, the only sound in the room is “slurp, slurp.” Then Ha Seungjoo asks,

“Any other songs?”

“I have a few candidates for album tracks. But they’re just B-side contenders.”

“Hmm. Hmm. I don’t know.”

“But it’d be a shame to discard them, right?”

At my words, they nod enthusiastically.

“What are you talking about? Why would we discard these? If nothing works, we’ll at least use them as album tracks.”

“There’s nothing to throw away, Wooju.”

Like oxen using every part of their innards, they assure me my songs all have value. Director Jo asks,

“Have you told the members?”

“I’ll talk to them once it’s more finalized. I considered bringing it up earlier, but...”

That day, Viju came in with her own composition sheet. She’d hit a snag, so I helped her solve a simple issue.

“How do you write without ever getting stuck? It’s amazing.”

“Well, I also....”

“And I need to study more to write like you. I can’t imagine you ever getting stuck.”

So innocent, those sparkling eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to admit I’m struggling now. The two of them smiled warmly and understood.

“Junghyun and Jiho are one thing. What about Rihyuk?”

“He...”

When I make a sour face, they laugh.

“Rihyuk, if I’m stuck on a song, what should I do?”

“Huh? You’re stuck?”

“Uh, well...”

“It looks like you need my opinion. Are you really stuck? Want me to give input?”

I share my brief thoughts.

“He was so cocky, my appetite vanished.”

“Ha ha!”

“I decided I’d use any means to finish it on my own.”

We all laugh.

“Okay, let’s listen properly this time.”

“Thank you.”

They cancel their next appointments and join me at the table. We replay the song over and over for hours.

“...!”

When the melody loops in my mind even with my eyes closed, our discussion finally uncovers the issue.

“The song is too perfect.”

“Right.”

“It’s... hard to explain, but you know what I mean?”

I nod at Ha Seungjoo’s words. Striving for perfection in every part is the problem.

“Since it’s my song, I wanted to include so much—up the completeness. I was greedy.”

“You bit off more than you could chew.”

“Yes...”

When making title tracks with the others, we always chose one theme—like a dish with a single ingredient. But this time, since I’m the focus, I mixed in things I wanted to try. I over-strived for perfection.

Director Jo says,

“It’s like combining the most beautiful eyes, nose, and lips—resulting in a strange face...”

“Ah.”

When I grasp his meaning, he pauses mid-explanation, looks at me, and says,

“Is that wrong?”

“Pardon?”

“No, never mind.”

Anyway, we’ve identified the simple issue: each element’s quality is too high, so they clash. But the real kicker is...

“The balance right now is amazing though.”

“Exactly.”

We have the fanciest features possible, yet they somehow match even as they look odd together.

As that conclusion settles, I brood in thought while both of them light up.

“What? You look so happy.”

“When you know the fix.”

At Director Jo’s words, I grin.

“Really? What is it, Director?”

“That...”

He smiles, grabs his coat.

“You should find out for yourself.”

Ha Seungjoo adds,

“In studying, you learn best without answer keys. Self-discovery is the greatest teacher.”

“I’m the type to study with the answer key during exams.”

“Ahem. Like Director said, find the solution yourself. It’s surprisingly simple.”

Seungjoo also grabs his coat.

“There’s an unexpectedly simple fix. Once you know it, you’ll have a great song in no time.”

“You both went through this in your early twenties too.”

“And there’s plenty of time before the final submission.”

They sound like mother birds urging a chick to break its shell. I nod at their wishes for me to solve this myself.

“All right. I’ll find it myself...”

“No point acting pouty, Wooju.”

“...”

“Remember, our company’s an actor agency.”

Director Jo flashes a sly grin as he swings his coat over his shoulder, then knocks on the door on his way out.

“Why knock...?”

I wonder—doesn’t one knock when entering? Then I hear familiar voices outside the door, accompanied by clattering.

“Aaagh! You scared me!”

“Ow! Who stepped on my foot!”

“Kim Junghyun! Move quietly! Your breathing gave us away!”

“Sorry.”

They must’ve been eavesdropping with their ears to the door. Director Jo calmly steps out, and we see our brothers sprawled on the floor.

“Aaagh!”

“Ow! Get off me!”

They lie tangled in a pile, like lettuce, ham, and tomato embroiled in a sandwich war. The door clicks shut. I turn to the rest as Seungjoo prepares to leave.

“By the way.”

He pulls a USB from his coat pocket.

“Take this.”

“Thank you. What is it?”

“You’ll see when you open it.”

I flip open the USB and stare blankly; he says,

“On your computer.”

“Oh, right.”

“When I kept asking if you had time, it was to give you this.”

“I see.”

“There was a video of Myeongju hyung, and your mother appears in it.”

I look up and smile at him.

“Thank you, PD-nim.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

He nods and exits. I tuck the USB safely into my pocket, then survey my brothers, pretending nothing happened.

“Since when were you here?”

“Not too long. About thirty minutes.”

“You couldn’t have heard much past the soundproofing.”

Our maknae grins innocently.

“I caught bits and pieces. For the inaudible parts, Junghyun did some acoustic amplification.”

“Acoustic amplification... never mind.”

Assuming they heard most of our conversation, another question arises.

“But why are you up here? This is supposed to be personal practice time.”

“Oh, that...”

Our maknae puts on a sly look, and the others’ eyes light up.

“We’ve got huge news.”

“Big news?”

“They say in the basement...”

“In the basement?”

“New trainees have finally arrived.”

“...!”

My eyes go wide, and the brothers nod. Having fresh juniors warms my spirits unwittingly.

“Let’s go! To the basement!”

“Yes, hyung!”

We dash down the stairs in excitement.

Thirty minutes later.

Lemon Entertainment’s new trainees, lined up neatly in the practice room, blink up at us.

“...”

Famous senior idols stand before them, putting on the pressure. Then Rihyuk says,

“We brought snacks since coming empty-handed felt odd.”

The NewBlack members shyly smile and hand over hot snack bags. The trainees tentatively accept them, grinning at the savory aroma.

One trainee, eyes gleaming, asks,

“Is this tteokbokki?”

“No,” Wooju replies with a warm smile,

“We grilled some beef.”

“...Excuse me?”

The new trainees gape at the extraordinary scale of the snack.