In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

The discussion about the song wrapped up beautifully.

Both gentlemen expressed great satisfaction with what we’d created.

“I never tire of listening to it, man.”

“It’s great.”

Director Jo smiled.

“The overall structure is solid. It’s perfect as is—nothing to add.”

“Are you sure? Since it’s a blend of three songs, I thought maybe....”

“Nope.”

They both cut me off in unison.

“Perfect.”

Ha Seung-joo laid a hand on my left shoulder.

“No need to ask any more questions. It’s flawless.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Uju.”

Director Jo’s hand came to rest on my right shoulder. Their smiles were bright, but somehow it felt taboo to ask anything further. All their feedback concerned minor sound tweaks or small flourishes.

“Thank you both. I think you’ve given me the direction I needed to finalize it.”

“Nonsense, you did all the work.”

Ahem.

Ha Seung-joo cleared his throat, then laughed and corrected himself.

“Oh—I mean, we all made it together.”

“Thanks. Actually, Viju and I hold about forty percent of the credits, PD-nim.”

“And Jiho’s share is what—?”

“...Thank you! We’ll work even harder~”

His playful reply drew relaxed laughter.

Director Jo checked his calendar.

“Our title-track selection meeting is next week. Can you be ready by then?”

“Yes.”

“I have a feeling your song will be chosen again.”

His eyes curved like a half-moon.

“It’s the tune the ghost blessed, after all.”

“Eek—!”

“Why do you all hate that so much? Embrace it—it’s a fantastic promotional hook.”

He laughed slyly, saying that while others make up ghosts, our ghost was real.

“Ghost?”

Ha PD, still clueless, tilted his head. When I related the behind-the-scenes story, he laughed uproariously.

“Come on—there’s no way ghosts are real. You guys...”

“Want me to play it for you?”

“No.”

He shut that down immediately.

“Ugh. Can’t you put those earbuds away? You mortals dare shove earbuds at your seniors.”

“Want me to switch to headphones for you?”

“No!”

“Why don’t you try a ghost-ASMR challenge, PD-nim? Please, please!”

“...!”

He shook his head in terror. The two of us watched, amused, as Director Jo sipped his coffee. Then suddenly he seemed to remember something.

“Why that look?”

“I’ve been mulling something over...”

“Oh?”

He wore a thoughtful expression.

“The production team and external composers were really excited about this.”

“...”

“They must have heard you got stuck writing your song, so they left the title slot open. I get the sense they were all secretly hoping it’d be their song.”

“Ah...”

“That’s why the producing staff looked so bright earlier. I recall PD Na Sang-yoon grinning and saying, ‘We’ve got a song—really good one. You’ll be surprised.’”

My brothers looked genuinely sympathetic.

“I get it—feels like being misled...”

“Today I was off my game, so you guys kicked in with your own talents—and then suddenly you start juggling.”

“Seriously, that was harsh.”

The two composers laughed. Rihyeok added,

“Besides, you ran around telling everyone your song wasn’t working, complaining to the production team.”

“Didn’t they feed you lots of sweets so you wouldn’t get too down?”

“....”

As guilt began to dawn on me, the maknae delivered the coup de grâce.

“This time, if the production team grabbed us by the collar, we deserve it.”

Everyone burst out laughing—except Jiho, who giggled mischievously as I shot him a look.

After the meeting, we were officially granted three days’ vacation. We would have left at Lunar New Year, but between concerts and commercials, we’d postponed it. It felt so good to go home again after so long.

“Grandma! Oooooooh my Grandmaaaa—!”

“Damn it, you’re bigger than I am. Can’t finish your business!”

It was a warm reunion. I showered Grandma Kim Deok-soon with gifts.

Ta-da~!

“Oh my—where did you get all this? I can’t even use half of it.”

“Grandma, please watch your words.”

“Use it all or go straight to Nirvana. Happy now?”

Her earthy humor made me laugh. As we unpacked, we discussed how to spend the vacation—and decided simply to stay home. As she’d warned, my face was plastered everywhere. At her restaurant, crowds would throng and ruin business.

“I hear every passerby says, ‘That lady’s grandson is that star.’ Drives me nuts.”

“But it boosted sales, right?”

“That’s one thing. But if people say, ‘I’m his fan,’ I’d feel too responsible. Wouldn’t I?”

Grandma mocked a Seoul accent.

“‘Grandma, I’m a fan of Uju noona,’ they’ll stammer. I’d freeze.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

I patted her. She’d fretted that her grandson’s fame might bring her grief. We spent that first day cooking and chatting.

The three days flew by like arrows. I felt recharged with energy for the album’s final push.

“Eheheheh!”

“Damn...”

“Ha ha ha! Grandma, did you hear our song just now? ‘Nine~ Nine~’!”

“Ow! My ears! When are you going back to Seoul?”

I felt so happy. No wonder the company urged us to spend time with family. Three days passed too swiftly.

On the last morning, I dusted my hands and pointed to the new big TV.

I handed Grandma the remote and pressed the button together.

“Press this one.”

“Got it.”

“Go down to the third slot... see that triangle labeled External Device?”

“Like Rihyeok’s pointy chin?”

“Right. Press that and a list will pop up.”

A list of about thirty tapes, dating from the 1990s, appeared—thumbnails brimming with mom and dad. These were the old videotapes from PD Ha Seung-joo.

“So ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ if you select this...”

I pressed play, and Grandma’s bright smile filled the screen.

“—What, big brother? Is this a video letter time?”

There was my little self, cradled in Mom’s arms—her fresh smile made me think “no phrase better exists than ‘fresh smile.’” The on-screen mom briefly became my daughter.

“Mom, I love you~”

Grandma reached out to stroke Mom’s on-screen cheek, then stepped back. After watching the footage for some time, Grandma dabbed at her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, paused, then finally said,

“...Well, the technology’s impressive. Watching it on TV like this.”

“Right?”

“Before I go, show me that one more time.”

I guided her through the remote steps again, then sketched the instructions on an A4 sheet. She pored over the paper, going back and forth. With Grandma now able to see Mom on TV, I said,

“Grandma, I’ll be off then.”

“Aren’t you eating lunch?”

I re-tied my sneakers and replied,

“I have work. I have a quick trip to the U.S. on the same flight.”

“Flying again?”

“Yes.”

“I see. Be careful.”

I held her hand as she bade me farewell more calmly than usual.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

“....”

Grandma nodded silently. I realized her eyes welled, so I enveloped her in a hug. Pulling back, I waved to the cat behind her.

“Nabi, see you next Chuseok.”

Cheez the cat meowed softly. Mesmerized by her big eyes, I blinked and said,

“Grandma.”

“Hmm?”

“Why does she sit in the shipping box when we bought that fancy cat tower?”

We’d painstakingly assembled the tower, but Nabi ignored it—she squeezed herself into a small cardboard box. Grandma and I exchanged rueful looks: cats are truly inscrutable.

“I think she’s like me—cute and mysterious.”

“What nonsense—Nabi’s a million times cuter than you.”

“Hmph...”

“Nabi is the cutest creature in the world.”

For Jiho’s pout, I showed him two hundred photos of her. He’d teased me for being proud, but when he glanced at the pictures with tender eyes, he said,

“...Send me that one.”

“Just this?”

“And the ones after that.”

I posted them in our group chat; Viju and Junghyun exclaimed “Downloading!” and saved them all. Meanwhile, I waved at onlookers filming us with phones.

“Hello!”

Now at Incheon Airport’s third floor, we were checking in at the Departure A counters. Though we wore sunglasses and masks, once four of us gathered, everyone recognized us.

“That’s NewBlack, right?”

“By silhouette alone, it’s NewBlack.”

So we gave up hiding and went bare-faced. When fans asked where Rihyeok was, we told them he was in the U.S. Then I said,

“Let’s go, everyone.”

“Yes!”

We boarded the plane with Director Jo and our managers. Our destination: New York, for the meeting with Director John Edwards. Originally we’d planned to meet in LA last year, but the contact person couldn’t make it, so it was postponed to March this year. I turned to my brothers.

“You didn’t have to come. It’s actually fine if only I go—and the jet lag...”

“It’s better to all be together, isn’t it?”

“That’s true.”

The maknae added,

“In meetings like this, numbers matter. My dad says, ‘You negotiate by headcount.’”

“...Glad you’ve learned that.”

“And if we stayed in Seoul without you, Viju and I would have to practice.”

He was simply trying to avoid practice by tagging along. I looked at Junghyun; he made an “okay” circle with his hands. Meanwhile, Viju busied himself researching New York.

[Viju: “Let’s go here! And here!!”]

He’d bookmarked a “Michelin five-star” spot—though it turned out three stars is the max; he’d been blogger-fooled.

Clutching his squeaky chicken toy, we took off, ate two in-flight meals, watched three movies, and touched down at JFK. There we found Rihyeok, who’d flown in from LA to wait.

“Rihyeok!!!”

“Aaah! Please don’t do that even here!”

“Rihyeok!!!”

Amid blinking Americans, we surrounded him and danced in a circle. The maknae teared up,

“I really missed you.”

“Oh, well—I missed you too...”

“And this New York skyline.”

“......”

As we laughed, an older woman’s face flushed crimson. We asked her,

“Did you meet your mother okay?”

“Yes, but she’s been busy hanging out with Yein and shopping.”

Rihyeok had spent vacation at his mother’s LA home. It sounded like fun, so I felt happy too.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Just feeling good.”

We chatted as we headed to the car. From Queens’ JFK to Manhattan, we pressed our faces to the windows.

“Woooaaa...”

The bustling streets we’d seen in movies raced by. Near Times Square, we practically nose-pressed the glass. Even after we got out, we gaped and gasped.

“It’s so incredible.”

The very scenes from films stretched before us—the pricey billboards, the surge of people so thick you’d be swept away if you weren’t careful. The maknae looked around and said,

“They hold the New Year’s concert right here in New York.”

“Really?”

Each year, they bring in top stars for the countdown. It was thrilling to stand where I’d only seen on screen. Yet as humans adapt, after ten minutes we’d grown numb. We snapped selfies for our Souffle fans, then—

“Let’s go up now.”

Following Director Jo, we entered a nearby building and climbed to the third floor. Inside was a cozy office, and awaiting us was a large man.

“Hey!”

Director John Edwards spread his arms, greeting us warmly.

“You must be Mr. Jo. I’ve heard all about you from Uju.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Hope it’s good news.”

As the adults shook hands, a portly man emerged from the back with his secretary—a friendly, chef-like figure.

“Finally we meet!”

This Asian-American strode forward with outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Charles ‘Frank’ Chow.”

Frank Chow.

A second-generation Cambodian-American, he was a world-renowned composer. He’d worked on major film OSTs, and he produced hit musicals like Nostalgia. He’d won multiple Tony Awards and even snagged the Oscar for Best Original Song with “Falling Stars.” His career was legendary.

“It’s an honor. I’ve wanted to meet you.”

“Me?”

“I’m such a fan—I’ve heard every film soundtrack you’ve done.”

I offered my hand awkwardly; he laughed.

“It’s rare to meet someone happy to see a composer rather than a singer or actor.”

As he settled into an office chair, he continued,

“John told me about NewBlack—musically brilliant singers.”

Director Edwards, perched on a table behind him with a globe, gave a thumbs-up. Chow smiled and said,

“Personally, I really wanted to meet you.”

“...”

“John first mentioned adding the song ‘Thousand Dreams’ to the show—I was curious.”

His eyes lit up as he leaned forward.

“It was beyond my imagination. I wanted to pull the composer’s brain out and inspect it.”

Junghyun reflexively covered my head, sparking laughter. The musical producer said,

“When I wrote ‘Falling Stars,’ I felt something was missing—though it’s a song of descent, there was no counterpart for ascent in Nostalgia.”

“I actually built on that idea. The thrill of falling depends on how high you rise.”

“When I heard ‘Thousand Dreams,’ I clapped immediately. Brilliant idea.”

He praised the song. Whenever Chow marveled, “Incredible for your age,” I just laughed. Rihyeok and I explained the parts our brothers contributed.

“Now, let’s get to the point.”

The producer said,

“We plan to relaunch Nostalgia on stage late this year or early next.”

“I’ve heard.”

“I want to include ‘Thousand Dreams’ in the cast album the musical cast will record.”

He wanted us to arrange and direct the song for the cast album of the Broadway revival. An opportunity to work on a major Broadway musical album. My brothers sent me imploring looks; I was bouncing on the sofa inside. Though I immediately said “Yes,” I kept a calm exterior.

“...”

I signaled to Director Jo, seated next to me. I’d need expert legal guidance. Director Jo—a veteran who’d survived Korea’s cutthroat music industry—smiled knowingly.

“Very well. Shall we proceed with the contract?”

Five minutes later, we were in the presence of the God of Negotiation.

In the end, the contract went through smoothly. We spent nearly three hours negotiating, removing toxic clauses, and reaching agreement. A few formalities remained, but it was a success—Frank Chow even cast a sidelong glance at Director Jo that said, “I can’t believe you got me to eat crow.”

“To everyone’s success, let’s toast!”

After a celebratory dinner at a famous Broadway steakhouse, we boarded the flight home, hearts aflutter. Then—

“Hmm...?”

My phone buzzed; a new MTube notification popped up.

NewBlack World channel.

“Oh?”

“Looks like it just went live.”

Videos—including my interview with Teacher Maeda and our Japan-style variety footage—had uploaded. I was about to tuck my phone away when a flash of text sprang to mind:

“I will get divorced! For sure!”

I grabbed my phone again. This was one I had to watch.