In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

After sending the song to the Mister Producer team,

I spent several all-nighters finishing the work and then moved straight into the comeback prep schedule. Since the title track and B-sides were already recorded, the rest was mostly visual work.

“Okay! Like that... yes, exactly!”

“Great expression! Try a more understated smile!”

“Oh my! Gorgeous!”

We shot the album jacket with photographer Hwang Tae-seon. Once the maknae, flushed with excitement, finished his shots, he said,

“Now I really feel like we’re comebacking. Recording never felt like this.”

“Right? Wearing these outfits definitely makes it hit differently.”

While the others shot, the maknae and I did a Bongsan mask dance—every big arm sweep sent our hanbok skirts billowing, and we couldn’t stop laughing.

Just then, Bi-ju, having wrapped his own shoot, came over.

“What are you two doing?”

“Bi-ju, come try it! See how it flutters when we move?”

“Really?”

He joined in, delighted by the swish of fabric. Hyung Won-seok shot us eagerly on his handycam.

“How is it, Won-seok hyung? Isn’t it cute when we flutter?”

“Hmm, it looks like something you... see in the countryside.”

We braced for a compliment about puppies or something adorable—

But the mood crashed instantly.

“Like a swarm of moths.”

“Hey...!”

At our outraged protests, he relented: “Okay, handsome moths.”

“But... do we really look like moths?”

“Hey, do we look like moths?”

We all held out our arms and let our skirts billow; the staff burst out laughing. It must have looked hilarious.

We stopped before the designers, who’d stayed up nights on these costumes, felt sad, then inspected every detail.

“These are stunning.”

“Told you. That’s why they say clothes are like wings.”

Made by Korea’s top hanbok designer, they were exquisitely luxurious—black with subtle silver weaving. Every stage costume was equally high-end.

“I want to show these to our Sup‘le.”

“When Uju-hyung wants to show clothes, I want to see the Sup‘le!”

“Me too!”

We waved to the handycam as they laughed. Then, swanning in with perfect eyeliner and a pale face, Seo-weed approached.

“Are we filming more?”

“Oh, here’s our Seo-weed 씨.”

“Where’s your foot? Show me so I can step on it.”

“Here.”

I slipped a foot out beneath my hanbok. Ri-hyuk tried to stomp it but never succeeded—like teasing a butterfly with a toy. I flicked my toes to evade and wiggled them, and he fumed,

“Ugh! So annoying!”

“If you want to beat me, train for twenty years and come back.”

“Sup‘le, look at this guy. Isn’t he so mean?”

“The world of competition is always ruthless.”

I pulled Ri-hyuk in front of the camera, then recorded a video letter for our Sup‘le.

“We miss you.”

“Just wait for the concert—we’ll see you then, okay?”

While we waved, Jung-hyun, finished with his shoot, joined us and asked,

“What are you filming?”

“A video letter for our MiF friends, hyung.”

“Oh.”

Suppressing laughter, Jung-hyun’s round eyes widened.

“Are you sticking to your diet?”

“Ugh...!”

“You must lose weight. Seriously. You can’t stay like this.”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!”

The four of us flailed in panic.

“Jung-hyun, this is a video letter for our Sup‘le.”

“Oh, right...”

He covered his mouth in mock horror, then clasped his hands at his stomach. In hanbok he looked like a royal guard—but with the posture of a perfect farmhand. The staff laughed.

“Our Sup‘le can eat as much as they like.”

Beside Jung-hyun, smiling, we all chanted: “If it tastes good, it’s zero calories~.”

After the jacket shoot, we wrapped the VCRs for the May concert. One music video remained, but aside from rehearsals and variety shows, we were finally free. Especially on the drive between locations, we relaxed.

“They released our press release.”

“Oh?”

We all checked the ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) article links from PR:

Countless comeback stories ran; one headline’s star symbol stuck out—it wasn’t the right one... but we had no time to mind it amid the flood of coverage. Meanwhile, articles about MiF appeared:

Though the show airs in early May, buzz was already high. We smiled proudly. We’d worried when we first signed on, but now we were more confident than ever.

“TV gotta move if it’s no fun, right?”

“Exactly, hyung. We did our best to be funny.”

“For once, remember your real jobs, please......”

We felt sure we’d delivered some laughs. PD Shin Mu-rok’s own promotional interviews—he was stoking the fire as well—and public excitement seemed to be rising.

“Speaking of which, let’s message our A-TEN members.”

“Great idea.”

We pinged the group chat with MiF members:

[Notice] No eating after 8 PM. No flour. No drinks.

[Notice] A stage isn’t built overnight — Sun Woo-ju (1993– )

[Poll] Chicken or debut—which do you choose? (Voting closed)

Our notices and theirs were a hilarious jumble. They’d sent a ton of choreography questions, and we’d answered them, plus diets tips.

“This really works,” Bi-ju posted, applying a blue filter to every food photo to kill appetite—and everyone groaned. It did work: the moment you see blue tteokbokki, all snack thoughts vanish.

While we were chatting,

“Huh?”

We arrived at our villa to find a familiar vehicle parked by the entrance—the neighbor downstairs’s car. It was 6 AM. Throwing on shoes, we saw six beautiful youths emerging.

“Ah!”

Teenspirit, spotting us, gaped.

“Oh my.”

Leader Hu-yeon covered his mouth in a flutter of surprise, and we all exchanged looks.

“Oh?”

We read their bright, hopeful faces—if there’s one ray of light in this harsh world, it’s these boys. Instantly, my juniors and I realized:

“It’s for filming.”

Sure enough, they had mics clipped on. Normally we’d shout, “NewBlack hyungs! Big greetings!” but this wasn’t the time.

“Hello, hyung!”

They greeted sweetly, and we returned their smiles.

“Hi, sunbaenim!”

They always made us drop honorifics at the villa, but not now. I asked with a smile:

“Where are you off to?”

Hu-yeon beamed:

“We’re filming ‘Please Take Care of the Manager’ at TBC! Haha!”

In other words: “We’ll need your full cooperation, hyungnim.”

‘Please Take Care of the Manager’ spotlighted managers who stay in the background. Then I noticed the balloons in their hands.

“What are the balloons for?”

“We’re doing community service today—playing with kids on the show.”

No wonder they had those gaudy balloons floating...

“Want one? We have black ones too.”

“Thanks.”

I took one, and immediately a manager wearing a Buddha-like smile and a camera operator stepped out from the foyer.

“Oh...!”

The assistant director and writer behind the VJ’s camera made jaws-dropping faces to see us. A TBC-branded camera swung close.

“Why are you here?” the crew asked; we just laughed:

“We’re neighbors.”

No better explanation, and they nodded in understanding. Then they spoke briefly with Teenspirit and watched them leave as we bowed farewell. We felt good that our 5-year-senior hyungs had thoughtfully promoted our album.

But then...

“Oh.”

An important thought struck me.

“Is it okay to go out like this?”

“Why?”

“Look at our faces...”

With no makeup on, we panicked. When I turned toward them—

They met my eyes with unnaturally smooth skin. Catching sight of BB-cream smudged on their hands, I burst out laughing.

“This is ridiculous...”

They clutched my hanbok and laughed apologetically.

“When did you even put on BB cream?”

“As soon as we knew filming was happening...?”

“Without me? That’s so unfair.”

They apologized, wracked with mock guilt. I laughed too—it was too late anyway.

Just then, my phone buzzed with Park Seok-hwan’s number on the screen. I answered:

“Yes—Sun Woo-ju speaking.”

“Hey, Uju.”

“Hyung, what’s up? Good news?”

His voice was so bright I snapped awake. It was exciting news about the song we’d sent.

Yeouido PBS Broadcasting Center, the variety hall where the Mister Producer members were nearly buried in chairs. Normally they’d be chattering, but now—like babies after a wild retreat campfire—they were dead asleep.

“Shhh.”

Chu Gi-seok was nearly drooling.

“Hyungs, wake up.”

The managers shook them, and only then did the entertainers stir, blinking at each other with wry smiles—like waking after a night of campfire mayhem.

“Man, this is no joke.”

“Tell me about it—I’m sore all over.”

They joked that, if TV could transmit smells, the scent of aches plastered the set. If it did, the aroma of pain-relief patches would have flooded the air. Except former soccer pro Kim Ui-ji, they all looked like zombies.

“I realized something.”

Chu Gi-seok stared blankly into space.

“Happiness in life comes from carbs.”

“I’m all about meat. Eating only greens makes me mad.”

An Jae-hee chimed in.

“When I watched TV while dieting last night—and people were laughing—I got so irritated.”

“Right? Thought I was the only one.”

“Walking past a barbecue place and hearing laughter, I was furious.”

Their diet-suffering testimonies had the staff laughing, then the cast glowering.

“Laugh, huh? Want to try greens for yourself?”

They ramped up playful anger and gradually heated the set’s atmosphere.

“Let’s start recording!”

At the slate’s clap, MiF members greeted the camera.

“Hello, viewers... no, we’re idols-in-training now, so let’s do an idol greeting.”

“Okay, leader hyung will start.”

As MC and eldest hyung, Kim Ui-ji smiled and said,

“One, two, three!”

“Hello! It’s 10 o’clock! We are A-TEN!”

“Waaaah!”

They cheered among themselves.

“But our name is really great.”

“NewBlack hyungs named us perfectly.”

“And their people-training skills are top-notch.”

At their bittersweet laughs, Mo Beom-ju asked,

“Don’t you feel like you’ve improved so much during practice?”

“Absolutely.”

“Even the trainers were amazed.”

Though we’d been giving them advice, they’d also been taking lessons from separately hired vocal and choreography coaches. At first they’d been shocked by our moves; lately, they were amazed in a different way:

“The overall picture is so much better. Who did you learn from?”

When they said they’d learned from idol members, disbelief reigned—until we showed them past footage, and they admitted, “Okay, fine.”

“We thank NewBlack sunbaenims for transforming us into people.”

After bowing politely, Kim Ui-ji’s cheek twitched as he said,

“And NewBlack hyungs aren’t here for this week’s recording!”

“Ha-ha-ha!”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!”

They broke into a celebratory dance break and the staff laughed.

“We’re sad we can’t meet NewBlack sunbaenims.”

“Right?”

“But we still communicate live all the time. A little distance can be good sometimes.”

They laughed at that, then called for PD Shin Mu-rok.

“So, what are we doing today?”

“Today is the first blind vote to select your title track.”

The submission period was two weeks. Today they’d pick the title and B-sides for A-TEN’s digital album in a first round.

Ballad singer An Jae-hee asked with a smile,

“How are the songs? Did you get a lot of good submissions?”

“You said it’d be the country’s top composers and hidden masters sending in songs.”

“That’s right.”

“And that’s what happened.”

At the news of a flood of entries, the MiF members went “Oooh.”

“Yes. We selected twelve songs. Just pick the one you like best.”

Then the songs played.

“Ooh...!”

The genre NewBlack picked—disco-style funk—was intriguingly different for idol music. As they listened, they nodded and even bobbed their shoulders.

But...

“It’s subtle...”

They liked them but hadn’t felt “This is it.”

By song eleven, the cast wavered on their choices.

“All right, the final song.”

At that, their full attention locked on.

And then...

“...!”

From the opening rhythm, their eyes snapped open. A hook-driven melody hit them. As Kim Ui-ji slapped his thigh, smiles spread across everyone’s faces—every doubt flew away.

“This is it!”

The twelfth song was the quintessence of trendiness. They could vividly imagine a six-member group in funky suits dancing on stage to it. So absorbed in the moment, they forgot all about keeping a “variety-show face”—their grins stretched ear to ear.

“This is amazing.”

Each time they heard it, they felt, “That’ll be my part,” “That’s his part.” They knew this must be the title track. Other staff, too, exchanged “Ooh” glances at the final song.

“Wow.”

Silence after the song ended. As they laughed silently, PD Shin Mu-rok asked,

“Have you all voted?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll now reveal the song details.”

Among well-known composers and unknown newcomers, the identity of the twelfth song was disclosed.

“The title is ‘Attention’—because we want to grab listeners’ attention.”

“Oh—like our name.”

“It was co-written by Na Sang-yun and Ujuseon.”

“Hey!”

The entertainers who’d already guessed burst out laughing. PD Shin Mu-rok chuckled.

“They sent it under that name.”

The members laughed, thinking, “They must’ve been really nervous.”

After another round of discussion, “Attention” won all six votes. Mo Beom-ju teased,

“So, can we contact the composer now?”

“Yes. He’s been waiting.”

A phone was placed on the table. Kim Ui-ji grinned and called out,

“Uju-ya~”

—“Yes?”

His voice squeaked as if helium-inhaled, and everyone exploded with laughter.

“Aren’t you Uju?”

—“Nope—this is newcomer composer Ujuseon~!”

“Puhahahaha!”

When the voice filter dropped and we heard him speak normally, we howled with laughter.

“He’s hilarious.”

Meanwhile, over the handset, you could hear [swooooop] as he sucked helium from balloons in real time.

—“Ahhh~ (hyung’s voice sounds so funny~) (I told you to be quiet!) (kyahahaha!) Hey! You guys! Go away!”

It was a full-on helium party.

“Ujuseon-ssi?”

—“Nope—Ujuseon here~”

“Sent it under Ujuseon because it was too embarrassing to use Uju?”

—“......”

“Just pick it and get it over with, Uju. We’ll pretend we don’t know.”

After a brief silence:

—“Okaaaay... please wait~ I have to talk to PD... (kyahahaha! Let’s go to our broadcast center?) (Ahh! Mom in the bay~) (Quiet down~!)”

The unintelligible helium-distorted chatter sent staff and cast into fresh laughter.