In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

People’s tastes tend to align. Just as the concert audience was stunned by the “Nakhwa” performance, watchers of the fan-cam reacted the same way.

“...This is insane.”

The moment the video began, my jaw dropped and wouldn’t close. These guys—who look perfect just standing still—danced through the air in hanbok, sleeves fluttering.

From the very first note, it was over.

“Wow...”

In that shot of the members entwined hand-in-hand, U-ju faced the camera and sang. Grief-stricken yet elegant, it was the kind of performance that sparks pure devotion.

“Maybe it’s because they write their own songs. Their concept delivery is just unreal.”

Every idol fan knows that NewBlack stages are top-tier—“Nine” fan-cams and GIFs once flooded social media and forums. But this performance far surpassed even that.

And the song itself...

click

Each time the video ended, I hit replay. Not to watch the dancing again, but for the song. Usually, a new track takes a few listens to grow on you—sometimes the chorus clicks, sometimes the whole thing. But some songs decide you in the first ten seconds.

“Holy—what is this...?”

It was that good. Feeling inexplicable envy, I scrawled a quick comment:

Comments poured in:

Wept fans and awestruck fans blended together. Of course, not every comment was positive:

Mostly digs at styling and costumes. As negative comments appeared midway, the Suffle felt relief.

“Big hit incoming again.”

Criticism comes with every release—when NewBlack cooked for seniors at the community center, haters roasted them for feeding old people tough meat. But as always, no one pans the music. The fans ignore the trolls and enjoy themselves.

A new song crafted to ignite otaku hearts was good enough for mainstream success. Everything was flawless—except one thing:

The fan-cam of the performance and U-ju’s heartfelt line were circulating on SNS and idol sites. Those who couldn’t attend mourned online:

Determined to console themselves with MiP until the next day, they devoured concert gossip. Meanwhile, the fan-cam’s views skyrocketed. Though Lemon Ent. eventually took it down, everyone who wanted to watch had already seen it.

And yet...

“This is how it always starts...”

Fans on the fence, who’d liked NewBlack but denied being true fans, were wavering like reeds in the wind. The image of NewBlack in hanbok haunted their thoughts all day.

[Hello... I think I’m about to fall in love—plz welcome me]

I’m about to buy the album but not officially a fan yet

But they’re so cute ㅠㅠ especially Junghyun

They posted cautiously among the Suffle and were met with cheers:

As tempting recruitment GIFs appeared, newcomers drawn by the fan-cam became Suffle members. Signs of a major influx of new fans were everywhere.

Day Two.

The hardest day of any concert run is the second day. You give it your all on Day One, body screaming “Help me...” yet you have another show tomorrow—so you must pace yourself.

“Is that tough?” Junghyun asked, chewing candy.

“I just performed like it was my last day, and it worked out.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness Junghyun,” we joked, smiling wide, “we mortals lack the calves and fungus-resistant stamina of your majesty.”

“So please, show mercy, hyung.”

We laughed at Junghyun’s sheepish grin.

After rehearsal, we headed to the waiting room for lunch. Wonsuk opposite me checked his phone.

“Lunch is here.”

“Yaaay—!”

I clung to him, ears plugged.

“What’s on the menu today?”

“Tteokbokki? Stir-fried squid? Pork bulgogi?”

“Today’s special lunchbox. Apparently ten thousand won a head...”

“Special! Special!”

Our cheers drowned out the manager’s ear. As we spun dancing for special lunchboxes, Wonsuk clarified:

“The fans brought them.”

“Fans? Ah—!”

We bolted and swung open the door.

“Eek!”

Chugiseok, waiting to surprise us at the door, was sent flying by Junghyun’s shove. Laughter erupted around the waiting room.

“Welcome!”

“Hi~!”

The six Mister Producer members and camera crew filed in. We greeted them, then opened the luxurious lunchboxes—the side dishes were so deluxe we got misty-eyed. The guests looked at us and cooed.

“Are you coming back tonight to watch the show?”

“Yeah,” said MC Kim Eui-ji, former soccer pro. “We heard your concert’s a blast. We want to see it too. Good motivation—and study, as juniors.”

It was their first idol concert, and they were in awe.

Jae-hee asked, “A ton of celebrities showed yesterday. I thought it was an award show lineup.”

“Yeah, a lot came—Woohyun, Ha Seung-joo, Jang So-won...”

“We only found out later,” I said. Messages flooded in after the concert. Jang So-won praised us for remembering his advice two years later; at Cha Woo-hyun’s praise, Ri-hyuk lost sleep. PD Ha Seung-joo heard via SNS.

Then A-TEN asked, “You’re doing a new song stage at your concert? How is it? Do you want us to cover the choreography?”

“I’ve been curious. We promised to teach you the cover, right?”

“Just checking—if it’s traditional style, it won’t be heavy on big moves, right?”

The older entertainers expected slow, gentle dance. We hesitated.

“It’s not hard, but a bit... painful?”

“Painful?”

“It needs a lot of flexibility. Not that it’s impossible, but some moves in the chorus...”

I made a splits gesture with my chopsticks; their faces went pale. A few hand motions had them crying “No way!”

“As a model entertainer,” they gulped, “let’s swap songs. Anything easier than that.”

“How about “Nine” then?” I suggested.

“....”

“With each comeback our choreography gets harder. The easiest is “Fireworks.””

We showed them the “Fireworks” demo, and they cheered like docile little monkeys. Then “Masquerade” and “Windflower” had them grinning sheepishly.

“Fireworks, deal.”

They pinky-swore. Then we swapped gossip about showbiz and daily life—PD banter that had us laughing til we cried. Their jokes melted our Day Two jitters.

“Thank you for the lunch, really.”

“We can’t watch the live broadcast tonight, but be sure to catch it later—this episode is gold.”

“SiMuRook got it perfectly—look forward to it.”

They waved goodbye and left.

7:00 PM.

As Day Two’s concert was under way, ordinary viewers tuned in to PBS2:

“Coming up next—Mister Producer.”

When the opening sponsor logos rolled, viewers groaned.

“Geez, how many ads is this?”

“At this rate they’ll run ads all day and nothing else. These network guys are real hustlers.”

“They probably all want to sponsor this show.”

For a national variety hit like MiP, it was understandable. With 23% ratings after just two episodes, every brand wanted a piece of it.

Kids showed their parents:

“That PPL last week was a hit—the moving TV.”

“It sold well?”

“Not sure... it’s an image thing, I guess. Apparently rich buyers in China and the Middle East snapped them up.”

GIFs of an Arab gentleman in white tweaking the remote as the TV wobbled were everywhere. But seeing prices in the millions made sense: only billionaires could afford it.

“Got money to burn, huh.”

“Oil money rules,” the consensus went.

More viewers than ever tuned in to MiP’s live broadcast. The reason was simple:

“You have to watch to get the jokes.”

Between moving TVs and talk of NewBlack, nothing made sense unless you’d seen the show.

As they swore to end their confusion, the broadcast began:

[Last Week!]

Highlights from Episodes 1 and 2 played: the cast’s clumsy dances under brutal training, their growth. “Can you do it? SEXY..?” got another laugh. Then focus shifted to the line that U-ju delivered:

[“I wanted to write the show’s fan song.”]

Footage of U-ju composing the fan song, discussion of the open call.

[“As I said, other than the fan song, I’m not participating.”]

[“If you hold an open call, top composers and hidden masters from all over the country will show up.”]

[“Many are far more talented than I am. Really.”]

Subtitles emphasized his words, then faded to:

[“And today! The submissions are revealed!”]

Online, reactions exploded:

Everyone wondered the same two things: what the title song would be, and who wrote it. As viewers waited in anticipation, A-TEN began listening to the submissions.

“Oooh lol”

Viewers rated each track as if they were the contestants. Twelve songs flashed by rapidly.

“That one’s iffy, right?”

“I like the third, but I’m still not sure.”

“They’re all good songs.”

Perhaps thanks to famous composers, each track was polished, conceptually strong. But viewers agreed they all felt similar.

“If I had to pick one, it’d split the votes.”

Just as debates raged online, the twelfth song appeared like a comet.

“...?”

A hush fell in homes and forums alike.

Offline, reactions matched.

“That’s the best.”

“When it’s released, can you put it on my dad’s playlist?”

“They’ll definitely pick that one.”

On TV, unanimity reigned: the twelfth song was the winner. As the composer’s identity was revealed, all eyes turned to them.

“Who is it? Who?”

The song title “Attention” appeared, followed by the composers’ names:

[Co-composed by producers Na Sang-yun and Woo Joo-seon...]

Blurred images of PD Na and U-ju laughing were shown. Suddenly, it clicked why U-ju’s line “I won’t participate otherwise” had been emphasized.

Laughter filled living rooms when people read “Woo Joo-seon.” Online threads exploded:

The clip of him with helium voice, “Nooo it’s Woo Joo-seon~?” was a riot. The “just dot your forehead and leave” joke also cracked everyone up.

“Model entertainer and Jae-hee, they’re hilarious.”

“Right? She told him to dot his forehead and leave—did he? What is—he actually did it.”

“He dotted it seriously...”

The rookie composer Woo Joo-seon appeared on screen with a painted dot on his forehead, everyone stunned.

“...?”

Three seconds later, a familiar drama theme played and viewers in their living rooms applauded wildly.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

New face Woo Joo-seon appeared with the fierce grin of a soap-opera villain.

After laughing, viewers looked at NewBlack’s members on screen with newfound affection. Just seeing their faces cheered people up.

“Woo Joo-seon, what’s your relationship with U-ju? I actually don’t ship him” made them crack up again. Then a clip from TBC’s “Please Take Care of the Manager,” showing the teenspirit with helium, rolled as stock footage.

And then:

“Wow...”

“Looks like music runs in his family—he’s a spitting image of his father.”

“He’s talented.”

The composer duo seriously discussed “Attention.” Amid that contrast, viewers smiled.

Soon, laughter returned: U-ju introduced the assistant who fetched him things.

[This is my secretary, Mr. Gamja.]

[Hello, I’m Goguma.]

Their names—“Potato” and “Sweet Potato”—and the complete mismatch had everyone roaring.

“Ha-ha-ha!”

And with expert mentors lined up to discuss their official debut, the episode ended. The next-episode preview rolled: Han Tae-hyeon of TNT as mentor, and a caption urging “For ‘Attention’ behind-the-scenes, check MiTube.”

“I laughed so hard.”

“My sides hurt...”

Viewers exited online with good vibes, and two groups were especially happy: PD Shin Mu-rok, his sullen scowl replaced by elbows-deep excitement at potentially record ratings; and the six boys on the sixth floor of the villa, shouting high-fives.

Amid cheers from all sides, talk of rookie composer Woo Joo-seon—whose episode three scored a stellar 25%—dominated online and offline alike.