In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

The VCR showed a man.

Against a backdrop of dazzling city lights, he strode down a hallway in a high-rise building. Dressed in a black suit and black tie, he looked every bit a secret agent—or a young CEO—his appearance shining on the screen. Fans erupted in cheers at his model-like walk.

‘This is insane...!’

The French Soufflé fans seemed on the brink of fainting. As NewBlack’s most suit-worthy member, his style was next-level. The subtle swing of his arms, the steady pace of his steps, the natural line of his shoulders—all perfection.

“Wooaahhhh—!”

The camera captured fans reaching into the air, almost weeping with joy. As they watched the VCR, excitement filled their eyes.

‘What’s the concept?’

Office worker? Or would he suddenly change into hip-hop attire and launch into “Nine”? Curiosity burned until—

In the VCR, Jung-hyun entered a room and approached a wall safe. He punched in “999” on the keypad, and the audience roared.

“Wooooaaaahhh—!”

It was clearly the setup for “Nine.” As this song enjoyed overwhelming popularity among NewBlack’s overseas fans, the cheer grew. Two fans wildly waving light-sticks embraced in ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) delight.

Jung-hyun grabbed the manila envelope, walked down the corridor again, then halted abruptly.

“...?”

From the window, the cityscape was shaken by the whir and spotlights of a helicopter.

‘So it’s a spy-agent concept!’

He was clearly stealing secrets from the safe and making his escape. Then Jung-hyun tucked the envelope into his suit pocket, loosened his tie, and glanced at his wristwatch: 8:55 PM. With a final confident smile, the lights cut.

“Wooooaaaahhh—!”

A pinpoint beam illuminated the rapper alone on stage. Dressed in the same black suit and tie as in the VCR, Jung-hyun drew thunderous cheers as a new song began. It was “11:55,” the mixtape track he wrote for Mini 3rd Album Neon Black. The original lyric “five minutes to midnight” had been reworked into:

“Already five minutes to nine—”

He rapped in a deep, resonant voice:

“Repeatedly reciting,

It won’t go my way,

Sometimes on the days I stumbled...”

With each low-pitched line, the crowd swayed in rhythm. Though they couldn’t catch every word, Soufflé fans who knew the lyrics cheered wildly.

‘Jackpot...!’

Though it wasn’t often performed live, the track was highly regarded among fans. At this dusk hour before midnight, Jung-hyun recalled hardship during the period when members were absent, yet affirmed that with the five of them together, they could overcome any challenge or scrutiny.

“Wooooaaaahhh—!”

Even a solo rap felt stadium-filling. Under vibrant lights, Jung-hyun circled the stage, then returned center. Finishing his verse, he tilted his head to shake off sweat and exhaled “yeah.”

As the music paused, a tense silence fell—then he spoke again:

“It’s the New Black.”

This signaled the other members’ entrance.

“Wooooaaaahhh—!”

The camera caught his sly grin as he placed the mic down. A door opened behind him and all four members appeared.

“Wooooaaaahhh—!”

As the intro to “Nine” began, the quartet strode out with confidence in matching black suits and ties. With mischievous smiles, they yelled “Paris!” and ramped up the energy, drawing shrieks.

“Wooooaaaahhh!”

When the sub-vocalist held out the mic for “Make some noise!,” the crowd erupted again. At the end of the instrumental intro, the leader tapped his wristwatch and smirked knowingly. Every Soufflé fan knew the cue:

“It’s nine nine nine—”

As the furious choreography kicked in, cheers soared. The formation shifted at near-running speed; limbs extended with explosive vitality. Though only the intro had passed, the members were already sweating from the intense routine. Yet they all beamed as if the happiest people alive, and fans leapt in excitement too.

‘I’m seeing Nine live with my own eyes...!’

Overseas, they’d only seen fancams or broadcast clips—now “Nine” unfolded right before them, stirring tears of joy. The camera caught a fan waving the Korean flag alongside a friend, dabbing tears away. Simultaneously—

‘It’s a new version of Nine!’

Other fans’ eyes sparkled. At awards shows or special stages, NewBlack often debuted newly arranged versions; debates raged among fans over the ultimate live version of “Nine” or “Masquerade.” Their setlists shifted to fit venue and audience. And the “Nine” playing now was one such variation.

“Wooooaaaahhh—!”

The spy-agent theme lent a strangely sensual quality to the performance—like something out of a 007 film. They’d taken the traditional-costume youths from the “Masquerade” opener and reimagined them in 21st-century suits. At one point, the leader loosened his tie in exasperation mid-choreography, prompting an ear-splitting roar.

‘This is insane. This stage is insane.’

Amid cheers for this tailored-suit “Nine,” French fans zeroed in on the leader. Beyond his shocking real-life looks, he dominated the stage like the protagonist.

‘Seeing Uju’s performance in person is surreal.’

It defied reality. It felt different from when the main vocalist belts high notes or the main dancer executes a spectacular solo—the leader, as lead vocalist and lead dancer, could easily be called “main” in any group, and his visual impact was off the charts. With skills evenly distributed, their combined prowess onstage created a performance that truly sucked in the gaze.

“Wooooaaaahhh!”

Even when crouching stage-left and winking at fans, shrieks erupted from that standing section. Then, after the main dancer led a dazzling ensemble in verse three—

‘Huh...?’

Amid the cascade of cheers, starting with the leader, the members discarded their jackets and flung them into the crowd. Shirt-sleeved, they formed a wave—a final dance break.

“Wooooaaaahhh—!”

The leader sprang into a high-bounce jump, shimmying his feet. As his black tie fluttered across his face, they performed thirty seconds of synchronized moves. Even fans who’d been jumping along were panting from exhilaration. As they panted and leaned on each other’s shoulders, the leader and rapper extended their arms.

Lights cut, leaving dark silhouettes; the two men snapped their index fingers like gunshots. The stage ended, and 14,000 cheers rocked the arena.

“Wooooaaaahhh—!”

Whether fan or not, anyone present had to cheer.

Meanwhile, in the waiting room, idol groups gearing up for the ending stage stared blankly.

“Wow...”

On the waiting-room TV, “Nine” played. Their unreal beauty held everyone’s gaze. The leader of girl group Misty set down her water bottle and said,

“I’m not standing next to them for the finale. Bi-ju is prettier than me.”

“Unnie, that’s not true.”

“Is it?”

“This much.”

She spread her arms wide as if measuring.

“This much!”

“Hey!”

“Hahaha!”

As the leader gritted her teeth, the other Misty members laughed and applauded.

“But we really should avoid a two-shot with them. Their faces are just that small.”

“Avoid Sun Woo-ju at all costs.”

“If I stand beside him, I’ll be eclipsed.”

Misty had been senior idols when NewBlack promoted “Fireworks” on music shows. Back then they thought him handsome, but his looks had only intensified with each passing year. Professional styling helped, but above all, his stage prowess made the difference—he knew how to look most captivating in front of an audience. Their dynamic performance drew universal praise.

“They’re so good.”

Every artist at the concert thought the same:

“They’re the true stars of today.”

Appearing last, they’d driven the audience to near-exhaustion with their exhilarating show. Watching them, both domestic and overseas fans understood why so many loved NewBlack—not only their songs but the unforgettable performances.

“They have insane stamina—dancing live like that?”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“And they perform it like debuting rookies.”

They were in only year three, past the rookie phase, but their achievements surpassed that. Their record-setting first-week sales of 360K alone was historic. Even compared broadly, alongside TNT and Teen Spirit they ranked among the top. One could call them the top two in K-pop. So they didn’t need to pour this much energy into a friendly show—but their perfectionism was clear. They tuned every stomp and shimmy with craftsman’s precision.

“They really came to slay.”

Watching NewBlack dance, I felt compelled to applaud. Did they need to prepare this intensely? It was more like an awards-show level of readiness.

“The VCR alone must’ve cost a fortune. Does Lemon really have that kind of budget?”

“They must’ve earned tens of billions just from last year’s royalties.”

“Obviously.”

It made sense how they could back such a production. Even their choice to wear modernized hanbok for “Masquerade” and suits for “Nine” felt like a continuum—perfect for promoting Korean culture. They’d be ideal ambassadors or models.

“They really pull it off.”

As all the artists watched with admiration, a rough-looking nine-member group sighed.

“We lost.”

You could argue there’s no winning or losing, but they felt defeated. How could they compete with Bi-ju’s fan dance and Uju’s fierce moves? They moped,

“I thought we had it this time.”

“How did they even practice with that schedule? They just did a concert.”

“Beats me. We lost.”

Then Street Boys smiled warmly, accepting it. They’d given their all, and the opponent was NewBlack.

“Those aliens...”

“If we tried to outdo them, we’d die of overwork.”

“But we’ll live longer, so...”

They applauded NewBlack for a performance that felt like trading lifespan in real time.

“They really are amazing.”

“Later, I need them to teach me that fan dance.”

As they flailed their arms, LB accidentally smacked one of them on the head. The member clutched his head, groaning, as Hanjo coldly ordered,

“Tickle him.”

“No! Please mercy—! Heh-kuk-kuk!”

They tickled him mercilessly. Meanwhile, on the waiting-room TV, NewBlack was greeting the French audience after “Nine.” Before the final song, they said their farewells.

Park the manager glanced at his watch and said,

“Let’s get ready. After NewBlack, it’s the ending stage.”

“Just wait, boss. I want to watch this part first.”

Hanjo listened intently to NewBlack’s leader’s remarks.

“Gotta remember these lines.”

Though they were the same age, Hanjo admired how mature and skilled he was at leading the group.

“Heh-hah-hat! 9 to 1 split success! Jiho, take one of these.”

All that quick thinking, situational savvy, and leadership made him enviable. No wonder Park’s lieutenants looked on Hanjo with envy. He turned to them:

“...?”

Eight sullen faces stared back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all.”

Hanjo smiled and returned his gaze to the screen. Street Boys also watched NewBlack’s TV segment and murmured among themselves:

“Our leader was full of killer instinct this time.”

“Like a spaceship.”

“Thank goodness he’s not in our group.”

Their rival’s leader had mastered stealing positions—always eyeing the main spot. If they’d been Ri-hyuk or Bi-ju, every performance would send chills down their spines.

“Maybe that’s why he’s gotten so good?”

If someone with a mark under their eye chased you down wielding a knife, you’d run too. Even if you wanted a break, he’d chase you in that moment. The image of Ri-hyuk charging and screaming “Neeah! Get lost!” made me laugh.

While they admired the rival leader’s teamwork, Street Boys glanced at each other:

“...?”

“...?”

Then burst into hearty laughter, exchanging friendly glances.

After the ending performance, showered by falling petals, we bowed and waved.

“Thank you!”

We clasped fans’ hands as we circled the stage corners. Two standing-section fans leapt up, shouting,

“We love you!”

“Thank you!”

We shook the glow-sticks handed to us by staff—and the arena lit up as if our solo concert. I whispered to the members,

“Where did they all get these? Do they sell overseas?”

“Maybe they imported them.”

I spotted a shy fan in the stands pulling out a giant light-stick the size of a bathing brush.

“That even cleared customs?”

“Remember at the airport they almost confiscated our Jerung-light-sticks?”

“Hey, there’s another giant one over there.”

“It’s real.”

The sight would make our CEO beam with pride. Just then, the nine-member group approached.

“Hey hey!”

“Good job~!”

“Thank you for your hard work!”

We laughed and high-fived them. We waved back at both sets of cheering fans.

“Oh?”

I noticed Street Boys’ glow-stick—a mint-green hammer. It looked like the tool a movie hero would use to shatter a concrete garage floor to retrieve a secret box.

“Our Street Hammer!”

They bragged about how bright it was, and Jung-hyun handed them a glow-stick. When he toggled the power, Street Boys yelped like Team Rocket being defeated. Laughter rang out all around.

After saluting the exiting audience, we linked arms and headed back to the waiting room, smiles wide. Both groups’ faces still glowed with the concert’s excitement.

“It was awesome—for you and for us.”

Hanjo said, and I nodded with a smile.

“It’s crazy; when we debuted, who’d have imagined this?”

“Seriously, no way.”

“To think we’d get this close after dissing each other.”

“Hey hey hey...”

“My song is something special... Sun Woo-ju is a genius composer...”

“Hey! I only said that because I wanted to...”

Hanjo hurriedly cut me off, his face flushed. I laughed at his embarrassment.

That we could joke like this meant both NewBlack and Street Boys were doing well. Watching the younger members chanting “Yay!” I remembered Pol Lorang’s words:

“When you reach the top, friends disappear one by one. So it’s not easy to share moments like this.”

I smiled softly as we paused before the waiting-room door.

“Take care, Captain!”

“Keep in touch—good luck with the album!”

“Hit it big! Hit it big!”

“We’ll miss you!”

“We will too!”

“When are we meeting again in Korea?”

“Right?!”

We waved until our figures faded from view.

Hours later—

“...”

“...”

NewBlack and Street Boys sat side by side on the plane, desperately avoiding each other’s gaze.

‘...Damn.’

‘How do I survive twelve hours of this?’

‘I am Jung-hyun hyung. Totally fine. Not awkward at all.’

Neither team knew they were on the same flight home—yet they’d said such heartfelt goodbyes.