In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Recording of “Thousand Dreams” for the Nostalgia cast album went off without a hitch.

We watched the process at our leisure.

After offering a few initial pointers about the live music, there was nothing left to criticize.

Most of the attendees were Broadway veterans with decades of experience.

My younger brothers and I exchanged glances and smiled.

“Smooth as silk.”

“They’re already perfectly honed.”

Typically, a recording process is like sharpening a stone—polishing performers and singers so they blend seamlessly with the music. But these folks were already well polished.

They were so flawlessly smooth that the music seemed to gleam in my ears.

And one more thing that impressed me:

“Everyone here has insane stamina. At this rate, they’re like 0.1 Rihyuk-hyung level.”

“Right? More like 0.07 of Rihyuk!? Truly amazing.”

Their endurance was off the charts. They repeated the same song live dozens of times with boundless energy.

Were they surviving on hamburgers? I wanted to learn their secret. If I could, we could revamp our A&R and producing teams back home...

“Hey, Sunny.”

Frank Chow called me by my nickname derived from my surname.

“Is there a problem with the recording process?”

“Huh?”

“You were staring with such a fiery look—like Plankton from SpongeBob.”

...I couldn’t say I was trying to reverse-engineer my Korean colleagues.

“It’s nothing. And this recording is absolutely flawless.”

“Glad to hear you’re pleased.”

I nodded, smiling. It was a slight exaggeration, but the recording scene truly was perfect.

Though we came to work, watching the Broadway setup felt half like a field trip. Just observing their workflow filled me up.

Whenever I spotted a tip we could use back home, I stole glances eagerly.

“Minion 3, take notes.”

“Don’t boss me around.”

Rihyuk busily jotted notes in his notepad app.

While we conducted our five-man industrial espionage, the experts watched and offered comments whenever necessary.

“The piano is a bit too bright. Can we dial that down?”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Could someone adjust the mic position for the violins? I want a richer sound there.”

They fine-tuned the live ensemble, and during the musicians’ breaks, they separately recorded a few solo parts with the actors.

“My little John~!”

Holly Campbell, looking at Rihyuk, called out joyfully at her son’s name, but then the lead vocalist launched into detailed directing.

“Let’s go again.”

“Again!”

“That was nearly perfect, you know? One more take.”

As the real K-recording began, the musical actors’ faces drained of color. Even Holly’s bright, happy expression faltered. I’m sure “My little John” turned into “My freaking John.”

Then:

“Everyone. What have I been emphasizing?”

“Sing with energy....”

“That’s right. Energy! You don’t seem to feel it yet, so I’ll explain again. What emotion should you convey....”

I was the target of most of their resentment.

“This is the last take. The last.”

“Really?”

Smiling at the actors whose faces brightened, I said, “No. Depending on how you perform, it could be the last—or the start.”

“......”

“But if you think of it as the last, you feel good, right? Quality goes up, too.”

Inside the booth, Holly muttered “Jesus” and made the sign of the cross under her ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) breath.

To this fired-up crowd, I said, “You’re getting angry, right? Feel the heat rising.”

“......”

“That’s it! Take that feeling, that intense energy, and pour it into your singing.”

The next take burst with power, like an unleashed roar.

–Krallalararak!

A dragon’s shout might have sounded like that. We all exhaled and applauded. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Frank Chow, watching beside me, stroked his chin.

“An interesting directing style. You’d need nine lives like a cat to pull that off.”

“Want to try it?”

“No thanks. This is a country where firearms are legal....”

The staff laughed at the composer’s joke about needing nine lives. Frank Chow nodded.

“Whatever you did, it worked. The song feels more genuine.”

“Right?”

“Now it really sounds like Thousand Dreams.”

“Thousand Dreams” was certainly a song for people who’d given up on their dreams. The foreign-language textbooks warned the protagonist that dreams are lovely—but don’t equate them with yourself. Yet it wasn’t a song of resignation or detachment.

It was a song into which you had to channel all the pent-up energy. Though it transforms negativity positively, the core emotions—frustration, disappointment, anger—remain. Thousand Dreams demands you fling those feelings skyward in a joyful way.

“How do you know all this, hyung?”

“I wrote it....”

“Oh.”

Suppressing the urge to pinch my maknae’s cheek, I savored the energetic performance. It was definitely better than before. Technically it had been perfect earlier, but it lacked about three percent—now it was one hundred percent.

“Perfect!”

The actors cheered at my bright praise. As Holly celebrated, I caught the musicians’ wide-eyed stares.

“......?”

When their eyes met ours, they hurried to rehearse again. I laughed at the violinist channeling Paganini.

“Perfect!”

The ensemble of actors and live musicians was flawless. After a couple more attempts, the final recording wrapped, and Frank Chow announced:

“And ladies and gentlemen! That’s a wrap!”

Cheers and raucous applause filled the room. I tilted my head at the unfamiliar English phrase, and Rihyuk explained it’s what they say when a job’s done.

“Oh—ha, I see.”

“Don’t say anything—just clap.”

“Mhm.”

My tongue, previously revived by Biju’s lozenge, went numb again. Amid joyful laughter and applause, Frank Chow gestured me forward.

“To NewBlack, the original artists of Thousand Dreams, let’s give them a round of applause!”

“A fantastic job!”

“And let’s hope we never meet again...!”

Someone’s quip sent everyone into laughter. After the recording, we exchanged greetings with the crew. Even Holly enveloped us in a fierce hug and beamed.

“Pray you never run into me on the street.”

We laughed at her playful warning.

...I’ll never leave the hotel, ever.

As we wrapped up with a group photo, the documentary crew hurried to set up for interviews.

“Wait a moment.”

Frank Chow pulled us aside, then handed over a gift wrapped in paper.

“Go ahead, open it.”

“Ooh—!”

Inside was an oil painting of a Nostalgia film scene, with “Thousand Dreams” playing. Our faces were softly inserted beyond the foreign-language textbooks.

I thanked him for the thoughtful present, and the musical producer smiled.

“This commemorates our work together.”

“Thank you.”

“Soon Nostalgia will hit theaters. Come by to check it out—I’ll get you the best VIP seats.”

He teased, “And try not to fall asleep like yesterday.”

“How could we...?”

“Broadway’s like my backyard. Every rumor here flows right into my ear.”

He smiled meaningfully—the Broadway heavyweight.

I asked, “You heard it from Jiho?”

“Damn, almost tricked me!”

“Most of what you hear about us comes straight from Jiho.”

I echoed his words back to him, and he laughed.

Then we shook hands as he said, “See you later.”

After bidding farewell to Frank Chow, we found the documentary crew setting up the interview.

“All right, shall we begin?”

The host, Rachel, interviewed us about Nostalgia’s number. The questions were all about the music—sources of inspiration, how we blended it with existing musical numbers, how this style differed from our usual work, and so on. It was great.

Rihyuk and I, both fluent in English, answered most questions, and Rachel nodded approvingly at our responses.

“Thank you for participating in the interview.”

The music interview lasted about an hour and a half. I doubt it’ll take more than three minutes of documentary time, but I felt confident it would turn out well.

“Oh my! Great job, everyone.”

On the ride home, we praised each other’s efforts.

The maknae beamed with pride.

“It feels so good. It’s been a while since we flexed our coolness at work like that.”

“Agreed. We looked awesome earlier.”

“It’s been a minute since we worked straight through without any goofiness.”

I nodded at my brothers’ words. Then Biju spoke, a hint of worry in his tone.

“Do you think we worked too seriously? The documentary might not be funny enough.”

“Yeah, that’s a worry.”

“You guys. We’re singers, remember? Singers.”

“But our side gig is variety, too.”

Were we neglecting our side gig by focusing only on our main job? Would we come off as dour in the doc? As we fretted, the managers’ faces came into view—full of things they wanted to say.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing....”

We laughed broadly at the managers’ expressions of concern. Relieved, we felt they were our fun-detector canaries in the coal mine.

“Something else?”

“I think the footage turned out better than expected. When the managers go “uh, um,” it doesn’t come off as boring.”

“Thank goodness. I thought it’d be dull.”

Seeing our detection system working normally, we sighed in relief.

That evening, the documentary’s PD was in turmoil.

“What cuts should I use?”

He fretted over which shots would make the doc feel most authentic. It was absurd to worry about that, but the footage was funny.

“Now! Let’s do it together! Kkiooot! Imagine yourself as a pteranodon!”

“You bit your tongue a bit. But it’s nothing—it’s the Korean spirit.”

“If you can hit high notes better than this pale Paper Man friend, I can send you home right now.”

Sharp jabs of humor. And the overworked musical actors. It felt like a reality or survival show full of provocative scenes: “Your food is crap!” or “Did Beverly cheat on you?” Honestly...

“This is hilarious.”

Popcorn and this could’ve been a reality show. It was surreal.

“They’re teens, yet they’re broadcasting like ten-year talk show hosts...?”

The doc crew didn’t realize they were dealing with Korea’s biggest “mituber,” boasting millions of subscribers. Anyway, he dropped that worry.

While researching how to introduce NewBlack in the doc—pulling footage of them singing Thousand Dreams in America or dancing at awards shows—he exclaimed:

“They’re huge celebrities.”

He marveled at the search results. They seemed among Korea’s most beloved singers.

Sure enough, assistant director Hannah Morgan read an English Wikipedia entry.

“They’re incredibly popular in Korea. One nickname is ‘Kukmin idol.’”

“Kookmin idol? What’s that...?”

“Hold on. Let me run it through a portal translator.”

When the translator’s result appeared, the PD flinched.

“National idol...?”

He pictured all of Korea shouting “NewBlack! NewBlack!” and worshipping them with photos.

For Americans unfamiliar with Korea’s “national sibling” trope—national little sister, national actor—it was a bewildering translation.

“These kids are truly the Korean people’s ‘wannabe’...?”

Between clips of giggling and Korean news articles, the documentary crew grew confused.

“Hmmm....”

They only briefly hesitated. NewBlack was just one of many sidelines in this doc. They featured over twenty major numbers in Act 1 alone.

“Instead, how about tweaking the term? Maybe use ‘national hero’?”

“Hero suits it better than idol.”

“Then for the narration: show stage footage of NewBlack, cut to cheering Koreans, and say [In Korea, they’re called Kukmin Idol, ‘national heroes’...].”

“That’s great! Perfect idea!”

Thus, real-time information distortion unfolded. The accurate info was a click away for any Korean, but the overseas crew stayed blissfully unaware.

After wrapping the Nostalgia cast album work, we plunged into actual concert prep: the New York K-pop concert.

This New York show spans two days, and we were the main performers on Day 2. The venue was the Prudential Center in New Jersey.

“Why is it a New York concert if it’s in New Jersey?”

“Oh, you’re right.”

“...Huh?”

“...?!”

“Junghyun-hyung! We’ve spotted a big error!”

At first it sounded plausible, but seeing those two idiots in sync made us realize something was off. Rihyuk explained.

“The arena’s in Newark. It’s basically the same city—like Seoul-Bucheon in Korea.”

“Wow, they’re literally across the river.”

On the map, it lay just beyond two river crossings.

“No wonder, hyung—we were wrong.”

“It’s not our fault. It’s whoever named it that way.”

In any case, before performing for over ten thousand people, we prepared meticulously. As a joint concert in lieu of a North American tour, the outcome had to be stellar.

Meanwhile, our TF team—led by Seok-hwan-hyung—was busy prepping a pop-up store.

“Hmm, I’m worried...”

Seok-hwan-hyung glanced at the order quantities on his list. They seemed excessive.

“Do you think we can’t sell them all?”

“No.”

Our TF team leader smiled benevolently.

“I’m worried because I think we’ll sell out.”

“...?”

“Then how do we explain the situation to the furious fans when everything’s gone?”

“Ah...”

“I might have to put Mingi and Wonseok in as stand-ins...”

He looked anxious; I offered words of encouragement.

As each of us prepared our tasks, we kept a close eye on happenings back in Korea. We checked the charts daily: Bulkkotnori and Nakhwa swapped places in friendly competition.

“At this rate, Bulkkotnori will go head-to-head with Attention for No. 1.”

Nakhwa, out about a month, was just starting to slip off the daily chart summit, while Bulkkotnori climbed thanks to public support. Attention was skirting away like Rihyuk, but I figured Bulkkotnori would catch up soon.

Then...

“Huh...?”

We received great news.

“Amazing!”

“Why?”

“My friend just sent this—Bulkkotnori made the top nominations for K-Net music show No. 1.”

“Really...?”

We, having diverted our eyes from the charts, peered at the maknae’s phone. It showed the moment of the K-Net music show No. 1 announcement.

Last week of June music broadcast.

“Okay, only the No. 1 reveal remains.”

“Who will take No. 1 this week...?”

As the music show MC spoke, the No. 1 candidates took center stage, flanked by two boy groups.

“......”

Street Boys and TeenSpirit—the two groups co-competing this week. As comebacks in the same week, both looked like winners, even if neither clinched No. 1 on their first week back. One was hailed as top boy group with this album, the other a rising act riding overseas popularity.

An awkward tension simmered between the laughing groups.

“Ugh, so awkward.”

“Standing with friends of friends... Just breathe. I am Sun Woo-ju. I am Sun Woo-ju....”

“So stiff. Like a turtle ship. I am Gamnamu.”

Meanwhile, those two groups eyed the No. 1 candidates for next week with a hint of pale dread. One of them would claim No. 1 next time.

But...

“Let’s reveal this week’s No. 1 nominees again!”

As the three thumbnails flashed on the scoreboard, the seated girl and boy groups gasped.

[“Nakhwa (落花)” / NewBlack]

[“Attention” / ATEN]

[“Bulkkotnori (불꽃놀이)” / NewBlack]

When the final announcement came:

“And congratulations to NewBlack’s Nakhwa!”

ATEN, who had failed to take No. 1 even in their last promotion week, smiled warmly as they offered their remarks.

“They’re strong. Our NewBlack seniors.”

“We tried desperately to snag No. 1, but they were too powerful.”

“We thought Bulkkotnori would split votes and give us the win. But no chance....”

As the variety-show regulars turned the music show into a sea of laughter, TeenSpirit and Street Boys shared an awkward smile and muted laugh.

“Wait a second.”

A shared thought flickered through their minds.

“Our competition for next week...?”

Seeing the scores of the three NewBlack tracks, their faces turned slightly ashen. When Earthlings plan to fight each other, here come the aliens—and they show no sign of departing.

“Hang in there, Soul.”

“They’ll be nominees next week too...?”

Call it paranoia, but the thumbnails of the spaceship and minions in the No. 1 graphic seemed to mock them. Even in America, NewBlack’s presence remained overwhelmingly dominant.