In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“Sitcom?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think this is the best one?”

“Yup.”

While Jiho answered confidently, we stared at the script.

.

A weekend sitcom airing every Sunday on TBC.

Its premise: an alien family crash-landed on Earth, hiding their identities while causing total chaos.

“This is a story I’ve never seen, but it feels strangely familiar.”

“It really does.”

We flipped through the pages with that same sense of déjà vu. Not being experienced actors, I couldn’t spot big differences from the other two scripts. Jiho explained.

“All three are good, but the first two had issues, so I picked this one.”

“There were issues?”

“Let’s call the period piece Script 1 and the genre piece Script 2 for convenience.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know what they have in common?”

We shook our heads. Jiho pointed at the two scripts solemnly.

“If you get cast in either of those, you’ll suffer big losses. Both roles are like comic relief—they meet the protagonists in the underworld or in the café as a barista. Those parts are dangerous. You have to trade lines perfectly with the lead to shine, or your weaknesses get exposed instantly.”

“Oh...”

I got it. Though they were cameo-level roles, the leads were my line partners.

Then Junghyun asked, “Isn’t being in the same scene as the lead good? You get more importance.”

“No. It’s like this: one cut on Uju’s close-up, then one on the lead’s close-up.”

“Oh.”

Junghyun understood immediately. Jiho went on.

“Both scripts are good, but honestly, the risk is huge.”

He looked at me earnestly.

“I think you’re capable, but it’s your first drama.”

“That’s true. No need to take huge risks.”

“Yeah. Both would be insanely high-risk dramas.”

Jiho pointed at the period piece.

“First, the set is ridiculously far away. And it’s high summer—if you shoot there, you’ll come back drenched like a mud cucumber...”

Our aspiring actor explained each point one by one.

“And building that character is crazy hard, starting with the speech style suitable for a period piece... just know it’s brutal.”

Then he pointed at Script 2.

“It also has tons of pitfalls. A genre piece is already hard, but comedic genre? Even great actors get accused of overacting.”

He meant hitting the perfect balance is nearly impossible.

“Most important: the writer is famous for only giving sidescripts.”

“Scheduling nightmare.”

A sidescript is when a ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) writer, pressured by deadlines, sends a few pages, saying “Just shoot this for now!” It doesn’t necessarily lower quality, but it risks everything schedule-wise.

“-Um... when do we shoot?” “-Ah! Don’t know! We only find out when the script comes!”

I could picture it.

“In that sense, this ‘alien’ one is less burdensome. Though filming spans a long period, it airs once a week.”

“Forty to fifty minutes per episode.”

“You can think of it as two twenty-minute blocks.”

Plus, my role isn’t huge, so it won’t eat up a ton of shooting time.

“Difficulty is moderate. I think you’d really nail this role.”

“Really?”

“But you still have to pass the audition.”

Jiho explained acting world realities.

“In auditions, you have to say, ‘I bring something extra to this role!’ Whether it’s passion or a special skill, they need a reason to cast you, an unproven actor.”

Holding up the script again, he said,

“I think this role lets you use your strengths.”

The role offered me was Agent K.

A secret-service agent sent to monitor the alien family. I’d manage them and write reports.

As Jiho said, I saw ways I could outshine others here.

“There’s some action—physicality—I’m confident in that.”

“And disguising myself in other identities—I can do that—and my gift of gab for deception.”

“So it’s a character who legally does all sorts of nasty things. It suits you.”

Junghyun gave me a thumbs-up, and I returned it with a grin.

Biju, who’d been reading, spoke up.

“This really fits. He’s set up as extremely competent.”

“Ooh.”

“It even says, ‘A character so capable he excels at unnecessary tasks.’”

“...!”

We applauded.

“Perfect! You’re the one who refused to do mimes at the fansign!”

“I once saw you tumble-land perfectly when you rolled off the bed!”

“I saw you descend the stairs in an exorcist’s posture!”

Junghyun’s remark made me flinch—how did he see me practicing at dawn? Next time I’d change locations. Meanwhile, holding the script Biju handed me, I felt calm. I’d wanted to act but didn’t know how to pick a good script—Jiho’s help was invaluable.

“Hyung!”

Jiho cleared his throat, beaming.

“Because of me, you picked well, right? You feel grateful and proud, don’t you? Say thank you.”

“...Thanks.”

“Aww, it’s not hard.”

He gently ruffled my hair like I was a little kid—yet he seemed proud, almost adult-like discussing his expertise.

So I made a crucial announcement.

“Jiho.”

“Yes.”

“From now on, no more money talk when we discuss acting.”

His brothers applauded and laughed. Jiho grumbled playfully.

I laughed and said, “Your advice is so serious and helpful, I’m trying to focus—can you hear me?”

“Got it... fine.”

While everyone laughed, I returned to the script. A sitcom. My first acting challenge made me tremble with excitement—and worry.

“But...”

I looked at my brothers.

“Can I really do this?”

“Acting?”

“It’s a sitcom. I need to be funny...”

“...”

Blinking faces. Junghyun and Biju hesitated, but Ri-hyuk placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Really.”

Really?

“The most useless worry in the world.”

“...”

“Exactly.”

Jiho chimed in.

“Hyung, your very existence is funny. When I’m on TV, my sister coos, ‘He’s so cute,’ but when you appear, she laughs.”

“Why...?”

He shook his head at my puzzled look.

“Just because you’re funny.”

“I see...”

What image do I project on screen? My brothers burst out laughing at my wistful smile. Ri-hyuk nudged me.

“Stop worrying. You’ll do great.”

“Yeah, I have to.”

“And do it so amazingly they’re shocked. Let them feel what it’s like to be chased for once.”

Our maknae, rolling his eyes at Ri-hyuk, then smiled at me.

“Shall we practice a bit? You’ll need to rehearse to pass the audition.”

“Sure, I’d love that.”

“Hahahahaha!”

He laughed gleefully.

“I’ve been waiting for today.”

“You’re showing off in front of that old man again.”

“I’ll upgrade you Athens-style this time.”

“Sparta.”

“Sp... anyway, I’ll upgrade you!”

Jiho spread the script and tapped a passage.

“Scene 23. I think they’ll pick this. Now imagine you’re Agent K and deliver your lines.”

“Wait a sec.”

“Take your time. We’ve got plenty.”

I snapped my fingers and Junghyun pulled Jiho aside. I scanned the script, envisioning Agent K: highly capable, doing only what’s necessary, personality like a bland gray—no emotion, no desire. Before formally practicing, I sketched the vibe, then spoke.

“Shall we begin?”

“Yes. You can start.”

I closed my eyes briefly to capture the mood, then recited Scene 23’s interrogation lines.

“Greetings. I am Agent 9762-1 of the Management Bureau. I will be conducting your investigation today. You have the right to remain silent...”

I delivered the memorized lines smoothly—until my scene partner’s reply didn’t come.

“...?”

Facing the opposite side, Jiho stood holding his script, mouth agape. My brothers, watching along, blinked between me and their pages. When I relaxed my expression, relief washed over them.

“When did you...?”

Jiho asked.

“When did you practice? You never took lessons.”

“Oh, here and there when I had free time? Self-taught...”

“Self-taught? This...? When on earth did you find the time?!”

They laughed at his astonishment. I laughed back.

“Jiho, now you understand me, right?”

“I’m most curious where you carve out time. Is that a magic clock?”

I chuckled at my minions peering at my watch. Then I noticed the maknae sulking in a corner, radiating gloom. Our eyes met and he looked away with a pout.

“...”

Everyone laughed as I looked at him. Then Ri-hyuk asked, chuckling,

“Planning to eat tteokbokki again on the dorm stairs later?”

“I will never eat that!”

Gulp.

“Aww...”

Gulp.

“I mean, come on. I practice like crazy in every spare moment, and someone who only does scraps can keep up...!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ugh...! From today I’m pulling all-nighters to practice acting. Really.”

I patted the maknae’s back as he indignantly slurped tteokbokki broth.

Placing down his bowl, I asked,

“Want more?”

“Yes!”

“Junghyun, put another one in the microwave.”

“Okay~”

As the company break room microwave hummed, the maknae grumbled. He’d laughed when I chased him in vocal, dance, rap rehearsals, but now that it was his turf, he was troubled.

Gulp.

A while later, Jiho seemed cheerier. I asked,

“By the way, Jiho.”

“Yes!”

“...”

“Yes?”

I smiled.

“When we rehearsed earlier, did I do okay?”

“...Yes. You were amazing. Honestly, if you don’t pass the audition, it’ll be the director’s loss.”

“You mean they won’t cast me?”

“Later, when I succeed, I won’t appear in that director’s projects. They’d be fools.”

Everyone laughed as Jiho munched tteokbokki.

“What more should I work on?”

“You need character work. I’ll help with that later. Other than that... you’re already doing great.”

He meant I could schedule the audition. As I headed to the management team’s office, my brothers nodded, ready to take over from me.

They swarmed Jiho with praise.

“Our maknae is a genius actor.”

“Hmm-hmm.”

“No matter how hard that guy trains, you’re always tougher.”

“Hmm-hmm-hmm!”

I shrugged off their teasing and went down to management.

“Oh, you’re here.”

“Hyung.”

“I was about to talk to you—perfect timing.”

My task-force captain, a math genius with permanent dark circles, eyed the script in my hand.

“A drama script, huh? Have you chosen?”

“I have, but I wanted your opinion. If you were me, which would you pick?”

“Hmm.”

Seok-hwan pondered, adjusted his glasses, then rifled through the stack.

“I don’t handle acting, but avoid anything controversial, pick something the public will like, and something that suits you...”

He pulled another script from the pile.

“This one.”

I laughed before realizing it.

“Why are you laughing?”

“We picked that one too.”

He grinned at the crumpled pages.

“I’ll coordinate a meeting with the production company.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

I diverted the topic with a smile.

“You said you had more to tell me...?”

“Tae-hyun’s album. It’s coming back July 20. He starts promo next week.”

So we’d plan chaotic TJ Ent. visits and collaboration videos with Tae-hyun around that time.

After briefly detailing the schedule, Seok-hwan glanced around.

“Ri-hyuk isn’t here, right?”

“Nope. He’s busy praising Jiho and tearing me down.”

I sent him a reassuring look; he nodded firmly.

“About what you wanted for Ri-hyuk’s birthday...”

My heart raced.

“Are we ready?”

“We’re ready.”

He had news that preparations for Ri-hyuk’s birthday event were complete. Elated, I listened to his plan for that day.

After drawing some 24,000 fans in Singapore and Jakarta,

on Tuesday, July 12,

Ri-hyuk’s birthday, Souffle were bustling.

‘It’s Ri-hyuk’s birthday!’

SNS tags like #Ri-hyuk’s_Twentieth_Summer trended with celebratory posts and memes.

#HappyBirthdayRi-hyuk shot up the real-time trends.

Celebs like Jang Sang-won and Cha Woo-hyun posted selfies and birthday wishes:

@cha_cow

(A stern-looking Ri-hyuk and solemn Cha Woo-hyun in a two-shot)

“Happy birthday to our Ri-hyuk >< Really congrats kkyu”

#UncleFriendshipForever

Cha Woo-hyun’s post, after nearly an hour of drafting, had gone viral.

“He’s having a birthday, I see.”

“Pfft!”

Even the subway stations displayed birthday ads for Seo Ri-hyuk.

Featuring the legendary scene of button-popping breath and a beautiful message:

[Our eternal baby tomato]

[This child is ours. Thank you for loving our child. — Sun Woo-ju & the other three]

[What...? It’s his birthday...? Congrats...♡]

Even a “6-du-pum” level faux-fandom ad by some copy-cat Souffle.

As Souffle collectively celebrated the member’s birthday,

[SURPRISE LIVE STARTING]

“Everyone, now’s the time..!”

Souffle who saw the Y-app alert tapped their phones. Viewer counts skyrocketed, hearts exploded, and finally the live broadcast began.

“-Hello!”

Uju, Biju, and Junghyun waved.

Their backdrop captured Souffle’s attention.

‘Is this the practice room...?’

They’d redecorated it like a Joseon palace. Uju explained:

“-Yes, we decorated the practice room for Ri-hyuk’s surprise party.”

“-Don’t you think he’ll love it?”

“-He’ll faint from happiness.”

Excited, they fluttered their hands, anticipating Ri-hyuk’s reaction. Then Junghyun checked his phone.

“-He’s bringing Jiho now.”

“-Hey, hey, turn off the lights!”

Uju, holding the cake by the door, stood as two minions prepared fireworks.

“-What is this... again....”

*FWOOSH!*

“-Gahhhh!”

Ri-hyuk sat down in shock; we all laughed. Souffle laughed along. Then, in the darkened room, birthday song and greetings rang out.

“-Happy birthday!”

“-Oh, what did you prepare? We know you’ve all been tired after the concert... um? What’s this?”

At that moment, a hat—no, an ikseon-gwan, the coronation cap of Joseon kings—was placed on Ri-hyuk’s head. As he blinked at the hat, the lights snapped on.

“-Whoa...!”

“-How’s it look?”

Surveying the palace-styled room with his mouth agape, Ri-hyuk heard Uju say:

“-This isn’t the end.”

“-What?!”

“-We’ve prepared a special song for your birthday.”

Ri-hyuk swallowed hard; Souffle leaned in expectantly. Uju pressed play on the BGM, and traditional Korean music filled the speakers.

“-Th-this is...!”

Ri-hyuk raised his hands to his mouth, on the verge of tears. They draped him in a gonryongpo dragon-robe while Souffle laughed.

Then:

‘This sounds familiar...?’

As if answering their thought, the prelude ended and a majestic voice boomed:

[My geum~♪ il ha~♪ dae chwi ta~♬ ha rab sin da!]

[Ye~ i!]

This was daechwita—the grand military music performed during royal processions in Joseon. With the ikseon-gwan on his head, tears welled in Ri-hyuk’s eyes—his expression said, “This is the best gift of my life!”

And then:

‘Hmm...?’

The four quiet members quietly lifted instruments.

Uju played the taepyeongso horn, sending a grand sound ringing out—

‘What? Why are they so good?’

As Souffle gasped in admiration,

“-...!”

Ri-hyuk’s eyes glistened further.

But then the other members joined in with daechwita—but produced the most discordant cacophony ever.

Biju struck the jing gong off-key—“Kweeyo-oooong!”—and Jiho, cymbals in hand, crashed them like a broken monkey—“Kuwaang-kwang!” Even Junghyun pounded the buk drum in a “drop the beat” rhythm with glee. A traditional music purist would surely sue at the sight.

“-...Sasaeng. Can someone haul these to Sasaeng Detention?”

Clutching his forehead, Ri-hyuk sobbed to the fans.

“-I want to imprison all these people. Seriously....”

Their king was rapidly losing all composure—yet Souffle couldn’t stop laughing at the hapless musicians.