In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“Cut!”

I relaxed my face at the director’s hearty declaration and laughed.

At last, filming was over.

“Great work, everyone!”

“Uju, you worked so hard!”

As the cast applauded and celebrated the wrap, Director Hwang Jeong-gu raised his megaphone.

–Uju.

“Yes!”

–You did really well today.

Though brief, his words rang sincere. Even when we’d been monitoring the footage together, I’d noticed the anxiety in his eyes completely vanish.

I waved goodbye to the delighted crew eager to head home early and wiped my sweat with the handkerchief Minki hyung had given me.

“Whew...”

“Tough day?”

“I’m soaked. I was so nervous I couldn’t stop sweating.”

Hyung Minki laughed at me as my shirt billowed.

“Shall we go meet the kids?”

“I’ll say goodbye to these folks first—if I just leave, they might feel hurt.”

I approached the onlookers, greeting them warmly. We took selfies, thanked them for coming, and then someone asked,

“So—when’s the first broadcast?”

“August 14th!”

They answered in unison. Smiling, I pressed on.

“What day of the week is that?”

“Sunday!”

“Our family is—”

“Alien!”

“And I am—”

At the last cue, the answers tumbled out wrong: “spaceship,” “Sun Woo-ju,” and so on. I burst out laughing, waved gratefully, and said,

“Well, I’d better get going! Thank you!”

I thanked the dozens of people who’d stayed to watch and made my way toward the parking lot, guided by my brothers’ texts:

Jiho [Parking lot, come on baby]

Jiho [Hurry up!!]

Curious what surprise they’d prepared, I hurried on. Spotting them and the crew gathered by the lot, my brothers waved me over.

“Hyung! Come over here!”

“Why are you so late? And what’s with your pockets...?”

Ri-hyuk pointed at my bulging pockets. I pulled out breath mints from a barbecue restaurant and scorched-rice candies.

“The older folks gave them to me.”

My brothers laughed. I asked,

“But why bring me out here?” 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

“Well, we prepared a meal truck as a gift to show how much we appreciate you.”

“...Really?”

My stomach grumbled just thinking about it, but the news thrilled me.

“Everyone! Please take good care of my hyung!”

“He’s a little weird sometimes, but he’s not a bad person!”

“He does odd magic tricks now and then, but just cut him some slack—it’s hard work!”

...Who wouldn’t want to adopt these goofballs?

I grinned awkwardly at the amused crew, then turned to my brothers. Their mischievous faces made my heart swell with gratitude.

“...”

I’d been so nervous—it was my first drama shoot solo, unlike any group activity. I felt exposed, as if prey to some lurking predator. But my brothers’ presence steadied me, and their public show of support meant the world.

It felt like a troop of capuchin monkeys surrounding and protecting me.

“Thank you.”

As I whispered my thanks, the gang cheered.

“But, guys...”

“Yeah?”

“So where’s the meal truck...?”

Behind my brothers, where the truck should’ve been, stood only a canopy.

“Shouldn’t the truck be here?”

“Oh, about that...”

Biju murmured.

“You finished shooting so early the truck couldn’t make it in time...”

“....”

“Hang out with us for thirty minutes, hyung.”

Of course. We weren’t a group that enjoyed smooth sailing.

After pondering what to do for the next half-hour, I smiled at the bright-eyed crew and asked,

“Who wants to see some magic for thirty minutes?”

Director Hwang Jeong-gu was the first to raise his hand, laughter bubbling up.

A few days later, I saw in the script for Episode 7 that “Magician Kim Uju” was to appear as my new undercover role.

As filming for the drama proper began, time flew by.

A 50-minute sitcom felt lean compared to 60–70-minute mini-series. My own screen time was modest—just enough to serve the story. I’d thought it would be breezy, but...

“Uuurgh...”

“Hyung, does your shoulder hurt more, or your neck?”

“My neck... uuurgh...”

On a day off at the dorm, I received a massage from our maknae, who giggled while reading the script on the couch.

“Hard work, right?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d be in only five minutes total, but...”

Outdoor shoots added variables, delays piled up, and the hours stretched on. Now I understood why I’d seen Senior Seo No-eul wrapped in a blanket and tumbling at the slip set.

“Guess I’m built for singing, not acting.”

Perhaps it was the difference in fields. When composing, I could lock people in a studio for nights on end without fatigue. Acting for only a few hours left me drained.

Meanwhile...

“Is it that much fun?”

“When I read the script, my heart flutters.”

The maknae’s eyes sparkled as he devoured his pages. Rolling over to see, I peeked at the title: Shin-i (神異). Derived from the word for “mystical” or “strange,” I didn’t know the details. When he tried to share,

“Don’t!—”

“...”

“Guys, when this airs on MiTube, you have to watch it, okay?”

“Why not?”

“There’s a reason behind it.”

He wouldn’t even let us visit the set, and he guarded the content like a secret. Once, we plotted to sneak into his room and steal his pages, but—

–Aaaagh! Eek!

Ri-hyuk lost a rock-paper-scissors match and got caught in a booby-trapped net. We abandoned the mission. Reportedly the manufacturer charged $100 on Amazon for that net.

I’d hoped to send him a coffee truck under our names, but scheduling logistics got in the way.

–Sorry, we need to adjust the schedule.

They said Jiho’s name was already booked solid. It wasn’t just the maknae—our individual commitments were slammed too.

Ri-hyuk set down his lyric sheets.

“That’s why we switched to a meal truck. The coffee trucks were fully booked.”

“That many?”

“Ten—count ’em ten—teams already scheduled praising Kim Uju.”

Teams included Seniors Jang So-won and Lee Sa, the six members of Mister Producer, the Myung-gokdan production crew, PD Ha Seung-joo, and more. Ten coffee trucks celebrating me before my own members. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Guess I’ve really racked up some good karma.”

“What’s karma?”

“It means our hearts are so full of merit.”

“Don’t explain it weirdly to him.”

Ri-hyuk scolded, and I laughed, “Then you explain it!” All the while, Biju spun like a fairy in the middle of the living room.

“Hyung, what do you think of this?”

“Better than before.”

“Hm... needs a bit more polish.”

“Shift the axis a little. The center wobbles when you spin.”

These days, Biju was dancing more than ever—prepping for the upcoming dance show I MOVE (formerly Dance God King), aiming for something sleeker. The first competition airs after Our Alien Family’s premiere; we all planned to cheer him on together.

As everyone’s individual schedules progressed smoothly, the world’s clock raced forward too.

Watching Olympic news on the living-room TV, the maknae asked,

“Do you think we’ll have time to watch the Olympics?”

“Let’s just catch the highlights on replay later.”

As the 2016 Rio Olympics opened, the country buzzed with news. I noticed a shift in tone from the articles:

–Taekwondo team selfie released: “We are the new black of Taekwondo”

–Weekend drama ratings battle heats up: “Moms’ New Black”—Actor Song Yoo-chan confirmed for PBS’s

–Hot peanut butter chips: “The new black of snacks has arrived”

“New Black” had become a catchphrase. I’d panicked at first—cookies claiming to be the New Black—but then saw athletes praising “their idol New Black” in interviews. Embarrassing yet oddly gratifying.

“We’ll definitely watch...!”

“If Souffle wins gold, that’d be huge!”

“I’m already thinking of SNS subtitles. Fans are so powerful.”

A fan’s success is a singer’s success. I longed to bask in Souffle’s medal glory.

Then the maknae showed his phone.

“Oh! Did you see this? Our name’s in the local coverage.”

“Really?”

No variety shows went to Rio due to safety, but reporters noted our popularity.

–K-pop popularity in Rio confirmed: “Do you know the New Black?”

“Why would they say that in Brazil...?”

“They said they heard it, not witnessed it.”

The reporter, hugged by Brazilian Souffle members in a photo, beamed 100%. May his good fortune continue. If his wife saw that smile, she’d probably forbid him ever coming back.

“Let’s pitch Brazil for next year’s tour.”

We’d toured there last year, but demand seemed to have surged.

As Olympic fever peaked, our group calendar filled up too. In a few days, a very special guest would appear on NewBlack TV’s talk show:

[NewBlack TV – Hailey Blue Visit]

I double-checked the name in disbelief; my brothers reacted similarly.

–Hailey Blue...?!

–Hailey Blue’s coming? Why?

–Why is she coming...?

A Grammy Album of the Year winner and one of America’s biggest current stars, she’d performed at the Super Bowl halftime show. Meeting a famous Hollywood actor is one thing, but a singer of her stature made me tremble at the mere name.

“She’s coming... I must’ve succeeded for this to happen.”

“Hahaha! Uju, look—your eyes are all glossy.”

“I’m a real fan.”

Since her debut in ’08, she’d been one of my inspirations. I needed creative sparks for my own upcoming album, and this news set my heart fluttering.

Then, for the upcoming Chuseok holiday, we decided on multiple variety show appearances. After two months on Mister Producer, we’d held off on ads and shows to avoid overexposure. Now it was time to warm back up.

We met with TBC’s Joo Se-han.

–We should secure a good deal. His show’s ratings have dipped lately.

A newcomer on Sunday variety shows had shaken up the field: HBS’s , KM Entertainment CEO Heo Gang-min’s ambitious survival audition where viewers pick the debut boy group—like old-school national auditions. It became an instant smash from Episode 1.

–Finally unmasked: “OnTheS”—which trainee will debut?

–“Now idols are chosen by viewers...” “Concerns over excessive competition”

–[Yesterday TV] “OnTheS” ratings smash... Will it rescue HBS from the ratings slump?

Critics called it too sensational, but the public loved it.

Ri-hyuk said,

“I can’t watch survival shows—too nerve-wracking.”

“Me neither.”

“Watching it makes my heart pound, and I don’t even know what to find entertaining.”

“Same here.”

“I think debuts should be decided in-house...”

As we chatted, the maknae flipped through channels and asked,

“Should we at least watch the first episode? Heo CEO keeps begging us to show up, even just once.”

“Sure—let’s watch.”

To understand why audiences loved it, we tuned in. As the promotional hype rolled—

[National survival audition!]

[Becoming an idol!]

—I held my breath watching a trainee get chewed out by a trainer and flinched at CEO Heo’s “You need to debut” line. Eighty-nine trainees competed, with more auditions to select additional members.

“Looks like people love excitement.”

“Yeah...but what’s fun about it...?”

Trainee interviews began:

[I’m often told I’m clueless, being the maknae...I just want to do well.]

“Whoa...”

[I’m determined to debut at all costs.]

“...Trainee Kim Yoo-sung! I’m rooting for you!”

The maknae’s eyes lit «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» up, and I laughed. Then the top dance trainee appeared:

[Really? Others say I’m good, but lately I lack confidence.]

“No, you can have confidence!”

[If not dance, what else am I good at...?]

“Oh no! Look at that kid...!”

Then a bold trainee stepped up:

[I’m a rapper. I admire Senior Gu Seon-woong of TNT and Senior Jung-hyun of NewBlack! They’re amazing when they rap!]

“Trainee No Jin-gu. You’ve got my vote.”

“He’s Kang Jin-gu....”

[If I debut, I want to perform for you all... I can make it, right? Haha!]

“Now you’ve got our family’s votes.”

Smiling at my brothers, I then spotted a familiar face with a large name tag: Mo Yeong-hoon.

“Oh?”

“You know him?”

“He was at TJ before moving on.”

Strictly speaking they’d dropped him for poor dancing, but we’d known each other. A mix of surprise and nostalgia stirred in me.

[I’m told I’m older than the rest. But I can’t give up.]

“....”

[That was my resolve: if dance doesn’t suit me, I’d keep at it a hundred years. I went from agency to agency, never quitting. Ten years passed, and now I want to see the results.]

His calm determination made me scroll my phone.

“What’s wrong, hyung?”

“I want to find out when the live SMS voting starts.”

“Ooh, I want to see too.”

We huddled, checking poll dates and commenting on trainees, earning Ri-hyuk’s mockery:

“You guys are so invested...”

“Hey! Ri-hyuk hyung’s on screen!”

A sharp-featured trainee appeared:

[I worry I have a harsh look and rough speech... TV only shows the surface.]

“....”

Ri-hyuk snapped his head around.

“When does voting start?”

“Come here—let’s try the online pre-vote.”

We tapped supportive messages on our phones as we watched the 89 trainees in Episode 1.

“No! Not that song choice!”

“They can’t dance to that track! Oh no...!”

“That lineup’s asking for a fight—it’s set up that way!”

Every sensational moment drew our gasps and cheers. I cursed at first, then cheered by the end. Popular things always have a reason.

A few days later, we signaled KM Entertainment we’d appear briefly as mentors. Plankton Records’ boss called at once:

‘I’ll roll out the red carpet for you.’

I told him not to bother. I’d appear on the show to give quick advice during the episode featuring NewBlack song covers. It should be a heartwarming moment.

–Aaaargh!

–Eek! Eep!

–Die, Kim Jung-hyun! Oh... the stick broke...?

My A10 uncles exited stage left. I waved away phantom shouts in my ear and looked around the set.

“Nice view.”

“This place warms the heart.”

“Cozy.”

When Jung-hyun opened the window, the hot August breeze poured in.

“Ah! Hyung, close it! Close it!”

“Scenery’s best enjoyed with air conditioning.”

Outside the glass, a garden; inside, a traditional hanok layout. The signboard read [Nubul-aek Woldu] in brushstroke hangul.

This set, NewBlack World, welcomes overseas stars touring Korea. Originally a one-off event, foreigners loved the hanok talk-show so much that it became a permanent rental. The concept: scholarly hosts greeting foreign travelers in Joseon attire. Dressed as Sungkyunkwan students, we welcomed the visiting singer.

“Hello!”

In flower-patterned hanbok and colorful attire, a blue-haired beauty stepped gracefully from an SUV: Hailey Blue. With her Nordic looks and imposing bodyguards, she approached.

“Hi—”

Her blue hair and eyes lent a water-spirit purity to her presence. Though we’d been warned she was notorious for blunt remarks making tabloids, her gentle smile put us at ease as our staff mics her.

“Before we shoot, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How frank can I be?”

“As much as you like—it’s just a format. For example, if I ask what you like about Korea, you can just say what you like.”

I tried a dry run, asking what she enjoyed about Korea. She beamed and replied,

“I love that there aren’t any damn paparazzi...?”

Between F-words, I think my ears beeped six times.

“Uh, um...”

I hesitated. But she wasn’t Korean and was famous for such remarks—no one would mind.

“Uh, I mean... I appreciate the honesty.”

“You’ve got to say what you think.”

Admiring her unfiltered spirit, Biju whispered,

“Hyung, doesn’t she remind you of someone?”

“Huh?”

Her fairy-like looks belied her blunt words.

“...!”

“...!”

Behind Hailey Blue, six “fuck”s hung like bubbles before popping in my mind. Realization dawned, and my brothers and I exchanged silent, knowing smiles.

‘Suddenly I feel at home.’

‘Was there a sister who moved away downstairs?’

‘Why do I feel so relaxed?’

This stranger smelled like a familiar neighbor.