In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“Ri-hyuk, dangling like that, instantly turned into a tomato.”

Everyone else burst out laughing.

“Uh-hah! Uh-hahaha!”

“Ah! Really, stop laughing and help me out here!”

At his embarrassed shout, Jung-hyun stood up and came to help.

The maknae snickered teasingly.

“Hyung, can’t you even get out of that?”

“Shut up.”

“To be honest, if it were Biju hyung, he’d have spun around once and landed.”

“That’s right.”

Biju smiled and pointed at me.

“If it were Uju hyung, he’d’ve done two spins.”

“Uh-hah-hah! Right, that’d be so you.”

“Two spins? Three spins is doable too.”

I bragged, and my younger brothers erupted in laughter.

Only Ri-hyuk sat there looking at everyone with a “you guys are mean” expression.

Hailey Blue wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

“You guys are seriously funny.”

“One of our side gigs is comedy, you know.”

“Really? That suits you.”

Proud at the praise that we were funnier than any comedians she’d seen, we laughed together—until a sudden click made us all turn our heads.

The roulette that had been spinning round and round had stopped.

“Oho....”

This segment was built around each guest’s special talent. We’d pre-submit “I’m good at this,” and then the rest of us would challenge that skill.

For example, last time actor John Walker submitted “tongue manipulation” as his specialty—and I had immediately defeated him.

“Ahhh! Please mosaic that out!”

“This face wasn’t inherited from grandma to be covered up! Hyung!”

“John, quit right now! That guy is not someone you can beat.”

Though it was a prideful showdown, both sides ended up bruised in ego only.

Anyway, Hailey Blue’s submitted talents were listed on the roulette. After passing the “figure-skating moves” slot that Biju would handle...

“Huh? Me?”

“Oh.”

The pointer landed on “improvisational composition.” I’d already agreed to step up if that came up.

“Heh heh heh heh heh!”

“Hohohahaha!”

The lackeys were already strutting as if they’d won, so I shot them a warning glare to pipe down.

As the little ones “heh-heh”d solemnly, Hailey Blue said,

“I thought improvising compositions was my specialty—seems you’ve got a knack for it too?”

“I tend to write songs pretty fast.”

Ri-hyuk added,

“When he writes fast, he really writes fast. I remember him lounging after eating, staring at the ceiling for about five minutes, then suddenly saying, ‘Ri-hyuk, turn on the recording app,’ and humming a melody. That ended up as a track.”

“And he writes them really well.”

With Biju joining in, the Great Leader Brag Festival began—and I motioned for them to cut it out, feeling a bit embarrassed. After all, the shortest time it took me to write “Blue Bird,” the Billboard No. 1 hit of 2013, was about five minutes.

I asked,

“Hailey, five minutes for ‘Blue Bird’ is your record, right?”

“Right.”

She drew a plane-taking-off gesture with her hand.

“I wrote it listening to engine sounds during takeoff. Took about ten minutes. It’s a half-assed song, but it did well, so I was surprised.”

“Some songs work that way. The lighter you take them, the better the reaction sometimes.”

“It’s a real mystery.”

Strangely, among our album tracks, the ones fans reacted strongest to were usually the casually-written ones. I’d realized that time invested didn’t always correlate with listener response.

Meanwhile, at the producers’ request, we split into two teams of two, flanking Hailey Blue.

The opposing team asked,

“Why split up?”

“Oh, the PD said doing five-on-one felt a bit biased. He wants cheering squads split into two-on-two.”

“...Does it really make a difference?”

Hailey Blue looked puzzled as the crew played footage on the monitor: cast members from a horror movie battling over tteok-galbi delivered straight from Damyang.

“Go, our team!”

“Ri-hyuk hyung, hit them with another sonic attack~!”

“Nyaaahhh~~”

“One more!”

“Nyaaahhh~~”

They tried sabotage to shake the other team’s focus, and even Hollywood actors responded with dirty tactics, but they were getting devastated by the pirarucu’s sonic attack.

“What the....”

Staring dumbfounded, Hailey Blue changed her mind.

“Three-on-three. That’s a good idea.”

“Hahaha!”

“I didn’t know you guys played this dirty. Fine. I like it.”

And so Team Blue and Team Black were formed. As the crew fanned us with hand fans, the smell of chicken drifted in, and the two maknaes behind Hailey Blue chuckled.

“The food’s ours!”

“May your pen slip while writing songs, you flowery old man.”

“Um, hey....”

At the maknaes’ immediate betrayal, laughter broke out on set. I got riled up.

“Hey, what if I win? Aren’t you scared of our PoongPoong?”

My pronunciation tangled, and before I knew it, the maknaes pounced like hyenas.

“Poong-poong~”

“You’re not scared of PoongPoong~~”

“Geez, fine then. Our PoongPoong~?”

Biju and Jung-hyun behind me burst out laughing. When I glared at them, the two little ones countered, “Don’t tease Uju hyung~,” but they were too innocent to pose a real threat. Hailey Blue gave them a high-five, as if praising them.

“I may not speak Korean well, but I can tell you’re good.”

“If you’re curious about any weaknesses, we’ll fill you in.”

Everyone laughed at the two betrayals selling out their big brother for chicken. Amid that lighthearted atmosphere, the rules for the improvisation contest were set.

“There are no limits on what you compose. You can write anything that comes to mind, or add to an existing song. Just freely compose on the spot.”

“Oh-ho. And then?”

“We’ll take turns performing. How shall we decide the order?”

Hailey Blue shrugged.

“I’ll go first.”

“Okay.”

At that, the manager opened a guitar case and handed over an acoustic guitar—a very famous limited edition model. When Biju asked if it was expensive, I whispered,

“...If that breaks, our entire first-half profits go up in smoke.”

“Really?”

Biju grabbed both of Jung-hyun’s hands, whispering for him to breathe quietly. Meanwhile, Hailey Blue picked up the blue-painted acoustic guitar. With her blue hair stuck with a binyeo and wearing hanbok, the combination felt striking. Noticing our gazes, she held the guitar like a cello and plucked a string.

“Alright.”

Rolling up her sleeves, she murmured,

“What song should I write? I’m in Korea, on a talk show with cute friends. Feeling good. Weather is clear. Sky is blue. Blue is nice. Good is nice again. Twice.”

She spoke in a lilting, chant-like tone while gently plucking twice. It was like drawing a bright blue line in the air, then cutting it off.

“Not great.”

Hailey Blue muttered to herself, her face blank as she plucked again, then looked out the window. The green waves of the lawn shimmered below. Beyond the annex, the sky filled her blue eyes. Watching clouds drift, she flicked her finger.

“Clouds are better.”

She puckered her lips and hummed:

Bows and flows of angel hair—

Describing clouds as angel hair and heaven’s ice cream castle, she hummed lyrics from the ’60s pop song “Both Sides Now.” As she moved her hands, the white fluffy clouds in the sky began to shift. Soon, the gathering clouds blocked the sunlight, and raindrops began to patter down. Even on a rainy day, there are times when the mood feels oddly good, stirring memories. Though the atmosphere dimmed, the melody somehow warmed a corner of the heart.

“......”

Looking around, I saw her blue aura spreading all around. The maknaes nodded and smiled, and the staff watched in awe. After the melody—like tapping a puddle with an umbrella—ended, the opposing side grinned and lifted their heads.

“I took an existing song and arranged it my way. How is it?”

“It’s nice.”

“I knew you’d like it.”

Hailey Blue scrunched her nose and smiled. I opened my mouth to say something but stopped—it was a feeling too subtle for words. Instead, what came to mind as I listened, I decided to express my own way.

“Now it’s my turn.”

I smiled and turned back as the staff placed a prop on the floor.

A huge unfamiliar instrument appeared, and Hailey Blue’s eyes widened.

“Wow!”

Laughing with delight at seeing something new, she wondered,

“A string instrument? It has strings, so it must be. Do you play it with a bow? Or with your hands?”

Twelve strings ran across a broad wooden board. My heart pounded, curious what sound it would make—when Ri-hyuk beside me explained,

“It’s called a gayageum, a traditional instrument.”

“Gayageum?”

“It’s known for its delicate, soft timbre—you’ll know when you hear it.”

It certainly looked like a traditional instrument. Seeing Uju in silken robes seated before it felt perfectly natural. As his fingers slid over the strings, a crisp melody floated to my ears. I couldn’t help but think,

“This looks fun. Are you any good?”

“No.”

Uju smiled sheepishly.

“I’m learning it as a hobby. I’m still a beginner, but I know the basics.”

Ri-hyuk interpreted,

“What he means is, he’s good.”

“Oh, I see.”

“But don’t trust it if he says he’s bad, Hailey.”

Even Jiho chimed in—apparently Uju used “I’m not good” to lull the members into a false sense of security for surprise attacks. Sure enough, Uju’s fingers glided smoothly across the gayageum strings, creating a single flowing melody.

“I shouldn’t believe anything right away.”

As she steeled herself, Uju removed his gat, rolled up his sleeves, and focused on the gayageum.

“Hmm... let’s see.”

Muttering in Korean, he concentrated—so much so that Jung-hyun plucked a flower from a potted plant and tucked it into his hair, making him look like a mad musician. Everyone, including Hailey Blue, beamed at how well the flower complemented him. Then—

“Let’s begin.”

Uju plucked the strings, and a pleasing tune resonated. Like an artist splattering paint in unique patterns, the melody felt irregular yet somehow patterned—evoking a royal purple night sky over a palace. Hailey Blue’s mood stirred.

“Nice.”

Watching a beautiful performer play the gayageum against such a backdrop seemed perfect. If I could frame one scene of Seoul to take home, it wouldn’t be the people or the streets or the palaces—it’d be this youth before me.

It was an excellent performance. Yet....

“I think I’ve won.”

It lacked the distinctiveness expected from an improvisation. Though it carried personal color, it was too faint—like treading softly on clouds without leaving a trace, a melody that wouldn’t linger in memory. Her standard for composing was simple:

“It has to be memorable.”

She hummed a melody and judged it by whether it stuck days later. But unlike her instant creation, Uju’s was too vague. As I thought this, he stopped playing. At that somewhat hollow end, she asked,

“Is that it?”

“My performance, yes. But my improvised song doesn’t end here.”

“...?”

Perplexed, I turned to see NewBlack members wearing subtle smiles.

“What’s going on?”

The staff seemed clueless, and our side looked as if they’d anticipated this. Unable to contain her curiosity, she spoke up—just as Uju smiled at Jung-hyun.

“You recorded it?”

“I thought I did, but I guess I didn’t press record.”

“I knew it. Biju.”

“I did it.”

After some Korean chatter, Uju began playing back two recordings simultaneously. Hailey Blue tilted her head. His guitar performance and the gayageum melody blended together.

“...!”

I’d wondered why he’d made such a faint piece—but it was to mix with something. To everyone else, the gayageum and guitar wove a beautiful harmony; to her, it felt like colors merging. A new artist painting strokes onto her canvas—purple weaving through the blue city night, enriching and enchanting it.

“In one word, it’s more perfect, more vibrant.”

“...You thought of this instantly?”

She fancied herself discerning in music, but she’d never seen anyone do this. And noticing it right away was amazing. As the song played, a pleasant voice whispered in her ear:

“I just arranged an existing piece, like you did earlier.”

A laugh escaped her lips. It was like cheekily claiming credit for painting over someone else’s canvas—but the quality was so perfect it felt good. Still, no way was I giving up my chicken.

“Since we each did half, let’s call it a tie.”

“Okay.”

The PD agreed, and we all settled down to eat.

“Wow!”

“Everyone! For the first time ever on NewBlack World, we have a guest eating food!”

“‘Birth,’ I said!”

As the lackeys made a fuss and danced, Hailey Blue—who’d been playing along—asked the members,

“When you mixed those two songs earlier, how did you know to do that?”

“Oh, this.”

Biju answered with a gentle smile,

“I’ve experienced it before.”

“...?”

“You suddenly said, ‘Let’s combine my song with yours...’”

“You just snatched melodies.”

She mumbled something about a song called Nakhwa(?), but it was hard to follow. Soon, the leader’s arms and legs joyfully delivered food once more. Hailey Blue, having already popped a piece of chicken in her mouth, turned to Uju.

“About that melody just now.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you write it that way?”

“Well, I don’t know. No special reason... just felt like it.”

She smiled and replied,

“I thought it’d be fun. For you.”

Her words drew Hailey Blue’s gaze to the unfamiliar musician. Songwriting had stalled and become routine for her—this was intense new stimulation: unfamiliar instruments, new composition.

“Truly fascinating....”

And then—

A flower in Uju’s hair fell onto the plate, startling him.

“Gah! Wh-what the—why did that flower fall?!”

“I put it there, hyung...!”

Uju jumped up like a malfunctioning cat, and Ri-hyuk beside him choked and turned red. Jung-hyun hurried to open a cola but it exploded:

psssss! fwahhh!

A brown volcano of soda erupted on the table.

“Argh!”

Then Biju, hunting for tissues, wandered off in the wrong direction and suddenly collapsed.

“.......”

Through it all, Hailey Blue beamed at the maknae eating japchae, then laughed as she poked a piece of seasoned chicken with her fork.

“What a mess.”

She loved the chaos.

During the actual meal, filming was paused. The table groaned under seasoned chicken, fried chicken, bossam, delivered samgyeopsal, bulgogi, japchae, pajeon, and more.

“Oooooh—!”

Every time she took a bite, Hailey Blue scrunched her brows and made a dolphin-like sound. The excited singer asked,

“This is so delicious. What’s it called?”

“Chicken.”

“In Korea it’s called chicken too!”

True to her unique personality, she had unusual reactions. Throughout the meal, Hailey Blue bombarded us with questions.

“So you wrote all the No. 1 to No. 4 songs on the Korean charts right now?”

“Yes, to an extent.”

“Play them.”

We stood up, holding chicken, and struck the opening pose of “Nakhwa,” and she blinked.

“Not that—on your phone.”

“Oh. On our phones, right.”

We played “Fireworks,” “Nakhwa,” “Attention,” and then “Survivor” in sequence. It was a strange experience—eating boneless chicken with a foreign singer to our own music as BGM.

“This is K-pop.”

“Want to try a new genre?”

“That’s not bad. But what about the dancing?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Biju stood and demonstrated simple choreography for our signature songs.

“This is all you need.”

“...If we’d tried that, we’d’ve been screwed.”

We laughed. Her way of speaking kept reminding us of someone, so we showed her a Teens Spirit video. She watched with interest, then looked disappointed.

“You’re doing the wrong kind of music.”

“Huh...?”

“You’re not channeling your inner energy. You need rock. Smash guitars, screw the authorities, maybe worship goats with horns occasionally.”

“...!”

Thank god the mic was off. We wanted to laugh but it was awkward, and everyone was on the verge of choking. Then—

“Speaking of inner energy...”

Hailey Blue stared at the two types of chicken in turn and asked,

“I just got an amazing idea.”

“Yes?”

“Wanna write a fun song together?”

Casually inviting us like asking for dinner, she made us all nod with a smile.

“Sure. Let’s write one together sometime.”

“Not sometime.”

Hailey Blue laughed heartily.

“Since it came up, let’s do it right now.”

...Yeah?