In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Five handsome men sit before a black blackout curtain.

Clad in fashionable jeans and shirts, they each flash a relaxed smile and sweep their hair back.

The writer’s question:

“Earlier in the practice room, you all removed your watches.”

“Yes.”

“Is there a special reason?”

Biju smiles and answers,

“It just became a habit, I guess. Whenever we practice among ourselves, we always take off our watches.”

“Oh.”

“Now it feels more natural without them...?”

The interview is designed to make viewers think: of course NewBlack remove watches so they can lose track of time and focus solely on practice!

The writer presses on:

“How did you come to adopt this practice method?”

“Well, actually...”

Jiho speaks up.

“It started because of a lesson. There’s a famous choreographer in the U.S. called Coach Klomo who once came for a special class. And he was extremely strict about time.”

“Like, exactly thirty minutes, then a sixty-second break?”

“Exactly. At first, in our childish way, we said, ‘Please focus on us by taking off your watches!’ and removed them...”

The production team laughs.

Junghyun and Uju mime “sorry, Klomo” and nod toward the camera.

At that, Ri Hyuk says,

“Now it’s just a habit.”

“When did this start...? Who began it? I think I saw Jiho do it first.”

Uju turns to look, and Jiho shakes his head, pointing at Ri Hyuk.

“No, I saw Hyuk hyung take his watch off and copied him.”

“Really?”

“No way. I actually started copying Junghyun hyung when I saw him remove his watch.”

The camera pans to show the bewildered production staff shaking their heads.

Viewers must be equally perplexed.

Pointed at, Junghyun says,

“I saw Biju take his watch off first. Wasn’t it you, Biju?”

“Not me.”

Biju waves his hands emphatically.

“I copied Uju hyung taking his watch off.”

Swivel, swivel.

Now everyone turns to Uju, who blinks and asks,

“I copied Jiho.”

“But I copied Hyuk hyung.”

“Huh?”

“Uh...?”

The writers, cameramen, and NewBlack blink in unison, sensing something bizarre.

Ri Hyuk raises his hand.

“Please pass the paper.”

Then he begins drawing a diagram.

“So, Sun Wooju copied Wang Jiho, Jiho copied Seo Ri-hyuk, Ri-hyuk copied Kim Junghyun, Junghyun copied Kim Biju, and Biju copied Sun Wooju.”

“That’s right.”

“This is neither chicken nor egg.”

On the TV screen, an emoji-faced NewBlack appears with arrows drawn in a circle, illustrating the point.

Tapping his pen on the paper, Hyuk asks,

“So who started it?”

“Uh...?”

“There must be a first. We have to find out quickly!”

The writers burst into laughter at the handsome men’s panic.

Their poised image only lasts a moment before their true, fidgety selves emerge.

“Why do we need to find out so fast?”

“Because I can’t sleep with this unsolved.”

“And if he can’t sleep, I can’t sleep either— he comes to my room hunting for logical flaws.”

Junghyun adds,

“If they can’t sleep, we can’t sleep. If we can’t sleep, Uju hyung can’t sleep—”

“But Uju hyung can’t sleep, then Hyuk worries and can’t sleep—”

“Argh! It’s too noisy! Now we’re more confused!”

Their serious interview instantly dissolves into uproarious laughter, and soon the production team joins in a heartfelt discussion: who really started removing watches?

“Hu hu hu hu hu hu!”

His name is Plankton— no, Heo Gangmin.

The CEO of KM Entertainment smiles in satisfaction as he strolls through the studio.

Five practice rooms like a training center.

“Hu hu hu hu hu!”

He’s delighted watching the trainees receiving coaching from NewBlack.

“Wonderful. Very good.”

He claps rhythmically, prompting the KM staff behind him to chuckle.

When the CEO laughs, they laugh too.

“You look very pleased, CEO.”

“I am. I am.”

Heo Gangmin walks the corridor, saying,

“Imagine it was my son in his final year of high school. I’d send him to every cram school— essay writing, Korean language— everything. And then a tutor arrives.”

“A tutor with a perfect college entrance exam score arrives.”

“No. Not just a perfect score... he graduated early and practically earned a doctorate.”

Aside from maintenance costs, NewBlack are literal money-printing machines.

Every agency head dreams their trainees could be like this.

“It’ll help enormously. They’re receiving know-how from one of the top active groups. What our trainees need isn’t just training—it’s strategic know-how for practice.”

Meanwhile, the CEO’s gaze stops at Jiho’s practice room.

It feels like a script reading: trainees recite lyrics and demonstrate choreography one by one, as in a theater rehearsal.

“A focus on storytelling on stage.”

True to an actor’s mindset, valuing overall narrative flow will greatly benefit the trainees.

For the Fireworks Team, who’d been overly fixated on their own parts, it was the perfect choice.

“If he were older, he might even be leading.”

Laughing to himself at Jiho’s command over even older trainees, the CEO moves on.

Next, he peers into Biju’s Nine Team practice room, where a gentle voice speaks:

“Expressing lyrics is key. Focus more on overall expression than minute details. Let’s try following in your own style.”

Smiling softly, Biju teaches each move, finding the ideal line of movement for each member.

“They emphasize lyrical expression.”

Enabling the audience to feel lyrics and melody through body and voice, a main dancer’s perspective.

Whenever Biju speaks, trainees aiming for main or lead dancer positions shimmer with interest.

Next is Ri Hyuk’s mentoring room.

“Always remember: the basics are singing. We’re singers first. Choreography is just a way to show the song visually. Don’t confuse priorities.”

True to a vocal member, he emphasizes ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ singing even amid intense choreography, offering tips on better vocals and correct posture as he moves around.

“That’s right— song is the foundation.”

CEO Heo nods, amused by the contrast between Biju and Hyuk.

“See that? Same team, but such different colors.”

Fourth, Kim Junghyun’s Windflower Team.

Laughter flows warmly as trainees clutch jelly packets.

“Atmosphere is the most important. When you make mistakes, brush them off casually— like eating Indian popcorn.”

Junghyun laughs and taps the floor with his palm.

“......”

The jelly-eating trainees straighten up and adopt polite expressions.

Junghyun’s mentoring continues:

“When we listen to pop songs, it’s not the lyrics that move us. It’s the rhythm and melody—the pure musical feeling.”

“That’s right.”

“On stage, atmosphere is key. Not a flawless performance, but one that brings out the song’s vibe.”

CEO Heo nods.

“That’s true. If a movie has perfect CG but is boring, or mediocre CG but fun, people pick the fun one. Creating stage entertainment is priority one.”

Finally, Uju’s practice room.

“Ho ho...”

The CEO’s eyes light up.

“As expected of Uju.”

From vocals to choreography to rap, NewBlack’s leader teaches trainees with unparalleled detail and expertise.

His choreography coaching is almost textbook.

“It’s astonishing.”

“What is...?”

“Uju—born to dance, yet knows theory so thoroughly.”

Naturally talented performers rarely make good teachers— like top footballers seldom become great coaches. If they can’t explain why something fails, it’s hard to teach.

But Uju’s dance knowledge rivaled someone who’d studied it for over five years.

“Maybe TJ’s comment was true...”

He recalled being told dance was his weakest skill— now realizing it might’ve been prideful excuse.

And,

“What number are we on again? Which group is first?”

He focused not only on performance quality but also strategy— unlike others, he didn’t preach a fixed stage philosophy. Instead, he taught surviving tactics to the trainees.

CEO Heo wondered,

“Even if he’d just stood still, they’d debut him. With that face, he’d get treated like a noble anywhere. Yet he’s mastered survival strategies like he fought for his life.”

“No harm in either way.”

Smiling, the CEO thought this was an excellent experience for all trainees. If they aspired to be like NewBlack, he’d be thrilled. A staff member asked,

“But what if they don’t want to improve skills and only want to be like NewBlack?”

In his mind swirled images of demanding wild requests: “Give me a role,” “Why can’t I eat beef?”, “Give me the studio machines,” “Let me wear floral prints until you allow it.”

A NewBlack that did no work— the worst scenario.

But as he shook his head, he realized:

“How fortunate these kids are at their core— they do their jobs well.”

He watched the zealous trainees burn with determination, smiling with pride.

After about twenty minutes of lecturing:

“Everyone, did you grasp my points?”

“Yes, senior!”

“You know the theory. Now embody it.”

“Yes!”

“Let’s repeat simply— forty times, then midterm evaluation.”

The trainees’ bright smiles drained to white as he spoke.

Watching them, CEO Heo chuckled softly.

“There’s a famous Nietzsche quote: ‘What does not kill you makes you stronger.’”

“Sir, that sounds like I’m going to die.”

Ignoring it, he moved on.

“Still, they should experience top-idol training intensity at least once.”

At that moment, Uju locked eyes with him through the window.

“Would you like to come in for a moment?” Uju beckoned.

Heo waved him off coolly with a laugh.

“Hu hu hu hu hu!”

“Sir!”

With a boisterous laugh, Uju dashed off, more eager than anyone to escape.

「On the Stage: ‘NewBlack’ Competition Edition – Edited Cut」

Rainbow stripes fill the screen.

Beeeeeeep—

[Screen adjustment in progress]

[On the Stage complies strictly with labor laws.]

...the subtitle concludes on the trainees’ drained faces, then “Provided by NewBlack TV.”

The national anthem plays— the trainee Uju in military uniform salutes beside Junghyun in armored pine attire, swaying as the NewBlack version of the anthem echoes, while off-screen trainees’ muffled gasps hint at chaos.

Mentoring took about two hours.

After practicing closely and guiding through difficult parts, we finished.

After the final run:

“Wow, incredible...”

“How is it? Major change, right?”

The trainees compared their current phone recordings with those from two hours ago, eyes wide— but their eyelids wouldn’t stay open.

“My eyes... won’t focus.”

“Why can’t we keep our eyes open?”

They laughed drunkenly, propping each other up, then bowed shakily.

“Thank you so much, senior.”

“Not at all.”

“But are you okay? We took so much of your time...”

One after another they insisted:

“I feel like it’s been five or six hours. You should rest before going home!”

“We’ve taken too much of your time already.”

“You must go rest right now!”

I tilted my head at their odd complaint, then realized: they’d removed their watches.

Smiling, I said,

“It’s only been two hours, everyone.”

Showing them the phone clock, they gasped in surprise, then laughed in joyful revelation.

“So that’s why Master Wonhyo drank skull-water.”

“Is it fun without a watch? Entertaining?”

“Ha ha ha!”

“Try it sometimes— it’s so rewarding and fun.”

The trainees trembled with laughter, and nearby, senior Jang Sowon almost spoke, then held back.

“Thank you all for two hours of hard practice.”

Clapping, I said,

“Shall we move on to the midterm evaluation?”

“Yes!”

Though the competition airs another day, we had a midterm evaluation to showcase in editing: “Wow! Look how they changed!”

As I led them back to the auditorium:

“Senior.”

“Yes?”

“If you have time, could you sign this—?”

A trainee timidly held out his T-shirt for an autograph.

Taking the pen, I asked with a smile,

“Of course— but are you sure? It’s water-based; it’ll wash out.”

“I’ll never wash it.”

He said he had several, so I happily signed for him.

I even drew a small spaceship for lucky charm, and the trainee’s delight attracted the others.

“Senior, could you...?”

“And me...!”

All ten trainees’ shirts now bore Uju’s spaceship.

“Shall we go?”

“Yes!”

I followed the triumphant Uju Team, feeling fortified by the ten behind me.

Walking happily, senior Jang Sowon murmured,

“But they give off a strange vibe...”

“How so?”

“I don’t know— they feel different than two hours ago. Something’s clicked.”

I shrugged and we continued to the auditorium, arriving first.

Ba-bam, ba-ba-bam. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Star Wars Imperial march BGM played as laughter rang out.

“Second place!”

“Waaaaah!”

“We’re second~?”

It was Jiho’s team, laughing boisterously.

I grinned at Jiho,

“Heh heh— soon you’ll be defeated!”

“What did you say?”

I cupped my ear.

“I can’t hear maknae’s words.”

“Just wait! Hyung will soon be beaten by our Jiho Team!”

As Jiho’s team roared with laughter, I caught the trainees’ eyes and smirked in turn.

“...?”

Something felt off.

Thud-thud-thud-thud.

Short, measured footsteps approached— Ri Hyuk and the Falling Flowers Team entered.

Hyuk and his team bobbed their heads at us.

“......”

Jiho and I exchanged blank stares.

‘Am I the only one who finds this weird?’

‘No— it’s strange to everyone.’

Then Biju and the Nine Team arrived.

“Hello~”

Their gentle voices and radiant smiles filled the room.

Each team’s energy was distinct— a bizarre Hogwarts-style opening.

Meanwhile, a sharp clap— then Junghyun’s team strode in.

“Junghyun Team— C̲Strong!↘”

Clap-clap-clap.

They entered like warriors chanting a battle cry, Junghyun smiling warmly as his team chuckled.

When all five teams had gathered, the trainers murmured,

“This feels odd...?”

“I’ve seen this in The Matrix— replicating agents.”

I too was speechless at the surreal sight.

Then—

“Ah! It came to me!”

Senior Jang Sowon, having finally remembered, looked between me and the teams and declared,

“Amoeba! They’ve multiplied like amoebas.”

Everyone burst into laughter.

“Amoebas, senior?”

Laughing uncontrollably at the idea of self-reproducing microbes, we then caught sight of our own teams, reflections like little clones.

“......”

“......”

We turned to face different directions.

Well.

We were none the wiser.