In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Ten minutes later.

“I don’t want to be the eldest anymore....”

“Hahaha!”

“It’s just so different from what I imagined. This isn’t the vibe I had in mind.”

“Hahaha!”

As we laughed, the maknae glared at us in mock annoyance, then shook his head. I smiled and asked,

“It’s easier being the youngest, huh?”

“Yup.” 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Jiho said,

“I guess you really shouldn’t try to be something you’re not. Hearing hyung and Ri Hyuk hyung call me ‘hyung’ just... ugh, I can’t handle it.”

“I understand.”

We all shared a warm laugh.

“But the bet’s already on.”

“No backing out.”

“If you get first in the final, you’ll be called ‘hyung’ all day long~”

“....”

The maknae turned away as if he disliked the idea, then looked over at the Fireworks team celebrating in the distance, a pleased smile curving his lips. He was clearly delighted that his mentored team had placed first in the midterm.

“Honestly, I didn’t think we’d beat you guys.”

“Why not?”

“Just...?”

Jiho grinned.

“I thought I was a little lacking compared to you. Sure, I dance better than Ri Hyuk hyung and sing better than Jung Hyun hyung, and I have more stamina than Biju hyung.”

His younger siblings chuckled.

“Quit with the excuses, Murel....”

“I’m the rapper here. Feeling a bit salty, aren’t you, Wang Jiho?”

“No snacks for you today, Jiho.”

Ignoring that, the maknae continued, gazing off with a curious smile.

“So I didn’t expect my mentored team to win. You’re all so good, and I learned so much from you.”

He really thought he was inferior to us—didn’t expect that mentoring them would yield such results. We exchanged glances.

‘That’s not true....’

‘Our maknae’s great.’

We always praised him, even when he just breathed, yet he didn’t see it himself. Just as I was about to tell him he was already great:

“So I realized.”

Jiho said with a warm smile,

“That I’m actually better than you...!”

“....”

“I thought # Nоvеlight # without you hyungs I’d be lacking, but that wasn’t it. I’m the amazing one. Wahahaha!”

Ugh.

“From today on, please call me the genius mentor, Wang Jiho.”

“I’ll add ‘hyung’ on that. Ungrateful.”

We burst out laughing at the maknae’s scowl. Trainers laughing beside us joined in as the production staff tidied up the stage. Before we knew it, wrapping time approached.

I replayed everything in my mind.

“Hmm....”

From Masquerade through Fireworks. Hearing our song rearranged in KM Enter style felt fresh—like viewing a familiar sculpture from a new angle. A melody I’d heard hundreds of times looked new.

“....”

I jotted “Fireworks” on my notepad and played that team’s music in my mind. Then Masquerade, then Nakhwa. I even added “Winter Slumber,” my own arrangement, to create a flow. Suddenly, the flow from Fireworks seemed to converge point by point as it moved into Nakhwa. What should follow naturally? Something hovered at the edge of my memory—an almost –there melody, like a translucent jellyfish. I reached to catch it when,

“Hyung.”

Jung Hyun’s voice snapped me back.

“Yeah...?”

“You look like you’re low on sugar. Want some jelly?”

“Thanks.”

Ah. I missed it. What a shame. As I chewed the jelly he handed me, feeling a bit down, a melody—[♩♪♩♬]—brushed through my mind. That was it. A phrase perfect for a chorus—a dance track chorus that bursts like fireworks after Nakhwa’s convergence.

“...!”

Afraid it might disappear, I reached to write it down.

“Huh...?”

Something strange happened. The melody stayed in my ear. Usually a tune like that fades, but this kept circling.

“What’s up, hyung?”

“Biju.”

I whispered, covering my mouth.

“Want to try playing it in your head?”

“What is it?”

I sketched the notes and rhythm on paper; Biju cocked her head, then said, “Oh?”

“See? You hear it too?”

“Yes....”

She was experiencing it too.

“Did you just think it up?”

“Yeah. Cool, right?”

The midterm was over, and though the mics were off, cameras still rolled. We communicated a silent “Wow” with our eyes.

‘Tell the others later, hyung.’

‘Let’s.’

Maybe because of that premonition for the next title track, Biju’s face held a radiant smile like when Nine was praised. I felt good, too. Only one thing nagged at me...

“But hyung, this sounds really familiar.”

“Yeah. It does.”

The familiarity was the problem. Some previous song’s hook? If it sounded too much like another track, it could lead to plagiarism claims. I’d need to check later. We whispered as a trainer interjected,

“You two are practically a sitcom.”

“Someone’d think you write songs.”

“Yeah, we just wrote a title track~”

“Hahaha!”

They all laughed at our playful reply. And it was true.

After the stage was cleared, we stood on the platform to bid farewell to the trainees.

“Waaaah!”

We laughed as they waved and clapped, then took the mic.

“Did you all have fun?”

“Yes!”

“You seem so excited we’re leaving!”

“No, we’re not!”

Clearly untrue. The trainees’ joyous faces showed no hint of regret—just bright smiles, like employees gazing at their sparkling CEO at a company party. Jiho said,

“Don’t worry. We’ll be gone in five minutes~”

“Waaah!”

“Aw, you’ll miss us? Should we stay longer?”

“Should we?”

The trainees laughed—then fell silent as the collective laughter turned the auditorium into a sea of giggles. After each of us shared a quick thought, I took over.

“Today was awesome. Now, when is our live broadcast?”

“September....”

“September 11th!”

The date of the first live show, where eliminations truly begin. Forty-nine trainees in total, ranging from peers to younger than Jiho. I addressed them:

“I hope you finish the upcoming rounds well. I thought about what to say for a closing line, and decided on the words we most wanted to hear as trainees ourselves: ‘Thank you for all your hard work. See you on our network next time.’”

“Waaaah!”

The trainees cheered. The trainers watching from behind folded their arms with amused smiles.

“From NewBlack, that’s all!”

“See you next time!”

We bowed as the trainees applauded, then stepped offstage. Though we hadn’t performed, it felt like the end of a show—refreshing and light.

“Sunbaenim!”

After the cameras shut off, the trainees rushed forward.

“Can we get your autographs...?”

“May we have your signature?”

“Thank you so much today!”

Our signatures adorned their group tees. They looked ready to take photos, so we suggested,

“Shall we take a picture together?”

“Ah... yes!”

“If you give me your email, we’ll send the photos via the company later.”

We took group shots with each team and selfies with individual trainees. As we chatted,

“Look over there, hyung.”

Ri Hyuk and his Nakhwa team stood awkwardly opposite each other. Their shuffling made us guess what came next.

“Um....”

“Here.”

They pulled Post-its from their pockets.

“Sunbaenim, here’s a Post-it....”

“I have one too....”

“Oh....”

“Uh, ah....”

They exchanged shy handwritten notes, and we all laughed.

That evening. After dinner, the trainees sprawled on their beds in the dorm.

“Oooh....”

“My arms and legs. Why can’t I feel my legs? Someone pinch me... aaah!”

“Breathing is hard.”

Their dorm layout—beds on one side, lockers on the other—felt like an army barracks to many. All the trainees complained of muscle soreness.

“So brutal.”

“You weren’t the ones chilling with Jung Hyun hyung eating jelly. You should try Biju hyung’s class....”

“We did bodyweight training with Jung Hyun hyung. Really.”

“...”

Someone gazed at the ceiling nostalgically.

“He said we need stronger abs. He did planks. He’s got the worst plank form I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t get brainwashed by Ri Hyuk hyung’s chocolate training.”

“I wish Space hyung would just yell at us. He just smiles supportively when we mess up; it’s terrifying.”

As they joked, one said,

“The saddest thing is... you feel like you could train more?”

That drew shouts of agreement.

‘Why do we still have energy?’

I’d thought my stamina was zero during NewBlack’s training, but after they left, I felt recovered—as if I’d found the elastic limit of my endurance.

“By dinner, you’ll be back to full. How do I know? We’ve been there~ hahaha!”

NewBlack’s voices echoed, and trainees’ eyes glistened. Then someone said,

“But they really were amazing. Hearing how hyungs taught us was... wow.”

“Seriously. Incredible.”

Watching them demo steps and vocal runs, you couldn’t believe they’d debuted two years ago.

Their leader’s words lingered most:

“We train all the time—from waking up to going to sleep. Do you know why we train?”

He explained,

“Because we’re not machines. Machines don’t make mistakes, but people do. Even after hundreds of practices, a person can still slip up onstage.”

Someone from Masquerade, recalling this, said,

“Space hyung set an alarm and it rang at the wrong time—like in the afternoon instead of early morning....”

“What? So he wakes up at that time?”

As they clicked their tongues, a Jung Hyun team trainee boasted,

“Jung Hyun hyung’s alarm was even earlier.”

“Really?”

“Yeah—he set the wrong time too.”

That sent everyone into laughter. As they admired the day’s mentors, they kept glimpsing NewBlack’s backs disappearing down the hallway.

After investing two hours, NewBlack left to tackle a tight schedule again. They’d shown them so much in the studio that the trainees thought,

‘If only I could be like them....’

But no one admitted it aloud—they just stood and rose from their beds.

“Let’s go practice.”

“Yeah~”

Just as a single transfer student’s dialect spreads to the whole class, a new way of speaking clung to the trainees’ lips as they headed to the practice room.

“But hyungs left so suddenly. Where were they going?”

“I think they were talking about the title track?”

“Title?”

In the car on the way to the dorms:

“....”

“....”

I hummed the melody again for my siblings. Ri Hyuk blinked.

“This is good. Is this the melody you came up with during judging?”

“Yeah. Nice, right?”

“Uh... not bad—actually, it’s good.”

Even Ri Hyuk, the hardest to please about music, pronounced it good. The other siblings hummed along, just like Biju and I had. Hailey Blue once said,

“Don’t change a melody you come up with—if you still remember it days later, it’s a good song.”

By that rule—a tune that sticks in your mind is a good tune—it fit. Jung Hyun smiled warmly.

“It suits a full album. It feels like turning the page right after Nakhwa.”

If NewBlack’s discography were a book, this would be the perfect next chapter—a dance track chorus bursting from the gathered point of Nakhwa.

It fit the concept we’d chosen with A&R, so everyone was pleased. But still...

“But it’s kind of familiar.”

The maknae narrowed his eyes.

“It feels like it’s ripping off something. Not exactly, but very familiar.”

“Yeah. That’s the issue.”

“Let’s hum it into a music app. Maybe it matches another song.”

We tried that but found no match. I wasn’t surprised. Unless it was from a remote country like Sweden or Ukraine, I’d heard most songs—when picking a concept, we listen to everything in that genre to avoid similarity. I could confidently say it wasn’t taken from an existing track.

“But why does it feel so familiar...?”

“Maybe an old song? ‘Drawing circles~’”

“Definitely not.”

It wouldn’t be an old Korean song—I know them better than Ms. Kim Deok-sun.

Then Biju suggested,

“Maybe a commercial jingle?”

“Like, ‘This round’s on me today~!’ Or a mattress ad.”

“Hmm... doesn’t feel like that.”

We threw out ideas—commercials, drama or film OSTs, radio station IDs, crosswalk signals—everyday sounds. But...

“No.”

“Not that either!”

“Everybody think harder! I won’t sleep otherwise.”

Ri Hyuk urged, but nothing came. We all ended up sounding like the screaming figure in Munch’s The Scream—drained and flat.

A good melody, but without certainty it wasn’t derivative, we couldn’t proceed.

“Ugh! What is this?”

“Aagh! What is it?!”

“I’ll give a reward to whoever recalls it first.”

As we floundered, Minki hyung, humming while driving, said,

“Huh? I know this.”

“What is it, hyung?”

“This is that... don’t you guys know?”

Minki hyung said,

“The NewBlack World Song.”

“What? This...?”

We froze. Then tried altering the notes.

“That’s not wrong. Change the rhythm in bar two, tweak the pitches.”

We hummed the melody, adjusting pitches. And then,

“Oh...?”

Blinking, we heard that all-too-familiar tune:

“Welcome to NewBlack World~

Welcome~

You can’t leave~”

Wait a second.

“So the title track melody was based on that...?”

“It was the NewBlack World Song...?”

“The culprit was under our noses...!”

A secret none of us wanted revealed was laid bare.