In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

When the four of us—those grubby larvae—were sobbing in the dorm...

The viewers watching the finale were sobbing too.

“Huuup... huuup...”

“Ooohh!” they wailed, pulling tissues to dab their eyes or raising hands to wipe their noses.

‘Ah, really...’

At last it was resolved. From episode one onward, Agent Kim Woo-ju had been searching for his family, and now he’d finally found them and was held in their arms.

It was the perfect ending for the drama’s fans.

‘That’s great. Really great.’

The gray-toned man from episode one had gradually regained his true colors through his interactions with the aliens and at last returned to being human.

“Kim Woo-ju ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ”

“Ah, I love it so much.”

“This is a happy ending, right?”

“The narrative leading to salvation is amazing... I loved how he was moved by the aliens.”

“It’s even more poignant because the three-eyed aliens are played by the same actors as Woo-ju’s real family.”

In the story, the aliens’ transformed appearances closely resembled Kim Woo-ju’s actual family, and that twist had tremendous impact. Watching him weep bitterly in their arms, the fans wept along.

“Real Woo-ju, your acting is too good ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅜ”

“It’s a sitcom—why make us cry at the end?”

“The ending is flawless, honestly.”

“How did they pull this off ㅠ”

“I feel so comforted.”

“I watched it with my parents, and they said thinking of real Woo-ju made them cry even more.”

“Ah...”

Then viewers realized something important.

‘Oh, come to think of it...’

Reflecting on the connection between Woo-ju’s on-screen ending and his real life, they felt strange. Someone’s shared an interview excerpt:

[Interview excerpt with Woo-ju: “Portraying Kim Woo-ju taught me so much.”]

In it, he said that playing Woo-ju had become a source of great comfort for himself, forcing him to confront emotions he’d pretended not to notice. Onscreen, his bright smile in the finale contrasted sharply with the emotionless bureaucrat who’d interrogated the aliens in episode one.

While the drama’s fans luxuriated in these lingering feelings,

“...”

the Soufflé members—just like the fans—were sobbing, moved by some inexplicable rush of emotion. Although it was acting, it felt like the singer was overcoming his own wounds and moving forward.

Their tears slowed to a halt.

[Captures: 192 images]

Startled, I saw I’d unknowingly ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) saved hundreds of screenshots. Story aside, the visuals were stunning.

‘I can’t lose this beauty...’

Of course, I wasn’t the only one. In the dorm, a private fan named RainAlcohol was also furiously saving hundreds of images. As real-time GIFs steamed out like winter buns fresh from the steamer...

“Agent.”

On a sunlit day, Agent Kim Woo-ju and the alien family finally faced one another before the other intelligence agents. Song Noeul asked with a smile,

“Agent, it’s time to say goodbye.”

A brief silence. Then a graceful smile spread across Woo-ju’s face. It was a newly appreciated, truly lovely smile.

“Thank you.”

His sincere words were short but heartfelt. The aliens, looking wistful, moved to embrace him—but Woo-ju’s astonishing evasive maneuver foiled them.

“Not just yet.”

“Oh.”

They settled instead for a warm handshake. As the aliens prepared to board their UFO, the agents stepped toward Woo-ju one by one. A raindrop-shaped girl named Ara, unable to hide her regret, asked,

“Are you really retiring?”

“Yes.”

Woo-ju announced his retirement with a smile.

“I want to spend time with my family. It’s sad to lose all our memories together, but...”

“We understand.”

“All right, then.”

The agents closed in.

“Can we visit again?”

“You may not remember, but...”

“That’s okay.”

It was time to part. The aliens waved as they boarded the UFO, and Woo-ju watched the ship slowly prepare for lift-off. Soon his memory would be erased and replaced by distorted recollections. Once security measures for retirees were complete, he would live happily with his family, and the aliens would return to their home planet.

“ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ”

“Just give us back our memories.”

“It’s a happy ending, but this isn’t happiness ㅠㅠ”

“Today’s pacing was sweet and salty, alternating.”

“Like eating a bowl of sugar and a bowl of salt alternately.”

“But I like it better this way...”

For his final farewell, Woo-ju and the aliens inside the UFO exchanged a last blink greeting.

Vwoooom—!

The UFO glowed as it drifted away. In Woo-ju’s eyes, watching the sky, there was both relief and regret.

With gentle BGM playing, agents approached him to erase his memories. Woo-ju gazed upward, and Song Noeul’s narration began:

“Agent.”

Her voice was calm yet beautiful.

“How was the time you spent with us?”

Woo-ju’s voice responded as narration:

“It was joyful. Truly.”

The retired agent, now memory-wiped, stepped toward the place where his family waited. From afar, they waved to him. His black shoes had become sneakers, and his pace quickened. The camera rose slowly to show the sky, where letters formed in cloud-like wisps:

『Our Family Is Alien』

Images from the drama passed by as a message thanked viewers for watching “Our Family Is Alien.”

‘This is so moving...’

As the main OST played, viewers thought it was over—until a post-credits scene appeared.

Clink.

In a serene café, a wind chime hung from the eaves, tinkling in the breeze. Behind the counter, the café owner, Kim Woo-ju, smiled gently as he offered coffee to a customer, then sensed something unsettling and turned his head.

“Agent!”

The alien family bustled in, chattering excitedly. Watching them, Woo-ju sighed.

“You’re here...?”

“Why the long face? Did you really think we’d forget you when we lost your memories?”

“Well, thank you for worrying.”

“But at farewell, figuring out the agents’ expressions was so hard!”

It turned out Woo-ju hadn’t lost his memories after all. As viewers who’d felt disappointed by the ending cheered, Woo-ju—running a hand through his hair—watched the aliens settle into seats.

“No...”

“Why not~?”

Woo-ju’s eyes twitched in that familiar way.

“We parted yesterday, but who comes back the next day?”

“Now our thrusters are at full power! It’s fine!”

“I’m not fine.”

The agents and aliens bickered good-naturedly, and the aliens began chattering about what happened on their home planet and their return trip to Earth. Woo-ju listened, leaning his chin on his hand, smiling as the camera drifted to the wind-chime-draped eaves of the hanok café.

Clink—

The wind chime rang, ending the post-credits scene. A new set of images flashed by—cast and crew laughing, monitoring scenes, and finally a group photo—hinting at the possibility of season two. Fans filled with excitement cried out for season two, while some looked on more realistically:

“But realistically, season two seems unlikely... NewBlack’s way more popular now than at season one’s filming.”

“TBC: We’ll do season two... / Kyuho: No / TBC: We’ll give it to you / Kyuho: Don’t.”

“Kyuho is smiling.”

“It’d be hard—every actor’s in hot demand now; look at Sleepless not getting a season two.”

“Yeah, they’d be flooded with ads.”

It had been the biggest sitcom hit in years. Because it reached viewers more personally than other dramas, veteran actors like Song Hun and Yang Ok-bun were swamped with commercials—and everyone had next projects lined up.

‘It hinges on Kim Woo-ju...’

Unlike leads whose character arcs can shift, Kim Woo-ju’s supporting role had become so pivotal and three-dimensional: from a lonely, gloomy figure to a savior. But the problem was that Kim Woo-ju—his real-life counterpart—was achieving tremendous success.

His standing had climbed the idol charts too, and even the drama fans from the idol world felt NewBlack’s ascent.

‘Empire’s a massive hit.’

Though some T-Spirit fans denied it, NewBlack had undeniably reached the top tier of idols. This meant they couldn’t clear schedules for another season two.

The drama fans, initially disappointed, soon conceded:

“But it was flawless.”

“A season two would tarnish what was built in season one.”

“Better to bow out at the peak.”

“I’m totally satisfied. Blu-ray, hurry up!”

“I want the commentary track—really curious how they analyzed the characters.”

“Production team, give us making-of... The main actor’s making-of alone would fill hours, lol.”

“Here’s Director Hwang’s interview: some scenes were reshot because Woo-ju was too funny.”

Behind-the-scenes pics showed the alien family actors scolding the youngest: “Hey! If you make me laugh, what do we do!?”

Of course, not all reactions were positive. In just three months, the show had produced a devoted fanbase, and opinions on the finale diverged:

“Ah... I love a tightly closed happy ending.”

“I’m a story-junkie, so endless epilogues annoy me.”

“I found the ending a bit lacking.”

“It was perfect until the very end, then disappointing, yup.”

While these debates swirled among fans, one fact was universally acknowledged: “Our Family Is Alien” had been a colossal success.

“I can’t wait for this year’s entertainment awards... I bet ‘Our Family Is Alien’ sweeps them all.”

“Next year’s Korean Arts Awards too.”

“If they have any sense, TBC will give the actors golden chairs.”

“Kim Woo-ju♡Maltese Song Hun for Best Couple, yes please.”

“Every community is flooded with chatter about Our Family Is Alien—amazing.”

“It didn’t have that many episodes, but its buzz was insane.”

“It’s been ages since I watched something with my parents.”

As netizens discussed the finale, “Our Family Is Alien” trended on social media, news articles poured out, and the Soufflés were overjoyed:

“Director, thank you ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ”

In a nine-grid collage GIF: pilot uniform, police gear, suit—Kim Woo-ju’s undercover looks.

“I’ve finally collected them all.”

“The Kim Woo-ju series is complete.”

“After Cold Woo-ju Barista, series accomplished.”

“Now we even have the All-Universe Barista version...”

“Thank you ㅠㅠㅠ Thank you.”

“The production team cares more about his beauty than we do.”

“Today’s all-Universe episode was perfect.”

Police officer, magician, young entrepreneur, youngest professor—every concept and photobook they’d wanted to see had been delivered, and fans screamed with joy.

And there were others, mouths agape, where drama fans, the general public, and idol fans converged:

“How much was it in real-time...?”

In the control room, TBC’s Variety Director, along with Directors Hwang Jung-gu and Hwang Jung-yeon, learned the finale’s ratings.

“Director, what did we get?”

“Thirty percent.”

“...What?”

“They surpassed thirty.”

The Variety Director stared blankly.

“Thirty percent.”

“...!”

At that moment, Our Family Is Alien’s finale became the highest-rated sitcom since the 2000s.

The drama was a blockbuster.

“Hahaha! Praise me, minions!”

“Wooooah!”

The cheering minions had eyes swollen from yesterday’s crying.

“Hey.”

I laughed before I knew it.

“I knew it from the teasing.”

“Can you keep it down...?”

The main vocalist—who’d turned into a real pirarucu—stared into the distance and said,

“I thought it was fair game to tease you....”

“Did you know Ri Hyuk cried the most last night? I heard him crying in his room early this morning... ump!”

Ri Hyuk’s ears turned red as the youngest clamped a hand over his mouth while Ri Hyuk tried to kick the air in protest.

Meanwhile, Biju placed a swan carved from an apple on my plate.

“Hyung, have this.”

“Thanks.”

Then I asked tear-puffy Junhyun,

“Did you bang your face when you went into the room last night?”

“Oh, yeah. By accident.”

Of course. Junhyun, who heals from tears like he’s constantly taking an HP potion, would never have puffy eyes from crying.

The day after the finale aired, we were in the company practice room rehearsing for the Mango Chart Awards stage. During a break, we were web-surfing.

“Hong Manager is sending lots of reactions.”

TF Team Manager Hong Se-young had sent us links to heaps of praise for the drama and my acting. Since we’ve been dodging hate comments, this was a welcome gesture.

Her private messages had the four of us crowding around my phone, grinning.

“Wow...”

“Look at this one.”

The youngest tapped an article:

Thirty-one point three percent. Truly astonishing.

Strictly speaking, comparing ratings is tricky—this aired Sunday night when fewer people watch TV, unlike weekday evening dramas. The preceding weekend hit “Oh! Mother” had topped 40%, and there was no competing program in that slot, which helped.

But even accounting for that, the rating was phenomenal.

“I’ve never seen ratings like this recently.”

“Me neither.”

Advertisers who’d placed early ads were ecstatic, and news of the actors’ next projects circulated. Senior actor Seo Noeul, who delivered the most intense performance, was rumored to be in talks for a genre-drama lead with a budget over ten billion won.

“Hyung, do you have any other plans?”

“No.”

I didn’t know when I’d act again, but for now I’d finish cleanly. I smiled and said,

“I’m a singer. I should focus on my main job—singing.”

“Oh.”

Junhyun said,

“That’s true, but why does it sound so unconvincing?”

“It makes sense, Hyung.”

“It really does not.”

I forbade them from agreeing with me.

“If you say it’s right, I’ll call you Hyung.”

“...”

Instantly, they fell silent like the world’s most taciturn people. I felt oddly tickled. Clearing my throat, I said,

“But if we go to the wrap party tonight, the mood will be amazing.”

“It’ll be the best, I think.”

The day after the finale, there was a wrap-party for Our Family Is Alien at a beef restaurant in Yeouido. Usually they finish with pork belly, but with this drama’s success, they were splurging. I expected tons of press and fans there.

“They say everyone’s going on a bonus trip?”

Ri Hyuk asked, and I nodded.

“Yes, probably everyone except me.”

It’s hard to get away when you’re promoting music shows. And the bonus trip wasn’t anything special—a bit like a school field trip.

“That bonus trip is just a tax-writeoff thing—spend money at the end to save on taxes.”

I’d heard that truth from hyung Seok-hwan and never forgot it.

“Hey, look at this, Hyung—reporter Oh wrote this.”

“‘The moment we saw Woo-ju’s tears, the viewers cried too. What moved them...’”

“Aaaah...!”

I shoved aside my brothers who were buttering me up with praise from columns and reviews. Then I steered their attention elsewhere—so important as it was, the drama reaction paled next to what was coming: our upcoming release.

“All right, let’s check the music sites.”

Our collaboration single “Blue Moon” would drop at midnight US Eastern Time—1 PM in Korea. Soon it would be released.

The youngest, face full of anticipation, said,

“People will stream it a lot, right? A Halloween song released today.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too high.”

Although it was a collab with world-star Hailey Bleu, the English lyrics were a variable—English songs rarely chart here. We braced for mixed tastes, but promotion wasn’t a worry.

Junhyun loaded the NewBlack TV channel on his laptop.

“Ah, I’m nervous.”

Biju smiled brightly.

“We’ve only seen the storyboard—this will be the first time we see the finished MV.”

“Right.”

We all rubbed our hands in excitement. Since most of it was shot against green screen, we couldn’t wait to see the final result.

“How did our footage turn out?”

“Get ready to refresh...”

12:58.

12:59.

With a click at [01:00], a new video appeared on the YouTube channel:

[Blue Black – Blue Moon Official M/V]

The Halloween-themed thumbnail had a haunting aesthetic.