In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

I’m not very good at games.

“Hyung is really bad at them. I’m not great either, but you’re hopelessly bad.”

Because of that, every time I played games, the maknae would nag me.

When I briefly joined an online game with Street Boys, I got showered with every insult imaginable.

“No! Captain, use your flash...!”

“It’s a wipeout. Total wipeout.”

“Please, our captain must never play games—you’ll be cursed for five hundred years if you do.”

And on top of that, I—Sun Wooju—was the one who lost on Star for two consecutive years during Souffle Week.

“Hohohoho.”

But right now I was like a spaceship.

With a confident grin, I asked the cast again, “What will you do?”

The maknae pumped his fist nearby and cheered, “You’ve got this!” and “Go for it, trickster!”

Buoyed by my siblings’ support, I straightened my shoulders.

If I play, I’ll definitely lose. I need to steer things so they give up instead—then I can earn the gold without even playing.

“......”

The cast folded their arms and fell into thought.

Namiri, who acted like Jusehan’s mother, asked the producers, “Director, if we challenge and lose, how many do we lose?”

“Six.”

“Six each? That’s a lot, especially since we’ve already lost so much.”

As Namiri sighed, Ye Heeyeon steadied the wavering members. “Think of it another way: if we win, we get six. We could make up everything we’ve lost so far.”

“Heeyeon, let’s flip it again,” Oh Hyeongseok suggested with a calm smile. “If we lose six more here, we’re toast...”

“Right. Let’s just lose three and call it quits. Can’t you see those eyes? We can’t beat her.”

As that discussion buzzed around, my mood brightened along with my siblings’.

Actor Song Jinwoo—who’d been spacing out—scratched his messy hair and looked over at me. I nodded with a grin.

Then suddenly—

“...?”

Song Jinwoo froze. He leaned in and whispered something to the Jusehan cast.

“Really?”

Veteran actress Yang Okbun was the first to turn. When she whispered to someone glancing my way, the others started whispering too.

“Junghyeon.”

“Yes?”

“What are they all saying?”

“Hold on.” Junghyeon’s ears perked up, then he hesitated. “What’s up?”

“I can’t hear clearly, hyung.”

“Why not?”

“Senior Ye Heeyeon is... mumbling.”

Ye Heeyeon, standing among them, was muttering with blazing eyes. Junghyeon caught it and passed it on:

“Samgyeopsal. Haemul pajeon. Chicken. Pizza...”

“......”

“She keeps naming foods so loudly I can’t hear anything else. Her anti-eavesdropping is too strong.”

Her competitive spirit was amazing. Just as I smiled at Junghyeon to say it was okay, the seven entertainers huddled in discussion snapped back to normal.

Entertainer Woo Jaeyong laughed, “Jaeyoung!”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re all going for it!”

At the news that every team would challenge, my siblings and I goggled.

Biju blurted, “Why? Why would you...?”

“Seniors, wouldn’t it be more logical? If you don’t challenge, we get three coins.”

“If it were me, I wouldn’t challenge~!” Ri Hyuk and Jiho chimed in, but the Jusehan members just smiled warmly—and it sent a chill down my spine.

Comedian Oh Hyeongseok smiled gently at my siblings’ protests. “True,” he said, “but Wooju’s expression...”

“We know that look!” the entertainers shot back sharply. “Who grins like a spaceship if they think they’ll win?”

“......!”

“It’s weird. If you thought you’d win, you’d say you’re bad at games to make us let our guard down—then jump in and grab the coins.”

“Then why ask if we’ll challenge?”

A detective-manga BGM seemed to play in my head—but it wasn’t in my head. Looking sideways, the maknae held up his phone with “You’re the culprit!” splashed across it. Ri Hyuk gave him a friendly tap on the padded back.

Seeing the crew laugh, I said, “Well, uh... that’s just... a hunch.”

“So why don’t we just try the game?” someone asked.

“......”

My blank, hopeless stare set off laughter among the Jusehan members. If I’d been acting with my siblings, maybe it would’ve worked—but not against people famed nationwide for their intuition.

“All right, we’ll hand out the game consoles.”

A handheld console—just like the ones we played as kids—was placed in my hand. A and B buttons. While everyone else clicked through the buttons, Ye Heechan, seeing me stare blankly, asked, “Are you really bad at games?”

“Yes.”

“So there are things you’re bad at.”

“This is the one I’m worst at.”

I grinned again: “But what if all my words and actions until now were psychological warfare? What if you’re being deceived right now?”

No response came—just the clicking and murmurs of people asking, “Should I press A?”

Yang Okbun blinked and asked, “Wooju, what did you just say?”

“Nothing, ma’am.”

“You really need to pull yourself together. You look like you’ve lost your soul.”

That’s because I’m on the verge of a nationwide reputation for being terrible at games, ma’am.

While I sighed at the console, my siblings scurried over to pump me up.

“It’s okay, hyung,” Biju said, patting my shoulder with a gentle smile. “They say having one or two weaknesses makes you more relatable. It’s your chance to show your humanity.”

“That’s right. If you’re a fool whether you win or lose, you’re still a fool, hyung.”

“Thanks, Junghyeon...”

Fueled by my siblings’ encouragement, I powered on the console and clicked through the buttons.

“All right, ready? We’ll now reveal the game.”

Each of us received a game cartridge. “A basic game anyone can play!”

The familiar arcade Beat music played. I smiled at the character bouncing on-screen: boing boing. Nice. Maybe next time I’ll write a title track with a game-music vibe. I tapped my fingers along to the bright, cheerful tune. It’s an old game, so maybe I have a better chance than with today’s games?

In front of the TBC building in Sangam-dong:

“Wow.”

“Is this for /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ real?”

“Wow...”

All the cast had gathered in one spot. Even some camera crew stood watching.

Psssh. Bang! Bang! The on-screen character fell off a cliff, and [GAME OVER] blazed across the screen. That was early in Stage 1.

“He really is terrible...”

At Ye Heechan’s mutter, the player glared and snapped her head around—but everyone just laughed at the feeble glare.

“Oh, this is so fun.”

“Wooju, play again. Hurry.”

Jusehan members peeling roasted sweet potatoes, NewBlack members cheering me on. The final game had ended ages ago—because Wooju lost within the first thirty seconds of every round, shouting, “Huh? Uh uh uh! No no no!”

“Did we actually win? Did we really win?”

“Why did we win?”

“I beat someone half my age at a game... and won...?”

Even the winners looked stunned as they collected six gold coins. That was why this round was an extra mission for NewBlack’s leader:

“If Mr. Wooju can last three minutes in the game, we’ll award the NewBlack members some gold coins too.”

And so, in five consecutive rounds, Ju Sehan’s Sun Wooju was cut down in under thirty seconds each time. Swallowing the tears, NewBlack’s leader focused, his pale face shining. With looks that could belong to a sculpture carved by a genius: a bead of sweat rolling down red hair, the subtle droop of his eyes and the twitch of his high nose bridge even in defeat, it all looked stunning—but he was that bad at games.

“Oh dear.”

“Whoa...”

Ye Heeyeon, full of competitive zeal, couldn’t bear it and pounded his chest while downing cider from the bottle.

Glug. Song Jinwoo, eating roasted sweet potato, patted his chest.

“Hey, where’s the cider? I can’t watch this.”

“I feel like I ate three thousand sweet potatoes...”

“Was he always this bad?”

The lackeys chorused, “Completely terrible,” “Besides dressing himself, those are the only two things my hyung can’t do,” and “But he’s a good person!”

Then with another ttiro-ri~, Game Over flashed again, and the cast sighed. The camera director muttered, “He can’t even do this?” and everyone burst into laughter. At Wooju’s hurt cry of “Director!” the director looked away, and the crew doubled over.

Yang Okbun offered Wooju a paper cup. “Stop and have a sip of this hot broth.”

“I can keep going...!” Biju placed a hand on Wooju’s shoulder. “We should go home now, hyung.”

“Just one more round... one more. No, this console is weird.”

“You’re just bad at it.”

“......”

At that firm remark, NewBlack’s leader’s eyes glistened—and everyone laughed.

Soon the torturous game ended and we formed a giant ending pose. “Yes...”

A metallic voice escaped Wooju as he tried to speak. The entertainers grinned slyly. “Wooju, you okay?”

“Of course I’m fine. I don’t let things like this shake me. And...”

The leader clenched his fist solemnly. “Singers speak with songs.”

“True. You can’t be good at everything.”

“...This has been NewBlack!”

“Where do you think you’re going? You haven’t finished your closing lines.”

As he tried to slip away, everyone grabbed the leader. After a brief tussle, MC Oh Hyeongseok began the closing remarks:

“Yes! We had a blast today with NewBlack, who made a comeback as Goblins!”

“It was a mess—let’s never do it again~!”

“Yes!”

As they exchanged cheery goodbyes, Song Jinwoo smirked and called Wooju over, “Wooju, how was today?”

“Yes. I had a really fun time. I think I did well, and it feels like I’m starting the new year off with great energy~!”

Then he wore a slightly wistful expression. “There’s just one thing I’m disappointed about...”

“The last game?”

“Yes.” Wooju nodded. “I really wanted to play that final game, but we ran out of time, so I’m bummed.”

“Trying to pretend it never happened?”

“What do you mean never happened? It was never even there.”

At Wooju’s innocent denial, everyone burst into laughter.

One by one, they shared impressions and album promos, then NewBlack shouted to the camera, “This has been NewBlack!” “Thank you!”

The maknae smiled and asked the cast, “Gabi gabi?”

“Dotgabi!”

“Goodbye, everyone!”

“Farewell!”

Fog billowed from the stage’s smoke machine, and the goblins’ silhouettes faded. Inside, the goblin clubs’ lights flickered in color—especially the sword dance of the red-haired monster’s club, tracing dazzling afterimages like a lightsaber. The Ju Sehan members applauded. “He can do all that yet can’t play games?”

“You’re too cruel!”

At a mournful cry from within, the cast laughed again. Then Junghyeon’s languid documentary narration played:

“Sun Wooju will not forget today’s events.”

“Can you keep that down?”

“Hyung! I can’t take it—I need you to practice games with me.”

“Guys, what should we eat?”

They buzzed until the end, watching the will-o’-the-wisps flicker and vanish in the mist, laughing all the while.

The day after filming with Team Ju Sehan, we arrived at Incheon Port on Saturday morning.

“Of all places, Incheon again.”

Stepping out of the car, I pulled on fluffy earmuffs. Shivering, Ri Hyuk asked, “Why Incheon of all places?”

“Last time when Junghyeon and I filmed Man Goes, we thought we were heading to Incheon Airport—turns out it was a special forces unit... achoo!”

It was cold by the morning sea. We approached the busy cargo trucks and forklifts at Incheon Port and moved toward the filming area.

“Oh! NewBlack!” greeted PD Do Junki, a former special forces soldier with tanned skin and a sturdy build, now a PD.

“Were you cold on the way?”

“No, I just got out of the car...”

“Good. I missed you. At the entertainment awards, you’d vanished whenever I looked for you.”

That wasn’t a hallucination, PD.

He chuckled, “But I’m glad you’re finally in my grasp.”

“PD, we’d love to stay, but we have so many schedules. I think we’ll have to just perform today and then leave.”

“I understand. Such a shame!”

He hovered around us like a hawk, but couldn’t get what he wanted—only when someone called “PD!” could we break free. “Phew,” I sighed, shaking off his clingy energy.

Biju huddled against the wind, “I thought he was going to drag us off...”

“It’s fine. Today we just perform and go.”

Following Ju Sehan’s appearance, our final variety-show stage awaited: TBC’s popular People Go. Formerly “Man Goes,” featuring military, fire, police experiences, it was rebranded this year to include a diverse cast to experience extreme jobs and feel life’s passion. It focused less on member chemistry and more on showcasing unique occupations. Of course, some members were fan favorites—like the guy with bleached corn-silk hair, “Sergeant niiiim!” and “Eunseong aaah!” Eunseong’s eyes lit up at our arrival.

“Why are you here? Are you today’s guest?”

“We came to perform.”

“Oh. The performance.”

I poked the junior soldier’s side, and Eunseong sneezed, “Heechu.” Ri Hyuk backed away. “I got excited thinking we were guests.”

“Wasn’t the guest list already out?”

“Yes, I thought we were surprise guests~”

I smiled, “I’m never appearing here.”

“I don’t think the PD will give up—he’s been saying since early last year he wants to do something with NewBlack.”

“Hmm...”

“Eunseong, someone’s calling you over there.”

“Ah. Let’s talk later!”

We struck a fake-surprised pose when we appeared, Eunseong gave us a thumbs up—“Trust me! I’m an entertainer!”

“Actually, you’re a singer!” I teased, watching the junior soldier’s identity crisis with a smile.

“Hey, NewBlack!”

“Hello!”

We greeted the original Man Goes members and the new recruits, asked them to cheer for us later, and while changing into our stage outfits and warming up, I asked a staff member, “What’s today’s special?”

“We’ll work for three days on a world-cruise ship.”

“I see. But I don’t see a cruise.”

“It’s somewhere else.”

“Getting out there is a job in itself.”

“Yes~”

Both crew and cast must have immense workloads, I thought, sending silent encouragement to Eunseong and the Man Goes team as we prepared our surprise stage:

“To celebrate the Lunar New Year special of Man Goes, we’ve prepared a surprise performance!”

“Who is it? Who is it?”

“It’s NewBlack?”

While they reacted in surprise, we performed Gabi Gabi Dotgabi on the winter beach. Then we chatted briefly:

“An appearance? Of course.”

“Then answer now—would you be willing to appear on Man Goes someday?”

“Definitely. Call us, and we’ll come!”

Like fourth-year idols, we tossed out promises and “Do your best!” before quickly heading back to the vehicle—the sea breeze would seep through our stage outfits.

“Ugh, cold.”

“Let’s change clothes first.”

As we swapped into casual wear and felt the warm airflow inside the car, I noticed the managers were uncharacteristically silent.

“Mingi hyung,” I called to the driver’s seat but got no answer. Instead, someone with a baseball cap pulled low gripped the wheel. And... the hand was different—even the nail length and the color of the jacket didn’t match the Mingi hyung from this morning.

‘Hyung?’

‘Stay still.’

I discreetly dialed Seokhwan hyung on my phone and signaled my siblings to be quiet. A stranger was in our car—but we hadn’t moved yet, so I planned to throw my jacket at his face and run if needed.

Then—

“Everyone.”

We snapped our heads around at the man’s voice.

“Director Do?”

“Yes. I’m Do Junki, the main PD of People Go.”

“......”

Our tense shoulders relaxed as we blinked.

“Why are you in our car, PD...?”

“Why else?” Director Do Junki beamed.

“Because you are the stars of this People Go special.”