In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Murmur, murmur.

In the theme park’s horror section, the actors assigned to play zombies had gathered.

“What’s going on?”

When Richard, a veteran zombie, approached, one of the zombies spoke.

“The TVs from Korea are putting on some kind of show.”

“Yeah?”

Watching the zombies crane their necks to peer through the window by the entrance, he felt his curiosity stir.

“TVs from Korea...”

Richard hesitated.

“TVs?”

“Yeah.”

“The TVs are putting on a show? What does that even mean?”

He knew a famous Korean reality program was filming here. A show called Mister Producer.

They’d said they came to learn zombie acting at this place.

But...

“What kind of line is that.”

A sentence with a weird subject, claiming TVs were putting on a show.

When Richard tilted his head, a coworker stepped aside.

“Look, boss.”

Richard pressed his hands to the glass in the entrance window and leaned in.

Then his eyes went wide.

“Huh...?”

Inside a white circle, a six-member group was clapping and cheering, and TVs surrounding them were spinning round and round.

The TVs...

“The TVs are dancing?”

They were mobile TVs even showing off a little bump-and-bounce groove.

They slid with crisp precision into stage formations—zeeeeeng, zeeeeeng—and every time, the people inside danced.

He didn’t know exactly what song it was, but the hook kept echoing.

“Kabi Kabi Dokabi.”

“Oh! Dokabi.”

In rhythm, the zombies bobbed their shoulders bump-bump. A few even copied the goblin dance rippling across the screens.

Richard stared, dumbfounded.

TVs that changed direction freely and rolled wherever they wanted. Handsome guys inside, blended with graphics, singing something joyfully.

“Looks like a scene from a dystopian movie. Like the government brainwashing citizens with rainbow visuals.”

“Kinda does.”

“Anyway, look at those TV moves. Michael Jackson of the TV world.”

The TV casters glided as smoothly as a moonwalk.

When a rock-band zombie said he wanted to buy one, the doctor zombie searched it up and named a staggering price equivalent to ten thousand dollars.

As rain poured down in the zombies’ hearts—

“But...”

Richard narrowed his eyes.

“I’m sure I’ve seen those faces somewhere.”

“Same.”

The handsome faces in the rolling TVs, laughing under colorful hair, felt oddly familiar.

“Hmmmm...”

Among the zombies stroking their chins, the one with an axe stuck in his forehead scratched the axe and shouted:

“Ah!”

“You know it?”

“They... kinda look like those guys. The ones from ‘Blue Moon.’ The guys dancing next to Hailey Blue.”

“Ah. Do they?”

Everyone present knew “Blue Moon.”

The five who sang in earnest there, ebony hair streaming.

“What was their name again...”

He was sure it had Black in it.

The collab had been listed as Blue Black.

Then the chubby zombie objected.

“The hair colors are different. Makes no sense.”

“Hair can be dyed. By that logic, is it logical for a starving zombie to be fat?”

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying.”

As the others shot him looks to cut it out, someone else chimed in.

“I don’t think it’s them. The vibe is different.”

“Is it...?”

It felt similar, and not. Like how people in East Asia look at Westerners and say, “That guy looks like that guy,” these Americans found it hard to tell Korean faces apart.

Soon they settled on “not them.”

There was no way the elegant night nobles who smiled in “Blue Moon” were the same people as the pranksters over there going “ebebeb” like little rascals.

“Must not be.”

“Right. Totally different.”

“Yeah, not them.”

Thinking there was no way, the zombies smiled warmly.

Thanks to the TV dance programmed by KG Electronics’ PR team, the remote goblin performance wrapped successfully.

We also had a fun chat with the Mister Producer cast we hadn’t seen in a while.

Doing a short segment the MP team prepared, we promoted “Dokkaebi.” I’d wondered how they’d package such a random appearance naturally, but—

—You were really startled, right?

PD Shin Murok handed it off smoothly.

—Now you’ve gained the courage to not be startled by anything.

—Hey! Grab that one!

With the final image of PD Shin Murok being “attacked” by Korean zombies, our remote appearance on MP came to an end.

We stretched long and traded high-fives to celebrate.

“It’s dooone!”

“Great work!”

Promotion for “Dokkaebi” was now finished.

After our Bubbling Under 11th, The Allen Dale Show had asked us to come on as musical guests, but the earliest possible slot was after the holiday, so our minds were at ease.

Things were going smoothly.

— NewBlack x Tourism Board collab video surpasses 100 million total views in two weeks

— “Dokkaebi” MV hits 50 million in 9 days... “So very goblin-like”

— NewBlack’s “Dokkaebi” enters charts in multiple countries: “What charms are landing overseas?”

The choreo videos we were posting daily in collaboration with the Tourism Board were climbing steadily.

The nationwide temple edition and the Andong edition—both with the strongest response—had more views than a fair number of MVs.

Attention abroad matched the domestic buzz.

Starting with news that we’d hit 17 on the Billboard 200 albums chart, updates poured in about songs and albums charting in various countries.

“Norway...?”

“Maybe they liked us because we did that Norwegian mackerel special.”

“We’ve never done such a special. Junhyun.”

“Ah. Must’ve done it in my heart.”

From Northern European countries like Norway and Finland to South Africa and South America, our name appeared on songs charts, they said.

Every time we heard the news, our reaction was the same.

“...Why?”

You need a reason to go, “Ah, okay”—but when they suddenly said we’d charted in Brazil, we were bewildered.

Was it that the song was good, or that we had local fans?

Neither the company nor we could analyze it; we were just dazed.

“Good thing we expanded the tour scale in the U.S. and Europe.”

“Yeah...”

When the company first told us the scale of this year’s world tour, we thought they were joking.

They’d booked overseas venues bigger than we expected.

North America, where outside of K-pop concerts we had never done a solo show—

There alone they’d set seven shows totaling around a hundred thousand seats, so we asked the manager seriously:

—Will all those people really come?

—We projected conservatively based on merch and album sales... It’s more than doable. Don’t worry.

Sometimes it happens.

I make the album with my own hands, but the results it brings feel like they float off and move on their own, out of my hands.

Lately, I’d had that feeling a lot.

“Eh, whatever. Souffle will make it happen somehow.”

In this situation, what else can we do but sing and dance hard.

It’s not like chanting, “Please let it be a smash!” like a rain ritual will make it a smash.

“But didn’t it work last time?”

“The rain ritual?”

At my line, Ri Hyuk nodded.

“It’s superstitious, but after we did the ritual, it did rain.”

“T-that’s not the point.”

On NewBlack TV we’d done a segment re-enacting an old rain ritual, and it had actually rained.

It really did.

I still vividly remember the piles of savory pancakes and bottles of rice wine gifted by local farmers.

“Anyway... that’s not what matters. Let’s work! Work!”

I clapped my hands—clap, clap—and rallied the younger ones.

With all the promotion for “Dokkaebi” done and just a day until the Lunar New Year break— 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Today’s schedule was the 27th Korea Music Awards at Jamsil Indoor Gymnasium.

Hosted by a sports daily, this award show, like other new-year ceremonies, recognizes last year’s achievements. This time we were up for the main award and nominated for the grand prize.

And the group nominated alongside us for the grand prize...

“Ho there, sirs! We bow in greetin’ ~ mightily!”

They were hyper as ever.

To mix in a slightly naughty expression, I guess you’d call it sh...-hyped.

“Sh-hyped!”

“S-hyped! I love it. Let’s make it our chant.”

Watching the pretty boys squeal with happy smiles, we grinned back.

Then Biju, face a little shy, asked:

“But aren’t your stage outfits cold?”

“Well, it’s not outdoors. And this is how you get that sultry vibe to land. Sultry... is that the word? I’m mixing it up.”

“You guys are super conservative, you know that?”

Looking at Teen Spirit in mysteriously shy sleeveless outfits, we narrowed our eyes.

“Minors shouldn’t be walking around in clothes like that.”

“Aw, nagging again.”

“Look at Jiho. How...”

I was going to say “how much more grounded he is compared to you,” when I met eyes with the maknae, who was alone, chomp-chomp, working on the snacks in the dressing room.

We burst into big laughter, and Hahyun said deadpan:

“He just looks like a snack thief.”

“Hyundal, hush.”

“Ah! Hyung!”

When I teased him by using his real name, Hahyun flinched.

We traded talk about the latest wireless earbuds, packages that never arrive, the new neighborhood restaurant, and so on, when—

“By the way.”

Yeonhu scratched his chin and asked:

“That... what was it. You did that manager thing for Sbo hyungs.”

“Yeah.”

“Bet it was hilarious. You should’ve done it with us.”

“That wasn’t our choice.”

As I said that with a laugh, Ri Hyuk put the brakes on Yeonhu’s idea.

“Honestly, I think it wouldn’t have been that fun.”

“You still don’t get it, Ri Hyuk. We’re hilarious.”

“It wouldn’t make it on air, that’s why. Okay, imagine we brought you something absolutely disgusting to eat.”

“I’d... leave it alone. Because it’s a broadcast.”

Imagining themselves trembling at the mouth corners to smile for three days and two nights in front of cameras, Teen Spirit quickly accepted it.

“Ugh, I’m dizzy just picturing it.”

“But how long are we going to live like this? When are we showing our natural selves to the fans?”

“What do you mean, ‘when.’ Idiot. If we ‘show,’ the fans will call us trash and leave.”

“Still, we’ve lived without spitting on the floor even once...”

“Right. We swallowed it.”

I gave them the answer to how they could open up naturally, as they fretted at me.

“Fifty.”

“Get beaten by the fans for fifty seconds and it’ll work?”

“No. Fifty years old.”

“...”

“Open up when you’re about fifty.”

When I laughed and said, “That’s your fate,” the pretty boys, choked up, were about to protest roughly.

Our younger ones stepped in and calmed them.

“Hold it. Hold it.”

“He’s just a guy who doesn’t act his age.”

That last line felt a bit much, but I let it go.

My hand trembled as I popped a jelly into my mouth.

Then, Huiyeon, who’d been leisurely taking phone selfies alone, asked:

“But did you do a good job as managers?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t picture it. Like, you guys going °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° to a music show—shoot, Junhyun keeps barging into my head.”

Hearing the neighbor boys express doubt that we’d done well as managers, Junhyun said:

“No. We did a great job. Right?”

“Right.”

“We worked super hard and did great...”

We just couldn’t say more in case it spoiled the broadcast. We bragged about how big we’d performed.

But the reaction that came back was the same.

“Ah. Okay.”

A single line that condensed, “We know you want to claim that, but we don’t trust you at all.”

“Just hear us out.”

“Ah. Okay, okay.”

“I said, just hear us—”

We were about to boast again about our exploits when—

Click.

Right then, the very people who could lend credibility to our words walked in as the door opened. A nine-member hip-hop group, shambling.

In an instant, the waiting room felt cramped.

The nine stuck themselves to the sofa arms or the wall and went “huuuuh.”

“What’s wrong?”

Hanjoh checked whether our staff were around, then said:

“After you came by, the managers’ handling of things...”

“Their handling?”

“It’s not to our liking. It hurts.”

“...”

Hanjoh spoke with a baffled face.

“I mean... they do things weirdly. That thing you guys brought us—anyway, they’re trying to handle that weirdly, too.”

“Chief. Please come back, Chief...”

“Potato Manager and Biju Manager, please come back, too. Our food tastes bad now...”

“The schedule’s weird.”

As Sbo clung to us, whining, “Come back, friends!” Teen Spirit narrowed their eyes.

They whispered among themselves, then pointed fingers at Sbo’s faces.

Snap! Snap!

Like striking flint, the pretty boys flicked their fingers, and we asked:

“What are you doing?”

“Ah. We wondered if maybe they were mass-hypnotized.”

“Hey!”

“Or not.”

Growing ever more familiar, the neighbor boys got an earful from us to make sure they watched this Lunar New Year special.

At the 26th Korea Music Awards, we won the grand prize.

— Korea Music Awards, Grand Prize to NewBlack... Three crowns including MV and Main Award

— “Grand Prize” NewBlack: “We want to work with the producing team for 100 years...” Producing team replies on SNS: “We’re good”

— [2017 NewBlack Special ②] As always, the new year’s “Grand Prize”: how high will youth’s takeoff soar?

We took the MV award for “Falling Blossoms,” and the grand prize for “Empire.”

It was a slight shame that Blue Winter, the special album that dropped early in the 16 new year, didn’t get the spotlight, but all told, good results.

And so late January arrived.

“Happy new year, and get good rest, all of you.”

“Yes!”

CEO Park Gyuho came to see us off for the holiday.

In front of the dorm.

He shyly smoothed a few strands of side hair fluttering in the cold wind and said:

“Don’t forget what I told you.”

“Yes. We’ll remember.”

He’d taught us the types of scams celebrities are prone to during holidays, saying that once you reach this level of success and money comes in, all sorts of gnats swarm.

He also connected us with a tax accountant for the money issues.

We hugged the CEO, who carefully looked after the fields we didn’t know well.

“Have a great Lunar New Year, sir.”

“Right. Come back without getting hurt.”

“Yes!”

“Love you.”

When we sent him finger hearts, the CEO guffawed, delighted.

We said our goodbyes and got into the waiting vehicles.

Biju and Jiho, whose families were in Seoul, had family come pick them up; the other three of us, not Seoul-based, got into company cars.

They were vehicles from the actors’ team managers working the holiday.

“See you all later then!”

“Hyung, take care while we’re gone!”

“Huh?”

“Yo! Yo! Yo! Hey! Get going already!”

We said goodbye to Jiho’s and Biju’s giggling families and waved again.

We also waved to Ri Hyuk, headed to Incheon Airport.

“Ri Hyuk!”

“What.”

“Bring back souvenirs from the States!”

The tinted window slid up with a buzz.

As we went “hey now,” watching his car pull away remorselessly, leaving exhaust behind, Biju came trotting up and passed a bundle through our window.

Pretty heavy.

“Whoa. What’s this?”

“Mom packed some food this time and asked me to pass it to your grandma.”

“Ma’am! Thank you!”

Perpetually smiling, Biju’s mom giggled and waved.

“See you after the break!”

“You too, take care!”

We waved to each other, and at last the cars pulled out.

We’d originally planned to take an intercity bus or KTX, but out of caution for any unforeseen circumstances, we decided to go by car.

“Just follow the nav?”

“Yes.”

He’d come out a few times to help during We Are Alien Family, so he wasn’t that unfamiliar.

I sat in the passenger seat, opening snacks, and chatted with the manager about this and that as we headed for Gunsan.

“You work during the holiday too, I see.”

“Yes. I don’t really have anywhere to go anyway... and the pay’s good this time of year. Do I turn here?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, navigation makes this easy. Last time I drove with Biju, I almost took the expressway by mistake.”

I burst out laughing at the manager’s story.

Maybe because it was the first day of the break, the traffic was awful, but we reached Gunsan faster than expected.

In the car, following the nav, the manager asked:

“So this isn’t home?”

“No.”

I glanced away from a distant holiday banner that read “Gunsan’s Pride, Sun Wooju.”

“Grandma said to meet here. Our actual house is somewhere else.”

“Ah.”

“Take a left up ahead. This neighborhood’s a bit quiet.”

From the shuttered shops on, the calm holiday scenery already loosened my heart.

Soon, as we passed rows of houses—

Thinking of meeting Ms. Kim Deoksun, I placed both hands on my chest and puffed out a breath through my nose.

“Oh.”

With the manager’s exclamation, the nav chimed that we were near our destination.

“Looks like some kind of museum.”

“Sure does.”

Tall fencing, and only a refined roofline visible inside.

It felt like a museum, not a house.

The manager, stretching his neck at the wheel, asked:

“This really the meeting place?”

“Hang on.”

I was about to text Grandma, “I’m he—” when—

Clunk.

A massive iron gate began to slide open with a long shhhiiiing. And then, a white mansion gleaming in the morning sun.

I lowered the window and rubbed my eyes.

“...”

On the second-floor terrace of the white mansion stood one pearl-earring lady, and a cat in a luxe striped jeogori.

Thought it was Yubaba.

The manager’s jaw went slack, and so did mine.

“...Grandma?”

Right then—

Ms. Kim Deoksun, in sunglasses, clicked a button on the remote in her hand, and a banner unfurled down the mansion wall.

[Welkam to Kim Deoksun House]

Blinking at Grandma striking an elegant pose as if to display true wealth—

...What is this.

No, really, what is this.