In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“What is this.”

Ri Hyuk flung the door open and blinked at the scene before him.

“What... are you doing?”

“Playing with Nabi.”

Wooju was strumming a guitar in time with the cat plinking at the piano keys—plink, plonk, plink.

A performance that turned dissonance into something oddly natural.

Wooju set the guitar down, grinned, and asked:

“Did the noise wake you?”

“No. I mean. I didn’t even hear anything... I was just getting water and saw the door open.”

“So it wasn’t the noise?”

“Right.”

Wooju beckoned him in. As the cat approached with her tail up, Ri Hyuk sat, smiling.

“The soundproofing is really good.”

“Madam Kim Deoksun built me a studio because her grandson was coming.”

The room had soundproof walls.

Ri Hyuk smiled, rubbing the warm fur ball tucked in his arms. The warmth softened his heart too.

“It’s past one. Aren’t you sleeping?”

“I should. But there’s too much to do... I’ll either sleep after I finish this or something.”

“You’re a workaholic. Seriously.”

Ri Hyuk clicked his tongue as he peered at the scattered [To-Do] lists.

Like an elementary schooler’s vacation schedule—“5 minutes rest, 3 hours study”—except

this one would 100% be executed.

“Anything I can help with?”

“Not yet.”

The other laughed.

“I’ll tell you right away when there’s something to do together. But we’re still at the skeleton stage—I need to frame this myself.”

“Okay. Got it.”

The leader in front of him was like a captain gripping a ship’s wheel.

Once the destination and tasks were set, the members would scatter to build the best options.

Until then, the telescope and the map belonged to the decider.

“Are you mapping out the title track?”

“Yeah.”

Wooju twanged the guitar—diiiong.

“But this time I don’t know what to do. With ‘Dokkaebi’ we decided to aim for something more accessible, right?”

“Right. We pivoted the musical direction that way.”

“Then the next title should also be on the mainstream side... but I still want to write a song Souffle will love. I’m thinking about balancing that, and also what the theme should be.”

“Mm...”

“I’m trying to start from melody.”

With promotion for “Dokkaebi” successfully wrapped, the most important goal was the next title track.

Ri Hyuk asked:

“What are you looking for?”

“Something popping and lively. ‘Empire’ is heavy, and ‘Dokkaebi’ is heavy too.”

“It is heavy. We played ‘Dokkaebi’ comedically, but overall the tone sits low.”

“We should swing light. And the album color’s shifting from black and gray to white.”

They had talked about this in meetings.

— Since it’s white, light? Wouldn’t that fit? Like that trophy prism idea with the lightstick last time?

That was Biju’s suggestion.

Like light passing through a prism and bursting into a rainbow, starting with this second full album they’d bloom new colors again.

— I like pastel tones.

Adding Junhyun’s take, future albums would come in pinks and pastels, more varied hues.

If the albums so far had blended like thick paints into black, from here on they’d split into prismatic, varied colors.

They wanted this studio album to be the bridge into those playful shades.

“Hmm...”

After mulling a while, Ri Hyuk spoke.

“What about inheriting ‘Fireworks’?”

“‘Fireworks’?”

“Among our songs, that one matches the tone best. ‘Wind Flower’ too, but that’s a bit wistful.”

“‘Fireworks’ is the most spirited.”

Wooju thought, then asked:

“By inheriting, you mean?”

“We’ve all leveled up the last three years. We could re-interpret something like ‘Fireworks’ and let people hear it differently. It feels like growth, and like a new start.”

“Oho...”

He asked the leader, who was absently stroking the guitar:

“How is it. Sound good?”

“Nice.”

The album’s theme was reconciliation and peace after conflict.

He’d thought “Fireworks,” with its first-meeting flutter and cheerful warmth, might pair well.

“Uh...”

Ri Hyuk was about to say more, then closed his mouth.

Because the other had picked up a violin, face sunk in thought.

Wooju tilted his head, drew an elegant angle with the bow hand—bzzzzing—and a tone rang out.

His left hand moved softly; the right hand’s bow glided across the strings and—

“?”

A short melody spilled out.

A bright, sprightly string line, clipped—tok, tok—and repeated once or twice.

The atmosphere of those crisp mornings walking to school in autumn.

Eyes gently shut, the other smiled.

“Oh.”

He knew the next line by heart.

“This works.”

“What works now...”

“I pictured what you said about ‘Fireworks.’ Fun and buoyant? I tried something with that vibe.”

“Our title’s main theme?”

“Yeah.”

“...”

“For the chorus melody, this would do.”

Anyone else would have said, “What? You... what? You wrote it?” but as Flunky No. 1, he was used to it.

Wooju laughed.

“I wrote it thinking about today—time with you, Grandma, and Nabi. How is it? Cool, right?”

“...”

“I wrote the ‘Fireworks’ theme thinking about my childhood. For the new title, using recent time as the subject felt right.”

That was a little moving.

It brought back the time they’d made “Night Sea,” left him with a strange feeling,

and made him want to brag a little to Wang Jiho.

“Thanks to you, I got a melody, man.”

“For what.”

“I’m wondering how to unfold it... should we start working right now?”

“Right now?”

“Mm. You can go sleep if you want.”

Wooju hunched in front of the laptop and went thump thump with the guitar; Ri Hyuk was at a loss.

That look said “it begins,” but it was 2 a.m.

Watching someone overwork on a holiday break the CEO gave them to rest, he silently stroked Nabi.

The purring cat was already drifting off.

“...”

Click—went the bloodshot one on the mouse. Twang—went the guitar, on repeat, while Ri Hyuk debated.

Say something, or not.

He wanted to leave him, but at this rate the guy would collapse before the holiday ended.

“Hey, um...”

He spoke up, but got no answer.

Watching the leader go “heheh, music, heheh” like a man possessed, he scratched the back of his head in irritation.

“So...”

“Mm?”

“Do it moderately and sleep. You’ll collapse.”

“I won’t from this. Before we came to Gunsan I held Junhyun’s hand and recharged by prayer.”

“Don’t start with anti-science. And also.”

He hadn’t meant to say this part.

After hesitating, Ri Hyuk parted his lips.

“If you keep this up... you’ll actually die. Hyung.”

Freeze.

At that, Wooju stopped clicking the mouse.

“Ah.”

Ri Hyuk faltered.

It was definitely the “hyung” that got a reaction. If the question came he’d pretend he’d said “yuck.” While he thought that—

Wooju said, looking stricken:

“Ri Hyuk.”

“Yes?”

“If I die... wouldn’t this be my last work?”

“Uh... yeah?”

Wooju clutched the laptop, face pleading.

“Then I have to work harder.”

“...”

“I can’t let something this shabby be my posthumous release. If I’m going to die, I have to finish it first...”

“Oh, come on! You lunatic!”

Ri Hyuk kicked; the leader rolled with a breakfall and dodged, then grinned cheekily.

“Missed me.”

“Die! Just die now!”

“Aaaargh!”

The next morning.

On the last red-letter day of the break, I groaned with a pain patch slapped to my side.

“This is all your fault.”

“How is it my fault. You cramped up from working with bad posture.”

“No. It’s where you hit me.”

“Please. How much could that hurt. I’d lose to Nabi in a fight.”

Under the table, Nabi meowed in agreement. The cheese cat’s tail curled up, pleased.

“Oh, boy.”

Grandma sighed as she stirred stew.

“Do you two fight every day. Every day.”

“We’re not fighting.”

“We weren’t fighting. This person was objectively wrong, Grandma.”

“From what I see, six of one, half a dozen of the other. One’s got a fifth-grader brain and one’s a first-year middle schooler.”

I asked:

“I’m the middle schooler, right?”

“Think whatever you want. I didn’t say anything.”

“...”

Watching me take it, Ri Hyuk snorted across the table.

I scowled and pursed my lips; he pursed his like, What are you gonna do about it~

Grandma set down the doenjang stew with a clack.

“You got your wish, kid.”

“Why?”

“You always sang about wanting a little brother, and now you’ve really got one.”

“I never had a little brother like this.”

“I never had a big brother like this either!”

Grandma set her spoon down with a tap, smiling.

“Both of you, when I’m saying nice things—shut up and eat...”

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

Waiting carefully until Grandma raised her spoon, Ri Hyuk picked up his and asked:

“Grandma, is there anything I can do?”

“What would you do?”

“I get restless sitting still. I want to help with something...”

“Let’s see.”

While I was bragging that he’s great at cleaning, Grandma said to me:

“Didn’t you say you were going to sort that stuff?”

“Oh, Mom and Dad’s things? Yeah.”

“Then Ri Hyuk can help with that.”

Among Mom and Dad’s things were some I’d used as a kid, still boxed up just as they were.

Ri Hyuk hesitated visibly.

“Is it okay if I touch that?”

“True. There’s a lot of dust; not sure you’ll be okay.”

“No, not that...”

“It’s totally fine.”

They were old things anyway. The meaningful ones Grandma kept separately.

The rest I couldn’t throw out, so I just kept them.

We don’t even know where Mom and Dad are. If I threw these away too, it’d feel like erasing the last traces.

“Want to go?”

As soon as we finished the dishes, I took Ri Hyuk upstairs to the second-floor room.

Maybe he felt awkward, because he changed the subject.

“By the way, they say the variety response is good this time.”

“Oh. Right. I saw.”

The response to last night’s People Are Going was good.

Ratings shot up. People said it felt fresh to cover the manager industry the public doesn’t know well.

The scene where I announced I’d gotten a schedule booked got especially good reactions.

Even in the portal news comments for “Last Night’s Top One Minute” that we were reading now:

— I busted a gut last night [laughs] Our Wooju goes and gets a schedule

— Feels like they’d have succeeded at anything. It just happened to be idol as the sport.

— Watching him pull a booking by connections, wow [laughs]

— Please assign Manager Joo Sunwoo to my celebrity too [cry]

— Looking forward to SW Entertainment going public in 10 years

— Wooju, now all that’s left is “preferred stock” as a stock expert, up-limit let’s go

Of course, not all reactions were positive.

— People Are Going PD Do Junki: “The ‘I brought a schedule’ scene is definitely not scripted. You’ll understand when you see next week’s episode.”

Some suspected it was staged.

Probably because it ended on a scene of me going, I brought a schedule! du-dun!

It was a minor flap that would blow over, so I wasn’t worried.

“But I heard something else trended too...”

“What, what...”

“Games.”

“...”

“They say it went nationwide that you can’t game.”

That was true.

Right after it aired yesterday, a certain person DM’d me, [Be my manager], and roasted me for getting exposed as a game noob.

The pretty boys next door mocked me that they’d teach me games, then started a holy war fighting each other.

“...How did I end up surrounded by people like this.”

“What can you do—you’re the center of this lunatic galaxy. You’re like a massive black hole at the galactic core.”

“You’re the one who submitted ‘dark matter’ as a title candidate for ‘Wind Flower.’”

“And you mocked up the flower-pattern lightstick design, didn’t you?”

We traded sunny smiles and cursed each other with our eyes.

“Here we are.”

At the top of the stairs was the most tucked-away, best-lit room.

Not quite a second floor—call it a two-and-a-half.

It felt like a cozy attic. Like Kevin’s room in Home Alone.

“Wow...”

The main vocal, who’d said it’d be perfect for reading, turned to the stacks of boxes.

“These are... the things?”

“Yeah.”

Wearing gloves with a vinyl pair over them, Ri Hyuk carefully slit the tape and lifted items out.

Rrrrip, rrrrip—the sounds, and contents came out one by one.

“Nothing... unusual.”

“Just daily stuff. The trophies and awards are all in the display case. These are things my dad used—thimbles? That kind of thing?”

“There’s thread, too. And a sewing machine.”

“Grandma says Dad had amazing hands. Mom was hopeless at this stuff.”

I muttered, Is that why I’m bad at games? and Ri Hyuk laughed.

With the help of the sorting king, we stacked and re-boxed things neatly.

Just as we were finishing, Ri Hyuk found something in a corner.

“What’s this?”

“Oh. A game console, I think. I used it when I was six. The penguins go tatatatata~ and the pew-pew fighter jets.”

“Galaga?”

“I think there was Circus, too. You know? byooong through the ring of fire.”

“No.”

“It’s rough being old. Rough...”

Ri Hyuk studied the console closely and said:

“Does this still work?”

“No idea.”

We matched the colored cables to an old ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) TV nearby and turned on the power.

The screen came up right away.

“It works?”

“It works?”

On the dot-screen, a fighter jet bobbed while the [START] button blinked.

“Oho.”

“Want to try? Bet against me?”

“Hey. I played this a ton when I was six. I’ll win.”

“Then let’s try.”

We decided on a quick round.

Three hours later.

“This...”

“Hoo.”

“How does it even do that there? The boss pattern is insane.”

“Not easy.”

Three hours in, still stuck on Stage 1, the two of us—brothers—stared red-eyed at the console.

Every attempt, three lives vanished in a flash.

“Hang on.”

Ri Hyuk pulled out paper and started hand-drawing gorgeous circles.

“This is boss phase one.”

“Yeah.”

“In phase two it fires to the right. So by my math, stand here.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

With grim resolve we reached phase two again.

[GAME OVER]

We blinked.

“You said you survive there.”

“No, my math can’t be wrong... Did I botch the function?”

“Rebuild the formula.”

“Urgh...”

After failing for another hour, we decided to summon our saviors.

— Idiots.

— Both of you are idiots.

Biju and Junhyun chomped apples and watermelon while the on-screen plane chomped, chomped.

The maknae studied our carefully drawn operation charts and diagrams and gave the solution at once.

— Hyungs.

“Yeah?”

— Just go straight left from there and up.

“Hmm... huh? That works?”

We praised the maknae who found the answer immediately and asked:

“How did you know?”

— I typed it into MeTube and the walkthrough popped right up.

“...”

— If you just search, there are mountains of retro-game guides online.

Ri Hyuk and I stared into space, dumb.

Biju and Junhyun munched apples and watermelon in the video call.

— Smart idiots.

— Idiots. Idiots.

They weren’t wrong, so we stayed quiet.

Ri Hyuk rubbed his eyelids.

“Ugh. I’m dizzy.”

“Me too.”

Maybe because we stared at the TV for nearly four hours.

Massaging my throbbing temples with my eyes shut, I heard the game’s background music—din-din-din.

Even after hours, that old arcade BGM didn’t get old—easy on the ears.

Like when I held a controller on Jusehan: those old arcade tunes really don’t tire.

Junhyun munched, then machine-gunned out watermelon seeds—tududududu.

— But is that just game over? Without coins?

“Yeah.”

— If you were on a cabinet with coins you could just continue.

“This is for home.”

There was no “Insert Coin.”

As we talked—

“...Wait.”

Something flashed through my head.

The structure of old arcade music—never tiring, still addictive after hours.

Memories we all shared as kids—hitting the arcade with friends with a few coins.

Just a couple coins and everyone happy together—the memory clicked things neatly into place in my head.

Along with the arcade’s vivid candy colors.

“Guys.”

— We’re doomed. That’s his “I’m assigning work” face!

— Bzzzt bzzzt.

“Junhyun. Mouth-noise doesn’t jam me.”

— Yes.

— Hyung, my house chores...

“Biju, I know your chores aren’t backed up. I’ve never seen you fall behind.”

— ...

— Biju hyung is an idiot. He should live less diligently like me.

To the penguins plotting escape in the call and the trembling dissident in front of me, I said:

“I figured out what our next title should be.”

— The title?

The ones whining a second ago lit up at the word title.

“So here’s what I’m thinking...”

I began explaining my idea to the suddenly serious kids.

A new song to follow “Dokkaebi.”

It was the moment the rough draft of the full-album title track “Coin” was born.

— Mmm. Can’t it be “A Single Coin”? That sounds cooler.

“Absolutely not.”