In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

The sweet Lunar New Year break came to an end.

— Devil! You’re a devil!

— Wooow... the title track is good... wooow. Wow.

— Hyung. Can I go sleep now? My dad says I have to sleep early so I’ll get taller.

— If it’s like this, what’s even the point of a holiday break...

The next morning I woke up feeling fresh.

Maybe because we drafted “Coin” over video call with the younger ones, I felt ridiculously satisfied.

“A packed holiday.”

“Sorry, but you do know the ‘break’ in holiday means rest, right? As in rest.”

“There’s another meaning—to warm. Thanks to me, this holiday was really warm. Right, Ri Hyuk?”

“...”

Deciding he had no chance in a war of words, Ri Hyuk just mumbled.

I took the suitcase from the grumbling main vocal, carried it downstairs from the second floor.

Morning sun flooded the living room.

“Leaving already?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you even do that you’re leaving so soon.”

I went to Grandma with her grumpy face and gave a deep hug. I rubbed Nabi’s head where she sat in Grandma’s arms.

A stiff /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ tongue licked the back of my hand.

While we were putting on shoes at the entryway, Madam Kim Deoksun turned to Ri Hyuk.

“You too, get home safe.”

“Yes...”

“I don’t know if there’ll be a chance, but if there is, come play again.”

“Is... is that okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be.”

Grandma pat-patted his shoulder; Ri Hyuk shuffled over and hugged her.

“Oh my.”

Watching from behind, I could swear steam puffed from his crown. His ears were about to blow.

Face pink like a flamingo, Ri Hyuk smiled happily.

“Thank you, Grandma. I’ll come again.”

“Sure.”

“Grandma, we’re off!”

Grandma held Nabi’s forepaws and waved; we waved back and stepped out.

We kept looking back as we walked, and before we knew it, we were outside the gate.

A late-January wind whipping down the alley.

“Back to the grind, huh.”

“It’s about that time.”

While saying that, Ri Hyuk asked:

“But you said there’s a place to stop before we go.”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“A place I can see Mom and Dad.”

Before heading back to Seoul, the last stop I wanted was the Sun Myungju Memorial in Gunsan.

Sun Myungju Memorial.

A place made to honor Dad’s work; I’d drop by once a year whenever we came to Gunsan.

I usually didn’t tell Grandma—didn’t want her to worry.

“Fourth.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s check. Your face.”

“It’s covered.”

“Hood?”

“On.”

Baseball cap yanked low, hood pulled down, mask on—only the eyes showed.

Except...

Those eyes.

His eyes stood out even more—maybe because they were so pretty to begin with.

“Can’t you hide your eyes?”

“That’s my line. You think only I stand out?”

“...Glasses.”

“Yep.”

We added sunglasses to conceal our identities.

We hid my current pinkish hair and his blond hair thoroughly.

Feeling like kings on a secret outing, we approached the memorial’s street.

“Heh heh heh heh. No one can recognize me, kukuk...”

“Don’t laugh suspiciously.”

“And stop walking like a crane. People are staring because you’re stepping stones like a crane.”

“What’s wrong with my gait.”

Bantering as we entered the lane, murals came into view.

Along stone walls on the way to the memorial were paintings of Dad playing piano, laughing.

A few people posed nearby—families taking photos, couples wandering—but it was a weekday morning after the holiday, so almost no one was around.

“There are a lot of cafés.”

“Yeah. It’s changed a lot. Back then there was really nothing.”

It must be a trending date course; Insta-ready eateries and vibe cafés lined the street.

Maybe I’d buy a slice of cake for Ri Hyuk after the tour.

Thinking that, we walked toward the Gunsan Sun Myungju Memorial. First, a broad lawn like a park.

“This way.”

Follow the path across the grass and you reach a three-meter monument engraved with Dad’s name.

Beyond that, a big three-story building.

“Two thousand won.”

“Here.”

At the desk, as we bought tickets, the staff tilted their head at us—looked like they weren’t sure.

I could’ve flashed who I was and gone in free, but I didn’t want to.

Tickets in hand, I walked back to Ri Hyuk.

“What are you doing?”

“Grabbing the pamphlets.”

I couldn’t help smiling.

Museums and memorials always have a pamphlet corner; he took every single one and hugged them like treasure.

Face excited, he even pulled out a file binder and slotted them in, then grabbed more.

“Why are you taking two of each?”

“This one’s for archiving. This one’s for reading.”

He opened one, swapped sunglasses for glasses. His eyes focused like the booklet was thrilling.

I took off my shades too and led him on.

“Let’s go.”

“What’s on the first floor?”

“Probably a special exhibit. I’ll show you on the way down.”

“An art exhibit...!”

Originally the first floor had a gift shop and lounge. The city converted the lounge into an exhibition hall for rental revenue.

“In spring and fall they do outdoor piano recitals out front. With little lights like fireflies—it’s beautiful.”

“Wow...”

“I watched a lot with Grandma when I was little.”

We chatted as we went up to the second floor.

Right at the entrance.

I pressed a button labeled [Push], and a screen on the wall hissed on—Dad sitting at the piano.

“Hello. I’m Sun Myungju.”

Slightly old-fashioned late-90s diction.

On screen, a classically handsome man smiled.

“I want to sincerely thank you for coming to see me. Do you like jazz?”

I could recite the next words with him.

“It’s fine if you don’t. That’s music. There’s no music everyone likes. But music loves everyone who listens. I try to perform with that in mind.”

His fingers moved smoothly over the keys, and a jazz swing flowed out.

Reading the caption, Ri Hyuk clicked his tongue in wonder.

“That was improvised while filming?”

“Yeah.”

“...Truly a father-and-son thing.”

“Right?”

Grinning, I looked at Dad’s smiling face on screen.

It felt strange.

Every year I got closer to Dad’s age, but the Dad on screen never changed.

He probably never will.

We started with the welcome jazz piece and walked through Dad’s history on the second floor together.

“I always feel good when I come here.”

Maybe because it holds the scent of my parents—the good parts—so it feels like a room of memories.

Beautifully colored jazz pieces trickled out.

Everything was great, except the occasional “Please do not touch the deceased’s belongings.”

“Wow...”

Ri Hyuk stopped at one corner, awestruck.

“Your mother is so elegant. Like a queen.”

“Right? That’s my mom.”

“Sun Myungju × Lee Myeongeun Love Story”—a photo of Mom and Dad embracing, beaming.

In the middle, a photo of the two holding me as a newborn.

Except...

“Huh?”

Something else had been added.

— Their son, Sun Wooju, is now a member of hit K-pop idol group NewBlack, riding a whirlwind of popularity worldwide, including Japan and Southeast Asia.

At the “worldwide popularity” line, we both snickered.

“What is that—worldwide popularity... cringe.”

“So we’re global superstars.”

“This is so embarrassing. Can we revise it?”

“Go tell them.”

That felt wrong too, so I waved it off.

We continued through the third floor.

Like rewatching a favorite film, every photo and caption was familiar to me, but to Ri Hyuk it seemed special.

He nodded at Dad’s comments on music.

He stared quietly at photos from Carnegie Hall recitals, and of medals pinned before foreign presidents, prime ministers.

Taking off his glasses, Ri Hyuk said:

“While we were walking, I thought... It would’ve been nice if the hyungs and Wang Jiho were here too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. If we get a chance, I want to come together.”

“...All right. Sure.”

I’d thought it might bore them, but he seemed to enjoy it more than I expected.

Honestly I’d been absorbed in the exhibits too.

Then Ri Hyuk said:

“But those pieces he wrote during his ‘rest’ period—the around-’93 ones.”

“About when I was born.”

Sun Myungju had a few distinct eras. One was the “rest period.”

Around 1993, when I was born, Dad declared a rest to spend time with Mom.

Rumor had it that around ’92 to ’94 he wrote an enormous number of pieces.

It was a rumor close to truth.

“When Myeongeun was sleeping, your dad would hold you and scribble on sheet music. When you went waaah and woke, he’d change you and feed you. Then he’d go back to scribbling.”

Grandma had told me.

People said he wrote hundreds; a few had been revealed, but

the reality of that supposedly enormous trove remained unreleased.

Some said it was just a rumor—if it existed, it would’ve surfaced already; others said it was exaggerated.

“So... where did they go?”

“I don’t know either. They’re somewhere, I guess.”

I thought of world-famous pianist Paul Laurent, whom I’d met in France for a joint concert.

Dad had recognized his talent and nurtured him; in a Paris jazz bar he told me this:

“This is sudden, but do you know a piece called ‘Snowy Day’?”

He said around ’99 Dad had played him a melody—something he’d written for his son—that was amazing.

“He played it for me that day. Said it was for his son and asked what I thought. I wondered if you might know...”

That piece was probably among the missing.

“Hmmmm...”

First-floor café.

Sipping an americano through a straw under his mask, Ri Hyuk frowned in thought. I asked with a smile:

“You going to find them for me?”

“There’s no reason we can’t try. Anyone can do some sleuthing.”

“If you found them, I’d love it.”

After Dad passed, the world went crazy hunting hidden scores. If they were findable, they’d likely have been found then.

I sipped cocoa through a straw and smiled.

While he tapped at his phone—“hmmm”—I patted his shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Where else—go meet the kids.”

“Ah.”

“Treasure hunt later, brother.”

I lifted the still “hmmm”-ing Ri Hyuk to his feet, and we strolled out of the memorial.

I gave a short wave to the stone building still sparkling in the morning sun.

Take care, Mom and Dad.

Next time I’ll bring the other kids.

“United we’re weak, divided we’re strong!”

“Motley crew! Minions assemble!”

“Bwahahaha!”

After the holiday, we had a joyous family reunion with the younger ones.

Looked like everyone had a good time.

“I had so much fun. I even found a snake hibernating and improved its burrow. It was dug clumsily.”

“Ack! Don’t talk about snakes!”

“Want to see a pic? It’s a cutie.”

“Aaaargh!”

The maknaes shrieked and fled.

I asked the smugly smiling Junhyun:

“Do you actually have a photo?”

“No.”

“Was the snake real?”

“Ambiguous. I took the pic in a dream.”

Saying that, Junhyun happily stole leftover snacks the younger ones hadn’t finished.

Like a bear who lures, then steals the prey.

Bears are smart.

“Hyung.”

Biju pulled out his phone.

“I took a short family trip to Gangwon-do.”

“Was it fun?”

“Yes. But it was hard. I wore a mask, but people kept yelling ‘It’s Biju!’ and rushing me.”

“You have to hide your eyes too. People recognize you by eyes.”

“It was rough at the ski resort.”

We’d tried various experiments; sunglasses actually work better than a mask.

People still clock you as a celebrity, but if they can’t see the eyes, they hesitate.

“Want to see?”

He showed a clip of himself on a snowboard—unsurprisingly, our main dancer had great athletic sense.

“But where are you going after the run?”

“I got turned around about where my family was...”

“If you’re confused, go the opposite of where you think—then it’s right.”

“I’ll do that next time.”

As we swapped backlog stories, the maknae rattled off every little holiday incident to us.

“Everything was good, but my sisters bummed me out.”

“Why?”

“The second and third got boyfriends and wouldn’t play with me. I’m like ‘Noonaaa!’ and they’re glued to texting.”

“What about the oldest?”

“...Scary. She nags all the time.”

I mimicked the stern face of the eldest; Jiho shrieked.

Meanwhile, Ri Hyuk boasted about his time in Gunsan with me.

How much the cat loved him, how much Grandma doted on him, how the memorial was.

“Memorial?”

Unexpectedly, everyone perked up about it.

“What the heck, why’d you take only Ri Hyuk hyung? Stingy.”

“Then come next time.”

“Let’s go together next time. I need to eat Gunsan jjambbong and bread.”

“I’m in.”

I warned it might be boring, but no one seemed to mind.

After confirming everyone had rested well—

“Back to full throttle.”

We returned to our breathless, busy daily life.

February 1.

The first schedule after the break: New York City, USA.

“Waaaaaaa—!”

So many Souffle flocked like clouds that police came to keep order on Broadway.

With a crowd that could reduce a TV studio to ashes, we were given lavish treatment by The Allen Dale Show.

The host Allen Dale himself came to congratulate us.

“You made the Hot 100? Congrats!”

“Thank you.”

One reason for the warm welcome: after hitting #11 on Bubbling Under, “Dokkaebi” entered the Hot 100.

#99.

From #111 to #99, you could say.

“Even the rank is goblin-like...”

“Then maybe next is #88, if it goes up.”

At Junhyun’s quip, Biju asked:

“But why did it rise? Isn’t week one usually the peak?”

“Exactly.”

“I honestly don’t even know why we made the Hot 100.”

It was great—but confusing.

Like seeing a massive deposit hit your account and not knowing who sent it.

Anyway, we were at The Allen Dale Show for that reason.

After the talk show, the closing music stage—we were set to perform “Dokkaebi” there.

Honestly, our numbers weren’t quite at the level to sing on a talk show.

But Allen Dale seemed determined.

“I’m investing in you and I’ll hit the jackpot! Bwahahaha!”

An early investment to yank a big payoff later—like claiming “first talk show appearance,” that sort of thing.

“I hope his investment works out.”

“Me too.”

We said that as we soothed the shivering artists in the green room.

Aside from gayageum player Hong Arang, used to TV appearances and calmly checking her instrument, most of the gugak musicians were nervous.

“It’s a taping, so don’t be too tense. If you get nervous, picture the audience as potatoes.”

“American potatoes. American potatoes...”

“The potatoes clap. The potatoes cheer.”

Potato, potato, potato—we brainwashed them, and they loosened up.

A haegeum player asked:

“What if they’re cold because it’s unfamiliar music?”

“No way. Souffle have infiltrated the audience.”

As expected.

Just as we predicted, infiltrating Souffle erupted—Waaa!—and swept the rest along.

Gugak played in back; we danced up front.

With the concept “Goblins in America,” we wore jeans and colorful jackets—good response.

“Waaaaaaaa!”

The first and second floors of the Broadway theater undulated like waves.

We waved back to the infiltrating Souffle’s fervent cheers.

“Thanks for the hypnosis.”

“As expected of our fans.”

With that, we capped “Dokkaebi” promotion and headed home.

On the Incheon-bound flight, we heard sudden news.

“You got nominated for an award.”

“An award?”

We’d been nominated in the Global Star category at a U.S. ceremony next month.

“An American awards show nominated us?”

“Yeah.”

“Whoa...”

Seokhwan hyung added it was a pretty famous show.

“As far as I know, it’s a pretty important ceremony.”

“Really...?”

“I checked with the U.S. agency. You’re considered a strong contender in that category.”

“Ooh! Which one?”

“The Kids’ Choice Awards.”

“Kids’... Choice?”

Children’s choice?

With the 2017 election-night slogan “Choice” floating to mind, we joked to our manager:

“What, Kids’ Choice—so it’s a children’s awards show?”

“Yep. A children’s awards show.”

“...?”

“It really is a children’s awards show.”

“...What?”