In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

As I rode the palanquin up onto the auditorium stage, coughs and laughter mixed here and there.

“Biju.”

“Yes.”

When Biju pressed the button, bursts of flower powder whooshed out of the palanquin.

“Kehk!”

“Gah... cough cough!”

Eliminations kept coming one after another.

“Yes.”

I stepped down from the palanquin for a moment with the mic in hand.

“Those of you who just laughed, please step back for a bit. You’re eliminated.”

Because this was a no-laughing bet, I kept my voice very prim and soft as I continued.

In the meantime, all the external composers retreated to the back.

Only our people remained.

“As expected of our Lemon Entertainment family.”

“I’ve seen you too long to laugh at a gag like that.”

I nodded at Team Leader Na Sangyun’s confidently straight face.

Then I got to the point.

“Yes, as you just saw, the more you think you must not laugh, the more it tickles, right? In technical terms, that’s the frog-spirit effect. Mm, minions. Fan a little cooler...”

As the minions waved pipa-shaped fans, Hyeongseop stared into the air, straining to hold back a laugh.

The external composers lined up in back watched with eyes that said this was peak fun.

I spoke in a serious voice.

“I’m sure the palanquin entrance surprised many of you, but we’re doubling this as filming for ‘Sun Wooju’s Rest Diary.’ With that said, I’ll properly explain the song camp.”

Ri Hyuk, who had hooked up the laptop, started the slideshow.

“Ah. Before that, we should send off the guards. They’re on a short dispatch from the Mungyeong historical-drama set. Please give them a hot round of applause.”

“Waaaaaa—!”

“If you laugh, you’re out.”

“Waaaaaa....”

The guards nodded along to the clapping.

The guard captain bowed to me, then shouted to his men.

“Hey, you lot!”

“Yes—.”

“Let’s clock out.”

“Yes—!”

Maybe the no-laughing rule had lowered their threshold; a few of our company’s A&R team were eliminated.

Hyeongseop stared into space with a face like he might cry.

As court music rang out and the flag-bearing guards marched off, a few more people sniffled and got knocked out.

I waved to the guard unit.

“You have labored well, sirs.”

“Long live Prince Wooju...!”

More eliminations popped.

While the eliminated snickered, the hardy few who survived kept poker faces and sat firm.

Formidable, as expected.

“Alright, then we should continue with the explanation of this song camp. As you heard, any talk about songs or composing during these three days will draw a penalty.”

“I have a question.”

“Yes, Team Leader Na Sangyun.”

“Does that include you and your minions?”

“No.”

We all shook our heads.

“We are exceptions to that rule. You can’t talk about songs, but we can.”

“Why?”

“Because we secured a budget from the CEO.”

“Understood.”

It was just a normal exchange, but Hyeongseop lifted a hand to his eye like he might cry. Seems he has no immunity to holding in laughter.

“Where was I. Secretary Potato?”

“It’s Sweet Potato. I forgot.”

“Incompetent. You’re fired.”

“Thank you.”

A few remaining composers looked up at the ceiling.

After I checked with Ri Hyuk how far I’d gotten, I continued.

“Yes...”

My voice came out a touch husky.

It was just a calm little “yes,” but a few composers suddenly burst out laughing and were eliminated.

Crying, Hyeongseop shuffled out.

Four remained.

“We researched how other companies usually run a song camp. Typically you listen through a list of viable instrumentals and pick one to work on.”

I cleared my throat and went on.

“And even for choosing those instrumentals, we’ll be introducing a unique method.”

Maybe because it was work talk, curiosity lit the composers’ eyes.

“To talk about that, first...”

At my signal, the youngest started playing a recorder. The Titanic OST wheezed out, pew-reek, pew-reek.

A recorder full of dissonance.

PD Na Sangyun shut his eyes and puckered his lips.

“While I was stuck in a hospital bed, things like that came to me. Lying there, a few melodies I’d been tinkering with before the admission floated back up. Strangely, most others I couldn’t remember, but a few were so vivid.”

And then I realized.

Those melodies that still came back days later—those were truly well-made.

In the end, a composer’s ultimate goal is to make songs that stick in memory.

“So today we’ll play through the instrumental list you could work on. Just listen and let it go. If three days later something still pops into your head, I’d like you to work on that one.”

Ri Hyuk started playing the files.

“Instrumentals submitted by me, the producing team, the A&R team, and you other composers are all in here.”

Roughly thirty short clips flowed by, and the composers’ eyes grew deep.

When that listening session ended—

I turned to the four producing-team staffers who had held out through the no-laughing game and asked, dead serious:

“Thank you for lasting to the end. May I ask one question?”

“What is it.”

“What do you call it when a king falls over?”

“......”

“King kong.”

“......?”

“King. Bean.”

While the younger guys and junior composers went “What is he even...,” it must have hit the sweet spot for the four older men—they burst out laughing.

A bit of a cheap shot, but that made it a clean sweep.

I grinned wide.

“Alright. The bet is over. Everyone can laugh freely now.”

“Phew...”

As everyone exhaled and worked their facial muscles, the composers looked at us, all smiles, and asked:

“I have one more question!”

“Yes!”

“What was the prize for the no-laughing game?”

“There wasn’t a prize.”

At our tinkling laughter, the composers’ eyes narrowed.

“From ‘Sun Wooju’s Rest Diary’”

NewBlack and the composers set off on a proper rest trip.

Scenes roll of a famous restaurant in Namhae County with a cozy vibe, where they eat anchovy ssambap and sashimi set meals.

Restaurant owner: “Oh my, who’s this! My boys!”

NewBlack: “Hello~!”

Restaurant owner: “Wooju, is your body alright?”

Wooju: “Oh, I’m fine. I’m fully recovered now.”

Restaurant owner: “Good. Health comes first. But... why did you ride a palanquin?”

Each time they visit, people ask after Wooju like he’s their own grandson or nephew.

Getting his back patted like family and asked about his health, Wooju smiles happily at their warmth.

That kicks «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» off shots of NewBlack touring the sights by palanquin.

Meanwhile, in the yard of the lodging, the composers gather around for a barbecue and chat in low voices.

Composer 1: “Uh... I mean, thanks and all. But is this really okay?”

Composer 2: “That’s what I’m saying. The food goes down so easy, but I feel a bit uneasy in the corner of my heart.”

Composer 3: “They really aren’t making us work.”

Sharing that kind of talk, the composers smile.

Composer 1: “Rest is good.”

Composer 2: “Right. Resting is how better songs come.”

But while they’re saying that, NewBlack at the next table is eating meat and talking shop.

Wooju: “So I want this song’s concept to be about ‘us.’ Not ‘you and me’ like before, but our story.”

Biju: “A story about us. I like it.”

Jiho: “It could serve as a link between this full album and the next one, too.”

As they quietly debate how to make the title musically, the composers’ ears perk.

Their mouths itch, but they hold it in.

They tear into the meat, deliberately looking away.

Composer 1: “Let’s just rest for three days.”

Composer 3: “Let’s do that.”

With their laughter, day one draws to a close.

Day three of rest.

“Mmmmmmmm...”

The composers let out low groans.

“Nnnnnngh.”

“Why am I so antsy. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

“Everyone feeling okay? My condition’s great... but I feel stifled for some reason.”

They’d truly rested for about two days, but the composers were feeling something off.

Like resting without really resting.

Their bodies felt fantastic... but mentally, they felt boxed in.

There were many reasons, but mostly—

“I want to do something.”

For the past two days, talk about composing or songs was absolutely banned.

Listening to songs was banned, too.

At first they loved it—“freedom from music, real rest!”—but after two days, the mood changed.

“Let’s go on a trip~”

Someone was humming out of boredom when Junghyeon suddenly popped out of a bush and blew a whistle.

“Singing is banned. That’s one penalty point.”

“Coach... I mean, Junghyeon. Even humming like this is no good?”

“Wooju says no.”

“......”

A total ban on singing, too.

At this point the composers could relate to the protagonist of Equilibrium.

A society where all art and music are forbidden. The hero secretly steals a listen and cries...

They saw their present in that image.

And the most painful thing of all:

“Should we reference some Latin pop, hyung? Looking at Billboard, it feels like Latin pop locked in as the trend since January.”

“That’ll be hard. Latin pop is in the sexy lane; that’s tough for us.”

“I’m an adult now, I can do it.”

“No, doing that won’t make people see us as sexy.”

“Ah...”

They couldn’t so much as open their mouths even when the talk drifted to Billboard trends or the domestic market.

Especially when the maknae, who spouts fake news one time out of four, started in, their tongues burned.

“Oh! That! That song that’s trendy lately. Esperanto.”

“Despacito, surely...”

“I think ballads are going to outdo hook songs now. But if we’re dropping in summer, maybe a genre like Torabanco house.”

“It’s tropical house, Jiho.”

One composer, unable to bear it, cupped his mouth with his shirt like the man who cried that the king’s ears were donkey ears, and muffled, “Tropical house.”

[Beep!]

Junghyeon immediately raised his whistle.

“Penalty point.”

“Aaaaargh!”

The composers clutched their heads and lamented.

“Can’t we just work?”

“Wooju, we were wrong. Please let us work. This suffocation is unbearable.”

“You can work while resting.”

But Wooju, sipping his drink, turned his head at the pleas.

“Hmm...”

The handsome man lounging in the flower palanquin shook his head.

Acting as voice deputy for our eldest’s perfect rest, Biju smiled demurely.

“He says no.”

“Wooju, we don’t need the gift set... just let us work. We want to work so badly.”

When Wooju went “Mmmm,” Biju’s smile turned warm.

“He says he’s thinking about it.”

“Wooju...!”

Wooju pondered, then groaned.

“He says shouting keeps vexing him.”

“......”

“He says please wait.”

But after thinking, Wooju slowly shook his head again.

“He says no.”

“Aaaaaaaah!”

“Still, there is one bit of good news for you.”

As Biju spoke, the composers looked up with quiet hope.

Ri Hyuk stepped out holding the schedule.

“We’ve packed the afternoon with items for your wonderful rest. Each of you gets one full-body massage voucher at the resort spa. In the evening, we’ll go eat a Namhae specialty.”

“......”

The composers let a row of tears roll down.

Even Lemon Entertainment’s A&R and producing teams, who’d been tormented by NewBlack, were in a similar state.

“I really can’t take this.”

“I’m dying here too...”

Like grade-schoolers on summer break.

Then Mom shows up and says, “From today, studying is absolutely banned! Don’t even say the S-word, just play!” At first it’s “Oh! Sweet!” but...

Human nature is a frog at heart.

Say it’s absolutely banned, add penalty points, and suddenly you want to peek at a workbook. You feel like you could live a model student’s life if the ban lifted. The cartoons you loved turn boring.

The composers felt the same.

Tell regular folks to rest a few days and they’ll shout thank you, but these are musicians in the arts. They chose this one-track life everyone warns against because they love music.

For people who can debate music all night, this environment was like a heaven with bars.

“This won’t do.”

That night at last—

After dinner at the best place in Namhae, the composers gathered in secret.

“We can’t keep this up. Let’s just work a little on the sly. Honestly, we’re going to work starting tomorrow anyway, right?”

“Right.”

“Better to dabble a bit now than stay guilty and restless.”

Like a scene plotting the French Revolution, they lowered their voices.

“Shall we listen to anything, just to hear something?”

“Good.”

NewBlack’s ‘Coin’ came on next.

“Hm? Why this one?”

“I hit Mango Chart Top 100 and this was number one...”

“Let’s just listen. I’ll take anything.”

“Hyah...” The composers finally looked like they could breathe again.

They were murmuring that ‘Coin’ was so well made when—

Knock knock.

“Hm?”

They checked the intercom and their faces drained white.

“Um, it’s Junghyeon.”

“How did he know?”

“Good hearing? I heard he can catch the sound of grilling on the first floor from the fourth.”

“Wh-what do we do? Hold out?”

“Just open and bluff.”

They opened the door, faces tense.

Kim Junghyeon held out a penalty card with a genial face.

“Penalty.”

“Wait...”

“Listening to a song and attempting to compose were detected, so I came. Haha.”

“...How did you know?”

More than fear at being caught, curiosity won.

Kim Junghyeon chuckled.

“Did you know.”

“Yes?”

“That among you there is a manitto we planted...”

“......”

“Have a good night.”

He bowed and sauntered off.

Back in the room, a faint silence spread among the composers.

“So we had a traitor.”

“Phew... let’s just play Go-Stop.”

“Do we get anything for being the manitto? Maybe another Korean beef set?”

Distrust bloomed among the composers.

In the end, unable to trust one another, the composing circle degenerated into a Go-Stop circle.

Out in the hall, chewing jelly, Kim Junghyeon looked up at the bright moon and let out a thoughtful hum.

“Junghyeon. If they ask how you knew, tell them we hid a manitto among the composers.”

Wooju hyung’s tinkling laugh rang in his head.

Kim Junghyeon nodded.

In truth, he’d just happened to overhear it passing by, but once he said that, the composers went eeee and started playing cards.

At that sight he renewed his resolve.

“I should never end up on the opposite side of Wooju hyung.”

It really was a blessing our eldest grew up straight.

Just as the composers’ urge to work was peaking—

“Namhae footage has arrived.”

“Yeah?”

The NewBlack TV crew, famous at Lemon Entertainment for being the busiest and best paid, had received day-two footage for “Sun Wooju’s Rest Diary.”

“Let’s see.”

“Wow, by day two they’re itching to work. Is it because they’re music people? They look so pent-up.”

“Why is Junghyeon hiding in a bush?”

“Where? Oh...”

“Want to hear something crazier? Wooju’s right next to him.”

“Heeee!”

“Look at them using camouflage. Like chameleons.”

The crew smiled at the sight of NewBlack’s eldest using his green T-shirt as camouflage.

“I knew from the start... healing wouldn’t happen.”

“They’re filming variety again.”

Even so, there was plenty to package as healing.

Wooju, moved by the locals’ warm hearts.

The leader and his brothers video-calling Mrs. Kim Deoksun to show the Namhae scenery and shouting “We love you!” together.

Faces in the producing team, usually haggard from hard work, finally regaining color.

“Not bad, huh?”

“Good. At this level we can intercut it pretty.”

As they talked—

“Hm? Looks like the composers are sneaking into the auditorium.”

The composers seemed to be approaching their work rigs in the hall.

They looked like thieves—perfect for background music, the PD thought.

“Hm?”

Dim shapes waiting in the corner began to glow.

Like a red light switching on in a robot’s eyes.

[Wuuuuuuuuum—]

Three small sleeping drones rose with a whoooom and floated toward the composers.

The crew burst out laughing.

[Waaagh! What is this!]

[Attention! You are now approaching a restricted area. Repeating: You are now approaching a restricted area.]

[Aaah! Save us!]

As Ri Hyuk’s voice boomed from the drone speakers, the crew clapped like seals and laughed.

Soon the composers were running, screaming, chased by drones.

Watching that prime variety setup, the PD spoke to the others.

“Funny.”

“At this rate we could sell it to a terrestrial network.”

“K-Net is basically a lock.”

They replayed the scene.

One sharp-eyed staffer, parsing the composition, asked another—because a fitting BGM and reference had popped to mind.

Machines chasing humans.

“Should we lay in something Terminator-ish?”

“That’s perfect.”

Smiling in satisfaction, the crew began to edit.

And thus, to the composing-cum-healing reality show “Sun Wooju’s Rest Diary,” the genre of horror was newly added.