In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

[......I’m doomed.]

I thought I’d hidden perfectly, and completely forgot the outfit was made of shiny fabric.

“That idiot.”

Ri Hyuk sighed and rubbed his temples.

“......”

“......”

Meanwhile Scarlet and I were in a weird standoff with a planter between us.

It felt like a scene out of a western.

Two cowboys with hands on their holsters, life or death decided by who fires first.

“......”

Sneak, sneak.

Seeing the four of them tiptoe toward me, I tiptoed backward.

If even one person broke into a run, hell’s relay would begin.

“Wooju.”

Ara, Scarlet’s eldest, called me in a calm voice.

“Yes, Ara.”

“Let’s not make this hard. Let’s do it the easy way. Come have a chat with me.”

“We can talk right here, Ara.”

“I just want to talk a little more up close and personal.”

I mean, sure.

I get the sentiment.

“Then why is Nayun cracking her neck if we’re just talking?”

“Nayun’s neck gets stiff a lot~”

Daisy nodded.

“Vocal-cord training, oppa. We’re singers.”

I was inching backward, watching the girl-group members lie without even wetting their lips.

Thunk.

My heel caught a wall.

Dead end.

We were squared off, me and Scarlet inside the capture net in front of the closed elevator doors.

I shifted my waist just enough to press the elevator button and lifted a hand to say don’t come any closer.

“Now!”

Right as the four were about to pounce—

[ding!]

The doors slid open.

“......huh?”

And a voice behind me made me turn my head.

A familiar laugh.

“......”

Our CEO and I made eye contact.

CEO Park Gyuho, who’d been watching Scarlet about to jump me, blinked.

Now was exactly when the CEO should ask, “What’s going on?” and I should cry, “I’m being persecuted by this vile mob!”

That’s how it should’ve gone, but......

“Ahem, ahem......”

His pupils unfocused as he processed the scene.

Playing dumb.

Muttering blankly, “Hyunsik... what a jerk...,” he drifted out of sight between the [ding!]ing doors as they closed again.

“CEO?”

“......”

“CEO!”

“......”

Scarlet’s main vocalist Bom cackled.

“The CEO’s gone.”

“......”

“Now! Let’s—”

“Wait!”

A solution to this whole situation popped into my head.

I spoke to the girl group, who had their arms crossed like they’d hear my last words.

“I’ve been trying to say this, but things were hectic. There’s one thing I haven’t told you.”

“What is it?”

“Did you put your names on the waiting list for Ujuseon’s composer queue?”

“......!”

The girl group’s eyes grew dewy, like they’d realized something.

I beamed.

“That’s right! Ujuseon wrote a song for you!”

Five minutes later.

I was being treated like royalty.

“Heeheehee.”

“Oh, Wooju. If it was that, you should’ve told us sooner. We almost hurt our precious little brother.”

“Have a cold drink.”

I took the paper cup from Nayun and sipped; the taste was tangy and nutty.

“Hm? What is this?”

“Naengmyeon broth.”

Our main vocalist asked from among the little minions lined up behind her.

“......Why is naengmyeon broth in the fridge, Ara?”

“Ara’s parents run a naengmyeon place.”

Our maknae slurped and asked:

“This is yummy. Can I have more?”

“Mm-hmm.”

While the naengmyeon-broth trade was happening, I looked around.

Scarlet’s studio was pink, pink, pink.

It’s right next to our studio, but we rarely have reason to come by; idol schedules in the same company don’t usually overlap.

“Looks just like before.”

It was about the same as when I’d followed Nayun in, back in 2014. Pink decor, zebra cushions.

Truly unique taste.

“But what’s with the sparkly outfit?”

Bom asked, sipping iced Americano.

“Floral print, really pretty.”

“Oh, this? A French designer sent it.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“Le Blanc...!”

Biju answered for me.

After my brothers loudly bragged that “this hyung’s walking a runway,”

the counterattack began.

“Our Rina’s a global ambassador for Vertier. The designer said she’s his muse.”

“That’s why Rina ranked first in girl-group reputation.”

“We’re all modeling for at least one luxury brand, too~”

This must be what collective soliloquy looks like.

Everyone just saying what they want.

I sipped naengmyeon broth and watched them boast about their own.

The wall was covered with photos—Scarlet’s history on display.

Debut. First music-show win. Big awards.

The maknae asked:

“So how many years has it been for you now?”

“We started two years before you, so year six.”

“Wow... time flies.”

Scarlet.

A girl group that debuted in 2012, two years ahead of us.

From debut year, good digital numbers, visuals, and just-right marketing formed a perfect trifecta—our seniors, called “the miracle of a mid-sized company.”

In a way, they contributed hugely to NewBlack being born now.

Scarlet’s earnings paid for our debut album.

“The tables have turned now, and we eat well off your money. Huhuhu.”

“Even if we drop a hundred million on meals, nobody complains anymore.”

“Thanks, Ujuseon and minions.”

......The self-proclaimed goddesses cackled, and I smiled warmly.

Anyway.

Since 2012, Scarlet has been steadily successful.

Notable point: their fanbase skews heavily female.

Compared to us, a boy group, they have fewer male fans. On days when a Scarlet fan meeting has lots of male fans, people murmur.

They aren’t the top girl group, but with steady results and a strong core fandom, they land top-five every year.

They’re digital monsters, so they’ve got public pull, too.

That’s everything I’d rounded up from poking around.

For details, better to hear from them now.

“You’re doing a survival show right now, right? The TBC girl-group survival.”

“Right.”

Ara answered my question.

“We’re filming hard. We came to the company today to practice for it.”

“How is it?”

I watched last year’s KM Entertainment survival, On the Stage, and that soul-grinding competition made me feel bad for them already.

Ara shrugged.

“That’s survival shows. But once we’re in the studio the vibe’s actually cozy. We all eat beef together.”

“Really?”

The Spirit: War of the Stars, the survival show Scarlet joined, was airing right now.

Ri Hyuk asked:

“The TV clips make it look brutal.”

“That’s editing. In reality, we get along fine and laugh when we meet, but once it’s on air, it looks like that.”

So they’re friendly with the other contestants, but the broadcast is full of devil’s edits.

Downside: it makes fans fight like crazy.

Bom said:

“Honestly, we all agreed to take that on. Survival has to be spicy to hit.”

“True.”

“Still, when it’s warm, they edit it warm. The PD who did Biju’s show is on this, too.”

“Oh! Are they doing well?”

It’s co-directed by the PD who handled last year’s dance-competition show and another “spice specialist.”

They’re booming with a sweet-salty edit, and that made me smile.

I only checked stage videos—arrangements, staging ideas—so I didn’t know the details.

If the people involved are satisfied, that’s a relief.

“The lineup is Girls on Top, Fall Girls, NYX, High Color, and La Vie en Rose, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Ara made a wry face.

“Most of us are in the same boat. Younger teams keep debuting, and we’re the ones hitting our later years, stepping down slowly.”

We smiled awkwardly.

Boy group or girl group, unless you’re special, around year five you start losing gas.

Maybe sensing the slump, Ara smiled brightly.

“That’s why we’re on this survival. We’ll rebound and hit our second golden age.”

“A golden age!”

“...Who’s Mr. Golden Age?”

Junhyun, who’d been zoning out, whispered and everyone cracked up.

Right then, Rina—quietly sipping warm tea alone—brushed her hair back.

“Actually, good timing.”

“Huh?”

“Our final live round—we’re performing a new song.”

She always speaks softly, so the calm words drew every gaze.

“I was thinking we could use the song you mentioned.”

“That’s good.”

Bom agreed.

“It’d be perfect then.”

“Hey, we have to hear it first.”

When I waved it off, Bom’s eyes curved gently.

“From how your kids reacted, you don’t have to worry.”

“Eh?”

I turned my head—and almost burst out laughing.

The second “new song” came up, my minions puffed up, rolling their shoulders.

The maknae preened.

“It’s a smash.”

“Our hyung’s a total genius.”

“Tonight’s late-night snack is on the ladies.”

I snorted at my kids bragging “We raised Ujuseon!” and pulled a USB from my pocket.

“Give it a listen.”

Originally, the four had sworn to break him the moment they met.

Just a month ago:

—Guys! Ju Sunwoo picked up our variety show!

—Oh! Which one?

—From Now On, We Are! Escape variety!

—Whoaaaa!

They put up a picture of Ju Sunwoo and offered up thankful prayers.

But the second they got to set, that gratitude shattered.

—Didn’t Ujuseon tell you? Today’s a tiny bit scary special......

—Sorry?

A mansion with odd vibes.

There, they were chased by a two-meter human head—aka “head ghost”—and suffered all sorts of trials.

—Unnie! There’s a pretty unnie in the well! She’s insanely pretty!

—Pretty? Where?

—Aaaaah! There’s a person inside the mirror!

—Smash it! Smash the mirror!

Terrified, they went “Waaah!” throwing their fists and boom-boom-boom, lay waste to the set as they ran.

They were so scared that even when they locked eyes with the extras after filming, still trembling, they jumped out of their skins.

No idea why the extras jumped too, though.

‘......This is all Sun Wooju’s fault. Sun Wooju won’t get away with this.’

They’d been waiting for the day to settle it.

Then the guy standing at the elevator said, “Ta-da! I’m Ujuseon,” and their hearts swayed like reeds.

‘What’s in front of us isn’t Sun Wooju—it’s Ujuseon. Ujuseon.......’

Scarlet smiled.

“Okay, playing it now.”

“Yesss~!”

The giggles vanished; they listened with serious eyes.

As the heavy drumbeat made their chins bob, the signature, suddenly-hooking melody of moombahton burst out.

“Oh.”

From the jump, the song grabbed them; their eyes went wide.

Then Wooju’s guide vocal came in.

If you happen to be hearing this

please let go of your anger (let it go~)

They focused—killer falsetto over lyrics that... really weren’t.

Still got good ratings, right?

Isn’t that what matters? (isn’t it~)

For some reason, Ri Hyuk’s voice dropped in like an ad-lib—annoying.

Ah

it hasn’t aired yet, you say

The lyrics did get in the way a bit, but satisfied smiles tugged at their lips.

No—more than satisfied.

‘Unnie, this is huge.’

‘I love it.’

They could already see themselves burning everything up in a brilliant dance.

Now they saw why Wooju said he wrote it for them.

Scarlet.

If sound had a color, this track felt drenched in red—passion and heat.

Above all... it was new, and that was good.

‘It’s the song we need.’

As °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° a girl group heading into year six, Scarlet spent late nights in deep worry.

—What do we do now?

Fans weren’t leaving, and results weren’t bad.

If anything, a plateau.

This promo felt like the last one, the last one like the one before.

It was strange.

They’d worked several times harder than the last album, and yet the outcome felt the same.

Digging for the reason, Scarlet found a hint in their juniors.

—Maybe they keep growing because the “show” keeps changing? They did Korean-style, then retro the next time.

NewBlack, serving new spectacles every time, kept growing.

The engine of that growth was new songs.

Even though the genres swung wildly album to album, every track still felt, “Yep, that’s a NewBlack song,” naturally, without dissonance.

—Should we try that too?

—But not everyone can do that. That’s because it’s Ujuseon.

—And thinking of the fans, it’s tricky. They love us as we are now.

Doing new music while keeping your existing color isn’t easy.

Like flopping when you jump from “pure” concept to “hard” concept overnight.

And above all—if you chase new fuel with a new attempt, what about the fans who loved you as you were?

Our fans love our music now. Is it okay to risk something new?

After endless discussion,

Director Cho Kyuhwan, who’d been talking with them, reached a conclusion.

‘First let’s find a new composer, kids. I’ll talk to Dooly.’

‘Dooly? The PD?’

‘No, no...! Wooju. Wooju.’

Director Cho relayed that to Sun Wooju around January.

Six months passed—“He must be swamped”—and they were lining up other composers when,

finally, a composer carved out time and came to them.

‘Ujuseon.......’

Under the softly brushed hair, eyes shone steady.

From nose to fine jaw, the line drew a gentle arc every time he listened.

The country’s top genius composer right now.

He goofs and acts weird enough to undersell his looks, but no one takes him lightly.

Every time one of the songs in that small head comes out into the world, the trend of K-pop shifts.

In that sense......

‘......When this drops, it’ll blow up.’

The song Wooju was playing for them now could change the whole girl-group landscape.

‘This is a hundred-percent explosion.’

It’s nothing like what’s out there, but it feels great.

The sound is unusual, but it’s good enough that you’d think, “Can we really hold this until the final?”

Sorryyy~

So it’s all my fault, y’knowww~

......They’d have to get a real lyricist, though.

“Mm. That’s it.”

The handsome guy tapped his laptop and looked over.

Either he knew his song was monstrous or he didn’t; he just smiled sunny.

“So? How was it?”

“Uh......”

How do you even say this exactly?

If it were just “good,” we’d have jumped up, tossed him in the air a few times, and thrown him.

It was too good, and the words in our heads were crashing into each other.

While members went uh... trying to choose words, Rina answered calmly.

“Meat.”

“Huh?”

“For the next month, we’ll transfer enough money for us to eat meat.”

“......!”

At Rina’s words, our same-age juniors and my minions teared up.

The highest form of thanks.

Laughter bubbled among people trading eye-talk—“you know,” “we know~.”

Giggling, Wooju called to his minion.

“Secretary Seo.”

“What.”

“Prepare the contract.”

“We recorded, so—yeah, yeah.”

Since a verbal deal can’t be trusted, the minions prepared paperwork and started drawing little teddy bears.

Watching the monitor, Nayun tilted her head.

“Oppa.”

“Mm?”

“Why isn’t the composer credit Ujuseon? It’s someone else.”

“This is a song where the focus should be on Scarlet, not me.”

Everyone was touched by the noble intent, but Nayun still blinked.

“I swear I’ve heard that alias before.”

“Oh, I took it from the person I love and respect most in the world. Our Ms. Kim Deoksun.”

“Oh. Her......!”

How could a meat lover not know the great founder of NewBlack.

As Scarlet showered praise, NewBlack’s leader grinned.

“So for this track, I won’t use Ujuseon. I’ll use a different name.”

“Ooooooh.”

“By adding one stroke and one dot to Kim Deoksun...!”

The maknae smartly blew it up in a big font.

Three letters popped up—du-dun!

“It’s Kim Deokchun...!”

His face sparkled along with the gem-studded outfit as he bragged he’d borrowed his favorite’s name.