In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

The impromptu debut of our Ubies drew a huge response.

"Waaaaaa!"

The crew greeted us with seal claps, and the middle-aged actor Kim Jeongnam burst out laughing.

"They always look bored when it’s me, but the second NewBlack shows up their eyes flip over."

"Thank you~!"

"Still, with such precious guests here—what is this weather..."

He glanced up at the clouded sky, then back at us.

"Looks like it’s set to rain all day. Do you two like rainy days?"

"Please speak comfortably, senior."

"All right, then."

At his easy question about rain, we answered with a smile.

"We like rainy weather!"

"Yeah?"

"Well, we like watching it fall from the dorm window—but we don’t like being in it..."

Sipping cocoa with jazz on—that’s the only time it’s nice, we added, and the crew nodded in sympathy.

A flower of a smile slipped onto the gruff veteran’s face.

"People are people everywhere."

"Even so, we’re not too worried about the rain today."

At Biju’s line, he perked up.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"When we saw it raining, we asked Junghyeon for the reverse of a rain ritual—to bring out clear skies."

He laughed.

"Would be great if that actually stopped it. Junghyeon’s the one where whatever he says, the opposite happens, right?"

"Yes—oh? You know?"

"How could I not know NewBlack. I know all your names. Wooju, Biju, Junghyeon, Ri Hyuk, Jiho."

We applauded as he ticked off each name on his fingers; he smiled, pleased.

An advance unit from the crew headed into Wolmyeong Park, and the host asked us:

"So what brings NewBlack to a show like this..."

"A show like this?"

"I mean it in a good way. You should be rolling around on something like Mister Producer, and here you are."

Why we took the booking.

Truthfully, there wasn’t some deep reason.

We’d shot tons of travel and daily reality for MiTube, but those weren’t programs made for the general public.

We had gone on a recent variety, From Now, We, but that was also aimed at the 20–40 crowd.

"Hmm."

Looking into the camera, I brought up a recent fan letter.

"We get a lot of letters now, from all age groups. One person who became a fan through My Hometown, Now wrote, ‘It’d be great if you went on shows like this.’"

From older fans who can’t easily catch MiTube or variety reruns—"We want to watch you..." type letters.

Biju added:

"We can’t all attend due to schedules, but we came because we want to meet more people like this."

"What good hearts."

Mr. Kim watched us with a fond look.

In that warm, admirable mood, Biju and I nodded at each other.

"Since the vibe is right, should we do a trot number?"

"Music—please!"

We belted a lively trot while still in ponchos to finish the opening.

The drizzle showed no sign of stopping; we waved up at the sky.

"Junghyeon! A little more power!"

"Kim Junghyeon! Power up!"

"Sunny skies!"

"Clear blue!"

Biju and I bounced as we sent our message to the priest back in Seoul; the crew cracked up.

Watching from the side, Mr. Kim laughed too.

"Ah. Like that would stop the—"

And then—

The gentle rain began to pause, drop by drop.

"Well I’ll be..."

The clouds slowly drew back toward the far-off sea.

Fifteen minutes later—

Warm sunlight poured over the rain-damp asphalt, and silence fell over the set.

"...So it was real."

Quipping about how much Junghyeon charges per rite, the senior’s words hung in the air as the crew stared at us in awe.

Of course—

"What the—why did it stop?"

"It actually stopped..."

Biju and I blinked at each other.

"Hyung. Is this..."

"It... works?"

The weather turned bright in an instant.

Far off, a cloud shaped like a bear paw seemed to wiggle, jupp-jupp.

Same time. Seoul.

"Hmm..."

Asked, half-in-jest, to stop the rain, Junghyeon was passing the time with a little prayer. He nodded.

"Wooju hyung’s kind of a dummy sometimes."

He shook his head.

"Like this would really stop rain."

On his phone—Wolmyeong Park, Gunsan.

In place of ritual water, a paper cup of Samdasoo.

He sipped from the cup and went back to mixing his mixtape on his laptop.

Right then—

Bzzzzzzz—

Bzzz—

Calls came in.

[Junghyeon! The rain stopped! Unreal!]

[Yo! What did you do?!]

As his two members called to thank him for stopping the rain, Junghyeon felt... confused.

When he hung up—

"Ooh..."

Kim Junghyeon stared at his big hands.

Five minutes ago he’d have said it was nonsense—but with everyone saying it, it felt like something.

"I might be kind of amazing."

He’s quick to accept things.

Wearing a happy sweet-potato smile, he glanced at the monitor with his mixtape session.

A part where he wanted hip-hop swagger in the lyrics.

"I am omnipotent. I can even stop the rain... Something like that."

He mumbled a rap and smiled, cozy as ever.

A mixtape that had been filed under "Untitled" gained a new name: "Weather Control."

With Wolmyeong Park as our start, the real filming began.

[First Food, Then Scenery] keeps it simple.

Literally—eat first, then walk off the meal while seeing the sights, then eat again.

Three square meals, that’s the show.

"Oohhh, that hits the spot."

A steaming bowl of kalguksu in the morning—pure happiness.

Milky broth with just-right savor; seaweed melting into the heat adds umami; and every chopstick lift brings a rustle of seafood packed inside.

Sipping the soup, blissed out, I heard Mr. Kim ask:

"Is it that good?"

"Yes."

"You eat so heartily."

"It is genuinely delicious, but I think it’s also because it’s hometown food. It hits different."

"Isn’t kalguksu just kalguksu?"

"Gunsan kalguksu is different~"

I slipped in some hometown pride and soft promo; staff peeking from the kitchen and nearby diners chimed in with "That’s right!"

Biju cut in, laughing.

"Wooju hyung is like this in Seoul, too. Says even the same McDonald’s tastes better in Gunsan."

"The fries are different."

Mr. Kim laughed.

"Yeah?"

"Yep~"

Biju kept telling stories about my usual Gunsan pride, and the mood turned cozy.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Mr. Kim asked:

"So how old were you when you lived here?"

"Basically from when I was really little. I lived in Seoul through kindergarten... then came here in grade school."

"Not quite a lifer."

"But from when I could really remember things, I was pretty much in Gunsan."

It was my hometown.

Skirting past my parents, Mr. Kim said:

"A place with weight."

"Yes."

It’s where Madam Kim Deoksun is.

Under the curious eyes of Biju and Mr. Kim, I loosened my story bag.

"By upper grades in elementary school, I started life in Seoul again."

"Alone...?"

"Yeah. I auditioned for TJ Entertainment and passed. Then I lived in the trainee dorm."

"How old then...?"

"Fifth grade? It’s hazy now."

"From that age..."

Seeing eyes around us suddenly go moist, I hurried to switch topics.

"Maybe because I started as a trainee too young—whenever I had to diet and go hungry, I kept thinking of Gunsan food."

"The seasoning’s different from Seoul."

"Yep~ I’ve eaten tons of amazing things in Seoul, but you still crave what you grew up on."

Saying how happy I was as I drained the soup, Mr. Kim smiled.

"Thanks to that early work, now you’re national idols..."

"Keck!"

"Hyung, you okay?"

"Khak! cough cough-hup—!"

I dabbed my mouth and told the puzzled veteran:

"The title ‘national idols’ still embarrasses me..."

"Me too..."

We fanned ourselves; the room laughed.

One mischievous diner piped up:

"Then if you hear the rest, you’ll faint~"

"Sorry?"

Mr. Kim asked; the man, having a morning hangover cure, grinned.

"There’s a saying in Gunsan. After Mr. Wooju debuted, tourism exploded. You talk about Gunsan so much on TV, people get curious and visit."

"Ooooh..."

"So they say we should rename it from Gunsan City to Wooju City."

I suddenly understood how Ri Hyuk feels at times—face blazing, wanting to hide.

Biju clapped, delighted; his eyes sparkled.

"If it really becomes Wooju City, I’m running for mayor."

"Please don’t..."

"I’ll be mayor and make it Wooju Special City..."

"Yeeaaah! Nice!"

"Ho-ho-ho! I like it!"

The diners, tipsy and merry, roared support for Biju’s bold platform.

"Kim Biju! Kim Biju!"

"Thank you, everyone!"

Watching Mr. Kim laugh until he held his belly, I rubbed my temples.

"Make Gunsan great again...!"

The slogan... needed work.

Well. It’ll be fine.

"The weather’s so good!"

"You’re really hyped, Wooju."

"I’m so happy!"

I felt we’d done well to appear on [First Food, Then Scenery].

Because of sasaengs and because we’re too recognizable to roam, I couldn’t really stroll even in Gunsan.

So now I was seeing sides of Gunsan I’d missed.

"Oh?"

Biju pointed at a restaurant and burst out laughing.

"Look, hyung!"

"What is it?"

"It says if you come, it’s free."

"For real...?"

A sign reading, Gunsan’s son, Sun Wooju, eats for free. The crew cracked up.

There was a lot more like that.

"That café’s promo says ‘Where Wooju and Ri Hyuk came.’ Your photo with Ri Hyuk is on it."

"Yeah. We went there."

Biju flipped the card from the kalguksu place we’d had in the morning; Mr. Kim asked:

"And Biju, what about you?"

"I’m going to call them later and ask to put up a photo of me and Wooju together."

He was faintly jealous; Mr. Kim and I both laughed.

In that healing mood, we toured Gunsan like we were visiting the city of Sun Wooju.

Here and there, people spotted us and went "Oh?!" and we did quick interviews.

"Our Wooju!"

"Oh my, long time no see."

"I’ve only seen you on TV—first time in person."

"Right~ and here’s Biju, too."

"Oh, oh, oh!"

The passerby who kept going "oh my" shook Biju’s hand like he’d struck gold.

"Our Biju, too—what a day. Where are the others? Our Junghyo and Ri Hyo, Jiho."

"They couldn’t come because of schedules."

Biju and I traded looks.

"It’s a bit..."

"It’s a bit."

We pounced on the way he’d just fumbled the names.

"But you know all our members’ names, right?"

"Of course~"

"Okay then—Kim Jung...?"

"Junghyo..."

"Is that a G or an N?"

Annoyingly teasing, we watched him clear his throat and stare off.

"I know ’em all—Kim Junghyo~ Seo Rihyo~"

Waffling between Junghyeon and Junghyuk, Ri Hyuk and Ri Hyun, he made us clap and {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} crack up.

Even as he left, he waved—"Junghyo~"

I told the host:

"This is my first time filming while roaming the streets. It’s a lot more fun than I expected."

"Right? Even the pebbles have stories. People here are hilarious."

Everyone in this country is a comedian—Mr. Kim’s line rang true.

It felt like striking variety gold.

A show that isn’t about celebrities, but about funny non-celeb guests—bring in regular folks with great stories.

Either way, it was a good time.

And it was a chance to learn how the general public sees us—something you don’t catch holed up in a practice room.

"Aigo, our NewBlack boys!"

Munching snacks as we walked, we got snagged by three grandpas playing Go at a real estate office.

After greetings, they got serious.

"I watched Billboard on TV this time—the stage was great."

"Thank you."

"So here’s what I thought. Since the songs are in Korean, it’s not easy to crack America. Plenty of fans is good, but you need strategy. And strategy means Jeon Myunggeun!"

"Who might that be...?"

"Me."

"Ahh..."

"So release a song in English and nail it!"

We bowed, "Thank you for the advice~"—and then war broke out.

"Nonsense! Singing in Korean is what makes it special."

"Now don’t you talk nonsense. Fans, those charcoal briquettes, they love whatever NewBlack sings. English, Korean—just let ’em be comfortable. Why pile on pressure?"

"They need to write in English. A pop song. I’m an America guy. In La-seong, I tell you."

"What era of La-seong are you even talking about?"

Biju and I stared into the air, dazed.

The crew and Mr. Kim high-fived—gold content.

We finally escaped the debate on NewBlack’s U.S. strategy and global expansion.

"I never see this with other guests—but you two are different. People are out here mapping your American strategy."

"...It’s... kind."

"Like nephews getting grilled at the holidays."

A perfect analogy.

I don’t have cousins, so I don’t know firsthand, but you hear these stories.

Relatives advising college majors—"Spanish is the hot thing! Go Spanish!"

"Ah. So happy..."

When we first heard "national idols," it was embarrassing but secretly nice.

Today, for the first time, I felt the downside.

Maybe that’s why—

When we tried to have jjamppong for lunch, the surrounding diners buzzed and stared.

A mother with family asked:

"Oh my, wasn’t Wooju dealing with gastritis?"

"Yes."

"Then why jjamppong? That’ll wreck your stomach."

"...I’ll have jjajangmyeon."

With dewy concern in her eyes, people called out, "Make the jjamppong less spicy, boss! He’s got gastritis!"

...In Gunsan, eating not-spicy jjamppong.

Biju glanced away and twitched his cheek.

When the milky-white jjamppong arrived, I smiled.

"Hahahahaha..."

All day, echoes looped in my head—I now understood why company folks fainted when I collapsed.

—English! Release a song in English!

—Don’t lose your roots—always keep pushing yourself.

—I’ll tell you what’s good for gastritis—listen to all of it.

—If you’re on an awards show again, open with "Dokkaebi" to make impact! Blast their ears with traditional sounds!

I slurped the white broth and smiled.

How lucky, to have so many people worried about me. This colossal happiness.

Maybe because I’d received so much happiness—

...I felt like I could go without meeting the public for a while.

We tore through Jjamppong Street for lunch.

I guided the shoot through Gunsan’s sights, and we were almost wrapped.

All that was left—

"Hoof, ha, hoof, ha."

"Hyung. Relax. Breathe."

"Huuuu..."

Flower in hand, I stood before Madam Kim Deoksun’s diner.

Time to behold my ultimate bias in the flesh.

Mr. Kim eyed the place.

"It’s smaller than I expected."

"Yeah, it isn’t big."

"This is where your grandmother raised our Wooju. A historic site."

"A truly historic site...!"

Snapping photos like someone visiting Sun Wooju’s birthplace, Biju was mid-bit when—

"...Hm?"

We went to open the door—it was already packed.

Amid the lively chatter, a new part-timer spoke to us.

"Ah—are you the filming crew?"

"Yes!"

"The main hall’s full, so we’ll need to seat you in the annex. You can prep to shoot over there."

"Annex...?"

We followed the staffer—and there really was an annex.

A four-story building with a flashy sign blazing: Sooni’s Famous Kitchen.

"This isn’t the home-style diner you described... Didn’t you say it was shabby?"

"...You didn’t mention an annex, hyung."

Like the bathhouse in Spirited Away—grand. Mr. Kim and Biju turned to me, their eyes going cool.

"N-no, it’s not like that!"

This wasn’t it.

What in the world was this colossal building.

Even the crew stared, slack-jawed, at the massive diner—when, to a fanfare and a procession of staff, Yubaba herself appeared.

"Welcome~! Ho-ho-ho!"

With a dainty laugh concealing her inner "for god’s sake," Madam Kim Deoksun swept in, and I was at a loss for words.

Anyone could see the wealth dripping off her.

I felt the stares hitting my face.

"..."

"..."

The crew and Mr. Kim—who had laughed and cried at my trainee-days story—now looked at me with eyes full of suspicion.