In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

This is us

So take it or leave it

As the song kicked off, the studio audience erupted.

Crazy.

From the very first bar, a ripping, powerful vocal—the kind that makes people say they tore the stage from the intro.

Only five seconds.

Spring strode out, having snatched everyone’s attention with that fierce opening, and the hook’s melody exploded.

[Cheering]

Under crimson lights, Scarlet’s stage began.

It was knife-sharp, perfectly in-sync choreography.

They finished the hook with elegant handwork and wrist snaps, then a shoulder pop to punctuate it.

Ara, in a red one-piece dress, stepped forward with both arms out.

We are forever

A story with no end

To say “good job”

The end of this night is far away

The lead vocalist gave a little shoulder shake, tracing a fluid curve with her body, and the crowd burst.

The moombahton-signature addictive rhythm had the audience instinctively bobbing their chins.

While Ara slipped back to anchor the formation, the main dancer Rina swept her hair back and came forward.

Long hair fluttered, earrings and necklaces swayed soft at her body, and even the dust around her seemed to dance in a little optical illusion.

A voice as smooth as the dance soaked the ears.

I am the constellation in a dark sky

Your whisper

Your voice

Come to me, every bit of you, in this moment

I know just what to say

The shot of the main dancer with tinted glasses perched lightly pulled every gaze straight in.

Lyrics like they remembered everything the fans ever sent—joy, sorrow, worry.

While Scarlet fans shook their light-stick curtains in delight, Rina spun her body in a clean arc and slipped back with grace.

It was Spring’s part again—the lead vocal.

The pre-chorus that lifts the song right before the hook.

We’re fine fine fine

So fine

So enjoy your night

Burn it without hesitation

As if you’re setting everything ablaze—

Even with the fierce choreo, the high note climbed and climbed.

Especially the final peak—piercing high—sent goosebumps prickling across everyone’s skin out in the seats.

Four shadows fell deep under the glittering lights.

Ara—the lead vocalist—stepped up with a sly smile and parted her lips. To the fans, the “us” in the lyric that was about to come felt like you and us together.

This is us

So take it or leave it

This time, under blue lights, the four danced, and waves rippled out in all directions.

Just watching it lifted your mood.

Sweat was already beading on the members’ faces as they drove through the group choreography.

A high-difficulty routine that chewed through stamina.

Even so, there wasn’t a hint of strain on their faces—only pure joy.

Scarlet’s a smash tonight.

They really keep delivering, huh.

Each voice color is distinct, and somehow they blend that well.

While other idol fans clicked their tongues in disbelief, Scarlet finished the hook choreo and slid into verse two.

Daisy came out with a rap, and the atmosphere shifted a touch.

If verse one spoke to the fans, verse two sounded like a message to haters and all the back-talkers.

With a “fuck you—twice for good measure” vibe, Daisy’s clean takedown of the haters sent Scarlet fans into happy cheers.

Other girl-group fans were the same.

[Cheering]

The cathartic rap, the hard-hitting sound, and the group choreo braided together and sent the room temperature soaring.

And after the verse-two pre-chorus passed—

Rina whipped off the tinted glasses she’d been wearing and smiled.

A little finger-flick, like: we’re just us; if you don’t like it, why don’t you come see for yourself.

This is us

So take it or leave it

The hook bloomed again—like igniting an eternal fire—and another roar went up.

Maybe it was the lighting, but under the sparks the choreo looked like it was burning everything away. Limbs slicing fast enough to leave afterimages looked like rolling flames.

Now sweat slicked their faces outright, glossy with it, but no one seemed to care.

They just smiled bright.

Rina, dancing her heart out dead center on the blocking, grinned and swept back her hair, and the venue detonated.

[Cheering]

With the verse-two hook done and the bridge rolling in, the heat in the room climbed another notch.

Crazy.

Nayun, I’ll make a lot of money and stan properly...

This is stanning. This—this is stanning...

Scarlet fans clapped hands over mouths as their eyes went dewy.

Fans of the competing groups gave hollow laughs.

They really came out with every angle locked.

Choreo that perfectly showcased their strength—dance—and hair, makeup, and styling all flawless.

Whoever produced that track, their sense was the real deal.

They took four voices that could easily clash for being so individual and made them blend naturally in one place.

They showcased each member’s charm point to the hilt.

If Scarlet fans were watching this, you could imagine them mashing the capture button without a breath in between.

Plus...

The song is insane.

Sometimes there are stages like that.

When you hit the latter half and feel, for the first time, that you want to rewind and hear the intro again.

As Scarlet kept unfolding “Not Fine,” the melody circled the ear, and more than a few people nodded.

The digital will take number one.

No clue about the competition ranking, but the song ranking felt decided.

Online reactions mirrored the offline ones.

Idol fans watching on TV felt the same way.

Scarlet’s taking number one.

With the survival show gaining recognition, the general-public share of voters had climbed.

Since the final leans heavily on text votes, first place would hinge on which stage the muggles chose.

A few idol fans tilted their heads.

Who’s the composer?

They quickly pulled up the screenshot they’d saved earlier.

[Scarlet] Not Fine

Lyrics: Day-Z, Rina, Spring, Ara

Composition: Kim Deokchun, Cho Gyu-hwan

Arrangement: Kim Deokchun, Na Sangyun, Hyeongseop, Yoo Ung

“Hmmm...”

Something started to look off.

“Kim Deokchun?”

They set the odd-feeling name aside for later.

Wait—let’s see. Is this alphabetical?

They checked the order of the composers’ names.

Then noticed that “Hyeongseop” in the arrangement slot came before “Yoo Ung.”

Meaning it wasn’t alphabetical.

Kim Deokchun is... listed before Cho Gyu-hwan?

Cho Gyu-hwan.

Sometimes there are names fans know besides the company president, and Director Cho was one of those cases.

His handsome looks going public boosted his name, and he’d crafted Scarlet’s past hits, so girl-group fans knew him.

Yet even though it wasn’t alphabetical...

Cho Gyu-hwan got pushed back?

That unfamiliar composer name—Kim Deokchun—was the main writer of this song.

But why does that name ring a bell?

Something about those three syllables felt oddly familiar.

But—

No idea.

Their train of thought never quite docked at “Spaceship.”

As many girl-group fans shrugged—whatever—and turned their eyes to Girls on Top’s VCR, some viewers did twig to the composer’s identity.

Rrrrrrrumble—!

Souffles hiding behind idol fans like little minions.

This feels connected to Wooju, doesn’t it?

[Nodding, nodding.]

Let’s keep quiet. It’s not confirmed.

Without anything official, they couldn’t be sure, but the hunch was strong that their fave was involved.

Because of the familiar names.

Yoo Ung? Don’t know him, but Na Sangyun, Hyeongseop... aren’t those Wooju’s most treasured people?

They were Wooju’s favorite Doraemons.

Say “give me an arrangement,” and his same-age friend Hyeongseop would go “eu-ung” and deliver a track.

Team lead Na Sangyun was a rose-knife—used often for his superb skill.

“Mmm...”

Souffles let out a low hum.

Feels like it’s Wooju. If it is, everything clicks into place.

Watching NewBlack TV’s reality Kind Spaceship, every fan had been wondering the same thing.

Content where Wooju meddled in Ri Hyuk’s OST, and in every member’s schedule.

But all the episodes so far only covered the four-member schedules.

Wooju must have done something this time too.

If that something was producing Scarlet’s song, everything would slot perfectly.

Remove a couple of strokes from the name Kim Deokchun and you get that holy name Kim Deoksun.

Pretty sure it fits...

Of course they couldn’t say it aloud.

Claim it’s “our boy” and then the real Mr. Kim Deokchun might pop up like, “That’s me...”

And the musical color was a bit different from Spaceship’s usual, too.

Still...

It just feels right.

They could almost see their fave appearing under the name Kim Deokchun with two dots added—wearing a floral tee and bright yellow sun gla—sses.

“Ngghhh.”

Souffles were literally bouncing with curiosity.

Same time.

“Scarlet won.”

“They’re gonna snag the prize money.”

“They’ll spend it on barbecue.”

The contestants of The Spirit sat in their green rooms smacking their lips with a playful “eh-hey.”

We figured we were first-place material.

...or so they thought.

But the parade of performances was so flashy that you couldn’t complain no matter who took first, and everyone had made their peace.

And into that came a heavyweight first-place contender.

“The stage is one thing, but the song is just too good.”

“The choreo’s really good too. Whose did they get...?”

Even with every company bringing in top composers and choreographers, Lemon Entertainment was showing another level.

Agency reps pricked up their ears.

“Who’s the composer?”

“Hear it’s some rookie named Kim Deokchun.”

“Rookie?”

“Lemon’s been massively expanding their producing team, right? Could be an in-house talent they raised. Or someone they scouted.”

The company reps looked at the TV.

Even after Scarlet came down from the stage, the venue still looked hot, and they all fell into thought.

The song they’d just heard was echoing in their ears.

This would suit our kids too, wouldn’t it?

They figured they needed to look into the composer.

If any of the songwriters from NewBlack’s camp had seen it, they would’ve said, “That’s Spaceship...” But the reps—who had no way to know—had eyes flashing.

Reach out before anyone else.

And if that doesn’t work, tell them to copy it a bit for now.

Meanwhile—

A certain agency head, stroking an antique porcelain piece, chuckled.

“Heh heh heh heh.”

Chairman Park Taejun smiled at the TV.

Found a useful talent in a while.

Listening to Scarlet’s track, his gut spoke.

A kid with a talent that would grow big.

Maybe even more than Spaceship...

No.

More extraordinary than Spaceship.

Far better than the trainee he’d cut loose.

Chairman Park was sure.

He prided himself on having a sharp sense for what would hit, enough to earn the nickname “Midas’ hand” in K-pop.

And now, a song that could change the girl-group landscape was on his screen.

“Director Han.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That composer who wrote this—can we bring them in somehow?”

“Looks like a composer Lemon discovered. Might be hard, don’t you think? I doubt they’ll let them go easily.”

Chairman Park knit his brows.

“That’s obvious. Who would let a composer like that go? They’ll try to hold on no matter what.”

“Then...?”

“Money.”

He laid out his philosophy.

“No one turns down money. And as you know, royalties only pile up over time—one big hit by itself isn’t that much. Has a rookie ever handled big money before?”

“Mm, that’s true, but...”

“Find a way to make contact and offer a seven-figure salary. No—whatever Lemon said they’d pay, offer several times that.”

“Yes, Chairman...”

Director Han Youngjun nodded, eyes a touch conflicted.

He hasn’t been like this.

A few years ago, the CEO who’d shown startling intuition and foresight about the K-pop game wasn’t quite the same.

Overall, his gaze seemed dulled.

But the person issuing orders was a legendary producer who’d made every “impossible” project a success.

“I’ll proceed as you instructed.”

“Good. Reach out as quickly as possible.”

Director Han was already thinking: send an email to the rookie composer named Kim Deokchun.

Thank you! Thank you so much!

Just as I expected, first place on The Spirit’s finale went to our company’s girl group.

In the fuzzy, low-res stream, the Scarlet members stared at each other in a daze and then burst into sobs.

They thanked the people they were grateful to—parents, the CEO, Director Cho Gyu-hwan, and so on.

And they said my name.

“And to composer Kim Deokchun, who wrote ‘Not Fine’ this time—we really want to say thank you!”

“Thank you, composer...!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at Daisy, a glutinous-rice cake soaked in tears.

Even Rina, who usually seemed less expressive, lifted the back of her hand to dam the tears rolling down.

Not just Scarlet—fans on camera were waving red flags and clapping hands over mouths.

“Good for them.”

Watching the girl-group members celebrate on screen, I turned off the TV app.

A light wave of nausea had crept up.

“Haaah...”

Yawning long, I watched the streetlights slide by as the car passed.

The moment the Scarlet stage ended, I’d left the station; now I was riding back to the office.

I felt good.

Even the Han River to the side looked romantic somehow, the kind of night you’d sip a mug of cocoa under the moon.

My first girl-group ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) song had done well.

Even at the venue, the cheers were the loudest for that stage.

Best of all: I hadn’t said I wrote it, and people still loved it. Now I understood why famous people sometimes change pen names to write novels or hide their identity when they sing.

What I’d been missing lately—

Confirmation of my own skill.

Do I really write good songs?

Can I pull it off even without the name Spaceship or NewBlack attached?

Or did we only land number-one tracks because we had so many fans who love me?

Thoughts like that had circled, but after today’s performance I realized—

“I think I can hold out for three more years.”

“Sorry?”

I told Minsu, who tilted his head.

“Songwriting. I don’t know how well I’ll track trends, but I think I’m good for the next three years.”

“I’m calling ten.”

“Ten would be amazing.”

Smiling happily, I browsed reactions online.

In the screenshots Manager Hong Seoyoung sent, the search rankings on the music app Mango were up.

The track hadn’t even dropped yet; that meant people were hungry to find it.

On the portal, the top two searches were “Scarlet” and “Not Fine.”

“Pfhahaha...!”

I captured the screenshot, grinning wide.

“We’re here.”

“You worked so hard today. Get some rest.”

“Yes!”

I waved to Minsu and headed out of the company’s underground garage.

Time to go see my ducklings and sweep in like a conquering general.

—Behold! Lackeys! Make it your life’s mission to serve the great composer who even conquers girl-group tracks!

—Gasp! We failed to appreciate our precious hyung!

—Who am I?

—Our most precious hyung in the whole wide world...!

Is it real that my chest is going deoksun-deoksun already?

Come to think of it, I should share the good news with Ms. Kim Deoksun too...

“Huh?”

Cute sticky notes with little arrows were all over the basement hallway.

Like they were saying, please enter this rehearsal room.

“You set this up to welcome me again, didn’t you...”

Muttering “you cuties,” I stepped into the practice room.

But no one was there. I followed the trail of notes like I was bewitched, all the way to the center where they ended.

There, in thin Pirarucu-font letters, I saw:

[Turn around.]

At the crisp instruction, I snapped my head back—and saw the ducklings.

They were plastered to the wall, catching their breath. The look in their eyes was like a squad about to launch an ambush, and I cocked my head.

“Hm? Why are you standing there like that?”

“We’re showing our faces ahead of time. Because it’s us, don’t fight back!”

“Huh?”

It happened in that instant.

Click.

Junghyun hit the switch and the room went dark.

Ta-ta-ta-ta-tat!

Footsteps pounded toward me.

“Aaah! Aagh!”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

From all sides, palms thumped my back.

“Ow! Ow!”

“You crazy man!”

“Hey—why are you hitting me?!”

In the dark, Ri Hyuk yelled.

“Our Metro release is right around the corner, and you go write a song like that!”

“Because of you our comeback’s doomed!”

“Promotions start next week!”

They shouted in a chorus of grievance.

“Take responsibility!”

“Take responsibilityyy!”

“Take responsibility!”

As their mournful voices surrounded me, I blinked, ah.

Only then did I remember what I myself had forgotten.

Promotions for METRO started in just a few days.

But I couldn’t really understand their complaint.

“What are you talking about?”

“...?”

“You think I’d write something Metro could be pushed aside by that easily?”

The slapping hands in the dark froze.

Maybe my eyes had adjusted, because I could make out the little grubs fidgeting in confusion.

The smallest grub went, uh, and said:

“But other staff were watching the stage saying it’s the song of the year...”

Thin-eared punks.

“Any of them heard Metro?”

“No. None—oh.”

Silence fell.

“...”

“...”

After about thirty seconds, the lights came back on.

And like none of that in the dark had ever happened, the ducklings greeted me with bright smiles.

“You’re here?”

“...”

“We’ve been waiting just for you.”

“...”

When exactly were they swatting me like mosquitoes?

They slid their reddened palms out of sight with a hush-hush look, and I shot them a glare.