In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Thirty minutes later.

“Hyung. Here’s an iced cocoa.”

“Sitting on the floor’s uncomfortable, right? We laid out a cushion.”

“Wow. You look extra handsome today!”

“Woo. Wow.”

Junghyun lifted me one-handed to slide a cushion under me, and Biju put the cocoa cup in my hand.

In my ear, the maknaes’ compliment barrage came whizzing in.

“Hey. You think this kind of thing will change my mood... ahem.”

It’s working.

“Jeez...”

Warm back, warm belly, sweet words flying into my ears—the bratty mood from a minute ago melted clean away.

“Ri Hyuk hyung, fire off some aegyo to make Wooju hyung happy~!”

“Ah, no.”

...said Ri Hyuk—then sent me a tiny finger heart. He immediately stared up at the ceiling, face burning red.

I laughed at the sight of my ducklings trying anything to lift my spirits.

“A minute ago you were smacking me asking what we’d do if the comeback flopped.”

“...”

“Ugh, dummies.”

I smiled and said:

“And are Scarlet and we even in competition? Our track this time is in English. Weren’t we already not expecting big domestic numbers?”

This wasn’t a domestic-chart play; this project was our push into the U.S. market.

“They’re different categories from the start. If we’d aimed at domestic listeners, we wouldn’t have left a gap like this around the Scarlet project. Artists from the same company can cannibalize each other.”

“That... makes sense?”

“Scarlet is Scarlet, and we’re us.”

Besides, girl groups and boy groups eat from different pies.

Even if Scarlet grabs three slices from the Hawaiian pizza, the pepperoni pizza we’re eating doesn’t shrink.

Of course, it’s not like I didn’t get how they felt.

No matter how much we say in-house, “This is a smash,” you only know once it’s out.

Naturally, you worry.

We weren’t the only ones trying something new.

Just as Scarlet abandoned their old sonic color and stepped into a new genre, we were also heading toward a goal nobody else had aimed for yet.

Whether that becomes success or failure—nobody knows.

“You’re anxious, right?”

“Yes...”

I took them in with my eyes.

Biju, plastered with patches on ligaments at knees and wrists. Ri Hyuk, lips chapped from several sleepless nights. Jiho, panda-eyed with dark circles hanging to his chin.

And—

“...”

My eyes met the bear’s bright, sparkling gaze.

Elastic skin. Healthy eyes.

Among members wearing T-shirts soaked with sweat, he looked freshly showered—soft and fluffy.

“What is it, hyung?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

I looked away from Junghyun and sank back into thought.

They always give everything in comeback prep, but I’d never seen them this scruffy.

They had no way to soothe the jitters and anxiety except to grind practice endlessly, and this is what that does.

In that state, they were seeing in real time: “Scarlet’s the best this round,” “Scarlet’s gonna own the charts.” No wonder the second I walked in they went “We hate you!” and smacked away.

“I get the anxiety. I’m super anxious right now too.”

Every day I want to run.

“They say the song from camp turned out great, but we really don’t know how it’ll go, right? It could be too K-pop to grab U.S. listeners, and too pop to grab domestic listeners and end up neither here nor there.”

“...”

“In the absolute worst case, this could be the first time one of our releases flops.”

“...”

They gulped.

“But what if it flops?”

“Sorry?”

“If it flops, is that the end? NewBlack doesn’t end that day. Sure, people will laugh at us a lot...”

“Ah...”

They started to get what I meant.

“What I’m saying is, we’re not at the stage where one misstep destroys us anymore. There’s no ‘if we fail this round, we’re finished.’”

Failure hits, sure.

But it’s not the kind of hit that collapses everything we’ve built in one go.

I’d gone back and forth on whether to say this, but it felt like the perfect timing now.

“We need to change how we think a little. When we put out Falling Blossoms and Nine, that mindset fit. Back then, one slip and you took a straight express line to the bottom.”

From late ’15 to early ’16, it really was like a game with no save.

Boing, boing—you jump, and the moment you fall, “The End,” and you start from the beginning.

Knowing that, we were trapped in the crisis of ‘if this round fails, we die’ and practiced like our lives depended on it.

“Desperation isn’t bad. Being desperate every round is great. But it’s not good in the long run.”

I spoke to them as they listened quietly.

“Imagine you’re climbing a cliff. At first, when it’s low, you only see the peak.”

Then, at some point, you start looking down, not up.

Because the height you can fall from keeps growing.

“If you’re gripped by the fear that you’re about to fall off a precipice, you keep staring down. Then you lose sight of the destination and only think, ‘Don’t fall.’”

“I think I get it.”

From here on, we need a different mindset.

Up till now, even while desperate, we could clearly see the destination: “become the top idol act in the country.” So it was easy to focus on the goal and use the desperation as fuel.

But now we’re at the summit.

And if our hearts are still dangling over a cliff edge the same as before, all we’ll see is the drop.

This English-track project is the kind of goal where, having climbed the cliff and reached the peak, we now sprint toward a different plateau on the far horizon.

In game terms, we’ve cleared the main stage; this is like a bonus stage.

So the perspective needs to shift.

“That doesn’t mean this project isn’t important. It’s hugely important.”

“...”

“But I want the thought ‘let’s make it succeed, let’s do this well’ to be stronger. Be a bit more positive than the current ‘we must not fail’ desperation... ah, it’s hard to explain in words.”

“It’s okay, hyung. We understand.”

My eyes met Junghyun’s; he nodded.

Then he looked around at the others, who were reacting similarly, and said:

“That’s what he means.”

It felt a little too serious and lecture-y—maybe I shouldn’t have said it—but I couldn’t help it.

As leader, when your members lose their bearings, you have to set the direction.

Thankfully, their faces looked a touch lighter; maybe I’d done well to say it.

Now that the scolding was done, time for the carrot.

“And do you really think our song won’t do well? Not Fine came out of the same song camp and it’s getting raves like that.”

“Whoa, that’s true.”

“It’ll do well. For real.”

After saying that, I clapped my hands to the ducklings.

“Okay! Then the thing you should say to composer Kim Deokchun, who made a successful debut today with Not Fine, is...?”

“Waaaaaa!”

They sprang to their feet.

“Deokchunss is geniusss!”

“Our hyung’s a genius, a genius...!”

“That’s right! I am a genius! Hwahahahahaha!”

I laughed while shoulder-dancing with my ducklings as they hammed it up with gusto.

Next day.

Scarlet’s new song Not Fine hit the music charts and debuted at number one.

— “The Spirit champions Scarlet... ‘Not Fine’ tops music charts”

— “[The Spirit finale ①] Scarlet flaunts dazzling ‘This Is Us’ charm”

— “The Spirit final tracks released; Scarlet’s ‘Not Fine’ hits real-time No. 1”

The moment they took the top spot, Scarlet members sent caps.

Ara: “No. 1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Daisy: “Elder brother”

Daisy: “Wishing you a long, long life (bow)”

Spring: “May the composer inhale meat and exhale lettuce with every breath...”

Rina: “Really, thank you”

I could feel their happiness through the phone.

Even with those heavyweight girl groups crowding the upper chart yesterday, they were number one; you could imagine how that felt.

“Hyung, did you see this?”

“Hm?”

“The comments on the Scarlet noonas’ stage.”

Among the “Legend, legend!” cheers, one stood out.

— Mr. Kim Deokchun? I think we’ve met before..?

My heart skipped.

I tapped the comment on Biju’s phone and opened the thread.

— Is it S— W—?

— No wonder the quality slapped; thought it might be S— W—

— Huh??

— Y’all are wild with the headcanons lol

— Not a headcanon, it’s true. Two of the arrangers there are Sun Wooju’s lieutenants, and there’s an unknown name Kim Deokchun listed before Lemon’s Director Cho Gyu-hwan.

— Plus the name’s similar to Ms. Kim Deoksun’s

— So if names are similar they’re the same person?? My brother’s name is Wooju and he’s ugly

— Why drag us for no reason...

— Accusations that Mr. Kim Deokchun is “Song-Breath-Fat”

— Tsk tsk, what if an actual Kim Deokchun shows up like “that’s me” lol

— Kids got excited playing detective

— If you assume it’s Spaceship, it all fits, no? The song quality was insane

True to a MyTube comment section, chaos.

Still, here and there were people suspecting, “You’re Sun Wooju, right?”

“How on earth did they figure out my identity...”

“You named your alias Kim Deokchun. To people who know, that’s basically slapping a Spaceship label on it.”

“I didn’t think people would clock it this fast.”

As I covered my mouth, the ducklings gave me a look like I was pathetic.

“Come on...”

They’re seriously sharp.

How did they catch on immediately?

I read more comments, impressed.

Thankfully, while there were comments suspecting me, it didn’t seem to be gaining huge traction.

I mean, in a girl-group survival, people are busy freaking out over the stage; not many care who the composer is.

I was scrolling through stage-reaction comments when—

Ding-dong.

A mail notification popped up; I opened the app.

“Huh?”

Why are there so many unread emails?

There were dozens. Messages from unknown addresses piled up. All dated yesterday.

“How’d they get my email.”

They’d landed in the account I use for work.

All from companies or composers.

— Hello. We run a studio among composers...

— [DNS Media] Hello, this is DNS Media.

— SNH Entertainment would like to build a future with you.

I blinked at the love calls from agencies.

Most of them said the same thing.

They were deeply committed to discovering rookie composers and were moved by my song; would I meet to talk?

“What is it?”

A sharp little chin nudged my shoulder.

I showed the mails to the curious maknae; he burst out laughing.

“Insane. These all came yesterday?”

“Looks like it.”

“Wow, guess no one knew it was you. They just panicked and fired them off.”

By now, with agency intel networks, they’d have figured out that this Kim Deokchun was me.

The maknae suddenly had an idea.

“Screenshot them and send to the CEO. We’ll alert him to the wicked external forces trying to poach you.”

“That’ll just stress him out.”

He might sprint over holding a banner that says “I love you, Sun Wooju. Together forever” the moment he got the text.

Then Ri Hyuk, who’d somehow appeared behind us, pointed at one email.

“Can I open that one? I’m curious.”

“Which? Ah.”

There was an email from TJ Entertainment.

I pressed and held; it was filled with self-praise like “a storied company with the nation’s top A&R and producing teams,” and an invitation to meet.

Jiho said:

“What if you reply with a selfie, hyung? Send a shy ‘It’s me...’”

“Tempting... but no.”

“Still looks like they sent it not knowing it was you.”

“If they knew, they wouldn’t have sent it.”

As we said that, Ri Hyuk added:

“Looks like there’s more in the thread? Maybe they sent a follow-up?”

“Oh. Right.”

The mail app displayed the later message in the chain automatically.

Turned out it was the very email that had just pinged us.

Same sender—TJ Entertainment.

[We ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) apologize; the email was sent in error.]

They said they’d accidentally sent me an email meant for someone else, and we all broke into laughter.

Ri Hyuk averted his eyes like he couldn’t bear to look.

“I feel embarrassed on their behalf.”

“What is it, what is it?”

I explained to Biju and Junghyun, late to the topic; they laughed too.

Then I noticed the boxes in Biju’s and Junghyun’s hands.

“What are those?”

“Looks like Scarlet sent them.”

As Biju peeled the tape with a brrrip, Junghyun lifted the lid off.

I caught the wobbling Biju before he toppled and peered at the contents.

“Oh...”

“Whoa...”

A mountain of snacks stacked neatly.

Jerky and all kinds of perfect nibble food—while taking it in, I picked up a sticky note that had fallen to the floor.

A cute magpie drawing—looks like “repaying grace” concept.

[To: Composer Kim Deokchun]

Our Curtain Rods really wanted to send you a present, so we decided to send it on their behalf.

Eat well!!

I was smiling, feeling unreasonably good, when Biju wiped sweat and said:

“Forty left.”

“Huh?”

“The boxes Scarlet sent.”

“...How many?”

Following their lead out into the hallway, I realized what had happened while we were asleep in the practice room.

“Good lord...”

“...”

“...”

We beheld it.

In a hallway that’s usually wide open, the boxes were stacked like a barricade, nearly blocking passage.

“...That’s... a vigorous way to repay grace.”

“I thought it was just us.”

“People at our company don’t do ‘middle,’ you know.”

We shivered, at a loss before this extreme grace-repayment.

Ri Hyuk, blank-faced:

“Feels like watching the Marshall Plan.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it’s definitely impressive... Also when did they move all this.”

We were marveling at the superhuman stealth of our coworkers who’d bombed us with gifts when—

Peep-peep.

Somewhere, we heard the faint chirp of a chick.

“What is that? Where’s it coming from...”

And then—

“It’s ussssss...”

“Sunbaeniiim...”

“We woke up and we were trapped...!”

On the far side of the boxes, our company’s trainees seemed to be penned in.

“Did you pull an all-nighter too?”

“Yes...!”

“Jeez, this—hold on...”

Cries of relief came from the other side—“We’re saved!”

Junghyun stepped up, clearing boxes lightly to make a path, and the trainees emerged from the dark canyon.

They dabbed eyes with sleeves, sniffling.

“Thank you, sunbaenim...”

“It was so scary.”

If I woke up to find the hallway walled up with boxes, I’d be scared too.

I patted our Lemon Entertainment future—the little lemons—buzzing eeeeing, and smiled.

“Want some of this too?”

“Yes...!”

When we opened a box and the trainees stared at the pile of snacks, their faces lit up.

Thank you! They got excited over NewBlack Bread Choco flavor, and I asked:

“Did you watch Scarlet sunbaes’ stage yesterday too?”

“Yes.”

“How was it?”

“They were so cool. It made me want to stand onstage too.”

While I asked for their take on the stage, Jiho slipped in a question.

“How was the song?”

“It was so good...!”

The trainees already had chocolate powder all over their lips and chattered.

“We were saying it earlier too—wow, our senior Wooju is a genius...”

“...Huh?”

“Isn’t it the song you wrote, sunbaenim?”

“It is, but how did you know?”

“Sorry?”

Jinhu, the trainees’ leader, tilted his head like “huh?” and asked:

“We were watching the live and went oh?! and figured it out.”

“Was it that obvious?”

I glanced over; the ducklings were nodding.

Jinhu continued:

“A suspiciously good song, and the name is Kim Deokchun... The moment we saw the name we were certain...!”

“...So the alias meant nothing.”

“Hm? Didn’t you pick that stage name on purpose?”

“Y-yeah. Right.”

The trainees, eyes sparkling, went “knew it!”

Jinhu jabbed Boksoo in the ribs as he ate a strawberry Souffle Bread.

“Told you, idiot. You think Senior Wooju would make a stage name like that if he really wanted absolutely no one to notice?”

No, Jinhu. Hyung’s an idiot.

I shot a glare at the ducklings stifling giggles behind me and scratched my cheek.

I looked around; one duckling was missing among the smirkers.

“Hm?”

Biju was standing off to the side, quietly squinting at his phone.

His mouth was set like he’d seen something he didn’t like.

“What is it, Biju?”

“Ah, this just hit the front page. It’s so ridiculous.”

“What is it?”

The moment I saw the headline, I understood why Biju called it ridiculous.

— “The Spirit agency officials: ‘A certain idol with a powerful fandom took part in composition... the song competition wasn’t fair’”

“Oh?”

“Well that’s new.”

“Seriously.”

We brightened with interest at this fresh nonsense.