In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

I’ve always wondered about something.

How do variety show participants feel when they have to complete missions?

When I was young, I thought it would be pure fun. Watching people do chicken fights or chase scenes on TV looked exciting.

But once I actually participated, it was nothing like that.

Fun? Not at all.

It felt like taking an exam.

The closest thing I can compare it to is a school performance evaluation in sports or the monthly evaluation for trainees.

Attempting free throws under everyone’s watch.

And with the cameras rolling, from almost the far end of the court to the hoop, all while wearing headphones that disrupt your focus.

“Oh, what a shame!”

“That was so close!”

Every time someone failed, voices of regret erupted all around.

But in the spectators’ eyes, there was nothing but entertainment.

Only we and the Ju-se-han members were suffering.

“Ah! I can’t get this in!”

Yuh Hee-yeon, having removed her headphones, ruffled her hair with frustration.

Her face was flushed from the effort.

When the staff handed me the ball, I passed it to Yuh Hee-chan, whose relaxed smile barely faltered as he lightly bounced it. Then he donned the headphones and took his shooting stance.

He struck a pose as if he’d played basketball in his youth.

His arm stretched out and the ball arced...

Clang—

It hit the backboard and fell.

Unlike my brother clenching his fist and groaning, he merely shrugged with an apologetic smile.

It was back to our turn, Jung-hyun preparing to shoot.

“Wait, let me try one more time.”

Yuh Hee-yeon snatched the ball.

Her competitive fire blazing, she began dribbling immediately.

Watching her, I was impressed.

She was good.

Thanks to my mimicking ability, I could read her movements perfectly.

No wonder they said she was a former athlete—her form was flawless.

I remembered something I’d read online about the Ju-se-han members.

Worried I might say something wrong, I’d searched for each member’s quirks and found that Yuh Hee-yeon had retired from sports due to injury.

An Achilles tendon injury from a car accident.

By the time her rehabilitation ended, she’d joined Ju-se-han alongside her actor brother by chance—that was her story.

No wonder she excelled in any physical challenge on the show.

Our team’s sports enthusiast gaped.

“Wow, your form is textbook. You must’ve learned basketball, hyung.”

“My main sport was different.”

Hee-chan chuckled.

Just then, Yuh Hee-yeon darted forward. With a quick run-up she lofted the ball, then swung her long leg out sharply and kicked it.

...Wait, a kick?

Paang!

The basketball, kicked like a soccer ball, flew straight toward its target like a package being delivered.

Unfortunately, it bounced on the rim and dropped out.

“Ahhh! I almost had it!”

I recalled she’d been a soccer player.

Yuh Hee-chan approached the wailing brother and offered gentle consolation.

“You too, man. You couldn’t make that?”

“......”

“Aaah! Guys, she’s lethal!”

The audience laughed as though watching a comedy skit, but we couldn’t relax.

Jung-hyun’s practiced shot had failed.

Bi-joo’s headphones had triggered an uncontrollable dance move that tangled with the staff.

Ri-hyeok... well, Ri-hyeok was just Ri-hyeok.

And Ji-ho, like a tank from Fortress, wedged the ball between his legs and threw it—earning big laughs but no success.

All the others had failed.

“Now it’s your turn.”

Yuh Hee-chan handed me the ball.

Standing in the center of the court under everyone’s gaze, I felt the tension.

How was I going to do this?

A million thoughts raced through my mind.

My goal today was to secure as much screen time as possible without looking unlikable.

The problem was that the self-introduction segment had gone smoothly, so I had little memorable footage.

There were two ways to secure airtime here.

One was to make people laugh—crack jokes or do physical comedy.

But that wasn’t my realm.

I had no confidence in jokes, and if I overdid physical comedy it would be obvious immediately.

The only option left was to make the shot.

Yuh Hee-chan tapped my back to ease my tension.

“Just do it casually. It’s practice.”

“Yes.”

I answered and stared at the hoop in the distance.

The backboard, outlined with white tape, looked as small as a passport photo. The rim looked like a straw’s hole.

It was much farther than I’d imagined.

I dribbled to gauge the distance.

Yuh Hee-yeon whispered something to her siblings as I dribbled.

I swallowed and focused on the target.

My heart calmed.

At first my hands shook, but the more I dribbled, the stranger sense of certainty grew.

That feeling before my body instinctively executes the needed motion. Like when I’d accidentally smashed a police officer in the hospital.

The headphones tried to throw me off several times, but I consciously ignored them.

Finally, I caught the ball cleanly in my hand.

Holding it, I snapped my wrist a few times to measure the power.

Like a volleyball player practicing a toss, I raised and dropped the ball repeatedly.

Finished checking, I held it in my right hand.

The decisive moment.

As I visualized the shot, my body moved naturally. Like a javelin thrower I drew my arm back, then used the momentum to hurl it forward with all my strength.

The ball arced through the air.

Even before it went in, I felt that same strong certainty.

The same way you know you performed well even if no one cheers.

All my juniors, the Ju-se-han members, the production crew, the ad shoot staff, and extras watched the trajectory in stunned silence.

Swish—!

The ball slipped through the hoop and caught the net.

When the thud and bounce echoed through the quiet gym, someone’s soft voice pierced the hush.

“...Wow, it went in.”

Then our team erupted in cheers so loud my ears rang.

I felt as if I’d risen from peasant to noble.

This must be what late Joseon-era status ascent felt like.

Just moments ago I’d been treated like a traitor after rolling six blanks on the dice, and now I’d become a hero in an instant.

“That’s it, Woo-joo!”

“Hyung, you did great!”

“Wow, I saw some NBA player do this. His distance was even farther, but your form is almost identical.”

That last comment stung a bit.

It was true.

Since last November I’d been experimenting with my ability and practicing basketball on the side, but that shot was the result of a frantic YouTube search.

Searching for “long shoot NBA,” and so on.

Of course, none of them knew that.

And they didn’t need to.

It had worked out well anyway.

But it’s funny how things work out.

I was the very cause of this distance challenge, yet my shot made everyone forget that fact.

“Well, actually if you think about it......”

“Shh.”

I whispered ominously in the would-be dissenter’s ear.

Meanwhile, the mood on set had changed entirely thanks to that shot.

Everyone’s expressions had shifted.

From “How the heck will we make that shot?” to “Maybe we can do this?”

Producer Oh Tae-jun nodded.

“Alright, let’s move on to the real mission.”

But the upbeat mood quickly sobered.

One success among seven people was all we needed.

And so far, nobody had succeeded.

Especially Yuh Hee-yeon, who looked as tormented as a roaring lioness—it was genuinely intimidating.

And now it was my turn again.

A solemn silence hung in the air as my juniors sent warm encouragement my way.

“Make sure you do well. If you succeed, we’ll forget you rolled a six earlier.”

“Thanks, Ri-hyeok. That makes me feel stronger.”

“You’re welcome, hyung.”

“This is on you, hyung. If you nail this, you get the meat. Ribeye on your left hand, snowflake sirloin on your right. Fail, and it all floats away.”

“Ji-ho, am I in your thoughts at least?”

“Of course. You’re always... what was it? Ri-hyeok hyung, what was it? Care?”

“Care, you idiot.”

“Right. Ji-ho, if you care about care, you’d call 111.”

“Aw, I don’t know. Anyway, fighting.”

Jung-hyun nodded and offered his fist.

Vwoom!

A gust of wind ruffled my hair.

“Good luck, hyung.”

“Ah, jeez. I thought you were going to punch me.”

“Sorry. I’m just hyped about the meat.”

“You look it.”

As I nodded, cradling our third brother’s fist with my hand, Bi-joo rose onto tiptoes beside me, shielding his mic with his hand.

A gentle whisper tickled my ear.

“Hyung, if you make this, I’ll forget the hundred thousand won Nayeon gave me.”

Oh—that actually helped.

My juniors stared curiously as I suddenly blazed with determination, but Bi-joo just smiled silently.

Meanwhile, the Yuh siblings busied themselves to maximize their screen time.

They were building up dramatic tension, step by step.

“Woo-joo.”

“Yes, hyung?”

“Don’t stress. Just relax.”

The pleasant-faced beauty draped an arm over my shoulder.

“Forget about the golden key and all that packaging. This show is like that. They’ll take you to Bali, then they’ll lock you in a room. Whatever they say goes.”

“Ah, yes......”

“And just do it comfortably. It’s not a big deal.”

“Right.”

“Don’t listen to her, Woo-joo.”

“Listen to how she talks to her own brother.”

“She’s sly enough that while everyone’s starving, she sneaks off to eat with another team. She can fail, but we can’t. Got it?”

“...Ah, we can’t?”

“Yes. That’s the spirit! Let’s go with full fighting energy. Okay?”

“Um, okay......”

“Good grief, you live in torment. Seriously. Just relax.”

That was it.

Like an angel and a devil circling my head, arguing.

Perhaps intentionally, they put me in the crossfire and the onlookers laughed nonstop.

I called out alone.

“I’ll put on the headphones...!”

Ignoring the siblings whispering “Woo-joo...” until their voices faded, I donned the headphones.

They drifted away at an angle out of the camera’s view, winking at each other.

They’d laid their groundwork, now they wanted me to succeed.

So.

I did.

“They actually made it.”

Spectators clicked their tongues as they watched those holding the yellow foil–wrapped key celebrate with laughter.

“How did he get that in? I still don’t get it.”

“Hey, one of my friends texted me not to lie. He said, what athlete is an idol doing that?”

“It’s unbelievable. I wouldn’t have believed it either.”

As everyone else tittered at the difficult mission completed, the Ju-se-han production staff smiled in satisfaction.

Writer Yang Mi-hyun gathered her things.

“How is it, PD-nim?”

“Well, it’s good.”

“You think we got enough usable footage?”

“We even exceeded expectations. Not many of those six-blank missions have succeeded. We’ve got plenty of good stuff to use. The full-court shot is a definite keeper.”

“If it airs live, the reaction won’t be bad.”

Producer Oh Tae-jun nodded, his gaze resting on one member laughing in the distance.

“The reaction should be fine. It’ll be noisy until then, but oh well.”

○ YoHC_0509

♡ RealHanTH and 792 others

#YuhHeeYeonGoofball #ButICameOutGreat

78 comments

-gmldus87: Change your pic if you don’t want to die

-YoHC_0509: _ Ebebebe

-gmldus87: Hey.

-gmldus87: Change it.

-YoHC_0509: Sisters. How about focusing more ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) on inner beauty than outer?

-gmldus87: Pick up the phone

-Promis.Jang: You two fighting again..? -_- Anyway... so happy to see New Black again..

That day’s shoot ended successfully.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me—we’d captured plenty of good footage.

So the mood was cheerful.

“Thanks, that was fun.”

“Keep that energy in the main shoot too.”

The Yuh siblings said that and invited us to the group chat.

It was a chat with the production team and senior celebrities we’d be working with for the Chuseok special. They said they made it so we could get to know each other in advance.

Senior Lee Gun-woo and others greeted us in the chat. They were all big names, and I found myself bowing as I read their messages.

And then...

“Great job, everyone!”

The two-day ad shoot was over.

The revised storyboard hadn’t changed much.

They’d emphasized the emotional arc between me and Ji-ho, swapping a few lines and one or two scenes.

They didn’t demand million-dollar-actor–level performances, so everything went smoothly.

It had been a valuable experience.

I’d get to practice acting for story-driven music videos in the future, which was meaningful.

Above all, this shoot helped me discover my own acting talent.

Not possessed like Ji-ho, but I seemed to have some flair.

Well.

It did make me think for a moment.

TJ Entertainment had suggested I become an actor.

I briefly imagined where I’d be if I’d chosen that path, but soon shook my head.

It was in the past now.

I’d be lying if I said I had no regrets, but as someone whose dream was to be an idol, I liked where I was now.

By the way...

“Where did they disappear to?”

With the ad staff gone, I was alone in the empty school classroom.

Seok-hwan hyung had dashed off to HBS Broadcast, saying he had good news. Min-gi hyung was resting in the car.

My juniors had said they had a gift for me, then vanished, and I felt uneasy.

I had a livestream with fans in one minute.

I looked at the lazy sunset drifting through the window and picked up my phone.

It was the smartphone the company had provided for livestreams.

As Min-gi hyung had shown me, I tapped the buttons lightly, and soon my face appeared on the screen.

About ten Suflés had joined already.

“Hi, Suflé. It’s Woo-joo.”

I greeted them and told any wondering where my juniors were.

“Well, they went somewhere for a bit. They told me they have a gift for me and to wait. They should be here soon. In the meantime, let’s have fun together. Oh, and juniors.”

I flashed a mischievous smile at the camera.

“If you’re watching this, hurry up and come back. If you’re late, I’ll start spilling your secrets one by one, starting with Ri-hyeok.”

As I chatted with the fans, time flew.

Click—the classroom door opened.

My juniors came in, hiding something behind their backs.

“Oh, you’re back. What’s that?”

“Well, um, I see you’ve started the live. Hello, Suflé! We came to give hyung his gift.”

After some drumroll from them, they revealed something.

A school uniform hanging on a hanger.

Question marks popped up in the chat.

“A school uniform...?”

Ri-hyeok cleared his throat.

“Well, um, when we first did a livestream with fans, you know? You wearing a uniform made them happy. So we thought of that.”

“That’s right. We prepared this gift for our uniform maniac.”

“We got it with some difficulty.”

“I appreciate it, but why all of a sudden...?”

While I stood there dumbfounded, Bi-joo explained.

“Hyung, you said you couldn’t graduate high school because of your debut issue. You always regretted not having a graduation album. So we prepared one. Since there’s no schedule today, we thought we’d make a graduation album together with the fans...”

His unexpected answer left me speechless as Bi-joo smiled,

“Hyung, we’re going to make your graduation album.”