The day after the Music Café recording.
We grinned as “Nakhwa” stayed at #1 on the daily charts.
“Heh-heh.”
No sign of it slipping from the top. Since its unusual style, we’d wondered if the general public would like it—but the chart trend was strong, and yesterday’s live reaction proved everyone loved “Nakhwa.”
Even better, the album’s B-sides were steadily charting in the top 100—sothing new since the special album. Back at “Nine,” hardly anyone cared about B-sides; now the pattern had changed.
“I need to save this~”
As I hit screenshot, Ri-hyuk shot a look.
“What are you doing? Not helping.”
“Right away.”
“Hurry up—help ! I can’t reach.”
Ri-hyuk was struggling to hang pretty bells high on the studio wall. He’s only a few centiters taller than —yet he couldn’t reach. I folded my arms, watching; he glared and snapped, “What are you staring at?”
“I’m thinking how to make helping you as humiliating as possible.”
“Eeek!”
Junghyun and Jiho—who were setting up party poppers and confetti traps—ca over.
“What’s up?”
“What’s wrong, hyung?”
“Look at him—can’t reach.”
They turned to Ri-hyuk.
“Eeeek! I’ll kill you if you laugh!”
Junghyun pretended not to notice, sniffing in mock disgust, while Jiho fluttered over, rested a hand on Ri-hyuk’s head like a romantic lead, and laughed:
“Aww, you’re too short. My baby kitten? Ack!”
“Yaaaah!”
It was always a delight to watch them tussle on the floor, dust flying. We’d moved the cake well out of the way. Betting on who’d win, I teased, “When did he grow so much? He’s almost my height.”
“It’s a growth spurt,” Junghyun replied.
Might he hit 180 cm soon? As the team’s second-tallest, I felt a sudden sense of crisis.
“He won’t grow any more, right...?”
“Hmmm.”
“Estimate his BMI.”
“We’d need wrist and ankle asurents to be precise... Jiho, final height is probably...”
Junghyun placed a finger above my head. “Shorter than , taller than hyung.”
“No...!”
I pictured soone cheekily chanting “little Uju” at .
“But he eats poorly, gas too much, sleeps late—how could he grow?”
“No stress.”
“Oh.”
A happy grin flashed through my mind.
“From experience, living without worries helps you grow, hyung.”
“Really.”
I marveled at that nugget of wisdom—when Junghyun glanced at my phone and asked, “What’s that, hyung? Today’s chart?”
“Yeah—today’s. Check the B-side rankings, too.”
“Oho.”
He smiled warmly as he pulled out his phone.
“I’m contributing to those numbers, too.”
“Huh?”
“I’m streaming in real ti.”
“Ooo...”
His playlist was filled with hundreds of “Nakhwa” streams. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I opened my own looped playlist.
anwhile, Jiho and Junghyun hung a banner reading “Congratulations! Biju’s Day!” on the wall.
“Ready, hyung!”
“Gather ‘round.”
I called them in, holding the cake. We turned off the lights and waited for Biju.
May 25th—Biju’s birthday. Our secret party was at the ready.
“Uju hyung, did you check the fan café today...?”
“Are they tired after yesterday’s recording? Must be tired...”
“I slept late... couldn’t sleep because—”
Since midnight, Biju had been sulking, “You guys forgot my birthday...?” Now, when he ca down, we’d surprise him. Taking advantage of a dance-video break, we’d prepared eagerly. When Biju entered...
“Here they co.”
Junghyun tried to warn , then the door opened and soone burst in with a smile.
“New—ha! NewBlackTV!”
It was Choo Ki-seok. And three seconds later:
“...!”
“...!”
The dominoes had toppled at his feet.
“No—no, no! Stop!”
“Don’t!”
As the dominoes fell into a heart shape, party poppers exploded and the banner unfurled—just in ti.
“Jiho!”
“Yes, hyung!”
“Stay still!”
“Why?”
With a sheepish smile, Jiho ran forward and cleared the chaos—transforming our rehearsal room into a cri scene as we scrambled to salvage it. Then we heard a clear voice behind Ki-seok:
“Hmm? What’s everyone doing... eh!”
Biju froze at the doorway. His and our eyes t—amid the wreckage, Jiho crouching on the floor.
“....”
I looked at my brothers, cake in hand.
“Happy birthday...?”
Jiho nodded, beaming, his cake aloft.
“Happy birthday!”
Realizing what had happened, Biju laughed in delight.
With the lights back on, we shared cake slices. Biju sighed with relief:
“I thought sothing was off—you guys wouldn’t forget my birthday...”
“No way. We ordered this a month ago—from that famous cake shop.”
“Really? It looked so beautiful.”
He savored his apple cake while glancing at the guilty duo cleaning domino bits.
“Hyung, you should have so.”
“...May I?”
“You’re not doing it on purpose.”
We laughed at the guest actor joining us. Turning back to Biju:
“Now it’s ti for presents.”
“First, this letter and flowers.”
“Oh—my birth flower, right?”
“Yes.”
I handed him a handwritten note and a single bloom, then pointed to my phone.
“Check your account for the other gift.”
“My account?”
“I sent you cash.”
“...!”
He checked, eyes lighting up with joy.
“Thank you, hyung.”
Jiho elbowed in:
“I got a gift, too!”
“Thanks!”
“Say thanks after you check, hyung.”
“But just having this prepared is amazing.”
One by one, the others presented their gifts. Biju’s delight gave us all good feelings. We took °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° a group selfie for SNS, then glanced at our guest actor eating cake in the corner.
“You ca early, didn’t you?”
“Ah, recording day today—I had questions I wanted to ask in advance. Is now okay...?”
“Sure.”
Choo Ki-seok brightened, rembering sothing:
“Oh! And this, too.”
He rummaged in his backpack and produced a compass with a cute wreath ribbon—“the NewBlack of compasses,” he said. It was quite expensive, assembled by our unofficial fans, “Jjapple.”
“Should I wear it now?”
“I’d love it.”
He also handed Biju a card filled with their impassioned fan ssages:
– NewBlack, it’s us, Jjapple.
– We can’t protect you like uncles, but we’re watching over you.
– If anyone sses with you, let us know, we’ll curse ‘em out.
– When I pass my civil-service exam, I’ll buy your album—just wait.
– Success on MiP, NewBlack!
We laughed at their parodies. It ward my heart to see people—beyond Suple—loving us like this. Biju smiled at the high-end compass.
“Thank you... I need to make an unboxing video for this. Thanks, hyung.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes!”
“I’m glad.”
Then Choo Ki-seok pulled out a sheet of paper.
“And these are my questions... when should I ask?”
“Right now is fine.”
“Okay...”
He showed lyric sheets of “Attention,” densely annotated. A famous actor’s attention to detail was clear—“Hold a breath here,” “Adjust intonation,” etc. Ri-hyuk, noticing where he’d stumbled, explained:
“In this part you felt the emotion didn’t land, right?”
“Yes.”
“I suspect it’s because you’re an actor—precise diction is key for you.”
“True.”
“But here you need to let the pronunciation flow.”
“Oh—wait.”
Ki-seok imdiately tried singing it on the spot. Ri-hyuk nodded to , “Better now?” I nodded.
“Much better.”
He smiled and high-fived Ri-hyuk.
“You’re great to work with—so responsive.”
“It’s your clear explanations.”
“No, it’s because our composer is so capable.”
We traded complints, then spent the next hour deep in discussion about how to shape “Attention.” Eventually Uju stretched and, seeing him tired, Ki-seok asked:
“You have tomorrow’s pre-recording—shouldn’t you rest?”
“A bit more work first.”
“You look exhausted...”
“I’ll be fine.”
Uju changed the subject:
“How’s company life?”
“Hmm... getting used to it, since it’s my first entertainnt job.”
“The A&R and producing teams are great, right?”
“Very.”
They’d cheer him on daily with winking hearts—like witchy Gingerbread uncles, but...
“I’m still adapting,” he said.
“It’s hard—especially with age differences.”
“Yes, they’re all so much older.”
“I’ve never had a peer in the producing team before.”
Uju smiled: “That’s why this is nice—a true peer to talk music with.”
“Yes—that’s exactly it.”
“We share tastes, too.”
Indeed, our musical chemistry was exceptional. Talking with Uju was more thrilling than with any other composer—shared experiences like military service, too.
Then Uju asked,
“We’re the sa age—shall we be informal?”
“Huh... but—”
“We’re the sa age.”
With that warm, clear smile, Ki-seok nodded.
Thirty minutes later.
Ki-seok realized his mistake.
“Ki-seok—does that make sense?”
“Ki-seok...?”
“Will it ever be finished that way? Do you want it done?”
“Oh, Ki-seok...!”
As he edited “Attention” on his laptop, critiques flew nonstop:
“Ki-seok—tired already? It’s only 11 PM.”
He shivered, eyes closed.
“Did ‘becoming friends’ an ‘be cruel to ’...?”
Tears welled.
“Oh, Ki-seok...!”
At 24, making a new friend had turned out to be the cruelest ordeal of his life.
User Comments
0 comments from readers