Watching our maknae prattle on like a torrent, we all stifled our laughter behind him.
“That’s an impressive answer.”
At the reporter’s praise, he giggled. I gave Jiho a look that said, “See? Good thing we prepared,” and he winked back in thanks.
“Wooooaah!”
Fans who’d been watching nearby cheered when they saw us. The director behind us pointed toward them and whispered sothing to the caraman.
“Wooooaah!”
As the cara swung their way, the crowd waved in a wave of “UJENMIN” banners and “NBLK” placards in English. Passersby in the terminal stopped, curious, so we waved back for a mont.
“And this next question is sowhat unrelated to the upcoming concert....”
The reporter turned to as if to ask permission.
“May I ask about your father, Mr. Sun Myung-joo?”
“Of course.”
We’d expected sothing like that. I’d heard that when my dad perford as a jazz pianist in the ’90s, France had been his most enthusiastic audience. His success there had even led to recognition in Japan.
“You’re active as a musician now, too. Would you say you were influenced by your father?”
“Absolutely.”
He wanted specifics, so I answered fully.
“Ever since I was a child, I was surrounded by all sorts of instrunts at my father’s side. Whenever my parents perford new music, I was always their first audience.”
“That must have influenced your music today?”
“Those mories are faint now, since I was very young, but I think—and hope—that they did.”
I smiled and raised both hands.
“Above all, I write songs and sing now thanks to the talents my parents passed on to .”
The reporter nodded, satisfied. We ended the interview there, since more and more people were stopping to watch.
“See you tomorrow!”
We offered our prepared French goodbye and waved. Soufflé leapt and waved back. As we climbed into the car waiting outside, we saw fans wiping tears and covering their mouths. We rolled down the window and waved, and they cheered through tears.
“Wow....”
Inside the vehicle, we fanned ourselves, trying to cool off. The weather was warr than expected, and for so reason the excitent on our faces refused to fade.
“Good job today.”
Seok-hwan, seated in the passenger seat, turned on the air conditioning with a smile. While I wiped sweat from my brow, Ri-hyuk said, puzzled,
“Are we really that amazing? People tear up just seeing us—but we’re not that extraordinary....”
“Imagine you at Incheon Airport waving a ten-thousand-won bill, and Sejong the Great himself arrives.”
“Ah.”
Ri-hyuk’s face lit up as if he understood.
“That makes sense. You’re seeing soone you thought you’d never actually see.”
“Exactly.”
As he said that, I rembered the fans we’d t at the airport.
“By the way, I saw fans from other countries too.”
One by one the others chid in.
“Oh, right—I saw soone holding a British flag.”
“I saw that too. And a Scandinavian cross—blue and yellow like IKEA.”
“That must be Sweden.”
They must’ve co early for tomorrow’s show and waited for us at the airport. Biju and I looked at a map of Europe and blinked—it was quite a distance.
“We’ll have to work even harder at tomorrow’s concert.”
Everyone nodded at Biju’s remark. We’d have to give it our all. Europe’s K-pop demand was famously low, so we might never return. We had to burn bright in this unfamiliar land—leave it all onstage.
“Guys.”
Seok-hwan laughed.
“We ca early so you could rest, but don’t burn yourselves out.”
“Understood!”
“Since you arrived a day early, take it easy today. Do so sightseeing.”
Our manager smiled and asked,
“Do you know what you’re all missing most right now?”
“at?”
“Rest. Rest.”
We all paused at that keyword. Jiho rubbed his stomach.
“Maybe I’m just hungry, but I think I heard ‘dessert’.”
“ too.”
“I want cold noodles for dessert. I’m already craving that tangy vinegar flavor.”
Here we were in France for less than an hour, and we were already whining about at. Seok-hwan shook his head, then laughed.
“I found us a Michelin-rated steakhouse for lunch—look forward to it.”
“Yay!”
“Like I said, rest up today.”
We bead at our manager’s insistence. Just like on Jeju Island, we vowed to rest, and I looked over at Ri-hyuk. Soon our “plan masters” got to work.
“Wait and see. I’ll make today unforgettable.”
“Need a hand, Ri-hyuk?”
“Biju hyung, co here for a sec.”
While those two plotted tirelessly inside the car, the other three of us admired the Parisian scenery outside and shared so jelly beans.
“Uju.”
Seok-hwan beckoned .
“Soone wants to et you briefly tonight—how shall I reply?”
“Who?”
“They say his na is Paul Laurent, a famous pianist here in France.”
“Huh?”
“Do you know him?”
My eyes widened—he was that famous? Seok-hwan nodded.
“He’s one of the world’s top pianists—always in the top ten.”
“That famous?”
“Very. He even did a concert in Korea recently.”
I’d added his shows to my Must-See list. I was excited—and also a bit skeptical.
“But why ...?”
“Sothing about your father—they want to talk to you ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) briefly.”
“Oh?”
After a mont’s thought, I decided. The more musical connections, the better.
“Heh.”
“Don’t laugh like that when you et him.”
“Heh, okay.”
“Are we sure we can even et him?”
When I scowled—a manager averted his gaze.
After checking into the hotel,
“Here.”
Ri-hyuk—our appointed guide—stood with a yellow rubber-hand cane.
“Biju and I made the world’s most perfect plan.”
“Wooooaah!”
“By the ti we return to the hotel tonight, it’ll be perfect....”
I tuned out his long-winded description. Ri-hyuk’s eyes snapped open.
“Listen closely, everyone. No ‘Where are we?’ later.”
“When did we ever...? What did you say again?”
“Unhelpful people. I had this all....”
“I’ll explain.”
Biju cald the excited Ri-hyuk and patiently outlined the day’s one-day itinerary. His calm voice held us for a mont—until,
“This way’s west, so turn left.”
“Biju, the map’s upside down.”
“Oh, right.”
“....”
We’d heard the route from Ri-hyuk, who even quizzed us on it—if we got it wrong, he’d poke us with the cane. Thanks to that, we had it all morized.
“Be grateful. Without our plan, this trip would’ve been torture.”
“I doubt that. We each have our own strengths.”
“What strengths?”
Junghyun, Jiho, and I looked at each other.
“Strength.”
“Lots of money.”
“Looks.”
Ri-hyuk, hearing “looks,” cocked his head.
“Looks?”
“Yeah.”
“How exactly do looks help on a trip? This isn’t Korea.”
I gave him a warm smile to reassure him.
A few hours later, Ri-hyuk admitted defeat.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you!”
He presented with a three-scoop tower of ice cream from a shop, and I blinked in disbelief. The kindly shopkeeper smiled, and I greeted her in French.
“This ice cream is delicious.”
“Oh my...!”
“Ehehe!”
“Oh dear! Haha!”
Mixing in so English, we laughed together. The owner’s face bead with pure happiness.
And...
“How did your French get so good...?”
My grammar and phrasing were as basic as his—but my pronunciation was native-level. Uju added in English:
“I’m a singer in a group called NewBlack in Korea, and these are my colleagues.”
“Oooo!”
“Guys, wave!”
The mbers grinned and waved. The owner then brought us extra scoops—twice the size of a regular order. As I accepted mine in stunned silence, Ri-hyuk gave a sly grin.
“Ri-hyuk.”
“Yes?”
“So, on a scale of one to ten, how helpful am I?”
“...!”
He clutched his ice cream and scampered off, giggling with Jiho. That was just the start.
“Hello! Could you help with directions?”
When we asked soone for directions, they offered to walk us all the way.
“Hello!”
We just greeted, and the shop handed over a heaping salad—because we’d smiled. Even abroad, looks got us perks.
“This is the comfiest walking tour ever—like a moving walkway.”
“First ti for too.”
“You’re lucky; if you washed up on a deserted island, you’d be made chief.”
“I could do that too, you know.”
“But I’d have to cut down trees myself.”
As we browsed souvenirs, Ri-hyuk looked forlorn.
“This was my perfect plan...!”
He’d hoped for praise—“Great job, Ri-hyuk”—but today Biju’s wallet and my good looks had done the heavy lifting.
While I picked stationery for letters to our managers, sothing caught my eye.
Ta-da.
A large box sat before . I looked up to see our leader, grinning.
“What’s this?”
“I picked this just for you. It’s a pop-up book of French history, each page unfolding a historical scene.”
“Wow...!”
“How is that—right up your alley?”
I nearly squealed, then cleared my throat at his teasing smile.
“Thanks. But why a gift...?”
“For the person who made today’s plan.”
“....”
“Don’t like it? You can say no.”
“No, I do.”
I laughed as I accepted it.
“Thanks.”
“You deserve it. Really healed today.”
“Glad to hear it.”
I examined the Eiffel Tower postcard affixed on top, fighting back a smile. Ri-hyuk, moved, reached out his hand.
“Now give it back.”
“Why...?”
He blinked in confusion as our leader smiled wistfully.
“Let’s go pay for it now.”
“Gah—shouldn’t you hand the gift after buying it?!”
Our one-day tour was flawless. Ri-hyuk and Biju’s plan was perfect, and our wallets were nicely lined—though Biju’s almost got pickpocketed.
“Be careful with your wallets.”
Junghyun caught the thief’s hand and stopped disaster. The trip was smooth and delightful.
“Woooo! The view is so beautiful, right?”
“Let’s take a photo in front of that fountain.”
“Everyone gather!”
At each photo spot, Junghyun snapped film-cara shots worthy of a magazine. Our managers, cara in hand, cheered,
“Got it!”
“No, once more.”
“Okay.” click
“One more!” click
“Another!”
Manager clapped back tears of joy at our professionalism. They loved playing tourist thanks to us.
We strolled along the Seine.
“This is a river?”
“So small—I think Yangjaecheon back ho is bigger.”
“Do they rent bikes here too?”
“....”
At the Louvre, we admired art and whispered.
“Isn’t this from another country?”
“Wow, they really stole it, huh.”
“Haha!”
At Place de la Concorde, we took photos for the managers.
“That obelisk was a trade gift from another country.”
“Oh!”
“They gave a clock in return, which broke after ten years.”
“Our managent must be disappointed,” muttered Min-gi and Won-seok, shaking their cheeks.
“You two are the worst travel mates ever.”
“Why?”
“When you’re abroad you’re supposed to be moved by everything—and you barely gave us a second to appreciate it.”
“Really...?”
Our managers said that even at the Louvre, our laughter earned scowls. Was that so?
We paused to admire a fiery sunset.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re giving you ti to be moved. The sunset’s gorgeous.”
“Guys, emotions don’t work like that—ah, it’s beautiful.”
We found a cozy café, sat down, and chatted. It truly was lovely—enough to show Ms. Kim Deok-sun down her alley at dusk.
As we surveyed the darkening alley... rustle! It sounded like a mouse scurrying by. For my brothers’ sake, I stayed silent. Junghyun, sipping his coffee, said,
“A mouse just ran by.”
“Haha!”
“It’s okay—just one. Oh, now two.”
“...!”
“Wow, Ratatouille was real.”
We laughed at Junghyun’s discovery from childhood. As we chatted beneath the sunset, we also opened the topic to our managers.
“How’s your girlfriend? What do you an she broke up with you?”
“....”
“Think about how to fix this mood. Take responsibility.”
“Should I write her a song...?”
We comforted tearful Min-gi, then shared photos and impressions of our day. Won-seok showed a shot from in front of the Louvre Pyramid.
“I was so embarrassed laughing at you guys earlier.”
“Haha!”
“I didn’t speak from then on, afraid people would realize I was Korean.”
“Hyung, why hide that? Just go with it....”
Suddenly, a man at a nearby table glanced our way. He and his girlfriend wore surprised expressions.
‘Did they recognize us?’
‘I think so.’
As we raised elegant cups like models, he approached.
“Excuse ,” he asked in English, hesitantly.
“You look familiar.”
“Yes?”
“It’s you, right?”
I froze, recalling our practiced line, “Yes, it’s NewBlack,” when he confidently pressed,
“The guy who mooed like a cow on TV!”
“Pfft... w-what?”
“That’s you, right?”
Flustered, Jiho feigned ignorance.
“I don’t speak English.”
“? But you just spoke English.”
“Did I?”
That wasn’t even the point. While our managers stifled laughter, I smiled and spoke for us.
“I think you’ve mistaken for soone else.”
“Nonsense... oh?”
He snapped out his phone and showed a special TV clip—our Lunar New Year skit—floating in midair, singing lines while Ri-hyuk harmonized below, and levitating in lotus pose like Maitreya.
“Pfft...!”
My brothers burst out laughing, and the man exclaid,
“Aha! It’s NewBlack, right?”
“Yes.”
As I considered how to handle this, voices rang out from passersby in the alley:
“No way! It’s NewBlack!”
“Why are they in France?”
“Is Paris catching Paris? No idea... but wow—they’re here!”
Their excited chatter revealed our true identity. I grabbed my brothers’ shoulders and declared to the French onlookers,
“Yes, it’s NewBlack. Ta-da!”
From that mont on, everyone around whipped out their phones and opened MyTube. We exchanged looks and nodded at the change in atmosphere.
...We’ll never co back to France.
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