Perhaps it was the six “fucks” floating like an optical illusion, but the person before suddenly felt so familiar.
Hailey Blue rose onto the raised wooden veranda, sat elegantly in her hanbok with hands folded, and closed her eyes.
“Fuck.”
She muttered the F-word as if reciting a mantra, and we all smiled warmly.
While our production crew blinked in confusion, her manager relayed through an interpreter:
“It’s a ritual she uses to release tension before going onstage or doing interviews. We hope you won’t be °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° too surprised...”
“Oh, it’s fine.”
“We’re used to it~”
Our easy laughter actually flustered her manager. As Hailey Blue quietly chanted her Fuck song, we swayed along to the rhythm.
“Phew...”
The fairy-like face opened its eyes in a serene smile. A clear voice rang out:
“Now I feel peaceful. All that garbage thinking has vanished.”
“Excuse ,” Ri-hyuk asked, curiosity in his eyes, “does that really help?”
“Kind of?”
She studied the hanok ceiling and replied:
“Since I was a kid, traveling and performing, I learned that if I curse first, then any insult or heckle hurts less. Over ti, it becos a habit.”
“I see...”
Our own Teen Spirit ritual was similar:
–“You son of a bitch, cheer up!”
–“Woof woof!”
There were definite parallels. We asked the now-relaxed star:
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
She gave a nod to the PD behind the cara and tightened the knot of her gat’s strap. I signaled to my brothers.
“Let’s prepare to welco our guest.”
“Yay~”
The Sungkyunkwan students in gats rose, each grabbing an instrunt. Ri-hyuk nearly stumbled as he lifted his jing, then cleared his throat and explained to Hailey Blue:
“Originally, scholars didn’t play instrunts like these...”
For a full minute he lectured; she nodded, amused. As Jung-hyun held his jing mallet like a Chupa Chups, the PD called:
“Rolling! Hi—Cue!”
As the traditional fanfare BGM played, we began our instrunts to welco the Joseon visitor. A seated musician pricked up his ears at the unfamiliar music.
“Oh...!”
When I raised my taepyeongso, Hailey Blue’s eyes lit with delight. My brothers joined in: Jung-hyun’s jing bood “kueoong,” Jiho’s buk clattered “ddun-tta-dan.” We exchanged glances:
‘How did we gather such weirdos?’
‘Hyung’s the boss.’
I laughed at how our golden opening had turned into a riotous cacophony. As our crew and Hailey Blue’s staff roared with laughter, Biju danced and we played on—
“Whoooo...!”
Hailey Blue burst into applause.
Her eyes widened.
‘My goodness.’
The taepyeongso solo was under siege by manic buk and jing, and a mad scholar in a gat flapped his sleeves in frenzy. All structure and form collapsed.
Hailey Blue’s heart turned blue with delight at our madness.
‘These lunatics... you’re all insane!’
Overjoyed to find kindred spirits in this strange land, she rose and danced along. The NewBlack mbers cheered.
‘She loves our performance!’
‘She’s smoking it—this garbage music!’
As host and guest shot the opening traditional welco, PD Sung and the crew gently reminded the assistant director:
“Be sure to caption that no disrespect toward gugak is intended...”
“I’ve already noted it.”
“Good.”
“It’s our daily routine now.”
“Right.”
They nodded and gave each other thumbs-up.
It’s rare for a guest to join in so wholeheartedly, but thanks to Hailey Blue’s energy, we finished our gugak set with proud smiles.
“Welco, Hailey~!”
“Nice to see you!”
After just one piece, Hailey Blue glowed with warmth.
“Did you enjoy the performance?”
“Yes.”
She bead.
“Like a flower made of trash—so artistic.”
“...Still, for us it was a major leap forward.”
“Right—like crossing from the Paleolithic to the Neolithic.”
Ri-hyuk’s joke made him burst out laughing while everyone else stared sullenly, so he sat down quietly. When Jiho teased “No jam,” Ri-hyuk’s ears reddened.
Seated around a table on the hanok veranda, I addressed Hailey Blue, gently twisting the binyeo in her hair:
“Hailey, how do you like Korea so far?”
“I love it.”
She smiled.
“Fans were waiting for at the airport—I thought a pri minister was arriving! ‘Hailey!’ ‘Hailey!’ They made feel so special.”
“You must have tons of fans here.”
“I didn’t expect so many.”
She ford a playful finger-heart for the cara: K heart!
I moved to the next question.
“I hear this is your first Korean concert, and it sold out in ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Korean fans—love you!”
Her bright wave made smile. Blunt but warm with her fans—a familiar impression. Referring to her cue card, Biju asked:
“Is there anything special about this show?”
“Special... plenty.”
She laughed.
“For one, we chartered two planes just for Korean fans.”
“Two?”
“Best dancers, our own sound and lighting rigs, a 60-ter ga-screen—showing what a real concert is.”
I exhaled in awe. Jiho nudged her.
“She’s a fan of mine.”
“A fan?”
I nodded.
“I’ve followed you since your first album—I’m sad I can’t go to the concert.”
“Couldn’t get tickets?”
“My schedule’s packed.”
“Nothing you can do—money talks.”
Then Hailey Blue t my gaze and smiled.
“You free later?”
“Yes.”
“Wait after filming. I’ll sing you a song—brought my guitar just in case.”
“...!”
When she asked my favorite song, I quickly said “Blue Bird.” She agreed at once. I did a little shoulder shimmy, and the gang danced along.
After promoting her Korea concerts, we moved on:
“Hailey, did you know about us before coming here?”
“Of course.”
She thought for a mont.
“I actually discovered you before I even ca to Korea.”
“Huh?”
“I’d seen your videos in the States.”
“Aha...”
She rummaged in her hanbok pocket and pulled out her phone.
“Here.”
She played a video I hadn’t seen in ages: last year’s Nostalgia cast guidance video, teaching newcors what to do upon arriving in Korea.
–“Hello!”
Mid-90s Jung-hyun smiled with palms pressed together; Ri-hyuk made an X with a frown.
–“Nice to et you.”
Jiho bowed as he made an O with relief.
Watching that old clip dredged up nostalgia until Ri-hyuk asked,
“Hailey, where did you get this?”
“My husband sent it.”
“Husband?”
I knew from Wikipedia her husband was Chris Kyle, the Canadian-born lead of a hit U.S. dical drama. We’d never t.
“Chris said he got it from Joanne Kin... Anyway, it was her video. He sent it to .”
“Oh!”
Then I understood: Rupert Dean—star of Nostalgia and our friend—had asked permission to share the guide video. As long as it wasn’t publicly uploaded, it was fine. So it circulated and ended up here.
The maknae mused,
“They say everyone’s six degrees apart, but this seems real.”
“Six degrees.”
Ri-hyuk caught himself calling him blockhead mid-swear. I patted the maknae’s head, and Hailey Blue said,
“I ca knowing only that you’re famous in Korea. If I’d heard too much in advance, it might’ve prejudiced . Appearances can be deceiving.”
Perhaps scarred by tabloid rumors herself, she avoided outside opinions. My brothers and I exchanged glances:
‘Even if true, people think it must be rumor...’
‘Whenever hyung’s ntioned, they assu it’s made up.’
I laughed.
“Let properly introduce ourselves, then.”
She seed more curious about who we were than what we did, so I focused on personalities. When I said I was the ringleader of this ragtag bunch, Jung-hyun chid in:
“...I’m the rapper here—Mr. Sun’s right-hand man.”
“...!”
We all laughed. Biju’s eyes went wide staring at Jung-hyun—jealous and outraged at losing the right-hand role. Suddenly Biju shouted in English:
“I’m his left hand!”
Jiho called out too:
“Then I’m the left leg!”
“Fine, I’ll take the right leg.”
Hailey Blue laughed uncontrollably, and I—accidentally becoming Exodia—smiled and said,
“As you can see, I have many arms and legs.”
I waved my hands like an octopus; she collapsed in laughter. Do foreigners love this kind of humor?
“Want to see squid dance? The Squid Prince style—”
My brothers pounced, holding down my limbs.
“Stop it!”
“Uju! Keep your dignity!”
“Argh! National prestige is collapsing!”
After the lively opening, we dove into the talk segnt. As we’d introduced Maeda-sensei before, now we’d recap Hailey Blue’s discography. First, though:
“Her birth na is Hailey Brooks.”
“That’s right.”
“She’s from Canada.”
“Also true.”
We noted her hotown erected a statue in her honor, proclaid “Hailey Blue Day,” and all that. It’s funny how towns worldwide treat their heroes the sa.
“Why the stage na Blue?”
“No special reason, really—I'm red-green colorblind, so blue stands out best to .”
We asked about her career start, her feelings at debut, and finally her Grammy win.
“You debuted in ’08 and in ’13 won Album of the Year at the Grammys. That year saw many classic records, so the competition was fierce.”
“It was amazing—I won on my 28th birthday.”
Album of the Year is the most coveted of the four major Grammy categories.
“How did that feel?”
“For a day I was on top of the world, then the next day I crashed. I panicked: ‘How do I maintain this?’”
We’d felt the sa after winning our award last year. Great to win, but how do you live up to it?
“That must bring creative burnout.”
“Exactly. These days that’s my worry.”
She nodded.
“Writing a song chanically is easy—pick up a guitar, hum, record. But creative inertia sets in.”
“Right. My new songs sound like the last ones.”
“And they have to feel fresh, different.”
“Exactly.”
“And cover a new the.”
“My point.”
Songwriters empathized. We too fretted over our next album—needing sothing both good and distinct.
–“Let’s work more casually this ti.”
–“We can try in-house first, then outsource if needed.”
Daily idea sessions comforted us, but the pressure remained.
“There’s sothing that helps.”
“Really?”
“When I feel my work is too important, I remind myself—repeat after .”
She tapped her shoulder and said:
“I am—”
“I am—”
“fucking nothing.”
“Ha!”
The crew laughed, but she stayed earnest.
“Everyone gets ego-swollen. You win a Grammy and think you’re unstoppable. But repeating this to yourself helps: I am fucking nothing.”
“I should try that—minus the F.”
“The F is the point. Whatever works.”
She chuckled as we muttered it.
“Good way to relax. Critics and haters wait for my next album to fail. Ordinary folks don’t care—they just add it to their playlist if they like it.”
“So true.”
“In a hundred years no one will rember. Do you know any artists from a hundred years ago?”
Her words resonated: top talent often shared that humility. I loved the insights, and she seed to too.
“This interview’s fun!”
“Is it?”
“It’s my first ti fielding normal questions.”
She laughed with a perfect score of satisfaction. In the U.S., tabloids never highlighted her depth, only the scandals. Once an image forms that she can be roasted, the press rips into her.
–“Get lost in front of .”
–“Your heart? Is that real?”
–“Ha! Eat shit, paparazzi!”
–“Fuck you twice!”
But here she was, smiling like a child, discussing her music with warmth. It was fascinating.
“Okay, then...”
Just as we moved on,
RUMBLE!
A loud noise resounded. Hailey Blue’s eyes widened.
“What was that?”
“That was Jung-hyun’s stomach.”
“Your stomach?”
“Believe it or not.”
He chuckled “sorry.” I smiled and said,
“Now we’ll play a food challenge. Hailey, you’ll compete by event; win an event and you win that dish.”
I pointed to the crew’s table loaded with yangnyeom chicken, fried chicken, and more. I snapped my fingers; the crew desperately fanned the air.
“So far, no star’s eaten and left.”
“Don’t you usually tease then let them eat?”
“We take our food challenges seriously.”
The aroma made her swallow. She asked,
“How do we pick the events?”
“Random.”
They brought out a roulette wheel bearing our caricatures and event nas in English. As she eyed it,
“I’ll spin.”
She raised her hand to spin—
Suddenly she grabbed my wrist and said firmly,
“You can’t.
Soone else spin it—this feels off.”
Her intuition cracked us up, and my brothers applauded. When I sheepishly withdrew my hand, Hailey Blue surveyed the group, pondering who to choose—soone unimposing.
If chosen, Number Five braced. Instead, she singled out—
“My right leg! Go ahead!”
Ri-hyuk’s face turned beet-red as Biju and Jiho banged the floor laughing. Then Ri-hyuk, pouty, extended his right foot to the wheel.
“I’ll spin with my right foot, fittingly.”
Hailey Blue burst out laughing at his prim expression. Ri-hyuk proclaid,
“You’ll soon regret picking ... wait!”
“Whoa! Nyeaaargh! Aaah!”
The roulette spun, and Ri-hyuk ended up doing the splits, sending us all rolling on the floor with laughter.
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