I was staring blankly at the real-ti chart when Bijuga put a hand to his mouth and said,
“Wow.”
Then he swallowed hard.
“Hyung, I think next year we could fill Gogok Do for three days, right?”
“We could even do four days. At this level, I think it’s fine.”
“We can’t do day four. Ri hyeok hyung would collapse on the fourth day.”
“True.”
While our team trainee complained that they didn’t have that kind of stamina, I let out another satisfied breath.
“The fans really have multiplied.”
We’d guessed from first-week sales, but this was the first ti I’d seen that many people show up on the charts.
Even the company hadn’t analyzed this properly.
They usually gauge fan numbers via events open only to fans, but there were always unknown people mixed in.
I’d seen it at signings at departnt stores.
“Are you fans of ours?”
“No. I’m... just soone who likes watching.”
“Oh, a ‘hoi l’ then.”
I rembered awkwardly smiling mid-event with general attendees at signings.
I smiled and said,
“Let’s have a drink first.”
We poured grape juice into paper cups for a toast and checked the online reactions to Blue Moon—starting with music-streaming-site reviews:
“Feels like ’90s sound but oddly trendy. Retro yet sophisticated.”
“Like New Black topped with a spoonful of Hailey Blue lol.”
“How do they keep putting out new music... urgent spaceship doping test needed.”
“What’s that gayageum sound... oh wait I’m still listening lol.”
“Insanely addictive.”
“Listening makes feel like I’m the protagonist of a net drama.”
“Am I the only one reading ‘Blue Black’ as ‘Bul-bae’? 😅”
“Ca here to drop a joke but just in awe.”
“No skips on this album lol.”
I laughed reading about its addictiveness—it matched our original intent, which made happy. It was gratifying that it resonated with our Korean listeners, too.
Actually, this collaboration track Blue Moon had a stronger Arican flavor. The lyrics were entirely in English, and its rhythm and lody suited large-scale U.S. streaming audiences. The Halloween the idea even ca from Hailey, and to us it felt like a side project.
So I hadn’t expected much, but it was outperforming expectations.
“Hey, check this out after an hour.”
“Wow...”
The views on both the Blue and Black versions of the music video were skyrocketing. By the end-of-shoot party, each would probably hit at least ten million. Combining the subscriber bases of both channels produced this result. Considering the target country was asleep, it was astonishing.
No wonder articles were popping up everywhere:
“‘Blu Black’ climbs real-ti chart... netizens ask ‘Who are they?’ ‘It’s New Black...’”
“Hailey Blue shares SNS photo: ‘Shut up and listen to our aweso track.’”
“New Black and Hailey Blue surprise collab: ‘Blue Moon’ MV views explode.”
Because of caos in Our Family Is Alien and pre-released MTube content, more people seed to know about it than we thought. As people heard “Blue Moon?” and clicked in, the real-ti chart trembled.
The maknae said with a hum,
“If this keeps up, the U.S. branch might surpass our ho office. What if we top Empire?”
“It’s in English, so it’s okay. How often do English tracks chart here?”
“True.”
We laughed and shook off our seats—it was lunchti.
Wiping cooling sweat, we left the studio. Light shone from another practice room nearby, and music could be heard.
“They must be practicing.”
With warm smiles, we peeked in and saw clustered backs of trainees eating the new convenience-store lunch box and watching sothing.
“I wonder what they’re watching.”
Curious, I opened the door.
Lemon Entertainnt’s trainees’ eyes shone brightly.
“This is insane...”
“When will we get this big?”
They marveled at the Blue Moon video while eating New Black lunch boxes. The choreography wasn’t especially hard, but seeing the seniors dance made every move look different. Bijuga wielded a violin elegantly.
“Wow...”
And the song was incredibly good.
One murmured,
“Will we get a song from Senior Uju when we debut...?”
“By then, it’ll be hard. He’ll be like Mozart.”
“Mozart didn’t live that long, right?”
“Oh, then that won’t work...”
As the trainees chatted, they gasped at Jiho’s part on screen.
“Jiho-senior is the handsost!”
“Aha—no way.”
Trainee Lee Jin-hu shook his head.
“Uju-senior is the visual.”
“Really...?”
“Yeah, but...”
Just as Jin-hu was going to ask why soone was doing Jiho’s voice, he and the other trainees turned. Under his thick brows, Jiho-senior’s delicately featured face looked sullen.
“...”
Behind him stood the four seniors they’d been watching.
Jiho-senior’s face had clouded over, while Uju-senior beside him was grinning triumphantly. The other senior “lackeys” flanked them.
“Ahhh—!”
Startled, the trainees leapt up and choked on their lunch boxes. Jin-hu urgently shouted,
“You’re all so handso!”
“It’s fine. My mom says Uju is the best looking.”
The youngest New Black mber smiled broadly.
“So it’s Ri hyeok versus Jiho.”
“Stop bullying them.”
Ri hyeok sighed, grabbing Jiho’s nape as the trainees’ eyes went wide.
“When did you co in?”
Trainee Kang Yun-su raised a hand.
“Um, senior...”
“Yes?”
“When did you co in...?”
“One minute ago.”
“I didn’t even notice.”
Uju smiled and said,
“I used a bit of stealth magic because I was curious what you were up to.”
“Stealth magic?”
“Yeah.”
With half the mbers perched on his shoulders like a water-carrier youth, Jung-hyeon tiptoed in with a warm smile.
One trainee who’d been so startled that they’d choked coughed and turned red.
“You okay?”
“I-I’m fine!”
“What were you doing? Eating?”
“Yes, we were having lunch.”
The seniors’ gazes shifted to the New Black lunch boxes in their hands, full of pride.
In that mont trainees realized:
‘Right. Our seniors created New Black lunch boxes!’
Uju grinned and asked,
“How is it? Tasty?”
“Really delicious!”
Hearing that, the New Black mbers bead. They offered warm words, especially Bijuga, kindly asking after their well-being.
“Tiring, right?”
“Yes...!”
“Being a trainee is way harder. You practice fifteen hours a day.”
“Fifteen hours a day...?”
At that thought, the trainees gazed off into space, moved by Bijuga’s moist eyes.
‘Deadliest seniors once you know the truth.’
‘We’re not machines...!’
‘Machines break, but we’d die....’
They were trainees under strict health managent at Lemon Entertainnt. As Uju winked, silently telling them to just say they understood, more advice flowed—different standards for practice, but every word was life-changing. Our proud seniors, as always.
“What were you watching again?”
“Our Blue Moon MV.”
“How is it? Do you like it?”
“Yes!”
“It’s amazing...”
“The song is really, really good.”
As the trainees praised them, the seniors’ expressions shifted. Uju, who’d been pondering, asked,
“Blue Moon is addictive...?”
“Yes! We want to listen every day!”
“I see.”
Had I said sothing wrong? Uju’s face darkened, then he signaled the lackeys. On cue, all five seniors lifted their phones.
“...?”
All five phones started playing Empire, and fingers quickly tapped mute. Confused, the trainees looked on as the seniors laughed and changed the subject.
“Any cravings for snacks?”
“No! I’m good!”
“I’ll give you a card—buy whatever you want.”
“Whoa...!”
Grateful, the trainees watched the departing seniors, like petals scattering—elegant, magnificent.
“Tae-hyun, from today on, listen to Empire. What’s that song? I gave it to you.”
“Sis—help out here. Who insulted Ri hyeok just now? We’re breaking up.”
“I’m Ri hyeok. You hung up.”
“Senior Lan, it’s . No... it’s because of practice! Don’t hang up!”
Watching the seniors dash out mid-call, trainees tilted their heads.
“What’s going on?”
“I wonder.”
“But they’re seniors.”
“I guess!”
They nodded in understanding.
Yeouido. Under the late sunset sky, we headed to the barbecue restaurant for the wrap-party dinner. The managers sat up front; I rode with Seok-hwan hyung.
“It’s great to eat at with you again.”
“Or maybe you just love at?”
“True.”
Seok-hwan chuckled. Along with the managers who’d worked on set, he’d been involved in casting discussions, too. I didn’t know why, but having him there felt reassuring.
“Before I joined the company, you managed actors, right?”
“A few tis.”
“Anything to watch out for at the wrap-party?”
“Not really...”
He smiled and said,
“It’s just a casual dinner. Only at the second or third venue does it turn into a drinking party. The first is more formal.”
He said they’d get the higher-ups pleasantly drunk, then the actors and crew would have fun at the after-party. He told more:
“There’ll be tons of reporters.”
Wrap-parties usually happen the day after a drama ends. Because of its nature, the press always shows up. There’s a photo line without a formal backdrop.
Seeing the attendees gives a sense of how successful the show was.
“As such, once we get there... what’s that?”
On the two-lane road, crowds lined both sides like they were queuing for a famous restaurant.
Wonseok-hyung driving said,
“...I think those people ca to watch the wrap-party.”
“No way.”
Minki-hyung said,
“They look like fans.”
A roar of excitent rose from both sides as we drove up. By the ti we arrived at the barbecue restaurant,
“Security guards, too.”
More than a dozen paparazzi with caras waited at the entrance; across the road, hundreds watched in a single row.
I muttered in awe,
“Did the drama do well... or did we?”
Seok-hwan caught my eye and we laughed.
“Both.”
“Thanks for all your hard work.”
We prepared to get out. I hadn’t expected a crowd, but I’d grown used to this level of attention lately.
“The eight-part series raised 80 percent...”
“Stop the nonsense and get out already.”
“Let out first. See you in a bit.”
A security guard opened the door, and as I stepped out—
“Ahhhhh!”
Flashbulbs popped all around like lightning. Amid a symphony of shutter clicks and screams, I stood before the photographers at the guard’s direction.
“Please take good photos!”
“You look lovely today, Uju—who picked out your outfit?”
“I chose it myself!”
“Ahaha—!”
Laughed the reporters, and soone behind them cried, “Tell a lie!” We all laughed. After the photo session, I turned as more cheers rang out—phones, telephoto lenses, masked faces smiling and shouting greetings.
I thanked them and turned again as a staff mber handed °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° a bouquet.
“Thank you.”
Joining the managers inside, the cheers faded. We took the elevator to the second-floor restaurant, where warm greetings awaited.
“Kim Uju is here!”
“Our maknae... co on over!”
Among manager introductions, the actors beckoned to . Teacher Song-hun spread two cushions and patted them.
“Why are you just getting here!”
“I got stuck in traffic.”
As I sat, spoons and chopsticks clattered down and a glass of cola appeared—full maknae treatnt.
“Hahaha!”
I loved it.
Instructor Yang Ok-bun shook her head.
“He’s got that innocent smile again.”
“They say he’s treated like an old man by his mbers.”
“But he’s not exactly young. If Jiho is ’98, then...?”
They teased until I glared, delighted by their reaction. Yes—no matter what I did here, I was the beloved maknae.
Just as I tried to grill the at, actors snatched the tongs.
“I wish every day felt like a wrap-party...”
Everyone burst into laughter. Soon the TBC Entertainnt Director and Gon Pictures CEO Kim Wo-yong arrived, sparking another frenzy.
The director strode over, beaming.
“Well, look at our TBC son!”
“No, no.”
Director: “Uju, thanks to you life’s been fun. Our bul-bae restaurant is thriving, and so are our ratings...”
He clasped my hand, swearing eternal partnership. Teacher Song-hun whispered,
“He’s drunk, isn’t he?”
Soone answered, “He must have alcohol permanently in his veins. Uju’s brought him huge ratings.”
“Our maknae did great.”
Pride swelled in their voices. Just then, a plate of raw at landed on our table. The adjacent table gasped at its appearance—top-tier cuts. As Scarlet’s Ara covered her mouth in tears, Senior Seo No-eul’s eyes widened.
“This is amazing, boss.”
The restaurant owner smiled at . While everyone analyzed the correlation between and this premium at, he said quietly,
“We sell bul-bae lunch sets at lunch, but ever since New Black launched, our lunchti sales exploded.”
“Oh...”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
Everyone laughed at the surprising reason. Soon soju started circulating, and joyous chatter filled the air. The drama hit its highest ratings, and the cast’s futures shone bright in this celebratory mood.
“This is so good.”
“I’ve never seen a wrap-party like this.”
For the actors, it seed especially aningful. Then Song-hun called .
“Juseon-i.”
“Yes, Teacher.”
“Ever thought about acting again?”
“Well...”
He said, “It’d be a sha to waste your talent. Even if you’re busy, glance this way sotis.”
“Yes, Teacher.”
“No matter how well you write songs...”
As Song-hun launched into his speech, I nodded with a smile—when suddenly,
“Congratulations!”
Jung In-woo, playing the alien son, waved his phone excitedly and held it out.
“Hey, Uju. You hit number one!”
“Number one?”
“Yeah, in the U.S. charts. I read it in an article.”
We all looked at our phones:
“New Black collab ‘Blue Moon’ tops various international charts.”
It said our track with Hailey was number one, two, and four on several streaming platforms. We were stunned.
The actors gasped and cheered around .
“...”
Song-hun, mid-lecture, narrowed his eyes and asked,
“You wrote the song that hit number one in Arica?”
“That’s what they say.”
He sighed, then clasped my hand with both of his.
“Juseon-i.”
“Yes, Teacher.”
He flashed a grin and gave a thumbs-up.
“Take your ti with acting.”
Laughter erupted around us.
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