Free Web NovelThe next morning.
We were busy from dawn for the second day of the Chuseok special recording.
It was time to say our goodbyes.
Carrying gift bundles prepared by the production team, we went door to door offering thanks.
“Oh dear, you shouldn’t have. I’m fine...”
Grandma Im Soon-hyun placed Pomeranian Doo-shik on her forearm and beamed at the sponsored cosmetics set.
“Hohoho! I’ll have to wear this everywhere!”
Grandpa Kang Mun-sik roared with laughter as he held up a T-shirt bearing Ju Se-han’s logo.
Everyone was delighted, and a few even offered gifts in return. In particular, the grandparents who raised the black goat Da-gil presented a curious gift: a box of ginseng roots.
“Ginseng.”
“Oh, this is what you fed Da-gil, isn’t it?”
Jung-hyun exclaimed, and Grandpa nodded.
“That’s right. It works so well that the goat couldn’t contain his vigor and got ornery. If you eat this, you can’t sleep at night. Isn’t that right, dear?”
“But he slept just fine.”
“Well, effects may vary by age. In any case, it’s a powerhouse for men.”
“Oooo.”
The guests murmured in awe.
While we stared at the distant hills, unsure of what expression to wear, a fierce competition sprang up over the ginseng.
Were they more motivated than yesterday’s mission, or was it my imagination?
The glory of victory went to fifth-year married man Haesheon.
Maxi smiled.
“Oh... you were really eager.”
“Shh, let’s keep this quiet!”
The rapper with reggae hair frowned and everyone laughed.
After wrapping that shoot, by around 11 a.m. we reconvened in front of the village hall.
“Hello!”
“Good morning!”
We greeted each other warmly—only one day of recording, but sharing yesterday’s hardships bonded us so closely.
Finally, it was time for the ending shoot. Ju Se-han member Oh Hyung-seok burst out laughing at the guests’ weary faces.
“You all worked so hard yesterday and today. Let’s give ourselves a round of applause!”
“Waaaah...”
We all clapped.
“You know, I could never do this again.”
“And what did you do, sir? You just ate tangerines.”
“Hey, try being my age. Even if your brain signals your body, your body won’t obey.”
“And you get the third-highest fee.”
“Ahem.”
As Ju Se-han’s members chattered, the guests laughed and added ad-libs for the ending. I, too, wore a gentle smile—while my mind raced.
What was I forgetting? Something important, buried at the back of my mind, refusing to surface. That unsettling feeling... what was it?
Meanwhile the ending comments drew to a close. The PD turned to the members.
“All right, you’ve all worked hard on this special. Before we finish, it’s time to choose the next destination.”
PD Gu Jae-young produced two oversized dice made of plush microfiber, each as big as a person’s head.
Oh Hyung-seok took them and asked,
“So who rolls these today?”
“Well, last night we ate meat and held an anonymous vote: who was the MVP of this special’s recording?”
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“I have the results. One guest received a whopping ten votes, all from Team C! Please welcome Woo-joo of New Black!”
Hands clapped as I offered a courteous smile and walked forward, heart pounding—hoping no one noticed the oddity in the PD’s words. Our maknae tilted her head in confusion.
“Oh? If our team was unanimous, then you must’ve voted for yourself, hyung?”
“Huh, I guess so?”
“Woo-joo, did you write your own name?”
“No, I mean...”
“You were wearing such a humble expression!”
“Well, it’s just that...”
Everyone burst out laughing as if they’d caught me in a trap. I tearfully tried to explain, “I didn’t think I’d win...” but to no avail. With moist eyes, I stood before them.
“Should I just roll?”
“That’s right. See the panel listing destinations? We’ll roll once for the tens digit, once for the units. The higher the number, the better the place.”
The assistant director held a panel with destinations from 11 to 66: 11–16 looked like arduous trips; 61–66 promised foreign resorts like Boracay or Cebu.
Just as I prepared to roll...
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Yeo Hee-yeon raised her hand, eyes alight.
“I’m against Woo-joo rolling!”
“Tone is exactly like a father-in-law’s—‘I forbid this marriage’.”
“Are you dumb? Remember the basketball mission? Woo-joo rolled the dice wrong! No way, I’m opposed. He’s only good at physical stuff!”
Laughter followed, and the PD chuckled.
“Decision: overruled.”
With a beckoning gesture, he urged me to roll. Standing beside me, Oh Hyung-seok drew in a breath.
“Woo-joo... are you... a hopeless case?”
“I’m not hopeless.”
“I’ve practiced a lot.”
“Dice?”
“Yes. After that last bad roll, I got scolded so much by my brothers I could live until age two hundred on their insults.”
“Wow, your brothers were harsh.”
As Oh Hyung-seok rallied them, the others teased me. Our team snapped back.
“When did we insult you? Stop spreading rumors.”
“Don’t lie, Ri-hyeok. I recall every single word you said.”
“I really didn’t.”
“Ji-ho, remember: ‘I won’t team up with him for Monopoly again.’ And Ri-hyeok said, ‘The chance of not picking six is five-sixths—how do you pick that one?’”
Their stern silence drew knowing smiles from the other guests. We let it drop: Jung-hyun’s pure “Hyung, how do you do that?” and Bi-joo’s half-sigh “Don’t blame yourself.”
I spoke on.
“That’s why I practiced dice rolling along with digging.”
“You practiced that too?”
“Yes. First time on a variety show...”
“PD, next special—call him again. If it’s fishing we’ll need him pulling nets. He’ll practice.”
“I’m confident.”
His determined gaze earned a chuckle and a promise to consider it.
At last, time to roll.
“All right, let’s test that practice.”
“I’m aiming for sixty-six, Hawaii.”
“Good spirit—go for sixty-six!”
“Um, could I try once first?”
Asking permission, I rolled the dice for demonstration, controlling my muscles using the mimicry ability. I’d even taped numbers to empty boxes at the dorm to simulate it—and it worked here too.
“Oh! That really is a six.”
Then for real, I rolled the tens digit:
“Wow, that’s a six!”
“Amazing.”
“Can you practice rolling dice?”
Once more for the units, I paused theatrically before rolling—and of course it came up six.
The guests gasped; Ju Se-han’s members sprinted toward the Hawaii panel in excitement.
“Wooooah!”
“Woo-joo! Let’s go to Vegas next!”
“Hyung, let’s go to Macau too!”
I ignored the strange shouts in between.
“Thank you for your hard work!”
The crew bustled, carrying equipment; we bowed deeply to staff and fellow celebrities.
While we’d leapt into action during filming, now we returned to being rookies. The scene mirrored before the opening—with different reactions.
“Hey, hi. You did great.”
“You too. Get home safe.”
Staff who’d worked with us offered calm greetings or exchanged numbers with our C-team members.
“If you ever have questions about rap, message me. I don’t know your skill yet, but I can help with mixtape recording.”
“Forget him—exchange numbers with me. I’m prettier.”
“Woo-joo, do you have a phone? Call me if you need physical work.”
They came to us, asking for contact—remarkable, as they’d ignored us at the opening. Whether they’d warmed to our personalities or saw promise in today’s work, it was a welcome change.
We said farewell to those we’d filmed with. Then, reunited joyfully with our Seoul managers, we boarded the van. Back at the village hall pavilion, we sat.
“When will they be back? I really want to return to the dorm and rest.”
“Me too.”
“I hope they come soon.”
While my brothers collapsed chatting, I remained deep in thought—still forgetting something.
“But who’s coming down? Hyung, you said Senior Seok-hwan was coming?”
“No, not Seok-hwan hyung but Minki hyung...”
At the keyword “Seok-hwan,” a memory clicked.
“Oh!”
It was the dream I’d had last night: the black-and-white masked ball, color spreading when someone entered, the pigs on violins, the melody. That was the hint for my next B-side.
“Hyung.”
Bi-joo tapped my arm, and I snapped back.
“What is it?”
“I meant to tell you something and forgot—about our next B-side’s production...”
I briefly explained the dream, telling them I’d dreamed because of Ji-ho’s story. They burst out laughing—especially Bi-joo, clutching his stomach.
“What kind of dream is that, hyung?”
“No, it sounds funny when I say it—but once you hear the melody, your minds will change.”
Jung-hyun spoke earnestly.
“You said it was a pig dream.”
“That’s right.”
“Then shouldn’t we buy lottery tickets?”
“Exactly, hyung. Didn’t you see any numbers? What birthday was on that banner?”
“Does the lottery matter now?”
“We could use winnings as our album budget.”
“Oh? True.”
Should we really buy them? If lottery-dream omen is real, Grandma Kim Deok-soon would be living in luxury.
Bi-joo shook his head.
“I think it’s a sign the song will be a hit.”
“Me too.”
When Ri-hyeok agreed, everyone looked surprised.
“You? I thought you’d call dreams superstition.”
“I don’t believe that—but I trust our composing skills. Remember when we made Something, Fireworks, Night Sea—they all clicked when we first heard those melodies.”
“That’s true.”
“So that means this song has a high chance of success.”
It was true. Though I didn’t write two of those three, each melody gave us that gut feeling. As that thought sank in, my brothers grew serious.
“Hyung, can we hear that melody?”
“Wait a second. I called Seok-hwan hyung last night—I’ll find it.”
I rummaged for my phone. Since I used an auto-record app, I quickly located yesterday’s file. Lowering the volume to skip {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} conversation, I played the melody. A soft humming poured out the simple tune.
“Ooh.”
I looked at my wide-eyed brothers.
“How is it? Good, right?”
Just as they were about to share impressions, my phone’s speaker suddenly blared a random line at full volume:
“Seok-hwan hyung, sorry. I’ll buy you tonkatsu.”
Still half-asleep, my voice echoed. I blinked, then sighed short as my brothers dissolved into laughter.
“...Fine, mock me.”
“Hahaha! I want to hear that again.”
My maknae, holding my phone, froze at the screen.
“Why?”
“Hyung, look—the name of the person I called says ‘Jo Gyu-hwan,’ isn’t it?”
“What?”
It felt like someone struck me on the back of the head with a stone axe. My heart pounded as I checked the screen. Ji-ho was right: where “Yoon Seok-hwan” should appear was “Jo Gyu-hwan.”
“Hyung, so you called Director Gyu-hwan last night?”
“...Looks like it.”
Silence fell. Only crickets chirped around us.
Then, one by one, the members burst out laughing. I simply smiled warmly at them.
For a moment I considered: should I drop them all and go solo for the next song?
A Japanese restaurant near the HBS building in Sangam-dong.
“Bzzz...”
My phone vibrated with my “Sorry...” message, but no one looked. They all focused on the line from the phone:
“Seok-hwan hyung, sorry. I’ll buy you tonkatsu.”
Those present—reality production staff from HBS MTV on one side, Lemon Entertainment’s production director Jo Gyu-hwan and manager Yoon Seok-hwan on the other—laughed.
The HBS PD, picking up tempura shrimp, smiled.
“Look at Woo-joo—he’s truly something.”
“Can’t help him sometimes.”
Yoon Seok-hwan replied, grabbing sweet potato tempura.
As station and management mingled happily, Jo Gyu-hwan quietly raised his glass and asked,
“So... how about our proposal?”
“I love it—absolutely.”
The head writer, savoring cheesy corn, said,
“We’d only fixed the format internally but welcome any great ideas.”
Scanning the A4 pages Yoon Seok-hwan handed him, the PD and writer clarified,
“So your suggestion is—dedicate a corner of our reality show to documenting New Black’s process for album 2? Starting from Woo-joo recalling that B-side melody?”
“Yes, from start to finish.”
Lemon Entertainment staff nodded.
“We think it’ll be a fantastic story.”
