Free Web NovelI dreamed again after a long time.
It was an interview exam hall, and across from me a catfish–faced interviewer in a suit yelled that with a résumé like this I couldn’t even make a decent spicy fish stew.
When I asked what was wrong with my résumé, he tossed it at me and told me to take a look.
Then he got angry again: “And what is this ‘special skill’?”
Special Skill: Producing dark history
Reading that, I burst into tears and protested, “No, I’m not a dark-history producer,” but the catfish didn’t listen.
Then men in suits came and said, “Sun Woo-joo, you’re under arrest for leaking dark-history production secrets,” and dragged me away—and that’s how the dream ended.
“...That’s the story.”
“What a spectacle,” Rihyeok clicked his tongue.
As yesterday, we were chattering in the company meeting room before our live broadcast.
Junghyun exclaimed, “Wow, that was so funny. If your dream becomes a movie, I’ll definitely watch it, hyung.”
“It’s box-office gold,” Bijoo added.
“Hey, guys. Why don’t we think about why hyung had a dream like this?”
“I dunno...”
“No clue.”
The ones who teased me before bed yesterday at the dorms all pretended ignorance. Only Bijoo offered comfort.
Rihyeok sneered, “Why have a nightmare over something like that? If we count dark history, I’m number one on this team.”
“That’s true,” I admitted.
“If I got money every time I was embarrassed, I’d be a chaebol by now.”
“No way. Woo-joo hyung is right up there, too,” Bijoo protested.
Suddenly it turned into a full debate: Who has the worst dark history—Seori Rihyeok or Sun Woo-joo?
“...”
I ignored them all and decided to have a moment alone. fгeewebnovёl.com
Yes. I’ll leave them behind and spend time with our Soufflés...
–ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ It’s a gif of Woo-joo yesterday
–Woo-joo clutching the back of his neck.gif
–Guys... Woo-joo’s hobby is lurking on the fan cafe... he might be watching now, let’s cheer him up
–Ah...
–You’re right, Woo-joo, stay strong!
–It’s okay if you’re bad at games ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
–ㅋㄷㅋㄷ
...Maybe I’ll quit for a day.
I ignored the comments on the laptop screen. I was proud—fans were praising the content I’d prepared personally—but this subtle sense of defeat confused me. It felt like I’d achieved the goal I wanted, but all that remained was hurt.
“Well, think positively. This is a tactical loss but a strategic victory: we lost the battle but won the war. Someone’s sacrifice so everyone else can have fun...”
“Rihyeok.”
“What?”
“Focus on preparing the debate...”
“I am! Geez, even when you comfort me, you complain.”
As I was dumbfounded, the PR team staff called us.
“Hey, let’s move the tables.”
“Yes!”
We reconfigured the meeting-room tables with PR staff: two tables, for an actual split-team debate format.
“A debate...?”
I’d suggested content for the fans, but it felt like our main vocalist was indulging his own whims.
“Is this really content for the fans?”
“Just roll with it, hyung.”
Jiho whispered, “Remember on the reality show, Rihyeok hyung totally lost face.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
It aired in Episode 2. When the producers asked what we wanted to do, Rihyeok said he wanted a debate. We were shocked to see a prepared debate stage, then twice shocked to see the opposing team were elementary-school kids. It was “3rd-grade team vs. adult team.”
At first we laughed, thinking “Kids vs. us?” But soon our expressions turned anxious, Rihyeok’s voice sped up, and the crew laughed at every word we said.
After filming, the 3rd-graders asked for autographs and said they attended a gifted school—and then, with innocent smiles, told us we were worse than their 6th-grade hyungs. Remembering that merciless truth blow made my eyes mist over.
“Who knew we’d lose to 3rd-graders...”
“I want to forget that,” Bijoo said, staring into the distance. Jiho raised a finger as if to say we had something important to recall.
“But we’re still more popular.”
“Right. And older.”
“Oh, and we have ID cards. Hyung.”
“I just thought of it—we can buy beer, they can’t.”
“That’s true.”
“Seriously, I’m so glad the fans never see this pathetic conversation.”
At someone’s remark, we glanced at each other, then resumed.
“Remember how Rihyeok’s ears were smoking after losing the argument?”
“Remember. The PD teased, ‘Is smoke coming out of your ears, Rihyeok?’”
“When he adamantly refused to admit losing—it was hilarious.”
“When did I do that?”
Rihyeok denied, “It’s because they’re studying full-time; if I were in school, I’d have won.”
“To 3rd-graders?”
“Well....”
His ears began to glow like Rudolph’s nose, embarrassed even he. We cracked up, clapping like seals.
I laughed most of all, recalling the kid teasing me at 1 AM in the lower bunk, “You like MyTube? I’ll send you game clips.” I saw under the covers what he sent me—his flashy mouse control I grasped in an instant, but I couldn’t understand the game’s rules.
–Oppa, you’re terrible at games
I shook that echo from my head. Well, if the Soufflés enjoy all this dark history, I’ll be happy too.
Then I remembered today’s event.
“By the way, Rihyeok, did you prepare a good debate topic?”
“Yes. More or less.”
“Make it fun. Remember it’s for the fans.”
“Don’t worry. I got a topic that suits the fans’ taste. PR already approved it.”
He bragged so much that I decided to trust him—for now.
Our live broadcast began again. As yesterday, today’s star, Rihyeok, led the talk, then...
The 1st NewBlack Debate started.
We formed teams by topic and offered opinions with fans’ help via chat.
Rihyeok read the chat: “Hello, Soufflés. Welcome to the 1st NewBlack...”
“Debate~!” fans chimed in the chat.
“...Please look forward to it,” he concluded solemnly, and fans laughed in the chat.
Clearing his throat, Rihyeok said, “Today’s debate has three topics. First, as a warm-up, a preliminary debate.”
The first topic: Fried vs. seasoned (seasoned chicken). With fans’ help, ten minutes of wild nonsense ensued—no conclusion.
I said, “Jiho, put your hand on your heart. If you could only eat one for life, fried or seasoned, you’d honestly choose fried. Isn’t that obvious?”
“Nope. I’d pick seasoned.”
“Excuse me, everyone.”
“Frankly, it should be boneless vs. bone-in. But if you choose between seasoned and fried, seasoned is the official pick.”
“Excuse me!”
Ding-ding-ding!
Rihyeok tapped the table with a mini hammer like a gavel, and fans erupted in laughter.
Finally the silliness ended, and the real debate began. Rihyeok begged us to be serious, but at the first real topic, everyone grew earnest.
“First topic: Discussion on NewBlack’s leader, Woo-joo.”
Me?
“Woo-joo’s position is lead vocal, lead dancer, and leader.”
“Oh, true. ‘Lead’ is a position—‘leader’ is lead + er,” Junghyun chimed in, and we laughed and applauded.
Rihyeok glared and said, “Thank you for that insight. But I’ve always wondered: Should we consider Woo-joo a vocal member or a dance member?”
“Ooh, nice one.”
“Good topic—I’ve thought about that too.”
Eyes shining, the kids loved it. Jiho and Rihyeok sided with dance; I, of course, sat with the vocal camp alongside the hyung line.
The debate began in earnest. It was surprisingly earnest, as if this were the debate of the century: Which matters more for Woo-joo, singing or dancing? And watching that fierce debate, I...
“Hyung, why do you look so moved?”
“Right, your eyes are glistening.”
I smiled, “There’s a reason for that.”
It was a quietly emotional moment just for me.
Meanwhile, whenever one side seemed to gain the upper hand, the other side countered with new bait. It was like a ping-pong match—rapid back and forth.
I too was busy moving about: “Our game-illiterate, sing for us.” “Hyung, can you dance? Maybe rap, too?”
Though I wanted to refuse out of annoyance, with cameras rolling I gave it my all.
Yet the first debate showed no signs of ending—and indeed didn’t end by the time we closed the live broadcast. Both the chat and the fan cafe were still discussing it.
“This... wasn’t part of the plan...”
Rihyeok looked flustered. He’d prepared it for fun, not expecting fans to dive in so seriously. Even in the fan-cafe polls afterward, the vote was nearly tied.
The moment “Is Woo-joo a vocal member or a dance member?” became the NewBlack version of the seasoned-vs. fried debate. And someone sighed:
“Aaah... I prepped so hard...”
Soufflé Week, as proposed by the members, sailed on with fans’ positive responses.
Random-draw small gifts: modest in price, but widely praised on the fan cafe and idol communities.
As an idol community, talk of numbers followed—but before the fan meeting, everyone was relaxed. Whether people talked or not, they were too busy catching the flying bait. Soufflé Week truly was a festival for the fans.
Monday’s gaming, Tuesday’s debate, then Wednesday’s quiz show where Junghyun quizzed fans about the members’ profiles. Thursday, Bijoo led a soap-making event at a craft studio, drawing winners to receive them.
Bijoo: “Wow, this is so fun. Hyung, let’s do a lot more events like this.”
All: (ignoring him)
Bijoo: (tilting his head)
All: (burst into applause and cheers) “Waaaah!”
Bijoo: (beaming)
Then Friday’s Woo-joo live broadcast gained buzz in idol communities for its odd content. He began offering to counsel light worries, but while talking to high-school seniors about Suneung prep, the content veered:
Woojoo: “Suneung Korean history question 8 from 2011? Let’s see... Na Un-gyu’s Arirang is 1926, the Wonsan general strike is ’29, so the blank is an event from the ’20s. The answer is the New Trends faction, the KEF. But you can find all this in guidebooks... What? You want me to wear glasses? These have no prescription... One sec. (fumbling) There—explain again?”
Jiho: “Hyung, you’re getting tricked by the fans.”
Junghyun: “You fell for it again, oppa—they say you’re quok quok quok. Oh, they said read it ‘krkrkr’?”
When my brothers burst out laughing, clips of me taking off my glasses flooded the fan cafe.
Meanwhile, the reality show “It’s the NewBlack” continued entertaining fans: Episode 4 arriving at an indoor climbing gym and seeing a sheepishly scratching bear, Episode 5 where a crimson creature tumbled before 5 m up, and the maknae who then slipped as he mocked them.
Plus Bijoo, afraid of heights, sitting on a blanket and inhaling helium as a penalty, chanting “Fighting! Fighting! Kya-haha!” while cheering them on—truly a feast of bait.
The day before the fan meeting, Lemon Entertainment’s MyTube posted a video. The empty management-team office, members at their computers:
Woojoo: “Everyone set your clocks?”
Jiho: “Hyung, who uses a wristwatch for ticketing? My sister said university course registration syncs to server time.”
Woojoo: “Oh.”
Bijoo: “Let’s nail ticketing today and offer it as a prize to fans.”
Junghyun: “What if we fail?”
Rihyeok: “Don’t worry. I scoured the internet for ticketing tips yesterday—there’s no way we fail, in theory.”
Woojoo: “When he’s overconfident, I get nervous.”
Junghyun: “Me too.”
Jiho: “One minute! One minute left!”
With tense faces, they gripped their hearts, ready to ticket NewBlack’s first official fan-meeting.
As the countdown to server time reached ten seconds, the time-signal site beeped, and their throats bobbed.
Rihyeok: “Now!”
They clicked furiously—and three seconds later, all screens froze with the same message:
[These seats have already been selected.]
They blinked in stunned silence as fans laughed in the comments.
Finally, fan-meeting day.
In a live hall in Gwangjin-gu, rehearsals were in full swing.
“Hello, we are NewBlack!”
The MC and members practiced greeting as if fans were in the seats.
An HBS MTV crew filmed the stage; staff bustled: lighting crew with waist-pouches, stylists lugging garment bags.
‘Hope there are no issues.’
Director Yoon Seok-hwan watched from beside the stage director, recalling the backlash from the audio glitch at their debut showcase—he had to check everything thoroughly.
Disguised in casual clothes, the members rehearsed a ballad and a cover-dance stage. The stage director, microphone in hand, gave cues: “Junghyun, step back a bit toward the top light—there, perfect.”
Junghyun obeyed precisely each time, making the director smile: “They’re impressive. You’d expect nerves with a thousand in the audience, but no shaking.”
“Only onstage,” Yoon adjusted his glasses, smiling. If you saw them backstage, trembling, you wouldn’t say that.
One by one, acts progressed until Woojoo’s self-composed final song rehearsal closed the program.
After the unique performance, the stage director said into the mic, “Great work, members. Please return to the waiting room.”
“Thank you, everyone!”
Watching them cheer backstage, the director chuckled, then asked as if recalling something: “About that last song... when the fans hear it later, I think they’ll love it.”
“Yes, I agree,” Yoon Seok-hwan smiled. “Aside from its polish... it’ll be a stage everyone remembers.”
