Free Web NovelIn front of Lemon Entertainment, while the van’s engine idled, we said our goodbyes to the choreographer. frёewebηovel.cѳm
“Thank you so much for these five days. And please take this—it’s a gift we prepared.”
“Ah, no, you can’t!” Clay reached for the box, but we shook our heads.
Junghyun spoke with a serious face. “Not open. Korean manners.”
Bi-ju smiled gently and added in English, “That’s right. If you open it here, we might be too embarrassed.”
“Yep! Reehyuk’s ear will be fire!”
“Shut up, maknae.”
“Aah...! Please don’t touch me!”
The choreographer and his assistant burst out laughing at our banter. Clay handed the gift to his assistant and said, “Okay, friends. I got it.” Then he began to speak of our time together: “It was a pleasure talking choreography with you. I hope you show that same skill at the performance. Good luck. And B—”
He called Bi-ju by his nickname. As the only member known as “B,” Bi-ju had earned it: we even joked that if “dance” were a person, it would be Bi-ju. Whenever he moved, Clay would stroke his chin and murmur “Wow.” Now, with genuine warmth, Clay offered him his business card.
“My card.”
“Woah...” Bi-ju’s eyes went wide, like someone who just won the lottery.
“If you ever come to LA, let me know. Stop by my dance academy.”
Bi-ju turned to us, breathless: “Ooooh.” We gave thumbs-up in admiration as Bi-ju shook Clay’s hand. I felt a burst of pride—like a parent watching a teacher praise my child.
Then our youngest clung to Bi-ju, brightly beaming: “Remember, we go together.”
“Exactly—come all of you!” Clay laughed. In that joyous moment, we snapped a commemorative photo with him in his sunglasses, then embraced.
Before we knew it, Mingi hyung was pulling away toward Incheon Airport, the van’s tail lights shrinking to a dot. Instantly, we flocked around Bi-ju.
“Hyung! Show me that card.”
“Here.”
“Aah—my eyes!”
The maknae shielded his eyes from the card’s shine; Junghyun and I covered our faces, horrified. Ri-hyuk looked on with mock disdain. Bi-ju scratched his cheek and chuckled shyly, and we laughed ourselves silly—only to regain our composure when a passerby blinked at us.
“...That was ridiculous.”
“But isn’t this ridiculousness exactly our hyungs’ charm?”
“Charm? Fans would immediately unfollow us if they saw this.”
“Why would fans hate it?”
Junghyun cocked his head. Ri-hyuk paused, then said, “Uh... he just doesn’t like it when we have fun.”
“I get it now.”
“In short, he’s twisted. ‘Twisted’—that’s a nice ring. Should I add it as your nickname?”
“’Twisted’... cute.”
“Please stop with the weird nicknames. Every time I visit the fan café there’s another new one.”
“Okay, okay, we’re sorry.”
“And don’t put your hand on my shoulder.”
“...You’re prickly.”
We patted the sulking brat on the back and headed inside.
“Oh, right,” the maknae piped up as we descended to the basement. “Clay-ssam is probably opening our gift right now.”
Inside the speeding van on Gangnam-daero, Clay Tyler sank into his plush seat and retrieved the gift box. ‘I wonder what’s inside...’ A fleeting, ridiculous thought crossed his mind—a sleep-gas hiss, awakening in a cell, five boys demanding dance secrets... He laughed to himself and opened the box.
“Oh.”
Inside lay an assortment of charming homemade cookies. A letter revealed they were crafted by B himself. Clay smiled warmly, feeling he was leaving with a truly good memory. ‘Interesting kids.’
In just five days, these five singers had grown astonishingly. Though each learned at a different pace, every morning they’d improved beyond the day before—still in the same clothes, dark circles under their eyes, the stale scent of sweat, but undeniably better. Thanks to that progress, Masquerade boasted high polish in a short time.
‘If we practiced more here... what might happen?’
Clay opened the maknae’s earnest English messages in the letters, then paused at one final line, written in wobbly block letters:
Wait for us. We will come find you.
From King
He shivered at the ominous tone—despite meaning “Hey Clay! We’ll come visit you in America!”—and gently slid the letter back into the box. He popped a cookie into his mouth and glanced at his assistant, Johnny, who was staring at his smartphone.
‘Another K-pop MV?’ Johnny, newly in his twenties, was fascinated by Korean idols—likely watching performances by TNT, Tinspirit, or Scarlet.
“Johnny, what are you watching?”
“...”
“Johnny?”
“...Yes?”
“What are you watching?”
“Oh.”
Johnny showed him a rehearsal video: New Black’s Masquerade from our practice room. Clay laughed.
“Why were you watching that?”
“I don’t know... something about it draws my eyes.”
“Really?”
“Yes. The overall formations, the curves—they really grab attention.”
“Hmm... think this’ll hit?”
Though he pursued art, Clay was also a practical businessman. Johnny, versed in K-pop, observed: “I can’t be certain, but the song’s strong and the choreography’s powerful. K-pop fans will react well.”
“Here in Korea... or overseas?”
Johnny paused, then answered: “Both.”
The comeback showcase was set for Wednesday, November 19. In the meantime, we poured everything into dance practice for both the showcase and weekly music shows.
“This time, let’s transform our image a bit,” Director Jo had said in our producing meeting. We’d showcased vocals on Something and Fireworks; now it was time for dance. Though Fireworks had choreography, its fresh vibe made dance secondary. This time, we needed moves both complex in appearance and execution.
“Ri-hyuk.”
“...”
“Get up. Time to practice.”
Our main vocal, tragically inept at dance, collapsed more often than not—and earned more pain-relief patches by the day.
“Ri-hyuk, when you dance, let the rhythm guide you rather than forcing each move.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, exactly.” Bi-ju guided him gently.
“Ji-ho, on the bridge part when you gesture, mirror your right and left cheeks symmetrically.”
“Like this?”
“Hmm... why are you laughing?”
“You looked like Crayon Shin-chan just now.”
“...”
“I’m joking—you’re the most handsome maknae in the world.”
I coached Ji-ho, whose expressive role was crucial: since debut, each member had a personal color, and Ji-ho’s was red, the album’s visual theme. Red stands out—like a traffic light or police siren—and suited his striking looks. He loved it too:
“I love red, especially primary red.”
“Why?”
“Only handsome people can wear it.”
A truly warped reason. But Ji-ho was the centerpiece: I led the first chorus, Bi-ju the second, and Ji-ho the highlight—his bridge in the third verse. Expression acting was everything, so we spent every day watching film clips on MiTube and discussing them.
Yet today, something was... off.
“Ji-ho.”
“Yes?”
“You seem different somehow...”
“More cute than usual?”
“Not that.”
I circled him like an investigator, saw nothing, then it hit me:
“Ji-ho, lean against that wall.”
“Why?”
He did, and I called out, “Bi-ju, get the tape measure from that drawer.”
“Okay.”
“What are you doing? Tell me if you need anything—I’ll help.”
Ri-hyuk bounded with eagerness. “I think Ji-ho got taller.”
“Really?”
As Ji-ho bounced, Jung-hyun observed, “He did grow.” He tapped from head to toe like a caterpillar. “About 176 cm, maybe?”
“By feel?”
“Just a hunch.”
Bi-ju handed me the tape: “Here.”
“Quick, measure him.”
He extended the metal tape while I pressed down Ji-ho’s hair to foil any height trick. When the tape read 175.8 cm, we all gasped.
“Wow—175.8 cm!”
“So how much did I grow?”
“Let me check.” freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
Bi-ju opened his diary app to Ji-ho’s entries—like baby logs—and saw last February’s last record: mid-174s.
“He grew over 1 cm!”
Everyone except one unlucky hyung beamed. Jun-hyun then asked, “But why doesn’t it look like he grew?”
“Hmm...”
“A 1 cm change is hard to see with the naked eye,” Ri-hyuk suggested.
“No,” I said. “There’s another reason.”
We all agreed to measure ourselves too—and realized why Ji-ho looked unchanged: we’d grown too. Except for Jun-hyun, we’d each gained a little—Ri-hyuk 1.4 cm, and Bi-ju also, while I thought my last growth spurt was in the military.
After a warm silence: “Hyung!” “Guys!” We sprang up and danced for joy.
In the basement corridor, CEO Park Gyu-ho, carrying convenience-store snacks for the members, headed for the practice room. He’d refrained from going out with us lately—diet, sasaengs—and Yoon Seok-hwan had even spoken to the local clerk when a sasaeng turned up. ‘At least we’ve got a new manager now,’ Park thought of the sturdy ex–bodyguard, nodding.
Standing outside the practice-room window, he smiled: ‘Keep my kids on track for the comeback.’ Then he noticed something odd: the members took turns leaning against the wall, gathered in a circle with serious faces—then clapped and cheered. ‘Are they measuring height...?’ They read something on a phone, then all started dancing in place, bouncing. Park blinked and didn’t feel like entering. He set the snack bag down, left a “Fighting!” note, and walked away, murmuring, “Are the kids under stress these days...?”
Days of excitement over a centimeter passed, and we entered the final phase of comeback prep: visual work to translate the song concept into images, culminating in the music video shoot.
“Ah, it’s so nice to get out again.”
At a studio in Gapyeong, we stepped out before a huge warehouse building. The maknae bounded toward the scattered flowers and trees; Jun-hyun joined him in admiring them.
“Brr, it’s chilly,” Ri-hyuk rubbed his arms. Under the cloudy sky and approaching winter, Gapyeong was crisp.
“Let’s go inside.”
We entered the cavernous studio, and the reality-show production crew greeted us. “Hello, writer! Director!” “Hi, kids.”
We exchanged warm hellos, then wandered the dark interior, greeting company staff, makeup teams, and props crew—many of whom we'd met on the Everdream CF shoot.
“Hello, Director Jo Yong-hyun.” “Yes, hi.”
They welcomed us with smiles, making the atmosphere pleasantly convivial.
“Oh, Director Yoo is in there—go say hi.”
We ducked under cables and past leaning boards to the center of the set, where Director Yoo Gun stood.
“Hello, Director!”
“Oh, New Black—you’re here. Are you ready?”
“Yes!”
He smiled at us—trusting now that we had indeed practiced, unlike on the Magic School CF.
Behind him stood a breathtaking sight: a massive tank, five meters deep. This would be the centerpiece of our story film Five Colors: The Red.
