Free Web Novel“Puhahahaha!”
“Kyaa! Kya! Kkeuuu...”
“Huhaha!”
It was a bizarre sight. Twelve idols in the hallway clutched at the walls or each other, laughing and crying in hysterics. The cameraman and writer were equally overcome. Their laughter was so contagious that I couldn’t help snorting along.
Hanjo tilted his head. “Why are they like this?”
“Seriously,” I agreed. “I didn’t think it was that funny.”
I turned to Bijoo, who was clutching my leg and laughing as if in tears. “Bijoo, what was so funny...”
“Kya haha.”
“...Bijoo? Are you okay? Shall I hold your hand and take you to the hospital?”
“Kkeu, kkeu.”
Bijoo shook his head through his tears. Rihyuk covered his mouth and burst out laughing. “Su—suh-math... puh-hee-hep!”
“Uahaha!”
Jiho and Rihyuk pointed at each other, about to speak before dissolving into laughter again. Street Boys followed suit, roaring. Hanjo spoke earnestly, “I saw on MiTube recently—some country went viral with laughter and people couldn’t stop laughing for months.”
“Really?”
“Yes. MiTube said it was true.”
“That’s serious.”
Fortunately, the hysteria subsided after about five minutes.
“Ah, I can’t.”
The writer fanned her face with her notebook, laughing half-heartedly. “What do you mean, ‘say anything,’ and then you actually just say anything?”
“...Sorry.”
“No, I’m the bad one for not giving you a script. Wait a moment—I’ll give you a proper line.”
As the writer scrambled for a decent line, voices of protest rose around us.
“Why set such a serious mood and then make us laugh like that? I thought I was losing my mind!”
“I was secretly thinking sad thoughts the whole time.”
“Can we have a normal conversation, please?”
I felt wronged—I was just following instructions. No one else had tried a delinquent line, yet they criticized me. I wanted to retort, “You try it!” but realized no one could do it better than me, so I accepted it with good humor.
“Okay, lines are ready.”
The writer handed us revised cues: “You ready?” “Let’s go for it.” After cooling down, our second VCR shoot wrapped in one take.
“Great job!”
The cameraman who’d smirked at Hanjo and me left, and when the writer departed, Hanjo and I timidly followed.
“Um, Writer-nim, about what we just shot...”
“Yes?”
I meant to ask, “That won’t be aired, right?” but she cut in with a knowing smile.
“The take we just did?”
“Yes!”
“You were worried about that, right? Don’t worry.”
As Hanjo and I brightened, she chirped, “I’ll definitely upload it—behind the scenes!”
“Sorry, but we—”
“It’s too funny to bury!”
“Um, Writer-nim! Please hear us out...”
She was already gone down the hallway. Hanjo and I sank to the floor, faces of utter defeat. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
“We’re doomed...”
“We really are.”
Behind us, our juniors clutched their stomachs laughing.
Ilsan TBC Studios, late at night. A troop of exhausted people trudged into the studio for the prerecord. They were fans of New Black and Street Boys.
“Ah, this delay sucks.”
“Four hours, seriously?”
“They treat us like free spectators, these broadcasters.”
Though they supported different groups, the fans’ expressions were identical: fatigue and excitement. Fatigue from a full day spent on various groups’ rehearsals and two-hour delays between recordings. They rubbed sore necks and shoulders, alternately stretching their stiff legs. Meanwhile, excitement buzzed—news of the joint stage had broken a week ago, but details were scarce. All we knew was the odd unofficial name Mint Choco-dan, combining Street Boys’ signature color and New Black’s black. Some fans even joked about calling themselves ‘Hawaiian Pizza,’ though that suggestion was quickly shot down.
At last, 14 idols ascended the stage for rehearsal, triggering cheers from both fandoms. Fans’ eyes lit up like lamps.
“Uniforms, oh my God...”
“The uniforms are insane.”
Both groups in blue jackets and striped ties looked straight out of a school-themed webtoon. The member with the longest lashes took the mic. New Black’s leader flashed a dazzling smile.
“One, two, three—”
“Hello, we are the joint group Mint Choco-dan!”
As staff set up rehearsal, the artists traded witty lines, introducing themselves:
“I’m Woo-ju, the 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, and 9th danjang of Mint Choco-dan.”
“And I’m Hanjo, the 2nd, 4th, and 6th danjang, also vice-danjang.”
“I boast the shortest term as the 8th danjang, LB here—currently Minor 2.”
Then Junghyeon: “I’m Minor 1,” and others chimed in with their roles (henchman, treasurer, etc.), each eliciting laughter. Their banter hinted the actual stage blend would be smooth. Woo-ju and Hanjo beamed.
“We’ve prepared this stage diligently—please record us well. Mint?”
“Choco!”
“Mmmint?”
“Cho-co!”
“Great. We’ll bring you a stage as solid as concrete.”
“And cheers as warm as soufflés, please.”
Their timing was flawless. Staff called “start,” the groups stepped apart, the lights dimmed, and the camera rehearsal began.
‘What will the stage be like?’ hearts pounded.
A steady-cam operator ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ and assistant backed up in front of Street Boys, capturing a full shot as their song blared. From the start, their strong rap exploded across the space. The leader strode forward, challenging anyone to stop him, exuding confidence. LB’s relaxed rap and grin added swagger. They performed ‘Pae,’ a 90s hip-hop track about overcoming doubt:
“You can’t do it, you don’t belong,
Those words ring out at all times.”
Though old, the fresh arrangement made it feel new, and their powerful performance created massive synergy. Yet Street Boys’ fans watched with complex emotions: the central lyric “I’ll walk my own path” resonated deeply with the group’s journey from doubters to determined artists.
Then New Black took center, moving lightly and gracefully. Woo-ju’s clear vocals enveloped the hall like a warm embrace, singing ‘Sunshine,’ a song about seizing rare opportunities after success:
“I thought I was dreaming,
If this night passes by,
It’ll shatter like a broken dream.”
The gentle harmonies and heartfelt delivery reflected New Black’s own story—years of grueling trainee life, a canceled debut, and finally, this chance to shine. As they reached center stage opposite Street Boys, their song subtly merged with ‘Pae.’ Though one group sang rap lines and the other melodic refrains, the arrangement wove the two songs into a single piece.
Hanjo sang a line, Woo-ju answered; Giwon hit a high note, Rihyuk harmonized. The main dancers on both sides drew every eye. This perfect synergy conveyed the message at the heart of both songs: gratitude. Gratitude to fans who supported them despite doubts, to everyone who believed in their dreams. The intertwined lyrics offered:
“Come, take my hand,
My sunshine was always you.
Come, look at me,
Now I’ll hold you warmly.”
Regardless of lyrics, the audience loved it. Modernized ’90s arrangements swept through the hall, drawing gasps. “Great remix,” fans murmured. As the crescendo hit and both main vocals soared together, the dancers gestured to the crowd, and both leaders extended their hands to the camera. The two-minute performance ended in an instant.
A brief silence—then an uproar of cheers from both sides. As the director called “rehearsal end,” the idol members waved, their expressions—though from different groups—mirroring joy and pride.
After four takes, the prerecord finally wrapped.
“Great work!”
We thanked both crews; then, “Waaaah!” “We’re done!” The two-week preparation had culminated in this moment of raucous laughter. If only we weren’t from different agencies, we would’ve gone straight for a celebratory dinner. Hanjo and I watched our juniors, smiling.
“Excellent effort.”
“No, Woo-ju, you did the heavy lifting—handling our juniors too.”
“Not at all. We learned so much from you.”
Vocally and in dancing, we led; in hip-hop flair, they shone. It was a mutual cultural exchange. As the leaders commended each other, the juniors embraced and cheered.
“No-Fun!”
“No-Fun!”
...Thank goodness we disbanded today.
“Ugh, you guys worked hard!”
“No, New Black worked harder. You’re all handsome, kind, and polite.”
“Not at all. Street Boys were cooler—like glowing halos. LB’s rap was dazzling.”
“That was backlight.”
“Haha!”
Mid-celebration, Junghyeon beckoned Hanjo and me. “Hyung, let’s take a group photo.”
“Sure.”
All fourteen of us gathered. Manager Wonseok snapped the shot. As staff ready to leave, now in casual clothes, we exchanged farewells.
“That was so much fun.”
“Yes, same here.”
“We’ll miss you.”
“We will...”
Someone asked quietly, “Can we get your numbers when you have phones?”
“Of course. Mint Choco-dan disbands today, but our No-Fun Family remains!”
“Please give us your digits.”
We slipped notes to them away from their managers. Soon, both groups—escorted by their managers—waved farewell.
“Safe travels!”
“We’ll miss you!”
They waved vigorously, faces flushed, as if parting for life.
As Hanjo and I headed back to the parking lot, Bijoo beamed. “Hyung, I feel so happy.”
“Really?”
“Yes, like I made friends.”
“Me too.”
I smiled, glad to have found peers at last.
The next day.
“...”
“...”
On the outdoor stage at Sanggam-dong, New Black and Street Boys averted glances at each other awkwardly.
“We’re doomed.”
“This is so embarrassing.”
Both groups had completely forgotten they’d meet again today.
