Free Web NovelWe lost to meat.
By now I couldn’t help but wonder if we should rename NewBlack to NewMeat.
Main Vocal Sirloin.
Cutesy Maknae Pork Belly.
Chewy Rapper Gopchang.
Main Dancer An-chang.
Leader Flower Steak.
I shared this idea with the juniors.
“How’s that? A smash hit, right?”
“Why are you Flower Steak, hyung? That’s the maknae’s position—me.”
“Why?”
“It’s the most expensive cut. And it’s a flower.”
“Why flower?”
Ji-ho, as if it were obvious, tapped his chest.
“Flower is me.”
“Stop talking nonsense, baby.”
At our conversation, the fans in the front row collectively choked on their steak. We quickly handed drinks to the sobbing fans.
I looked over. Our fans sat in the stands practically inhaling steak with forks...
Chew... nod... chew...
Chew-chew... nod.
Ji-ho cocked his head and asked,
“Haven’t we already given you something delicious for lunch?”
“Well...”
One fan in the front row, mouth full of steak, managed to say,
“Well....”
But they trailed off, apparently with something stuck in their throat. I said,
“Jung-hyeon, give this fan some grape soda.”
“On it.”
Jung-hyeon fetched a can of grape-flavored soda from the nearby box and poured it like wine. We leaned in as the choking fan drank and swallowed.
“Well...”
“Yes?”
“When I was cheering so hard, I... digested it all.”
“...We served one and a half servings per person.”
They nodded, and when we applauded at their extraordinary digestion, embarrassed laughter rippled through the crowd. I’d worried something had gone wrong with delivery and that they’d starved—but it turned out they’d simply digested super well. Having poured all their energy into cheering, they were sweating cold and devouring steak.
Meanwhile, I launched into a stirring speech.
“You’ve really hustled since dawn. Standing in line at six a.m.—I heard you started then—and today’s weather was...”
Chew-chew.
“...cold, with you up on the third floor needing binoculars to see us...”
Chew-chew.
When I made a sad face, the fans slowed their chewing out of politeness.
Gulp...
Chew...
Gulp...
As they chewed with a rusty-gate creak, Ri-hyuk chided me.
“What are you doing to our fans who worked all day? Let them eat in peace.”
“Ri-hyuk’s right.”
Jung-hyeon agreed solemnly.
“They say not to disturb a dog eating.”
“Look at them—torturing the fans. Old bad habits from the army.”
“Hyung, the fans are eating.”
Bombarded by my juniors, I surrendered and smiled kindly at the fans.
“...Please enjoy your meal.”
Our fans, delighted, resumed eating steak with their forks. I watched in silence. Every time I spoke, the fans hesitated, like children torn between their favorite food and a funny cartoon. It was so cute I teased them,
“But, everyone...”
“Huh?”
“Saying again.”
I glared at the teasing juniors, then asked the fans—who’d already eaten more than half their steak,
“Question! Do you like us, or do you like meat?”
“Meat.”
A deep voice beside me made me jump.
“Oh, jeez.”
“It’s me, hyung.”
“Jung-hyeon, I wasn’t asking you.”
“Hmph.”
Ignoring sulky Jung-hyeon, I posed the question again.
“Us, or meat?”
“...NewBlack.”
Their eyes said, “Obviously you guys,” but in that moment I saw their pupils flicker for half a second—dozens of them. My juniors’ faces registered shock.
“Whoa, I saw that hesitation when I asked which you liked better.”
“Really... meat? Not us?”
“One of those electric shockers they used on the Idol Show might come in handy.”
“Lie detector, hyung. If you use a shocker, we’ll get arrested.”
Though the fans desperately shouted “No, it’s you guys,” our wounded hearts couldn’t recover. At first I felt jealous, but feeling jealous of meat was pathetic, so I gave up. Then I proposed,
“Let’s just rename ourselves Meat.”
“That’s better.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. Ji-ho drew a V by his eye and introduced himself.
“Hello, maknae member Flower Steak. My specialty is melting away.”
“Main dancer An-chang.”
Bi-ju added softly,
“That’s rare.”
“Pfft! Heh! Heh!”
Now the fans laughed so hard they almost choked. We introduced the rest of ourselves.
“Main Vocal Sirloin. In English, I’m Sirloin.”
“Rapper Kim Gopchang.”
“A man of many layers to peel back. Leader Pork Belly.”
As we traded quips and finished introductions, everyone in the fan section was gulping drinks with red faces. Not just our fans—nearby Street Boys and Cement Boys, overhearing us, were also stifling laughter. I frowned and asked,
“...Was that really that funny?”
My juniors shrugged—they didn’t know either. Our reaction made the road managers nearby look at us as if to say, “Are you for real?”
10:00 p.m.
All of us gathered, Jung-hyeon said,
“It’s ten o’clock. Younger-line, please raise your heads.”
“I’m not part of the younger line.”
To Ji-ho’s earnest protest I said,
“Ji-ho, enough mafia game—go inside.”
“Ah, I don’t want to.”
Ji-ho whined,
“I want to hang out with hyungs more. Inside the waiting room there’s nothing to do—Ri-hyuk will drone on about boring science or history.”
“Play a phone game.”
“I forgot the charger.”
I laughed at his pout, then told Ri-hyuk,
“Take him in, please.”
“Hey, Wang Ji-ho. Come with me.”
“I don’t want to...”
But all the other minor idols around us rose and left. The minors wore expressions mixing relief—“Finally, we rest”—and sadness—“I’m not a baby.” Waving to the fans, they headed back to the waiting room.
“I’ll go now...”
As Ji-ho grabbed his blanket and trudged to his feet, I stopped him, and he couldn’t hide a pleased look.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“You’re keeping me?”
“You must leave the blanket. You’re the only one who needs it—so do we.”
When Jung-hyeon and Bi-ju laughed, the maknae glared at me in mock offense.
“Just you wait. I’ll pray in the waiting room and put a status debuff on you.”
“It’s okay. I’ve experienced that curse once before.”
“I’ll ask Dad so that if anyone Googles your name, it comes up as Taiwanese singer Wu Zhenmin.”
I couldn’t help laughing at that. As the maknae, still wanting to stay, dawdled, I called him:
“Ji-ho.”
“Yes.”
“Ji-ho, Ji-ho.”
Bi-ju chimed in with a gentle voice. It was the growth song from the Idol Show.
“I have something I want to say.” freeweɓnovel.cѳm
“When you go to school, make sure to zip your backpack.”
With Jung-hyeon joining in, the maknae’s face turned pink and he bolted. We three high-fived, chuckling.
“Good teamwork.”
“It’s been a while since we tapioca'd.”
It was pure tiki-taka. Watching our wordplay genius, I smiled nostalgically and looked around. It was past ten; the fans were tired, the broadcasters were tired, the production crew was tired, and the idols in the competition were going crazy.
“Home...”
“Ah, I miss my mom.”
I missed Mrs. Kim Deok-soon. After makeup at three a.m., crouching on a cold gym floor until now, my body was numb. If I relaxed my tension for even a moment, I’d feel ill for days. I was sleepy and wanted to relax my face. I longed to rest, even for ten seconds, in Mrs. Kim’s arms.
I noticed production staff hustling again—something about audio delay.
“Ah, what’s delayed now?”
“Such a delay.”
“Don’t they ban spoilers? Maybe after this I’ll sneakily spoil the results.”
We three huddled and shared groans as the broadcast resumed soon after. Only the women’s and men’s 400m relays remained.
Jung-hyeon looked regretful at the girl group members lining up on the track.
“I wish we could run the relay.”
“Well, it’s better we rest. Let’s just enjoy watching.”
Originally our group planned to run the 400m relay, but there was a problem: out of five members, two were minors. A relay needs four runners, so with only three of age, we couldn’t field a team. We’d have to wait until Ri-hyuk came of age next year.
“Women’s 400m relay final!”
“Get set! La Vie en Rose takes an early lead.”
As the commentators’ voices echoed, we stifled yawns to watch the late-night race. Anyone watching on Lunar New Year Day would think it’d been filmed in daylight—but actually it was close to midnight. While I kept my eyes wide, the rookie girl group Serenity from MOP Entertainment won. Scarlet, having exhausted themselves in ssireum, surged early but faded to bronze. DNS Media’s La Vie en Rose took silver. Though rival companies, the two groups hugged and smiled—like our Mincho fandom, they got along.
The men’s 400m relay winner was Street Boys.
“Congratulations!”
“Thanks. I’m alive.”
Han-jo, the anchor leg, and I lightly hugged. He took a breath and said,
“Since NewBlack won archery gold, the director was really down—so was the president.”
“You did well.”
“Now we’ll have fewer stares.”
I patted him in solidarity. He looked relieved. Suddenly a green-haired imp poked his face between us.
“What about me? I got second.”
“Go away.”
“Wow. After basketball you go from ‘captain-em!’ to this!”
“Making up stories so freely.”
I dodged the little green-haired creature for a while—he’d accused me of betrayal, saying he’d raised me. When I asked when and where he’d raised me, he called me petty for asking such six-W questions.
As recording wound down, I greeted senior idols and fellow rookie boy groups we’d met today. Leaving a good impression before parting is essential in show business. But we didn’t greet the girl groups—our agency warned against it, and Tae-hyun advised:
“I once locked eyes with Ju-ha-na and videos popped up on MiTube. They said it was for a foreign project. You just passed by and a romance BGM video came out.”
So like oil and water, we avoided each other and instead bonded within our gender.
“Hyung, great work today.”
“Yes, sunbaenim.”
“Speak casually. I’m not one to hold grudges.”
“My hyung says that’s not allowed.”
“...I guess not. Then.”
Next to Jung-hyeon, Teen Spirit’s Yeon-hu, looking as if puberty had been cured, asked him everything.
“I’ve been curious, hyung. How do you get such a body?”
“Um... secret?”
Yeon-hu looked like an elementary schooler admiring a boxer, eyes wide. He seemed unhappy with his own prettiness. Jung-hyeon thought and replied,
“Exercise matters, but nutrition is key. Do you eat a balanced diet?”
“No...”
“Get a variety of foods. Fiber—vegetables and fruit—matters as much as protein.”
Jung-hyeon spoke seriously like a personal trainer. Nearby, Teen Spirit’s leader Hwiyun gave him a thumbs-up. Bi-ju whispered to me,
“That sunbaenim gave Jung-hyeon a Chupa Chups lollipop and asked him to say that.”
“Lollipops are convincing.”
Satisfied, I moved on. Tonight’s finale: /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ the overall championship trophy ceremony.
“Team L, please come forward!”
Our three and the Scarlet members gathered, alternately lifting the trophy as Mincho and Curtain fans cheered in unison. In the spacious gym, I took it all in and smiled. Exhausted, about to collapse, but thinking it’d been a good day. As I left the arena throwing hearts to fans, Jung-hyeon, drawing a bear heart alongside me, said,
“Hyung, you look really happy.”
“I am.”
Because something truly wonderful had happened.
Lemon Entertainment CEO’s Office.
“Ha ha ha!”
Park Gyu-ho, hitting the armrests of his chair, laughed as managers showed him photos from the event.
“Ho ho ho!”
He laughed up at the ceiling, then glanced at the COO and Director Jo nearby—both on late-night snacks, looking at him asking, “What’s up?” They immediately forced smiles.
“I!”
Park the CEO shouted, largely drunk.
“I, Gyu-ho!”
The two exchanged looks.
“He’s speaking in third person.”
“He’s drunk, sir.”
Park, delighted to have drunk with DNS’s CEO Im, cackled with laughter.
“From middle school up to Taejin Records, I always bickered with Hyun-sik and lost! But I raised these kids well, right! Ha ha ha! Hyun-sik’s face looked like a sea squirt!”
“...Does that make you happy?”
“Of course!”
Park smiled warmly. After a while, he drank several glasses of water and returned to his usual gentle expression, though the excitement remained.
“By the way, COO.”
“Yes?”
“If Scarlet wants anything to eat, buy it all. Snow-flake sirloin, whatever—they’re on my tab.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And also...”
His gaze shifted to Director Jo.
“I promised Woo-joo I’d buy him equipment if we won the overall championship. He wants the same gear as at your house—can you tell me what it is?”
“...Yes?”
“Why the pause?”
“Sir.”
Director Jo blinked.
“Did you check the price?”
“No.”
“...We’re doomed. Did you promise that?”
“Well, yes, but...”
Sensing something ominous, Park frantically searched for the model name Director Jo gave him.
“...?”
His eyes widened.
“There’s another zero?!”
“....”
It happens. As if the universe’s energy drained away, the alcohol sobered from brain to toes in an instant. His ruddy face paled, and CEO Park sat bolt upright like a child from Cheonghak-dong.
“W-What’s th— Huff!”
The COO, curious, screamed too, while Director Jo only offered a rueful smile.
“We’re screwed.”
He’d boasted and promised to buy it. What to do? He’d told him to call after the event. CEO Park’s hands shook. Then—
“Eek!”
Like someone startling in a movie popcorn cinema, Park flung his phone into the air. It vibrated violently on the floor. On the screen flashed the contact name, “Our Wonderful Lucky Charm Woo☆.”
“...”
CEO Park decided the first order of business was changing that name.
