Free Web NovelI slept deeply for the first time in ages.
The nights of fitful dozing through practice were over, and after more than eight hours of straight sleep, my body felt refreshed......
“Ighhh.”
“Ughhn.”
We should feel that way, but instead everyone was laid low by a terrible ache.
“Aah, I’m dying here.”
“Why is my body shivering so much? Is the heater set right? Turn it up a bit more.”
“Just a moment.”
Bi-ju, wrapped in a blanket on the studio sofa, called me over.
“Hyuuuhng.”
His voice was completely nasal.
“Huh?”
“Ri-hyuk says he’s cold. Can we turn up the temperature in here...? I don’t want to bother you working.”
“Sure. Crank it up a bit.”
Bi-ju immediately reached out and adjusted the thermostat. Warm air flowed from the vents, and the younger members, cocooned in blankets, closed their eyes in bliss.
“Temperature.”
“Warm.”
“Humidity.”
“Perfect.”
Wrapped up to their heads, red-nosed, they sipped drinks with contented slurps. Noticing my gaze, the maknae slurped his convenience-store fish-cake soup and asked,
“What is it? Surrounded by blankets like this, I feel like my cuteness is exploding more than usual.”
“I wasn’t even looking at that.”
“.......”
“You guys look like No-Face.”
“......!”
They howled indignantly at my harsh words. But man, it’s getting uncomfortably hot in here. Every time they complained of cold and I raised the heat, the studio felt like high summer. I considered reducing the fan, but seeing their shivery little faces made me decide to take off my hoodie instead.
Beside me, Jung-hyun, in a T-shirt, operating the music machine, flashed a relieved smile and said, “Hyung, you’re hot too, right?” He alone looked healthy. ƒгeewebnovёl.com
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Jung-hyun, I’m curious—have you ever had a cold? Or any illness?”
“Um......”
Jung-hyun thought, then exclaimed, “I have! I’ve been sick.”
“......The fact that you had to think hard to answer is amazing.”
“In elementary school, I ate bad sashimi and got enteritis.”
Why did that sashimi suddenly feel so impressive? I marveled at our tough third member. Envious stamina—here I am, aching all over.
“Achoo—!”
I barely stifled a sneeze until I fished for a tissue, afraid of spraying germs on the equipment.
“Ugh, I’m dying.”
“Should I massage your shoulders, hyung?”
“Yeah.”
I let our rhinoceros-beetle of a maknae work his magic while I reflected on last night. After winning first place in the competition, we returned to the waiting room and cheered passionately with the members and staff. I felt proud of all of us for pulling it off in terrible condition.
Above all...
“Of course my song deserves first place. You did well. It was a stage I loved.”
The original artist, Noh Jae-hyun, beamed with joy, his normally pale cheeks flushed with health. He joked that thanks to us he’d recover from illness faster. The lady attendant behind his wheelchair smiled nonstop.
“Teacher, it’s been a while since we saw you laugh like this.”
“Hearing my song performed properly again feels great. Watching you made me want to sing myself.”
He said he’d train and rehabilitate hard just to grab a mic again. He asked for our address to send tangerines—if those arrive, maybe Bi-ju will stop teasing me about apples.
“Ugh......” ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
But despite that joy, as soon as the competition ended, four of us—all but Jung-hyun—caught the worst body ache. We’d held onto adrenaline through the finals, but once it was over, the chill went rampant like wild Ji-ho. Our fevers weren’t extreme, but our voices were hoarse, our throats raw, and we felt chilled. We saw the manager and got cold medicine and vitamin shots, but the ache still hadn’t budged.
“Hyung Woo-joo.”
Turning, I saw Bi-ju wrapped head to toe in his blanket.
“Shouldn’t you rest too?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“You don’t look so good. If you push it, you could /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ get really sick.”
“I’m totally fine.”
Bi-ju shook his head and called Jung-hyun.
“Jung-hyun.”
“Yeah.”
Calloused fingers rested lightly on my forehead. Jung-hyun looked serious.
“Feels like thirty-seven point three.”
“Thirty-seven point three... got it. I’ll check again in an hour. Actually, you won’t remember, so I’ll remind you.”
“Okay.”
They chatted like doctors charting temperatures—I just laughed at them. What are you guys even doing?
As I returned to my desk, Bi-ju’s wide eyes followed me.
“Hyung, if you really feel bad, tell us right away, okay?”
“Y-yes, yes.”
“Answer properly, hyung.”
“...Yes.”
I’m the junior. I’m the low one here. I clicked the mouse with a sad face and donned my headphones. Pressing play filled my ears with music. It was a ballad—our performance from yesterday, “Insaeng,” starting with a gentle melody then bursting into harmonies at the chorus. Since the competition tune would be released soon, we were prepping the final mix, focusing on parts that felt off. But maybe from the cold medicine, my head was fuzzy and I couldn’t concentrate. Everything sounded like just a drum or cello. Eventually I took off the headphones, tilted my head back, and stared at the ceiling.
“...Ugh.”
It was frustrating not to focus, and yet I couldn’t completely rest either. You know your own body best. This slump was the result of Olympic recording plus our usual two to three hours of sleep, compounded. It wasn’t something fixed overnight. If I relaxed fully today, tomorrow I’d really never leave the bed. So I tried to push through—because our schedule for the week wasn’t done.
“If we didn’t have tomorrow’s recording, I’d spend the whole day lazing in the dorm.”
“Me too.”
“Hey, tomorrow’s not the only day—we’ve got weekend events too.”
“...Are you crazy? Why did we agree to those? The director warned us.”
“We didn’t think it’d be this bad...”
I regretted it too. Despite Seok-hwan hyung’s doubts—“You won’t be in condition...?”—we insisted, “We’re young and strong,” then signed up for weekend gigs. Plus we have to go to PBS tomorrow to prep for the second round.
“...Why do I feel tears coming to my eyes?”
Ri-hyuk, sipping barley tea, saw my face and said,
“Maybe you’re just getting old.”
“No, I’m not.”
I shook my head, and the others snickered.
Ji-ho, sprawled on the sofa crunching snacks, said,
“I want something spicy. When you’re trying to shake off a cold, you need spicy food.”
“Tteok-bokki?”
“No. Today calls for a hearty spice, not sweet-spicy. Army stew or tripe hotpot?”
“The broth sounds great.”
Jung-hyun nodded happily.
They chatted over dinner ideas for thirty minutes, and then Ji-ho asked me,
“What do you want to eat, hyung?”
“I don’t really have an appetite.”
Jung-hyun looked puzzled. I smiled and said,
“Tonight, I’ll go wherever you guys want.”
They discussed for another half-hour when someone knocked on the studio door. It was our manager.
“Ah, Won-seok hyung.”
“I stopped by on my way up.”
Do-won-seok, seeing our state, gave a sympathetic smile and handed us a bag full of supplements and vitamin drinks. He fussed over our health for a while, then remembered:
“Oh, by the way, the director said to take you all downstairs in a bit.”
“Why?”
“He promised meat during the Olympics.”
“Oh...!”
We’d forgotten entirely.
“How could we forget meat?”
“Let’s reflect.”
“So we’re going to eat meat now?”
Won-seok hyung nodded.
“Beef.”
“Ooh.”
“Ribeye.”
“Ooh!”
We all flushed at the word “meat.” Our manager said with a laugh,
“Scarlet ate thirty-five servings of meat this week. The director said you guys shouldn’t worry about money today—just eat.”
“The CEO...!”
The director’s generosity floored us.
“If you guys eat well and recover from this ache... hey, you all ready?”
Seeing us already gathering clothes, he blinked. The blanket-wrapped, whining versions of us were gone, replaced by lively kids. I was the same.
“Hyung, you said you had no appetite...?”
“I do now.”
I shrugged, “It’s beef,” and they understood.
“So when do we leave, hyung?”
“Guys. Not yet—let’s take our time...”
I nodded and turned to the monitor.
“Okay, then before we go, listen to the work we did on the competition song...”
“Let’s go, guys.”
Our manager burst through the door. With joyful laughter, we dashed off to meat.
The next day. PBS Main Building.
“Huh? Did something good happen yesterday? You all look even brighter skinned.”
Trot singer Song Bo-hyung greeted us in the hallway.
“We had beef after a team dinner yesterday.”
“.......”
“All five of us ate forty servings.”
He’d stared blankly, but at our happy faces, he burst out laughing—though I’m not sure why it was funny. We headed with him to the studio through the corridor. He teased,
“You were amazing yesterday. I was clapping so hard with the manager, saying ‘Wow!’”
“A standing ovation?”
“Not that much. I sat and clapped~”
His playful tone made us laugh.
“But the reaction yesterday was insane.”
“Yes, the audience was definitely...”
“No, not the audience—us.”
He smiled.
“Honestly, we all expected you’d be good. From the moment we first heard you sing, we said, ‘Wow, they’re talented.’ But yesterday’s stage... goosebumps.”
“Aah, no, it was just luck.”
I waved my hands humbly, but it felt good. Song Bo-hyung tapped my shoulder and laughed,
“Luck matters. After the last stage, everyone except Cha Woo-hyun had the same look—a stunned ‘We lost’ expression.”
He imitated the blank-awed, rueful-smile faces. I could imagine it even if I didn’t see it.
“So...”
Just then, walking toward the main hall from across the corridor, we passed the Jo Yuri Band. They paused, Jo Yuri, leading the group, spotted us and quickly averted her eyes, stepping into the hall to avoid greeting us.
“...?”
Song Bo-hyung explained,
“It’s because of the arrangement.”
“Their arrangement?”
“Yesterday, only two teams on that stage arranged their own music: NewBlack and Jo Yuri Band.”
“Oh...”
“It must’ve been an obvious comparison. Their faces looked crushed.”
Jo Yuri Band had been criticized for killing the original’s essence with gimmicks, while our arrangement received glowing praise from the composers. Judging by her reaction, she seemed deeply wounded—and embarrassed.
“Well, NewBlack’s arrangement was that good.”
As my members basked in praise of my work, Song Bo-hyung, recalling something, said before entering the hall,
“Now that I’ve been on this show, I’ve decided something.”
“...?”
“Before I hand my songs to a composer for arrangement, I’m going to pester Woo-joo for advice. I’ll stick to you like a leech and ask.”
He grinned broadly, and we smiled back.
Entering the hall, the trot singer said teasingly,
“You’ve been picked.”
I laughed,
“There was nothing to pick.”
“Hmm...”
He looked at me as if I didn’t get it, then eyed my younger members.
“Are you always like this? Pretending not to know?”
My brothers answered in unison,
“He’s so annoying, always pretending.”
“That’s Woo-joo hyung’s concept—acting oblivious.”
“He lives in his own little world.”
I tried to clamp their mouths, but Song Bo-hyung was already roaring with laughter.
“I felt sadness in this song. It’s a joyful atmosphere, but there’s a sense of regret...”
“Sadness.”
“Excuse me?”
“No, continue.”
Lisa smiled and gestured for me to go on. I saw her muttering “sadness” as if to remember it for the composers later. At first I laughed, but each time a song was chosen, everyone reacted similarly.
“In Teacher Mo-Ho-yeon’s songs, that melody often appears, like an accordion recalling memories...”
“Accordion.”
“Yes, that part feels key.”
At my words, Cha Woo-hyun thoughtfully stroked his chin. What’s with this mood? It was different from last week. Today’s chosen 1984 songs were mostly plaintive, but even so, the atmosphere was unusually earnest. Last time I spoke, they listened lightly, but this time they were rapt. Almost oppressively so. Song Bo-hyung, seated nearby, gave me a “see?” look.
“...”
The overall change left me bewildered. Maybe because of yesterday’s performance, they treated me less as the cute junior and more as an equal competitor. And my arranging had become a focal point. Though our reversal performance in the competition grabbed attention, our vocal skills weren’t extraordinary to these people—each competitor here had similar singing prowess. But arrangements set us apart. MC Baek Sang-jung even mentioned it:
“Wow, Woo-joo is popular today.”
At first I found this both gratifying and vaguely embarrassing, but I soon adapted to the new vibe. I laughed and chatted about music with fellow senior singers—except for one group. Jo Yuri Band tried to chime in whenever I spoke but didn’t quite fit, so their screen time dwindled.
In that changed atmosphere, we wrapped the recording.
“Thank you for your hard work!”
“Well done.”
Warm greetings came from all sides. Not only singers but staff treated us with newfound warmth. The skeptical looks from our casting—“Idols...?”—were gone. Instead, they saw us as promising talent worth featuring. Our main PD, who’d fought to cast us, watched us with a satisfied grin—the look of someone who’s proven their bold investment. As we exchanged farewells, one staffer said,
“The footage from the day before yesterday is being edited now. You can expect good results.”
Our managers beamed at that, then the staffer turned to us,
“By the way, you’re appearing on another network tomorrow, right?”
“Yes.”
We nodded.
Saturday, February 7th. Tomorrow the episode of Pâtissier Korea we filmed in Taiwan last January airs. PD Baek Sung-hyun said,
“I hope it causes a bit of a stir. It’s one of the hottest shows right now...”
Then he shook his head.
“No, as guests, nothing too noteworthy will happen.”
“...”
“Hmm?”
At our strangely amused faces, he cocked his head.
“Did something happen over there?”
Yes. Many things......
