Free Web NovelThe script lifted up as if plucked out by a doll was none other than Slip.
“Slip?”
“Yep.”
Our maknae replied.
“If I were acting in it, I’d pick this one. It just feels better written.”
Then he cast the script a wistful glance.
“Ah, really. Even as an extra, it’d be fun. The emotional beats for each character are handled well.”
Like someone staring at gold, he licked his lips. It was a treasure he couldn’t possess, so his fingers twitched. He wasn’t even going to appear in it, yet he stomped his foot in excitement—it was adorable.
“Hey hey...”
We all stifled laughter at the maknae’s mournful frown as he leafed through the script. I asked,
“What did you like about it?”
“I liked that it’s short.” freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
“Short?”
Ji-ho tapped the phrase “10 episodes” with his fingertip.
“When a story like this throws out so many hooks, the back half often collapses. You’ve already said what you need to say, but pages remain. Many dramas do this, but genre shows especially can drag.”
He explained earnestly.
“But with only ten episodes, the story’s density stays high and the script’s less likely to crumble. And... look at the synopsis: you can see the writer has plotted the ending in advance, right?”
He pointed out phrases in the synopsis and began interpreting the nuances between the lines. We nodded, bewildered.
“Oh—that’s why.”
“Wow, our maknae is so smart.”
“Can you really see that?”
Surprised by my reaction, Ji-ho bobbed his head.
“My old acting teacher used to tell me to analyze films and dramas as I watched. The more you watch, the more you notice.”
He continued quietly. I pretended to follow, though honestly I didn’t grasp half of it. It felt surreal seeing our usual jokester so composed. He sure wasn’t the same kid who went “ekeeke” all the time.
“So does that mean we should go with this drama’s OST?”
“But I can’t say for sure.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure there’s even a good place in the script to fit an OST.”
True enough. You can’t shoehorn “’Cause you’re my my love~” into a plot about a mysterious Paleolithic killer. Ji-ho said,
“I’m judging based only on the script. If I think only of the drama OST, Fox Bead might be better. I just prefer Slip, but both are fun.”
“Fair point.”
Ri-hyuk took the baton.
“If it’s just the OST, wouldn’t Fox Bead be better? It’s more song-focused, after all.”
“But didn’t they say our involvement would be greater with Slip?”
Jun-hyun pointed at Slip’s script. “They said fewer songs fit into it, so our part would be significant.”
“Well... that’s true. In Fox Bead, the main songs probably go to other seniors.”
We were in a dilemma. Both were enjoyable, each with pros and cons. We couldn’t judge story or direction until airing; the choice itself was subtle. Assuming both had equal chances of success, would we appear at the tail end of a romance drama? Or have a prominent song in a genre mystery?
“It’s weirdly complicated when we’re not even acting in it.”
Everyone nodded. We weren’t choosing a next acting role—just an OST—but we wavered. Before, we had no choices; we just took what we were given. Now at this crossroads... Of course, one OST wouldn’t break or make us, but as Grandma Deok-soon says, “First impressions stick,” so the first choice mattered. Yet even after more discussion, no conclusion came.
I unconsciously thought, “I wish someone else would decide,” but for our careers, the final call had to be ours. Whom to ask... Director Jo’s famed “good gut” sprang to mind, but someone more fitting appeared. No, I saw them now.
“...!”
I glanced at Jun-hyun rummaging through a bag of gummy worms. When I gave him an “aha!” look, he flinched.
“No way.”
“What do you mean, no way?”
“I’m just too wiped out today to work on this.”
“Hey. If someone didn’t know—”
I was about to say “you always...” when my brothers opened their eyes wide at me.
“You always do this.”
“Um, excuse me? What about conscience?”
I cleared my throat and spoke.
“If both are good, let’s have Jun-hyun pick. Go with his gut.”
“Ah...!”
Jun-hyun blinked as everyone nodded approvingly. They immediately turned over and shuffled the two scripts. Ji-ho marveled,
“Wow, you’re shuffling so well. Like those street vendors in Europe mixing cups for tips.”
“I practiced watching MiTube.”
He grinned proudly at Bijoo. “Bijoo, cover Jun-hyun’s eyes.”
“Okay.”
“At least why cover his eyes when shuffling?”
Ri-hyuk asked as I riffled the scripts.
“I don’t trust beating his peripheral vision.”
“...I admit that was shortsighted of me.”
I smiled at Ri-hyuk’s concession. After shuffling, I presented the scripts to Jun-hyun.
“Here you go, Jun-hyun.”
“Yeah?”
“Can you tell which is which?”
They were slightly different thicknesses—but, as expected, he seemed uninterested. He rubbed his palms together and smiled.
“All right, pick one. Which drama’s OST would—”
“Be worse?”
“No, which one gives you a strong bad feeling.”
“I’m not that unlucky, hyung. I’m a so-called lucky symbol.”
No one agreed. Jun-hyun hummed, then reached out without hesitation, felt the back of each script, and plucked one.
“That fast?”
“This one.”
“Did you dislike the other?”
“No. This one felt scratchy.”
I almost said “You can pick based on that?” but the script was already in view. Ji-ho beamed.
“Oh. So this is it.”
Our beetle picked the Slip script.
We informed Seok-hwan hyung of our OST decision. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
—Slip? Got it. I’ll contact the production through the OST company.
He sounded surprised, as if expecting Fox Bead.
—Any special reason? Hmm... right, Ji-ho said he liked that script. What...? Jun-hyun said his gut felt off? OK. Got it. I’ll push it right away.
I laughed at his excited voice. With Slip’s OST confirmed, we waited for the production’s reply and continued working on the third album.
“Awww, my babies. Dad’s been waiting for you?”
A whisper from my brothers drifted into my ear as I fondled the new gear with a “heh heh.”
“...Seriously, this is pure horror. Right, hyung?”
“That kind of talk stays inside, Ri-hyuk.”
“Watch it. Your ears are perked, so you’re sneaking a peek while pretending to focus. If you’re spotted, you’re toast.”
I whipped my head around; sure enough, the startled kids were muttering ni hao and scribbling Japanese study notes upside down. They posed awkwardly like kids in a round of “Red Light, Green Light,” eyes shut tight. I clicked my tongue.
“Little buggers...”
With that maknae’s whispered observation punctuating the moment, I returned to my gear. A delighted, “Ha ha ha!” escaped me—like the CEO himself. I couldn’t help it; every time I saw the new booth and console, I wanted to bounce off the walls. My reflection in the glass looked just like those sofa-jump memes online.
But looking at the specs, how could I not be thrilled? The audio captured the finest tonal differences. The softness of each sound. The sensitivity responding to the slightest tweak. It was euphoric. I gazed at the round bulb fixtures on the wall, thinking of the CEO.
“Thank you, sir...!”
These were the exact devices he’d pledged to buy if we won at the Olympics. The latest gear Director Jo used in his studio. I’d thought, “It’s fine if he doesn’t,” but coming back from the holiday, they’d been delivered as a Lunar New Year gift. I was moved—again.
“Now let’s enjoy making music together, yes? Ha ha ha!”
“....”
“That wasn’t meant for you three—relax.”
I waved my hand, and the stiff postures melted into sighs.
“Phew...”
“Yoo-hoo...”
“Who’s Yoo-hoo? Come out.”
“Sorry. We won’t bother you.”
They fell silent as I looked back at my laptop. The [3rd Album Tracks] folder held five songs to work on. This third album would have eleven tracks. The intro and outro—framing the album—would be Jun-hyun’s own compositions: rap for the intro, Bijoo’s solo for the outro. Of the remaining nine songs, five would be my compositions, including the title track “Dark Matter (working title).” The A&R team had contracted external writers for the other four.
“Hyung, could you listen to this?”
Jun-hyun handed me headphones. “The drums sound off—I need feedback. Something feels slightly twisted in the middle.”
I put on the headphones while he played the intro, closing my eyes to listen. Thump. Thump. I got it: certain hits clashed, a bit off.
“I think instead of focusing on kick or snare, tweak the melody slightly.”
“Got it.”
“If we soften this part, wouldn’t it fit the title track better?”
I offered guidelines as Jun-hyun concentrated. A few swipes from me would suffice, but having him do it himself would better hone his skills. We sat together through the night, crafting songs.
Of course, not just the two of us. When shaping the overall concept, all members shared opinions.
“If this concept were an image, what would it be?”
“A meadow? Or the ocean? Maybe something soft and lyrical?”
“Aren’t we shifting our image too drastically? We’re in Masquerade mode, then suddenly bird sounds—bit weird...”
“Right. Same for acting. If you try too hard to change your image, it backfires.”
“Then let’s add another song here...”
As we exchanged ideas, we sketched the third album’s blueprint. We also shared these plans with A&R, ramping up preparation. The comeback was slated for early April—after Masterpiece Discovery Team’s final contest. Our second album dropped last November, so the gap was long. Among our 2015 debut peers, ours might be the latest comeback. I felt sorry for Soufflés waiting for the album. Thankfully, the long-running Discovery Team project succeeded, giving us more exposure: PBS ratings headlines, “New Black on PBS FM ‘Radio Better Than Flowers,’” “Woo-ju: Mistook passerby for acquaintance after variety show, greeted them happily.”
We appeared on PBS radio and late-night talk shows with the Discovery Team cast.
“Your performance planning was extraordinary. We met these kids at the Icheon city event when they were rookies... no, New Black friends should share that story.” We’d recounted that day on air instead of calling out TeenSpirit’s tardiness. Those clips’ views surged—until TeenSpirit’s fans set them to private.
Hyung Won-seok told us, “You’ve got new ads, too.” Indeed, our upward trajectory had brought more offers. Unlike early small brands like ionic water or jade mats, now many big companies courted us. Products aimed at middle-aged buyers came in, and agencies that once bullied us invited us for on-site events.
And...
“Two, three—hello! We’re New Black!”
Even at events, more people recognized us. Beyond idol fans, the “Who are they?” vibe gave way to “No Black!” On the first day people cheered our name on stage, my brothers and I teared up backstage. Strange—we weren’t doing anything huge, yet we felt emotional.
“Adults recognize us even more, haha.”
An event staffer commented that newbies or trot singers seldom get such reactions. Especially idols—everyone looks alike. Hearing we’d built a favorable image among older audiences, I thanked them. Unexpectedly, Discovery Team had earned us love from that demographic, raising our name. Someone wrote, “I didn’t know who New Black was, but my parents told me.” Even if skewed, just being known thrilled us.
As we worked busier and happier than ever, the awaited news finally arrived.
“The OST company contacted us: the music director wants to meet.”
I heard that the GTV Friday drama Slip’s music producer wanted a meeting and to visit the set. And,
“The Ssok-Ssok History Expedition Team crew asked us to tell you their edited episode will go up on HBS MiTube this afternoon.”
“Ooh...”
“They said they edited it funnily—look forward to it.”
We beamed at each other.
“It’s finally airing.”
“I’m excited. I hope it doesn’t look weird.”
“It aired normally—what weirdness could there be?”
“Right, right.”
Although a bit anxious, we eagerly awaited the History Expedition broadcast.
The next morning. On the subway to work. “My mind’s a mess.” Amid the crush of commuters, a third-year office worker fought his way through until the train emptied and he collapsed into a seat.
“Ugh...”
His whole body groaned with fatigue—probably regretting that pre-bed beer. He plugged in earphones and took out his phone.
『Korean History Quick Lecture – Complete Three Kingdoms Review』
He focused on a free Korean history course on MiTube. He’d started studying history recently, worried he’d neglected self-improvement since joining the company.
“Haah...”
Was it last night’s overtime? None of the lecture stuck; although it was clear, framing it as “study” made it exhausting.
“...”
How long had he sat there? “Swoop.” Nodding off with earphones in, he jolted awake at some sound. Laughter? He’d heard someone laugh—but from where?
Then he realized the laughter came through his headphones.
“An idol?”
He had autoplay on MiTube, but the queue was all history lectures. Suddenly, a boy group appeared on screen.
–“Today we’re going to learn about prehistoric times—”
–“Yo.”
–“Don’t rap, Mr. Jun-hyun. You’re disrupting the flow.”
–“Got it.”
Blinked, he read the video title.
“Ssok-Ssok, History Expedition Team?”
On ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) a dull morning commute, something caught his curiosity.
