Free Web NovelSwallowing my regret, I sang the final line of “Deok-soon ah.”
Deok-soon ah—
As the drums swelled and then gently faded, my voice left a soft echo. Through the public hall, “Deok-soon ah” drifted away.
Lowering the mic, I felt an unexpected pang of longing.
I wanted to keep singing.
If this were truly a concert encore, I’d be confident doing a thirty-minute “Deok-soon ah” medley. I’d even prepared a death-metal version on my work laptop.
“Thank you!”
A roar of applause and cheers erupted. I exchanged glances and smiles with the members.
“Well done.”
Though bittersweet, it had been a stage worthy of a perfect finale. The panelists rose, clapping and making a fuss, and the judges wore pleased smiles. Next to the stiffly smiling Jo Yuri Band, the TNT crew cupped their hands over their mouths and went “Wuaaah.”
Every ensuing comment was praise.
“I really regret that today isn’t a competition day,” said composer Pyo Hyung-won, his critique memorable.
“This was the most polished performance among today’s special stages. If it were a contest, NewBlack would have taken first place. I was literally looking for the remote to vote.”
The audience laughed in agreement at the judge’s joke. We beamed and said, “Thank you,” when a variety-show celebrity quipped,
“You said you wanted to vote for Cha Woo-hyun’s stage earlier!”
“That’s right.”
“Pick just one! You always do this.”
The judge, who habitually claimed he wanted to vote whenever there was a great stage, casually shot back,
“My stance has always been the same: two votes per person. I tell the PD that every time we meet.”
The comedians bantered for a bit, interwoven with panel comments, until MC Baek Sang-joong shifted the topic:
“Let’s hear from our fellow idols on the panel. How did TNT and NYX feel?”
The big screen first showed the three faces of TNT. All three grabbed microphones simultaneously, their “For me—” echoing. The audience chuckled.
After a quick eye-contact game, they glared at each other and then shouted together, “For me—!” We burst out laughing again. Finally, Han Tae-hyun, claiming victory, took the mic.
“Uh, that ‘Deok-soon ah,’ ahem, ga... ahem.”
He was barely holding back laughter. The TNT members knew how much I adored my grandmother, so it made sense. Even our members strained to suppress smiles whenever they heard “Deok-soon ah.”
“It was the most perfect song I’ve heard lately. In my opinion, NewBlack is one of the top five idol groups in terms of vocal ability.”
“Who are the other four?”
“Well, we’ll let you in on that later.”
The seasoned idol’s sly remark drew warm laughter from the audience. Ji Han-bin and Seok Ji-hun followed with comments of their own, all sharing a theme:
“For me, ‘Deok-soon ah,’ ahem!”
“I thought it was a hidden gem. Today, ‘Deok-soon ah,’ cough!”
They bobbed to the title each time. The crowd seemed to shrug it off as “Those guys are just extra giggly today.”
“Thank you, seniors,” I said, stressing “seniors.” I saw all three curl their fingers above their knees in response. Subtly entertaining.
Next, NYX spoke. Lacking time for all six, leader Muri spoke for them:
“I already feel a weight on my shoulders. You were all so good that we need to work hard to belong here too.”
“Thank you,” we replied with smiles.
After more celebrity jokes, the mic finally went to the original composer:
“Perhaps today’s most important guest: FamousDeok, who wrote and composed ‘Deok-soon ah.’ How did you feel hearing it?”
“......”
“Sir?”
MC Baek held back, and the screen cut to the middle-aged singer’s face.
“sobs sniff...”
FamousDeok had pushed his glasses up his forehead and dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief. Everyone was taken aback. Moments earlier he’d been quietly chewing his lips and staring at the ceiling; now he was crying.
“Don’t cry—,” came a gentle murmur from the audience. The singer swallowed his tears and took the mic.
“Yes, NewBlack. Thank you so much.” He looked at each of us.
“Woo-joong, Bi-ju, Kim Jung-hyun, Ri-hyun, Ji-hu.”
He got every name wrong except mine. Later, in the broadcast cut, a buzzer “beep!” and close-ups of each embarrassed member were shown, with subtitles [Bi-jung(X) → Bi-ju(O)] under their flustered faces.
When the MC pointed this out, FamousDeok looked sheepish.
“My apologies. I Googled in a hurry... I’m just going blind.”
Everyone laughed at the sight of this senior, round-faced singer carefully prepared to call out each of our names. At first his voice was mixed with tears, but then in his characteristic guttural tone he said,
“I was truly moved. And moved again. How can such young friends sing a song so well? Of all the songs I’ve heard in my life’s fifth act, this is the one I want to give a thumbs-up to the most. You poured so much care into the arrangement—I literally teared up looking at the chord progressions. Not a single part of the singing was lacking, and this perfect progression...”
The “talking machine gun” of variety talk unleashed rapid-fire praise for nearly five minutes. Everyone laughed, and we gratefully soaked up the compliments.
Yet the more praise we heard, the less we could laugh.
“I think he’s a bit mistaken,” we thought.
“But he’s genuinely moved.”
As our eyes flickered, FamousDeok, still laughing heartily, continued:
“These days you call it a ‘volcano of emotion,’ right? It really was a volcano. How is such respect and passion for music blazing so brightly in young friends’ hearts? Speaking of that...”
He draped more of his love and nostalgia over the arrangement and performance of “Deok-soon ah.” Behind us, TNT strained to control their expressions, and I forced a smile.
“In any case, it’s the best, simply the best! Always onward and upward! NewBlack!”
“Thank you!”
The audience joined in, applause swelling. As the singer had said, everyone was in awe of “How can they care about a song so much?” Except for a few who knew the truth, every clap was given in emotional sincerity. I silently vowed never to mention Grandma Deok-soon’s secret “buff.”
At that moment, the MC, checking his prompter, added a question:
“Our writers told me your grandmother’s name is Kim Deok-ja-Sun-ja, same as the song title. ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) That must have been tough to immerse in.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“It must have been hard to perform ‘Deok-soon ah,’ which is about a lover’s passion, when your grandmother shares that name.”
I took the mic with a smile:
“In some ways, it did feel a bit challenging.”
At once, I caught knowing looks from the panel and my guests. ‘Look at him bluff.’ ‘He had all that passion and emotion...’ ‘More like a perfect union with the song.’ Undeterred, I explained that the original “Deok-soon ah” felt like a bright spring maiden, whereas my grandmother was more of a “freshness who cares not,” a cool-and-aloof type.
The MC then offered:
“When this airs, your grandmother will surely see it. Would you say a greeting to her as your final comment?”
I nodded and smiled at the front camera:
“Grandma—”
The warm voice drew chuckles from the older audience.
“I used your name too casually. I’m sorry. But you know I love you, right?”
“We do too! Heehee!”
“I love you too!”
“Ahem, I... also a bit....”
Frowning, I turned to them:
“Guys, this is my grandma. My grandma.”
‘My grandma’ sounded so funny. Even as the audience laughed at this heartfelt video letter, I pressed on:
“In any case, the most loved and beautiful grandma in the world, I’ll call you right after we finish recording. I love you, Deok—”
I signaled to my brothers, and they, with perfect timing, lifted their mics to harmonize:
Deok-soon ah ah ah—
The audience clapped, laughing. When the MC asked for a final farewell, we finished our third-album promo and stepped offstage. The applause never ceased until we all had left.
After the Best Song Squad special stage, back at the company we made a pact:
“From today, no more internet.”
“Agreed.”
To cope with comeback anxiety, we concluded it was best not to check online reactions. After all, there was nothing we could do about them. If we looked at responses every time a promotion rolled out, we’d accomplish nothing. Besides, we had little time anyway. Preparing “Deok-soon ah” ate up surprising hours, cutting into time we needed to perfect our title stage. Every second counted.
“Let’s wait until the tracks drop to check reactions. For now, delete your internet apps.”
“I can’t delete the default ones, hyung.”
“Ah, right.”
So we agreed to erase them from our minds instead. We told our managers we wanted distance from outside news until after practice— they agreed. Instead, whenever Senior Min-gi or Senior Won-seok brought chicken-breast lunchboxes, they handed us Post-its labeled “Today’s Headlines” with that day’s news.
Thus, until D-Day, our commitment was sleep or practice. We poured everything into preparing the showcase.
D-4: While the tracklist was unveiled, I helped Jung-hyun prep his solo stage.
D-3: When the MV teaser went live, Ri-hyuk, eating, got indigestion. I offered to “give and take” his hands and feet, but he said, “I don’t believe in pseudoscience.” In the end, we all massaged a limb each to boost circulation.
D-2: After the second teaser, Bi-ju practiced choreography on an empty stomach and nearly vomited. We took him to the emergency exit.
D-1: Too anxious, we spread blankets in the living room and slept together.
Finally, D-Day arrived.
April 15, 2015.
Reporters began taking seats at the showcase venue. Each opened laptops to draft multiple versions of their articles, chatting with acquaintances.
“Wow,” someone sighed in awe. “There’s an insane number of people here.”
“For real. During album two it wasn’t this packed.”
“Wow...”
It looked like double the turnout from November’s media showcase. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say almost every entertainment reporter from every outlet was here.
“We should allow more time for Q&A than usual. Can we handle this many questions?”
Some licked their lips, eyes on the giant screen cycling through the mini-album’s concept photos and teaser.
“By the way, did you hear yesterday’s album preview and MV?”
“I watched both.”
“I wrote two article drafts—big hit and moderate hit—and as soon as I saw the MV, I published the big-hit one.”
Everyone laughed.
“The cinematography is stunning. It’s like a movie.”
“They said they’re building a universe. At first I wondered, but it seems successful.”
“Still, I didn’t quite get the story.”
Like with mini-album one’s “Masquerade,” this MV was released alongside a story film titled “Prologue: Before the story begins.” A vast library appears, and one by one five colored books are spotlighted. A red book falls open, revealing masked figures standing in a grim cityscape. A fire suddenly breaks out, and the final scene shows Scarlet’s Daisy picking up the five books from the smoldering ruins.
“Fans on the boards said each character comes from a different-genre book, and every time one returns to their book, the other four rescue them.”
“Oh, so that’s what it means.”
Where the first mini-album’s story film had a masquerade rescue, this one depicted the last survivor, Yellow, meeting on a seemingly destroyed planet.
“But how did you like the song?”
“Hmm.” One reporter replied, “Their songs are so good anyway.”
“Honestly, whether it blows up or not is what matters. NewBlack’s song quality has been consistent.”
“Surely they can’t flop, unless something really blows up.”
Everyone nodded. A first-timer at a NewBlack showcase asked,
“Why is that?”
“Their MV views yesterday, plus their fandom size—it’s huge. They can’t fail. And...” The reporter trailed off. “If we’re discussing MV content, that says everything about their buzz.” fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
“Ah...”
Entertainment reporters often just glance at press releases before writing. That they talked about the MV and Best Song Squad activity proved how big NewBlack’s interest was.
“Song quality’s a given. Now it’s a matter of going viral or not.”
“But that’s the most important part.”
Someone said,
“They have mainstream awareness like a top boy group, but their sales and chart performance lag.”
“Right. Idol communities were ablaze this week asking ‘What level is NewBlack?’”
“They’d bicker over who eats first in bibimbap.”
“Anyway, this is a turning point for NewBlack: will you break through or remain a highly recognized but mid-chart boy group?”
Meanwhile, reporters who’d covered NewBlack since their debut single shook their heads. They were debating everything from the title track to the MV and individual members.
“...I still can’t get used to this atmosphere. In June last year everything was tiny, but now you’re bigger than rookie acts from the Big Four.”
“Back at album two, half the reporters didn’t even know member names.”
“I feel like yesterday they fixed the sound glitch, and now look... time flies.”
“It’s like going back home to the countryside: that puppy was tiny at Lunar New Year; by Chuseok, he’s grown huge.”
In just over a year since Something’s success, NewBlack had achieved astonishing results.
“They’ve really made it. Look at other reporters prepping their questions.”
“But look at Oh So-hee from ENTERTAINMENT IN. She’s so calm.”
She sat clicking her mouse happily, watching NewBlack’s MV.
“She’s been a fan since NewBlack’s early days.”
“And she has good ties with Lemon. She’s gotten lots of exclusive interviews...”
Envy tinged the glances at her as someone murmured,
“I should’ve gotten friendly when they were rookies.”
The long-awaited comeback day. Before going onstage, we gasped at the number of reporters.
“...What is this?”
“There are more behind them too.”
“Eek.”
In a more fervent atmosphere than album two, the media showcase proceeded. Even while performing, we kept thinking, “What is this many people...?” We were dazed. We’d never realized there were this many people interested in our album. The Q&A flew by in a blur.
Strangely, though the press corps had grown, the number of oddball questions had dropped sharply.
“Now they don’t need clickbait to get views.”
Manager Seok-hwan explained, “In the past, they needed sensational titles. Now people click when they see ‘NewBlack,’ so content quality matters more.”
It was still hard to adjust. Of course, a few odd questions remained—mostly asking Ji-ho about his acting in Sleep, and whether he planned more acting, as if inventing discord. Luckily, comedian Kim Cheol, who hosted, cut them all off so we didn’t have to answer.
“Great job, everyone!”
“Thank you for your hard work!”
After the media showcase, only the evening fan showcase at 8 remained.
“Guys.”
“Hyung.”
I exchanged serious looks with my brothers. It was 6 PM. Time to confirm that “Wind Flower,” the title track of mini-album three, was now live on the music sites.
