Free Web Novel“It’s called ‘Strange Talk Show’ in Korean, but it’s a pretty major program in Japan.”
“How famous is it?”
I felt curious at PD Seok-hwan’s uneasy expression. What kind of show could it be that he was willing to risk feeling icky?
“It ranked in last year’s Japanese variety show ratings. I think it was fifth.”
“Whoa...”
Our hearts pounded. That wasn’t just ‘major’—it was top five on Japanese terrestrial TV. Now I understood exactly why he’d been tempted.
“Unbelievable...”
Everyone in the car went wide-eyed. It made sense—back when we wanted a single appearance on a major network show, Seok-hwan PD would beg every station staff over coffee until his fingerprints wore away. He must’ve spent hundreds of thousands of won on those coffees. Now, a foreign rookie group got an offer from such a program... it was almost too good to believe. But oddly, it settled me.
“This feels kind of sketchy.”
Rihyeok spoke my thoughts.
“If it were in Korea, fine—but Japanese terrestrial TV? No one here knows NewBlack except our fans. There has to be a catch, or a weird format twist, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen photos of senior idols suffering on Japanese shows.”
He was recalling stories of 2nd-gen idols being humiliated on bizarre programs. Didn’t a senior once play tag with dolphins on a Japanese show?
The manager shook his head.
“The format’s legit—among variety shows it’s gentle. A bit more sensational than at home, but still.”
“Really?”
“Think of it as half-variety, half-talk show. Guests come on and play games or chat. The MCs are a famous comedy trio.”
“...Sounds okay.”
A major show, normal format. I thought for a moment, then asked,
“So the remaining question is why they only invited me. That’s the issue, right?”
“Exactly.”
“What’s their reason for inviting me?”
“It’s related to your father.”
“My dad?”
I hadn’t expected that. He explained,
“Apparently your father was hugely popular in Japan, and people still remember his name. They’re really into that sort of thing here.”
So my dad was big in Japan. Online I’d only found his U.S. and Europe photos, so I hadn’t known. I’d heard that in the ’90s, Sun Myeong-ju enjoyed K-wave-level popularity in Japan—after Korea, then the world. He was called ‘Asia’s prodigy musician.’
“...Weird nuance, but okay.”
“They said even when you debuted as an idol, Japanese media covered it well—though few know now.”
“So they want to feature me as the son of a famous pianist.”
“Basically, yes.”
That made sense: the son of a wildly popular foreign musician launching an idol career in Japan. But that alone wouldn’t make Seok-hwan PD uneasy—it seemed objectively good: instant name recognition. So what was wrong? My mind raced.
“The guest lineup must be the catch.”
“How did you know?”
Seok-hwan PD and my juniors looked at me blankly.
“Think about it—no variety show invites one foreigner alone. There must be another guest.”
High ratings, decent format, plausible reason—it all pointed to one remaining factor: the co-guest. If they singled me out, there had to be a reason.
Seok-hwan nodded.
“Right. That guest is what’s sketchy.”
“Who is it?”
“They said it’s Hashimoto Kenta, a rising pianist in Japan.”
“...?”
“Apparently his father was your father’s rival in Japan.”
“Oh...?”
I tried to recall any rival of my dad’s, but nothing matched. And my dad had been called the undisputed Number One—rivalry made no sense.
“Are you sure?”
“They say so.”
“Dad never mentioned any rival.”
Sun Myeong-ju had been a solo superstar—had no rival. If there’d been one, I’d know. This person hardly registered in my dad’s career.
“So they want me and the rival’s son together?”
“Exactly.”
PD Seok-hwan’s relief showed—he hadn’t liked the idea either. Objectively it was a great chance to build fame, but the ambiguity smelled bad. And they’d have to talk about a rivalry I knew nothing about. Filling that with lies would be awkward.
“Let’s politely decline via the agency.”
“Please.”
Everyone—juniors and staff—jumped in to cheer, “Good call.”
“Thanks, JungHyun.”
“Never follow someone you don’t know for free treats.”
“Th-thanks, JungHyun.”
He offered me jelly. I accepted, oddly comforted. Meanwhile Tokyo’s skyline drew closer.
“We’ll appear.”
NTN Japan headquarters meeting room. A man spoke confidently.
“It’s a win-win. No reason to refuse.”
“Do you really think they’ll say yes?”
“Absolutely.”
The producer said,
“The other guest is an idol starting activity here. Even big Korean idols spend years building recognition in Japan.”
Japan’s market makes even top K-pop groups grind from the bottom. NewBlack was a rookie from a small agency—no way to refuse such an invitation.
“Win-win, indeed. They gain recognition, and Kenta gets wider image exposure.”
“I look forward to it.”
Opposite sat Hashimoto Gen. The famed pianist smiled and sipped tea. Next to him was a handsome young man—Hashimoto Kenta, classical ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) music’s rising star, prize-winner.
“So what should we prepare for the show, PD-san?”
“Just come casually. Kenta’s presence speaks volumes.”
“You flatter me. I trust your vision.”
“Ha-ha.”
The PD, recalling Kenta’s polite manner, chuckled.
“We’ll do talk and games. They’ll use an interpreter, so segments will be modest. Focus is clearly on Kenta.”
“Hmm...”
Hashimoto stroked his chin.
“If games, how about a piano duel?”
“Brilliant. You know what the audience wants, sensei. We’ll include it.”
“You youngsters have it easy.”
Hashimoto smiled, thinking of Sun Myeong-ju—the rival who’d burst onto Japan’s jazz scene, then outpaced it to global acclaim. “Still stings,” he thought, the memory of defeat lingering.
His gaze shifted to the idol.
“So it’s the son of that low-grade K-pop musician.”
Pop music versus a classical prodigy—no comparison. Hashimoto’s son would emerge from this show stronger. A special feature uniting two famous pianists’ sons—a stepping-stone for both.
He turned to the PD.
“Shall we frame the keyword as ‘Fated Rivals’? Or ‘Destined Rivals’?”
“‘Fated Rivals’ works.”
The PD beamed. As they all sipped tea amiably,
“PD-san!”
A staff member burst in.
“What’s up?”
“About NewBlack’s Uju appearing on the show...”
“Ah, here we go.”
The PD looked expectant.
“And?”
“He’s not doing it.”
“...What?”
The PD straightened.
“Who said no?”
“Uju.”
“...”
The PD froze, incredulous.
“Why?” frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
“They said if it’s not the whole group, they won’t appear.”
“I see.”
He recovered his composure as Hashimoto Gen leaned in anxiously.
“Does this derail our plan?”
“Not at all.”
The PD said,
“They’re just being picky. They’ll try to negotiate group participation. At that point we need to be firm, sensei.”
He instructed staff,
“If they don’t want to go on alone, they don’t have to.”
“Understood, PD-san.”
“Emphasize that five members is impossible. Be uncompromising.”
He was certain they’d cave and plead group participation.
“I’ll wait to see.”
He grinned and sipped tea.
Ten minutes later...
“They still won’t do it.”
“...”
“I told them it was all or nothing, but they insist.”
“...”
Hashimoto father and son turned away; the PD’s face went pale.
In the car en route to the K-pop concert venue...
“They only invited the group?”
“Yeah.”
“But you told them earlier it was fine if Uju didn’t want to go?”
“That’s what I said. I don’t get it.”
They’d refused solo, and immediately told us to forget it—only to return saying they’d accept the full group. More suspicious still.
And... fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
“They’re pestering hard. Tell them no.”
“They still won’t do it.”
“...”
“Because JungHyun’s condition isn’t great.”
“...”
The PD blinked. He recalled a clip from a famous Korean show: ‘They even tackled a demon goat...?’
A staff member spoke,
“PD-san, what about props we pre-bought? Should we refund?”
“...”
“We need to rewrite the script too...”
“...”
“PD-san?”
“...”
He stared blankly; the cup in his hand trembled. Tea dripped down, staining his clothes.
One by one, all three men’s faces turned a dark, worried hue. Their perfect plan had fallen apart at step one—because NewBlack simply refused to come.
“Who wouldn’t jump at this chance?” they had thought. But a totally unexpected variable emerged:
NewBlack won’t show.
“They really won’t.”
“Unbelievable.”
I thought PDs of “Men on the Go” were tenacious, but now rank one is the “Strange Talk Show” team.
After my health excuse fell flat, they asked when JungHyun would recover. “We can adjust the schedule any time,” they said—like someone refusing church on Saturday then demanding, “No free time at all?”
“Joint interview?”
“They want a joint interview with Hashimoto’s side.”
They’d even promise a lavish meal. Initially I couldn’t read their intent, but now it was transparent: they wanted to cozy up to us through every channel. Tempting offers at every turn—but we weren’t desperate. We were doing well in Korea and showing promise in Japan.
“Kyaaah...!”
Now at the convention center’s pre-concert fan booth, we waved and were met with shrieks. Even Korean fans were here.
“You’re so cute!”
“Uju-kun!”
“Zen-min!”
Who’s “Zen-min!”? I glared as Viju giggled.
“James!” I laughed.
Viju narrowed his eyes; the maknae cheered,
“Fight! Fight! Make them fight over me!”
“Why would I—?”
“Because if you two fight, you’ll compete for my favor!”
I applauded at the maknae’s cunning.
“But if you two fight, I’ll be stuck as translator. Jiho, tell Viju to calm down.”
“And, tell Uju to eat! Jiho, tell him that.”
“Jiho~ Jiho~”
“Just love each other and be happy, please.”
We laughed at the maknae covering his ears. It felt good talking with fans abroad—life’s the same anywhere: some try to use us, others shower us with love. Taiwan, Shanghai, Singapore, now Japan—Soufflés’ expressions are always the same: bright eyes like polished river stones. I stuffed that image in my memory.
“You’ll come to tomorrow’s concert, right?”
“Yes!”
As Rihyeok greeted in Japanese and we seal-clapped, staff admired sold-out merch... and I wondered if soon enough they’d know our CEO’s name—“Kyuho-chan,” maybe.
“I’m so happy to meet everyone!”
And the most excited person there was Rihyeok. His bright smile matched only his joy at finally using Japanese in real life.
After the event he still blushed, saying,
“Isn’t it great to use what we learned? I’ll use Japanese until I drop!”
Then he exclaimed,
“Next—Spain! Latin America!”
We laughed.
“Oh—why isn’t everyone else speaking Japanese? You know more than basic phrases.”
They realized and laughed sheepishly.
“Are you holding back for me? No need!”
“Why?”
“I know Japanese best—no one makes me nervous.”
He said “absolutely” with confidence. No one studied harder. We nodded.
“Let’s head to the talk concert!”
“Yes!”
The last event was a mini talk show with games.
On stage, five handsome men walked up to the fans’ cheers.
“NewBlack!”
They greeted the MC and sat. Everyone’s eyes were drawn to their long legs and soft shirts.
“Please introduce yourselves.”
The interpreter relayed, and the maknae began,
“Hello. I’m Jiho...! Here’s a heart of greeting!”
Fans screamed, then the smiling main vocalist took the mic,
“Hello. I’m Seoriheok, main vocal of NewBlack. I’m so happy to meet the fans. Let’s have fun today.”
Fluent Japanese earned more screams. He beamed.
“Cute...”
“So good.”
“Studied hard, right?”
Next came the rapper, the main dancer...
“Rap-rap, I’m Junghyun. Love you.”
“Hello. I’m Viju...! I’m the dancer of NewBlack!”
Finally the leader smiled like a flower and said,
“Hello. I’m Uju. Thanks for coming, Soufflés.”
Fans gasped,
“Whoa.”
“He sounds Japanese...”
Rihyeok had used polished Japanese, but Uju’s simple words with near-native accent floored them.
“...!”
Nearby Rihyeok’s face turned alarmed.
