Free Web Novel“...So you’re not supposed to say that, Ji-ho.”
“Whoa.”
Ji-ho covered his mouth with his hand.
“That was almost a major controversy?”
“Even if it wouldn’t rise to that level, it’s still...something best left unmentioned.”
“Got it. I’ll only say it off camera from now on.”
As our maknae nodded, I glanced around.
“Ugh!”
“Hahaha!”
“Choke! Choke!”
The producers, our staff—everyone was rolling on the floor like they’d been hit with laughing gas.
Even the handsome MC was now cracking up like a cartoon character, and our managers were clutching each other, sobbing with laughter. The stylists were sniffling nonstop.
They must have really enjoyed themselves, unlike us who’d nearly lost our minds. I wiped cold sweat from my neck. A bear ambled over from the other side.
“I’m back, everyone.”
“Joong-hyun.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“...Never mind.”
He looked at me with a calm expression.
Seeing how haggard we were, Joong-hyun asked,
“What was so funny?”
“Well...”
I hesitated, then decided to confirm the prompt. A card written in Korean—‘power’—lay on the table.
“Was that ‘power’ just now?”
“Yeah. It was.”
“Not wrong, but...” I burst out laughing again as Joong-hyun struck the pose once more.
He froze.
“...What’s so funny?”
He frowned, puzzled, so I waved him off.
Ji-ho tiptoed over and whispered,
“Hyung, you almost caused an international incident.”
“Really? Me?”
“That’s what the others said.”
...When did we ever say it was an international incident? ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) I wanted to smack that funnel-shaped mouth. He distorts one thing into ten and spreads it.
Viju said,
“Anyway, Joong-hyun, you shouldn’t be the one acting out prompts.”
“Right. You should stick to guessing.”
“Okay, okay.”
Joong-hyun agreed, so I stepped up to bat. I nodded to my brothers’ “You can do it, right?” looks and stretched.
Ri-hyeok called over the MC.
“We’ll change who acts out the prompts.”
“Y-yes. Sure.”
The MC, still giggling, replied,
“All right.”
He looked at Joong-hyun behind me, still chuckling as though he knew exactly what to expect.
“Who will go next?”
“I will.”
I raised my hand with a smile.
MC Kunimura’s interest was piqued.
‘What’s happening?’
The atmosphere shifted the moment I volunteered. It felt like a football stadium as the coach sends out the team’s ace—teammates and crowd alike cheering.
‘...Though somehow it reminds me of the Four Heavenly Kings from cartoons.’
The four standing behind me were smirking like demon lords at the Dark Castle. They looked ready to sweep the game.
It wasn’t just the members. Our backstage staff were also sending me expectant looks.
‘Is there something I don’t know?’
I’d heard I was athletic—showcasing trick shots on music shows by kicking trophies in midair. But that seemed unrelated to acting out words.
‘Yet...’
Everyone’s faces beamed confidence as if we’d already won.
While NewBlack consulted strategy, Kunimura approached the PD, arms crossed.
“About that prize money...”
“Prize money...?”
“For this charades game, you said you’d give us ¥500,000 if we nailed every prompt. Will you actually pay up if we succeed?”
“What are you talking about, Kunimura?”
The PD looked incredulous.
“How could they guess all of them? The prompts are tough. They won’t explain them all within the time limit. The prize was just for fun.”
“So it’s impossible, then.” freewebnσvel.cѳm
“Exactly—zero percent chance. Just tell them to do their best. We’ll give them whatever, prize or not.”
As the PD laughed heartily, Kunimura felt a chill.
He recapped the rules for our now-prepared members.
“You have five minutes. Guess at least fifteen out of thirty prompts to win! You must act only with your body—no pointing to numbers or letters. If you perfect all thirty, you get ¥500,000!”
“Prize money! Prize money!”
“All right, before you begin, let’s hear your resolve.”
I stepped forward as our representative. I looked once at the studio lights with a wistful expression, then smiled at the camera.
“To our beloved CEO Park Gyu-ho—”
“CEO-sama!”
“We’ll earn our meal money!”
“We’ll earn it!”
The leader and members were in perfect sync. I shouted “As much as we eat!” and the others caught it with “Let’s earn it!”—even the MC smiled.
‘They’re energetic.’
Many Korean idols had been on this show, but it had been ages since anyone displayed teamwork this unique. Watching them boosts your mood. No wonder they’re popular in Korea.
“All right, shall we begin?”
“Yes.”
Stretching one last time, I bent my waist and adopted a serious stance alongside my brothers.
“Then, start!”
The first prompt appeared.
‘Gold medal.’
The MC swallowed a laugh.
‘They chose a tough one right off the bat.’
Not just a medal—guessing “gold medal” exactly with no number cues would be hard. Usually they’d fumble 30 seconds away, which is half the fun...
“Hm?”
Something odd happened. Within two seconds I took a speed-skater’s stance—so vivid it could’ve been a live race. I began with my hands behind my back, even evoking a sense of speed.
Then I raised both arms in victory as if crossing the finish line. I mimed climbing steps—once, twice—like stepping onto the podium, then pretended to kiss something around my neck.
“Gold medal!”
When NewBlack shouted together, I smiled.
“...”
Kunimura was stunned. What had just occurred? In about eight seconds I’d acted, and in the final two my team guessed correctly.
Unprecedented. Normally “gold medal” would elicit a drawn-out exchange—“Medal?” “Oh, medal!”—with shaky X gestures and thirty seconds lost. Yet here the first prompt was done in under ten seconds.
‘What the—?’
Before I could process it, the second prompt sprang: roller coaster. I sat back, gripped an imaginary safety bar, then mimed the gravity drops with a “whoosh.”
“Roller coaster!”
Next: wedding dress. I held a bouquet and tiptoed like someone in a gown.
‘Did he just get married?’
Kunimura stared dumbfounded as NewBlack hesitated.
“Wedding?”
“Dress?”
I drew a plus sign in the air. Viju clapped.
“Wedding dress!”
When I gestured a high-five, our main dancer caught it gleefully from across the stage.
In under a minute, we’d cleared seven prompts. Kunimura turned to production,
“...¥500,000?”
The PD muttered, stunned. The assistant PD nodded and whimpered. I could hear production gulp from here.
“Can we really prepare ¥500,000?” someone asked, serious.
“We have to hope,” came another voice.
“Hope?”
“We hope NewBlack fails.”
“How...cheerful.”
“We’re doomed.”
Meanwhile, some producers who shared that doubt whispered,
“What is his secret?”
“Did you see that b-boy move? It’s something no one can mime with their body.”
“Oh. A difficult prompt at last.”
When “bacteria” appeared, they felt hope.
‘This one’s tough.’
...but as they thought this, I mimed a sneeze, then followed it with a disgusted face. The team laughed.
“Seo Ri-hyeok!”
“No! It wasn’t me!”
“It was Ri-hyeok!”
Amid NewBlack’s ruckus, I shook my head and pretended to dab my nose with a handkerchief, then cupped my hand like a scientist examining particles under a microscope.
“Microbe!”
“Bacteria!”
Even “bacteria” was solved in barely over ten seconds. At roughly one prompt per eight seconds, we’d cleared fifteen of thirty in just two minutes.
The PD wore a liberated smile. Kunimura watched, fascinated—after all, the prize money was now production’s problem.
‘How did this singer learn to do this?’
Every time he saw me, he marveled: I scan the prompt, process it in under a second, then start miming without hesitation. The speed of thought and quality of acting were astonishing. Watching me was like watching a MyTube video on fast-forward—I saw a play button floating above my head.
‘No wonder they were so confident.’
Our managers and stylists still beamed with satisfaction.
“¥500,000, ¥500,000.”
“Uju, you can do it...!”
“Oh my, dinner’s on us tonight, Uju!”
Luckily they didn’t understand Korean.
Then—
“Oh...!”
“We made it!”
Production’s crestfallen faces brightened.
The twenty-sixth prompt: pirarucu.
A word that no one can even recognize, let alone mime. We all expected another agonizing 30-second struggle...
Yet my face lit up brighter than ever.
‘Smile?’
‘Why am I smiling?’
‘...This feels ominous.’
I began miming a fish swimming underwater, then pointed at Ri-hyeok.
“Eeeek...!”
His face turned beet red and he stomped, but the rest of us shouted earnestly,
“Pirarucu!”
Our staff erupted in laughter; the producers gawked.
“What on earth is a pirarucu?”
“An Amazon river fish, I think.”
“...?”
How was that connected?
“Telepathy?” someone murmured; they fell into confusion. Only the researcher-type staff edged quietly away.
Now the final prompt. With a full minute left, the thirtieth prompt appeared: “military.”
I froze at the bold word “military.” How to mime that? I sighed, ready to act—and at that moment my brothers all shouted in unison:
“Military!”
“That’s the military!”
“Yep, military!”
A producer muttered, “Hon’tō telepathy...?” under his breath.
As I sat there, slack-jawed, the MC declared, “Perfect! Success!” and my brothers bounded forward.
“Ujuaaaah!”
“Kuh...!”
Whose body-check was that? Joong-hyun?
As I struggled for air, my brothers’ hands pounced like puppy paws.
“Hyung! You did it!”
“Let’s go eat something delicious tonight!”
“Pirarucu was sneaky, but today I’ll praise you plenty.”
Surrounded by my boisterous brothers, I finally caught my breath.
“How did you guess the last one?” I asked.
“Oh, military? You nailed the mime. Whenever ‘Men on the Go’ comes up, you always sigh just like that.”
“Oh...”
“I knew it the moment I saw it, hyung!”
Viju grinned, “Amazing portrayal!”
It was a lucky guess, but a success nonetheless—and we cheered.
“Waaaaah!”
“Worship me, my little brothers!”
“Sun Woo-ju! Sun Woo-ju!”
“Milky-skinned Sun Woo-ju! We love you, Sun Woo-ju!”
As they bowed to me like I was a deity, I spread my arms and relished the applause. Our staff cheered and gave thumbs up like spectators witnessing a home run.
I stepped toward the camera, still drooping with brothers clinging to me, and performed a victory dance.
“CEO! I’ve won the prize money!”
“Yay!” my brothers danced in a celebratory jig.
“Ya-ya~! Ya-ya-ya~!”
“Ya-ya-ya ya-ya-ya!”
The MC held his card over his face, laughing uncontrollably, while production stared at us glumly. A rain-CG backdrop would have been perfect.
It was a stark contrast—us bouncing, them deflated. After our party, I asked carefully,
“So...do we really get the prize money?”
“Yes, we made a promise.”
When the MC glanced at the PD, he nodded sadly. I’d worried it was just an event gimmick, but thankfully it wasn’t. Tonight, we’d celebrate with our brothers and staff.
“And our promotion? We’ll be promoted, right?”
“Of course.”
We each took a mic and sang Baramkkot acappella—no choreography. Production’s reactions were strange: marveling at each harmony, then flinching at our faces, then smiling “haah” at the music, over and over. Each time they looked at us, their immersion snapped.
“Thank you!”
After the song, we lined up with our brothers for the two-hour recording’s finale. We delivered our closing greetings to the viewers.
“Well done!”
“Thank you, everyone!”
In a warm atmosphere the shoot ended. The PD, shaking our hands one by one, smiled.
“It’s the first time a group has really won ¥500,000.”
“Haha.”
“It’s a shame I have to report this to higher-ups, but since it happened, we’ll promote it properly.”
“Promote it?”
“We’ll advertise: ‘The first idol to achieve ¥500,000!’ ”
Truly professional—he already knew exactly how to pitch the broadcast.
“Ratings have plateaued lately. We hope NewBlack’s appearance will be the turnaround. So many historic moments today...”
“Really?”
We exchanged glances and asked,
“Did we get good airtime? We just did our thing.”
“That’s just how you always are? You weren’t in any extra-good form today?”
“Today was normal...”
Our brothers nodded at my response.
The PD took my hand earnestly and said, “Come back again.” He saw us out of the studio, promising us great viewer reactions.
“Look forward to it! Today’s broadcast will do very well.”
I wondered if the event money would really come—but it was deposited that same day.
“What day is today?”
“Celebration dinner!”
“Who’s treating?”
“Uju! Uju!”
We went to a great restaurant with our staff and spent lavishly.
“Uju, let me fill your glass.”
“Please do.”
As I went around saying “Thank you for your hard work,” staff refilled my glass with zero-cola.
Two days of hearty meals had us fueled to tackle the remaining schedule.
“Please take care of us!”
Most of our promotion was interviews with magazines. In Korea we’d talk to entertainment reporters, but here magazines hold more weight—over 3,600 titles in 100 categories. The media landscape is very different.
Our final event was a showcase.
“Hello, everyone! Nice to meet you!”
We met about a thousand fans at a venue in Shibuya, Tokyo. We performed, ran a raffle, and ended by singing “Starlight” with Japanese lyrics. The feeling was different from the K-Pop concert—so warm and cozy, filling our hearts.
Having fans who look at us with sparkling eyes even in a foreign culture made us truly happy. It’s why artists can never give up this life.
After the showcase we did a quick interview for a cable entertainment news program.
“It’s amazing.”
The reporter said,
“To have such a fanbase here before you’ve even officially promoted in Japan...”
Our agency told her they had over 10,000 applicants for the showcase—foreign promotions went smoothly. Normally an agency might think, “Response’s good—should we stay in Japan a few months?” But our domestic activities were booming, so we finished promotions neatly and immediately boarded our return flight.
“Ugh, I’m tired...”
During our free time exploring central Tokyo, we’d covered so much ground that it was our longest overseas trip ever. Even in East Asia, nothing beats Korea for comfort. Stepping back on Korean soil was a relief.
“Great job, everyone.”
“Thank you for your hard work!”
The managers and we exchanged fatigued smiles—we’d rehearsed, performed, while they’d been in meetings nonstop. It had been a whirlwind for all.
“Back to the dorm?”
“Yes!”
As Won-seok hyung drove, I turned to Seok-hwan hyung.
“How about you? Heading to the office?”
“I’ve got some wrap-up work there.”
“Take a break...”
“That’s what I’m telling you. You all go back and rest—do nothing today.”
“Okay!”
As Incheon Airport faded behind us and we drifted off to sleep,
“Oh—Uju.”
“Mm?”
“The PR team asked us to come by the office tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
“They said our light sticks...”
Suddenly we sat bolt upright like vampires rising from coffins.
“Who spoke?”
“The light sticks, right? Director? The prototypes?”
“Uh... yes. The prototypes are ready, so come by tomorrow...”
“We can’t do that.”
We shook our heads firmly.
“Turn the car around, Won-seok hyung.”
“We’re heading to the office.”
Our faces lit up at the mention of light-stick prototypes.
“Finally...!”
“I’ve been waiting for this day.”
We high-fived with nostalgic smiles.
“Guys, the light sticks are ready...!”
“I think I’ll cry, hyung.”
“Need a tissue?”
“This isn’t the time! We have to celebrate!”
Ji-ho played music and we danced in celebration, while Seok-hwan hyung watched us like a retriever still wagging after a three-hour walk.
“You never rest, do you...?”
“Yay!”
As we danced with joy, Joong-hyun scratched his nose and said,
“But hey...”
“Yeah?”
“Feels like we forgot something. Something’s missing...”
“Yeah. Like we left something behind...”
We racked our brains but gave up—it must not be important if we can’t remember.
“Yay!”
And we danced again.
Japan.
Three men sipped tea with serious expressions.
“When will NewBlack arrive?”
“Let’s wait. We prepared an offer anyone would jump at...”
“True. They must’ve felt our presence.”
Hashimoto’s entourage sipped tea, wishing, “Hurry, NewBlack, come...”
“Why aren’t they here yet?”
“They should be coming.”
Yet while they prayed fervently, NewBlack was back in Korea, singing yodels and dancing.
