Free Web NovelAfter asking the director for a moment to consult, we gathered.
Ri-hyuk showed us the storyboard and said,
“First, let’s revisit the ad concept.”
“Right.”
“We’ve come together for a birthday party, and here someone smells the steak and thinks back to old times.”
The ad’s premise was simple.
Friends who’d been close since childhood gather at Olive House for a birthday party.
They don party hats and sing happily, until someone catches the scent of steak.
‘No way—this scent of memory...!’
Then we recall, “We used to come to Olive House when we were kids. It was so wonderful back then,” and reminisce.
Rediscovering childhood joy, we dance and shout, “Olive House is the best!”
Ri-hyuk explained,
“In the storyboard, the first frame shows the line: ‘Fragrance revives memory.’ A poetic phrase.”
“Exactly.”
“When I see that line, I think of Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, where the protagonist recalls memories through the scent of madeleines—”
“Hyung.”
Ji-ho cut him off with a hand gesture.
“Three lines, please—keep it courteous.”
“Fair enough.”
“Ri-hyuk, everyone’s starving but you’re lecturing literature?”
At our protests, Ri-hyuk blushed and muttered,
“I’m just saying I understand this ad’s intent best.”
“So you want to taste-test yourself?”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but we knew what he meant. I thought for a moment, then smiled at my brothers.
“Let’s exclude him.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m in favor.”
Ri-hyuk, about to object with a “No way—” was shoved aside by our collective push. We formed an unbreakable scrum and he tumbled out. His voice came from outside, pleading, “Include me! Please!” but we held firm.
“Ri-hyuk, these things have to be decided by who eats best.”
“Right. Ads aren’t made with brains—they’re made with bodies. You can’t skate by.”
“No way~”
The four of us wagged our fingers and said, “No way~” in unison, prompting the lone crane among us to flap its wings in anger.
“Wow, you cheap people. I’ll remember this and get my revenge in ten years.”
“Ri-hyuk, let’s go for something sweet. Something sweet.”
Our maknae, Won-seok, handed him a protein bar to calm him down.
Meanwhile, the rest of us held a serious discussion.
“Let’s leave it to chance—rock-paper-scissors.”
“Ehei.”
I gave my brothers a wronged look.
“Rock-paper-scissors is random. Didn’t you see me lose to an elementary-school Souffle in Japan?”
“That was because she was an elementary student, hyung.”
“Right.”
He didn’t buy it. Ever since I threw darts to draw lots for who’d get to bring me to the station, nobody trusted “random.”
Ji-ho suggested,
“How about this: each of us does a ‘eating performance,’ and whoever does it best gets the steak.”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a try....”
We asked the director to judge who did the eating performance best, and he readily agreed. Then the client’s president from Olive House Korea interjected.
“How about making it a contest?”
“A contest?”
“We have plenty of shooting time. Why not do it in contest form? We can film some behind-the-scenes too.”
Very much a businessman’s idea—planning not only the TV spot but also the behind-the-scenes promo. Naturally, we agreed. The client beamed, and the atmosphere relaxed.
“All right, shall we begin?”
We each sat at the table and pretended to eat off an empty plate. While the assistant director shot behind-the-scenes footage, staff gathered around. Even Olive House HQ employees came out in aprons to watch. It felt like we needed a banner reading “1st Annual Mukbang Performance Contest.”
“Number 1: Kim Jung-hyun.”
Jung-hyun stretched both arms into the air and said,
“Let’s all give a clap, clap.”
As if on stage, he led the audience in applause, and the Olive House client and staff happily joined in. Then Jung-hyun sat before the camera, picked up his fork and knife, and launched into a convincing mukbang. Crew members murmured,
“Oh... looks delicious.”
“Can’t see it—how does it look delicious?”
“Just the vibe.”
As Jung-hyun ‘inhaled’ the imaginary steak, staff exclaimed in admiration. The client nodded approvingly, stroking his ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ chin. Yet Jung-hyun was not chosen.
“Hmm....”
“He eats well, but....”
“It feels more like eating gukbap.”
Because his performance had a savory, home-style vibe—more like hot bone-soup rice than a family-restaurant steak—it didn’t fit the setting. Disappointed, Jung-hyun returned with a downcast face.
“I look sad, right, hyung?”
“Yeah.”
“Will this face tug at their pity?”
“I’ll just buy you steak later.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
He brightened instantly, returning to a warm teddy-bear state. Okay—one competitor down.
Then our second member, Viju, stepped forward.
“Hello. I’m Kim Bi-ju, 21, from Dongjak-gu, Seoul.”
We burst out laughing. Why was he auditioning, too? Nervous like a contestant on camera test, Bi-ju performed his eating act. With a warm smile that made everyone happy, but...
“Whoaaa....”
He was upstaged by our maknae.
“See that? That hyung is doing an eating act.”
“Wow....”
“Try to imitate him later.”
Mothers standing behind the child actors pointed at our maknae’s performance and whispered. And indeed, no one could top Ji-ho’s facial acting. He captured the ad’s concept perfectly—method acting at human-Olive-House level. He joked and laughed with the person next to him, then pretended to slice the steak, prompting “Oh....” from everyone.
“Director, remember me.... Ack!”
Our maknae, winking to appeal, walked and accidentally head-butted Jung-hyun’s back. Then he sidled up to me and whispered,
“Phew...”
“Ji-ho.”
“Yes?”
“Do you think blowing into my ear will shake my mental state?”
“No way.”
The rule-breaker’s attempt failed; he looked disappointed.
Last up, I stretched and approached the table, then said to the director,
“I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening, Director.”
“Uh...”
“I only drank two glasses of water this morning.”
My brothers lamented, “I should have done that,” slapping the ground with regret. I controlled my feelings and performed. Imagining meeting my ten-year friends, reliving memories, I vigorously pretended to slice steak. I made a rough impromptu BGM in my head and ‘played’ it. As a recorder-playing piglet crooned a wistful “Auld Lang Syne,” I cut the imaginary steak.
“Oh....”
“Well done. We have two good actors here.”
“Feels like a real trip down memory lane.”
After my short improvised act, I reminded the director again, “I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening.” While Jung-hyun smiled ruefully and Ri-hyuk muttered “May it all perish,” and managers snickered, “All for a steak...,” I stood before the director.
Ji-ho’s eyes shone as he asked,
“How was it, Director? I was better, right?”
“No, to take a memory trip, wouldn’t the eldest brother suit best? Ji-ho is at the age of making new memories in real time—he’s seventeen.”
“Considering the brand image, wouldn’t someone younger be better?”
“Uh... they’re neck and neck....”
The director looked awkward, humming “Hmm,” and the client glanced between us. Suddenly, the ultimate winner emerged from an unexpected quarter.
“Director, I have a question.”
Turning, I saw Bi-ju holding the storyboard.
“The ad concept is a birthday party—wouldn’t it seem odd if someone who isn’t the birthday kid eats the steak?”
“Uh...?”
“Oh, that’s true...!”
As everyone nodded in agreement, the client and director both conceded with nods.
“Then let’s go with Bi-ju! Haha!”
In an instant, everyone laughed, “It’s decided!” as Ji-ho and I stared blankly at each other, feeling like two dogs chasing the same chicken.
“......”
Just as we sank down dejectedly, Bi-ju tip-toed over to us and said kindly,
“Hyung, I asked the client, and they said we’ll get steak for lunch later.”
“Whoa...”
“Really?”
Our faces lit up immediately.
“Ji-ho!”
“Hyung!”
“Steak...!”
We roared in delight, then thanked Bi-ju for brokering it.
“No problem. We all should eat together.”
Bi-ju smiled brightly.
▶ “Olive House” TV Commercial: “About Memory”
On a black screen appears the poetic phrase:
[Fragrance revives memory.]
Just when viewers mindlessly flipping channels might pause, the scene changes to the inside of Olive House. Handsome men in casual attire sit around a table, chatting with BGM like a healing variety show stroll. Their lip movements suggest conversation, their expressions radiate happiness. The birthday honoree—a youth in a striped shirt and party hat—picks up a piece of steak. At the aroma, Bi-ju closes his eyes. When he opens them, the spot where the adults sat is filled by children dressed identically.
—“Whaaa!”
Like a return to childlike wonder, child versions of NewBlack and adult NewBlack laugh and jump. The ad conveys Olive House’s motto: “The taste that always makes you happy.” In the final shot, NewBlack appears as Olive House part-timers, smiling brightly.
—“The taste grows as you share it!”
—“Together at Olive House, with us!”
It felt as if the ad promised, “Visit us, and these friendly part-timers will greet you.” A tiny caption scrolled at the bottom: “Actual experience may vary.”
Buoyed by the promise of steak at lunch, we maintained high spirits throughout the shoot.
“Ha-hah! Steak!”
“Steak in English is ‘steak’!”
“If steak dies, it’s ‘stea-killed’!”
“Whoa~ Uju hyung. Ha-ha-ha! Hahzumeoya.”
“Puhahaha! This is so much fun!”
Since no sound was recorded, we chatted merrily on camera. The format was simple: after shooting our scene, the kid actors would scurry in and film their version. After the morning’s shoot, we gathered around the empty table to enjoy steak. The nutty aroma and juicy meat brought tears to our eyes.
“Wow, I might cry. It’s so good.”
“Lovely...”
“Once we start on album 4, this will probably be our last decent meat for a while—let’s remember this taste.”
“I will~!”
Holding up steak on a fork toward the BTS cam, we shouted, “Olive House, let’s be forever!” The watching client beamed with a full-blossom grin. We’d signed a one-year contract as ad models—and it felt certain it would be renewed next year.
“Um...”
Turning, I saw mothers coming over with the child actors.
“May our children join you? There isn’t room for them over there because of equipment.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Led by their mothers, the kids hesitated as they observed us. I gestured and tapped the chair beside me.
“Little Uju, come sit here.” fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
“Come on, Ji-ho.”
“Jung-hyun junior, over here.”
Dressed and cast to look like miniature versions of us, they were adorable. As the kids devoured steak beside us, I struck up conversation.
“What’s your name?”
“Who here is the best-looking? There is a correct answer!”
“Be careful or you’ll get indigestion. Do you like meat?”
I laughed at seeing Ri-hyuk’s stern face around us but gentle with the kids. With limited space, mothers chatted at another table while we played with the kids. They looked like first or second graders—lucky, their mental age matched ours, so we bonded quickly. They were mature for their age.
“You’ve been acting for three years?”
“Yes.”
“Amazing, Ji-ho. Jun-hyuk is your senior.”
I teased, and Ji-ho bowed politely.
“Hello, senior.”
“Hi there.”
“Even your speech is more composed than Ji-ho’s.”
“True.”
Jung-hyun agreed, and everyone giggled. Ji-ho scowled with narrowed eyes but soon laughed in popularity’s glow.
“I watched Sleet! I did too!”
“Really? Is that okay for kids?”
“Yes. I watched to study acting.”
Praised by these young actors, Ji-ho’s eyes sparkled. They high-fived and took selfies—already best friends.
Meanwhile, I pursued my own curiosity. Sipping iced chocolate dessert, I asked the kids,
“What songs are popular these days?”
“You sound like a textbook.” Ji-ho rolled his eyes. Then the kids answered seriously,
“We listen to Mango Chart 100.”
I’d expected nursery rhymes or cartoon themes, but their faces were earnest.
“I see.”
“I like it because you press and trending songs come up.”
I was a bit stunned. At their age I was probably singing “I’m Uju-mon~!” and flailing around, but with YouTube and smartphones, times have changed. Bi-ju smiled and said,
“Then you know our songs too, right?”
“Yes! Totally!”
“We know them well. When we hit charts, your songs always play.”
“I like ‘Windflower.’”
We exchanged glances and laughed.
‘Elementary kids know us!’
‘NewBlack, a success.’
Unexpected fans felt strangely gratifying. I hadn’t expected kids that young to know us. As we launched into “Which of our songs do you like?” for market research, a thought in my head was abruptly interrupted. Ri-hyuk, sipping coffee, asked,
“What’s up?”
“I was thinking—since we need a fun song, why not ask these kids?”
“Finally, a sane thought from you?”
Ri-hyuk’s highest praise warmed me. The others agreed it was a good idea.
“Sounds good to me.”
“Seriously—kids might have a better sense of mass appeal than we do.”
“Great idea. Let’s ask them.”
During a break as the crew prepared the next scene, we gathered the kids around us. We gave each a snack and opened the piano app on the tablet.
“We want to get the overall feel for the song. We can’t agree on what’s fun.”
“Ah...”
“If something feels good while you listen, tell us?” freēwebnovel.com
I moved my fingers on the virtual keys.
“Wow!”
Eyes wide, the kids watched in amazement, like an audience before a magician. Whenever I improvised a new variation, their faces lit up even more.
“Wow...”
Why did I feel so proud—like an uncle hearing nephews say “That’s amazing!” over nothing? I improvised various simple melodies to capture the vibe.
“Oh...”
Watching their reactions, I steered toward what got the best response—like someone in a dark cave, turning toward the faintest glimmer of light.
“Ah!”
“Ooh!”
“Oooooh!”
At the end, the tiny kids nodded to the combination I’d created. The older ones bobbed their shoulders.
“This is it.”
“This is it, hyung!”
We exchanged excited looks—we’d finally found what we wanted. Of course, it wasn’t the final melody, just the right feeling—crucial, because once you nail that, the rest flows smoothly.
“Kids.”
“Yes?”
“What should we get you after this?”
We asked with happy faces; the kids blinked, then grinned, “Anything!”
Then I, smiling, asked the question I’d been wanting to know:
“By the way, how old are you guys?”
Lemon Ent. conference room. The A&R director looked at Uju and the members before him and asked,
“The title is unusual. By the way, it’s already finished?”
“It’s not final—just a test version. We wanted your feedback first.”
“Oh...”
Stroking his beard, the director asked,
“Why is the title ‘Nine’?”
“Because nine in English is ‘nine.’”
“Ah, that nine.”
Uju smiled softly and explained,
“In the numbers one through nine, nine is the last. In ages, nineteen, twenty-nine—it’s the final number before entering a new decade. The theme is enjoying together that last moment before a new year, a new day.”
“Ooh...”
I thought they’d brought a casual test track, but it sounded substantial.
“Good idea. How did you come up with it?”
“That’s a secret.”
Uju and the members exchanged mysteriously knowing smiles. As the A&R director and staff murmured “Ho!” and stroked their beards in admiration, the members exchanged glances:
‘We can never tell.’
‘It was given by elementary kids.’
‘This secret goes to our graves.’
It was a secret they would never reveal.
