Free Web Novel“What’s the project?”
That was the first question I’d wanted to ask the moment he mentioned it.
A project with a famous Hollywood director and a foreign singer on the opposite side of the globe—what could it be?
“Do you know the film I’m shooting now?”
“I read about it in your interviews.”
We’d been called in on short notice and hadn’t had time to fully research. There was no Korean coverage, so we’d only skimmed English articles. I wanted to show we’d done our homework, however.
“I saw an interview where you said you were deeply moved by the early-2000s Broadway musical Nostalgia and wanted to make a film adaptation someday.”
“Do you know the original?”
“Yes.”
Rihyuk took over in fluent English.
“It’s about a man worn down by misfortune who takes a job as a night-shift librarian... only the library is enchanted. When he opens a dusty old book called Nostalgia, the library becomes a vast maze, books spring to life, desert dunes and oceans bloom, and he’s chased by monstrous creatures. To resolve the chaos, he must find the missing Nostalgia itself. Along the way he meets the childhood characters he once loved in books and teams up with them, embarking on an adventure while reflecting on life’s meaning.”
“Spot on.”
Director Edwards smiled. Our synopsis pleased him, and the distributor rep beside him nodded. Even my brothers, who’d been grinning cluelessly, applauded when the interpreter conveyed the story.
“But of course, when adapting it for film, the plot’s changed a fair bit. Still, knowing that much will help a lot.”
He un-crossed his legs and got down to business.
“The project I want to propose to NewBlack is a cover video for the main OST.”
“A cover?”
“We’ve written an original song that wasn’t in the musical, and as part of the marketing, we’ll release a video of it before the film opens.”
At last, I understood. They were borrowing the promotional strategy of last year’s blockbuster animation in Korea: releasing the OST early to whet audience curiosity.
“I’d like to go one step further,” Edwards said, “and when the original song goes live, I want cover versions in each country’s language.”
“Because language has magic,” he continued. “No matter how good a song is, if you don’t understand the lyrics, it’s only half the experience. I want people to hear this song in their own language and become curious about my film.”
“I understand.”
“Please know how seriously I take this project.”
We nodded soberly.
“It was crucial for me to secure Korea for global marketing, so I’ve been picky about which singer to cover it. The distributor first suggested Cha Woohyun.”
“A really famous vocalist in Korea, with incredible skill,” I said.
“I heard the same,” °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° Edwards replied with a nod. “I watched his performance on MeTube—his energy is amazing—but his voice color isn’t what I want.”
“You need a younger tone.”
“Exactly. In our adaptation, the protagonist’s age is younger than in the original.”
So Cha Woohyun’s rich, mature voice wasn’t a fit. Suddenly Edwards chuckled.
“I recall something amusing.”
“...?”
“They say Mr. Cha politely declined when the distributor first asked—said the song didn’t suit him.”
We stared. Surely they hadn’t meant...
“Then he recommended NewBlack’s Rihyuk. He said among voices of that age, he’s Korea’s best.”
“Wow...!”
We all looked at Rihyuk, who blinked in astonishment. His sharp eyes rounded in surprise.
“He... he recommended me?”
“Uh-huh.”
At once, Rihyuk wilted like an overripe tomato. He clamped a hand to his mouth, stammering, “M-me... me...?” Our staff laughed as he tried to fan his blazing cheeks. Edwards teased:
“Right. He said you’d be shy if you heard compliments, so I thought you’d be embarrassed—please bear that in mind.”
“Uh...”
Rihyuk fluttered his arms like a penguin. Jiho gave him a thumbs-up, calling him “Number One Teen Vocal,” and Rihyuk’s face flamed again. We beamed at our bashful vocalist. He truly earned praise—on even choreography-heavy tracks, fans asked, “Does NewBlack’s main vocalist have three lungs?” On Masterpiece Band, whenever he grabbed the mic, our competition highlight sprung to life.
“Yes. Rihyuk is good.”
“Ahem...”
“He’s our main vocalist.”
We grinned smugly as Rihyuk looked at us in disbelief, then cracked a shy smile of his own. I thought of Cha Woohyun and admired him all the more—for a star to flat-out refuse a Hollywood offer and pass the torch to us was no small thing. I’d have clung to his leg, begging, “I’ll change my voice if I have to!” So I felt genuine respect and gratitude toward that senior who’d given us this chance.
“Feeling a bit better now?”
“Yes.”
Edwards laughed.
“Though Mr. Cha recommended you, that wasn’t the only reason I reached out. After hearing about Uju, I got curious and looked up videos on MeTube.”
“You saw our clips?”
“Lots of interesting things.”
“Interesting?”
“Did you really start that fire?”
I nearly spat out my water. On his phone, he showed a clip from our History Exploration team episode—Junghyun and I kindling flame with a single stick. The distributor staff burst out laughing, and we choked on the footage.
“It’s subtitled, so I got hooked. I love history, so I watched—was that real?”
“Yes. It was the Musin Revolt...”
We all gaped at how our homegrown history show charmed an American director as much as Koreans. Edwards smiled.
“In any case, there are countless videos of NewBlack online. I like that you’re well-known in Korea. I saw a TV clip titled ‘Best of Best?’—I’m not sure if that’s the precise translation, but it was Masterpiece Band labeled BoB.”
He looked at Rihyuk.
“The moment I heard your voice, I knew you were perfect—just like at an audition when the right person steps through the door.”
“Woah...”
This wasn’t empty American lip service—I saw genuine sincerity light their faces. Then, as Edwards urged, “Say yes quickly,” Rihyuk bit his lip, then asked, “So... is this a solo piece?”
“Of course. It’s your solo song.”
“Oh...”
I could read his thoughts: he wanted to honor the group but felt pressure doing it alone. While Edwards waited, the four of us chorused:
“Do it, man.”
“He’ll do it.”
“He absolutely will.”
We all shot him encouraging looks: “Stop hesitating—just say yes!” “Hyung, say yes while we’re still asking nicely!” “We’ll be sad if you don’t!” Rihyuk blinked and reluctantly said, “Okay.”
“Great,” Edwards cheered. We whooped and patted Rihyuk’s back, still flushed.
We toasted our first successful meeting with mini-applause—then Edwards blinked.
“Hmm? We aren’t done yet.”
“...?”
“There’s a reason I called all of you together.”
We’d thought the cover proposal was the finale. We sat forward, curious. freewebnøvel.coɱ
“Anything else?”
“One more thing for global marketing.”
“...?”
“There’s a scene where the hero visits the foreign books section. We left the soundtrack blank there.”
It would be a moment when books in different languages burst into song around him, overwhelming his senses.
“We’re collecting short snippets from singers covering the song in each language, to boost promotion in each country.”
“Oh...”
“We don’t need full covers—just two or three lines per country. Interested?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
My heart leapt at the challenge. Edwards laughed.
“Of course, this only applies to the Korean edition. In other countries, it may be omitted. For the U.S. release, we’ll choose from among the submissions—no guarantee you’ll be selected, so keep that in mind.” ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
“We understand.”
On cue, my brothers replied confidently.
“Leave it to us!”
“We’ve got this!”
They answered more boldly than I could—and I wondered where their confidence came from. Then they all turned to me.
Me? they asked with shining eyes: “‘C’mon, you can do it, right, Do-bi? Pull your weight, No-bi.” I smiled warmly at my eager little charges.
A new project lay before us.
Our schedules, already packed with album and concert prep, got even tighter—but we were upbeat.
“What if we run out of time?”
“Hire help!”
“Who?”
“Experts!”
Experience taught us that to deliver quality under tight deadlines, you enlist true specialists.
“I’ll buy everyone meat—meet in front of HQ!”
We invited the A&R team and composers by promising barbecue, but got no replies. So we changed tactics and went to them directly.
“Home-service delivery!”
“...Uh.”
“You seemed busy, so we came to you!”
“I—wasn’t hungry...”
We explained the OST snippet for the new musical film in person. They all looked intrigued.
“An American film...? If it does well, your voices could appear in the overseas version?”
“Yes.”
“Good opportunity. Who’s up for the cover?”
“We haven’t received the song yet—they’ll send it soon.”
When we detailed the project, everyone’s eyes lit up, but no one immediately volunteered.
“Even with lyrics, OSTs have a different nuance from pop music. Better to hire someone seasoned in that field.”
“A specialist?”
“Yes, someone like...”
Mouths full of our snacks, they named the perfect person: music director Kang Beom-seok, who’d worked on Slipped’s OST with me. He’s one of the most veteran figures in OST production.
When I shyly suggested we might need his advice, he agreed on the spot.
“I didn’t want to bother you over the phone.”
“Nonsense.”
“Director, sorry if it’s tough...”
At that, the A&R team, composers, and even my brothers all glared at me.
“I’d love to help.”
“Me too!”
He and I, both musically minded, found the conversation bright and easy. Though the others watched with tired eyes, we sketched a rough schedule: the film opens in Korea late September, overseas early October—ample time, and the segment is brief, so we weren’t too worried.
“What about my cover?”
“Oh, right.”
“‘Oh, right?’ Really?”
We dug each other in the ribs and looked at one another.
“Well—Rihyuk can handle it, right?”
“Of course.”
“Go, Rihyuk—fighting!”
“Ah! Really...!”
He snapped at us, exasperated. Singing solo felt daunting to him—and we understood. Performing solo carries a different weight than splitting responsibilities among the five of us.
“You’ll do great. No—you will do great.”
“Is that an order or a statement?”
“A statement.”
“Ahem—okay.”
But even our reassurance didn’t last ten seconds.
“Oh no. What if fans mock an idol ruining a musical number? Five hundred hateful comments incoming?”
“Those trolls are detailed—clearly veterans.”
“Rihyuk’s too beloved for haters; they wouldn’t dare.”
Our confident vocals resonated so loudly I knew we’d deliver on quality. Seeing him generate fresh worries in real time, we again sought an advisor—for the cover, we asked senior Lisa, who’d competed alongside us on Masterpiece Band. As a musical actress, she gave invaluable tips on projection and bringing out the theater vibe. Rihyuk regained his composure.
Lisa, having heard our briefing, frowned.
“What’s strange?” I asked.
I’d felt the same unease. If the original musical had a built-in fanbase, choosing a brand-new song as the title was a gamble. Unless the old numbers were subpar—but from what I’d heard on MeTube, they were classics. Western audiences even criticized the decision online: “Why create another original song?”
“If the new song’s that good, it’s still worth it,” Bijoo said.
True—but every time I replayed the musical’s originals on MeTube, I thought, “Is there a better song than that?” The composer had reportedly earned hundreds of billions from Nostalgia already. Still, hopeful, we plunged into concert prep and the new project. Then, finally, the song arrived—and we returned to distributor Tree’s office.
“Thanks for coming back,” they said.
“No problem,” we replied.
“We need strict secrecy,” they explained.
Our managers and some staff took their seats, and a planning-team member introduced the track.
“The song’s titled ‘Falling Stars.’”
“‘Falling Stars.’”
“The director said you’ll love it on first listen—we all did.”
Eager, we leaned in as they played the audio file. A gentle intro began. We listened, then the first verse kicked in—and in that moment, we understood why the director chose an original over those mighty classic numbers.
