Free Web NovelIt was a deeply unsettling sensation—like sticky gazes clinging to my body before sliding off in a drip.
I was about to scan the audience when...
“Is something wrong, Oppa?”
The Soufflé sitting across from me asked, snapping me back. I answered seriously,
“Well...”
“...?”
“I was just thinking over what kind «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» of spaceship to draw. A UFO or a rocket?”
As I sketched a space station in quick strokes, the fan clapped and laughed,
“What kind of station is that, Oppa? It looks like a bus stop with a spaceship parked in front.”
“Exactly—that’s the special part. One and only.”
“Oh! That’s good.”
After she got my signature, she moved on to Viju. While Viju perched a “sulky” hairband on his head and huffed playfully, I let my eyes roam again.
Nearby, the fansign continued peacefully. In the crowd, pro camera lenses and waving Soufflés filled the space. Smiling and tapping a V sign near my eyes, I drifted into thought.
Was it just my imagination? The strong, prickly feeling had vanished. That same uneasy twitch you feel when a stalker among the sasaeng audience fixes you with a gaze—like a gooey spatula of discomfort that makes you shudder at the slightest touch.
“Everything all right?”
Mingi hyung, standing behind me, noted the odd sign and, mask on, asked. I covered my mouth and whispered,
“It’s nothing.”
“Did you spot a sasaeng?”
“No.”
“If you sense the slightest weirdness here, let me know. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, hyung.”
As I waved and smiled at curious fans in the crowd, another fan took the seat before me, “Hello!” I brushed aside the momentary unease. Must be fatigue from constant promos and music shows after the concert. The only real issue at fansigns is the occasional barred sasaeng riot—and our company keeps them blacklisted anyway. No need to worry.
“Where are you from?” I asked in English and Korean to the hijab-wearing fan.
“I’m from Indonesia.”
“Selamat malam.”
I offered a greeting in Indonesian and she blushed and giggled. Since Fire Flower days, more international fans have come to our signings. As we mixed Korean and English, I locked eyes with her, and that sparkle—nothing compares to being looked at like that face-to-face. It’s the highlight of any fansign.
“Thanks for supporting us all the way.”
When my manager gently suggested she move on, she waved reluctantly. With the seat before me empty again, I stretched and looked around. Normally fans flood in without pause, but today my spot kept clearing.
“Hahahaha!”
It was because of our maknae. He was unusually upbeat, chattering away with Soufflés like a tornado.
“Jiho, I’m next.”
“Oops, not yet. We haven’t finished talking.”
“One more—”
“Ten more seconds.” ƒгeewёbnovel.com
I laughed to see the fan worrying more about skipping their turn than the manager did. Perhaps because music shows ended and everyone was relaxed, even fan managers seemed more laid-back. The atmosphere was great.
“Huh?”
I heard Junghyun’s voice nearby, speaking to a male fan in a comfy hoodie:
“Did you come from the bathhouse?”
We all froze.
‘No, that...’
‘If you comment on “free fashion” like that...’
‘I’ll have to scold him later.’
As I stewed, the fan replied in surprise,
“How’d you know, hyung?”
“Hmm, just got the vibes.”
“Unreal!”
He had actually just come from the bathhouse? Watching Junghyun’s warm smile and the fan’s “wow,” I sat stunned until laughter broke out.
Jiho flung adorable, out-of-character aegyo back at the crowd, and Soufflés answered in equally worn-out expressions. Ri-hyuk, aiming sorrowfully at that ring-giving fan, shook his finger, “Look at it here.” Junghyun kept guessing everyone’s lunch and fans sniffed their own clothes in worried confusion. Viju held aloft a pancake flipper gifted by a fan, posing like a fairy godmother while I pretended to be wiped out like Team Rocket.
“Hello.”
I met the eyes of someone quietly sliding into the seat across from me. Dodging eye contact, they bowed awkwardly. I smiled and asked,
“What’s your name?”
We quickly fell into easy conversation. As we bantered, I noticed something off.
“Your necklace is lovely.”
“Oh?”
Each time I spoke, the fan smoothed their collar as if brushing hair aside.
“You must be hot—want my fan?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
They took the hand-fan with a slight blush. I smiled. Beads of sweat peeked along their nose bridge and side of their jaw. Their hands slipped under the table to rub against their pants, while their calm face belied subtle signs of anxiety. And not just any anxiety—a bad sort.
“What should I draw for you—a spaceship?” I asked.
“Draw whatever you like.”
“Then I’ll make it a UFO.”
Despite my sense of unease, nothing happened during the signing. The fan rustled through their bag and produced something,
“I brought this as a gift.”
“Wow—a penguin plush. An emperor penguin.”
“You did penguin cosplay for first place promise at Fireworks. So I wanted to give you this.”
“Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”
Mingi hyung, who’d been standing behind me, reached out and placed the plush in a paper box lined behind the table. As the fan moved on to Viju, Mingi whispered,
“Hyung.”
“Yes?”
“That penguin plush—”
“Yeah?”
“Please check that one discreetly, okay?”
“Got it.”
Mingi glanced at the box, saw it full, and told Won-seok hyung to swap it out. While the managers changed the box, Soufflés blinked as if they sensed the air shift. Then they looked to our maknae.
‘Mischief.’
‘Yes.’
Our maknae hoisted a fish plush high above his head and shouted with a beaming grin,
“Ri-hyuk hyung!”
“...?”
“My friend is here at last!”
The fansign erupted in laughter. Behind the scenes, managers who’d been inspecting the gifts scowled.
“One, two, three!”
“Thank you—this has been NewBlack!”
We hopped down, waving to Soufflés in the joyous crowd.
“My ring—!”
“Hahaha!”
“Look at my ring. I said look at the ring.”
Ri-hyuk’s pitiful face as he shook the ring again made the fan laugh once more.
“I won’t fail at jokes again.”
Ri-hyuk’s firm vow was just before we saw managers move off to apprehend someone. Viju, brushing back his hair, asked,
“What’s happened, hyung? Is it because of that penguin plush?”
“Yes.”
“I wondered, too—what happened?”
Everyone seemed on alert, watching closely.
“When I talk, everyone’s eyes go wide—like ‘Oh!’—and they stare at me. But that one person just seemed distracted, like ‘Huh? Yeah....’”
“They didn’t laugh at my history joke—I remembered that.”
“Oh, the one who skipped lunch?”
As my brothers picked up on odd points, I smiled warmly. Then Won-seok hyung strode over and explained,
“We thought the plush was suspicious, so we opened it...”
“And?”
“There was a hidden wireless camera inside—a miniature spycam.”
“....”
Junghyun’s face lost its appetite. Viju asked,
“So what will you do?”
“He denies it—says he didn’t know, tries to wriggle free. But we’ve called the police. Since no real harm was done, they probably can’t press heavy charges, but we’ll handle it.”
“Wow. Imagine if we’d brought that plush home.”
The thought of our images being secretly filmed by that cam sent shivers down my spine.
“For now, staff are watching him nonstop, and we’re adding him to the blacklist.”
“Thanks for letting me know, hyung.”
“Take a break in the waiting room. I’ll join you when this is sorted.”
It was the first time I’d seen him so angry. Watching him storm off like an enraged bull, we headed back to the green room with other staff. My heart pounded, though luckily it didn’t last long. Maybe hearing it secondhand dampened the reality. Ri-hyuk flopped onto the couch with a sigh,
“Starting now, we should stop taking gifts at fansigns.”
“Right.”
“Didn’t the TNT seniors have something like this?”
He recalled a TNT member hospitalized after drinking a fan’s “gift” laced with drugs. I’d heard Sun-woong hyung jokingly ask everyone, “Ever been drugged?” ever since.
“Then no more gifts...”
Viju looked regretful. In policy we banned bribes and gifts, but we’d accepted small items—hats, headbands—at fansigns for fun. But after this, we couldn’t anymore. We’d have to inspect every plush in our dorm now.
“How about you all?”
“We’ll manage.” frёewebηovel.cѳm
Ri-hyuk said,
“It wasn’t a stalker showing up randomly; we knew a day like this would come.”
“You look most surprised.”
“I’m always pale-skinned!”
We laughed at Ri-hyuk’s ghostly face. None of us seemed too shocked—chasing planes and tailing our cars had become routine. I only worried about other issues.
“How are fans responding online? Nothing about it?”
I scrolled. All I saw were hashtags like “Junghyun bathhouse joke” and “Ri-hyuk got a friend.”
“They don’t seem to know.”
“But we have another fansign tomorrow—what should we do? If we ban gifts, we’ll have to announce it then.”
“Let’s do it quietly.”
What I’ve learned as an idol is that fans should never know about bad incidents. Our image is built on happy, pleasant keywords—‘fun,’ ‘ joy.’ Negative associations like ‘worry’ or ‘scandal’ are disastrous. Many idols suffer image hits from things beyond their control, just due to bad vibes. So our top priority is always ensuring fans feel good and take away happy memories.
Ri-hyuk said,
“But it could’ve been a disaster—good catch, hyung.”
“Right—like a sniffer dog.”
“I’m not Uju; I’m the dog.”
We all laughed at Junghyun’s impression. I offered a fist bump,
“Well done, hyung.”
“Right.”
I returned the bump with a warm smile—then said,
“Junghyun.”
“Yes?”
“Relax your fist.”
“....”
“Loosen it more.”
“....”
His glum face tightened the fist timidly.
I heard the person who tried to slip in the spycam plush was officially banned from all future schedules. Legal action is tough, they said. I nodded as I heard how they handled it.
—We’ll take care of everything behind the scenes. You just focus on your dinner.
“Yes!”
—And make sure to get good proof shots.
I replied, “Understood, hyung.”
We arrived at a popular restaurant near Hapjeong Station.
“Hi!”
Climbing the stairs to the second floor, we saw Director Edwards, Rupert Dean, Bella Page, and other key Nostalgia staff waving at us. Their faces peered through the open doorway, and other diners whispered excitedly.
“Isn’t that the director with all that national pride?”
“Oh, the Arirang-singing guy?”
Then the diners noticed us:
“Novlack!”
“Yes, hello. We are Novlack—er, NewBlack!”
We bowed to an older gentleman, and a tipsy middle-aged man recognized us,
“Nine, nine?”
“That’s right. Nine! Nine, Nine~”
We sang a playful version of “Meat Meat Meat, enjoy your meal” to the tune of Nine’s chorus, and laughter erupted. As we closed the door behind us, Director Edwards said,
“You’re like superstars.”
“Oh, no, not at all.”
We waved it off, and Bella Page pointed with chopsticks at people lingering outside,
“But who are those folks?”
“Who?”
“The ones following us—wearing masks and carrying cameras.”
Explaining “paparazzi,” the actors looked at us with warm solidarity—“You’ve been through it too?” it seemed.
“I’m Uju,” I said, shaking hands with people I’d just met. I felt proud:
‘It works. It works.’
‘We can talk!’
All that English I’d studied to chat with Clay was paying off. Though tough lines sometimes needed the interpreter, conversation flowed smoothly.
“Clay couldn’t make it—he’s sorry,” the director said. I laughed at his air quotes. He turned to Rupert,
“Rupert, why so quiet? You said you wanted to meet NewBlack.”
“Um, yes...”
He gave me an embarrassed “hi.” Bella Page, bewildered, picked up a jar of kimchi and offered, “Eomnae guy e...?” (“Don’t you...?”)
“You said you’d talk music when we met?”
“I will.”
“You said your song is so good and you had to meet the composer—”
“When did I say that?”
Friends from filming or siblings? They bickered like playful twins, and we nodded. Rupert looked at me ruefully, cleared his throat, and said,
“Your songs are great.”
“Thank you.”
“Seriously, listening made me think—this person really gets music...”
“I once saw your film, and your acting was superb...”
“Ah...”
“Um...”
They faltered mid-praise, and we all burst into laughter. Oddly, the more they praised, the more awkward it felt. Nearby, our staff filmed it all with a 6mm camera.
The director asked,
“You’ll upload this to MyTube, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
Today’s gathering wasn’t just about us hosting the cast for dinner—it was also about film promotion. With over two million subscribers on our channel, we could boost their PR. We’d film new content with Hollywood stars, and they’d reap the promo benefits—a win-win.
“This cut here is called ‘flower sirloin’ in Korean. It’s a special part...”
“Oh, flower sirloin.”
“When you eat, wrap it in this lettuce—”
As Ri-hyuk explained the food, they nodded, clearly intrigued. They handled chopsticks quite deftly.
Director Edwards quickly grabbed a piece of grilled meat and asked,
“But who else was coming...?”
“Excuse me?”
“No—it seems like there’s too much meat.”
“Oh, that’s for us to eat!”
Seeing their panic at the platter, we grinned confidently. At their “All this?!” expressions, we nodded.
Junghyun said,
“We’ll show you.”
“Don’t show us that.”
We laughed at Ri-hyuk’s protest.
While the meat sizzled, I asked Director Edwards,
“How did the premiere go?”
“The vibe was electric. I even did a deep bow on the red carpet.”
“....”
“I just did a stage greeting at the cinema. By now, everyone must be watching the film.”
The director’s face lit up as he said,
“It should be just that time now.”
“That time?”
“The moment your ‘Thousand Dreams’ plays in the theater.”
On the sixth floor of a Yeongdeungpo mall, the Nostalgia premiere screening was underway in a near-500-seat theater packed with viewers.
“Wow...”
The film’s dreamlike visuals and stunning colors elicited gasps.
“Incredible.”
Even the masterful reorchestrations of the original musical numbers. The first half was so engrossing we regretted the clock ticking.
–Shuffle, shuffle.
On the giant screen, the weary protagonist wandered the library’s vast stacks until he halted before a giant shelf.
“...”
As rusted signage soared above reading “Foreign Language Books,” subtitles slid in. Some audience members perked up,
“Ah, this is the spot...”
“Is this where NewBlack’s song was supposed to come in?”
“I don’t think it’ll fit.”
It was the topic that had buzzed all over the internet alongside the Nostalgia team’s Korea visit. As viewers, already thrilled with the movie, silently implored, “Please don’t break the mood,” the pile of books on the floor began to shift.
