Free Web Novel“Music Café.”
“Mu-Ca?”
“Yes. Ha Seung-ju’s Music Café.”
The opportunity our manager brought, saying “This is your chance to clean up your image!” was a familiar broadcast.
“I haven’t heard Mu-Ca mentioned in ages.”
“Right? Didn’t we appear with Jang So-won last spring? Feels like forever ago.”
I agreed. It seemed like so long since we performed there early last year with Something.
I asked,
“So what does it mean to ‘clean up our image’ with this?”
“Your... variety-show image is pretty strong.”
“It’s not that bad, honestly.”
My brothers nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, manager. It’s not that severe.”
“I agree with Wang Ji-ho.”
“Really.”
“I’m a little hurt by your comment, boss.”
As Eun-seong began to sulk, Seok-hwan hyung raised his hands to calm us and said,
“Of course, I know it’s not that extreme. I just couldn’t find another way to say it.”
“Got it. We forgive you~”
Our manager cleared his throat.
“Anyway, the Mu-Ca team urgently requested you. They’re very interested because of the Nostalgia OST.”
“Oh-ho.”
“They’ll feature you as the main guests for that episode—more airtime than before. Want to do it?”
“Main guests?”
“You were on with Jang So-won for about ten minutes, right? This time, even more.”
It was a good offer. But we needed details. Ri-hyuk spoke up first:
“If it’s about Nostalgia, they’ll ask us to sing the OST—has that been cleared with the studio?”
“They OK’d it. The film’s released, and by broadcast time, the OST should be out too.”
The key issue was settled. We asked about the stage and talk content to sketch the outline.
Viju asked,
“But how exactly will this shift our image?”
“Oh.”
Seok-hwan hyung looked around and explained,
“To idol fans you’re fine, but to the general public your variety-show image is dominant.”
“Is it?”
I glanced at my brothers: our gentle eyes and the way we lose to elementary-aged kids on shows. We weren’t so different from anyone else. Then my gaze paused on Junghyun.
Suddenly I understood “variety-show image.” Junghyun looked at us with the same realization and froze on my face.
“....”
I nodded thoughtfully, saying,
“Makes sense.”
Junghyun nodded too:
“I get it.”
“Honestly, these two are the main culprits behind our weird image. If you graphed it, they’d account for ninety percent.”
“Don’t forget nine percent is me, right?”
Ri-hyuk pouted, and the maknae turned to Viju:
“Viju hyung~”
“Yes. We’re normal people—”
They linked arms into a big heart, and Ri-huk teased,
“It’s ‘people’ in plural form.”
I laughed at my “normal” duo. If there were subtitles, I’d point an arrow at them: “Self-proclaimed normals.”
Our manager, marveling how we make a five-minute point last fifteen, began the real explanation:
“Your variety-show image is a bit of a poison. It’s good to be approachable, but—”
“Is that bad?”
“Too... approachable.”
“....”
“It’s not a bad thing, so don’t sulk.”
“Okay....”
He adjusted his glasses with a smile:
“Being friendly and likable as celebrities is good. All those ads you get come from that popularity.”
“Hmm.”
“You’ve gained the mainstream appeal other groups envy.”
We knew that—our name appeared on “Which idol do you like best?” surveys, and people everywhere recognized us: grandparents and kindergartners included.
“But that’s not always good artistically.”
“Right.”
We agreed. In Korea, the more mysterious an artist, the more artistic credit they receive. Mainstream performers often get underrated. We worried our frequent variety appearances might overshadow our musical credibility—actors on variety face the same issue. A strong variety-show persona can hinder audience immersion in dramatic roles.
“So with Mu-Ca, we aim to dilute that variety-show image a bit.”
“Do you think it’ll work?”
“Worth a try.”
Our manager spoke firmly:
“Now’s the perfect time—Nostalgia’s word-of-mouth is huge.”
Talk of Nostalgia hitting ten million admissions was already swirling. The distributor was planning more events.
“Your episode will air in week two or three of release—if box-office is strong by then, that’s perfect timing.”
“Oh, right.”
The maknae checked his calendar:
“We’ll be abroad when it airs? When we’re on no other shows?”
“Yes, exactly.”
The plan was simple: air after Nostalgia’s box office peak, when everyone knows the OST, with behind-the-scenes of our OST production.
“Especially you, Woo-ju—you’ll highlight your composing image. Musical numbers differ from idol songs.”
True—no matter how much we said, “I wrote that song!” on reality shows, people still doubted: “Did someone else do it?” But if it’s a different genre, perceptions change.
“It’s a great chance.”
“Right?”
“Yeah. If it goes well...”
It would be perfect: viewers might think, “Oh, NewBlack actually do make music.”
The concern:
“Will it dilute the foundation we’ve built?”
“....”
My brothers agreed:
“I honestly think it’ll be tough.”
“Feels unlikely.”
“You said ‘clean our image,’ but I feel the washing machine will crash.”
“And Woo-ju and I might try something else.”
Our manager stared into space, refusing reality.
The Mu-Ca appearance was scheduled quickly. As soon as it was confirmed, articles appeared as we headed to the airport for our first overseas tour:
–“‘OST Sensation’ NewBlack to Appear on Music Café, Will Perform ‘Thousand Dreams’”
–“[Exclusive] NewBlack Joins Jo Yu-ri Band on Mu-Ca Music Special”
–“NewBlack on Mu-Ca... Revealing ‘Nostalgia’ OST Production Stories”
It was astonishing how different it was from last year, when Director Cho begged host Ha Seung-ju to let us on. Now they were asking us. It was all thanks to the OST interest.
“It’s Jo Yu-ri Band again,” Ri-hyuk noted on his tablet.
“Don’t worry,” I said.
“I’m not worried—just awkward.”
“They’ll be more awkward than us.”
“True.”
We’d practiced our strength-weak-strength-weak dynamic; we’d be fine. As the GPS said we were almost at Incheon, we stretched in the car.
“Ah, my joints...”
Viju bent his neck nearly eighty-degrees; I grinned.
“Hyung, anything caught in my teeth?”
“One sec.” I bent ninety and checked.
“Clear.”
“Good. Last time in Singapore, a photo caught my food—so embarrassing.”
We all flashed fake “ei ei ei” grins to check our teeth. Mingi-hyung, filming a behind-the-scenes, stopped sharply.
“We’re here.”
On the third floor of Incheon: past the crosswalk, cameras and fans packed the windows.
“....”
My breath caught. There was no peaceful way through—dozens of long-lens cameras, at least a hundred people including curious onlookers.
“Wait, guys. I’m coordinating with security. Let’s exit once they clear a route.”
Security formed a path, and we stepped out. The new car’s door opened automatically with a hiss. Before we could place our feet, screams erupted.
“Waaaah!”
Sunglasses saved my eyes from the flash. I waved, smiling—but calm didn’t last. Crossing the road, the crowd surged unexpectedly.
“Ah! Ah!”
Ri-hyuk nearly wept from being jostled, even as Junghyun and Viju shielded him like stone statues.
“Please let us through!”
Someone lunged for me, and I froze—security pulled them back. I couldn’t tell if I was moving or being carried; sweat poured down my back. It was worse than our Japan departure.
“....”
We soon donned masks over sunglasses. I’d had no strength for expression management. Cameras glared from left, right. Our phones were muted—otherwise stalkers would’ve called non-stop. Once past immigration, the chaos eased.
“Ji-ho, bring your phone.”
“Huh?”
As Ji-ho ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) fumbled, Won-seok hyung held out his phone.
“A stalker grabbed you earlier and you dropped it.”
“Wow, I nearly panicked. Thanks, hyung.”
“You’re out of it, huh?”
Won-seok grinned at our sweat-drenched faces. He’d hurt his hand retrieving the phone, but seemed fine. Like when I tumbled down school stairs as a kid—just my bony frame to thank.
“We’ll succeed enough to buy a plane,” I promised.
“Yeah.”
Once we entered the departure hall, things calmed—only the usual stalkers remained. Ignoring shouts and calls, we strolled to the gate. Though terrifying at first, advice from Han-mo of TNT helped me adapt.
“You’re trembling, hyung.”
“Just nervous about the flight.”
I shot Junghyun a glance. After sneaking a look at article photos, I boarded. We sat clustered, with managers and stylists around. In the middle window seat, I took a deep breath.
As I started listing our tour stops, Ri-hyuk’s curiosity flared.
“You counting? You counting legs?”
“No, countries we’re visiting.”
“Oh.”
I tapped my fingers:
“Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore, Philippines, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia...”
East and Southeast Asia, plus Australia, the US, Brazil, Chile—our first overseas tour itinerary through year-end. Japan was scheduled separately next year.
“I’ll fly at least fifteen times...”
“No.”
“Oh?”
They pointed out it’s round-trip—double that.
“....”
“Why the harsh look? You miscounted.”
“....”
“I’ll give you chocolate—eat it and make up.”
I agreed at once. The maknae popped his head over my seat:
“I want some too—look, foil wrapping!”
“Hahaha!”
My brothers jabbered happily to ease my nerves—unnecessary but appreciated. As Junghyun pressed my arm with his “calm-down blood pressure” trick, I gazed out at the control tower.
I remembered looking down on planes from up there during Sagan’s filming—those little planes, not these giant humming machines. As I watched my reflection, Junghyun’s face drifted up like a moon beside me. His warm face asked,
“Hyung, don’t I look like a sunrise?”
“....”
“This is sunlight.”
“....”
He held up his hand to mimic a glimmer, and I was stunned. Ri-hyuk too. I turned, and Junghyun, shaking his head “no,” said:
“Don’t look at the sun with naked eyes, hyung.”
“Junghyun.”
“Yes.”
“Close.”
“Yes...”
He slumped and buckled his belt sadly, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. Thanks to him, I felt less fear at takeoff—though remembering “This is an eclipse” was... odd.
Our overseas tour. First stop: Malaysia. This tour combined concerts with promotion: TV appearances, magazine interviews, etc. We’d introduce ourselves locally.
“What’s this?”
As soon as we landed in Kuala Lumpur, staff guided us to the VIP corridor.
“They said the crowds outside are massive.”
“Oh.”
“They’ve never seen so many before.”
It was my first VIP experience—amazing. When we emerged and waved from the car, cheers burst out. Flashing placards shook crazily.
“Why so many Dalbongs?”
“It’s ‘dal-paeng-i,’” the maknae corrected.
Security stood by as fans chanted “NewBlack!” We waved, and screams followed, like our hands had volume knobs.
“Gives me chills.”
“Me too.”
“I’m so confused—it’s my first time here.”
Even after boarding, we chatted excitedly. Watching the airport disappear, we murmured:
“We came to introduce ourselves—but they already know our name...”
“How do they know us?”
“They said your MTube videos are huge in Malaysia.” freewēbnoveℓ.com
“MTube videos?”
“What, you don’t know? Those.”
We gaped, and the agent nodded gravely.
“Got it.”
Seok-hwan hyung relayed:
“They said the body-humor bits in your videos sell better than spoken jokes—universal appeal.”
“True. If I saw a singer riding a unicycle in the thumbnail, I’d click too.”
I smiled warmly looking out the window.
“Think it’ll clean our image?”
“Who knows....”
“Guess our image isn’t just domestic.”
As we pondered changing our global image, the car took us to the hotel.
“So what’s between rehearsal slots?”
“Visiting a dance team later to teach choreography.”
“Today’s the day.”
A Malaysian cover dance team advancing to the final of the K-Pop Festival in Changwon. We’d coach them. Seok-hwan hyung, off a call, grinned:
“They’re thrilled—they get to dance with NewBlack.”
“Really?”
“They’re your fans—bouncing with excitement.”
“I see.”
We exchanged smiles. Viju grinned happily:
“It’ll be so fun. They’ll love practicing with us, right?”
“Definitely—so excited.”
We envisioned waiting fans and beamed. But someone watched us quietly.
“....”
“Hyung, you okay?”
“Nothing....”
I caught a murmur: “Might lose fans...” but looked away.
