Free Web NovelThe audience’s gaze fixed on the stage.
“Welcome.”
Rupert Dean spread his arms wide in greeting. Beside him, Bella Page beamed brightly.
The five of us, smiling and hugging or lightly shaking hands with the two actors, each put down the folding chair we’d been holding.
Rupert Dean asked,
“Where’s my chair?”
He looked a bit put-out. At that cue, all five of us shrugged in unison, and the audience laughed at the perfectly timed bit.
“They didn’t give you one.”
The handsome one at the far left answered softly. His eyes and lips glowed under the lights. He was so strikingly beautiful that even an American crowd couldn’t help but admire him. Female spectators’ eyes curved in delight.
“Such cute guys.”
“The broad-shouldered one in the middle is totally my type.”
“They’re really skinny, though....”
Meanwhile, in their heads, the audience tried to deduce who this five-member group was.
“Those bright hair colors—must be a K-pop group?” frёewebηovel.cѳm
“I know the name, but I’m not sure who they are.”
Just then, the leader at the far left picked up the mic.
“Hello. What a beautiful night, isn’t it?”
His natural American English felt as familiar as a neighbor’s greeting.
“You’re probably all wondering who we are. So I thought—how can we introduce ourselves memorably?—and I googled it.”
He smiled and showed his smartphone.
“I found ‘Book guys.’”
At that perfectly literal summary, the members gazed off into the distance dreamily, and the audience burst into laughter. The leader laughed too and said,
“Exactly. That’s us.”
In unison, we chirped, “We are Book guys,” and the crowd laughed again.
As the concert crew filmed the audience’s reactions, our witty banter continued.
“Even if we tell you our name now, you’ll forget it by the end of the show.”
Then, as if in a skit, he turned to the one sitting center stage and asked,
“Hey—remember the five who sang ‘Thousand Dreams’ earlier?”
“Uh....”
The member with the fierce look blinked like a teddy bear, playing along.
“You mean Book guys?”
A peal of laughter rose from the seats: they all pictured the scene clearly and had to laugh. The leader said, “See?” and continued,
“So we’ll introduce our name right before we leave the stage.”
“At that moment, you’ll remember it.”
The youngest member at the far right spoke with full confidence—and the audience smiled. Curiosity about these unknown singers gently turned to affection.
Backstage, too, the staff relaxed. They’d been nervous about any surprises from this foreign guest act.
“They’re good.”
“Yeah, they are.”
Staff exchanging glances nodded. They’d been thinking, “If only the performance is good, that’s enough”—yet even before singing, the group was masterfully playing the crowd with just talk, perfectly matching the “Midnight Elegance Party” concert theme.
One person, however, could not smile: Anton, the crew member who’d cheered them on before they went on. He was flustered. He’d thought these unknowns were rookies—but their stage manners and skill were the best of anyone that night.
“They’re like pros.”
He realized he wasn’t even there for their rehearsal! A senior staffer called,
“Anton!”
“I’m coming!”
Even as he hurried, he couldn’t shake off, “What on earth is going on?”
On stage, Uju—the one heckling the audience earlier—sat at the empty piano bench. He clapped his hands to gather attention.
“Before we start the song, one request, please.”
Eyes followed his index finger as he gracefully pressed a single key on the piano. A thin, /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ clear note rang out. He drew the mic close and sang,
“Imagine this, please.”
His hand began to trace a gentle melody as his voice continued sweetly:
“Imagine your dreams drifting skyward like balloons—truly a thousand dreams taking flight.”
Alongside the piano’s delicate tune, the four members sitting in a row lifted their mics. With the leader at the keys, five voices melded into one harmony that filled the venue. The familiar melody began to bloom, and blue-and-yellow lights bathed the stage.
At the same moment, the live band—strings and drums—joined in full force, transforming the sound into the musical-film original, “Thousand Dreams.” In the audience, images from the film surfaced: the protagonist in the foreign-language book section, finding solace in song.
As the expected first verse began, the white-faced member on the right raised his mic:
“We have no tale to show,
No hero to reveal,
Yet hearts are brimming
With many a dream.”
His gentle climb to the high notes echoed softly, and before the afterimage faded, the audience gasped.
“Woooah!”
Though their exclamations were quickly absorbed by the music, the live rendition left them stunned.
“It’s different.”
“Hearing it here beats theater or earbuds.”
Their impressions flipped 180 degrees in an instant.
The song continued: the red-haired member’s soft falsetto, the deep-voiced one’s hushed lines, the youngest’s bright smile gathering all gazes, and the leader’s fresh vocals guiding the keys. Musical actors who’d performed earlier had delivered one experience—this felt entirely new.
The once-subtle melody grew joyful, making toes tap in the seats.
“We hold a hundred words,
A thousand dreams,
In a humble library’s dusty shelves.”
With each lyric, scenes from the film—of the magical library’s neglected shelves of foreign-language books—flickered to life. Those books yearned for readers’ love but were overlooked. Though they bore many dreams, they couldn’t be realized. Yet they sang joyfully of what they had.
As the song’s mood deepened:
“If you could grasp your dream,
Hold it tight,
Then gently let it soar.”
They urged: don’t clutch your dreams out of fear of loss. A dream is part of you, not your entire being.
Together, five voices sang:
“To the boundless sky,
Release softly,
Dreams become stars
To light your night.”
They counseled the protagonist to use dreams not as destinations but as a compass, guiding one’s journey: what you want, what you aim for, where you must go.
The refrain, led by the main vocal, soared:
“In the open sea,
A thousand dreams,
A thousand stars,
To aid your voyage.”
And with that triumphant, symphonic finale, the live concert’s power resonated. Some thousand-odd audience members clapped softly at the close of the first verse, each moved by the lyrics’ meaning. One truth shone clear: live, in-venue music felt wholly different from any recording.
After verse one and two,
“Woooahhh—!”
The crowd thundered their applause. The five of us stood and bowed with smiles.
“We’ve been NewBlack.”
“Have a wonderful night!”
We waved crisply and left the stage. The lingering thrill and the name NewBlack echoed in every ear—that bold name would be remembered for a long time.
Backstage, Anton stared wide-eyed at his phone’s screen: our social media follower count. He swallowed hard. He scrolled through photos of us at massive venues far larger than this live hall. These were no mere rookies—they were superstars.
As we passed him with bright smiles and asked, “How was our performance?” Anton felt like crawling into any hole and hiding.
The next day:
We held a fan meeting in LA with the local Suflé fans.
“Thank you all for coming!”
“We’re truly grateful!”
Afterward, as on every overseas tour, we gathered under our national flag for selfies with fans. The scale was smaller than in Asia but far beyond our expectations. The enthusiasm was overwhelming.
“Squeee!”
Fans begged us not to leave, and we returned their gestures with reluctant waves. Even after it ended, our cheeks stayed flushed from the excitement.
“Seok-hwan hyung.”
“Yes?”
“You said to treat this like a light fan meet.”
“Well... you always give your all, even on small stages....”
Sek-hwan hyung averted his gaze, laughing at our teasing.
“It got so big we had to expand seating... like trying to scoop one cup of rice, but the whole sack spills everywhere.”
We laughed, and he said that next year we should plan a full concert.
“Wherever we go, local partners keep saying—”
“They said the energy is off the charts. Maybe we should do proper concerts in other areas next year.”
“Oooh!”
“They said many flew in from other states for this fan meeting.”
“Really?” I asked.
“They flew in by plane. Because you can’t drive that far?”
“If we tour here, we’ll have to fly.”
“Oh...” I lowered my head sadly, and my siblings patted my back sympathetically. Then we all laughed. That was a problem for later—we were just happy the local response was so great.
“Thanks to all the staff!” I called out to everyone from the live concert to the fan meeting.
“Live concert?” my siblings punched the air. “Done!”
“Fan meeting?” “Done!”
“Interview schedule?” “Done!”
“Everything’s done!”
“What now?”
“We eat and relax!”
“Wooooaah!” we cheered and headed straight back to the hotel.
Our maknae—still underage and soon in his final school year—couldn’t contain his excitement, bouncing on the bed.
“Let’s have a pillow fight!”
“Oh, come on... fine.”
“Eek!”
We started enthusiastically, until—
“Here I come!”
Like a Shaolin master, one of us swung their pillow like a flail: it felt less like feathers and more like bolts and nuts inside. “Jung-hyun, it’s me! Your brother!” “Aah! Kim Junghyun, I’ll only put carrots in your fried rice....” “They say you shouldn’t even hit with flowers, but hitting hyung with flowers would still hurt.”
Spinning like a figure skater’s pirouette, the monster with the pillow took us all down. The managers cheered, saying it’d make great MiTube content.
In the end, after five minutes, we switched from pillow fighting to dancing with pillows. I won unanimously by doing tap dance while juggling a pillow, then collapsed asleep.
“What beautiful weather.”
“For real. Makes me want to play.”
Our final rest before departure—a warm, sunny day that made us smile. Viju said,
“I like that nobody recognizes us here.”
“That’s true.”
“In Korea, we’d get recognized every time we moved, which was awkward.”
“Yeah—couldn’t even dance in an alley.” freēwēbnovel.com
We all agreed. It was nice to speak freely without onlookers giggling. That’s why being unknown here felt good.
“A place where no one knows us....”
We chattered excitedly about our remaining plans—amusement park, meals, and more—following the timetable Ri-hyeok had drawn up.
“Long time no see!”
“Chee-chee-pong!”
First, a casual meal with Rupert Dean, the Nostalgia lead actor—a friend from our Korean promo events.
“My manager says this is the most famous Korean restaurant here. The galbi is amazing.”
“Galbi...!”
My heart fluttered at the thought of LA galbi. Inside, murmurs rippled as we entered: not only did we look like artistically delicate youths, but we were with one of Hollywood’s hottest actors. We felt proud that nobody recognized us.
Then, the server—who’d been eyeing us—blinked in surprise.
“NewBlack?”
“Uh—yes?”
We stared in confusion as a Korean-student-looking waiter greeted us.
“Hello.”
“Oh—hi. But how did you—?”
“I’m Korean.”
His simple logic stunned us before we laughed and shook his hand. It made sense: a Korean restaurant employing Korean students.
Rupert smiled at our Korean exchange.
“You really are famous.”
“We’re not—just you happened to be from Korea.”
We deflected, but as time passed, we noticed something. Even at the amusement park, while waiting for rides, we’d get waves.
“Oh—hi there!”
“...”
“Why are you here?”
While shopping on Hollywood Boulevard, families of tourists:
“Ah—NewBlack!”
“...”
“Is that you?”
Visiting landmarks, people greeted us again and again. Whenever we asked, “Where did you see us?” they answered, “TV,” or “MiTube.” By the end, we exchanged weary looks at our stolen anonymity—only to realize:
“There are Koreans everywhere....”
At roughly the same time in Korea:
A paparazzi shot of Rupert Dean circulated on celebrity forums. Views climbed rapidly. Comments flooded in:
“LOL—why are NewBlack there?”
“AgainBlack;”
“I’ve been wondering why I hadn’t seen their faces today.”
“If you can’t see NewBlack, NewBlack will find you.”
“Hawaiian shirt lol—they look like grandpa shades + hoodie, right?”
“Bowed heads—I couldn’t recognize them.”
“This is the first overseas pap shot with K-pop artists!”
It showed Uju, beaming beside the foreign actor in a Hawaiian shirt and grandpa sunglasses. Across communities and social media, sightings of NewBlack in LA—and selfies with fans—abounded. Their high Korean profile had sparked it.
Meanwhile, on the Pacific’s far side in the U.S., something else was trending online. Viewers on MiTube spotted a strange thumbnail on a popular video: the live concert clip posted by the Nostalgia film studio. Initially modest attention surged into the fastest rising live clip:
[“Thousand Dreams” Performed by The New Black]
Fingers clicked play as viewers discovered the performance.
