Free Web NovelThe video showed a performance by a five-member group.
Strange singers calling themselves “NewBlack” were singing a familiar song.
“Huh...?”
American viewers of the video felt a spark of recognition.
It was the OST from that hit musical film sweeping the U.S. box office recently.
And the voices singing it sounded familiar.
“Just like on the radio.”
Soon they realized the song’s original artists were those five singers in the video.
It was unexpected visually, but even on poor speakers or earbuds, the song’s emotion washed over them.
The comments filled with praise:
┕ “They’re singers, you idiot.”
Though these were new faces, everywhere English comments shouted, “NewBlack!” Finally, someone with a strange flag thumbnail (half red, half blue circle) explained:
At last, the mystery was solved: K-pop. They’d heard of the genre but few Americans listened firsthand. Thus, viewers who saw “Thousand Dreams” live only knew NewBlack from other Music Cafe performance clips. A few had clicked on title-stage videos out of curiosity, but lost interest quickly. Most weren’t that interested in other NewBlack performances.
However...
“What is this channel even?”
Following the algorithm led them through “NewBlack TV,” “NewBlack TV2” playlists.
They found a video of the leader uploading piano renditions of album tracks—complete with free sheet music. Gentle ASMR-style piano melodies they could leave on in the background.
“Today I’m the chef...?”
A video of Apron-wearing members cooking famous Korean dishes, sharing recipes.
“Vlog about growing green onions?”
The handsome member looking like a farmer recording his green onions’ growth, laughing simply.
“Organization tips?”
A video of someone with a pale face neatly folding socks in open storage—satisfyingly watchable.
“Day 1 of my 69-point Korean history project? Why is it always Day 1?”
A self-cam study video with a neat face focused at a desk. So oddly pleasant to watch that viewers bookmarked it. He’d restarted “Day 1” every two weeks: one minute then “I give up!” – cheerful, or two minutes then “Ooh, a call from big sister!” – still giving up. The longer each new “Day 1,” the funnier.
“...”
Entranced by these, American MiTube users blinked and hit subscribe. It felt like a channel that had everything: “Not sure what you like, so I prepared it all.” They’d heard NewBlack were a K-pop boy band, but seeing Korean boy bands’ reality content was surprising.
“Do Korean singers not make money?”
If they were truly famous, album/song earnings alone should sustain them. It felt sad that they needed side gigs. Yet NewBlack’s MiTube gave a familiar vibe.
“Like a reality-star family show.”
They thought of U.S. families famous for reality-TV. The family atmosphere, the habit of watching daily life—even riding a unicycle with arms outstretched—was heartwarming.
As viewers tumbled through NewBlack’s channel, the video of their live stage soared in views. News spread back to Korea:
[NewBlack’s Stage Slays in the U.S. Right Now]
Screenshots of MiTube comments and community threads with the video link popped up everywhere. freewebnovel.cσ๓
Most comments praised the live quality and expressed pride. But some sneered:
Though NewBlack had few haters thanks to built-up goodwill, critics grew with their popularity. As haters flooded every praise-filled comment section, the live-clip’s final lines stayed in minds nationwide:
[Woooah—!]
[We’ve been NewBlack!]
The name, dropped amid thunderous applause and that lingering “Thousand Dreams” echo, would stick in viewers’ memories for some time.
After free days, ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) we climbed into the car exhausted.
“Oof, I’m aching...”
“Yeah. Fun takes practice, I guess—feels tough after a while.”
The maknae’s words got head nods all around. Working nonstop, even play felt tiring these days.
“Okay—clockwise.”
At my cue, each sibling rubbed the shoulder of the member to their right.
“Counterclockwise.”
Then the opposite. We tidied our shopping bags and souvenirs, stretched, and relaxed as the coastal road glowed with the setting sun.
While enjoying the breeze, Ri-hyeok checked his phone.
“Ministry of Foreign Affairs says there are about 600,000 Koreans living in LA.”
“Whoa...”
“That’s the population of Jeju Island.”
“No wonder.”
We understood why Koreans popped up everywhere on the streets. With that many residents plus tourists, we couldn’t go unnoticed. Our morning boast—“No one will know us here, hehe”—felt foolish.
Looking out over the sea, I asked,
“Is your mom’s house in a Korean area too?”
“My mom’s house?” Ri-hyeok shook his head.
“It used to be, but she moved—I heard from Ye-in.”
“You don’t know the area?”
“I’ve never been there.”
We were heading to Ri-hyeok’s mother’s for dinner. She’d invited us, and we’d scheduled it for the last day to enjoy leisure. He peered at street signs.
“This must be a nice neighborhood, I think.”
“Oh?”
“My old neighborhood wasn’t great.”
Our maknae, still taking selfies of the sunset, asked,
“So you only lived here when you were little?”
“A bit in elementary school.”
“So when teachers said your pronunciation was good but your words too childish—”
“Yeah.”
Because we dressed up to meet families, Ri-hyeok couldn’t tease him further. He sighed,
“Anyway, that neighborhood wasn’t great. Even classmates were tough.”
“Did they bully you?”
“Some. I was small.”
“So you came back to Korea because of that?”
“Actually, they had a bad impression of me—every time kids messed with me, I’d explain calmly why it was wrong. They’d cry and run off.”
I smiled, warmed by the unexpected twist.
“You weren’t using bad words—just logical points. But the school told me to bring my mom.”
“And she never came.”
“She was too busy.”
So that’s how he ended up in Korea, it seemed. He brushed back his hair and stared at the sunset.
“Whenever something happened, I’d call home. In the U.S., they thought I was just lonely. So they stopped calling me as much.”
“Why?”
“Ye-in needs attention too. Earning money alone here is tough—calling me might feel like a burden.”
I couldn’t quite relate, but I saw his thoughtfulness. Anyway, now we knew why he didn’t know his mom’s address well.
Perhaps prompted by nostalgia, Ri-hyeok kept talking as we listened.
“I think it’s better now.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“When I video-chat with Ye-in or see photos of the new house, it seems much improved.”
“Oh...”
“I heard she moved recently—and... wait.”
Ri-hyeok paused, looked at our stunned faces, and asked,
“What’s wrong?”
“Your mom’s neighborhood...”
“Huh?”
“Look at the houses around.”
The sky had deepened to navy. All the homes we passed were grand estates—an exclusive wealthy district by any measure. Our rich maknae was already exclaiming, “Wow!”
“This can’t be....”
Ri-hyeok murmured as we drove deeper into the enclave. After grand mansions, a slightly more modest villa with its own pool went by.
Thud—the car stopped.
“Hey, Ri-hyeok. There’s a gate here.”
Like a mafia boss’s mansion, a huge wrought-iron gate barred the way.
Mingi hyung in the passenger seat snapped awake, eyes wide. We stared, dumbfounded.
“What... what is this?”
“Uju-hyung, you’re freaking out—your dialect’s coming out.”
“No way this is a—. The house is....”
Behind high walls that blocked any view inside, the gate began to swing open with a creak. Our car rolled forward.
“Wow...”
A softly lit fountain and manicured lawns and flowerbeds came into view through the driveway. But most striking was the three-story mansion ahead.
Ri-hyeok’s mother appeared on the porch, alongside our lively Ye-in. As we approached, I asked,
“What did your mom say she was doing?”
“She said... clothing sales.”
“Doesn’t look like a clothes shop?”
Ri-hyeok was speechless, and we burst into laughter. Ye-in, looking like a wise little sprite, simply stared at the sky.
“Folks, watch how important communication is—ah!”
Ri-hyeok dashed forward.
“This is real! A burning house—”
“You started the fire, hyung! Ah!”
“Don’t speak truths, arrgh!”
Junghyun, nodding along, got smacked on the back by Viju. I scratched my head at the fresh chaos.
“Hello, Mom!”
“Hi.”
I smiled and offered my hand. She shook it gently and we exchanged greetings.
“It’s lovely to see you again after the concert. We brought you a gift...”
I glanced at Ri-hyeok, who awkwardly stepped forward and handed over a gift envelope. She accepted it carefully.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“...”
“...”
The most awkward silence ever. Mom turned to lead us indoors.
“Manager, please come in too.”
“No, I have other plans. I’ll pick the kids up later.”
Our manager had declined from the start; we waved goodbye to him and followed Mom and the driver toward the mansion.
“Come on in.”
In calm tones, she ushered us inside—and we entered a new world.
“Wow...”
“Feels like Hogwarts, hyung. Hogwarts. So... so antique.”
“I’ve never seen you this amazed.”
Our maknae marveled at the paintings and various jars on display; Viju and Junghyun did the same. I took mental notes for Ms. Kim Deok-soon’s future house.
Then we turned to Ri-hyeok.
“Are you an idiot?”
“You are an idiot.”
“Really an idiot.”
He blushed and trembled. Then a huge framed magazine cover on the wall caught my eye: Mom in a suit, graceful, labeled “Sharon Kim, CEO of Clothing Company.”
“I heard you were in clothing sales...” I began. Then shook my head.
“This is the dining room.”
Ye-in introduced the round, family-style table. We sat down, and a caterer brought out hors d’oeuvres. Mom smiled at him.
“Thank you, Rick.”
“Enjoy your meal.”
We all echoed “Thank you!” and smiled, nibbling appetizers while taking in the room.
“Your home is amazing.”
“Is it? I worried it was too expensive.”
“It’s incredible.”
The meal proceeded in a relaxed atmosphere.
“Mom, this is the best food I’ve ever had in my twenty years.”
“I love it too.”
“May I work here?”
Junghyun asked with moist eyes—and we all laughed. Mom didn’t talk much, but we were chatty enough for her.
“So you’re in the clothing business?”
“Yes, I opened many branches recently. Sales are strong.”
I’d worried her Korean might have faded after so many years in the U.S., but she spoke perfectly.
“There aren’t many fields I can enter here.”
I later looked up her company: a clothing chain with outlets across America. I found many business-press articles about how quickly she grew her business.
Meanwhile, someone else still in the dark was Ri-hyeok.
“You said you buy and sell clothes...?”
“Did I say it wrong?”
“No...”
He fidgeted with his fork as Mom paused, then looked at us.
“How’s your career in America?”
“Good.”
“You all sang so well.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“I saw the videos from Ye-in.”
Noticing her gaze into space, we realized Ye-in—like Mom—was staring at... nothing. So we also looked into the air and replied,
“Thank you.”
“All right.”
We resumed eating. The clink of knives and forks on plates filled the air. Mom looked around, saying,
“Last time we met, you were so busy we barely spoke.”
“Yes. We regretted that.”
“Talking face-to-face like this... feels different.”
We listened intently.
“I’d only heard about you by email. Your impressions were a bit different from what I imagined.”
Our forks froze.
“Does Ri-hyeok write to me about us by email?”
“He’s sent quite a few.”
“I’ve received many too.”
The mother-daughter exchange left us intrigued.
“Oh—he’s been talking about us.”
“Isn’t it odd to ask ‘When’s lobster season?’?”
As Ri-hyeok fidgeted to change the subject, Mom—deep in thought—said,
“I wanted to meet you properly since I’d only heard about you by email. Especially you, Uju.”
“Me?”
“Yes—the first impression you gave...”
“Pfft!”
Ri-hyeok and I both choked on laughter.
