Free Web NovelThe sudden video from Producer Do sent the dorm into an uproar.
“This is bad.”
“What do we do? Hyungs? That PD will really chase us to the ends of the earth.”
“First he went after Uju, and now he’s after all of us...”
When I’d said I would go, the others had giggled—but now that it was their turn, they were full of worry. Junghyun squatted on the floor, examining the USB.
“Junghyun, what are you doing?”
“Checking if there’s anything hidden inside. Like spyware that sends a signal when you play it.”
“This isn’t some 007 movie. You can’t just—”
At that moment, my phone screen lit up with a messenger notification.
“User not registered as friend”
Do Jun-gi: [Uju, you saw the video, right?]
...He really did know. Frozen, I stammered, and my brothers turned to look at my screen. Their eyes went wide.
“H-he actually knows!”
“Aaah! I hate this PD so much!”
“What? Junghyun was telling the truth? Is this even possible?”
Amid my brothers’ panic, Junghyun paused, then stared at the USB and my phone in turn.
“Ohhh!”
He cradled the USB like it was advanced tech. The others ducked behind me.
“Jeez, you idiots.”
At my remark, they protested.
“We’re not idiots, hyung!”
“If I’m an idiot, then you’re an idiot hyung.”
“Don’t lump me and Wang Ji-ho together. He’s the idiot—it’s not me.”
I brushed aside their bickering and held up my phone.
“Logically, there’s no way Producer Do hid spyware on this.”
“Really?”
“Of course not. He timed that message to when he figured you’d arrive—after the awards, the traffic, when we’d get back here.”
“That’s even scarier!”
As Rihyeok protested, sure enough, Do PD sent another message: “You must have arrived by now, right?”
“You saw it?”
“...Ugh. Just seeing this makes me want to avoid him.”
As Jiho shuddered, Viju looked up at me and asked,
“Hyung, what do we do now?”
“I don’t know...”
I stroked my chin.
“Speaking from experience... we won’t go—for a while.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He’ll drop subtle hints, but we’ll protest so loudly he’ll give up.”
“Hey, that sounds exactly like something I’ve heard before.”
Of course—it was my own experience. Since spring 2014, the “Men On The Go” PD had been beckoning me like this. I smiled brightly and said,
“Then we’ll keep getting congratulatory flower wreaths at showcases, fans will go ‘Ooh,’ everyone will say we fit the show—‘Go on!’—and eventually he’ll even show up on unrelated sets to woo us...”
“Calm down before you start spitting blood.”
“Do I look calm? No. Seriously.”
Rihyeok patted my shoulder, but I was too riled up.
“Thinking about it still pisses me off... I’m seething!”
“Hyung, it’s past your neighbors’ bedtime.”
At Viju’s gentle reminder, I regained my composure. Although that show had skyrocketed my recognition last year, the recruitment process had been pure misery. Smoothing back my hair, I concluded,
“Well, if you can’t avoid it, you might as well enjoy it.”
“The conclusion is as weird as I expected.”
“It’s fate. Trust me. One day we’ll go on. So we’d better prepare ourselves.”
“Ugh, then I have to watch shrimp-fishing MiTube videos from now on...”
Honestly, it would only be tough for us. He was famous for delivering solid ratings, and back then celebrities scrabbled to get on his show. Whatever revamped format he ran next would surely be a hit, and it would boost our public-friendly path—though it’d be grueling.
Viju looked at me with moist eyes.
“Hyung, should we go sign the contract now?”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“We’ll avoid him as long as we can.”
“How?”
“By delaying our reply as much as possible.”
“Delaying?”
“Yeah. It’d be rude to ignore him entirely. We’ll reply tomorrow.”
Rihyeok cocked his head.
“But that’s just delaying a reply.”
“No—it means we won today.”
“That’s just a mental victory.”
“Fine—if it’s so easy, why don’t you reply? Pretend you’re our leader.”
He grinned and took the phone. Though he acted confident, I felt his trembling as he typed. We swallowed hard as he hit send. His refusal was polite yet firm: “Thank you for reaching out. If time allows, we will appear.”
Immediately came the response:
Do Jun-gi: [Shall we meet as soon as you’re free?]
Do Jun-gi: [I’ll make sure you get plenty of screen time]
Do Jun-gi: [Give me your available times through December]
Rihyeok went pale. Jiho marveled,
“Wow. This guy’s a human green light. No red signals at all.”
“He’s a straight-shooter. He wouldn’t even make ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) a left or right turn.”
“But isn’t this because Rihyeok’s coy refusal made him push harder?”
“True—who refuses with such lingering emoticons?”
As the members analyzed, Rihyeok stomped his foot.
“Stop joking and help! What do we do now?”
“Give it here.”
I took the phone and tapped a few keys. After some refined negotiation, Producer Do sent one last “Ugh, I’ll back off for today” and vanished like a cartoon villain.
“Unbelievable...”
As my brothers gushed, Rihyeok groaned in disgust. I asked,
“Want to try replying again?”
“No! Never!”
When he muttered “Then you should lead forever,” we all burst out laughing.
Finally, Friday arrived—the first day of our small-venue tour, “The Meeting.”
“Hello! We’re NewBlack!”
“Welcome!”
The PD greeted us. We were in Suwon, Gyeonggi Province, at PBS’s Gyeongin branch covering Gyeonggi and Incheon.
“Wow—”
We looked around the news studio in wonder. With plenty of time before standby, the air felt relaxed.
“So you do regional news here?”
“Yes.”
“Wow...” freewebnoveℓ.com
Hearing it was our first time in a news studio, the PD kindly gave us a brief tour. Noticing our nerves, he reassured us,
“No need to be too tense.”
“But it’s the news...”
“We’ll do a short five-minute interview. As long as you don’t make any major gaffes, you’ll be fine.”
At “gaffes,” the others glanced at Junghyun.
“His mouth.”
“Okay.”
He mimed zipping his lips, and the PD chuckled. Then he led us to an empty studio.
“It’s the first time we’ve had guests here since we started doing regional news. It’s still amazing to me.”
“It’s surreal for us too that this actually happened.”
The company had pitched it as a one-off event: “Why not try regional news?” We never expected true approval. Of course, it wasn’t the grand 9 PM bulletin, but PBS’s “Morning Today” local segment airing 6–8 AM. After national news from headquarters in Yeouido, we’d come on for the regional portion.
“There won’t be much time—just one or two simple questions.”
“We came prepared.”
“And... oh, here she comes.”
As we reviewed the interview script, another person entered.
“Hello!”
“Hi!”
The energetic newcomer was the Gyeongin region’s weathercaster. She waved at the behind-the-scenes cam too.
“Thank you for fitting us into your busy schedule.”
“No problem—I watch your MiTube.”
“Wow, you’re a fan?”
“No, a subscriber.”
We laughed at that distinction. Then, facing the handheld cam filming for Soufflés, we enthused,
“We’re NewBlack, here for an interview on PBS Morning Today’s Gyeonggi-Incheon news.”
“We’ll also try our hands at being weathercasters today.”
When asked to introduce herself, the weathercaster smiled at the camera:
“Hello. I’m meteorologist Jung Won-young.”
“Thank you for your time, caster.”
“Oh, my pleasure.”
“Now, roasted chestnuts or sweet potatoes?”
“NewBlack!”
“Waaaah!”
After the greeting, we moved to the office for a quick job-shadow session.
“This is the forecast text from the Meteorological Agency. It comes out at 5 AM.”
“Ohh.”
“I write this script, add graphics...”
“Waaaah!”
At our excited reactions, she blushed with a smile. After learning the rough process, she said:
“This is a chroma key.”
“We know that!”
“Our MiVids use it too!”
We all nodded. During music-video shoots, we’d used green screens.
She demonstrated:
“As you saw, stand here and point while you deliver the forecast.” freёweɓnovel.com
“I see.”
“Which of you volunteered?”
Before I could raise my hand, my brothers pointed at me.
“Wow—you look like a 30-year veteran, even rowing a boat.”
“You’re great at this.”
“On variety shows when you bake, they said you looked like a European maestro in your seventies.”
Their backhanded compliments had onlookers laughing. Even the PD glanced over and whispered to our manager, while the camera director waiting for rehearsal stared at me with curiosity.
The caster called me forward:
“Uju, come this way.”
“Yes.”
“Step into this spot—perfect.”
“It’s a habit from performing on stage.”
Used to hitting marks for choreography, I stood at just the right distance. I faced the camera.
“Let’s get your posture.”
“Okay.”
Following yesterday’s practice, I straightened my back smoothly and gave a reassuring smile.
“...?”
The caster, about to coach me, blinked. I asked,
“How is it?”
“It’s... perfect. Hold still there. Let’s read through the script.”
“Yes.”
Looking into the camera, I smiled and began:
“This weekend, temperatures will gradually rise. Unfortunately, we must report fine-dust alerts. Tomorrow, dust levels in the central region will...”
After I delivered my lines, I naturally gestured, and she picked up the next segment. Staff whispered, “She’s good!”
“Thus far,”
“was the weather.”
Finishing up, the director gave an OK, and my brothers burst into enthusiastic applause. Viju, filming on his phone, beamed. The caster exclaimed,
“This is your first time? You’re amazing.”
“Thank you.”
After a couple of practice runs, I got the green light—and I laughed. Yet as we practiced, my brothers and the staff all wore knowing smiles. The caster even had a slight smirk.
“Why is everyone smiling?”
“Nothing... just...”
“...?”
“Never mind.”
They all continued grinning mysteriously. Curious, I asked the staff, but they only shook their heads. Still puzzled, I realized the studio was getting busy for the upcoming segment.
7:30 AM.
PBS’s “Morning Today” was transitioning to local news.
In Yangpyeong County, Gyeonggi, an elderly man sat on a stool, rubbing his back after feeding chickens at dawn.
“Let’s see what’s on today.”
He watched the news as usual—but the TV played an unfamiliar segment. The anchor smiled:
“Sometimes unexpected guests bring us great joy.”
The old man blinked at the odd introduction.
“Today on PBS Morning Today Gyeongin, we have special guests—this popular group, NewBlack!”
The camera panned to the five neat-cut idols, clapping gently. Conscious of public-broadcaster restraint, they appeared composed.
“Who are they...?”
Their names sounded vaguely familiar; their faces too. Yet he rarely watched TV, so he didn’t recognize them. They just looked pleasant.
“Hello. I’m Uju, leader of NewBlack.”
As each member introduced themselves, the man nodded.
“They remind me of how I looked in my youth.”
Momentarily captivated by their ideal appearances, he then wondered,
“Who on earth are they?”
When he heard a familiar tune:
“They must have sung songs that span generations—from youthful hits to classics. Du-soon-ah, would you sing a line?”
“Sure—anything for you!”
They joyfully sang the melody of “Du-soon-ah.” He exclaimed,
“Oh—they’re that group.”
He’d heard that song at the village hall. Though he’d never seen their faces, he realized them now. As the five-minute interview neared its end:
“Any final words?”
“Yes. We have one more special announcement about our winter album. Next week, we’ll appear on PBS1’s ‘Now In My Hometown.’”
“Please give us lots of love!”
Their roughly five-minute segment ended. The man thought,
“They must be famous.”
Seeing them on the news and hearing about the hometown show, he assumed they were big stars.
“Next up is the weather. Uju of NewBlack joins us as today’s weathercaster.”
A bright “Today’s Weather” logo flashed with a peppy jingle. On screen stood two men before a week-forecast graphic: the regular weathercaster and the man in the brown coat who had just been interviewed.
They delivered the weather as smoothly as any veteran anchor. He did a double take.
“He’s wearing the same clothes...”
Something about the demeanor felt different. The anchor smiled similarly. As he watched, the screen faded out on that warm-smiling man.
A few hours later...
“Grandma, I’m up.”
“You’re awake?”
A granddaughter, towel around her neck, descended the stairs.
“Why did you wash so early?”
“I have somewhere to go today. Oh, right—did I tell you I’m watching a performance tonight?”
“You did.”
As they spoke, the grandmother recalled the youths she’d seen on TV screen.
“Weren’t those the kids called NewBlack?”
“...Huh?”
“They were on the TV news. Must be famous—they said they’ll be on my hometown show too. Singing all over the country, they said.”
“...?”
“They were all so handsome. But the one doing the weather was a bit...”
The granddaughter, hiding her fandom, froze.
“News? Weather forecast?”
Unable to understand, she turned on the internet.
“They were on the news?”
On fan forums, there was already a “NewBlack_PBS Morning Today Cut” link, and conversation about Uju. Real-time search trends showed “NewBlack news.”
“...?”
Her heart pounded. Usually, fans feel a thrill when their star appears on national news—but this was different.
“What did I miss?”
Fearful of missing something, she tapped on the weather forecast video. Uju and the weathercaster appeared on screen.
“Puhat!”
She tried to watch seriously but burst into laughter at NewBlack’s leader.
“What is this? Why does he suddenly look so old?”
Unknown to anyone else, Uju had imitated famous male weather anchors when researching. Most were middle-aged broadcasters from ’90s news. Whenever the anchor spoke, Uju matched him with a gentle, middle-aged man’s smile.
“That was the weather.”
Seeing Uju’s warm-gentle smile, the granddaughter laughed out loud. She showed her phone to her grandmother.
“Grandma, is that what he was talking about?”
“Yes.”
“How was he?”
“At first I watched, then suddenly I saw your grandfather up there.”
At her fond reflection, the granddaughter couldn’t help smiling.
