In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

I couldn’t stand it any longer and turned to the others. Rihyeok wore a mocking grin.

“Seriously, who told you to practice those old guys’ expressions? There are male casters nowadays too.”

“Well, there are, but...”

I forced a laugh.

“What can I do if all the famous ones worked in the ’90s?”

“But you should’ve picked modern ones.”

“Classic novels aren’t useless just because new ones come out.”

“...That strangely makes sense.”

I’d chosen only the famous casters—who turned out all to be from decades past.

“I did try practicing female caster styles too, but looking in the mirror was a no-go.”

“What did that look like?”

“See, here’s why I gave up.”

I demonstrated, smiling gently:

“Today’s weather: under the influence of the Siberian high...”

“Ohh!”

My brothers gaped at each other.

“So refined.”

“So elegant.”

“Like a royal weather queen.”

Clearly it didn’t suit my face, but they loved it. I almost thought maybe I should’ve done that version.

“You should’ve,” one brother teased.

“Even better?”

“No—you could’ve been roasted more. Aaah!”

While they ragged on the maknae, Rihyeok drew the lesson:

“In the end, that’s it. If I’d prepared just enough, I’d’ve been praised—but I had to go for perfect and get roasted for it.”

“Hey.”

“That’s life.”

From the back seat, Junghyun cleared his throat in a dramatic voice:

“The astonishing incident in which # Nоvеlight # a young man was instantly transformed into middle age by a weather forecast—was it not the tragedy of his own hubris?”

“Aaah! Don’t do it in surprise-announcer tone!”

“Then, toodle-oo!”

Junghyun bowed out with an overly genial smile, and my brothers clapped and laughed at his antics. They were thrilled to have new material to tease me with; I just wanted to leap out of the car.

We drove to a large dairy farm in Gyeonggi Province. A sign bearing two dancing “Welcome” cows greeted us as we entered the lot.

“Ah, the smell.”

Junghyun got out and beamed. freёwebnoѵel.com

“It’s nice.”

“Ugh...”

No sooner had Rihyeok stepped out than he began to gag, tears in his eyes from how sensitive his nose was.

“You okay? Want to stay in the car?”

“Don’t mind me. I just haven’t eaten yet.”

“If we go inside, the smell’ll be intense...”

“I’ll be fine.”

He waved it off and tried to acclimate. It wasn’t that bad, really. As we stretched our legs, a group came running from afar.

“Hellooo!”

A woman in a padded jacket barreled toward us, laughing. We stepped back, startled, and Junghyun exclaimed:

“Huh!”

“Who is she, Junghyun?”

“She’s the ‘My Hometown’ reporter!”

The rapper zipped up his jacket and we recognized her: Min Hyo-jin, the “Check Out Our Agricultural Products!” reporter for the Monday segment of “Now In My Hometown.”

“My NewBlack nieces and nephews!”

“Hello! We’re NewBlack...”

“Oh, you don’t have to be so formal— I’ve really missed you guys. I’m a huge fan!”

She pumped our hands energetically, setting a high-energy tone. I felt myself smiling. When she reached for Junghyun’s hand, he wiped his palm on his jeans and shook it shyly:

“Um...”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been a fan since middle school, reporter.”

She laughed when he asked for an autograph later. After greetings with our managers, she said:

“Don’t worry about screen time—it’s all sorted.”

“Really? Why?”

“NewBlack’s faces are screen time in themselves!”

We exploded with laughter. As the crew set up, Min Hyo-jin raised her handheld cam:

“Let’s shout our battle cry for the shoot!”

“How about we do: we say ‘My Hometown!’ then you say ‘NewBlack!’ and everyone yells ‘We’re here!’?”

“Perfect—let’s go!”

“My Hometown?”

“NewBlack!”

“We’re heeere!”

We jumped and high-fived for the cameras, hearts warming despite the January chill. I pointed at the cam:

“Will this make the broadcast?”

“No—just for keeps.”

“Ah...”

“I’ll send it to you later since your folks wouldn’t believe you.”

As the reporter laughed, Viju whispered,

“I think we really click with her.”

“Totally.”

While Junghyun shyly chatted with her like a fan meeting, the production staff emerged. A small team: a writer, a cameraman, and an assistant director.

“Ready for today’s shoot?”

“Yes, please!”

The cameraman asked for our autographs for his daughter, a fan. By the time we all had mics on, the reporter beamed:

“Alright—today’s slate will be done by my hometown’s biggest fan, Kim Junghyun!”

“Whaaaat?!”

“Just a sec.”

Junghyun, still wiping his palms, solemnly raised both hands.

Clack!

The slate clapped, cameras rolled, and Min Hyo-jin announced:

“Good morning, viewers across the nation! Today, a guest more precious than ginseng has come to ‘Now In My Hometown’!”

“One, two, three—Hello, viewers! Better than ginseng: we are NewBlack!”

“Welcome! Nine! Nine!”

The reporter hummed “nine” and danced; we followed like little monkeys, cheering. A wild farm-gate party erupted. The writer and assistant director stood jaw-dropped, pens poised; our managers mouthed, “That’s just how it is.”

“Why did you decide to appear on the show?”

“Junghyun’s a superfan, he insisted. Plus we’re on a winter small-theater tour...”

“Ah—so to rake in album sales, you came!”

“Perfect summary, thank you.”

After a warm round of self-intro with our new song “Hibernation,” the reporter eyed our outfits:

“Thorough from the start—your jackets too.”

“Yes! We heard we’d be working in the barns, so we chose comfy shoes.”

“You look professional from head to toe!”

She turned to the camera:

“Before we start, can we see NewBlack’s resolve for ‘My Hometown’?”

“Should we dance or sing?”

“Anything!”

“We actually wrote a song in the car, foreseeing this moment.”

The staff and reporter backed off, and we formed a stage formation center-stage.

“One, two, three, four.”

I snapped my fingers; the others harmonized:

“Bright as dawn”

Junghyun raised his hands to his chin, imitating the rising sun.

“Gentle as dusk”

Jiho pointed like crab pincers.

“Anywhere you call”

“I’d ride a boat in the winter wind”

“A greenhouse is just fine”

“If you ask, NewBlack will come”

Then, “Roasted chestnuts, roasted sweet potatoes—and NewBlack!” with a flurry of hands. The crew burst out laughing. Min Hyo-jin applauded:

“So good! So good!”

“Thank you!”

“This could be your show’s signal tune!”

“Really? PD-nim, if you like it, contact our agency!”

We wrapped the opening and walked toward the barn, already plotting footage. I started a nursery rhyme:

“Along the farm road, strolling on a night of chestnuts...”

“Bringing my dear home...”

The reporter and our brothers joined in, bright-eyed.

“Stadora, Stadora—Pumba—!”

That folksy rhyme echoed across the pastoral view, and the writer and assistant director stared at each other in awe.

“Reporter Hyo-jin’s sixth sense...” they murmured.

As we neared the barn, Rihyeok gagged again:

“Ugh...!”

The smell had overwhelmed him. When everyone looked away, he grinned: freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

“I didn’t eat breakfast...”

His tact let us move on. While our brothers gave barn remarks, I checked on him with a glance:

‘You okay? Wanna head back?’

‘I’m fine.’

He pledging steel-nerves against the stench, so I smiled. Meeting my smile, he looked away and gagged once more.

...What is this odd new sense of disgust?

At the barn entrance, a man in his fifties greeted us. The wind revealed his lean frame; he looked ruggedly sturdy.

“Welcome to our ranch.”

“Hello!”

“I’m Kim Sang-cheol, owner of Cheon-nyeon Farm.”

Probably for publicity, he carried a broadcast mic and beamed.

“Come on in.”

As Rihyeok squinted at the onslaught of odor, we looked in awe at the barn’s interior.

“Whoa!”

Black-and-white dairy cows lined stalls facing each other, heads through the rails chewing hay.

“No kidding—this is like a military barracks bunk room.”

“...How do you come up with that?”

The staff didn’t agree, only the AD and cameraman eyed the cows with sad expressions. Cameras rolled on the barn as we assembled center-stall.

“I heard you’ll help with work today...”

“Yes! That’s why we dressed like this!”

“Very thorough. You’ve thought of everything.”

“Yes.”

Junghyun whispered dramatically:

“We normally eat beef daily, but to lose the smell, we haven’t eaten beef since yesterday.”

“Why whisper?”

“Cows might mind.”

I blinked in disbelief: “What are you, Lord Hwang Hee?” They all laughed and Junghyun shook his head:

“It’s about nuance: like hearing a foreign curse in its original language—there’s something to it.”

The owner stroked his chin:

“Huh—there’s logic there.”

“Right?”

“And where’ve I seen that face... Oh! The guy growing scallions on MiTube!”

Watching dairy YouTubers always led to Junghyun’s channel, so we laughed. As time passed, he seemed to win over the cows.

When Rihyeok tried to explain “Lord Hwang Hee,” he lost his chance—then the reporter piped up:

“Boss, what shall we do next?”

“Nothing hard—grab a broom and push hay toward the cows.”

“Understood!”

We hummed as we began raking hay. But the cows were skittish.

“They’re so shy,” someone noted.

“Right.”

Jiho pointed out the farm’s visitor program—kids come often, but still the cows hesitated.

“It’s like a stranger waving at you outside, you wave back—fine. But if that stranger suddenly served stew in your kitchen, you’d be freaked out.”

“Exactly—spot on, like your weather explanation.”

Meanwhile, Viju timidly offered hay to a cow. The cow stared, then turned its head.

“Huh! Why ignore me?”

Jiho summed it up:

“It’s like a stranger offering you a spoonful of stew to be your friend.”

“Right.”

“Isn’t that a poetic phrase?”

“Well, your language skills are legendary.”

While we chatted, the staff writhed with laughter at our banter. Sweaty from work, the reporter and we wiped brows as we moved on to milking.

“This is where we milk—”

“Oh!”

“You can do it by hand, but it takes all day—so we use a milking machine.”

“Can I try by hand?”

“Want to see someone else do it first?”

“I do.”

Everyone, including Rihyeok, clenched their hands excitedly and turned to me, grinning as if their white teeth sparkled. I sighed—but then I became the first K-Pop idol to hand-milk a cow. The boss was impressed:

“You’re better than people at this.”

“Am I?”

“I mean people!”

My protest sent everyone into laughter. Then our aspiring-farmer member joined in hand-milking; the boss nodded in satisfaction:

“This group is full of prospects.”

Next, he demonstrated the milking machine. Attaching it, milk spurted into the bucket—modern technology, wow. The reporter asked:

“Boss, what makes a good dairy cow?”

“Well, many things, but see these udders? The larger, the better.”

“Ah... yes.”

“And these veins—those milk ducts—if they stand out, that’s good.”

“Ah... yes.”

We blushed awkwardly at the udders-and-veins lecture, prompting the reporter to laugh. Alongside the milk talk, we heard about advanced dairy techniques.

Pointing at cows munching hay, the boss said:

“A British study showed that naming cows and patting their backs...”

“They live longer?”

“No, their milk yield goes up 3.4 percent from hormonal effects.”

“Oh, then what’s this one’s name?”

“She’s ‘0815.’”

She’d named a cow like a prisoner number—so we burst out laughing. Rihyeok said:

“Then we should call her ‘Liberation’!”

“People expect a name, not a number,” the boss explained.

“Oh.”

“Maybe foreigners don’t have that concept.”

After more freewheeling, I asked:

“Do you pat their backs once a day?”

“With so many cows, that’s tough.”

“So did her output go up 1.7 percent instead?”

“...How did you know that?”

“Huh?”

The boss and I stared at each other wide-eyed while the reporter and members laughed.

Meanwhile, the still-laughing crew trailed us with worried looks.

“PD-nim, what do we do? We haven’t even shot the main scene yet.”

“What now? We already have two episodes’ worth in one hour.”

“But we only planned one ep—and other corners still need their footage...”

“We’re in a knot.”

They had no clue how to edit this unprecedented overflow of usable footage—when suddenly:

“Let’s make more footage by cleaning the barn and playing with the cows! A true ‘Cow-Theater Tour!’”

“Oh, that’s it! Cow-Theater Tour!”

“Come on, reporter!”

With squeals of joy, NewBlack dashed off with the reporter and rancher to gather more broadcast material—leaving the staff dumbfounded.

“....”

Since joining “Now In My Hometown,” we’d never experienced such utter exhaustion and exhilaration.