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It looked like a jungle of tangled cables and rows of filming equipment.
“Hello! We’re NewBlack!”
We greeted the Korean staff.
“Hello! We’re NewBlack!”
Then we greeted the Japanese crew who would help with today’s shoot.
Laughter and greetings returned from all around.
We passed the lighting technicians and sat at the table set up in the center of the studio. Shortly afterward, the makeup artists came by to touch up our looks.
“Wooju, your lip color is on you.”
“Oh, yes.”
I swept on the lip tint and hummed a trot tune.
“Flower adornment~ flower adornment~ a cheerful song~”
“Puhat!”
The makeup artists and my brothers burst out laughing.
The maknae giggled and said, “You look like a really old person.”
“No way~ I’m young~”
“True~”
“That’s just your opinion~”
We traded teasing banter as if singing, our shoulders bobbing to the rhythm. I sent a wave motion from my shoulder down through my fingertips and motioned to Viju.
“It’s your turn.”
Viju gave a gentle smile and took over. A wave passed from his left fingertip in a smooth curve to his right, then Junghyun and the others continued it among the five of us. The makeup artists marvelled.
“You guys look like—”
“Like what?”
“The five octopus brothers caught in a net.”
“Hohohot!”
We clapped and laughed. Meanwhile, our makeup for filming was finished and we exchanged glances.
“Ready to be entertaining on camera~?”
“All set~!”
We felt energized by dancing our shoulder shimmy and joking around. Recording prep was complete.
As we read through the rough script outlining the show’s flow, the writers approached.
“Hello.”
“Hello!”
We smiled and extended hands for handshakes.
“How have you been? It’s been ages.”
“Indeed.”
They were the writers from “Kiwoom Production” assigned to today’s shoot. We’d previously worked together on History Expedition Season 1, when Kiwoom produced that for HBS.
I asked carefully, “How are things going over there these days?”
“Actually better since we cut ties with HBS. We enjoy working with you much more.”
“That’s a relief.”
I’d heard Season 2 of History Expedition received poor online feedback, and HBS blamed the production team’s abilities and pressured them to match Season 1’s success. A children’s educational producer forced to make variety content clearly struggled. When Season 1 ended, their faces were round from frequent wrap-up meals—now they looked as gaunt as Rihyuk.
“Paper? What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“You just mumbled something.”
Feigning ignorance, I said, “Let’s make a fun show together, okay?”
“Absolutely. We’re thrilled to be working with you again after so long.”
After HBS troubles scrapped other shows, our company signed with Kiwoom to produce MyTube content. NewBlack had grown, and Kiwoom’s TV-production background made them perfect for this Japanese TV-style show.
The writers advised, “You said you wanted a serious tone this time.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“But don’t be too serious—relax and keep it natural.”
I nodded. Unlike many Japanese variety shows that ambush idols or put them through cruel pranks, this show aimed to highlight NewBlack’s singer side through music and talk in a calm setting.
After communication with the writers ended,
“All right!” the producer clapped and said, “Let’s do a cheer and start recording. ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) One, two, three—NewBlack!”
“Fighting~!”
We clapped and cheered boisterously, then faced the red light of the camera and offered gentle smiles.
“Now, seriously.”
“Seriously, seriously.”
Suppressing a premonition of failure, I began.
“Hello, viewers!”
“Nice to meet you. We are—”
“NewBlack!”
Together we extended our right hands outward in unison, then dropped our loudness into calm smiles.
“We’re appearing on our new channel, ‘The New Black: World.’”
“But why ‘World’?” Jiho asked. Rihyuk answered.
“Like you, Jiho, some might wonder. Many broadcasters have separate ‘World’ channels aimed at viewers overseas—think of this as that.”
“Ah! Such useful info!”
Having introduced the channel,
“Because today’s taping targets international viewers, we’ll mix Korean, Japanese, and other languages.”
“We apologize in advance to the subtitling team!”
We rose and bowed with a belly-bow, drawing laughter from the crew. The writers held up a sketchbook reading “Banner!”
“They’ve prepared a banner to celebrate our launch. Shall we reveal it?”
“Countdown time—one, two...”
“Three!”
With a burst of gold-foil confetti, the banner rolled down from the back of the studio. Junghyun cocked his head.
“Is that Japanese?”
“It’s Korean. You can read it if you flip it.”
“Oh! It really is.”
The staff who’d hung it scrambled in panic. I clapped and said, “Wow, a great sign right from the start. I heard that’s how you guarantee success online.”
“An auspicious sign!”
My brothers agreed with applause. Jiho asked, “What does it say?”
“Hey, sir, look at it upside down.”
Rihyuk poked my side as everyone watched expectantly. I tucked my shirt into my pants, planted a hand on the floor, and flipped into a handstand. From the back of the room, Seokhwan-hyung rubbed his forehead, watching.
“Ooh!” I read upside-down: “Congratulations on the launch of NewBlack World. Wishing huge success—NewBlack TV production team.”
“Thank you so much!”
Amid my brothers’ bows, I righted myself and flashed a peace sign, sending the crew into laughter. Staff quickly removed the banner, and we sat back down.
“Shall we begin the show properly? Today, we’ll introduce NewBlack!”
“Our segment is called ‘Who Are You?’”
At my cue, my brothers and I pre-rehearsed a hearty “Pah-bam!” that filled the studio with harmony. We laughed brightly, then adopted serious expressions.
“We thought you might not know our names, so we’re wearing shirts under our jackets.”
Jiho stood and flared the logo on his black T-shirt reading “No. 5 Wang Jiho.”
I pointed and said, “See. On the chest—”
“Our names!”
We all applauded with amazed faces. Even the crew nodded approvingly.
We showed our shirts and began self-introductions.
“I’m the leader, Wooju. I’m 22 years old.”
A backlash erupted immediately.
“Wow, he dropped Korean age abroad, just switched to international age.”
“Wooju hyung lies so well. A master of lies.”
“Oh, here we go again.”
Viju just smiled and shook his head. I gestured zipping my mouth closed at the three teasing me, and they fell silent.
“As you can see, as leader I wield this power. I love hearing flattering words. I really dislike honest talk.”
“Wow... you’re so... handsome.”
“Yes, that’s exactly the kind of thing I love.”
After describing his skills, the others introduced themselves.
“I’m Viju, and I’m twenty years old...”
“I’m Kim Junghyun. Mentally nineteen, but twenty in age.”
When I narrowed my eyes and stared, they all looked away. Each introduction featured a warm interjection.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Seo Rihyuk. I’m eighteen this year.”
“Rihyuk, that green shirt you’re wearing is really nice. Wooju hyung, what did you say?”
“I thought it was a praying mantis.”
“Huh? What’s that?”
“A grasshopper friend.”
“...I’m the only sane one in this group.”
Beside serious-faced Rihyuk, we swayed and goofed with a playful “Ooooh~!” Junghyun’s translation app read, “You are a grasshopper,” and the audio director, headphones on, smiled serenely like a monk.
“Now, let’s properly introduce NewBlack.”
“We’ll revisit our journey through video highlights, with live performances in between.”
We planned to cover the major moments of the past two years. I called out,
“Play the first video!”
The monitor flickered to low resolution. We leaned forward, surprised.
“Huh...?”
My brothers and I felt seismic tremors in our pupils. No—this couldn’t be right.
The date “2013.12.28.” flashed, then a freshly nervous five-member group stepped onto a stage.
“...!”
Although endearingly fresh-faced, their outfits and makeup looked somehow tacky. The trainees were stiff with tension. A banner read “2013 Joint Year-End Evaluation.”
[One, two, three—hello! We’re NewBlack!]
[Please introduce yourselves.]
“I’m trainee Sun Wooju, about to turn twenty-two.”
Their delivery sounded like a child’s “I’m in second grade, class three, so-and-so.” We averted our eyes from the screen.
The producer and writers beamed with pride and thumbs-up.
“Ugh...”
“I really can’t watch this with my eyes open.”
Rihyuk raised a hand to cover his face. Junghyun squinted; Viju and Jiho huddled against me, trembling. The trainees lined up in formation, and the trot intro began.
When the maknae raised the mic with that gauche opening, we recoiled.
“Aaagh!”
“We can’t watch this!”
We stamped our feet and screamed.
Our faces burned with embarrassment.
“....”
“....”
My brothers avoided my gaze, staring at the ceiling. I managed at last to speak.
“Well... um.”
“Right.”
“It really is NewBlack’s start, but...”
Though it was our debut under that name, the quality was something never to be seen again. How did they even get applause back then? It felt truly horrifying now.
We replayed snippets and groaned.
“I really couldn’t sing back then. Ugh, so embarrassing.”
“My self-penned rap is cringe.”
“The dance... was that really me?”
“Aaah! I never want to see my face again.”
Even the arrangement sounded outdated. Two years’ time felt vast in hindsight. Our vocals and dance had transformed; I realized Rihyuk danced better now than Viju did then. Most of all, our teamwork was entirely different—no longer clumsy like roughly joined clay.
Viju laughed, “Look on the bright side—we’ve grown that much.”
“Y-yes! That’s it!”
We all agreed: if two years earlier looked the same, that would be worse.
After commenting on the joint year-end evaluation video,
“All right! Next video, please!”
“Hopefully it’s better than that.”
The first music-show performance of “Something,” a duet with senior Jang Sowon, appeared.
“...It’s not better at all.”
We forced ourselves to continue recording through the agony. Then we noticed something interesting.
“You can see our skill jumps.”
“It’s true—there are moments like that.”
Our growth climbed like a staircase, then leapt upward at points. The first spike came with the fireworks-and-night-sea stage. Thanks to touring nationwide with “Something,” our vocals and stage presence had markedly improved. The second was “Windflower” on a competitive program, where performing against actual senior singers boosted our skills. The third was “Nine.” After our first handball-stadium concert, we rose again.
“Wow...”
Just when we thought no further leaps were possible,
we saw the recent video of our Ulleungdo stage and the first Kobe concert. The difference was clear—vocals had deepened another level. I guessed it was the world tour, but it wasn’t. Rihyuk asked,
“Don’t you think there’s a huge difference pre- and post-theater tour?”
“Yeah.”
Recording daily had blinded us to gradual change, but before and after the theater tour was distinct. Technique advanced, but more importantly, the emotional depth in our vocals. They’d become richer.
We shared a knowing glance recalling the first and last performances of “Hibernate.” It felt good to realize our progress, proof that practice paid off and that the idea, born from fan service, bore fruit.
“Shall we sing it live?”
“Music, please.”
Moments later, we raised microphones and sang “Hibernate.” Led gently by Rihyuk’s vocals, we left crisp footprints of melody. We could feel how much we’d improved. The busy staff remained silent throughout the performance. Only as the song ended did everyone exhale in relief.
“This is nice.”
“Beautiful...”
We bowed to the applauding staff. Then we sat and played the newest performance, the strange thrill returning as...
[One, two, three—hello! We’re NewBlack!] ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
[Please introduce yourselves.]
“I’m trainee Sun Wooju, about to turn twenty-two.”
The first video replayed automatically, and we fled the frame in unison.
On the outskirts of Tokyo, at another studio, veteran singer Maeda Shin and his manager entered a shabby warehouse.
“Oh.”
Despite the rundown exterior, bright lights and filming gear inside looked lavish. While his manager spoke to the staff, Maeda Shin surveyed the space.
‘Interesting. They’ll turn this into an online broadcast?’
He was here to appear on the music show NewBlack was filming, modeled on Korea’s Music Cafe program. He knew little beyond that.
He wondered,
‘So there’s no work for me? Get you to appear on a young people’s show?’
‘Yes?’
‘If you don’t have work, appear as a guest on that youth broadcast.’
‘But... I do have work...’
‘Perfect. Then go.’
It was a warm request from his close friend, veteran trot singer Baek Sang-gyo. He’d heard it would be good for him to appear but nothing more.
‘I’ll find out when I get there.’
Nowadays, outside year-end specials, stations seldom booked him. So why not go?
While stroking his beard, his manager returned from talking with the crew.
“They’re filming the opening logo scene; please wait a bit.”
“Can we watch?”
“Seems so.”
They guided him to where NewBlack was recording. Under dazzling lights, the spectacular five-member group performed.
‘Wow...’
He’d seen videos, but in person they were radiant. Their voices were as smooth as rolling pearls, unmatched by peers.
‘Are they playing piano?’
The leader, eyes closed, took a deep breath and placed his hands on the keys.
‘He’s the son of that School of Clarity guy, isn’t he?’
As Maeda wondered, the leader began a glissando, sweeping across the keys—
“Ouch!”
He trailed off with a scream; it seemed his nail caught. He fluttered his hand, then spoke to a kindly member, who produced a nail clipper from his bag and clipped Maeda’s nails so he could play.
Everyone laughed as the camera captured this. Maeda was taken aback.
‘Huh? They record that too? No, they wouldn’t use it in the opening... would they?’
Just then, the NewBlack members spotted him and bowed. He bowed awkwardly in return. Filming resumed, and the leader slid down the keys in a glissando from high notes to low.
‘Oh...’
As a pleasant melody flowed, the stern-looking member extended his hand opera-style and sang in Korean:
“Welcome to NewBlack World—”
Blinking in surprise,
the members added “Ahhhh~” in operatic harmony, like a sacred choir. With each added note, it grew more reverent.
“Welcome to NewBlack World—
Welcome—
Now you cannot leave~”
The crew clapped rapturously, as if watching a NewBlack cult gathering. The melody “cannot leave~ cannot leave~” spun around Maeda’s ears.
‘What on earth is this place...?’
Maeda Shin began stepping back, certain he’d wandered into something strange.
