Free Web NovelTuesday, April 5.
Amidst the bustle of filming equipment being carried around, a man with drooping eyelids and a sullen expression approached. It was our main PD, Shin Mu-rok.
“Are you reading the script?”
“Yes!”
“You don’t need to be so fixated on the script. It’s just an outline.”
True enough—aside from notes like “make a dramatic entrance” and the MC’s lines, most of it was blank.
“Because our show pulls humor from improv, it’s better to forget this script altogether.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Glance at it, then let it go. Don’t feel pressured.”
PD Shin Mu-rok smiled. “Just nail your reactions. Our cast will create the situations.”
“Yes!”
PD Shin gave a small laugh and expertly directed the crew. Perhaps because this is called the national variety show, even the staff’s teamwork seemed extraordinary.
The company’s common lounge had, in an instant, transformed into a studio. Viju leaned in and whispered,
“I’m so nervous, hyung. Thinking this is Mister Producer’s shoot.”
“I’m shaking too.”
“You guys nervous? I’m terrified—let’s be terrified together.”
The three of us huddled, trembling, then burst into laughter. Though it sounded like a joke, we really were nervous—after all, we were appearing on Mister Producer. In the barracks, Saturdays were Mister Producer and Sundays were Jusehan—everyone watched. It’s always been that famous.
“In the polls for favorite Korean shows, it’s always first or second with Jusehan...”
“Is that ‘seochelat delsarat’? What was it?”
“‘Dwichirat’? No idea. Why are you asking me...?”
Rihyeok, standing by, sighed: “It’s ‘dwichirak.’” Ah—dwichirak. My mind was blank from nerves.
“This won’t do. Let’s eat dumplings to calm down.”
“Rihyeok, over here—we’re having dumpling time.”
At Viju’s beckon, Rihyeok joined. Chanting “dumplings, dumplings, dumplings,” we relaxed while onlookers murmured. Company employees clustered like festivalgoers, crunching Jeju snacks we’d handed out—as if it were a Lemon Village feast.
“What’s all this fuss?”
“I guess everyone’s waiting to see the stars.”
Narrowing my eyes at the staff huddled like idol fans, I caught someone’s gaze. They went “Ah!” and, feigning disappointment, raised phones as if to film us.
“Ahem.” The promotion team’s deputy, holding up the display-board app reading “NewBl has epic screen time,” waved it. As staff playfully cheered “So cool!” we pretended to be haughty celebrities, waving back.
“Whoa, good vibes this morning,” said a tall, well-built handsome man—truly shoulder-broad—entering with a smile. At his arrival, every eye turned.
“Hello everyone! I’m Chu Gi-seok.”
Pressing his hands to his chest, he greeted the “oohs” and “aahs” like a fan-service pro. We felt a pang of gloom as attention shifted. Then an actor nearby turned, saw us, and his eyes went wide.
“Oh!”
“...?”
“NewBlack! Holy—”
We’d met last year at the entertainment awards. His ecstatic reaction left us dumbfounded. His tone rose in excitement.
“Incredible! I really wanted to see you in person.”
...He’d already met us, but didn’t recall. With a big hand extended for a handshake and a bright grin, he said,
“Wow, you’re all taller than I thought.”
He looked at us with the same wide-eyed expression soufflé-fans wear, so I said, “Um... are you one of our fans?”
“No! I’m a subscriber!”
His pure smile made us laugh. Only then did I recall his profile: age 38, one of Mister Producer’s six members, the “Babo hyung” character, Chu Gi-seok.
Starting with Chu Gi-seok, the other Mister Producer members arrived one by one until youngest Hong Seok appeared. At their visuals, staff and we gasped. Known for huge popularity in China and Southeast Asia, their secret was the cast’s attractiveness—they were all incredible. From former national athletes to models, handsome men from diverse backgrounds assembled.
“All right, let’s start filming! One, two!”
The FD clapped the slate, lights on the cameras turned on. A forty-something man with a piercing gaze smiled at the lens. MC and ex-national soccer player Kim Eui-ji. I remembered his early-2000s slogan, “I’m the reliable Kim Eui-ji.”
“Hello!” He energetically delivered a tagline about April being Family Month, prompting the members to groan, “What kind of lesson is this?” Then they began bantering among themselves, checking their watches.
“When are the new producers coming?”
“Should be any minute now?”
“Ugh, they’re hard to wrangle, these folks.”
Mo-beom-ju, famous for his awkward acting and short stature, laughed as he chimed in.
“I’m just glad we’re not doing an acting special—we’d be roasted!”
The camera cut to us with a caption: [They’ve been waiting]. We waved brightly, laughing. Then, on PD’s cue, they each entered the lounge. At “make a dramatic entrance,” we walked in like models, drawing the attention of model Hong Seok.
“Hello!”
“Ooo!”
The cast leapt up, clapping wildly to welcome us. The cheer was so enthusiastic, I felt like Pororo in kindergarten.
“Oh my! NewBlaccck!” MC Kim Eui-ji patted my shoulder, chuckling, when singer Ahn Jae-hee teased,
“Have you really watched much NewBlack, hyung? Why are you suddenly best buds?”
“Well, friendship isn’t measured by time. When hearts meet, you become friends, right?”
The MC winked; we all waved, “Exactly!” Ahn Jae-hee warned,
“Watch out—his nickname’s ‘Trend Collector.’ He’s known for acting tight when someone’s successful.”
“If they slip up, he deletes them from contacts.”
“Nah. I mean, you guys could speak up...”
Our eldest looked flustered as they laughed at him. Once things settled, the six and we exchanged amazed looks. Chu Gi-seok exclaimed again,
“You guys are seriously handsome.”
“He’s a hardcore subscriber to NewBlackTV—if a new upload drops, he watches immediately.”
“Really? Didn’t know you were that devoted...”
Excited, Chu Gi-seok turned to his colleagues,
“That was me!”
“What was?”
“I’m in the NewBlack TV fan club—Jjapple!”
At that made-up name, our eyes widened, and the Mister Producer members burst out laughing. Kim Eui-ji asked,
“Isn’t it Supplé? Mimi writer called them Supplé.”
“No! Totally different. Supplé fans are like true nobles; we Jjapple are like the sixth-rank aristocrats.”
Rihyeok giggled at the history joke. The name was Jjapple—fake plus soufflé. Learned something new today.
“Our Jjapple don’t buy tickets or goods like Supplé, but we do everything else.”
“That’s not real support, then.”
“No!” Chu Gi-seok drew an OK sign with his hand, smiling innocently. “We give this—money!”
“Money?”
“The ad revenue from MyTube views!” Everyone went wild laughing—company staff, crew, all at Chu Gi-seok’s mad joke. He raised his hand again:
“I, I can do that expression too—the one that bald teacher made recently.”
“Oh, ‘I’m getting divorced! Absolutely!’ that one?”
The cast knew it well. It had become a legendary Maeda Gospel meme online. Chu Gi-seok puckered his lips and shouted, “I’m getting divorced! Absolutely!” Amid their groans at its poor quality, Viju clapped and laughed.
“Kha-ha-hap!”
“...Viju? You really find that funny?”
“Yes!”
“You have... very ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ unique tastes.”
As they teased Chu Gi-seok, he was pleased Viju laughed at his bit. I jumped in:
“Our Junghyun does that well too.”
“Oh?”
“Junghyun?”
“Yessss—”
Junghyun stepped forward without hesitation, pointed at the camera like Conan, pursed his lips, and bellowed, “Ihoooon–!” as if singing opera. The sound seemed ready for echo effect. His majestic voice billowed like dark clouds; the crew laughed. Singer Ahn Jae-hee laughed in a sobbing tone,
“Man! That’s completely different!”
“Kha-ha-hat!”
“I thought you were a mountain spirit!”
Score one for the bizarre impressions. Smiling proudly, MC Kim Eui-ji said,
“Now please introduce yourselves to the viewers.”
“Yes! One, two, three!”
“Hello! We’re NewBlack!”
Thunderous applause followed as each of us introduced our name and position. Mo-beom-ju slipped in:
“But NewBlack are so famous, is personal intro really needed? Even my grandma knows you.”
“Honestly, you’re recognized nationwide.”
“And you were on Right Now, My Hometown recently. How did that come about?”
After some talk of our small-theater tour, they built us up with supportive remarks. MC Kim received cue cards from production:
“But it’d be a pity if no clips shown—guess we should read this, right?”
“Woaaaah!”
“Go ahead, read it!”
“...Us?”
Flustered, I looked at the cast, who broke into mischievous laughter. Behind me, my siblings peeked at the cue card, then covered their faces with both hands.
“Rihyeok’s already a tomato.”
“Because I’m a subscriber! That’s Rihyeok’s truth ear—when he’s embarrassed, he turns tomato red!”
“Gi-seok, you’re next.”
“This is a rare sighting!”
“Bring him on.”
They even pulled him forward. Rihyeok, hiding his face, stammered,
“No, I’m not a tomato...”
“Your lips are shrinking too.”
Amused, the adults cooed; Rihyeok cringed. I studied the cue card, then admitted,
“Oh... how do I read this...”
My mind went blank. The cast erupted in laughter. I resolved to plow through:
“In February 2014, NewBlack burst onto the scene with the collaborative track ‘Something’! Now in our third year, the five handsome members of Korea’s top group...”
“Woaaaah!”
“...dominate not only Korea but the entire world as global superstars—woaaaah!”
“Nyaaaaah...!”
So embarrassing—why did the writers draft such a fanfare? Next, a parenthetical note:
“...ranked fourth in the elementary-school ‘Most Admired Figures’ poll; recently, Nine’s music video hit 100 million views in record time; and in a public survey ‘Which male idol would you date based on looks alone,’ we ranked first, oho...”
Then the parenthesis read:
“However, including personality, we plummeted out of the top ten... ‘plummeted out’?”
“What? Why are we out of the top ten when personality counts?”
“What does ‘plummeted out’ even mean...?”
“Hey! What’s wrong with our personalities? We’re adorable!”
At our blushes, cast and crew cooed. Rihyeok wrote “plummeted out” on Viju’s palm. When I resumed reading, my siblings ducked their heads or covered faces:
“In 2016, finally dubbed the ‘National Idol,’ NewBlack...”
“Woah—they said national idol! How am I going to school now...”
The youngest’s comment about school hit just right; the cast whispered and giggled. I reached the cue card’s end:
“In support of NewBlack’s meteoric rise, Mister Producer hereby appoints NewBlack as the idol project’s producers! Ahem, there’s also a fanfare cue here?”
“Just one, two, three, four!”
On the lead vocalist’s count, we belted an a cappella bam-pa-ra-ba-ra bam-bam-bam! celebrating ourselves. Mid-dance of our “Bear Five” routine, our eyes met the production team’s—everyone froze.
“...?”
“...?”
The writers with celebration confetti froze in place; the cast collapsed in laughter. Ahn Jae-hee explained,
“Kha-ha-ha! We do the fanfare for you.”
“Ahh...!”
“I’ve heard from senior Cha Woo-hyun you’re the best singers among juniors—your harmonies amazed me, truly.”
Rihyeok’s face heated like tomato juice filling an empty glass. Chu Gi-seok, buzzing, shouted,
“Again! The truth ear!”
“Someone take Gi-seok away—this is severe. Maybe unsubscribe him.”
As we writhed in embarrassment again, laughter filled the room. MC Kim Eui-ji presented us with the plaque from production:
[Idol Debut Project]
Producers Appointed – The New Black
by Kim Eui-ji, Chu Gi-seok, Nam Do-hun, Ahn Jae-hee, Mo-beom-ju, Hong Seok (6 members)
But its shape...
“It’s a black goat!”
“They customize them per producer.”
“Junghyun.”
Junghyun raised the plaque ceremonially and went “Meeeeh!” After the appointment ceremony, the crew passed around drinks for relaxed chatting.
“Kha-ha-hat!”
In a much more comfortable atmosphere, conversation flowed. Seeing it all unfold, it felt orchestrated. Any guest would be nervous, but by having us read the cue cards, they steered the mood into fun. As the cast and my siblings chatted, I glanced back: PD Shin Mu-rok was smiling.
“So, NewBlack is preparing an album now?”
“Yes.”
“Bad timing—it’s your busiest period. I hope we’re not getting slack from fans.”
Just then, PD said,
“As soon as word spread NewBlack would appear, the viewer board exploded.”
“Really?”
“They asked us to tease you more...”
“...Pardon? To increase our screen time?”
“No—they asked to tease you.”
We trembled like exiled courtiers, and the cast laughed.
Ahn Jae-hee chuckled,
“Wow, these fans are educated.”
“We’ll tease you all we want. Don’t worry!”
We offered pathetic smiles.
“Aren’t we the producers?”
“Right—you’re our producers.”
Mo-beom-ju said,
“But is teasing allowed?”
“They say people are different going in and coming out of the restroom—now we’re the producers, trainees.”
“No! Noooo! Oh dear...”
“Our producer seniors are scary,” we said in mock defeat. They seized the moment to tease us relentlessly—after all, they’re all much older, even Hong Seok, the youngest at 29. After some exchange, they seemed to agree on that approach.
“Okay, stop bullying NewBlackTV~”
Only the fool-hyung Chu Gi-seok didn’t catch on, defensively shielding himself. We joined in the teasing, too—it felt like solidifying the image of the youngest being teased by the uncle figures, which worked.
“All right, now let’s talk about the idol project...”
MC Kim Eui-ji opened,
“Last year, one of our members at Jeongdongjin wished to become an idol.”
“Really? Who was that?”
“I was.”
On the far left, the red-haired model-turned-youngest, Hong Seok, timidly raised his hand. Known for his handsome looks, he’s shy and soft-spoken.
“When I was a teen, I trained as an idol under a big agency. I was about to debut but got cut after all sorts of drama...”
I nearly choked on my drink. Though he smiled, my siblings’ eyes scanned me sharply. Hong Seok grinned awkwardly and whispered,
“Admittedly, I had a reason—they said my dance was far below my peers’. I accepted that, but...”
I saw resolve in his eyes.
“But I couldn’t forget it. Being an idol was once my dream.”
He meant he’d like to try again. As I listened intently, Ahn Jae-hee sipped her herbal tea and asked,
“By the way, Seok and Wooju, have you met before?”
“Huh?”
“Seok trained at TJ Ent.”
“Oh—really?”
Hong Seok and I talked briefly. Though we knew each other’s names, different periods and class divisions meant we’d never crossed paths.
“Huh—so you both came from TJ.”
“Considering how many gems Chairman Tae-jun’s agency missed—how many? A dozen, at least.”
“Starting with Sun Woo-ju here...”
Soon, names of successful industry figures, including mine, were tossed out. A strange feeling blossomed. Then Kim Eui-ji asked, using honorifics,
“As producers of this idol debut project, what do you think? Can we pull it off?”
“Pardon? What do you mean?”
“If you calculate our average age—33.5—we’re the oldest idols in the business, aren’t we? Too old?”
“Oh. There are limitations, true,” we nodded. freewebnσvel.cøm
“But it’s okay.”
“...?”
“For one, the diverse, exceptional talents gathered here are a huge strength. Above all...”
We grinned, thumbs up.
“This is Mister Producer.”
“Kha-ha-hat!”
Of course, it was realistically challenging—but anything’s possible on a national show. Kim Eui-ji, trying to be humble, laughed, as did the others.
“Constraints in concept may exist, but we can compensate with other elements.”
“Oh! So we just trust you, teachers?”
“We’ll do our best as mentors for this project.”
“Ooooh.”
A writer held up a sketchbook: “Wooju, mention the test.”
“But first, the singer’s capability to handle the song is crucial.”
I laughed, “In that sense, can we hear your skills, seniors?”
“Yes! Teachers!”
“We’ve been told you practiced for a month—we’re really looking forward to it.”
“We’ve practiced our hardest.”
In the warm atmosphere, we moved to the underground rehearsal studio.
Ding-sil ding-sil ~
“...”
Six wooden puppets began to dance joyfully—and my siblings and I lost focus entirely.
