Free Web NovelWatching the six of them flailing before me sent my head spinning.
“Huh...”
Viju’s eyes went wide in horror. Rihyeok stared slack-jawed, Junghyun blinked rapidly, and the maknae looked as if his appetite had vanished. All four of them turned to me.
“Hyung... what do we do?”
“What do we do?”
“Is this some hidden-camera prank?”
I wished it was. I’d heard they’d spent a month practicing basics—but I hadn’t realized they’d started from zero.
As soon as the music cut,
“Hah... hah...”
The handsome men, average age thirty-three and a half, began to look around uneasily. Nervous smiles flickered on faces, even on eldest brother Kim Eui-ji’s tanned features.
“So... how is it? From NewBlack’s perspective?”
“Um... well...”
“Yes. After one month of practice, we should hear your evaluation.”
They lowered their eyes, as if already expecting the verdict—only Chu Gi-seok’s eyes sparkled: “Wow! Comments from NewBlack TV...!” He beamed.
I glanced down at my notebook, opened in hopes of marking choreography notes. It held exactly one word:
[Uh...]
A scribbled line trailed off below the “uh”—I’d stopped writing in surprise. My hand shook so badly that the staff began to laugh.
“Hyung, please don’t cry.”
“No—it’s not tears...!”
“We don’t cry over this sort of thing!”
The four of them, clearly ready to weep, huddled around me.
I ran the numbers in my head. They’d aimed to debut mid-June. With jacket shoots and the MV, only about six to eight weeks remained... and I had to make these six count as professionals by then.
“Haah...”
I exhaled shakily. In the underground studio, Mister Producer’s cast grabbed our sleeves and wailed,
“Oh, Black-ies! We’re so sorry!”
“No—it’s okay... really...”
“Sensei! We were wrong!”
After the commotion, we all sat in a circle on the floor, sipping bottled water. Mo-beom-ju pointed at my trembling hand.
“Look at our teachers’ shaking hands.”
“Ah! No, Rihyeok hyung has shaky hands. I know—he’s a subscriber.”
“Subscribers or not, hyung is the real problem!”
They began trading jabs: “Your move was off... no, yours was worse!” The room buzzed with chatter.
Meanwhile, we’d regained our composure and encouraged them.
“First, you all worked so hard practicing for a month. It wasn’t easy.”
Mo-beom-ju glanced around. “I think our teachers took a huge hit.”
“A shock, indeed. How could it not be?”
“I saw the choreography trainer a few days ago, and he looked ashen...”
I shook my head, smiling. “No—what I meant was, I can see how hard you tried.”
It was surprising that ex-athlete Kim Eui-ji couldn’t dance—but every member was a complete klutz, like my former self. I’d had six years to reach debut level; they only had one month. From zero, this much progress was commendable. As I pointed out moments where their effort showed, their expressions softened.
“But now you must debut... suh...” I trailed off.
“Hyung, your eyes are twitching again.”
I inhaled deeply. “Over the remaining time, you must improve your choreography skills as much as possible—even if it means pulling all-nighters.”
“Yes...! We’ll work to not let you down!”
Chu Gi-seok, dead-last in choreography, answered stoutly.
At that moment, maknae Hong Seok turned to Viju.
“Viju-sensei, what about you? What’s your take...?”
“Huh?”
Startled, Viju blinked. Laughter bubbled in the studio as the cast—determined to milk a comment from Viju—prodded,
“Isn’t Kim Viju a famous dancer in the idol world? Sensei, what do you think of us?”
“Uhh...”
“You need to say something, sensei.”
They’d banded together to squeeze either praise or playful insult from the gentle Viju. He smiled broadly.
“For me, process matters more than results! In that sense, you all seem to have worked very hard.”
“So what grade would you give our skills?”
“Hmmm...”
“Let’s say A is top—what grade are we?”
They teased him about ranking. Viju glanced around.
“About a D...?”
“No way! We want an objective evaluation, not a TV line!”
“Objectively? You really want that...?”
“Yes!”
Viju stared into space, thinking. “Hold on.” He spread his right hand.
“...?” Then folded fingers one by one down to his pinky. Then he raised his left hand and folded those fingers in turn, before unfolding them wave-style.
The cast cocked their heads. Viju grinned.
“I’d say S-grade.”
“Huh? S-grade for us?”
“Yes. Q, R, S...”
The crew and cast burst into laughter.
“I heard you’re the toughest critic on skills—true!”
“S in the alphabet—what position is that?”
“Nineteenth, I think. A, B, C... We need to pick it up.”
“S is perfect. Special. Clearly, we need special attention.”
Mister Producer’s members wore pitiful expressions at their S-grade—19th of 26. Mo-beom-ju adjusted his glasses.
“And sensei, how would you grade yourself...?”
“I’d be C-grade, I guess.”
“Very objective of you.”
“Then sensei—since we said S for you, will you show us one C-grade dance?”
MC Kim Eui-ji guided the moment, and we cheered and clapped. Viju blushed but stood.
“Can you play the music? Nine... Oh, thanks!”
The crew gave thumbs-up, then streamed “Nine” from a phone hooked to the amp.
“...Hmm?”
Was it MyTube? The bass sounded different—the MV’s bass, not the audio version. Before I could ask Junghyun, Viju began an impromptu solo: “Uh-two-three-four,” matching the MV’s steps in under ten seconds. His body bent and folded with a dancer’s finesse; we beamed in pride.
“Wow...”
I fought the urge to hype it up. Then Jjapple Chu Gi-seok whispered excitedly,
“That wasn’t the real choreography!”
“What—so it was fake, hyung?”
“No—he changed it on the spot, dancing improv.”
“But you can still dance amazingly—Viju-sensei’s on another level.”
During the chorus, he rode a wave of motion, slicing the air with his hand. The cast gasped and went “Woah!” A genuine reaction feast.
As the second chorus approached,
“Jeeooooonguuuuk—!”
At the familiar cry, everyone blinked.
“Nationwide?”
“The song...? Why is this playing?”
Suddenly an EDM-drenched remix played: “Pa-ba-ba-bam! Jungook! Jungooook!” The crew panicked—someone had triggered a MyTube remix of “Nine.”
“Kha-ha-hat!”
While everyone laughed, Viju’s eyes shifted. He made a split-second decision. Naturally, he pumped his fist and leapt side to side to the remix. Even his smile sparkled for the camera. Impressed, MC Kim said with a wink,
“This calls for a group celebration!”
“Let’s go!”
We all jumped up and danced together to the remix’s intensified beat—a perfect club-ready groove that made you dance inwardly. Once it ended, we vowed to find the remixer’s source for the producing team.
“Waaaah!”
We finished with a flourish. Viju, center stage, swept his hair back, then pointed a finger-gun at the camera, lightly winking.
“Waaaaah!”
The Mister Producer cast applauded, Jiho hugged Viju from behind shouting, “That’s our hyung!” Production and crew also clapped. Even as we sat back down, the excitement lingered—Kim Eui-ji said,
“This is no joke, right?”
“They can pull this out on the spot—when we freestyle, they’re doing art.”
“It’s amazing. People can transform. Earlier they devoured the camera...”
Now, back to his usual gentle smile, Viju listened as singer Ahn Jae-hee observed that the sweetest people often have the most stored feelings to unleash—everyone laughed. The cast clapped.
“S-grade—we all agree.”
“If we’re C, S is generous.”
“Honestly, it’s lowercase s.”
“If we’d pushed further, they’d have cursed with S-starting words.”
In smiles, we completed choreography feedback and moved to vocal evaluation.
“Oh...!”
Our faces brightened. Unlike the tentative dancing, Mister Producer’s cast sang confidently. We applauded; they smiled shyly.
“So? Good singers, right?”
“Yes!”
“Your skills might not impress the music critics, but here’s our song.”
“No, you’re really good.”
Thumbs went up. Ahn Jae-hee and each cast member showed solid vocal ability. Trained in choirs and collaborations, they shone. It felt like a beam of light through dark clouds.
“How is it, senseis? Overall?”
“We see hope...!”
“Waaaah!”
They waved their arms. Then, serious discussion on the debut project began.
“If you practice more choreography, it’ll be fine. Even if imperfect, concept can bolster it.”
“Ooh—any concept ideas?”
“Yes, but we’ll need to discuss that seriously with the experts.”
As idols self-producing, we’d guide Mister Producer’s debut—setting direction and offering advice. Naturally, experts handle detail. Ahn Jae-hee asked,
“How about our track...?”
“Our track?”
“Can we get Wooju-sensei’s song?”
They all looked eagerly at me. I waved a hand, smiling.
“For original tracks, a public contest would be better.”
“Not asking you busy senseis to write one. Any demo in your trash bin—just toss it our way, we’ll use it.”
We laughed at the “trash bin” joke. Explaining reality, I declined.
“My speed varies—if I hit a block, I stay blocked. And I’m swamped with projects.” freēwebnovel.com
“Ahh...”
“Really tough right now.”
If not for my siblings, the raw file for “Falling Petals” would’ve ended up in my “Sorry I’m not good enough” folder. I exchanged a proud glance with them; they beamed back. The cast teased,
“They’re sending love eye-signals at each other.”
“Their bond is real—they kept exchanging secret looks while we talked.”
“Kha-ha-hat!”
Spotted by the sharp cast, we faced more teasing.
As I thought the track discussion was over, Chu Gi-seok, glancing around, asked,
“How about one B-side...?”
Amid laughter, I agreed readily.
“I’ll take on a B-side. I actually have a fitting idea.”
“Waaaah!”
“Note: it’ll be a calm, almost dance-free B-side.”
“That’s fine—our sensei’s track!”
On camera, we hooked pinkies and exchanged our symbolic payment: a five-thousand-won bill. As I couldn’t help but chuckle at our meager fee, the cast roared.
“Wow—they bought Sun Woo-ju for ₩5,000.”
“Folks, we’ve hired the hottest composer for a burger lunch set price.”
“You don’t deserve this treatment, Wooju, sorry uncles.”
“At least it’s ten times the rate. Yesterday, Hyung Heung-min offered to do it for ₩500.”
At the rumored fee from KM Ent.’s CEO, everyone laughed heartily—proof of how many want a spot. The crew and cast sent hearts; I laughed holding the bill. My siblings fumbled to pull out wallets; I glared.
“You two aren’t included.”
“Aww...”
“You start at ₩100,000.”
“Wow—check the price. Feels like a gorge-sold chicken soup.”
As they re-pocketed cash, we all laughed. Then we officially passed some tasks to the now-trainee cast.
“First, you must practice choreography intensely!”
“Yes!”
“We’ll send training videos—please watch them.”
“Yes!”
I assigned homework:
“Each write a list of favorite songs or artists. Also, bring one simple melody.”
“A melody?”
“Yes—when you hum or tap piano keys, you’ll find combinations you like. Bring that to me.”
Excited, they nodded. “Lastly, most importantly, decide on a group name.”
“A group name?”
“Yes—as your future identity, choose carefully.”
Rihyeok gave me a sidelong glance: “A careful name... what conscience?” I laughed.
“The name defines identity—please choose seriously!”
“Yes! Understood!”
And so our first shoot wrapped.
“Great work!”
“You did well!”
“Everyone really shone—even without nerves.”
We exchanged contacts, snapped selfies, and opened a group chat: [Idol Debut Project]. While staff got cast autographs and selfies, I signed for Chu Gi-seok.
“Amazing...!”
“But hyung, we met at the awards show.”
“Huh? We met?! When?!”
Nearby, Ahn Jae-hee guffawed, “Hyung, you don’t remember?” and Chu Gi-seok’s eyes widened.
“Really!? How did I miss that... Oh!”
Then he recalled:
“You looked so handsome then, I didn’t recognize you.”
“Hyung...”
“Ah, now I remember... so you were those handsome guys!”
“Hyung....”
Once more, shock at “plummeted out” and now rediscovered—handsome? How do we appear on NewBlack TV?
After the first shoot, the Mister Producer cast gathered in the studio for their dedicated choreography lesson with a trainer.
“All right! Let’s practice!”
Eldest Kim Eui-ji, aflame with enthusiasm, called them together in the room fitted with observational cameras on tripods. Just as they were about to begin, the managers entered.
“The production team sent you this video. Use it.”
“Oh—Black-ies sent it?”
They wheeled in a stand with a large TV.
“A sponsor.”
The TV’s logo was huge. With a jaunty intro BGM, on screen appeared 1990s-style lettering:
“Choreography Class with NewBlack!”
Chu Gi-seok went “Ooooh!” as the video cut into the studio.
“Wow—instant teleportation!”
Everyone laughed at the crude edit. Viju, in frameless glasses, smiled kindly.
“For your rapid skill improvement, I’ve compiled a basic routine. Please watch.”
“Please follow the screen!”
Junghyun, wearing an instructor’s cap, blew a whistle. Wooju counted “one-two-three-four” and demonstrated the routine. The military veterans winced in pain.
“Did you see that? You must repeat this routine from now on. Now stretch for ten seconds.”
“Follow our stretching moves!”
The cast was stunned.
“Is this supposed to loosen your body?”
They split their legs 180 degrees, yet their expressions were serene, like yoga practitioners.
“Aaah, groin...!”
“Even if your groin aches, endure it! Stretch out and enjoy!”
“Aaaah!”
“When you return next time, if you can’t split, Junghyun hyung will do it for you. Hahahat!”
They strained desperately to split their legs.
“Hey! You must do this! Junghyun will split for you!”
When the torturous stretch ended, they clutched their thighs and staggered. Viju laughed.
“Feeling limber now?”
“Yes!”
“Those devilish trainers...”
On the TV screen appeared a status bar:
“Basic Routine: 100 reps (0/100).”
A three-minute routine, repeated one hundred times. As they prepared, 70s U.S. hit “Funky Town” played as the training song. They continued the intense practice until—
“Ahh... I can’t... I can’t...”
After about two hours and forty reps, they collapsed, utterly exhausted. Only ex-soccer player Kim Eui-ji and youngest Hong Seok kept going by sheer will. Soon, all leaned back against the wall, nodding off—when—
“Peeeeeep—!”
Startled by the whistle, they bolted upright.
“Aaah!”
“What... what is that?”
On screen, Viju held a recorder, trilling “pee-li-li-li” to “Cobra Song,” then vanished swiftly.
“...What is this?”
As they sprawled on the floor, eyes wide, Viju appeared on the screen with a gentle smile.
“You thought this was recorded footage?”
“...”
“But did you know the TV can also broadcast live in real time?”
It was a PPL for the TV’s new feature. As the cast grew pale, Viju pointed to the studio cameras.
“You’re visible on those. They have motion-detection, too.”
Also a PPL. As the cast ground their teeth thinking of PD Shin Mu-rok, Viju smiled and said,
“If motion isn’t detected, we’ll get an alert.”
“....”
“A ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step—and you won’t succeed if you give up now. Let’s cheer up together!”
Smiling broadly, Viju heard one member say,
“Sensei—we’re going to die.”
“Really? It won’t be that easy...”
Though his mouth smiled, his eyes were fierce. But regardless, at age thirty-three, they literally had no strength to move a finger. Removing his glasses, Mo-beom-ju collapsed.
“Se... sensei, can we rest for ten minutes?”
“Let’s do thirty.”
“I just need a break. Sensei, you can’t even come here anyway.”
With an “oh, well” shrug, Viju—still smiling kindly at the crumpled cast—lifted a finger.
“I can’t go there, but this friend can.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll show you—a demo.”
At that moment—
Zzziiing—
The stand holding the big TV began to roll forward automatically.
“Ahhhh!”
The terrified cast watched as the large TV cast a menacing shadow over them.
