Free Web NovelUnder the eerie light, the members grinned spookily and raised the mic.
“—It was the year 2016....”
...then they all paused, looking at one another.
The maknae asked, “What month was it again...?”
At that moment, the audience burst into laughter.
While they all muttered “When was it...?”, Uju explained, “We don’t keep track of dates. Sometimes we can’t remember exactly.”
“I remember now—it was March.”
“March....”
They resumed in serious tones.
“It was March 2016....”
“While filming a travel reality show in Jeju. The incident began on day two.”
“During a bravery challenge.”
At first the audience watched and chuckled—but as the story unfolded, they were drawn in by Jiho’s storytelling prowess (he once swept awards in a fairy-tale recitation contest).
“He was a security guard who came right up in front of us....”
Jiho leapt as if floating through the air, and one spectator screamed, “Eeeek!” in the hushed hall. Blushing, Jiho hid behind his collar as laughter rippled around him.
He continued: when reviewing the bravery challenge footage, they’d spotted a mysterious guard—and on the tent’s recording of “Nakhwa,” an unidentifiable voice appeared.
The audience gasped. As the gayageum master plucked trembling, horror-movie BGM chords, everyone held their breath. A few whispered:
“Is that for real?”
“It can’t be...?”
Before they could dismiss the possibility, the recording played:
[“Aah—”]
The clear mid-aged man’s voice prompted shrieks of “Aaaah!” and embarrassed laughter filled the hall.
Uju, grinning, whispered into the mic:
“You’ve just heard NewBlack’s horror special: ‘The Hidden Story of Nakhwa.’”
“Next time—To Be Continued.”
Junghyun’s dramatic sign-off drew chuckles. As the lights rose, Ha Seung-ju, still giggling, took the mic.
“Someone’s ‘Aaaah!’ was so funny—I almost couldn’t hold it in!”
To the matching laughter, she added, “Truly, they’re an all-time idol—only on music shows would you hear ghost stories from NewBlack.”
“That’s right. One and only NewBlack.”
She praised them; the members beamed with thumbs-up. Then she admitted, “Honestly, that was scary—even though I already knew the story.”
The leader took the mic again: “Glad you enjoyed it. We actually rehearsed that in the waiting room.”
“You rehearsed this?”
“We give 100% to everything.”
It was supposed to be dramatic, but ghost tales and all, the pose felt comically deflated.
They traded good-natured jabs like uncle and nephews; the audience smiled. After a bit more ghost lore, focus turned to gayageum player Song A-rang.
“Your playing nearly gave me a heart attack. How did you get so good?”
“I saw NewBlack rehearsing and it looked like fun.”
“You volunteered?”
“Yes—I thought it’d be interesting.”
The unexpected answer drew laughter; fans agreed that anyone around NewBlack caught a bit of their magic. The gayageum player left to applause, and the MC steered back on track.
“They say you’ll succeed if you see a ghost in showbiz—and you did: an epic song came out.”
“That seems so. We’d like to thank that guest again....”
The members all looked behind them—Ha Seung-ju recoiled.
“Hey! Don’t thank them while staring at my back!”
The ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) audience roared as she timidly checked behind her, then recovered.
“I’m curious—what was that sound?”
“We’re not sure. We want to believe it was a ghost.”
“You want to believe it was a ghost?”
“Yes.”
Biju chimed in with a grin: “Isn’t it scarier if it was a real person’s voice?”
“...!”
“Someone at our tent headboard went ‘Aaaah—’”
“Stop it!”
“Why so serious?”
Biju grinned at Ha Seung-ju’s mock ear-covering and added another “Aaaah—,” earning applause and laughter.
As Biju delighted in having startled someone, they wrapped up the behind-the-scenes and prepared for the next performance.
MC gently announced, “You’ll see one more stage.”
“That’s right,” we replied.
“What song?”
“It’s ‘Annyeong,’ from our album.”
Curious eyes turned to me.
“Our album’s theme is farewell,” I explained.
“From the title track ‘Nakhwa’—flowers parting, promising reunion in spring.”
“But farewells vary—some are forever.”
“Exactly.”
“‘Nakhwa’ imagines reunion, but sometimes you can’t. ‘Annyeong’ reflects those partings.”
No need to explain to parents in the crowd—they all understood. Feeling my brothers’ gaze, I spoke calmly:
“This song is for my parents.”
When the MC had sent me their video, I resolved to write a song. ‘Annyeong’ was born for those whose proper farewells were left unsaid.
I smiled at the audience: “Everyone’s had that—never properly saying goodbye.”
Fans across generations—twenties, grandparents, middle-aged couples—nodded.
“‘Annyeong’ was written in that spirit. I hope it brings comfort.”
Ha Seung-ju asked, “Shall we hear it?”
“Yes.”
“NewBlack’s ‘Annyeong,’ right now.”
Warm applause filled my ears as I settled at the piano. Before singing, I closed my eyes and pictured faces: Dad, Mom, Grandma—and you, listening kindly. I nodded.
As applause faded, Uju inhaled, then softly pressed the keys.
“Ooh....”
A brief, farewell-tinged piano intro. Then my lips touched the mic.
“I dreamed one dream:
a lonely, shining star—
small and beautiful,
where you might live.”
No day or night,
on a star none leave,
you smiled above.”
The leader’s hands danced over the keys; the hall glittered with the sound of stars. Though purely piano, there was no emptiness—just each listener’s memories.
I sang in a whisper:
“At times like these,
I sought the rooftop stars...
Which one could be yours?”
I sang the final line softly, locking eyes with fans, rising warmth in my tone:
“Only in adulthood did I learn
stars lie so far apart
that light itself
loses its way.”
The music shifted gently, as if the speaker had grown. Those who’d fled farewell into dreams now faced it as adults—ready to welcome it.
“Now I will send
a flickering light—
in your embrace
my humble farewell.”
A distant star’s light takes ages to reach; this fragile lantern was my message. My seated brothers each raised a mic; a soft “whoo—” as their harmonies layered in:
“Annyeong, how have you been?
I’ve missed you—
a day without you
was far too long.”
Their gentle chorus felt like, “You’re not alone.” Among the audience, a middle-aged fan wiped tears.
Continuing:
“And even though light travels endlessly
between distant stars,
I will meet you once more
on that shared sky,
in your arms
reading the words I once wrote.”
The echoing refrain “Annyeong—” floated like an embrace. Gasps and smiles spread as each listener projected personal farewells—lost friends, departed loved ones, treasured memories. The young singer smiled at them, offering comfort.
“Annyeong, how have you been?
I’ve missed you—”
Tears welled, for many Suple were moved to sobs. With reddened eyes, they watched as the leader’s warm gaze swept the hall. And something shifted: fans realized NewBlack weren’t just idols but sincere singer-songwriters. They poured true emotion into each lyric, touching ordinary hearts.
As the third verse concluded, Uju lifted his bowed head. Tears glistened as he smiled, and the hall erupted in the loudest cheers since the recording began.
“Waaaah—!”
Gratitude for the beautiful song and encouragement for the young singer filled the hall.
We bowed, smiling at the applause. “Thank you.” As the lights dimmed, I rose from the piano to a shower of hands on my back. Catching my brothers’ beaming eyes, I smiled.
Ha Seung-ju, with a faint shimmer in her own eyes, applauded. “The song is really beautiful. I only heard the early draft then. You’ve revised it so much.”
“We did.”
“It was good then, but now it’s extraordinary.”
I looked up, silently thanking PD Hyung-seop, who had transformed that gifted amateur composer into this masterpiece.
She scanned her cue card. “Pre-interview said this was Uju’s favorite track on the album.”
“It is—my top pick among the B-sides. Along with ‘Bambada,’ it’s a family song.”
“Ah, so that’s why...”
“Singing alone in the studio was so comfortable.”
“Wooow—naughty!”
While the brothers protested, the audience laughed. The mood softened—and I felt every gaze studying my every gesture.
“Not just ‘Nakhwa,’ but a parade of masterpieces. Incredible.”
“Right? They’re so talented!”
As thumbs-up and cheers echoed, we carried on recording in the warm atmosphere.
“The second family song—what was the first?”
“It’s ‘Bambada.’”
I sang a quick line of “Bambada” for those unfamiliar; they responded enthusiastically. Then:
“Our signature choreo—shall we show it?”
“Aaaah!”
“Senpai, you’ve got to go harder—more!”
“Yaaah!”
The middle-aged MC tried fruitlessly to replicate the “Nakhwa” move, providing more laughs.
“Know the best thing about hanbok?”
“No, what?”
“That they have no buttons!”
Someone who burst a button at our concert cheered, and everyone roared again.
By now, the maknae and hyungs delivered their rapid-fire lines flawlessly—though honestly, it felt cathartic to sing “Annyeong.” Recording had been different; performing live and sharing emotions brought relief, as if a long-held knot had dissolved.
“Ha-ha-hat!”
Amid uproarious laughter at my brothers’ banter, the end of recording drew near. The MC asked, “What are your future plans?”
“We’re just getting started—music shows, overseas tours next month...”
“Busy schedule.”
“Lots, but I’m excited.”
I smiled at the audience: “Performing for you gives us energy. We can’t wait for new stages.”
“Always a pleasure.”
“Thank you.”
Ha Seung-ju asked, “The last song was ‘Kkotnori,’ right?”
“That’s right~”
“Shall we have a final remark—time for one representative?”
My brothers looked at me. How to choose?
“As I’ve talked so much today, I’d like to yield the final words to our maknae.”
“Me?”
“Our maknae’s lines have really come into their own~”
Biju nodded vigorously.
“Right—you killed it at the concert: we said, ‘He’s the god of lines!’”
“I agree,” Junghyun chimed in.
Our maknae glowered at us playfully, then beamed at the audience.
“Ahem.”
He assumed a serious expression—mimicking someone dramatically—and the MC and brothers cracked up.
“Today was so much fun.”
“Oooh.”
Junghyun cackled and shot finger-guns at him. The hall roared as Biju continued.
“It was great to have your attention again.”
“Yo!”
After every final line, they all shouted “Yo!” and the audience joined in. Clapping and cheering back and forth, Biju then teased, “Ah, I don’t want to go on.”
“Aaah! Okay, okay.”
Feigning hurt, he took the mic again, mouthed “Yooo—” then sighed dramatically.
Amid the laughter, he linked pinkies with us and, once promised no teasing, finished:
“Please keep giving us... very little attention and support.”
“Little attention?”
“Yes—just click ‘NewBlack’ online or on streaming sites once in a while...”
The audience laughed at his clever line. As the mood wound down, Jiho signaled us to stand. In the center, he struck a finger-heart and winked. freewebnøvel.com
“It’s spring—want to go play among the flowers with me~?”
“Waaaah!”
His rallying cry drew one last cheer. Ha Seung-ju clapped her cue card and announced, “That was NewBlack!”
“Waaaah!”
They gathered for a final formation: Jiho standing center, the rest seated before him, facing the crowd. A lively, traditional-flavored prelude began, and Jiho raised his mic dramatically:
“Who here is left standing?”
We broke formation, ad-libbing “None at all!” as the audience laughed. The dance broke into high gear—briefly until Biju and Junghyun hopped onto the main dancer’s shoulders, spinning him into view. The crowd erupted.
With swirling robes and exuberant vocals, “Kkotnori” ignited the hall one last time. And thus the day’s recording came to a close—arguably the best Music Café session ever.
“Waaaah!”
“Thank you!”
We bowed brightly to the thunderous applause.
