Free Web Novel“My... the melody I created was....”
My mouth dropped open at the shocking truth.
“The melody I made was the NewBlack World Song....”
“Space hyung, snap out of it.”
“No, I spent nights worrying over this melody... and it turned out to be the NewBlack World Song....”
“Jung Hyun hyung, give him a flick on the forehead.”
That woke me up. I pressed down on Jung Hyun’s hand as he rubbed his fingers, took a deep breath. My head was still spinning.
“You okay, hyung?”
At Biju’s question, I nodded.
“I’m fine. Just a bit stunned.”
“I was stunned too.”
The others looked just as dazed. Who wouldn’t be? We’d been smiling, proud we might have a masterpiece on our hands—and it turned out to be the NewBlack World Song.
“I feel empty. Seriously.”
I said,
“It’s like going to a Michelin-star restaurant, raving about the flavors—and finding out they use the exact same seasoning as the local diner.”
“It was hiding so close to home.”
“Truly, absurdity and perfection are separated by a razor’s edge.”
We shared wry smiles over the fact that our album’s chorus sprang from the NewBlack World Song. It was embarrassing, but still good news.
“I think the important thing is it’s not plagiarism. If it’d been another existing track, I’d be devastated.”
“Right. And this doesn’t even sound exactly like the NewBlack World Song.”
“So we can worry less.”
Focusing on the positive, we laughed, then fell silent. The upbeat relief gave way to a subtler concern.
“Hey...”
I hesitated, then asked,
“If we make this into a song as is, will Souffle notice?”
“Hard to say.”
Ri Hyuk thought carefully, then answered,
“I don’t think so. You’d have to reverse-engineer it bit by bit to see it’s identical. As a melody alone, it’s only loosely similar—more like siblings than twins.”
“I feel the same. Hyung, it’s like potatoes and sweet potatoes. Though this is definitely a sweet potato.”
At Jung Hyun’s comment, I nodded.
“They probably won’t notice.”
“They won’t.”
“Come on—there’s no way~”
We laughed and waved our hands, then fell quiet again.
“....”
“....”
My temples throbbed.
“Haaa...”
I sighed and pressed my hands to my head.
“They’ll absolutely figure it out, right?”
“They’ll definitely notice.”
“You know Souffle. They’re relentless about digging into everything.”
They’d even doubted Nine’s “Meat Song.” Souffle fans cataloged NewBlack Academy game routes like a national archive. Considering fans who compute ring sizes with trigonometry to gift idols, nothing surprised anymore.
“In other words, fooling Souffle is virtually impossible. It’s like me secretly eating Ri Hyuk hyung’s ice cream and pretending I didn’t.”
“What? That was you?”
“Just an example~”
As Ri Hyuk narrowed his eyes and grilled the maknae, I pondered deeply. We could try to hide it, but Souffle would catch the similarity one hundred percent. So the solution was simple:
“Then let’s write the song as is and let them discover it later.”
“Great idea.”
“And if Souffle asks, we’ll reveal it in the behind-the-scenes footage.”
Even to me, that was a clear solution. Let the haters call it self-copying or absurdity—we’d found the perfect melody and I was sure we could craft an amazing song from it.
“From now on, it’s go time. We’ve got the chorus.”
“And the theme is set.”
We’d already gathered with A&R and the production teams to decide the album’s concept: conflict and harmony. Since Fireworks through Nakhwa covered meetings and farewells, we’d tackle conflict and reconciliation from here on.
“One team member said: We’ve only covered positive stuff so far, but avoiding negativity isn’t always the best choice. It might be good to explore it once.”
Our main vocalist, the very embodiment of discord, proposed it: five colors coming together into black, and the conflict that emerges at that moment.
So we were ready.
“How does it sound, hyung? Can we write it?”
“Yeah. I think we can finish it in one go.”
Pre-chorus ideas, bridges, even third verse melodies floated in my mind. At my nod, Biju turned to the driver.
“Minki hyung, we...”
“Got it.”
Minki hyung, speaking seriously, looked to Wonseok in the passenger seat.
“Wonseok.”
“Yes, team lead.”
Moments later, Wonseok tapped the navigation screen.
Ten seconds later:
[New destination set]
[Lemon Entertainment]
We burst out laughing.
“Just a bit longer, producing team! We’re coming to you!”
“Your daily vitamin dose, NewBlack, is on its way...!”
Lemon Entertainment.
In the underground dance studio, the trainees’ eyes widened.
“Helloooo!”
“It’s us!”
The doors flew open as NewBlack arrived, each of us carrying black plastic bags in both hands. Trainees—Jiho among them—rushed over.
“Uh...?”
Smoke curled up from inside the bags.
“Sniff sniff.”
“Beef?!”
Their pale faces flushed with excitement.
“Be-eef...!”
“I thought you’d be hungry, so I brought late-night snacks.”
“No way...! Thank you, sunbaenims!”
Their joyous laughter made our eyes soften. The trainees even pulled out platters and tongs from their lockers as if prepared.
“You’ve gotten good at this.”
At Jung Hyun’s praise, the trainees beamed. Just as they were about to dig into the beef, Ji In-hu, signaling quietly, asked:
“Um... sunbaenims, aren’t you eating with us?”
“We already ate. We just packaged this while snacking.”
“Oh, got it. Then we’ll enjoy it!”
They dug in, and Space — watching with a smile — asked,
“Jin-hu, are you the leader now?”
“Ah, yes... I somehow am. But we all have roles. Bok-soo is in charge of beautification.”
“I handle the lighting.”
The members’ cute role distribution had us laughing. Then, as Kim Bok-soo took a bite of skirt steak, he asked,
“I heard you did a recording today?”
“Yeah, we just came back.”
“Amazing... What show was it?”
“On the Stage.”
The trainees’ eyes went wide.
“On the Stage? No way...!”
“You know it?”
“Yes. Everyone at school talks about it—who they think will debut.”
The audition to launch KM Enter’s new boy group was a hit thanks to dramatic editing. The trainees asked,
“Did you meet the trainees? Are they just like on TV?”
“They’re just the same.”
“It wasn’t too surreal. We were just there as mentors.”
Even after guesting on the hottest show, we were calm. The trainees realized:
“Ah. Now only an exceptional variety show impresses them!”
Veterans of entertainment, our seniors. Kim Bok-soo asked with shining eyes,
“Was the broadcast good?”
“Hmm....”
Our five pairs of eyes drifted upward.
“Let’s see...”
“We got enough screen time.”
“It was pretty fun.”
“Basically, we did the job.”
We mumbled between ourselves and reported it was average. The trainees lit up again:
“So you crushed it, right?!”
Fans said every time NewBlack didn’t get enough airtime, they were re-aired twice. This time we’d surely flipped On the Stage on its head. The trainees, impressed by their variety-genius seniors, laughed and ate their beef.
“Mmm...”
Each bite of tender filet melted in their mouths. Biju asked,
“Delicious?”
“Yes! So so good! Thank you, sunbaenim!”
“We love you!”
“We admire you as much as our mothers!”
Space watched them with affection and said,
“We saw those contestants and thought of you. I know you train so hard.”
“When I was a trainee, no one brought beef as a late-night snack.”
“You’ve been on my mind, so I came to see you.”
The trainees were touched, even if the wording was odd. When we asked how their practice was going or if they had any difficulties, their excitement shone—it wasn’t just a question, but genuine concern.
“Oh, right! We’re practicing Nine now. Could you give us feedback before you leave?”
“Sure. Of course.”
The atmosphere in the studio was warm—until a cold chill swept in.
Silence fell as the trainees noticed the cold stares of the producers crouched in the corner, typing on laptops. Shadows of tension seemed to emanate from them.
Space laughed gently and asked,
“What’s wrong?”
Their dark aura retreated. The trainees marveled:
“Lemon Entertainment’s supreme power...!”
They dreamed of that power: the CEO flipping on the lights in the meeting room, waving to activate the restroom sensors. As they imagined it, they asked,
“Um...”
“Yes?”
“Why is the producing team working here?”
The producers had followed us in. Space explained casually:
“Their office is under renovation, so they can’t go in. They needed a workspace.”
“Oh.”
“They’ll leave once the conference room is free.”
He whispered they’d bring us yusanseul and palbochae for a late-night snack, and the trainees cheered. Then PD Na Sang-yun called Space over.
“Space, come here. Listen to this part.”
Space put in earbuds, nodded, and spoke. Na Sang-yun nodded back. The trainees, seeing his drawn face and stubble, felt sympathetic. Then a producing-team member laughed and called out to them:
“You know why we’re here?”
“Uh... why?”
“When a boy breaks the law, he goes to juvenile hall. A university student goes to grad school.”
“So where does a producer go when they err...?”
“That’s right.”
The trainees realized:
“If a producer errs, they come to Lemon Entertainment!”
At their shocked faces, the producing team and NewBlack burst into laughter.
“Hahaha!”
“Shall we get back to work?”
“Yes....”
The millstone of Lemon Entertainment ground on beautifully.
Work on the album’s title track moved quickly. With the chorus and skeleton set on day one, the rest was flesh-and-bones: edits, more edits. Countless revisions remained, but the hardest part is when a song doesn’t come; once it does, everything else feels easy.
The producing team felt the same:
“...It’s good?”
“Knew it. That’s why we didn’t outsource this one.”
“Wow. This is great.”
With the structure largely done, they unanimously agreed: “This hooks you. It’s a dance track—definitely needs to be a dance track. The addictiveness is off the charts. Let’s go with a strong vibe.”
I agreed. Director Cho Gyu-hwan even gave his OK. Everything was smooth.
Then:
“Hyung, can I show you something?”
“Listen to this track I wrote, will you?”
Since this is our debut full album, we planned to include many of our own compositions. Our system pit them against outside songwriters in a blind test, so the trainees worked with tension. Each brought the song they felt was their best and asked for mentoring. Then:
“What’s wrong, hyung?”
“....”
“Your face is... proud and complicated, like you hate it but also like it?”
“No, nothing.”
Our maknae was perceptive as always.
“You wrote this?”
“Yup.”
Every time they brought their best song, I was amazed. The quality exceeded expectations. Not just Biju and Jung Hyun—who’d always studied composition—but even the two youngest had improved notably.
“How is it?”
“You wrote this really well.”
“Wait—hold on. I’ll open the recording app. Play it one more time here!”
“Ri Hyuk is the best.”
“Oh, hyung...!”
Seeing even the maknae—who I thought only knew fun, food, and acting—show remarkable growth filled me with pride.
As we rushed into mid-October preparing for our comeback, another big event approached: the first competition recording of the dance show I MOVE, featuring Biju.
6:00 a.m.
While preparing breakfast for Biju, I heard movement on the second-floor stairs. Perhaps because it was competition day. Unlike Apple-Bi Ha ru and Twinkle Ran—whose skins darkened like apples in the sun—our maknae’s complexion was clear.
“You awake?”
“Yeah.”
Biju’s face brightened as she entered the kitchen, then smiled even wider when she saw me in an apron.
“You made my breakfast?”
“Yep.”
“Thank you so much, hyung. At dawn...”
She hesitated before adding,
“But today’s competition starts at 7 p.m., right?”
“I know.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Usually she’d laugh that I didn’t need to come on off-days, but today she meant it. It was clearly important to her. I smiled.
“I’ll definitely be there.”
Biju nodded and smiled, then glanced at the empty stairs.
“Looks like everyone’s still asleep.”
“Yeah. They’ve been tired lately.”
“I see.”
She smiled and ate her apple sandwich, but her chewing slowed. Maybe she’d hoped to see her bandmates. She set the sandwich down.
“Shall I just finish this?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to feel too full.”
Wiping her mouth, Biju checked her phone and began getting ready. The dorm was quiet, even as she tapped her heels down the hall to announce her departure.
“I’ll be back later, hyung!”
“Okay. See you soon.”
She waved and left. I felt a pang that no one else came to see her off. Click.
After she left, I whispered,
“My little ones.”
Shadows emerged from behind the sofa at my call. Our siblings wriggled into view, eyes sparkling.
“She’s gone?”
“Kim Biju left?”
“Yep.”
Ri Hyuk asked,
“Does she seem upset?”
“She ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) did seem sad.” freeweɓnøvel.com
“That’s a win in my book.”
They grinned. Normally, they’d rub their eyes and see her off, but today only I had. We’d arranged a hidden-camera surprise with I MOVE’s production crew:
—Make it look like NewBlack had a scheduling conflict, then pop out in the waiting room!
Other groups did the same. Imagining Biju’s gloomy face transforming into a bright smile made us chuckle.
“This is gonna be hilarious.”
“They’ll go nuts for it.”
“A total smash hit.”
Giggling and clapping, our excitement for the prank blinded us to anything odd—especially that Jung Hyun was the last to speak.
