In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“Wooju.”

“Yes.”

“Uh... just cry naturally, that’s all.”

The director, who had been speaking, burst into hearty laughter moments later. I scratched the back of my head awkwardly, thinking I’d have to bring this up in interviews with reporters later.

“But do the tears just flow like that?”

“Yes, they do.”

I’d practiced with the maknae back at the dorm.

“Okay, from now on, we’re having a contest. Whoever cries first wins the snack.”

“Got it.”

“So... what was that? Were you putting water in your eyes?”

Even I was surprised.

“Huh? It works...?”

“Stop saying that! Ugh, what kind of person are you?”

I didn’t know how well I’d convey emotion yet, but technically, my tear-producing acting was working.

“All right, let’s give it a try.”

“Yes.”

I flashed the director a small smile as he encouraged me again, then approached the cluster of actors.

Seo Noeul gave me an encouraging grin.

“Tear acting for the first time, right?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll help you get into the emotion. Give it a confident shot.”

At those words, senior actress Yang Okbun chimed in.

“No onions needed?”

“Teacher...”

“I’m just saying, we need to film quickly. One whiff of onion and the tears just flood.”

Her jest sent everyone into laughter. In that gentle atmosphere, they all cheered me on in kind voices.

“If it doesn’t work, listen to The Private’s Letter again. Even at my age, I tear up hearing it.”

“‘Leaving home, boarding the train~’”

Their teasing looks made me send them a mock glare before turning away.

The senior actors still chuckled, but when I distanced myself slightly and closed my eyes, the chattering fell silent as if they’d never spoken. They comforted me softly, helping me find the emotion naturally.

“...”

Today’s scene was the reunion between Kim Wooju, returned from orb form, and his family. According to writer Hwang Jeongyeon’s concept, it had been almost twenty years since they’d seen each other.

What would it feel like to meet your family after twenty years? Thankfully, I didn’t need to wildly imagine to empathize—it came naturally.

“Wooju. What are you doing over there?”

“Just standing.”

As a child living with my grandmother, I’d imagined that sometimes. Maybe my parents were still alive somewhere. Or perhaps I’d been stranded on an uninhabited island, lost my memory, and one day strangers would find me—and I’d return to Korea to reunite with my family, memories restored. I stopped imagining around middle school but spent elementary school lost in books on deserted islands and rewatching Cast Away until the VHS wore out. So I already knew what it felt like to meet family again.

“You ready?”

I inhaled deeply, picturing my parents behind the distant actors.

“If only this were real.”

“I’m ready.”

I smiled at the director and nodded. At the call of “Action,” I became Kim Wooju and moved toward my family.

Director Hwang Jeonggu watched the monitor. The studio camera captured Kim Wooju in his suit from head to toe. His normal, steady stride slowed, then he stopped abruptly.

[Wooju.]

In the drama, Wooju’s family would cheerfully wave at the camera. In the studio, Wooju stood, dazed, gazing at them.

[Uh...]

His mouth parted slightly, and his eyes lost focus. Director Hwang nodded with satisfaction at the natural acting.

‘Yes. Let it flow.’

On the monitor, Wooju’s dazed face held the frame in a close-up. Another monitor showed his hesitant feet, as if staring at a mirage that would vanish when approached, or a rainbow forever out of reach.

[Wooju.]

Senior actress Yang Okbun’s voice called to Wooju on set.

[What are you doing? Hurry up and come.]

At her words, Wooju’s feet, which had trembled, stopped in place. His eyes grew wide, as if realizing the mirage was real. His mouth opened further.

Then he took a decisive step, and...

[...!]

His pace quickened until, almost running, he leapt into his family’s embrace. The camera operator looked to Director Hwang, who drew an OK with his finger and signaled to keep rolling.

‘Let’s see how this goes.’

I had thought we’d stop here and do another take, but sensing the cast’s energy and the natural flow, Hwang decided to trust the moment. He felt breaking this rhythm would make it impossible to recapture the same feeling.

[My grandson has grown so much.]

Grandmother smoothed Wooju’s hair in her arms. His parents held him too.

[Son.]

[Why are you crying? Don’t.]

Two streams of tears fell from Wooju’s tightly bitten lips.

Joy. Gratitude. Happiness. As Wooju’s complex emotions played across his face in close-up, the family patted his shoulders.

This was the first and only time the usually reserved, gray-toned Wooju displayed such profound feeling on screen. And then...

[Kim Wooju? Is that you...?]

He also reunited with his childhood friend, parted at age eleven, now grown. Originally the plan was to present her still as age eleven like the rest of the family, but cast and crew unanimously agreed to present her as an adult girlfriend.

Director Hwang, remembering writer Hwang Jeongyeon’s careful setup, smiled warmly.

‘She must have patched all the holes in the story...’

Believing the writer had filled every gap, Hwang called out heartily, “Cut!”

“Phew...”

The immersed actors wiped away tears and took deep breaths, then smiled. It took less than a minute for them to return to their normal selves, laughing and high-fiving.

“Good work!”

“Thank you.”

Though it was Wooju’s final shoot, it felt like the cast’s last scene too—there were only a few shots left. As everyone relaxed, they looked around.

“Where’s the maknae?”

“Our maknae—where’d he go?”

They scanned for the scene’s protagonist until they spotted Wooju hiding behind the lighting rig. Everyone burst into laughter at the stick-thin figure crouched like a deer playing hide-and-seek.

“Maknae!”

“Yes.”

The alien family hurried over, then froze.

‘He’s crying...’

He sniffled, red-eyed, staring at the ceiling, blinking back tears. The actors nodded knowingly.

‘Right. This is the scene...’

Remembering someone’s personal story helped them understand. I’d wondered if it might feel awkward at first, but knowing writer Hwang Jeongyeon and I developed this moment together, they nodded in approval. Perhaps it was a scene I’d wanted to film myself.

“Hey, are you crying?”

Ara asked.

“I’m not crying, noona.”

“You are.”

“I must’ve gotten too into it. It’s my first time doing tear acting...”

He muttered, still staring at the ceiling as if viewing distant mountains.

“When Jiho and I practiced, I didn’t feel much. But trying it on set...”

“It happens.”

Yang Okbun nodded.

“When you first act, tears come from whatever memory you conjured.”

The actors sympathized. Everyone recalled memories to evoke sadness—partings from loved ones, final farewells. Though now they could switch to a smile within thirty seconds, the first tear scenes were hard because the memory lingered.

Wooju breathed deeply.

“You can do it, Son Wooju. You can do it.”

“You can do what...?”

The senior actors laughed. The youth, whose gem-like eyes had just shed tears, raised his hands to cover his face.

Ten seconds later:

“Overcome.”

Showing composure again, Wooju had everyone laughing.

‘He’s going to drive me crazy.’

Ara, bewildered, asked:

“You were crying just now. How did you stop?”

“Crying? Who, me, noona?”

He feigned ignorance, making everyone chuckle. While they commended the rookie actor, a sudden question arose.

“Huh?”

Jung «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» Inwoo, playing the bratty son, looked to Director Hwang.

“So, are we done filming this?”

“Huh...?”

They’d said cut, but no one declared the scene complete. The actors blinked.

‘Why did we think it was finished?’

They’d unconsciously assumed no more takes were needed. Senior actor Song Hoon called out.

“Director Hwang!”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about this? Are we done with this scene?”

“Didn’t I say we were?”

The director too had plainly assumed one take was enough.

Seo Noeul said:

“The maknae was so good we assumed it was over.”

“Right. Nobody said it was finished, yet here we all are acting like it is.”

Director Hwang chuckled.

“All right, that concludes studio filming.”

“Waaaah!”

“And today is also the last shoot for Wooju, our agent K, Kim Wooju.”

He added with a smile.

“Good job, Wooju.”

“Thank you!”

The actors clicked their tongues in admiration.

“One take, huh?”

They marveled that whoever played Wooju in the future would have huge shoes to fill. Wooju bowed to them.

“Thank you all so much.”

“We’re the grateful ones.”

In truth, Wooju had carried the ratings for Our Family Is Alien—booking Hailey Blue for a cameo, promoting it at the start. Now it was hard to imagine anyone but Wooju portraying Kim Wooju.

As they smiled, someone noticed something.

“Huh...? What’s that?”

The NewBlack leader and cast, exchanging pleasantries, turned toward the entrance: a cart draped with banners rolling in. Each banner bore a selfie of the four, each shot from their most flattering angle, with words:

[Great job, Kim Wooju!]

[Come back soon, Son Wooju!]

A smaller message read, “Come home quickly. We’ve got delicious food ready.” The cart held snacks and drinks, and the crew and actors cheered, “Coffee!”

Seeing it, Wooju grinned. Seo Noeul suggested:

“Before that, shall we take a photo with this as our backdrop?”

Everyone agreed.

@Sunset_seo

(An alien family selfie surprising shy Wooju. In the background, the minions’ blurred figures seem to say: ‘He’s become a fine actor...’)

Thank you so much, maknae. You did great.

Alien Family ♡

#Maknae_AlbumDropSoon #WishBigSuccess

With news of Biju’s I MOVE shoot wrapping and Wooju’s sitcom also completed, soufflés were in full comeback prep alongside their singers.

‘Why are there so many antis...?’

After a joint live broadcast at Chuseok, things quieted down briefly, but soon the antis roared back. And there was another awkward issue:

‘We have double the antis.’

Though not many, their skyrocketing popularity had increased the number of negative commenters. Perhaps due to NewBlack’s unique position, it felt like fangirling both a top boy group and a top girl group simultaneously. The general antis weren’t too numerous, but the real problem was...

‘Look at how they’re trying to suppress us.’

It seemed likely from Teen Spirit’s toxic fans. They seemed more invested in the album than the fans themselves—predicting chart positions, mocking the story film as cheap, even dissecting its view count.