Free Web NovelWe immediately gathered on the waiting‐room sofa to hear the writer’s explanation.
“So we stand in a line in front of one camera and dance, right?”
“Yes, that’s right!”
“Like this?”
We stood in a line and moved our arms dazzlingly—a motion idol choreography fans call Thousand‐Hand Guanyin.
“Something like this?”
“Oh, no! No! Not that!”
The writer hastily drew a stick‐figure diagram on a sheet of paper.
“So... one person dances, then goes to the very back, and the next person behind picks up the dance. It’s literally a relay dance.”
“Oh! I understand.”
“It might feel unfamiliar. We only started it recently ourselves.”
For reference, we watched a clip the writer showed us: in a bright set, rookie girl‐group members danced one by one, passing an imaginary baton. Biju’s eyes widened.
“This looks like so much fun...?”
“Looks fun to me.”
We’d done random‐play dances on idol shows, but this style of choreography video was new and intriguing. However...
“Do we have to film it today?”
Ri Hyuk asked. “We haven’t practiced at all.”
“Oh, this doesn’t require practice.”
The writer explained, “It’s meant to feel free and casual. Not a tightly filmed segment—embrace mistakes, awkward laughs, natural moments.”
We all went “Ooh.”
“Really? But we tear up when we mess up...”
Hearing that, the writer hesitated.
“Well, um... anyway, just film naturally. If you’re willing...”
Trailing off, she asked if we’d film it. We glanced at each other. With plenty of waiting time left, trying something new sounded good.
“We’ll do it.”
“Really? Thank you!”
The writer smiled brightly, bowed, and left the waiting room. Footsteps outside sounded cheerful—perhaps she’d expected us to refuse.
“They must have thought we’d say no,” Ri Hyuk said.
“Right,” we agreed. Checking K-Net’s MyTube channel, we saw few relay‐dance videos by veteran artists.
“That just means we’re younger.”
“Exactly. We’re babies. Haha!”
We decided to interpret it to our liking. Biju immediately sketched possible choreography lines on A4 paper, while a steady stream of guests kept arriving in the waiting room.
“One, two, three—Lucky Lucky! We’re Lucky Girl!”
“Hello! We are rookie boy group Wet Tissues! Yes... Wet Tissues, with closed‐lid hair!” ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
“One, two, three! January through December—Monthly Boys!”
Some groups had just debuted, others earlier this year. Of twenty teams, about eight debuted this year; only three or four were more senior than us.
“Um...”
Wet Tissues’ leader Kwak handed us a signed CD. “Our signed CD!”
“Oh, thank you. We have signed CDs too, just a second.”
Thud‐thud—our hands trembled like in a bathhouse as we exchanged CDs.
“I’m really a fan! Your name is NewBulbaek... no, NewBlack—sorry! My tongue auto‐corrected.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“It’s okay.”
“I really am your fan!”
They said they were fans every time we met—maybe lip service, but it still felt good. As Wet Tissues left, Ri Hyuk exhaled the breath he’d held, then quickly searched on his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I wondered if his real surname was Kwak, or if ‘Wet Tissues’ leader chose the wrong stage name.”
“Wasn’t it Gap?”
“It’s ‘Kwak,’ apparently.”
“What does it say online?”
“It confirms it—Kwak.”
“Good....”
That name was unforgettable: Wet Tissues. Just then, we noticed drops of sweat left behind where that rookie boy group had stood.
The maknae stuck out his tongue. “It’s weird—they must’ve been nervous meeting us. If I were their junior, I wouldn’t be nervous.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “But you hid behind us all the time during Something and Flower Play.”
Junhyun and Biju nodded at my words.
“I always hid behind you.”
“Jiho always went in last and left first.”
“At that time... I was a first‐year high schooler.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah.”
Our teasing at the maknae’s usual bashfulness made him flush slightly.
“Wait and see! Soon I’ll be saying ‘yeah’ instead of ‘yo.’”
“Okay, yo.”
We laughed at his proclamation that ‘yo’ marked adulthood. Time really flew—when we first met, he was a middle‐schooler who seemed so tiny; now his build and height—
Wait. Why did he suddenly seem so tall?
“...What’s wrong?”
At Ri Hyuk’s question, I shook my head. “Oh, nothing.”
While Junhyun handed snacks to the maknae, I stood and stretched. Ri Hyuk, about to look at his notes, asked:
“What’s next...?”
“Project: finding three hidden centimeters of height.”
“...”
As we stretched and posed, Biju exclaimed, “Hyung, that’s it!”
“What?”
“Our relay‐dance opening pose—use that.”
“With this...?”
K-Net C Studio.
Lights spun brightly, the music stopped, and rookie boy group Wet Tissues bowed.
“Good work—!”
“Thank you!”
They exited after filming the relay dance. Staff readjusted the camera when suddenly a booming voice came from the studio entrance.
“Hello!”
Laughter followed. “NewBlack’s here.” Managers in tow, we approached the directors and bowed.
“Please take care of us, Director.”
“Oh, nice to see you~”
“We’ve improvised some choreography, so it might take extra time. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Film as much as you need.”
The assistant director for relay dances replied. “We have to grant any request.” Other senior artists had declined this content outright. Now NewBlack was joining the MyTube–targeted project—no matter how unreasonable, they had to say yes.
“Warm up, and let us know when you’re ready.”
“Yes!”
After loosening up necks and stretching, we lined up against a bright background. Filming began.
At the front, Wooju raised both arms high to the music. His arms rose like blooming flowers then descended with springy grace, leaving a slow afterimage in the eye.
“Oh....”
Seeing Wooju smile confidently at the camera drew staff admiration.
Ring the bell
Let the sound spread far
Lip‐synching the lyrics, his shining eyes beneath thick brows left a strong impression.
“Good job.”
“Wow, so good....”
When Empire’s intro ended, the lead vocalist turned and walked to the back. His fluttering costume caught our eyes. Then the sub‐vocalist stepped forward, moving hands and feet freely to the fast tempo, yet every angle was precise.
“Oh.”
To each side of the sub‐vocalist, Junhyun and Biju showed the same moves. The three lines converged back into one. Biju emerged making finger‐pistol shapes, then smoothly waved hands across.
Someone whispered, “Biju really dances well.”
Fittingly, he was the ace on dance‐competition shows. His near‐right‐angle moves felt supple, like silk that leaves no crease when folded and unfolded—unlike paper that bears a fold’s mark.
After his solo, Biju stepped back with a shy smile, and Ri Hyuk walked forward. After a light‐clap with Biju and a small grin, Ri Hyuk’s gaze sharpened and he moved both hands:
Now once more
The crown given to me
I reclaim
As main and lead dancers backed him on each side, the rapper strode out for the chorus, undulating waves while other members shifted behind, bodies weaving complex paths side to side.
“Did they prepare this?”
“Doubt it...?”
Though it seemed improvised, there was no hesitation. But the feel was different from NewBlack’s Empire choreography.
After filming, the assistant director asked, astonished, “You did so well. Did you practice this beforehand?”
“Oh, this,” Wooju wiped sweat from his brow and smiled. “This was one of our earlier Empire choreographies.”
“Oh....”
The leader looked back. “Which number was it? Final-27? Or Final-32_Final?”
“Final-32_Final, I think.”
“That’s right.”
Staff, like office workers, felt a kinship with the choreography’s naming. ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) In any case, the mood was great. Just posting this on MyTube would send fans overseas into a frenzy, and the performance itself was strong.
“Great work, everyone! Haha!”
“Not at all. Now the real work begins.”
Right. Now it starts. This relay dance would attract interest—
“Pardon? It starts now?”
“Wasn’t our rehearsal done?”
“Uh....”
The assistant director faltered. Indeed, something was off: the members were stretching again as if warming up. Suddenly, images of mentors removing watches on On The Spot flashed in his mind, overlapping before him.
“....”
He realized something was wrong.
Thursday evening. Soufflé fans, having watched Empire’s first music‐show performance online, returned to the internet to gush—
“A video of them on K-Net’s relay dance is up!”
Relay dance? Fans clicked the link. A video appeared: NewBlack in black stage outfits lined up against the bright background. Music began, and choreography flashed. “Wow....” It was a different pleasure than a standard performance video. Free from mistakes, moves seemed bolder. Moments of high‐fives and eye‐contact smiles caught the eye.
“They really get along.”
Except for rumors about discord with the main vocalist, they moved together seamlessly. Fans posted comments:
“Wooju: classic / Biju: soft / Ri Hyuk: neat+point / Jiho: flair / Junhyun: Kim Junhyun”
“What am I doing watching NewBulbaek home shopping and now this..?”
“I joined the fandom through bulbaek show”
“At 02:17 Ri Hyuk, I’ll be your only fan—everyone else, please step aside”
“This is so addictive lol”
“Apparently for Jiho’s exam grades, Wooju made another ‘no‐exam‐allowed’ song”
“But this choreography matches the performance vibe”
While fans enjoyed Korean comments, they glanced at recommended videos on the right and blinked.
“Is this an error?”
The same thumbnail repeated: Wooju bowing head slightly with hands together. The same dance, endlessly re‐uploaded. “Those K-Net guys....” But something else stood out: titles. After Empire came [Version 1.0], [Version 1.1], [Version 1.3], etc. Playing the next video revealed a slightly different feel. “How many videos...?” Nearly ten relay‐dance uploads. Watching the last [2.0], fans laughed. Normally they’d criticize the network, but this was too obvious:
“Imagine how the K-Net uploader reacted when told to post ten videos lol”
“Uploader: Pardon? How many?”
“lol thought they misread the email”
“I wonder how the PD felt asking NewBlack to film a relay dance”
“?: I wasn’t sure which Empire you’d like, so I prepared them all”
“An idol with only extremes, no median”
“But all are so good, nothing to discard”
Though the production crew had tearful reasons, NewBlack’s relay‐dance videos showed the desired impact. Idol fans praised [the group that showed the true meaning of ‘relay’ dance]. Comments included:
“This should be called a marathon dance, right??”
“lol marathon”
“Feels like relay race that never ends lol”
“K-Net will never film this again”
“By version 2.0, camera shake adds a vibe”
“Great promotion—didn’t even know this existed”
“But they all dance so well—truly pro idols”
“Yep... because they really are pro idols”
Even those eager to criticize the main vocalist’s dance skills were speechless, feeling a quiet pride. Studying online response, a soufflé fan heard sounds from the living room.
Whoosh.
“...!”
They rushed out to find Dad opening a Styrofoam box. They heard something being placed inside. Sure enough, Dad held a box cutter and the character logo band around the NewBulbaek container was half‐cut.
“Hey, this arrived from home shopping. I’ll put it in the fridge—”
Laughing, Dad almost destroyed the container. The fan realized they’d forgotten to tell the family “Don’t damage the band!”
“Dad!!!”
“Why... why?”
“Aigoo, agh! Ah! Ahh!”
Dad, confused by his daughter jumping and sobbing on the floor, now had the band completely severed. On the first day NewBulbaek deliveries began, similar scenes played out in soufflé fans’ homes nationwide.
Our first week of album music‐show performances ended smoothly. After K-Net, PBS and TBC shows also wrapped successfully; Sunday’s show was replaced by a special NewBlack TV stage instead of HBS.
“Ooh....”
Every time we checked views, we marveled. Perhaps skipping music shows and only posting MyTube stages was even more advantageous.
“Deoksun ahhhh~ Deoksun ahhhh~”
I crooned and rolled on my bed. Today was Sunday, seven days post‐comeback. We’d finished the Olympic Stadium Family Concert at DA Duty Free and returned to rest in the dorm. The maknae probably played games, Ri Hyuk organized books by decimal classification, Biju practiced dance videos, and Junhyun...
“....”
We never knew what Junhyun did—his room was always a mystery, full of surprises like a one‐meter cactus once. Now, while everyone took personal time, I lay on the bed checking my phone, heart pounding.
Soon, first‐week album sales figures would be released. Last time’s Falling Flower sold 360,000 in the first week. The top group, TeenSpirit, had how many? “Damn, that gave me three fucks,” I joked mentally. 18×3... 540,000? A search said 560,000 copies. I anxiously awaited our sales number—a key indicator. I resolved not to obsess over numbers, but as a pro, I couldn’t help it. Gazing at the moon outside the terrace, I clasped my hands.
“I’ll behave from now on. Sleep early, wake early, be kinder to the production team, scold Hyungseop less, avoid floral outfits, and care warmly for Ri Hyuk.”
Please let it turn out well...! As I looked at the moon’s kindly smile, my phone pinged. A message from Manager Seokhwan arrived with the image files I’d asked for.
“Whew....”
I took a deep breath, pulled the phone away, squinted, then tapped. A screenshot appeared. At that moment I gasped and dropped the phone onto my face.
“Ah!”
My gum bled, but I had no time to feel pain. I grabbed my phone, saw the numbers on screen, gasped, and bolted from my room to the next.
“Jiho! Jiho!”
Ouch—my gum! I ran to the maknae’s room, meeting his eyes with a wide grin.
Wang Jiho, wearing headphones and gaming, jumped in fright.
“Jiho! Hee hee hee hee!”
“Aaah!”
I burst in laughing, blood streaming from my gum, and continued the chase.
