It was 8:30 that morning.

In front of all the gathered trainees, I announced that the arrangement was complete.

“What did you say?”

Seo Ri-hyuk looked as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

“How did you do all that in one night?”

“I just did.”

“.......”

“Kidding. I tried it and it worked.”

He who’d been at a loss for words asked,

“You really did it properly?”

“You’ll know once you hear it.”

The maknae grinned and jumped in.

“If it’s a mess, it’s invalid. Snacks are on you.”

“Hey, is snacks your priority right now?”

“Why not, hyung? They say a ghost who dies after eating looks good, so of course food is important.”

While the maknae and the main vocalist bickered, Kim Jung-hyun and Kim Bi-ju, the seniors, discussed among themselves.

Something like “He already finished? Let’s just hear it first,” I guessed.

I took the USB Director Jo had given me and plugged it straight into the speaker.

I felt nervous. He said he’d done the computer work, but I’d never actually heard it. If I’d hyped it up and it suddenly sounded terrible—

“All right, I’ll play it now.”

They all looked doubtful. How good could a slapdash arrangement done in a day be? But as soon as the backing track started, the mood shifted.

At the clean introduction, Jung-hyun formed an “O” with his mouth. When he nodded, Bi-ju nodded too.

The maknae even stopped chewing his chocolate and pricked up his ears.

Seo Ri-hyuk listened intently as well. They all seemed surprised by the high quality, then immediately satisfied.

The first thirty seconds were the judges’ evaluation window. But once thirty seconds passed, the trainees fell into the song.

Two different songs woven under one theme. After verse one ended, it transitioned directly into verse two via a connecting melody. In that unfamiliar passage, the members tilted their heads in wonder.

“This is Jung-hyun’s rap section.”

They all nodded, especially the rapper Jung-hyun, who wore a huge grin—perfect melody for writing lyrics, he said.

When his rap finished and verse two began—constructed with ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) a different arrangement—they all listened with bated breath, then marveled at the seamless link.

“How was it?”

After the song ended, I asked for feedback.

“It’s incredible. At first I was skeptical you could do it in a day, but I didn’t expect this quality.”

“I love the rap part. It flows so smoothly.”

“Snacks aside, I love it too.”

They weren’t just praising me politely—they looked genuinely thrilled.

Thank goodness. I’d boasted, but I’d been nervous. It was my first arrangement in two years, made overnight; I’d worried about a bad reaction, but this was even better than expected.

“Well......”

Seo Ri-hyuk finally spoke.

“Let’s call the bet in your favor.”

“All right.”

“I concede because the quality is great.”

Ri-hyuk looked displeased but helpless—I smiled at him.

I had achieved my goal. Without citing age or trainee tenure, I’d earned their trust through my arranging ability.

“As promised, I’ll have full authority over the performance.”

I recalled my preplanned outline.

“First, let’s assign roles.”

Choreography would be created by main dancer Kim Bi-ju.

Vocal directing by main vocalist Seo Ri-hyuk.

Rap by our sole rapper, Kim Jung-hyun.

“And what about me?”

“Uh... well.”

Looking at the wide-eyed maknae, I hesitated. I couldn’t say he was useless. I couldn’t tell a growing seedling something negative, so I thought up a positive role.

“You’ll be in charge of supplies.”

“Huh? What’s supplies?”

“Make sure nobody’s blood sugar crashes—snacks.”

“Oh, I’m confident in that.”

The maknae nodded as if begging to be entrusted.

“Ah, Woo-joo hyung.”

Bi-ju rummaged in his bag and pulled out a spiral notebook labeled Practice Notes. Flipping through pages of cramped writing, he opened to the middle and showed me.

“What’s this?”

“After hearing your plan yesterday, I sketched a rough choreography outline. If we haven’t assigned parts yet, what about this?”

“Really? Let me see.”

Over several pages, stick-figure drawings mapped out movement paths. The drawings were crude, but the intent was clear. I looked at him with fresh respect.

“You made this in one night too?”

“Yes.”

“You’re amazing.”

I meant it. When I was at TJ Entertainment, I’d helped choreograph for group evaluations, so I knew how hard it was. And he’d done it overnight—plus the quality was impressive. No wonder he had dark circles: unlike the others, instead of sleeping at home, he’d stayed up alone to create this.

“All right, then let’s go with this......”

As I was about to continue, I paused. Something felt off about Bi-ju’s choreography distribution. It was so natural I hadn’t noticed.

“Wait—didn’t I share the part assignments yesterday?”

Part assignments. In a group performance, you first decide who sings which section, then choreograph accordingly. I pulled out my phone’s saved part-assignment outline and compared it to Bi-ju’s choreography distribution—and gasped.

“Wow.”

“What’s up?”

The curious maknae chimed in.

“Look.”

I showed my phone, and the four crowded around. Like me, they flipped between Bi-ju’s choreography distribution and my part assignments. Then they blinked.

“What the—why are they almost identical?”

Bi-ju’s choreography distribution matched my part assignments nearly 90 percent. A near-impossible coincidence. Unless they’d shared telepathy, it was absurd that Bi-ju, alone in bed, and I, in the practice room, had the same frequencies of thought.

“.......”

In that moment, we all felt a strange certainty—like the omen just before a huge success. Everything was clicking into place. We all nodded silently to each other.

“Then shall we proceed as is?”

At my question, everyone nodded. In less than a day, part assignments, choreography distribution, and role assignments were settled. In other words, the basic framework was complete.

“By the way, what shall our team name be?”

“Team name?”

Bi-ju smiled.

“When agencies compete together, we perform under a team name. Since we’ve added a member, we want to change it.”

“What was it before?”

“Lemon Boys.”

Why did my face flush?

“That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Odd is an understatement. Who came up with it?”

“The CEO.”

“Actually, it’s not bad once you hear it again.”

My quick turn made the trainees giggle. Even temporarily, picking a team name was tough. Suggestions like Devils, Yellow Green, Five Star flew around, but none stuck. It was like choosing a late-night snack: you need that perfect craving-grabber, but nothing felt right.

“Let’s just pick one for now. It’s temporary anyway.”

“How about Five Star?”

“No, Jung-hyun.”

I shook my head at Jung-hyun, who’d insisted on Five Star. He fell silent under the others’ cold refusals. Seo Ri-hyuk delivered the knockout.

“Go with Five Star, then.”

“Really?”

“I can quit if I hate it.”

“.......”

Even after arranging, assigning parts, and choreographing, choosing a name was this thorny. While we pondered, the maknae suddenly spoke.

“Woo-joo hyung.”

“Yes?”

“Where did you get that sweatshirt?”

“This? From K-Mart.”

I asked with a smile.

“Why do you like it?”

“Because nothing expensive fits me well.”

Muk-joo, sounding nonchalant, pointed to my sweatshirt.

“There’s writing on it.”

“This?”

“Yeah. What does it say? Jung-hyun hyung, read it.”

“Chicken is the new black.”

Hearing Jung-hyun’s fluent English, I looked at my sweatshirt print: “CHICKEN IS THE NEW BLACK.”

Ji-ho said,

“How about ‘New Black’ from that?”

“New Black?”

“What do you think?”

Every name suggestion had been shot down—but this time, there was no objection. It was neutral enough. I even googled it to ensure no odd meanings—it was fine. “The New Black” means the new trend in English.

“Then who agrees on New Black?”

At my question, everyone raised a hand. Our temporary team name “New Black” was set.

Now, only practice remained.

December 2013.

While everyone busily wrapped up the year, we too plunged headlong into year-end evaluation preparation. Fortunately, every member of Team New Black excelled in their role.

“All right, let’s review the choreography.”

Bi-ju presented choreography that wowed us in just a few days. It might’ve lacked professional polish, but it fit our style perfectly. However, its high difficulty meant that, except for me, the others were falling like flies day by day. Especially poor lead vocalist Ri-hyuk, whose complexion grew paler by the hour. Yet in his element, he moved like a fish in water.

“I can’t hear your vocal tone, Bi-ju hyung. Do it like usual—you’re not projecting.”

“Sorry. I must’ve messed up my breathing at the start.”

“I’ll count us in again.”

His directions were scarier than any tiger teacher’s. At the slightest slip, sharp critiques flew—our skills improved by leaps and bounds.

“Hyung, want to hear my rap?”

Rapper Jung-hyun likewise delivered perfectly. His lyrics carried nod-worthy rhythms, and his flow highlighted the beat and rhyme. When his rap ended, the maknae scampered over like a medic to hand Jung-hyun chocolate—a heartwarming sight every time.

Thus, we each gave our all in our domains.

December 28th: the day of the decisive battle.

December 27th, the day before the year-end evaluation.

To hear her voice again after so long, I called my grandmother.

After a few rings, her brisk voice rang out alongside bustling background noise.

“Woo-joo?”

“Yes, Grandma. It’s me.”

“What are you doing calling at this hour?”

“When did I ever call for business?”

I laughed as I replied,

“I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Drives me nuts.” 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

“Again with the swearing.”

“You’re always doing things to deserve it.”

“You’re too harsh. I called because I missed you. This is how you treat me?”

I smiled at her grumbling over the line.

“Are you getting ready to come tomorrow?”

“I’m all set.”

“If you’re not feeling well, just rest at home. Why drag yourself all the way to Seoul?”

“I have to see it, don’t I?”

“Right?”

“Right. If I don’t come, you’ll nag me forever—‘Grandma, I was so hurt back then.’ How can I not go?”

True enough.

“Actually, I’d love for you to come see it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and I got you a gift this time.”

“What? You bought some nourishing cream again?”

“No, something else.”

I’d recently bought her clothes at the department store, but it was a secret until tomorrow.

“How about the nourishing cream from last month? You using it?”

“I’m cherishing it. It’s imported, so it’s good.”

Hearing her pleased voice warmed my heart.

“If there’s anything else you want, let me know. I got my contract payment this time—I’m rich.”

“You’re nuts.”

“I’m serious. I’ll buy all the cosmetics you want. Then you can go to the senior center and get date requests from grandpas.”

“You’re something else. If I were a guy I’d be sick of this. I worked so damn hard raising you—”

I’d chosen the wrong topic. My grandmother—like a rapid-fire talker—vented grievances about her late husband.

“Grandma, I should go now.”

“What? Are you tired of listening?”

“No, I have practice. The others are calling.”

It was true: in the hallway, the maknae trotted toward me like a puppy.

“See you tomorrow, Grandma.”

I hung up.

After the call, Kim Deok-soon sighed.

“Oh dear, that boy.”

She felt sorry for him, having to do so much at that hour. An idol—what could merit such fuss? She’d even been secretly glad when he said he’d quit. But he was doing it again.

‘What can you do? He’s the one weaving his fate.’

All her life she’d talked about idols, and here he was at last. Tomorrow was that evaluation thing. As she set out the outfit to wear, she applied skin care and suddenly remembered something in her dresser drawer: an old drawing.

In the second drawer lay a worn piece of drawing paper.

[2nd Grade, Class 1: Sun Woo-joo]

Below the rough handwriting was a picture. Under a yellow crayon spotlight, a little boy played piano and sang.

[Future Dream: Space Superstar]

[Teacher, I will be the most remarkable person in the world]

Kim Deok-soon gazed at it and prayed silently.

To Buddha in heaven: please grant my grandson great success this time.