The first day ended with an amazing samgyeopsal feast.

Although our musical styles meshed and the sessions were fun, the actual work took place in fits and starts—everyone had their own schedules. We had lessons of our own, and Senior Jang Sowon was busy with OST work for her upcoming drama. Still, whenever we met it was always a good time.

“Give it a listen.”

I picked up the acoustic guitar in the studio without thinking. My hands moved freely along the frets, playing the chord progressions I’d conceived in the dorm before falling asleep each night. At first my juniors stared as if watching monkeys in a zoo.

“Hyung, now you play guitar too?”

“I always could.”

“A new skill appears just when you’d forgotten the last one.”

Now, though, they listened to my playing as if it were perfectly normal—nodding, tapping their feet. Jang Sowon closed her eyes and focused on the supplementary melody I’d added. When I finished I asked,

“How about a topline progression like that?”

“Sounds good. Let me hear it.”

She took the guitar and immediately transposed my melody into a richer arrangement—of course it sounded far better coming from her. True to her professional reputation, she captured my idea in an instant and made it shine. After playing for a while, she grinned.

“Well? How’s that?”

“It’s incredible,” I said.

“It feels a bit like ‘Sunflower,’ right?”

“Exactly. I just added that touch of your sound to what you composed.”

“Yeah. Simple and acoustic really suits it.”

“Wanna play it one more time?”

I took back the guitar and started again. Watching us, my juniors reacted like a ping-pong audience—eyes shifting left and right, “Oh!” and “Oooh!” With that, the track came together, piece by piece, like building a ship: first the frame, then the planks, then finally the mast. Something took shape that way.

Working like this felt refreshingly different from the song-production process at a major label like TJ Entertainment—it was almost chaotic. We sat around trading ideas like neighbors at a block meeting: lyrics, melodies, tweaks. Lighthearted and playful, it had many advantages. In a fun atmosphere, no one hesitated to share ideas, and we could keep trying new things. It was a genuinely enjoyable experience—the first time I’d ever found the work itself fun. Whenever I’d get scolded by trainers in my lessons, coming here to create music felt like healing.

At the same time, though no one said it, we all sensed it instinctively: there was a favorable wind blowing.

Of course, it wasn’t all smooth. Time was our biggest enemy. Writing the song and lyrics was fun, but when it came to recording, the schedule was tight—Hwayi Ent had set an early February release date. That was the only real hurdle. Even though we practiced hard, the quality didn’t match our hopes, and the mood nearly turned grim. Jiho even ended up in tears under Sowon’s fierce “tiger teacher” reactions. But in the end, we completed the recording successfully. When we heard the rough final mix, we all looked uncertain. It wasn’t as good as we’d imagined.

Sowon smiled.

“Hearing it now, you think it’s lacking, right?”

“What? No!”

“It’s written all over your faces, you little rascals.”

She explained, “That’s because the mixing and mastering aren’t done yet.”

“Mastering?”

“In simple terms, it balances the track. Engineers correct subtle sound issues. It might not be a huge difference, but when you hear the final master, you’ll know.”

“...Okay.”

“You can look forward to it,” she said confidently. “It’ll come out so different you’ll barely recognize it.”

February 2014.

It was the evening before Something’s album release. Since it was Sunday—the only evening off we had that week—the dorm felt relaxed, almost like inmates enjoying a rare reprieve. Why did the prison analogy keep popping into my head? I banished the thought and opened my phone’s browser. Typing “New Black” brought up:

“Jang Sowon’s New Album ‘Wishful Thinking’ Imminent”

“Newcomers New Black Collaborate on ‘Something’”

“Who Are New Black, the Boy Group Working with Jang Sowon?”

There were plenty of articles, but most repeated the same press releases from Hwayi Ent and our company—maybe three or four distinct pieces in total. No comments, or at best a “Go Sowon unnie!” here and there. I scrolled through every mention of New Black, finding nothing new. It felt a bit disappointing—after all the nights spent agonizing over the melody, I hoped the song would achieve some success. Was that greedy for a rookie? But with Senior Sowon’s name value, maybe it could do well?

My thoughts churned as I turned off my phone and flopped onto the living-room sofa, staring at the ceiling. From the kitchen came the sweet, savory smell of dak-galbi. Biju, wearing an apron, stirred the pan with gusto.

“Smells amazing,” the maknae said with a grin.

“Right?” Biju replied.

“My dad sent the best chickens he had in storage. He said to share with my brothers,” she explained.

The chicken Biju was cooking had come from Jiho’s father, enough to fill the fridge completely: breasts, wings—so much we could eat well for the whole year.

“Jiho.”

“Yes?”

“What did your father do again?”

“He owns a chicken restaurant.”

“With self-employment so tough these days, is it okay he sent so much?”

“I don’t know.” Jiho shrugged. “My dad will handle it.”

I shook my head at his naïve confidence—his parents doted on him, after all. Three older sisters, and the only son. No wonder everything came easily.

Suddenly something struck my face.

“Hey!”

I sat up to find one of my underwear thrown at me.

“Who did that?”

“You know who.”

“Riheok?” I said, looking over to the mountain of laundry beside the sofa. Riheok sat there tapping his foot.

“Why are you resting when you should be folding laundry? Come help!”

“I am folding.”

“This?” he asked, holding up a crumpled shirt.

“It’s folded,” I said, plucking another garment off the pile with my toes and folding it in two quick shakes of my hands.

Riheok was speechless.

“That shake-fold thing—you really think that counts as folding?”

“Yep.”

“Haven’t you ever done chores before?”

“Lots.”

“Then why fold laundry like that?”

“If it’s not important, doing it roughly is better for your mental health. What’s the point? They’ll just be worn again.”

I grabbed another shirt and folded it with the same casual shake.

“That’s disgusting.”

“You see, Riheok,” I said, “some things are important and some aren’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you practice singing, you become better at singing. Practice dancing, you become a better dancer. Then your stage skills improve, your fans increase, your popularity grows. But folding laundry? If you do it diligently, you just become good at folding laundry—doesn’t help our work at all. So it’s about focus.”

Riheok followed my logic and concluded,

“So you just don’t want to fold laundry?”

“Exactly.”

He scowled and returned to refolding my “rough” laundry. Meanwhile the maknae kept lazily mopping the floor—each of us so different in our approach. I stretched and stood up, heading toward the kitchen to taste the chicken. As I passed, I saw Riheok still puzzling over how to fold an especially finicky shirt.

“Give it to me.”

“Huh?”

In three seconds I neatly folded the shirt as I’d done in boot camp for perfect creases, then handed it back.

“...What?”

Riheok stared at me dumbfounded. I smiled. Behind me I heard him mutter, “How did he do that?” I passed by Riheok and the maknae and entered the kitchen.

“Almost ready?”

“Hyung, perfect timing.” Biju greeted me.

“It’s nearly done—wanna try?”

“Absolutely.”

She handed me a serving spatula, and I tasted the chicken. It was beyond delicious. I nodded, gave a thumbs-up, and Biju turned down the heat.

“Jiho.”

“Yes?”

“Wake Junghyun up.”

Junghyun emerged from the living room, hair tousled. We four sat around the low table in the living area—there was no proper dining table, just enough space for the pan. We ate and marveled at the flavor.

“How is it?”

Biju beamed as we praised her. So did Jiho, proud to be the son of the ingredient supplier. As we ate, our conversation turned to February’s upcoming events.

“Can you believe our maknae is graduating middle school?” Biju said in wonder.

“Time flies.”

“When I first met him he barely reached my waist—he’s grown so much.”

“Don’t exaggerate, hyung. He was already tall back then.”

“Yeah, Junghyun was only a few centimeters shorter.”

I ate in silence—I didn’t know that history. Our maknae was already 175 cm at 17, with a baby face but a fully grown body.

“Now he’s taller than Riheok.”

“Hey, Biju hyung!” Riheok complained, looking like eating was ruining his appetite. Still, he seemed ever so slightly shorter.

I asked, “How tall are you two exactly?”

“I’m 175.”

“I went to the health center yesterday—174.6 for me.”

“Huh?”

Junghyun paused mid-bite.

“That can’t be—Jiho’s taller.”

“You’re not 175, are you?”

Riheok coughed. The maknae seized the moment.

“Then measure standing up, hyung.”

“No thanks.”

“Then I’ll assume I’m taller.”

“You two arguing over height—seriously?” I said, bumping fists with Junghyun.

The other two looked ready to revolt with pitchforks. Biju looked betrayed.

“You’re terrible, Kim Junghyun.”

“Yep, shortest of us.”

“Don’t you want chicken, seniors?”

Junghyun and Jiho had enrolled in an online university after graduation—because of Jiho’s military service. While they bickered, I turned to Jiho.

“Oh right, Jiho.”

“Yes?”

“What do you want for your graduation gift?”

“Me?” Jiho thought carefully.

“I don’t want a gift—I just hope our song does well.”

“Me too.”

“It comes out tomorrow—think it’ll do well?”

“Well...”

Suddenly we were all silent, staring at me like at a fortune-teller. Shouldn’t we ask Director Jo Gyu-hwan, not me?

“You have to let go of expectations.”

“I can’t.” Biju said with a wry grin.

“I keep feeling the need for compensation.”

“Our success isn’t up to us. Senior Sowon’s biggest hit, ‘Sunflower,’ peaked in the thirties. Even that was a huge success in the charts.”

Honestly, it seemed unlikely. Streaming drives chart rankings, and neither we nor Senior Sowon had fans on 24/7 stream duty. I wasn’t sure if our track—number three on the album—would chart. Unless we got lucky.

“Hey?”

The maknae, looking at his phone, suddenly shouted, “What the—?”

“What’s up?”

“Guys, look at this.”

He showed us an article on his screen. We all stared wide-eyed. On the eve of our release, the entertainment world was rocked by a bombshell issue.