How can I show everyone’s singing skills?

How can I create that opportunity?

As the leader, that’s what I had to figure out.

After three weeks of music shows, the feedback I’d compiled went roughly like this:

“The visuals are top-tier. Each has enough personality to go into acting.”

“Why is only the main vocal singing?”

“What are the others even doing? Is it because they can’t sing?”

“Is this just bundling the group for sale?”

This problem had existed from the start. The composition of “Something” was really just Jang Sowon and me. But once we went into recording, an issue emerged. With one female and several males, it felt off. So we unified the vocals to one person—Rihyuk. But by then, titling it “Jang Sowon × Rihyuk – Something” seemed awkward. We’d both contributed. Honestly, we hadn’t expected the song to do this well, so that’s how it happened. When our first music show appearance was confirmed, both agencies planned to send out only Rihyuk. But they met Sowon’s strong opposition—“I won’t do it like that”—and in the end we all appeared together. It turned out well, but it left people wondering, “Why do all those guys come out just to add harmonies and leave? Can’t they sing?”

A tricky situation. My guys can sing well. The problem was there was no chance to prove it. We couldn’t change our music-show repertoire just to show off their skills.

Lost in thought, Road Manager Seomingi glanced at me in the passenger seat.

“Are you tired?”

“No.”

“That interview was tough, huh?”

“The atmosphere was fine.”

It was my solo schedule after the music show: a joint-composer interview with senior Jang Sowon. Nothing special came up.

“There were a few awkward questions, but you get used to interviews. I was less nervous than the first time. And when tough questions came, Sowon supported me from the side.”

“Sowon did that back in Sugarfish too—helping the juniors.”

“And the reporter reacted well to anything I said. I thought they’d be harsh to a rookie, but they were very kind.”

“I think I know why.”

“What do you mean?”

“That reporter was a woman.”

Seomingi chuckled as if no further explanation was needed.

“If you don’t know, it’s fine. I just thought you looked tired from the interview.”

“I’m fine.”

I was about to tell him about my concerns—how to showcase NewBlack’s abilities—when I looked at him. He wasn’t even someone I’d known a month yet. Watching the street trees pass by, I laughed.

“Guess I’m finally relaxed.”

“You should be. Three consecutive first places—what else?”

“But we’re still rookies. We should stay nervous.”

Looking at him, I remembered something I’d forgotten and fumbled in my pocket.

“Hyung, today Sowon sunbae brought you a gift. She said to give it to you—from her fan.”

“Really? Where is it?”

“Here.”

Seomingi stared at my empty palm, blinking. What’s this? When I closed and reopened my hand, a piece of chocolate appeared.

“Ta-da.”

“Huh, what was that?”

“Magic.”

“You can do that?”

“I learned it on MyTube recently. But never had a chance to use it.”

It was a trick I’d picked up through my mimicry ability. Aside from dancing, it had no everyday use, so I practiced small skills like this. Handing him the chocolate, I saw his plain face break into a bright smile—like all his fatigue melted away.

“The manager said your schedule’s so busy you looked low on energy, so she asked me to deliver some chocolate. From a friend living in Belgium.”

“Then it must be from Lisa of Sugarfish.”

“Huh?”

“Lisa from Sugarfish—you know, the musical actress who quit and went to Belgium.”

Right, he was a big fan of Lisa. I laughed in disbelief.

“Shouldn’t she transfer to Hwayi Ent.?”

“Hmm, maybe she should.”

“Come on. She’s got to keep working with us.”

At my teasing, Seomingi grinned and focused back on driving. Streetlights flickered past like a strobe as the car moved.

10 PM.

We were heading back to the company.

“Can’t we go straight to the dorm? We have another music show early tomorrow.”

“I have a meeting with Director Jo today.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes, both of us are busy; this was the only slot we could find.”

Of course, the topic would be my question about showing our skills. I wondered what answer he would give.

Bzzzz—

Lost in thought, my phone rang.

– A-yo. Souffle man~

The maknae’s cheerful laugh came through the receiver.

– Did the interview go well?

“It did.”

– That reply was so halfhearted. The cute maknae calls and you answer like you don’t care?

“I’ve never had such a maknae.”

– Why not? I’m right here.

“I’m hanging up.”

– Wow, so cold. I raised you so well.

I laughed at his ridiculous lines.

“Hey, when did you raise me?”

– I fed you and put you to sleep. Hyung, don’t you remember?

“I kind of do.”

– Right?

“Yeah, I remember. Was it two weeks ago when you came to me saying you had no underwear and asked, ‘Pl... please lend me one’?”

– How’s your memory so good?

“It’s family trait. My grandmother’s even worse.”

To Seomingi—who asked, “Who are you talking to, Jinho?”—I just nodded. Hearing that, the voice on the other end suddenly grew gloomy.

– Did Manager hyung hear that?

“Yeah.”

– Please keep this secret. If the hyungs find out, they’ll milk it forever, especially Se Rihyuk—that viper....

“I’ll see how you behave.”

– Ahh.

“Who should I text first? Rihyuk?”

– Stop! Stop! Woo-joo hyung, some manners....

Listening to the maknae’s surrender, I chuckled. What a cutie. Talking with Jinho seemed to ease my fatigue.

“Why did you call? Are we having late-night snacks tonight?”

– Not today.

“Why not?”

– Rihyuk hyung says he might break out in pimples if he eats.

“Then you guys can eat without me.”

– Bijoo says no. It’s impolite to exclude someone when eating.

I guessed what was coming next.

“You want a snack, don’t you?”

– Yup.

“Text me your order. I’ll pick it up when we get to the company.”

– Love you, hyung~

As soon as we hung up, a message popped in listing instant tteokbokki, sausages, and snacks sold at convenience stores. I skimmed it and tilted my head. Strange. The menu was simpler than usual. All together it wouldn’t cost more than ten thousand won. These guys normally rack up nearly thirty thousand on snacks—what’s up with that?

Lemon Entertainment.

Past 10 PM, when everyone else had left, but the practice rooms’ lights would still be on. No time to rest. Music shows swallow up the whole day—from early-morning rehearsals to evening. And you can’t slack off on other practice. Even if you perform “Something” live, you can’t neglect choreography or vocal training. Try skipping stretching one day and you’ll see how rough your lines get. In that sense, NewBlack would return to the company after every music show to practice. Actually, that’s how it usually was.

“Why are the lights off?”

Tonight felt strange. Even the emergency lights glowed green; everything else was dark. Down the stairs to the basement, the lights were off too. As I carefully descended, I wondered if the power was out. I knew these stairs by heart from going up and down since last December, so I couldn’t slip—maybe my mimicry had sharpened my senses so I moved automatically.

The hallway was dark. Where were they? There were several practice-room doors—none had lights on. Odd. If the kids weren’t in the studios, they’d have told me.

Ssshh—

Something sounded ahead, like a cockroach scuttling fast. What was that?

Ssshh—

Now behind me. A wave of fear hit. Something felt off. As I tried to step back, something leapt onto my shoulder with a thunk!

“Aagh...!”

Before I could scream, my body reacted—just like the day of the CSAT when I awakened my ability and threw a police officer over my shoulder, the same motion flowed out.

Thud—!

I heard something fall to the floor. Then, in the darkness, something reached to grab me. Again, my body responded naturally. A move from the martial arts videos I’d watched on MyTube popped out: slipping. A boxing technique to dodge attacks by swaying your upper body. But my adrenaline spiked, so I grabbed the attacker’s arm and, like a judoka, threw them.

“Uagh!”

Uagh?

“Hey, turn on the lights! Lights!”

“Why?”

“Hey! Wang Jinho! If I say turn on the lights, turn them on!”

“R-representative, are you okay?”

With familiar voices, the hallway lights snapped on. I stood dumbfounded. A middle-aged man with a gentle, bald head lay on the floor clutching his waist. Director Yoon Seok-hwan was the same. Director Jo Gyu-hwan looked so surprised he was stuck to the wall like a chicken-shop magnet. And...

“What is this...?”

NewBlack’s kids, wearing party hats, stood awkwardly holding cake, eyes wide like startled rabbits. What was happening? I was just as flustered. No warning—what was this? I found the culprit who’d sent me down here on an errand.

“Wang Jinho, where are you?”

“...Yes?”

“Explain what’s going on.”

After helping the two men to their feet, I got the story. No need for words—the whipped-cream cake they held said it all: “Congratulations on three weeks straight at No. 1!” A surprise party. They’d planned a celebration for our three consecutive music-show wins.

I frowned and asked,

“Who came up with this plan?”

“The representative.”

“Wow, what a great plan.”

After a brief confusion, thankfully no one was hurt. Once music and congratulations were exchanged, the grown-ups handed us the ordered late-night food and left. Yoon Seok-hwan and the CEO hobbled off arm in arm—touching to see. As the kids wiped whipped cream off my face, someone offered me a tissue.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

Rihyuk said,

“You look a bit stunned.”

“Just surprised.”

“We should be the surprised ones. You almost sent the representative flying from behind.”

“He grabbed me from behind....”

Rubbing my sideburns in embarrassment, I saw Rihyuk’s face—a perfect “tsk-tsk.”

“Anyway, I was startled. Suddenly everyone’s congratulating me.”

“Why else?”

Our main vocal said gruffly,

“Since you composed it, we wanted to congratulate you out of gratitude.... ”

“Oh? You were grateful to me?”

“You need to say it for me to know.”

“It’s not mind-reading—you have to say it. Now that it’s come up, let’s hear it. Say thank you.”

“Tha—”

As Rihyuk started speaking, he bent to pick up a convenience-store bag that had fallen.

“Dried sweet potato slices. Thanks, I’ll enjoy them.”

“Hey.”

He darted off clutching the bag—and I burst out laughing. Bijoo approached, smiling as if to say “What’s the big deal?”

“Rihyuk’s bad at showing feelings.”

“He has a strange personality.”

“But the more you know him, the kinder he seems.”

Bijoo laughed at me.

“Come quickly. Hyung. There’s tons of bossam and jokbal. The CEO said not to worry about quantity.”

I saw Junghyun and Jinho setting out the bossam and jokbal on newsprint in the practice room—complete with fresh kimchi and bibim-guksu.

“Bijoo hyung, can I eat now?”

“Not yet. We eat together.”

“Wow, hyung’s like a communist...!”

Bijoo smiled and urged me forward.

“Um... Bijoo.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I can eat much—I have that meeting soon....”

At his sudden gloomy face, I changed tactics.

“Better to eat a bit first, right?”

“Great idea, hyung.”

His bright smile returned. As Bijoo led me forward, I thought: They’re all a little odd. One won’t rest unless we all do something together, another can’t sleep without taking off his shoes, one struggles to show feelings... and then the maknae... sigh. Seems like I’m the only normal one in this group.