Chris Kyle introduced the man beside him.

A sculpture-handsome guy in a polo.

"This is Jamie Holden. A face you all probably know..."

The handsome man said "Hi," and Jiho clapped a hand over his mouth.

"J-Jamie Holden."

A wildly famous British actor.

Multiple-time Academy Award nominee with a stack of box-office hits.

The last time he visited Korea, people had swarmed like clouds.

He was someone we’d seen plenty in photos and videos—known around Hollywood for impeccable manners.

But—

"..."

That wasn’t why I was startled.

"Hyung."

"Mm?"

Biju snapped me back.

"Say hello."

"Ah. Right."

I smiled and shook hands with the foreign actor watching us after greeting the others.

Just a regular human hand, but it felt surreal.

I grinned.

"I watched a lot of your films back in Korea."

"Yeah?"

"I loved Frequency."

Frequency.

A film about an NSA agent with amnesia blowing up the conspiracy around Congress and the White House.

It was the movie that happened to be on in the hospital lobby four years ago, when I’d blacked out after flipping a police officer by accident.

"Could you sign something? No—let’s take a photo. I need a photo to treasure."

While Jiho and the others chattered, thrilled to meet a star, I drifted into old memories.

The time I saved a grandpa pulling a cart and then lost consciousness.

Waiting at the hospital cashier in a fog and staring at the lobby TV—that movie.

"I’ve heard you’re huge lately. Before anyone else scooped you, I wanted to meet you through Chris."

The British actor smiled politely and pulled a signing card from his jacket.

"That’s actually why I asked to meet—my daughter Riley is a huge fan. Could I get an autograph?"

"Of course."

I drew a little spaceship into the signature, and while we were at it, we did a video call.

"Hi~!"

— Huuuuuuuh!

His little girl’s eyes went saucer-wide, and Dad’s face bloomed with a grin.

"Riley. I told you, didn’t I? I would find NewBlack."

— I’m dying! Dad you’re the best!

A kid who looked early-elementary hopped up and down, wailing with joy; we burst out laughing.

Ri Hyuk, revealed as her bias, smiled and chatted, and Jamie Holden leaned in to whisper in our ears.

"Please tell her to eat her vegetables, listen to Mom and Dad... and, uh, do her homework."

Parents are universal.

We smiled like fairies at the child facing a real-life Pororo.

"You have to eat your vegetables."

— Okay!

"If you listen well to Mom and Dad, you can buy our album."

— Right!

"And you have to work hard on your homework."

If this keeps up, we’re going to end up in a kids’ campaign.

Like someone newly converted to the Black Gospel, Riley swallowed tears and promised to be good.

When the call ended, Jamie Holden smiled.

"I hope my girl stays your fan for a long time. Ever since Kids’ Choice she listens so well."

He shook our hands and winked.

"I hear you’re up for Top Collaboration. I hope you win."

"Thank you."

Chris gave a see-you-later look and left with Jamie.

From the way they chatted, they were close.

While Jiho groaned over the photos he’d taken, Junhyun, who’d been staring at me, asked:

"Something up, hyung?"

"When I couldn’t sit the college entrance exam and ended up at the Galhyeon-dong hospital... that movie he was in was playing in the lobby."

"Oh. Really?"

"It feels weird. Brings it all back."

I smiled.

"If you’d told the me back then that the guy on the screen would show up saying his daughter is a fan, I would’ve called it nonsense."

"Mmm, I don’t think so."

Junhyun said,

"Knowing you, you’d grab your future self and refuse to let go—try to squeeze out more future knowledge."

"...Did you have to make me sound that evil?"

"It’s true, though."

Ri Hyuk slid in.

"Not just ‘give me future spoilers.’ You two would team up to conquer the future..."

"Would’ve been a riot."

They were teasing me on purpose to lift my mood, and I appreciated it.

Maybe because miraculous things kept happening, sometimes I wondered if this was all a dream.

But thanks to Ri Hyuk, I knew it wasn’t.

— Dreams don’t have tidy arcs like that. In REM sleep the scene transitions...

...Yes, I know. Very well.

So these days I often think:

"Life really throws everything at you."

"Doesn’t it."

Junhyun offered a bag of gummies.

"Gummy, hyung?"

"Thanks."

I took the sour American gummies and headed for our green room.

Time to work for real.

Camera rehearsal didn’t take long.

Three or four passes.

We spent more time syncing the dancers’ and actors’ entrances on Hayley’s side than our own.

"Practicing on a copy of the real stage really reduced trial and error."

I nodded at Jiho’s comment and took the phone Manager Jongwan handed me.

We watched the full flow—from Hayley’s set into {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} ours—to see how the camera caught everything.

Biju hummed.

"The camera work is definitely static."

To Korean Souffle, the framing would feel godlike—clean, deliberate.

Unlike Korean music shows or year-end stages, the default here captured full-body shots in a steady frame.

We were so used to busy, kinetic cameras that it took a minute to adjust—this is where you’d expect a close-up back home, but we got full-body.

"Let’s shift a bit right. What I thought was center isn’t center."

"I’ll adjust that next run."

"And you all feel that you’re a hair fast, right?"

Biju told us,

"It’s a nerve-wracking stage; fine to be shaky. But I can feel everyone’s rushed. Breathe and slow it down."

"Yessir~"

"We just have to do what we prepared."

Our performance lead gave the choreo notes; we nodded.

Then we walked over to Hayley, who was talking to her dancers.

She wore a sweet smile that didn’t quite hide her temper after a mistake.

"You know if this were another team you’d already be fired, right?"

Beaming as she joked... but the steam was visible even to me.

"I’m kidding."

"Haha..."

"I’m kidding this time, but next time I might not be."

Her team swallowed in unison with straight spines.

Hayley smirked and patted backs.

Maybe rehearsals had been too chummy; even I’d felt the screws a touch loose.

With the screws tightened, the next rehearsal was perfect.

"Do it just like this on the show."

"Yes!"

I admired how she marshaled a colorful, wild concert crew with crisp command.

She might grumble with a deadpan face, but in the job itself she was a senior worth learning from.

"Mm?"

Hayley snorted.

"That’s your ‘wow you’re amazing’ face. I know. I’m amazing."

"Grow up, Hayley."

"Dunno. Says the boys who freak out when couples grab each other’s butts."

Our American sunbae teased the Confucian boys, and we headed for the green room.

Rest up now.

At the red carpet time slot, we’d move out for photos and come back into the Grand Garden Arena.

When we reached the room—

"Seokhwan hyung!"

We ran into our math demon polishing his glasses.

Great to see our TF team lead.

"Flight okay?"

"Yep. I came straight after a meeting with the HBS director last night."

Smiling, Seokhwan scanned the new managers, Mingi, and Wonseok.

"I came to check if our on-site staff are doing things properly."

"..."

The new managers stiffened like soldiers in front of a division commander.

Even told to sit, their backs were ramrod straight.

While on-site lead Mingi reported progress, Seokhwan issued rapid-fire operational directives. Mingi had done fine so far, but with a veteran in the room, the pace doubled.

"Artist meet-and-greets? Coordinated?"

"Yes, in progress."

With superstar schedules so tight, even chats were brokered manager-to-manager.

While the interpreter, Mingi, and Wonseok hustled,

visitors trickled into our green room.

"Hey~!"

Big Morgan.

A burly Black rapper spread his arms, sunglasses on.

All "my man~!" like we were old friends... with reasons to be.

"The song I bought off you hit big."

He’d purchased the rights to that melody I’d hummed—"Allen Dale~"—on a talk show.

The collab track built from it did great.

His Harlem-thick English, Hayley said, was a persona.

— He’s crazy old money. His dad owns a hospital. Offstage he talks like a British aristocrat.

Basically Teen Spirit in reverse.

We posed with Big Morgan, then greeted Mandy Spice—the teen idol from Kids’ Choice we’d met before.

We shook hands with artists we’d only ever seen by name on the Billboard charts.

Vibes were: you guys are trending; let’s be friends. We got like four after-party invites in five minutes.

And—

"Whoaaa!"

A guest who made Junhyun yelp appeared.

A rapper in a sharp suit dripping with jewelry, gemstone rings and all.

Cold Brown.

One of the hottest rappers and R&B singers alive—every release hit the top of Billboard.

"May I—hug you."

"Of course."

He laughed and nodded at Junhyun’s stammer.

He was in a very good mood.

— He should be. The divorce with wife number four is going his way.

Hayley’s tips helped a lot dealing with stars like this.

We snapped V-sign photos with names we’d only heard, talked future collabs,

heard several "my daughter/son is a fan" stories.

One person left, another arrived—we barely had time to breathe.

Maybe that’s why—

"Time to move! We need to line up for the red carpet!"

Hearing we were off to the red carpet made me genuinely happy.

We got into the limo provided by the organizers, and I smiled at the kids dressed like true idols.

"We actually look like idols."

"Heeheehee!"

As FM radio played in the limo and we poked at random gadgets in amazement—

"Wow. Hyung, there are wine glasses in here."

"Gasp!"

"Oh? I think this might be a Korean car."

A Korean automaker must’ve been a sponsor; their logo was everywhere.

And—

— Kyaaaaaaaaaa!

— NewBlack!

— Wooju! Wooooooooo-woojooooo!

Before we even saw the carpet, we saw our fans taking over the street, and the usual jolt of shock lasted only a second.

"Huh?"

Something about the photo wall looked off from far away.

Sponsor logos on the backdrop.

"...Huh?"

We tilted our heads.

"Aren’t those all Korean companies? Starting with KG Group..."

"Y-yeah, looks like it."

"Huh? Why so many?"

The sponsor logos were packed with Korean companies.

Nearby, PBS, TBC, HBS cameras lined up like they were there to cover us.

"...?"

Something about this was odd.

Morning in Korea, just before 9 a.m.

In diners where customers were eating breakfast plates, or in places like Seoul Station and hospital waiting rooms, PBS2 was on.

A special PBS morning broadcast: <2017 Billboard Music Awards>.

The anchors kept up their patter.

— And now Cold Brown is arriving.

— A massively popular artist.

A lower-third popped up under the shot of Cold Brown on the carpet.

[Cold Brown]

An American rapper-producer. His recent single hit #1 on the Billboard Hot 100, among other dazzling feats.

While the critic and anchor bantered, a regular at a bean-sprout soup shop glanced from his bowl to the TV and asked the owner,

"When’s NewBlack coming on?"

"Dunno."

"I was going to leave after that, but they’re not here yet."

"Hang on. They’ll be on soon."

They weren’t the only ones watching the TV with that thought.

"Man. So Korean singers go to America now, huh? That place is super famous, right?"

"One of America’s big awards, apparently."

"And all those people are their fans."

Seeing the thousand-strong crowd filling the Las Vegas area gave everyone a weird sense of pride.

"I raised them on my viewership."

NewBlack had soaked into Koreans’ hearts like that.

Maybe it was that affection—

PBS pre-empted their usual morning show for a NewBlack-at-the-awards special.

PBS had even secured terrestrial U.S. broadcast rights for the feed.

"Ah, sweet ratings."

PBS master control staff gazed at the live ratings graph with serene smiles.

"Liquid honey..."

The numbers crushed competing programs; they wanted to dance in their chairs.

On TV, as the anchors and music critic chatted—

— Ah! As we speak! A thunderous cheer just shook Las Vegas!

— Thunderous indeed.

The patriotic hype lines.

Koreans froze mid-chopstick in restaurants and nudged their earbud volumes up in the subway.

"Wow."

As NewBlack’s limo rolled in, the area was wall-to-wall with our fans.

— These are all Souffle from the U.S.

— A fandom born from Wooju’s slip of the tongue—now global in scale!

— We’re so proud. Our NewBlack.

Kim Euiji, the elder-brother MC of hit variety Mister Producer and a former pro footballer, clapped happily.

In a picture-in-picture box, the headset crew smiled wide.

In the main feed, NewBlack stepped out of the limo.

— WAAAAAAAAAA!

For a second you’d think the TV volume was broken—the roar was that loud.

"Goodness."

"Americans are spicy."

"My word..."

A famous American star ahead of us in a dress turned back, startled.

We drifted out and waved to fans; the place went wild.

Koreans stared, dazed.

"What is even... going on..."

They’d heard NewBlack had some popularity stateside.

Heard we’d won a kids’ award.

But they hadn’t realized it was this many fans. Even a casual viewer could feel the heat.

People who’d grumbled that we were just picking up a trophy in America—and why pile on pressure with a live broadcast—revised their opinion.

"At that level... yeah, they’re really popular."

Photographers surged, shouting "Wooju!" "Biju!"

NewBlack smiled, waved, struck poses.

Broadcast crews waiting on the carpet rushed over with mics.

It looked like the buzziest story of the day.

We entered the venue.

"Wow..."

Koreans chuckled in disbelief.

Back to the studio: after a segment analyzing NewBlack’s recent rise,

the anchor beamed.

— Alright! We’ll cut here and see you soon for the main awards show!

— Please keep it tuned right here. Coming soon!

Then came our telecom ad... followed by a flood of spots from every domestic company we’d ever touched, even once.

Over forty ads slotted into the pre-show block alone.