Honestly, it’s not like I wanted to use an alias either.

“Ujuseon” is a pen name I’m personally attached to, so if possible I want to use it.

But putting Ujuseon on a Scarlet track felt wrong.

—Everyone! That song! Ujuseon made it~!

—Ujuseon?

—Ujuseon wrote it?

People should be going wow and clapping for Scarlet, but the second it’s known I wrote it, the attention will swing to me. That’s not ego; I can literally see that picture forming.

Even if Scarlet scores great results, people could brush it off with, “Oh, they just got a good song.”

“So, inevitably, I’m using the alias Kim Deokchun. That’s the story.”

Ri Hyuk raised his hand.

“Yes, Ri Hyuk.”

“Nothing about your face says ‘inevitable.’ If it’s ‘no choice,’ why are you grinning like that?”

“I’m smiling? Me?”

When I straightened my face as hard as I could, Junhyun lifted his phone in selfie mode to show me.

“......”

Why are my cheeks up like that.

At my fake throat-clearing, my brothers and Scarlet burst into giggles. I scratched my cheek, sheepish.

“Anyway, it’s inevitable. That’s the point.”

“I have a question!”

Daisy raised her hand.

“Go ahead, Nayun.”

“Did you get the portrait-rights holder’s permission!”

“Yes, she readily agreed.”

When I said I’d be dutiful with the royalties, our Ms. Kim Deoksun shyly said OK. Not for free, of course.

There was a little... very slight seasoning of swear words.

Hearing I had permission, my minions swallowed their disappointment.

“Too bad. We could’ve tattled to Grandma.”

“Okay, that’s it for questions.”

I wrapped up the intro to the temporary alias for Scarlet’s new song.

Then I turned to Scarlet, happily looping the track with blissed-out faces.

“Alright, everyone.”

“Yes!”

“I haven’t talked details with Director Cho Kyuhwan yet, so we’ll lock the schedule later.”

There were things I needed to say in advance here.

“Before we get into a real song meeting, there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

I addressed the girl-group members, all focused.

“You asked me for a new song because you want a concept change, right? To do a stage different from before.”

“That’s right.”

“For that reason, I want you to write the lyrics yourselves this time.”

“Us?”

I nodded.

“Yeah. You had reasons for wanting to try a new concept. You must have a message for your fans—put that honestly in the lyrics.”

Singers speak onstage.

Hitting year six, Scarlet must have had plenty on their minds. Probably the most common worry singers have:

—Is it okay if I keep doing the same thing? Shouldn’t I be doing something different?

Like actors fretting before a project, singers feel pressure every album.

Do we keep the musical color our fans love? Or do we show something new?

You’re bound to be torn between those.

Say an actor who’s only done similar roles suddenly plays something totally different.

It can broaden the range with a dramatic transformation—or it can become neither here nor there as a hasty image change.

“Sure, the public is important, but in the end, our most important listeners are our fans. If you pour the worries you’ve carried and what you want to say into the song, that’d be best.”

They all nodded along to my serious talk. No clue why my brothers were nodding too.

Ara’s eyes shone calmly.

“Lyrics, got it. What else?”

“Well, you can hear it—it’s still a bit bare. Like a blank canvas with just a lone tree sketched in, no background.”

“......It wasn’t the finished version?”

“Of course not. There’s a lot to add.”

They stared with a hint of fatigue. I smiled.

“Anyway, we have to paint the background, and I want to put that in to fit the concept you want. Do you have anything in mind?”

“Hmm......”

The seniors fidgeted, hesitant.

Daisy, twiddling her fingers on her knees, spoke carefully.

“There’s one thing I’ve wanted to try for ages......”

“Yeah?”

“No, forget it.”

There are two ways to bait a person. One is stopping mid-sentence.

“What is it.”

“Ayy~ it’s nothing.”

“Say it honestly. It’s not some weird concept, right?”

“Right.”

What do they want that’s got her wriggling like that?

When I coaxed her gently, Daisy squeezed her eyes shut and blurted:

“Actually I want to do that...!”

“What is it?”

“A pure concept!”

For a second my face must’ve gotten away from me.

Ara smiled at me.

“Wooju, you just went dead serious, didn’t you?”

“Oh no, not serious. I just... thought for a moment.”

Meanwhile Daisy smiled dreamily.

“Pure... I really want to.”

“Nayun said it well.”

“Honestly we’ve tried this concept and that concept, but we’ve never done pure.”

“Right, right.”

The four nodded to each other.

At the seniors’ shy ambition to become pure fairies, I swallowed.

“First... let’s set aside whether ‘pure’ is even possible over a moombahton track.”

“Okay.”

“For you, ‘pure’ is a stretch.”

Their faces: you’ve got to be kidding.

Daisy pulled Rina’s face in close and presented it.

“That makes no sense! Look how pure my unnie looks...!”

“Mmmbl...”

“She says yes!”

Then the four, pushing back sleek straight hair to sell “pure,” made our five scratch our heads.

It’s not that it’s impossible.

But given Scarlet’s public image, wanting “pure” is like us wanting “sexy.”

“Nayun.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s skip why ‘pure’ is difficult for now and start with the backstory of your stage name.”

“My stage name?”

“Why is your stage name Daisy spelled Day-Z.”

“Because it means the day the world ends in a zombie apocalypse, Day-Z.”

And you’re still asking why “pure” won’t work.

No sooner had she finished than the members went, “Ah...”—understanding why not.

I found myself smiling like a kindly grandpa.

“Right. This is like us saying we’ll do a sexy concept.”

“Ugh.”

“Just hearing it makes you squirm, right? Imagine Ri Hyuk lifting his shirt to show abs. Imagine Junhyun putting on a sultry smile. Imagine Biju going lethal—ah, that one fits.”

“Oh... thanks, hyung.”

Grinning at Scarlet shuddering, I went on:

“Jiho would swipe a crimson lip, and I’d stand back-to-back with Jiho, dance, and throw a greasy wink.”

I winked; Scarlet went oh.

“That might be okay.”

“Not bad. You look a little handsome.”

“Feels like the old Sun Wooju.”

Sensing that example had backfired, I changed the subject.

“......Then let’s table the concept for later.”

“Okay.”

They were half-joking anyway; “pure” wasn’t a real ask.

Right now Scarlet’s image is luxe and elegant.

It could work to use a charisma-based concept built on powerful dance, or a diva concept used by female soloists.

But an image change has to be grounded in the existing image.

Of course they know this best—they self-produce like we do.

They’ll land on a conclusion soon.

“Um.”

I was about to adjourn and take my minions when Rina quietly raised a hand.

“I’ve got one more question, composer.”

“Yes.”

“How about... sultry, sticky sexy?”

“......”

Ara, Bom, and Nayun started clapping.

“Whoa! Sultry sexy!”

“When you say sexy in showbiz, you mean Scarlet.”

Watching them titter that it’s perfect gave me déjà vu.

They’re hyping themselves up, and the onlooker narrows his eyes like a Tibetan fox.

Ri Hyuk laid a hand on my shoulder as I stared blankly.

“This is called mirror therapy.”

“......!”

Behind the four, our own images shimmered like sprites.

“Were we like that? Not listening to a word and just clapping....”

“Ayy~”

“No way~”

“C’mon......”

“......”

“......”

A day that made us reflect briefly on our usual behavior.

After the meeting with Scarlet.

—I heard from the members. You brought an amazing new song. I’ve never seen Rina that excited.

“It wasn’t that huge.”

—Thanks, Wooju.

“If you’re thankful, how about meat~?”

—chzzzzik chik... Wooju? What?

Director Go Gildong did static-noise SFX with his mouth, so I showed him Dooly’s might.

“If you do vocal SFX like that, Zzzzzz... works better.”

—......Got it.

“I’ll send you a MiTube link.”

So I talked through the song with Director Cho over phone and email.

Meanwhile, we did two days at Sydney Entertainment Centre for twenty-four thousand fans.

We also did radio and TV talk shows in Sydney.

[Yes! The creators of the “Pyeongchang Dance” that’s hot right now! Global superstars NewBlack are here!]

[Hello! We’re NewBlack~!]

[A club in Sydney threw a party with about six hundred of your fans, and they danced the Pyeongchang Dance. Did you hear?]

[Goodness... thank you.]

We spread the original Pyeongchang Dance, that bastion of advanced culture, and batted away clout-chasing questions as we worked.

Maybe enough time has passed since the Billboard Awards—our overseas positioning feels set now.

Like “a boy band popular all over the world.”

Well, the thousands of Souffle gathered outside the station probably guaranteed good treatment......

Time scooted along.

“Wow. It’s already July.”

“Time flies. Five more months and I’m a year older again......”

“Ugh, hot.”

Coming back from Australia, where it was midwinter in the southern hemisphere, we hit cicada season—wheeee-ehh.

Summer.

As people’s clothes thinned out, I felt the season.

Team Lead Na Sangyun, in a Hawaiian shirt, said:

“We should’ve gone to song camp in weather like this. Hit the sea and splash in.”

“Right? Should’ve picked our dates better.”

I gave the composers, who were bantering, a fresh smile.

“Secretary Bi.”

“Yes.”

“Book next year’s workshop for the height of summer at the beach.”

“Oooo!”

“At Marine Corps boot camp.”

“......!”

The producers snapped upright and sat politely.

“Yes, Composer Ujuseon. We lowly worms have finally completed METRO.”

“You’ve worked hard, my lords. Strike up the band.”

We listened to the track the composers finished, clicking in lockstep.

“Oh......”

At the maknae’s breathy exhale, we chuckled quietly.

Hard.

The vocals aren’t easy, and thinking of piling brutal choreography on top already set my chest on fire.

“I’m so happy.”

We all looked at the main dancer, palms to cheeks, thrilled.

Biju grinned.

“What about choreography? We could hire an overseas choreographer, or... do a song-camp style thing for dance, too? A dance camp.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“Right?”

“But... can we gather dancers?”

If it were just a commission, sure.

But to host that kind of event, people have to come. Overseas, Clay spread rumors about “monsters in Korea that drain human life force.”

At home, last year’s dance-competition show with Biju gave dancers a taste of Biju flavor (feat. nuclear spicy chicken).

“......True.”

I laughed at our second’s shadowed face, then flashed OK to the tense composers.

“Proceed as is.”

“Thank goodness......”

“Anyone would think I demand revisions every time~”

I flashed a sunny smile at the producers cursing me with their eyes, and we set recording for a few days later.

We planned to drop our first English single on the last Friday of August.

The schedule’s tighter than expected—record, rehearse choreo, and shoot the MV at month’s end, and it’ll fit.

“Ah.”

As he was seeing us out, Team Lead Na Sangyun seemed to remember something.

“Did I tell you? We’ve got a wave of new composers joining the company.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. A lot of folks from song camp applied. Composer Yoo Ung is coming too.”

I felt a little alarmed.

“He’s actually joining?”

“Yep.”

“......Why?”

“That’s a mystery to us, too. I guess song camp left a big impression. They’re full of good feelings for you.”

One producer joked that life’s a comedy from afar and a tragedy up close, and we laughed.

“The more vet...eran composers, the better.”

“Exactly. The more la...bor power, the better.”

“Kkrrrk!”

“Hahaha!”

We traded wicked smiles and high-fived the producers.

This summer, after North American and European tours, we had our biggest-ever Asia tour ahead.

Busy season, but oddly relaxed days.

No big reality shoots or MiTube content, so it was a good time to handle personal schedules.

“See this? I’ve got this many feature requests. And this many OST offers.”

Ri Hyuk puffed himself up over a mountain of offers.

“See? So be nice to me.”

“Hyung.”

The maknae spoke in that “however” tone.

“But would you be getting this many offers without the ‘NewBlack’ title?”

“......”

“Would NewBlack be what it is without Ujuseon’s songwriting?”

“......”

“Muahaha! I beat Ri Hyuk hyung with words...! Aagh! Why hit me? Because you can’t win with words—aaagh!”

We laughed at our two youngest trading powder-puff punches, then checked our personal schedules.

Biju had OST offers and requests to guest on various lifestyle shows.

Junhyun had a mixtape in the works and feature requests from other rappers.

I was producing Scarlet’s new song.

Personally, I was putting weight on it—I wanted to land a girl-group hit.

I’d heard this here and there:

—Feels like Ujuseon can’t write for girl groups.

People think that way because girl-group and boy-group colors differ.

Aside from something like “Something,” most songs I’ve written were for guys.

A project group last year, A10—middle-aged boy group. Taehyun—a male solo.

I’d always wondered, “Can I really write for a girl group?” So I want to prove it properly this time.

A new personal goal as a composer.

And then—

While we all huddled, debating which schedules were wise, the maknae poked his head out.

“I decided!”

“Already?”

Biju looked a bit put out.

“At least talk it through with us first.”

“What’d you pick, Jiho?”

We felt this vague hurt at the maknae deciding solo.

He held up a proposal.

“Gods Season 2 and a special.”

“That horror web drama from last year? With the ping-pong-ball goddess? Ah, goddess—ghost.”

I slipped because those four keep calling themselves goddesses.

We thought of last year’s MiTube web drama Gods, a collection of uncanny tales. The maknae said:

“They sold the remake rights this time.”

“To who?”

“Netplus. It’s going to be a Netplus launch K-drama.”

The hurt at him deciding without talking melted away.

“If it’s Netplus, you go.”

“Agreed.”

Netplus Korea, keen on entering the market, must’ve concluded “NewBlack name value + the writer of genre hit Sleep = slam dunk.”

The maknae giggled, “Nice, right?” and added:

“The shoot will be a little tight, but we’ll film bit by bit this year and launch in the first half of next year.”

“Great job, maknae. Rejoin the blob.”

We tucked him under the blanket and patted him, then were about to resume the meeting.

Junhyun smiled contentedly.

“We do have the tour, but it’s been ages since we had this much breathing room. Normally we’d be dying doing it all at once.”

“Right? So nice.”

“I’ve really got a good feeling.”

“......”

He blurted the magic words, then clapped a hand over his mouth.

A chilly silence.

Biju’s face tensed.

“I-it’s fine. It hasn’t been three seconds yet, so take it back. Quick, say you don’t have a good feeling!”

“Yeah! Hyung, hurry!”

“Does that make sense? It’s not the three-second rule for food on the floor.”

Just as Junhyun was about to say he had a bad feeling—

Knock, knock, knock.

“......”

“......”

An ominous knock.

The door opened and our TF team lead rushed in, flushed.

“Guys!”

“......”

“Hm? Why the faces?”

“It’s nothing......”

“I’ve got incredible news. Maybe heaven heard you complaining you were bored—America called.”

“......?”

Seokhwan hyung beamed.

“You’ve been invited to perform at the VMAs!”

“......”

One of America’s Big Four music awards—and a stage that takes a solid month to prep. The kids and I burst into tears.

As if he’d expected it, Seokhwan hyung smiled.

“And that’s not all.”

“Huh?”

“After Kids’ Choice, Teen Choice Awards sent an invitation too!”

Tears gushed at the avalanche of schedules.

“Uhuuuh!”

“Feels good, right?!”

“Uhuuuuuuh!”