I had a dream on the way from Gunsan to Seoul.

“Hyung!”

It was a dream where the maknae was chattering at the airport.

“Isn’t it so exciting we’re touring Jupiter this time?”

“A Jupiter tour?”

So we’d made it all the way to Jupiter.

Good for you, Sun Wooju!

I was basking in the joy of a Jupiter tour and about to go through departure when the maknae suddenly pulled a weird-colored passport from his jacket.

“Huh? Why’s your passport that color? It’s red.”

“You didn’t know? I’m Chinese.”

“Huh?”

“Why do you think my surname is Wang? Heh heh heh.”

I was reeling at Jiho flashing his red passport when his hair turned into twin tails like Nayun’s and started spinning like a propeller.

Vroooooom.

Jiho waved as he drifted away.

“Sayonara~!”

“Where are you even going?!”

The second Jiho vanished, Ri Hyuk appeared and confessed shyly.

“I’ve been pretending to dislike you, but I actually like you.”

“Aaaargh!”

“From now on I’ll confess my love for the members with no filter. The one I love and cherish most is...!”

I ran from the love-confessing fish and locked eyes with Junghyeon, who’d come to save me.

“Junghyeon. Help.”

“Hyung, I have a confession too.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m actually not strong.”

The “water muscles” guy suddenly turned into water, and Incheon Airport became an ocean.

Somehow it all smelled like alcohol.

Rain started pouring, and as I was paddling and sputtering, Biju floated up on a raft and held a hand out to me.

“Hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know my true identity?” 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Biju was saying something with his hand out, but I couldn’t make out a word.

And the dream snapped away.

“That’s the dream.”

I lay on the sofa describing it; the one at the desk filling out a chart lifted his head.

“Mm.”

Junghyeon held up an A4-sized opinion sheet with big letters:

[Nonsense Dream]

“In my opinion, it’s a nonsense dream.”

“Nonsense dream. Total nonsense.”

At Junghyeon and Jiho calling it meaningless, I sat up.

“But it’s been ages since I had a dream. My dreams always meant something.”

I racked my brain to find meaning and found nothing.

Whatever.

I scratched the back of my head, turned on the self-cam, and greeted Souffle.

“Hello hello! Today’s ! I’m here to ‘coach’ Junghyeon’s mixtape session!”

“Welcome, welcome.”

“Are you actually glad to see me, Mr. Junghyeon?”

“No.”

Jiho and I burst out laughing at the honest answer.

Today’s guests were Jiho and Junghyeon.

We shot my meddlesome-concept MeTube content.

First I gave kind, unasked-for advice to Junghyeon, who was kneading beats at the laptop.

“Junghyeon.”

“Yes.”

“Do we really think that beat fits...?”

“...”

I also helped the maknae with a table read for Season 2 of the web drama he’s filming.

He cleared his throat and spoke in a classical tone, miming tying hat strings in the air.

“What seems to be the matter?”

“Oh sir, disaster! A black ship’s appeared again. Those foreign ships have shown up again!”

“...I see.”

“It’s serious!”

We dug into the script with relish, and I asked questions as we went.

“So this season stays period the whole way?”

“Yes.”

Season 1 seemed set in the modern day, but Season 2 overall looked like old Korea—Joseon, maybe Goryeo.

The maknae explained,

“You know the story: an immortal being works with a secret organization and hunts down strange entities.”

“Right.”

“The writer asked how I felt about a prequel. How this person operated on Korean soil in the past, how he got tied to the secret organization way back when... that kind of thing.”

“Oooh, nice.”

“Honestly I love that it’s period-themed. We barely get proper period dramas lately.”

Period pieces are money pits.

That’s the real reason you rarely see them on TV these days—the cost explodes. And though the money goes in, it’s hard to cram in PPL, which eats a huge chunk of a drama’s budget.

In Jiho’s drama, NetPlus made a big, bold investment, which is how the period set shoot got greenlit.

“The setting’s great, but the script is the real deal.”

“Right? I told you our writer’s a beast.”

Even this one episode was gripping.

In the 19th century, “foreign ships” kept appearing off the coast for trade.

What if one of them was a Western ghost ship? The episode riffed on that idea—each time the ship appeared, strange incidents rattled villagers with fear.

“That’s when I snap my robe and take care of business!”

“...How very dashing.”

“I sound like a clown, but on set everyone keeps saying I’m insanely cool.”

“Mhm~”

“You guys really have to visit set once.”

We said okay—drop by when we had time.

It was an on-and-off shoot through the end of the year; we’d have plenty of chances to visit. Early September I’d have some breathing room; I’d go then.

We wrapped the table read and were finishing the shoot for when—

“Done shooting?”

“Yeah.”

“Hyung, then please help me with these.”

The maknae handed me a stack of scripts.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, HBS, PBS, TBC—you know those three terrestrial networks are holding one-act drama contests.”

“Yeah.”

“These are prize-winning scripts that haven’t gone into production yet.”

I figured he wanted me to pick, and I was about to call Junghyeon over—

“I already asked Junghyeon-hyung to pull the ones he had a good feeling about.”

“Good.”

“Now I need your advice.”

He spread the scripts over the table—looked like a bit over ten.

The corners were worn from a lot of reading.

“You’re going to do a one-act?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

I was a little puzzled.

One-acts are usually great opportunities for rookies.

With only one episode, the burden’s lighter, and because public interest tends to be low, lots of newcomers appear in them.

“You filmed last year, and Season 2’s on NetPlus next year.”

“Yup.”

“Do you have a reason for wanting a one-act?”

Curious about our actor’s motivation, I asked.

With what he was filming now, he could prove his chops and grab other chances.

If it was about public recognition, I felt he had plenty already.

“Yeah. I do.”

Seemed he’d thought through his future; Jiho began.

“So once Season 2 launches, I think people will be interested. I hear NetPlus is going to pound promotion hard.”

Record-high promo budget, apparently.

“So I’m not worried about name recognition. I’m thinking past that. Unlike you guys, people aren’t particularly curious about my solo stage.”

“What are you talking about. Why wouldn’t they be?”

Ridiculous.

The maknae grinned at my indignant face.

“I know you say that because you like me, but honestly, I have an objective view of myself.”

“...”

“As a solo singer, my merits are on the thin side. I’ve thought about it.”

Jiho said,

“So my conclusion was, okay, music activities are with you guys only. I’ll do everything possible in NewBlack. But then when I thought about personal activities, my brain got noisy.”

His thick lashes lowered, calm.

“Ri Hyuk has vocals, Junghyeon has rap, Biju has dance. You have... circus. Everyone has a specialty. Mine is acting, right?”

“Right.”

“So I want to start stacking my acting career little by little. Ten years from now I’ll still only be thirty.”

“...”

That “still only thirty in ten years” line annoyed me out of nowhere.

I squinted; the maknae giggled.

“Anyway I want to build slowly, and to do that I need a lot of opportunities.”

“True.”

“I think the opportunities will be there. You guys worked your butts off and built the NewBlack name. If I go, ‘I’d like a role,’ I can land parts anywhere.”

Also true.

“But I don’t want to do it like that.”

“On name value alone?”

“Yeah. I want directors and writers to think, ‘If we get Jiho, promotion will be easy,’ second—and first to think, ‘I genuinely want that guy in my project.’ Ratings are ratings, but I want a serious, ‘I need to use him.’”

“Then you should show range.”

He wanted casting directors to be saying, “Bring Jiho—he’ll blow up promo and nail the part.”

Following the maknae’s thinking, I asked,

“But won’t Season 2 of handle that? You can prove range there.”

“Ah, the role is... like that.”

“The role?”

“Yeah. He’s lived too long—his emotions are worn out. That kind of character.”

Our actor explained.

To appeal to industry folks, he needed to show a wide emotional palette; his character was limited.

He tapped the scripts.

“Honestly no one watches one-acts now, but the industry people do. This is a really good opportunity for me.”

“Mm...”

“I picked roles that look like they have breadth emotionally. You acted as Kim Wooju in that sitcom, so if you can advise me on which script to choose, I’d love that.”

His seriousness about his acting career pulled me serious too; I dug into the scripts.

I cut out melodramas that didn’t fit his age.

Cut thrillers about sociopaths and psychopaths and roles that were too sensational.

Cut things too fantastical or abstruse.

From what remained, I selected a shortlist.

“I think pick from these.”

“Oh, we overlapped a lot.”

He thanked me for the picks, and I smiled.

I’ve always wondered what he’s thinking; seeing this depth about his work felt good.

Maybe this is what grandpas feel watching grandkids grow on their own.

As I was warmly admiring him—

“Ah.”

I remembered something I’d forgotten.

I’d meant to say it earlier.

“Jiho. You’re going to build steadily for ten years and stack acting capital no one can dismiss.”

“Whoa. Thank you, hyung...”

“And then ten years from now, when your acting is at its absolute peak...!”

“Whoaaa! Acting genius King Jiho ascends?!”

“You go to the army.”

“...”

“Didn’t factor that in, did you~?”

I snickered, poking the bear.

“Congrats on your duty to the nation~”

“...”

“Fuming, right~? And there’s nothing you can do~?”

“...!”

The maknae, trembling, lunged at me.

“Get back here!”

“I can’t hear people who haven’t served yet~!”

“Hey!”

The door banged open; we could hear bickering in the hall.

—Hey!

—Why are you talking informal?

—Because I feel like it!

—Jiho-hyung~

—I’ll use honorifics now~!

Chuckling at a conversation with the exact maturity level of grade-schoolers, Junghyeon sat at his studio chair, pleased.

Mm. Got some good material.

Click—he jotted lyrics with the vibe of “after the sudden shower, the ground hardens,” a friendship tempered by conflict.

“Title is ‘Friend.’”

The mixtape album was taking shape.

July was already sliding to a close.

We’d done Singapore and Thailand, and we learned Southeast Asia in July is insanely hot and humid.

But the best part was the tour’s scale.

In Singapore, we played the National Stadium—the biggest venue there—to about 29,000 people.

In Bangkok, Thailand, we did Rajamangala Stadium for two days to about 46,000. It’s the largest venue in Thailand; I heard no Korean act has set foot there yet.

It’s the kind of stadium U.S. superstars like Hailey Blue or Mandy Spice use.

Local TV reporters were hyped.

“Your Rajamangala National Stadium shows sold out! How do you feel, NewBlack?”

“We’re so happy~! Today we really...”

“Really?”

“Feel like we have everything!”

Other than almost blurting “We feel like kings in the Kingdom,” it was a smooth tour.

The heat in Thailand was unbelievable.

In that giant stadium, fans did a slogan event and answered the stage—pure happiness.

You know the saying “Wooju lives at the supermarket”? If someone said “Wooju lives at the concert hall!” I’d answer “Yep!” Seeing tens of thousands of Dalbong and Wangbong lightsticks waving—an unforgettable sight.

I’m already excited for the encore concert at Sangam Stadium this year.

And—

“Ah. So good~”

Lately Biju’s been in a fantastic mood.

Don’t know why, but like some worry cleared; he looks fresh and buoyant.

“Biju looks really happy.”

“Isn’t it because I’m doing a unit with you?”

“Is it...?”

Not sure, but hey—good is good.

I stretched long and headed toward the subway car dressed with a distant green chroma key screen.

This was the Line 2 subway set.

Back in the 2000s, they pulled out a decommissioned train car for a film; because it’s identical to a real subway, dramas and movies love this set.

So we came here today to shoot the MV for METRO.

“Thanks for having us!”

Since the song title was METRO, the Seoul Metro rep on site beamed as he cheered us on.

While we rolled ankles and loosened necks, Mingi came over with a camera.

“Please explain today’s concept~”

“Yep!”

Wearing suits in varied styles—European, Italian, etc.—the younger ones and I flashed big smiles.

“Like our earlier ‘Nine,’ this is built on a hard-hitting choreography. The wardrobe evolved to ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) match.”

“The punks who were being chased in that MV have grown up. Adults~!”

“Each of us has a different suit style.”

Our TF team’s intention was a Beatles homage—the shift from leather jackets to suits when they hit America.

But done modern: a range of contemporary suits.

For example, I was in a dark striped suit right now.

Biju wore a lighter suit with a bow tie; Junghyeon had suspenders with a suit that fit his big frame.

The maknae wore a sharp blue suit with a tie that really worked on him.

“It looks like just a suit, but as you can see, it stretches reeeally well~! No ripping mid-choreo.”

The maknae did an indecently wide split; Mingi lifted the camera to protect our honor.

Biju smiled bright.

“Right, we dance hard in suits, then in the bridge we take off the jackets and do the choreography in shirts like this~”

“Lethal, right? We’re going to deal a critical hit to Souffle.”

We showed a bit of the chorus choreo and wrapped the MV behind-the-scenes shoot.

“One month left.”

“Yup.”

We huddled and shivered in place, hyping ourselves.

Ri Hyuk asked,

“Didn’t we say the press release for the English track goes out today?”

“Yeah.”

“Hope the reaction isn’t bad...”

“It won’t be.”

On the grandpas told us to “release an English song,” after all.

Still, given the topic, there might be some fuss.

Stuff like, “They’re releasing an English song! They’ve abandoned the Korean market! NewBlack is doomed! Doomed anyway!”—prayer-chain style.

We were going “Hwarrrgh!” together and hoping for the best when—

“Hm?”

A murmur.

Among our TF team on set, hushed conversations were buzzing.

Smiles on faces, but the content looked serious.

“Something up?”

Like parents smiling through a fight for the sake of the dog, they were talking in “bright” tones for sensitive ears.

I tilted my head at Seokhwan dialing someone and went to Manager Hong Seoyoung.

“What’s up?”

“Ah.”

Manager Hong answered evenly.

“TJ just did a surprise promo.”

“Sorry?”

“They put out a press release about Trickster’s English track. We were supposed to send ours today.”

We whipped out our phones at the news TJ Entertainment had thrown the first punch.

“Trickster to release new single on the 18th next month... ‘English track aiming for the global market.’”

An article dominating the top of the portal’s entertainment page was racking up comments with shocking speed.

Massive interest.

We stared wide-eyed at TJ Entertainment’s well-aimed strike.

Reading the article, it felt like they were saying to us, “We promoted before you.”

“Whoa...”

Our maknae lifted both hands to cover his mouth.

“Wow. This is so free real estate...”

The one who moves first gets hit the most.

Whatever their intent, they’d volunteered as vanguard and aggro magnet, leaving us speechless.

“Wooooow...”

The younger ones and I both raised our hands to cover our mouths.