The 8th “ChajaDream Concert” in 2014 was crowned with a finale in which every performer joined in song.

As composer Ha Seung-ju played the piano, the singers each took turns delivering their assigned lines.

The audience waved a rainbow of light sticks.

Idol singers waved back at the crowd.

With every single line we sang, the atmosphere at the venue grew more electric.

We, too, sang our brief line and waved toward the audience.

Looking out over the vast concert hall, my heart pounded.

I wanted to bring all the people I care about up here and share this scene, this feeling, exactly as it was.

The stage formed a semi-circle around me.

Tens of thousands of lights sparkled like the Milky Way.

Fans waving light sticks, fans chatting with the person beside them, fans cheering wildly—all merged into a single heat that surrounded us like a curtain.

And the moment that heat met the song I was singing, a magical rush of emotion swept over me.

Goosebumps climbed up my neck.

All the complicated thoughts vanished, and pure joy filled my head.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to me.

Someday I—or rather, we—want to stand on a stage like this, too.

We want to gather with our Soufflé and sing our own song together.

That desire flared inside me.

After the performance ended, we wandered around with flushed faces.

The concert was over, but our work in the industry was only just beginning.

We greeted the stage staff, the senior artists, and even the general director with a nod and a bow, stamping our presence on each of them.

In the hallway, we bowed to every passing crew member.

“Thank you for all your hard work!”

Of course, we weren’t the only ones doing so.

All three rookie groups who took part in today’s concert were giving the same courteous greetings.

Blink.

We ran into the five-member girl group coming out of Teen Spirit’s waiting room, meeting them right at the door.

Following the usual protocol in music-show hallways, we cheerfully greeted them.

“Hello.”

“Oh, yes... hello.”

The Blink members smiled awkwardly, bowed their heads, and hurried off.

What was that about?

Usually, in the hallway after a music show, they’d stop us for a chat that could go on for five minutes.

I glanced at Joong-hyun, who cocked his head in confusion.

“What’s up with that? Didn’t they always come up and talk to us at the station before?”

“Must be because of the commercial,” said Ri-hyuk, and we turned to him.

“A commercial?”

“They both shot the EverDream uniform ad. We did the boy-group cut, they did the girl-group cut.”

“Ah...”

Only then did it make sense.

“They filmed exactly the same thing, but one got slammed with hate, and the other got all the praise and attention. Honestly, it’s infuriating. Not that we would’ve acted differently, though.”

We’d seen that kind of thing all the time as trainees.

You become close with someone who joined on the same day, then as soon as the monthly evaluation scores come out, things get awkward.

I guess they found us awkward now.

We knocked on Teen Spirit’s waiting-room door and greeted the members, who were busy packing up.

Despite their hurry, they welcomed us warmly. “We’re so glad to see you,” they said.

Since the incident when we were late to an event, they’d been exceptionally friendly.

After exchanging greetings, we ran into another rookie group.

Street Boys, a nine-member hip-hop-style idol group.

Their heavy eye makeup was striking, and every step they took made their gold chains jingle.

“Hello, we’re Street Boys!”

We had no idea why they bowed so deeply to us, but we returned the bow in kind.

Their leader, Han Jo, pretended to recognize me.

“Wow, it’s been a while. I don’t think we’ve seen each other since last month’s event. How have you been?”

“I’ve been busy, but good. How about you?”

We exchanged a brief catch-up.

Surprisingly, conversation flowed more smoothly with our old rivals, Street Boys, than it had with Blink.

We’d each drawn a clear boundary, so it was comfortable to keep our distance.

Their members were polite too, but it didn’t feel awkward.

At that moment, our maknae, Yoon Ki-won, stepped forward with drinks for our main vocal.

Ri-hyuk took the drink with a practiced smile.

Watching the scene, our maknae Ji-ho sniffed suspiciously.

He kept looking back and forth between Yoon Ki-won and Ri-hyuk as if something about it didn’t sit right.

What was that about?

I tried to mimic his expression, and caught Han Jo’s eye.

“......”

It felt like two mothers watching their kids at kindergarten glare at each other with silent understanding. Maybe it was just me.

Han Jo cleared his throat awkwardly and changed the subject.

“We hardly get to see each other after music shows, but somehow you look familiar. Your faces keep appearing here and there.”

“So you’ve been following our news?”

“Our director updates me every day.”

I remembered the face of Street Boys’ director from the radio—he was always keeping tabs on us.

Han Jo forced a laugh.

“I’ve heard a lot. I heard NewBlack’s getting a uniform ad, that it’s airing for Chuseok special, that there’s a documentary coming. I probably know more than the folks at Rollcake.”

“We’re Soufflé.”

“Oh...”

We locked eyes, then burst out laughing.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, each of us was led away by our road managers.

As they waved, they said,

“Congratulations on topping the real-time search chart.”

“Thank you. I hope your upcoming album does well too.”

With that, we left the concert hall.

The parking lot, now emptied out just as when we first arrived, greeted us again.

Though it was night, the late-August heat still pressed down.

We each fanned ourselves with handheld fans when two of them started squabbling loudly.

“Hey, give it back!”

“Let me have it, hurry.”

“Why?”

“It’s suspicious. You’re giving him a drink.”

“I gave it because I was grateful for what happened before.”

Ji-ho narrowed his eyes.

“When were you ever thankful enough to say thanks until now? I’ve never seen anyone so indebted.”

“You mean it should be ‘grateful’ or ‘polite,’ you language destroyer.”

“Anyway, there must be some ulterior motive behind giving our hyung a drink.”

Ri-hyuk scoffed at our maknae’s conspiracy theory.

I clicked my tongue.

“Do those two ever stop fighting? They did it yesterday too.”

“Fought yesterday?”

“You didn’t see it? They came to hang out at the studio and argued over how to eat sweet-and-sour pork—dipped or poured sauce.”

It was a mess.

One insisted it was Chinese food called wangmandu, the other brought out scholarly papers proving his point.

Bi-ju looked utterly baffled.

“That’s such a weird thing to fight over.”

“I’m telling you, dipping is right.”

“No it’s not.”

Joong-hyun interjected solemnly.

“Hyung, pouring is the truth.”

As they split into two camps, the rest of us glanced at Bi-ju. He blinked.

“What about you, Bi-ju?”

“I like... soy sauce...”

“Ugh.”

“Sigh.”

“Soy sauce is tasty too...”

And just like that, the first ever NewBlack sweet-and-sour-pork debate—including our manager—erupted.

It was a completely pointless discussion, but since the concert was over, the mood remained light and friendly.

Yet I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that we’d forgotten something.

“You know, they were really friendly,” said Joong-hyun.

“To whom?”

“To Street Boys.”

“They all look so scary, I tensed up without realizing it. But once we talked, they seem so mild.”

“That’s right. They even congratulated us today for the case with Ju Se-han. They said congrats on hitting No. 1 in real-time search.”

“Oh? I heard that too.”

“Me too.”

And I realized I’d heard it as well. Before parting, Han Jo had said congratulations on hitting No. 1.

“......?”

The six of us froze and stared at each other.

Three seconds later,

“......!”

We all pulled out our smartphones at once.

Opening the internet, the familiar portal loaded with the real-time search ranking.

No. 1 Tax evasion? No. 2 Heavy rain? No. 3 NewBlack Woo-joo.

...What on earth was going on this time?

On the ride back to the dorm, a dazed silence hung over us.

Our managers looked just as bewildered, as did the PR staff who usually weren’t working on weekends.

But there was no need to investigate what had happened.

As soon as we opened the portal, a huge headline greeted us:

– PBS Documentary Featuring NewBlack’s Woo-joo Draws Attention to “Galhyeon-dong Hero”

It was a hot article less than thirty minutes old.

Alongside screenshots from the documentary, it detailed, “It turns out that a rookie idol group member who’s slowly making a name for himself was last year’s Suneung hero!”

Comments weren’t in the tens of thousands like with celebrity tax-evasion scandals, but nearly two hundred had already appeared.

And most of them were embarrassingly positive.

– “The KG Group PR team must have moved on this.”

“Ah...”

On a call with Seok-hwan hyung, I learned the full story.

– “They must have acted fast as soon as they heard about the doc. Several people won KG Hero Awards, so it’s a good PR opportunity. And since they can put it in the entertainment section too...”

It seemed KG Group was pushing the story for image management.

No wonder every incoming article was subtly titled something like, “Did you know this Galhyeon-dong hero won a KG Hero Award?”

It made sense if a major corporation had orchestrated it.

But still...

“Hyung, look at this. There’s a post about you on the idol community.”

“Really? Me too.”

It seemed more people than I’d expected had seen it.

If the reaction was this good, how did I come across in the documentary?

Just then, our maknae, who’d been furiously hitting refresh like a cat at a water dispenser, shouted,

“It’s up! Replay available!”

We all stared at the screen.

After explaining the etymology of “hero,” the documentary began in earnest.

It was my first time watching a documentary since “Planet Earth.”

I thought it’d be really boring.

Not at all.

Apparently it’s trendy now to produce documentaries as slickly as dramas.

“It’s my first time watching a doc,” our maknae exclaimed, “and it’s actually interesting.”

We agreed, staring at the small screen.

The first half spotlighted each incident.

A college student who threw himself at a stroller rolling downhill, firefighters who extinguished a blaze from a bursting oil tank.

Finally, the “Galhyeon-dong Hero” incident appeared.

My nerves tightened.

I unclenched and clenched my fists repeatedly as I watched.

Archival footage showed a white car racing past, the rest of the frame dimmed as a circle highlighted the car. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Another circle outlined the old man making a phone call beside his cart.

The scene changed to an interview with the old man.

[Choi Ik-hyeon / Victim at the time]

Oh, it was terrifying. I was on the phone, not even paying attention, when someone barreled in and shoved me hard. At first my head went fuzzy, and I thought, what the—then, next thing I knew, bam!

Back on the screen, a young man in a yellow puffer jacket came running crazily and shoved the old man.

[Choi Ik-hyeon / Victim at the time]

If that young man hadn’t been there, I’d be downstairs in the afterlife by now. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.

His gruff tone was sincere.

I felt a swell of pride. My cheek muscles lifted without my noticing.

So this is how it feels to do something good.

I smiled with pride.

Though I’d been disappointed about missing Suneung, I felt someone whispering to me:

What you did by throwing yourself like that was the right thing.

My brothers watched the victim’s interview the same way. Bi-ju touched his cheek and said,

“The good deed was your doing, but I feel good.”

“Me too,” said Ri-hyuk, scratching the back of his head.

“It’s weird. It’s kind of proud and...”

“I think I know this feeling. It’s a bit like when someone else compliments how pretty our nuna are.”

As we laughed watching them critique my outfit, the screen displayed the incident summary.

Traffic investigator Sergeant Jang Kyung-il appeared for an interview.

I noticed he must have been promoted since I saw him clutching his back in the hospital. I smiled awkwardly at the memory.

They mentioned that on Suneung day, a father escorting his daughter had a seizure, and he received a suspended sentence at the first trial.

I already knew all that.

Then finally, my own interview appeared.

Seeing me smile on screen, my brothers erupted in excited cheers.

“Ooh...”

“This is the best casual outfit I’ve seen you in, Woo-joo hyung. Worth all the effort choosing your clothes.”

“Exactly. Not a floral tracksuit in sight. What a step up.”

“I have to save that clip. Oh...? That hair was styled by me with my curling iron.”

I narrowed my eyes at their commentary, then laughed.

They really helped me so much that day.

From breakfast scoldings not to look shabby, to setting my hair with rollers and choosing my clothes and shoes... and endless nagging to groom myself regularly.

Thanks to their styling, even I thought I looked good on TV.

Ri-hyuk marveled,

“The visuals are insane.”

“That isn’t just for me, though.”

“...Shh, let’s watch the doc.”

He was the one who spoke first.

Meanwhile, the portion of my interview in which I said I’d instinctively moved my body was emphasized by repeated angle changes.

Then a narration began.

[So then, what sort of good deeds have those hailed as heroes in Korean society performed? Are they born that way, or are they taught?]

As the first half ended, the documentary shifted focus.

It no longer highlighted individual incidents, but showed personal aspects of each hero.

A theater-club university student, a firefighter walking his dog with his wife and daughter.

Subtly conveying that they all grew up in different environments and had distinct personalities.

Finally, it was my turn.

[The hero now performs as part of rookie idol group “NewBlack,” pursuing the dream he always wanted.]

A roughly thirty-second clip showed us practicing choreography together, then another of me recording by the night sea—though in that shot, only Ri-hyuk’s mouth was visible, as if his face were masked like a superhero.

“Hahaha!”

We all burst out laughing.

“Why do I only get my mouth shown?”

“At least your voice sounded nice.”

“Bi-ju hyung, that doesn’t help at all...”

While we bantered, the documentary raced into its final act.

[United States. New York University.]

A quick pan of the New York skyline revealed a lone university building.

A white-haired professor, resembling a grandfather from a chicken shop, lectured passionately for about ten seconds.

Then the scene shifted to his research office.

[Chris Abbott / Neuro-scientist, Author]

I’ve long been curious about heroes’ brains. How do they differ from ordinary people’s brains? I’ve focused on that.

Various research data appeared as if # Nоvеlight # in a grand experiment, ending with brain scans.

Then the stunning conclusion: there are no differences between heroes’ brains and ordinary brains.

In other words, the documentary’s message—“Heroes are neither born nor made”—was delivered.

People become heroes simply by making a choice in that moment.

Those we call heroes are just ordinary people, and it doesn’t take much to make the difference.

So...

[Heroism isn’t something distant. Every one of us has the potential to become a hero.]

As that narration played with music, multiple scenes began to flash by.

Like a touching movie ending showing how supporting and lead characters live their lives afterward, the scenes flew past.

When the sequence reached its climax, the final shot of me appeared.

First that urgent running scene, then a cut to me smiling at the camera in my interview.

Did I really smile like that?

It was so perfectly “hero” that I understood why they chose it for the ending.

“......”

The documentary ended. Even though the car was already waiting in front of the dorm, we sat there wide-eyed.

While NewBlack’s members were marveling in a back alley of Gangnam, and the handsome hero’s identity and related posts circulated online...

Only one person wasn’t smiling.

Han Ju-yeon, the rookie writer for Ju Se-han and NewBlack’s in-house writer, received the news at home and fought back tears.

They did it even for the SNS ad...

What an onion these guys are.

“I’ve got more research to do...”