I approached Seo Ji-hyung, who was still sprawled on the ground, and held out my hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Ah, yeah... I’m fine.”

He stared awkwardly off into the distance, then took my hand and got to his feet, looking upset. Understandable—chased by a goat, then beaten at chicken fight by a rookie idol. Feeling sorry for him, I handed him a bottle of water.

“Here, sunbaenim, have some water.”

“Ah... thanks.”

He bowed his head, then went up to the VJ.

“Director, what’s the current ranking?”

“Uh, one moment.”

The VJ glanced at his phone.

“With those two keys you just won, your team now has fifteen and you’re in the lead.”

Maxi and I high-fived—just one more and victory would be ours. But then the VJ added,

“Since then Team A has gone from ten to... sixteen keys?”

“What?”

“They stole from Team B.”

Suddenly Seo Ji-hyung sprang up.

“What did you say? Team A is in the lead...?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Wow, unbelievable.”

Eyes wide, Seo Ji-hyung handed me back the water bottle and sprinted toward the back mountain.

“Ha ha! I’m off first!”

One minute later we got word.

“Hellooo...”

—Woo-jooaaaa!

“Yes?”

—Number twenty-eight! Twenty-eight!

Startled, I realized Yeo Hee-yeon was shouting.

“Run immediately! It’s at spot twenty-eight!”

Before hanging up I was already sprinting, catching up to Seo Ji-hyung. Maxi and I gave him sunny smiles—plus a teasing greeting.

“Excuse me, passing through!”

“I’m going first—quick!”

At the same time, in the pitch-black mountain they roamed with big flashlights. Moonlight filtered through branches, crickets chirped, a chill breeze blew—but over fifty people’s energy made the scene scorching.

Team B, having lost the six-key match, wept silently as they poked the soil with trowels. Teams A and C, having located treasure boxes, dug passionately.

“Hurry, dig here!”

“This soil looks fresh. What if there’s nothing?”

“Ugh, I’m hungry. Why does dirt look tasty?”

Actor Lee Kang-jin of Team A, sweating profusely, led the charge with a big shovel while teammates wielded trowels. They were in the lead. Team C’s lone warrior, Yeo Hee-yeon, was struggling—but her speed was extraordinary.

Model Han So-ra urged,

“Faster! She’s so quick!”

As Team A dug with all their might to widen the gap, Team C’s reinforcements arrived: celebrity Maxi and New Black’s leader Sun Woo-joo.

“Hey! You should’ve come sooner!”

“I got lost—this place is confusing!”

“Here, take this!”

Yeo Hee-yeon handed Woo-joo a shovel. Team A—especially Ju Se-han’s members—tilted their heads in confusion. Why would someone who always insists on doing everything herself so readily hand a shovel to that idol?

Then the answer became clear. Watching Woo-joo, they saw that each shovel-full he lifted rivaled the entire A-team’s output. It was uncanny.

On closer look, his technique differed: using thigh strength instead of upper body, leveraging the shovel like a fulcrum. But no one there had time to analyze that—everyone just stared in awe.

Shaken out of their stupor by the rapidly rising dirt mound of their rivals, Ms. Yang Ok-boon urged Lee Kang-jin,

“Hurry! They’re catching up!”

A-team redoubled their efforts, but to no avail: more C-team members joined the fray.

“Why are you so late?”

“Bi-joo couldn’t find the way—he got lost in a valley!”

“Never mind—dig! We’re second right now.”

“Director, give us trowels too!”

With all members of A and C finally gathered, the real competition began. Thanks to Woo-joo’s early digging, the pits’ depths equalized. Back-and-forth, one team dug more, then the other. Team B, last place, gossiped like spectators munching popcorn, while the crew filmed the heated conflict.

“We’re almost there!”

“Keep going!”

“Travel voucher’s on the line!”

As the finish neared, both A and C teams looked exhausted.

“This isn’t a meter deep...”

“Push, Mr. Kang-jin—don’t slow down!”

When Seo Ji-hyung took the shovel, C-team too was visibly worn out. Then,

“Let’s sing a work song!”

“A work song?”

“You know that song we learned from Grandma? The jump-rope one!”

At once New Black members dug and sang:

“Crush the Communist Party!

However many millions—Koreans go like steel!”

The absurd song briefly stunned Team A, while C-team, fired up, dug even more boldly. Soon everyone joined in singing. Team B and the crew couldn’t help laughing.

That song—and someone’s spectacular digging—soon decided the outcome.

“Woooaaah!”

Team C’s victory: they leapt around Woo-joo in celebration.

Back at the village hall, Teams A and B watched with regret and envy as the PD called us forward.

“Team C, step up to receive your reward.”

“Woo-joo, you go!”

“Yeah, you go get it.”

Trembling inexplicably, I approached and accepted the panel reading “Luxury Travel Voucher.” Turning, I saw wistful gazes on that banner from all sides. Though they congratulated us, the mood was slightly awkward—until PD Oh Tae-jun returned and led everyone to a nearby clearing.

“You all worked hard—come get some dinner!”

In that clearing awaited paradise: drums of charcoal fires, tables piled high with pork belly. Simple creatures, we cheered and began chatting excitedly. Soon the smoky aroma of grilled pork filled the air. Our mouths watered, but we had one duty: our victory comments.

Facing the camera, each team member spoke. Lee Gun-woo thanked the managers, Maxi mentioned her parents, Haesheon her single mother, then it was our turn.

“I want to send my parents on a trip.”

Ri-hyeok’s brief remark likely skirted complex family matters.

Next Ji-ho:

“I want to send my sisters.”

Haesheon teased,

“What about your parents?”

“They’re in the sky now.”

“....”

As others froze, Ji-ho added,

“They’re flying now—on a trip to Macau. They’ll return later.”

“Oh my! You scared me! Why would you say that?”

Ji-ho bowed to the camera.

“I’m sorry, Mom, Dad. You’re alive—I’m sorry. But what if this gets aired? I’ll get in trouble.”

“Ask the director to edit it.”

“Really?”

Encouraged by nods, the maknae blew the director a double-handed heart. Staff and fellow cast laughed. He stroked her head wordlessly.

“I want to send my parents.”

Bi-joo said,

“They’ve worked so hard. I’ve always wanted to send them on a trip, and I’m so happy this opportunity came. Thank you.”

We applauded and patted him. Jung-hyun then offered his own routine remark about sending his parents. Finally the camera turned to me.

“I’d like to send my grandmother. She’s worked so hard raising me, and I’ve always wanted to send her abroad. I’m so happy. Thank you!”

I blew a heart to Madam Kim Deok-soon on screen.

“I don’t know if this will air, but my grandma’s grandson really loves her~”

Behind me the others shouted in turn:

“I want to join too!”

“Me too! I love my family!”

Watching my brothers blow big hearts to their families, I laughed. It was a truly wonderful night.

11:30 p.m. at last the filming ended. We’d be sleeping on the first floor of Grandpa Kang Mun-sik’s chilly-air-blasting home. Fresh from showering, I found my brothers deep in a pillow fight.

“Jung-hyun! Attack him!”

“Okay.”

“Hey, that’s unfair—why two against one? Woo-joo hyung, help!”

“...Too much trouble.”

“All right, we’ll gang up on that Demon King!”

“Woooah!”

“What? Why attack me?”

Suddenly I was pillow-fighting too. After a while of the five of us rolling around, a cheer rang in from outside. Grandpa Kang’s family and our C-team were playing Go-Stop cards. We heard the grandpa’s booming laughter—he’d finally fulfilled his wish to play cards that day.

Relaxing, my tension melted. I, not the only one, fused to the warm floor.

“I’m so tired... I need to wash.”

Jung-hyun’s back was getting tapped with a pillow by Ji-ho. He tried a kick but couldn’t reach. I suppressed a “short legs” jab—it was too tiring.

Up since 3 or 4 a.m.: checking bags, filming the opening in Sangam-dong, riding in the van scripting talk segments, racing around Yeoncheon to get ingredients, cooking, peeling garlic, massaging elders, and now digging. It was the longest day ever.

Collapsing onto the floor, my eyes fluttered shut.

“Guys, rock-paper-scissors who’ll lay out the blankets?”

“I’ll do it, including hyung’s.”

Jung-hyun spread out my spot; the others claimed theirs. Jung-hyun tucked me in under an enormous country blanket. Surprisingly heavy, but soothing.

“Shall we rock-paper-scissors to turn off the lights?”

“I’ll do it.”

“Aww, poor kids, taking care of Grandpa.”

“Quiet—you’ll get scolded by Grandpa and Grandma, Ji-ho...”

“I’m turning off the lights.”

Darkness fell instantly, yet sleep didn’t come. My mind felt hazy. For ten minutes I stared at the ceiling pattern, then played shadow puppets by moonlight.

“Anyone else can’t sleep?”

“Me too.”

“Same.”

Chup chup—tapping sounds on cheeks. Bi-joo was using a sheet mask.

“Maybe it’s because it’s not our home, we can’t settle.”

“Right.”

“Um, hyungs, this is a dorm, not home.”

“Oh, true.”

Giggles floated in the dark.

“This feels like home now.”

“Hyung, aren’t you used to the dorm more? Ah! Don’t put your legs on me.”

“It’s my right.”

“You two have the same mental age—so childish.”

“Yeah, walking encyclopedia.”

“...Let me sleep, don’t bother me.”

“Ji-ho gets quiet when he’s losing.”

“Whatever, let me ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) sleep.”

“Is Jung-hyun asleep?”

“I’m not.”

“What were you doing?”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well, I was talking music with Haesheon sunbaenim, planning a future mixtape.”

“Ah, production...”

Reality hit me.

“When I go back to Seoul I need to work on songs too.”

“Oh, ideas yet?”

“No, I’ve got beats and melodies, but nothing that screams ‘this is it.’ I’ll sit with it.”

“Don’t rush it, hyung.”

Chup chup—Bi-joo’s mask tapping.

“It’s not a title track, it’s a B-side. I hope you work without pressure.”

“Right.”

“Speaking of B-sides, shall we brainstorm among ourselves?”

“Oh, good idea.”

One by one we shared thoughts:

“I want the choreography on that B-side to be intense—everyone’s practiced dance, and I feel like I hold everyone back, so make it tough...”

“How about a groovy vibe?”

“Tighter part distribution than last time...”

Talking about music in the dark felt strange—in a good way. Honest, shy conversation under moonlight. We chatted until groggy. One by one we fell asleep until only the maknae and I remained.

Just before drifting off, she whispered,

“Honestly, I was really scared today.”

“Of what?”

“So many unfamiliar people—it was scary. I had no one to rely on but you hyungs, no managers around. Especially at the start when I went with other sunbaenims to get supplies...”

“Yeah, that time.”

“I was so frightened. Not because they were bad, but everyone wore masks, so distant. Of course it’s TV, people have on-camera personas. But that scared me—I’m still young.”

“That makes sense, you are young, Orange.”

“Hyung, are you sleepy?”

“...No, I wasn’t sleepy listening to you.”

“Anyway, when I saw your face in front of the hall, it made me so happy—like finding someone without a mask.”

“...Oh, I see.”

“Hyung, are you listening?”

“....”

Late August, a sweltering night. Outside, unknown insects chirped loudly; inside, laughter and ticking clocks echoed. In the room where five exhausted idols snored, Sun Woo-joo dreamed of music.

In his dream I stood on the terrace of a masked ball, overlooking a moonlit garden where insects chirped and laughter and the scrape of chairs filled the air. Strangely, the dream was in black and white. Everyone wore masks—everyone except me.

The masked guests treated me as if I didn’t exist. They ignored me even when I spoke or waved. Pigs from my bus-to-Pyongyang dream played violins, and a banner in Chinese read “Madam Kim Deok-soon’s 2976th Birthday.” On the highest dais sat my grandmother.

“Hail Madam Kim Deok-soon!”

Masked figures knelt before her, kissing her hand; she praised them as more handsome than her grandson and suddenly began telling her life story. That’s when I realized it was a dream—Grandma wouldn’t call anyone more handsome than me.

At that moment the ballroom doors opened and someone entered. My eyes went wide—color seeped from them like paint. The entire ballroom began melting like chocolate.

“Gaaaah!”

And I awoke.

“Huff, pant...”

It was just a dream. Fully awake, I scrambled for my phone to record the melody the pigs had played. My thoughts were tangled—I had to capture it before it vanished. In a panic I called my reliable recorder.

“Hello?” 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

“Hyung, it’s me.”

“At this hour?”

“Seok-hwan hyung, sorry—this is being recorded, right? Listen to this song I’m humming. It’s my own tune.”

“What?”

I hummed the melody into the phone, half-dreaming. The other end sounded bewildered. My lips blurted an apology:

“Hyung Seok-hwan, sorry. I’ll buy you tonkatsu.”

Then I drifted back to sleep.

In a luxury home in Pyeongchang-dong, someone sketched the melody notes on a desk. He smiled at his phone’s disconnected call screen.

“Kids these days.”

At first he was incredulous, then couldn’t help but chuckle—it was hopeless.

“I’m not Seok-hwan, I’m Gyu-hwan...”

Composer Jo Gyu-hwan, Lemon Entertainment’s production director, stared at the melody on his notepad. At 3:30 a.m., the one who’d thought he was Sun Woo-joo calling Seok-hwan for tonkatsu was indeed Jo Gyu-hwan.