A few days after Daisy left, we finished the remaining music video shoot. As the staff packed up, we stood staring at the sunset-painted sea.

“Wow.”

It was a peaceful scene that felt healing just to look at. The sound of waves lingered in our ears, and the reddened water shimmered in the distance. It made me feel as if old memories were stirring.

“Hyung.”

I heard the maknae’s soft voice but kept my gaze on the horizon. “Yeah?”

“When we go solo later, who’s getting the song?” 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

“Right, who should I give it to?”

“I know it’s me, hyung. You’re just not saying it because you don’t want the others to feel bad.”

I smiled at him. “I’m never giving it to you. Not you.”

“What the heck, that’s harsh.”

“Seriously, Wang Jiho, you should’ve behaved better. The main vocalist always delivers the song best, right?”

“Not you either.”

His smug face, as he drank kimchi soup, turned sour.

“Hyung, I rap, so it takes less of your time.”

“You’re out too...”

The rapper, who'd been pleading his case, turned into a sullen rock. The last member gave me a gentle smile.

“I knew it all along, hyung.”

“No—guys, stop it. Why are you all doing this to me?”

They laughed at my tortured expression.

“You know what Nayeon unnie said earlier. Other groups are eyeing the song because it’s gonna be a hit. What if they come to sweet-talk and steal you away, hyung?”

“What am I, an object?”

“It’s not like that. You’re... what’s it called in my dad’s terms? The goose that lays golden eggs?”

“I really won’t give the song to you, okay?”

Jiho pretended to pout, and we all laughed. Of course, we were joking. It could’ve gotten heavy, so we kept it light.

“I get why you worry—lots of people change once they get famous. But I’ve hated that since forever.”

I’d seen it enough at TJ Entertainment. When someone did well in monthly evaluations, everyone would cozy up and flatter them. I hated it. I thought, why not practice your singing instead of flattery?

“It’s all pointless. In the end, you have to work hard to succeed. I can’t understand people who try to climb by using others. I saw the worst of that at my old company.”

When I got cut from TNT’s debut lineup, the same guys who’d checked on me daily stopped contacting me.

“Hey.”

Biju chimed in as if remembering. “I’m reminded of what you said in the hallway at Wai Entertainment, when we ran into Girls On Top.”

“Oh yeah, when they snubbed us trainees?”

“That felt so bad.”

“Especially Gil Chaekyung.”

“You said back then, let’s never do that, right?”

I only smiled. Biju was voicing what I wanted to say. To reassure everyone, I added:

“Don’t worry. I won’t change once we make it. Honestly, I can barely take care of our own group—why would I have time for anyone else?”

“Whoa, did you hear that? Hyung called us family.”

I placed my hand on Jiho’s head. “When I talk, can you please look at the forest, not just that one tree? You only hear what you want... Wait, why are all of you looking like that now?”

Did they like being called family that much? I was baffled by their happy faces. Just moments ago they’d been “What if you dump us when you blow up?” Now they were all grins.

“Look at Rihyeok and Biju, they look so touched.”

“Weren’t you going to defect after the bikini incident?”

“There’s a difference between a hiatus and defection, hyung.”

I didn’t understand their conversation, but then Mingi hyung called from afar:

“Guys! Let’s get ready to head back!”

“Okay!”

We looked around at each other.

“Shall we go?”

Walking /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ toward the parking lot, we kept glancing back at the beach with regret.

“Too bad we didn’t even get to dip our feet.”

“If we have time later, let’s come back for fun.”

“Sounds good. Then shall we promise a trip to celebrate becoming family?”

The maknae stood on tiptoes, clinging to me.

“Hyung, hyung—if we all go out later, what should we do?”

“Hmm, what should we do?”

Junghyun had an idea.

“Let’s grill meat. And clams, too.”

“Kim Junghyun, all you talk about is food.”

“Oh right. I forgot drinks. Maybe some alcohol. Woo-joo hyung can have cola with us.”

“Then who’ll drive? None of you have licenses.”

“I do.”

“I’ll rule out Junghyun hyung.”

“Why me?”

The maknae, still on tiptoes with his arms around my neck, answered:

“Hyung is super strong and breaks things. If you drive, I feel like you’d rip the steering wheel off. Then be like, ‘Huh?’ and stare at us.”

His dramatic acting made everyone burst out laughing—even Junghyun himself.

With the MV shoot truly over, we felt a rare sense of leisure as we entered the parking lot, the sunset shining behind us.

With the MV done, the debut album’s visual work was complete. An album typically has three stages:

Production, based on the A&R team’s plan.

Visual work—presenting the album through photos and videos that match the concept.

Promotion.

We were now in the third stage. In other words, there was nothing more for us to do—though not literally nothing.

“You have things to prepare.”

The day after the MV shoot, Yoon Seok-hwan arrived with a towering stack of papers.

“Hyung, what’s all this?”

“Now we need to prepare for the showcase. You guys handle the rehearsals, but I have to train you on press handling. I made a summary.”

We shuddered at the manager’s wicked smile.

“The showcase is an important stage. You’re directly competing with Street Boys. The public decides the win or loss by listening to your songs, but first impressions matter.”

He explained with a comparison.

“You know the movie The Black Flower from our company’s actors?”

“I do. The one Director Jo suggested.”

“Right. The Black Flower had little response at first, then word of mouth made it a blockbuster. It’s hard to compare film and music directly, but early press reactions are crucial.”

He emphasized:

“Even though you’ve been on music shows for a month and on MusicTube, most Koreans still don’t know who you are. Without prior info, what journalists write about you will decide the outcome.”

“I thought the side paying more publicity money would get better coverage?”

“Sometimes, but you know how to tell if an article is just from a press release or a genuinely enthusiastic journalist.”

In short, to win against Street Boys, we had to impress at the showcase—meaning no mistakes.

“Especially since there’s a rivalry, one slip-up about them and you’re done. People here hate rookies trash-talking each other.”

“What should we do, then?”

“Practice hard. I’ll personally train you in Q&A for a while.”

So we focused on performance rehearsals and mock press interviews: how to answer tough questions, what expressions to wear. It was welcome after our struggles during the Something promotions—back then, we didn’t know what was okay to say and what wasn’t. Interviews terrified us more than music shows. Every time Yoon Seok-hwan taught us Q&A, we listened intently. Overall, the lessons were satisfying.

“I was really worried. I’m glad the company taught us this.”

Biju began, then hesitated.

“But the sample questions you gave us—do journalists really ask these? Some are downright harsh.”

“Not everyone in this world is as kind as you, hyung.”

“Right. My dad says some jobs are unforgivable—and journalism is one of them.”

“Hey, your dad...”

“What?”

Rihyeok cut himself off, likely recalling Jiho’s father’s infamous franchise.

“Still...”

I told the worried Biju, “Don’t worry too much. We practiced a lot. Now you can even laugh off insults. Seok-hwan hyung gave us every nasty question to train with.”

“Right. He’s like a pro at dealing with troll comments.”

Biju laughed.

“I just worry you’ll get hurt by them.”

“What, you worry about that too?”

Our peer, Junghyun, laughed casually.

“We’ve almost lost our minds before when our debut nearly collapsed. Compared to that, this is... like eating cold porridge. The album’s great, the jacket and MV look good.”

“Here he goes again with that line.”

“Everything feels good, doesn’t it?”

Because of Junghyun’s jinx: whenever he said he had a “good feeling,” something bad happened. He scowled in protest.

“I said ‘feeling,’ not ‘jinx.’”

“Anyway, no ‘feeling’ either.”

I laughed inwardly at their fuss—felt like my grandmother’s superstitions: “Don’t crack eggs on the first of the month,” “Don’t do this on temple visits.” They were so young, yet clinging to these. It was kind of cute.

“Don’t laugh like it’s someone else’s problem.”

Rihyeok said with a pout.

“After experiencing it once, you still don’t fear it?”

“I don’t believe in superstition.”

“...”

“Why that expression?”

“Your old self came to mind. I was logical once and believed in nothing.”

He still was—but seeing him mutter that as he looked at me made me smile. Ridiculous. When Junghyun first said “good feeling,” Street Boys’ article came out and I wasn’t bothered—it was coincidence. A jinx is just a jinx. No effect. Ridiculous, I thought. Honestly, what could go wrong?

And then, improbably, it did.

On June 11, a week before our showcase, DNS Media’s nine-member rookie boy group Street Boys finally held their debut showcase—live-streamed on K-Net. To monitor our rivals, we all huddled around a laptop in the studio.

“Wow, they’re live on K-Net? We don’t have that.”

“K-Net and DNS are close.”

“Nayeon said Scarlet got the cold shoulder there at debut, too.”

K-Net, a music channel, airs on Thursdays—usually before artists appear on Friday’s terrestrial shows. For idols, it can be more influential than terrestrial. We’d heard the K-Net director was best friends with DNS’s CEO, while Lemon had a strained relationship for unknown reasons. Whatever the truth, K-Net was clearly pushing Street Boys: they filmed a debut reality show and were live-streaming their showcase the night before debut.

“Look, they’re on.”

“Wow, they’ve lost so much weight since last year.”

As camera shutters flashed on the low-res screen, Street Boys’ members appeared in hip-hop–styled outfits.

“Ooh, they’ve got vibe.”

“They’ve got swag. Maybe we should try hip-hop sometime?”

“Shh, quiet. The song’s starting.”

Lights went dark, and the first stage began. We watched expectantly—even as competitors, we were fellow musicians, and curious what song they’d perform.

A fierce guitar riff sounded, and the nine members began dancing from the edges toward the center. When their leader’s hand motion reached the center, lights blazed up and the song kicked off.

“Ooh, not bad.”

We nodded approvingly at the song—until our smiles froze. Midway through verse one came the leader Han Jo’s self-written rap:

People say

You don’t have Something cool

Something nice

But my thoughts are different (different)

What’s that anyway? For us,

There’s no lack

We have hunger and poison

We all have a hunger

From there, the chorus “We all have a hunger” echoed over the group choreography—“Hunger” was their title track. But we stood rigid. It wasn’t the lyrics themselves but the nuance of “Something” in Han Jo’s rap. Subtle, yet anyone not foolish would notice.

“That... they’re dissing us right now.”

Rihyeok couldn’t finish, and I took up his thought:

“Right. They’re dissing us.”