The moment the results were announced, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“The winner is New Black. Congratulations!”

The DJ and the other guests burst into applause with a “Wow—”

I don’t know what they were thinking inside, but Han-jo and Ki-won, wearing smiles, also clapped.

I bowed politely and exchanged glances with Ri-hyuk.

“As I mentioned earlier, the winning team’s song will be placed three times on next week’s playlist. Once again, congratulations. And on that note, we’ll listen to New Black’s ‘Fireworks’ and return for Part 4. Stay tuned—”

“—and keep it locked!”

After everyone shouted the line together, they removed their headphones.

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.

I’d promised myself I’d nail the live corner and the advice segment, and I’d just achieved one of those goals.

Of course, it wouldn’t have the promotional impact of a TV commercial.

But having our song played three times on a popular radio show meant a lot to me.

As I felt proud listening to the intro of “Fireworks,” senior Jang Sa-won, who was organizing the script nearby, spoke up.

“The song ‘Fireworks’ is really good. It’s so refreshing in mood.”

She smiled as she said it.

“You must’ve worked pretty hard to make this, leader.”

“Don’t even mention it. I was a wreck—eyes sunken, a total disaster.”

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad.”

“It really was. You should’ve seen me at the dorm—I didn’t even come back some days. I’d pass out on the studio sofa, and Jung-hyun would carry me down more than once.”

“No, that didn’t happen, senior.”

I tried to manage my image on the fly, but Jang Sa-won didn’t buy it. Instead, she burst into a hearty laugh.

“I can’t take you guys. You never fail to crack me up.”

Her eyes were full of affection as she looked at us. During the ad break, she’d kept us at arm’s length, but now she was the Jang Sa-won I knew. I suppose it was because the advice segment was over. The remaining Part 4 was a corner giving each group its own time—no room for bias.

Still, even during the friendly chatter there were unspoken boundaries. Partly because the broadcast wasn’t over, but mainly because of the person sitting opposite us.

The Street Boys flipped listlessly through the script. There were only a few lines they needed for Part 4, so it was obvious they were just stalling.

Ri-hyuk’s gaze lingered on Ki-won for a moment, an unreadable look in his eyes. I watched, trying to discern the emotion, when senior Jang Sa-won spoke again.

“Hey, you two.”

The two pairs of hands flipping through the script froze in midair.

Han-jo and Ki-won blinked and looked at Jang Sa-won.

She smiled at Han-jo, who was tensing up as if bracing for whatever was coming next.

“Why the long faces? Feeling down because you lost the advice corner?”

“Uh, no, senior.”

Han-jo forced a laugh and waved his hand awkwardly. Ki-won did the same, shaking his head.

The DJ, glancing at the camera, propped his chin on one hand and covered his mouth with a wry smile.

“We’re not done yet. Don’t be so gloomy. You need energy to do well in Part 4. You can’t let losing the advice corner mess up the live segment, right?”

“......Yes.”

“Right. Don’t droop your shoulders.”

I thought anew how impressive that was. I don’t think I could have done that. If I were in her shoes, I’d have asked them, “So, you’re Disrap?”—mixing business with personal feelings might be professional, but it’s hard to act like that, especially when you’re clearly in a position of authority.

Whether her words had an effect or not, the Street Boys looked a bit more lively than before. They stopped zombie-flipping through papers and began reviewing the lyrics on the page as if coming back to life.

Jang Sa-won then turned her gaze to us.

“So, how are you two preparing for the live performance?”

She nodded toward the guitar case standing in the corner of the booth.

“Since you brought that along, I assume you’ve prepared something. Another original song this time?”

At the keyword “original song,” the two across from us pricked up their ears.

“Yes, it’s an original. We haven’t had it long.”

“What’s the title?”

“It’s called ‘Night Sea.’ Ri-hyuk wrote the lyrics, and I composed the music.”

“I see, so that’s sheet music.”

She slid the sheet music poking out from under Ri-hyuk’s script into her hand. At first she looked curious, then, after a moment, she tapped her index finger on the table—reading the guitar arrangement. As a singer-songwriter, she seemed to grasp the core of what we’d created in an instant.

“This is an original song, right?”

“Yes.”

“You.......”

She was about to say something, but /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ cut herself off. It was time to end the ad break and start Part 4.

Ri-hyuk looked at me as if to ask what that reaction had been, but I just shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t know either.

And then.

When I looked up, Han-jo and Ki-won were staring at me as if I were an ill omen. I gave them a small, encouraging smile.

What seemed like an endless broadcast was suddenly racing toward the end.

Part 4: “Let Us Hear Your Voice.” Each team gets fifteen minutes: ten minutes to talk about their album or music, then a live performance for the listeners.

As with the advice segment, it started with the Street Boys’ interview. But something about how they spoke felt off.

“The debut title ‘Hunger’ was a collaboration between you, Han-jo, and JCM. Which parts did you handle?”

“Well, I wrote the rap.......”

Despite his calm demeanor, Han-jo couldn’t answer smoothly. The questions were all about composition, as if the writers assumed he and I were composer-idols. But Han-jo stumbled over his words. Maybe the shock from Part 3 hit him hard. Surely the company had prepped him with expected questions and answers, but he still faltered.

If he truly had half the credit for “Hunger,” he’d have answered without hesitation—and it could have reinforced his image as a composer. It was such a missed opportunity. At least he was doing better than the other members, who were completely floundering.

“Ki-won is the main vocalist. Since ‘Hunger’ has a strong hip-hop vibe, you might feel it’s lacking. How will tonight’s live performance make up for that?”

“Uh.......”

“Answer quickly—radio becomes dead air after three seconds!”

Senior Sa-won, with her cheerful voice, saved the moment, and Han-jo jumped in to finish the answer. He looked as though his mental state were unsteady, though. As time passed, he seemed to lose more confidence. They’d fallen behind us in airtime, lost in the advice segment, and now this final chance to shine wasn’t going well.

Before long, the Street Boys were up for their live stage.

“.......”

Silence reigned during the ad break. Han-jo, unbuttoning his shirt as if frustrated, studied the rap lyrics and checked on his fellow member whenever he could. Maybe as a fellow leader, I felt sympathetic watching him rush around. If someone on my team acted like that on air, I’d be furious.

I shook my head and turned to the member beside me.

“Ri—”

I started to call his name but stopped. Under his long lashes, his dark eyes were intently tracing the sheet music. That’s how he always looked when he focused, especially right before singing. In contrast to his prickly, snappy self, he seemed like a blank slate in these moments—like an actor finding emotion before a performance. His face flickered with emotions—some fading, some returning. It must have been gratitude, which we’d talked about earlier. Now a faint smile hovered on his lips.

A question I’d been wondering for days suddenly came to mind: Who was he truly grateful to?

Thunk, thunk—

I’d been staring at Ri-hyuk when I shifted my gaze to the “Night Sea” sheet music—and then heard the dull sound. A plastic bottle rolled on the floor.

“Oh, sorry.......”

Ki-won, flustered, apologized. He must have dropped it while drinking water. Realizing the bottle had fallen at Ri-hyuk’s feet, he seemed even more embarrassed. Ri-hyuk, who’d been staring at the floor, looked up at him—not awkwardly avoiding him as in the elevator, but meeting his gaze squarely, with a slightly puzzled expression. Then, in a move that completely surprised me, Ri-hyuk said,

“Here, take this.”

He picked up another bottle from the table and handed it across. There was even a smile on his lips.

Why am I like this?

It was a thought I had every day—and one Ki-won was having right then.

‘Why am I like this?’

He’d wanted to do well...... It was his first live broadcast since debut, so he felt he should’ve been better, said more. He kept circling those thoughts. Manager Park had emphasized all the way to the station how important this opportunity was:

—This isn’t just any radio show. It’s number one in its time slot, and this segment has buzz. Remember that girl with autumn-leaf-colored hair who came on last week? Someone named Na-hyun. She did well in the advice corner and it got called “thoughtful comments” online, with the live stage too.

Park laughed heartily as he said:

—New Black? Honestly, they got fans because they look decent. What substance do they have? If you nail it, you’ll win. So man up, show some fire in your eyes. Got it?

Ki-won couldn’t understand why Park was so antagonistic toward New Black. Why couldn’t they just get along? Why pit them against each other? The biggest mystery was the diss rap. Why provoke people who were just minding their own business?

Ki-won looked at Han-jo, who was checking lyrics with a determined face.

‘I want to help too.’

When the company demanded a diss rap and the other members recoiled, he’d taken on the villain role because he was the leader. For the sake of publicity, he dissed people he’d never properly talked to. Ki-won’s gaze shifted. The cold-looking guy across from him was sitting there.

‘Would he have done it differently?’

He still remembered vividly from long ago: when his head hurt, his face burning, a voice cut through his blurry vision, asking what the company was doing. Whenever he recalled it, he felt amazed. He couldn’t speak up to the company people back then—but how did that guy do it?

‘I wish I could’ve been like him.’

If only he could have spoken up boldly against the company’s burdensome demands—and stood proud like that guy. What a difference it would’ve made.

While Han-jo sputtered answers and the others floundered, that opposing leader calmly navigated the broadcast, helping his teammates, encouraging them. At some point, he’d written something on paper that made that leader’s expression turn into such a beautiful smile.

I should have done the same.

“Ki-won, you okay?”

At the gentle concern beside him, he avoided meeting the gaze but nodded. He felt too apologetic.

‘What to do.’

Worried about ruining the performance, he reached for his water bottle—but it slipped again.

Clatter—

Suddenly, a white hand slid in front of him.

“Here, take this.”

“.......”

It was the most awkward moment of the day. Ki-won, fumbling, took the bottle offered. Noticing the empty one on the floor, the other person tapped his shoulder.

“For your neck.”

“The—?”

He meant that his neck muscles were too tense.

Oh.

At those words, Ki-won, still dazed, parted his lips.

“Tha—.”

He’d meant to say “Thank you,” but it came out garbled. Han-jo beside him jumped in surprise. He tossed aside the rap sheet and kept answering that he was okay, constantly checking on him.

He felt a bit stunned.

‘If I’d started the live right then.......’

Just thinking about it made him dizzy. If he’d been off-key from the first note, the mood would’ve been somber. He might’ve been mocked online by comparison to the other team’s live.

But thankfully, that didn’t happen. Thanks to the completely unexpected help from the other team.

‘Was it because of that person?’

He didn’t know why he’d been helped, but he was certain it had to do with Ri-hyuk’s partner. His gaze had stayed fixed on that side after helping him.

But why the help didn’t matter.

‘Don’t let this slip.’

Unlike before, when he’d been flustered, his eyes now steadied. The leader had kept looking out for him, the DJ had cheered him on, and even the opposing team had lent a hand. With everything laid out like this, failing now would be foolish.

“You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. I can do this.”

He gave a reassuring smile to the concerned look.

He truly felt confident.

“Ri-hyuk.”

“What is it.”

“Why are you handing out someone else’s water when yours is right there.”

“.......”

“Ri-hyuk.”

“.......”

“I’m thirsty, too.”

“.......”

“Ri-hyuk.”

“Come on, seriously. I’ll buy you a case after the show, so stop whispering!”