The atmosphere at the venue sprang to life.

A seemingly small gesture, but the maknae’s cuteness cracked the audience into laughter.

As whispers of “He’s funny” and “So cute” passed around,

NewBlack launched into the trot song with renewed energy.

Of course, its live quality wasn’t on par with Night Sea or Something.

Even those at the event knew that.

But the reason the audience genuinely enjoyed the performance was the idols’ evident effort.

Though unfamiliar with trot and risking embarrassment if they sang poorly, they showed every intention of entertaining the crowd.

That sincerity shone through.

They weren’t onstage to look cool; they were there to make you happy.

Within thirty seconds of stepping down into the crowd, drenched, the singers drew warm gazes.

The leader peeled clinging hair from his forehead as he sang, the dancer moved gracefully on the muddy ground, the vocalist, pale and trembling, steadied his voice.

Even the rapper and maknae, now a duo eliciting responses, gave it their all.

Though short, their wholehearted effort resonated.

And someone was smiling at the audience’s reaction.

“Great, just great.”

Mayor Kim Yeong-geon had been beaming since a while ago.

His response was the polar opposite of when NewBlack first took the stage.

Now honey dripped from his eyes as he watched the five.

He’d thought today’s festival a total disaster.

And in truth it had been—until this unexpected rookie boy group seized it by the collar and lifted it from the mire.

Excluding the trot singer, no other act today could have generated such response, he thought.

If another team had gone on, the mood might have worsened.

Having NewBlack step in was a masterstroke.

Once the festival ended, he vowed to seek them out, shake their hands, and repay them somehow.

“Is there a problem?”

Something struck Mayor Kim as odd.

Backlit by the stage lights, he could barely see, but a commotion was unfolding behind the stage.

He squinted and sent an aide to investigate.

When the aide returned panting, Mayor Kim’s mood plunged back to earth.

“...What?”

“They say the water pump broke down.”

Furrowing his brow, the mayor listened as the aide quickly added,

“They say it’ll be fixed soon, so no need to worry. They should repair it before NewBlack finishes. The overflow is only temporary.”

Not content to rely on that, the aide took an umbrella and went to watch the situation.

Turning back to the stage,

the first verse of “Stay with Me” had ended and Kim Jung-hyun was mid-rap.

Though not as animated as during the trot, his energetic gestures drew claps from the crowd.

And then a thought flashed through the mayor’s mind.

“No way...”

At first he’d wondered why NewBlack came offstage, then realized they were guiding the audience’s attention.

But now he suspected more.

“Could it be they’re trying to divert the audience’s gaze?”

What began as doubt turned to certainty.

Had NewBlack stayed onstage, the side-lit water spray would have been impossible to miss.

Not that a broken pump would derail an event—it would just kill the mood.

The mayor’s gaze shifted from the maknae, reminding him of his own son abroad, to the smiling Woo-joo beside the rapping Jung-hyun.

“I really owe them a huge debt.”

Resolving to find a proper way to thank them—maybe by sending rice—he watched as

the song’s tone began to shift.

“Are they about to do something other than trot?”

Jung-hyun’s rap reached a crescendo, quickening and heightening the tension.

Then at its end—

Click—

The lights illuminating them snapped off.

For a second, the audience blinked in surprise.

Then the lights came back on.

Click—

But they shone not on NewBlack, but on the very back row of seats.

There stood the singer, beaming, to thunderous cheers.

With the upbeat second-verse intro,

Song Bo-hyung strode from the back toward NewBlack in the front row, greeting the crowd.

“Hello! I’m back!”

An impromptu collaboration between an idol group and a trot singer.

Cheers erupted from young and old alike.

A cross-generational celebration had begun.

My heart soared on the waves of applause.

My idea was for the trot singer to take over before our final song.

“You know our MR is what we used at the year-end evaluation, right? Verse one and two are different songs. Verse two is Senior Jang Sol-won’s ‘Thank You.’ If we did that as planned, the reaction wouldn’t be great.”

Because back then the audience already knew the two verses differed,

a medley was acceptable.

But today’s audience were not idol trainee parents but general attendees.

They’d be thrown off if verse two suddenly changed genre.

“So verse /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ two stays trot.”

“Huh? How?”

“We don’t sing it. We hand off to Bo-hyung. There’s a break where Jung-hyun’s rap cuts off. We stop there, restart the MR. Since the songs have no bridge, replaying verse one’s intro won’t feel odd.”

“Sounds weird.”

“With help from lighting, it’ll flow naturally.”

Luckily the lighting director agreed, and we timed it with Bo-hyung’s arrival.

The result? As you can see—

incredible.

Each time Bo-hyung gestured and sang playfully, the elders and middle-aged clapped and roared.

All wore the same expression.

Even the mayor, who’d laughed at Ji-ho’s cuteness, now shook his shoulders in delight.

Professionals really are different.

In technique and genre spirit, the same song gave me goosebumps.

So when Bo-hyung took center stage, we supported him with choreography so he wouldn’t feel alone.

He seemed grateful, often shooting us eye-smiles as he sang.

Perhaps he saw the louder cheers now and felt good.

Either way, it was a great memory for both us and him.

“You worked hard today, NewBlack! Thank you!”

After the song, Bo-hyung waved on behalf of the MC, and with warm cheers from the audience, we all bowed deeply.

And as a wave of pride washed over me, the pouring rain finally eased.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, we then collapsed backstage as soon as we reached it.

“Man, I thought I was gonna die.”

Ri-hyuk, bracing on the framework, retched.

He’d been under too much pressure.

I handed him the water bottle Mingi hyung had given me.

“Here, drink this first.”

“...You’re not gonna taste it, right?”

“Is that your priority now? Geez.”

“Quiet, I feel nauseous.”

Ri-hyuk snatched the bottle, swirled his mouth with water, and vomited again before wiping his mouth.

“Wanna pat my back?”

“No, I’m fine.”

He squatted beside me, and Bi-ju soon leaned his head on my shoulder too.

The three of us, zombie-like, rested against the backstage wall.

Our two managers hovered with umbrellas, smiling instead of telling us to get up.

Seok-hwan hyung patted my shoulder, laughing.

“You did great, really.”

“I don’t ever wanna do that again.”

“Imagine how many events we could book now.”

I rolled my eyes at the joke, but the mood was warm.

We were just exhausted.

Three under-rehearsed songs back to back nearly killed me with nerves.

Thankfully the audience was kind.

“Hyung, I’m freezing...”

“Me too.”

The wet juniors pressed against my shoulder, chattering like kids at home instead of pro idols.

I wanted to go to the car and rest, but my legs wouldn’t support me—everyone was too worn out.

Except one.

“Ji-ho.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you carrying Jung-hyun on your back?”

“My legs gave out. He asked me to carry him.”

At the sight of the maknae dangling on Ji-ho’s back, the three of us shook our heads.

“You okay, Jung-hyun?”

“I’m fine.”

He seemed least exhausted—ties to study abroad, maybe.

I took Seok-hwan hyung’s hand and stood.

“It’s hard carrying umbrellas too. Let’s go to the car, turn on the heater, change clothes before you catch colds.”

Bi-ju and Ri-hyuk took my hand and rose.

“Do we have spare clothes?”

“You’ve got your own streetwear, not costumes.”

“Ugh, I hate those...dirty.”

“Then strip yourself...hey! Who looks at people like insects? You bruise my feelings.”

“Please bruise away—when do you plan to bruise me?”

Bi-ju piped up between our bickering.

“Ri-hyuk, I’ll lend you a blanket.”

Ri-hyuk, glaring at me, mumbled, “Hyung, you’re the best.”

“And me?” I shot him a look, only to receive a scornful glare.

Seeing that, I vowed to wrangle a case of bottled water soon. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

“Excuse me.”

A reporter trailed us as we headed to the car, flanked by a man with an ENG camera.

He handed Seok-hwan hyung his card.

“I’m Bae Cheol-hwan from Gyeonggi TV. We chatted briefly earlier—could we interview you more properly?”

“Ah, sure.”

Seok-hwan hyung glanced at us.

“We’re just about to change—”

A sudden clang! sounded somewhere.

All eyes turned.

It came from the drainage pump in the distance.

It seemed to have broken again despite earlier repairs.

Whir—whir—

The vibrating machine expelled water in jolts.

Seeing that, the stunned maknae-staff sprinted off to call others, and we watched in disbelief.

The pump’s output overshadowed earlier leaks.

This was serious.

Not our problem, yet my heart pounded.

It would flood the stage any second.

I swallowed as I glanced toward Song Bo-hyung still singing.

The trembling machine looked ready to explode.

Ri-hyuk slid behind me as if facing a bomb.

“Hey, Jung-hyun hyung! Where are you going?”

Carrying Jung-hyun on his back, Ji-ho strode toward the machine.

“I wanna help!”

First the maknae heading to the mayor startled me; now our rapper was on the move.

“Jung-hyun, what are you doing?”

Ji-ho spoke as if it were obvious.

“I think I know how to fix it.”

“...”

The gathering stared, dumbfounded, as he spoke calmly.

“Not sure what he means, but...”

“I saw this break down just like this recently.”

“...?”

“When I went home, I watched the adults fix one just like it. I know why it’s doing this.”

Despite the urgency, his relaxed, measured voice made the staff blink.

Splash—splash—

The astonished chief director flicked his beard and called out.

“Hey, Joo-young. Go touch it.”

He turned to Kim Jung-hyun.

“You said you saw the same problem, right? Talk the guy through it while he repairs—it’s urgent.”

Together with a staffer, Jung-hyun knelt by the pump. As he spoke terms like “impeller” and “strainer,” the staffer’s screwdriver flew each time his trembling hand slipped—and Jung-hyun calmly handed it back.

“I saw my uncle do it—remove the filter from here...”

With water rising, NewBlack members joined the staff in bailing.

Five frantic minutes later—

“It’s fixed!”

The staff reassembled the pump and cheered.

They reconnected power; all eyes watched as the ON button was pressed.

The overflow disappeared and water drained swiftly.

What would normally take thirty minutes took five.

Staff sighed in relief; the director splashed rainwater from his face.

As order returned and everyone dispersed, the director and repairer offered hearty thanks.

NewBlack and their managers responded, astonished, staring at one member.

The chief director patted him on the shoulder; Jung-hyun smiled placidly.

And someone else watched it all with a grin.

“You got all that, right?”

Bae Cheol-hwan asked, and the cameraman thumbs-upped.

As filming continued, the reporter stepped aside, pulled out his phone, and dialed.

“Hey, it’s me, Writer Kim. I covered the festival in Icheon—got some good footage. It’s a bit odd for the news, but I’ll toss it to your program.”

He smiled and said,

“This’ll make a great segment.”