Early August.

With daytime temperatures soaring above 30 degrees, the studio felt cool thanks to the air conditioning.

Yet the staff on set sensed an inexplicable heat.

“These guys are insane.”

“I’ve never seen a rookie photo shoot move this fast. Is this even allowed?”

“But can’t you tell at a glance? Every shot is an A-cut, and at worst a B-cut. Even the photographer is disappointed.”

The studio set was decorated like a school.

Desks and chairs painstakingly arranged as in a real classroom.

It looked so realistic you’d believe a lesson might start at any moment.

Yet those standing there looked utterly unreal.

“Wow...”

“How are they all this good-looking?”

“They say this agency primarily handles actors.”

“I saw Lee Kyun-woo in person during a magazine shoot recently, and honestly, these guys don’t lose out in comparison.”

“No way, that’s an exaggeration.”

Still, no one denied NewBlack’s exceptional visuals.

“Okay! Nice, nice. Look up! That’s it!”

The photographer, who had been rather taciturn, was now enthusiastically directing.

Typically on an ad shoot, the staff boost the models’ confidence so they look relaxed and natural.

But the photographer’s cheers grew increasingly genuine as time passed.

“Great! Perfect!”

The resulting shots elicited genuine gasps.

“Look over there.”

Someone nudged their neighbor.

“That advertiser hasn’t smiled since arriving.”

“They do smile.”

“They have reason. I’d be proud if I picked models this good.”

Murmurs filled the air as, after each individual shot, everyone gathered by the monitor to admire the photos.

Wang Ji-ho holding up one shoe and grinning playfully.

Seo Ri-hyeok, glasses on, reading a book with a calm expression.

Kim Jung-hyun, armpoched with a soccer ball, one hand in his pocket, smiling.

Kim Bi-ju, blowing flower petals and beaming as they fell.

It was nothing but A-cuts.

A production assistant, tongue-clicking, spoke to the satisfied manager.

“Manager, what did these kids model before? Their poses are unreal.”

“They practiced together a lot.”

“No one was coaching them?”

“They said they wanted to try it themselves, so we let them. Unlike acting, we don’t have staff to coach this, and one member happens to teach expressions and poses to the others.”

“Who’s that?”

Manager Yoon Seok-hwan smiled and replied,

“You’ll see soon.”

At that, the staff realized someone was missing.

“Oh yeah, they’re five members.”

“Who’s left? Oh! The most handsome one who stood out the most... was it Eun-ha?”

“It’s Woo-joo, Woo-joo.”

“It’s about time they appeared. Makeup’s taking quite a while. The others were done by now.”

The makeup room door opened and Sun Woo-joo emerged, and everyone spotted the reason for the delay.

‘The makeup artist really nailed it.’

Indeed.

After full makeup, Sun Woo-joo’s face looked strikingly different.

Same features, but the impression had completely changed.

Without makeup he looked crisp and neat, but with it his features became extraordinarily refined.

“Who said earlier they weren’t outshone even compared to Lee Kyun-woo?”

“Me.”

“That was shortsighted of me.”

Amid light laughter, Sun Woo-joo was surrounded by his brothers.

He strode forward, his siblings snapping phone pics around him like satellites.

The staff laughed.

“It’s been ages since the set atmosphere was this good. I should’ve guessed when they walked in.”

Someone asked worriedly,

“Do you think it’s okay? The makeup looks great, but he stands out so much the uniforms might go unnoticed.”

“True.”

It made sense.

Standing out is good, but you don’t want to overshadow the product.

The advertiser and agency seemed concerned for the same reason.

But once shooting began, everyone regained composure.

‘He nails every posture.’

Not posing to show off himself, but moving to highlight the uniform’s fit.

When the first shot was taken—undoubtedly an A-cut—the photographer suddenly muttered and scratched beneath his beanie.

“What’s that about?”

“It was fine...”

Then the cause became clear.

The photographer grabbed the idol’s arm and tapped his watch.

“Woo-joo, you should take off that weird watch. You ruined the shots.”

“Oh, I forgot.”

“Ugh... the shots are A-cuts but that watch...”

“Sorry. I’ve worn it since the military...”

The problem was the watch Sun Woo-joo wore.

An old digital watch with frayed straps dangling loosely.

Since the first photos turned out so well, the photographer couldn’t hide his regret.

Meanwhile, the rest of the shoot continued successfully.

Their claimed coaching was evident in each pose and expression.

Even minor gestures and looks conveyed the immense effort they’d put in to the staff.

The advertiser, who had been frowning, now nodded and smiled.

Then someone said,

“They’re shooting so few takes. If we finish the group shot after this, we might wrap up at record speed.”

As everyone felt hopeful, the individual shots neared completion.

“All right, for the concept ‘joyful school life,’ go with whatever free pose suits you.”

“Can I use the props?”

“Use anything you like.”

Sun Woo-joo grabbed a backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and beamed.

It was the best shot of the day.

“That’s it! Great work!”

As the staff lightly applauded, KG Inter’s apparel team leader Woo Hee-sun approached the bowing Sun Woo-joo.

Smiling in satisfaction, she asked,

“Why did you strike that pose at the end?”

“We studied the ad brief extensively. The concept is ‘joyful school life,’ and we discussed how to convey that. I preplanned it.”

His answer convinced everyone present.

“The most exciting moment at school is when classes end. So I tried the pose of grabbing your backpack.”

Surrounded again by his brothers, Sun Woo-joo returned to the waiting room, and Section Chief /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ Kim of TJ New Media spoke to Manager Yoon.

“This exceeded expectations. I didn’t know they’d be this good. Especially Woo-joo—his expressions are extraordinary.”

“Yes, they practiced a lot.”

“Is he naturally good at expressive acting?”

“Yes, plus the practice. There are many factors, but...”

Manager Yoon Seok-hwan’s gaze, following NewBlack’s backs, softened.

“I think he’s just thrilled to be wearing a school uniform.”

I feel good.

Really good.

It’s been a long time since I felt this good.

Sure, there’s the thrill of showcasing what we practiced, but above all it’s the costume’s effect.

Click—

I tried a V-sign near my eye.

Click—

I set the timer and did the flower-hands pose.

Click—

I struck the so-called “best angle” popular in middle school.

“Wow, look at all these poses. You do everything.”

“Shut up.”

“Is wearing a uniform really that exciting?”

“You wouldn’t get it in a cafeteria meal. This feeling.”

“I don’t want to know. I don’t want to feel what it’s like to take photos with that cheesy expression.”

“You never back down from a tease, do you?”

I shot Ri-hyeok a glare and took another selfie.

At that moment the maknae flopped down next to me.

“Leave him and take one with me.”

“Sure. Jung-hyun, want one too?”

“I’ll do it later.”

“Then just the two of us?”

Laughing with the maknae, we snapped photos.

Changing poses, changing expressions.

Pointing fingers at each other.

“You really act your age—seventeen with a twenty-two-year-old.”

“Someone could open a photo exhibition of these.”

“Why’s he so moody today?”

“I’m working on the vibe. They asked for a chic image.”

“Ri-hyeok, there’s a difference between unlikable and chic. This is chic.”

I struck a chic expression.

While Ri-hyeok looked reluctant, Jung-hyun blinked.

“Nice.”

Not to be outdone, the maknae followed suit.

Jung-hyun exclaimed,

“Ji-ho, you’re good too.”

“Keep it down. I need to stay in character.”

Our adorable eighteen-year-old opened his copy of The Courage to Be Disliked and began reading.

Meanwhile Ji-ho and I huddled over a smartphone, browsing photos of two idols in navy jackets and red ties smiling together.

“Hyung, should we make this our profile pic?”

“You look good. How about this?”

“You look good. I look like a dumpling.”

“This is how you look.”

“...”

“Where do you think you’re going? Our maknae’s the best-looking in the world.”

I grabbed his arm as he tried to leave.

Back to chatting with Ji-ho over the album, Min-gi hyung knocked and called the other three.

“You three head in for the group shot.”

“Okay!”

Waving them off, I was left alone in the empty makeup room, reviewing the photos we’d just taken, then glanced around.

He’s taking forever.

I should’ve sent someone with him to the restroom—it’s right there, but I just let him go.

This guy’s terrible with directions.

Just as I was about to call, the door clicked open.

“Oh, right? Thanks.”

Kim Bi-ju, thanking someone outside, entered with his phone.

Then he trained it on me.

The poor resolution told me he was filming.

“What are you recording?”

“Uh, I’m showing the set to fans, so I’m taking bits and pieces.”

Our gentle maknae sat beside me.

“Bi-ju, you look like class president in that uniform.”

“Oh, I was president.”

“Really?”

“Yes, several times.”

“No wonder.”

I could see it.

You know those students who are quiet, reliable, and get picked as president in the second semester? That was him.

To Bi-ju posing with smiles for the phone, I asked,

“So what’s the theme of this shoot?”

“Um...”

He thought a moment, then said,

“How about a time capsule?”

“Time capsule?”

“Yes, to open when we’re older.”

“Like at our tenth-anniversary fan meeting?”

“Yes, like that.”

“Nice idea.”

I waved at the camera.

“Hello, I’m NewBlack’s Woo-joo.”

“Wahaha.”

Bi-ju tapped his other hand on his fist to add audio.

Then silence.

“But if this is a time capsule, when do we open it?”

“I don’t know—when we’re in our late twenties?”

“Hey, if you guys are in your late twenties, I’ll be thirty.”

Bi-ju burst into laughter.

Still chuckling, he panned the camera back.

“Um, then tell us your thoughts on wearing a uniform.”

“Hello, future me and brothers. I’m so excited to be in a uniform. I feel great today.”

“How great?”

“Enough to forgive someone for a huge mistake?”

“Ooo...”

I asked Bi-ju, eyes wide.

“Bi-ju, if this is a time capsule concept, shouldn’t it be serious?”

“Then give them a word of blessing.”

“Hmm, what should I say... one moment.”

Ah.

“To my younger brothers who are in high school now. Ri-hyeok, Ji-ho, are you watching? It’s hyung. I told you then that school life is the brightest time. I said time is precious—but look, you didn’t value it. You regret not listening, don’t you? It’s so sad.”

“Hyung, what kind of blessing is that?”

Bi-ju covered his mouth, grinning.

“How about this, hyung? Since school’s the topic, leave a message for fans who are students.”

“Fans?”

That changed things.

“Um, fans... Hello, Supplé. It’s Woo-joo.”

“Hyung, your tone just changed.”

I ignored him and looked at myself on the screen.

“Oh, suddenly talking to our Supplé changes the topic. Please ignore what I just said to my brothers. Um, those of you working hard at school, you’re awesome.”

Bi-ju laughed at my contrived thumbs-up.

“But what I said to my brothers was because they rarely go to school. As idols, sometimes they hardly go. So I told them to value school life. For them, broadcast stations and sets are ordinary, and school is special.”

But.

“Now for fans who are in school or will see this later, I need a different message. School life is tough, right?”

I smiled and said,

“People around you say it’s the best time, but if you’re in school now, it’s hard. It can be fun, but not always. Friendships get complicated, tests pile up. Too much.”

Honestly, I don’t know school life well either.

I became a trainee in middle school and dropped out before I could attend properly.

But people’s lives are similar everywhere.

Reflecting on my trainee days, I spoke imagining what our fans’ school life is like.

“So I want to say you’re doing great or you did great. It’s like going through a long tunnel. To the Supplé seeing this in the future, keep going. And to our Supplé who’ve come this far, thank you for holding on.”

“...”

“Bi-ju, how was that? Did I do well?”

But Bi-ju’s expression was awkward.

Had I done something wrong?

As I wondered, he hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“Ah, what do I do...”

“What’s wrong?”

“Hyung, you said you could forgive anything when you’re happy.”

“I did.”

“So...”

“Yeah?”

“Hyung, this—I really didn’t know it would happen like this, but...”

Bi-ju spoke in a half-dying voice.

“This was a live broadcast, hyung.”

“What?”

Bi-ju tapped the screen and revealed the chat window that had been hidden.

As the shout of “Hey!” reverberated through the makeup room, a group of people burst into laughter watching Sun Woo-joo scold Kim Bi-ju on the screen.

“Puhahaha!”

They were the members and the manager holding their phones.