At a humble rice restaurant in Gunsan.

The place was louder than usual as members of a hiking club returning from a climb on Seonyudo overlapped with regulars.

They were so busy that just serving one round of set meals at each table took thirty minutes.

Madam Kim Deok-soon dabbed the beads of sweat on her face with a napkin and settled at a corner table.

On the TV, Joo Se-han was on.

He was drawing portraits of people in what looked like some kind of Europe-styled location.

As she turned up the volume, snippets of customers’ conversations drifted over.

“Where is that place again?”

“It’s in Gapyeong. My daughter and granddaughter went there last time. The photos looked amazing.”

“Sounds far.”

“Exactly. We’d never make it.”

“Anyway, it’ll be packed. Once it gets on air, everyone’ll rush there and it’ll be a madhouse.”

Hearing that, Madam Kim cocked her head.

‘Is this some hugely famous show?’

Honestly, she didn’t know how big it really was. Every Sunday, customers would ask, “Boss, please turn on TBC!” so she assumed it was a hit program.

She herself preferred dramas over variety shows. If it weren’t for her grandson, she wouldn’t have paid it much mind.

“Grandma! You know Joo Se-han is on, right? That show I said I watched a lot in the army? Yeah, that one.”

That call had come a few weeks ago.

Her grandson had sounded so excited on the phone that one could almost picture him jumping up and down. Madam Kim couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at his enthusiasm.

She’d been worried ever since. He loved it so much—what if he didn’t get much airtime?

“Well, they said he’d be on for about five minutes today, and the real feature would be during Chuseok.”

She silently hoped he’d come across well, when the kitchen aunt sat opposite her.

“Unni, you watch TV too? That thing.”

She handed over a cool glass of water.

“They said Woo-ju’s on?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my, that’s something. He’s even on a variety show.”

“Hey, Sook-ja, is this really that famous?”

As if hearing all sorts of odd chatter, the aunt asked.

“How would I know? I only watch dramas.”

“This is huge. Even my grandson, who normally hates TV, never misses PBS on Saturday or this on Sunday. If he doesn’t watch, he can’t talk with friends at school the next day.”

“Well, it must be something, then.”

Madam Kim nodded calmly at the fuss, then suddenly remembered and asked:

“Hey, you haven’t told anyone else, right?”

“Nope.”

“You mustn’t. Got it?”

“I swear I won’t. You don’t know how much you hassled me...”

Few around knew her grandson was a performer. At most, Kitchen Aunt Sook-ja and Mr. Oh next door, who ran a rice cake shop, were aware.

Having once been mother-in-law to a nationally beloved pianist, Madam Kim knew how to handle fame. After it became known, one must tread carefully; before that, say nothing.

‘What a miserable business fame is...’

Fame was like a typhoon. Those at its center might remain calm, but its edges swept everything away. People would ask to borrow money, request singing at weddings, or landlords would raise rent. These were issues, but her concern was her grandson. He’d wanted to be an idol since childhood—she wouldn’t let some old coot blurting things to people hold him back.

Thus, she’d kept a low profile. When asked what he was up to these days, she’d just say, “Studying, studying.”

“Unni.”

“What?”

“But until now, I get it—music shows are one thing. But once this airs, everyone’ll know. Go next door. They’ll have it on. They’ll say, ‘Hey! Isn’t that Woo-ju?’ Unless he changed his name to something like ‘Kkararang’ or ‘Pororong.’”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not telling.”

“Oh, that stubbornness. You’ll be the one with all the pride here. Anyway, you know yourself... okay? Okay?”

Under Madam Kim’s fierce glare, the aunt cowered.

While refilling side dishes and cooking extra orders, Joo Se-han’s live broadcast ending credits rolled. Then the caption “2014 Chuseok Special” appeared and the conversation shifted.

“Hey, Seo Ji-hyung’s on again even though it’s boring.”

“Maybe he’s well-connected.”

“He and Oh Hyung-seok are close—comedian seniors and juniors. They push each other.”

“That field is so dirty, right?”

“They’ll always pick their buddies.”

Each time a comedian, model, or girl group member passed by, loud commentary ensued. When a rapper with dreadlocks performed a dance, Madam Kim muttered, “What a disgrace...” and everyone burst out laughing.

A pang of anxiety struck her.

‘Please don’t do anything embarrassing...’

Just then, her grandson appeared on screen. She turned the volume up two clicks, tired of the snide remarks.

But the customers were still loud.

“My goodness, what are they yammering about now?”

“New Black, rookie idol...? Never heard of them.”

“I recognized everyone else, and that girl group too, but these are brand new faces.”

“Says they debuted two months ago.”

“Two months?”

“Come on—why feature a group that only debuted two months back?”

“The show’s just a free-for-all. Seo Ji-hyung and these newcomers must have pulled strings.”

“Why waste time introducing those kids?”

Then the man who’d complained first called out,

“Boss, more seasoned crab stew, please!”

“Yes~”

Madam Kim grabbed Aunt Sook-ja’s arm as she rose.

“Bring just the leg portion.”

A petty bit of revenge. The aunt laughed helplessly and went back to the kitchen. Madam Kim turned the volume up two more notches and focused on the broadcast.

No matter what others thought, her grandson shone. Not even the dim studio dulled his light. A cheerful fellow at the next table said,

“Wo­ju, your face is literally glowing.”

“Ah, just the studio lights.”

When someone offered to move, light fell on him.

“...”

As she cleared her throat and took a sip of water, the PD handed the newly introduced New Black team a basketball and explained the mission.

The customers clicked their tongues.

“...They want them to do that?”

“How? Are they basketball players?”

“Even pros can’t make that shot consistently.”

“For rookies, that’s cruel. At least they gave others something funny.”

“No way. It’s because that handsome guy rolled the wrong number on the dice. And... what’s with all the crab legs in this stew?”

The mission was grueling—only the variety show member who nearly succeeded by kicking the ball came closest. Other members failed one by one until only her grandson remained.

‘Why didn’t they give him something easier...’

Madam Kim sighed deeply. She knew his coordination. In elementary sports days, spectators always laughed. Like his mother, Myung-eun, he’d kick a ball over the fence or trip himself in a race. People called it cute, but as a grandmother, she felt only pity.

Just as she gulped her water in frustration,

“Oh, what’s this?”

“Guess he’s played some basketball?”

“He handles the ball strangely well.”

Startled by the unfamiliar chatter, she looked up—and saw the impossible. Woo-ju was dribbling.

To Madam Kim, it was magical. Normally after a bounce bean bag smacks him, he’d cry, “Grandma, I’m bleeding!” Yet here he was, effortlessly controlling the ball on screen.

‘They say variety is all show—but did he practice?’

Then she shook her head. Practice or not, this wasn’t something you could fake. Yet on screen, her grandson handled the ball like a pro. She was dumbfounded.

‘He’s not the clumsy kid we know...’

At that moment, a fluid sequence caught her eye. Customers, busy with spoons and chopsticks, were now glued to the tense background music.

Then—a satisfying swish as the ball swam through the net.

“...Wow.”

A delayed gasp and the room exploded in chatter. “Did you see that? Is he a pro?” “No wonder the show ran long.” “What was the group’s name?” Everyone was astonished. Who’d expect a rookie to nail a full-court shot that pros train months for?

No one there, however, was more flabbergasted than Madam Kim, who’d raised him for twenty years.

“Unni, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know...”

Her mind felt swept clean, like after a typhoon. He wasn’t that kind of kid.

The TV showed her grandson wiping cold sweat. He’d tried to look confident, but must’ve been terrified.

Poor thing, she thought, her heart aching as she watched. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Though the broadcast ended, patrons at the rice house kept talking about him.

“I wondered why they dragged it out—but it was worth it. Incredible. Even the crew didn’t expect this to make good footage.”

The same critic who’d insulted her grandson now praised him. Madam Kim rose silently and headed to the kitchen.

“What’s this, boss?”

“On the house.”

She served the generously meaty seasoned crab, smiling demurely. The hiking club members, who’d joked about her good mood, were urged to eat up.

The door burst open.

“Unni!”

“Boss!”

The owners of a nearby snack shop and barbecue place poked their heads in, faces alight.

“Isn’t that Woo-ju? Woo-ju!”

“Why’s the study-only kid on TV? And as a singer...!”

Their exclamations drew other customers’ gazes. One hiking club member, puzzled, asked,

“Is that someone the boss knows?”

Madam Kim, stunned, felt dizzy. She didn’t fully understand, but it was clear her grandson had appeared on an immensely popular show.

In a barbecue restaurant, a family gazed blankly at the screen; in a rural village hall, people raised their glasses in excitement. A girl group member tossed her phone in frustration upon seeing a group chat. Yet others rejoiced.

“Ha... finally... people are recognizing us.”

“We hit number one in searches!!!!”

“Why am I so moved?”

“Woo-ju, sobbbbbb”

For New Black, known only in idol circles until now, this was their first taste of the public eye. Some might scoff at a mere ten minutes, but those ten minutes belonged to Joo Se-han. Fans felt differently: this was their beloved singer—talented and charming yet unknown—making a memorable variety appearance.

As “New Black” trended at number one in real time, fans who’d followed since their first album, especially since “Something,” were deeply moved.

“I’m having chicken tonight sobbb”

It ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) was a festival.

It was their busiest day since debut.

[Real-Time Search Rankings]

New Black

Woo-ju

Full-court shot

Joo Se-han

The instant the show ended, we shot up the rankings. We lingered an hour before dropping, but we’d just experienced the power of broadcasting. Ten minutes was more screen time than usual, but we never expected that level of impact.

No wonder every agency grovels before variety PDs, begging to appear. A cameo on a famous show catapults you to number one...

Of course, it wasn’t just presence. I’d pulled off something remarkable like a master on TV. Editing turned a simple “Oh!” into a “Wow!” They even slashed the practiced takes to make me look like I nailed it on the first try. I nearly froze at the cringe factor, but the response was overwhelmingly positive.

“Who is this rookie group ‘New Black’ with Joo Se-han?”

“Revisiting Woo-ju’s past ‘My father is Sun Myung-ju’ comment on Mu:ka”

“New Black, the hot rookie after ‘Something’ and ‘Fireworks’”

Articles branded us as the next big thing. Until recently, entertainment reporters who subtly dissed us were now riding our wave. We laughed comparing bylines. On portals, the clip was the featured highlight.

“Wow... rewatching is still amazing”

“Is this faked?”

“Faked”

“Where are those who claimed it was bribery? lol”

Best of all, the hateful comments we’d received since our booking announcement had nearly vanished. A few remained, but most hardcore viewers were on the sidelines.

“Let’s see how they do in a special, but they seemed diligent. Better than Girls on Top on FI Entertainment.”

“Just posing all pretty... what’s the point of them appearing?”

Comments ranging from seething to mild praise:

“Not bad. Old PD must know what he’s doing. #OldPD”

“Let’s see if they stay #OldPD or become #OldPDa$$.”

“I saw yesterday, Hee-chan and Hee-yeon’s chemistry was nice ;)”

We’d aimed for a non-polarizing intro, and the results exceeded our hopes.

“What’re you staring at?”

“Our articles.”

“This phone almost sucked me in, man.”

I laughed at Seok-hwan hyung’s teasing and pocketed my phone. We were heading to a café a bit away from the office. Upstairs, they’d set up cameras.

We greeted a male assistant director and two writers—one a young writer named Jung Woo-jeong whom I’d met before, deep dark circles under his eyes.

“Hello, I’m Sun Woo-ju.”

I smiled at the crew as they adjusted the camera. The day after Joo Se-han’s broadcast, our schedule was a documentary shoot.