Chapter 788: Question (9)

At last, the New Year of 2018 arrived!

A magical gift came to us to greet the New Year.

[No. 1] NewBlack — Coin

It was Coin rising to No. 1 on various music charts.

Naturally.

“Huh?”

“What is going on?”

We had no idea.

We stared at the charts on our phones, baffled.

Coin had inexplicably climbed to No. 1.

A song released eight months ago topping the charts again felt strange.

“Ah. Should I exercise my search power again?”

Our maknae snapped his fingers and tapped his phone.

The kid who knows the internet inside out came back with results in no time.

“Found it.”

“You found it?”

“It’s because of bitcoin.”

Jiho held his phone out.

[Does anyone else hear the lyrics as ‘coin’?]

When they sing “coin coin keep going,”

it sounds like “coin coin gaj-uh~~~” lololol

Apparently the trending bitcoin craze and our song Coin matched up perfectly.

Biju asked, “What’s ‘gaj-uh’?”

We’d seen entertainers shout “gaj-uh~!” on TV recently and thought it meant something like “let’s go!”—it turns out it actually had meaning.

While devouring the etymology of new slang on that wiki site, we all quietly looked at one person.

“.......”

The main vocalist, scrolling through the internet with a very displeased look.

He flicked the screen with a long finger as if the internet mood irritated him.

“No.”

Ri Hyuk ran his hand through his hair and said, “Honestly, isn’t this a bit much? A song about peace and harmony being linked to this...!”

“Calm down, Ri Hyuk.”

“Well, it’s a bit off. Our composer worked so hard on that song...”

He sounded hurt that listeners were using my song in a way that ran counter to its intent.

“Ri Hyuk.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t worry. Actually, the royalties came in, so I’m happy.”

“Oh...”

Ri Hyuk nodded as if that made sense.

“In any case, if this keeps up people will keep listening to our song. As long as it gets to Seoul, it’s all good.”

“Yeah. That’s true.”

“No matter the situation, make the best of it.”

We brainstormed what to do to ride the renewed interest in Coin.

A short live clip for NewBlack TV.

A thank-you video.

We planned small things we could do.

“Nothing too big.”

That was our maknae’s advice.

“Memes get ruined fast if the original creators try to control them. It’s better to just say thanks and keep it small.”

Jiho was right—there were already countless clips on MyTube.

NewBlack Coin (Bitcoin Remix)

[1-hour loop] NewBlack — Coin

Surviving the bear market (Coin Remix)

We smiled at netizens churning out memes.

Coin was climbing steadily right now. If the virtual-currency craze continued through the year, Coin placing on the year-end charts wouldn’t be out of the question.

We accepted the New Year’s gift cheerfully and then turned our attention.

“Let’s start getting ready for this too.”

“Yes.”

We fiddled with our phones together.

Today was the first day of the year.

For 2018 we wanted to start something new.

How about getting closer to the public? We could send personal messages to fans.

There was Y-app for live streaming, but we felt a platform that allowed calmer, static communication was needed. Live chat has fast-moving comments and great real-time interaction, but sometimes you want to send a tidy, composed message to fans—things I’ve been thinking about and want to say calmly.

So we decided to open personal Instagram accounts.

Why don’t we each start our own SNS accounts?

The official account was fine for communication, but personal accounts wouldn’t be a bad idea either. We were careful about internal competition, but it wasn’t something that would destabilize us now. Luxury brands we served as ambassadors were also asking.

LeBlanc asked you to make an Instagram.

Being a luxury-brand ambassador meant you’d post shoots and outfits. The path of a fashionista is treacherous.

“Let’s see.”

My handle appeared with a blue check and my ID next to it.

tjsdnwn [Follow]

A tip Taehyun had sent about making cool Instagram IDs—type names on an English keyboard. I picked a pretty flower for my profile pic and peeked as the others tapped away.

From ‘king_jiho’ to ‘sweet_potato,’ everyone was crafting unique IDs.

“All set?”

“Yes!”

Time for promotion.

You can’t expect people to find a shop if you just open the door. We turned on Y-app and announced our SNS to the Souffles.

“Souffles!”

The Y-app follower numbers shot up—hundreds of thousands, millions—and we promoted our SNS.

“We opened our SNS!”

We planned an opening event and to take some requests from fans.

“Eh?”

Jiho looked at his phone and said, “Hyung.”

“Yes?”

“The server’s crashed. We can’t connect.”

“.......”

I looked at the comment feed.

Slowly, little turtles.

Through the comment window I had the odd sense of enormous, embarrassed loaves of bread peeking out.

At the same time elsewhere.

“Damn... why won’t it work? Hey, can you access Instagram?”

“Nope. I can’t either.”

Normies were murmuring.

A previously well-functioning SNS suddenly stuttered and became inaccessible.

[Is it just me?]

Everything’s down;;

OMG me too

Thought it was just me lol thank god

Me too

N D N D

We thought maybe the New Year’s surge had overloaded the servers. Then news articles began circulating through messengers.

NewBlack opens personal SNS accounts... what will their first posts be?

The national-idol group in their fifth year had opened personal SNS accounts.

“Oh, that explains it.”

They had promoted it via a live stream, and the servers had been overwhelmed.

Soon the servers calmed and fans and the general public rushed to check NewBlack’s SNS.

‘It’s all flowers.’

Flower after flower.

People looked at Sun Wooju’s flowery-themed account and moved on to Ri Hyuk’s.

‘Who is he following...?’

We watched his following list grow in real time—NASA, Smithsonian, Korea Aerospace Research Institute—people nodded at the eclectic lineup.

‘Of course. It’s Ri Hyuk.’

Each member frantically added follows matching their interests.

At the same time, MyTube viewers jumped into the live stream on the NewBlack TV account. The members sat around the dorm living room chatting.

[We’re pros, right?]

[We know everything about SNS. I’m a new-gen, after all.]

Sun Wooju’s overconfident manner grated a bit, but whenever he puffed up the older brothers’ eyes went to the maknae.

Like kids hunting for Doraemon, our eyes were on the maknae who seemed to know so much, but to our surprise the 21-year-old’s fingers shook.

[Uh. For that, you can do whatever you like, hyung.]

[Okay.]

The fans laughed at the fake information and the members joined in. Junhyun read a comment.

[Do Q&A. Mu-mul?]

[Mu-mul is......]

Sun Wooju smiled as if his pride had been touched by fans teasing him for not knowing.

[Mu-mul. Who should do mu-mul?]

[Ah, mu-mul.]

“Mu-mul”—short for “Ask me anything”—was what the question feature was for. Fans could ask things like, “When will you give up the floral prints?” Biju smiled and passed it along.

[I think Junhyun would be perfect for mu-mul.]

[Mu-mul, huh.]

Junhyun stroked his chin and looked at the maknae.

[Mu-mul... I think I know what to do.]

[Yep.]

Junhyun got up and went to the kitchen and brought something.

‘Hm?’

Viewers blinked as Junhyun grated a daikon radish quickly on a grater.

[Shred shred shred shred—]

The live audience burst into laughter.

Realizing the absurdity, Sun Wooju and Ri Hyuk covered their faces and laughed.

[Whew.]

Wiping his sweaty forehead, Junhyun offered the grated radish water.

[It’s mu-mul.]

People watching put their phones down and laughed out loud.

Biju, embarrassed, said, [Junhyun, judging by the comment feed, this might be the wrong move.]

[Oh. Really?]

Far from being SNS experts, we were gleefully manufacturing a New Year’s cringe moment.

We learned a few things that day.

Mu-mul was an abbreviation for “ask me anything.”

And.

“If there’s something you don’t know, just ask.”

“Exactly.”

“You stay in there....”

“Tch.”

Our maknae pouted and went in.

Anyway, our embarrassing antics taught us a lot about SNS.

How to mute notifications.

What a DM is.

Direct messages poured into the account from the moment it opened—some hateful threats that need forwarding to legal, which was a bit alarming, but overwhelmingly the messages were supportive.

“This turned out well.”

“Right.”

We thought we’d use it often to send messages to fans.

We watched follower numbers cross ten million and kept rising, then put our phones away.

“Sometimes it feels unreal.”

The idea of over ten million people worldwide liking—no, knowing—me was strange.

I could feel a few tens of thousands were real—when we performed on big stages and stood with those who loved us, that number felt concrete. But seeing these totals made me wonder if all those fans really existed.

“It’s unreal, sure. But if you do the math it’s not wrong. It’s just...”

Ri Hyuk started tapping numbers into the phone calculator and explaining while I looked away.

Nice weather. A runway stretches under the clear sky.

This was Seoul Gimpo Business Aviation Center—the airport we use for charter flights.

“Are they almost here?”

“They should arrive soon. About five minutes.”

Important guests were arriving on the company charter today. Outside, reporters were camped; inside were managers, performance agency reps, and staff from the Seon Myungju Foundation.

Signs reading [Welcome to Korea] and [Welcome to Korea] were held by staff, and an NBS filming crew shooting a behind-the-scenes documentary was among them.

We were waiting for the performers who would appear in Seon Myungju’s final concert this weekend.

“They’re coming.”

At Junhyun’s call, everyone looked up at the empty sky.

After about a minute, a small dark speck grew close and the charter plane landed.

Our charter, emblazoned with [The New Black], taxied and the performers streamed out.

-......!

-...!

We marveled at the NewBlack logo on the plane as the arriving musicians chattered happily and even took selfies in sunglasses.

“Let’s go greet them.”

“Yes.”

The performers cleared immigration and passed through.

“Hey!”

“Hey~”

We hugged the smiling artists and took their names in. Raymond Irwin. Camila Baker. Chad Owell—famous players we’d met in New York—and an elderly man leaning on a cane.

“How was the flight?”

“I slept like the dead. Fantastic plane. It’s my first time on a private jet.”

“So glad you slept well.”

We shook hands with jazz legend Winston Ross and greeted others standing nearby—Raul Gonzalez and Immanuel Mugabo, who’d helped at my dad’s charity event, and pianist Paul Laurent returning from tour.

“Met you last month, Paul.”

“Long time.”

We hugged lightly, and I introduced them to the staff.

While everyone shook hands and exchanged “Nice to meet you,” a manager said the buses were ready.

“Shall we go?”

Some were older, and we were a bit nervous about the press, but the interviews went better than I expected.

“To put on Seon Myungju’s concert required an enormous effort. That his children could gather here is truly miraculous. It gave me goosebumps.”

The visiting musicians fed tasty quotes to the press—veterans of the jazz world. Paul Laurent spoke to a KTN reporter; Winston Ross bantered with a BBC Asia reporter. While reps and interpreters handled Q&A carefully, I stepped forward.

“Sun Wooju! Sun Wooju!”

“How does it feel?”

“What did you think of the three-part documentary that aired recently...?”

An hour of Q&A later we were finally released.

Flashes popped as we boarded the charter bus—an indicator of intense media interest.

“Phew.”

Raymond Irwin joked, touching his bald head.

“Look at the sweat on your head. It’s hot.”

“I felt like a superstar for a bit.”

They laughed—this degree of media attention was new to them but welcome.

Amid the chatter I told the musicians, “First to the hotel, then to the destination you mentioned...”

“No.”

Winston Ross shook his head.

“First to the destination.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“I’ve wanted to go there as soon as I arrived in Korea.”

Instead of dropping off luggage first, he wanted to go straight away; the others nodded.

There’s somewhere in Korea you want to see.

Before coming to Korea some of the people connected to my father had said there was a place they wanted to visit.

“Should we head to Gunsan right away?”

“Yes!”

The bus pulled away with a press convoy behind it. I exchanged looks with my brothers and gazed at the distant sky.

I’d long wanted to take the members together to this place—and today it would be our destination.

“Where shall we take them in Gunsan?”

“To the Seon Myungju Memorial Hall.”

Once a great genius said,

“In my hometown the sunset is truly something else. If you see it from Wolmyeong Park... it’s simply superb.”

“Wolmyeong? What’s that?”

A couple used to seat children and play piano and cello—an old tale.

“Old records say that once two moons appeared in the sky and strange phenomena continued for ten days. A famous monk was summoned to drive it away. Called Wolmyeong Dae-sa, he played a flute that night, and the sound was so beautiful...”

The piano that had been tickling faded and the wife’s cello slipped in beautifully.

To the admiring listeners, the gentleman said,

“The sound was so beautiful even the moon stopped tilting its arc; they called that place Wolmyeongri. The character ‘myeong’ there is the same as in my name—‘bright.’ It means brightness. Gunsan is a land full of such mystery.”

“By the way, my ‘myeong’ is that ‘myeong.’ Curious, right? In Korea they call this inyeon—fate. It means the universe’s workings.”

As the couple enchanted the kids with Gunsan’s mystique, the visiting performers’ hearts began to flutter.

“A land of mystery and secrets, Gunsan.”

“A place where the dawn and twilight are the most beautiful in the world...”

“How wonderful it must be.”

My father and mother used to spin dreams and wonder for friends about this place when they had little info about Korea.

“Um...”

For someone, words caught in their throat.

‘What on earth did my parents talk about all the time?’

On the bus, eyes wide with curiosity, the visiting musicians’ hearts began to beat for a different reason.