Chapter 790: Question (11)

When they first heard stories about Mrs. Kim Deoksun, the Black musicians imagined her like this.

"Big Mama."

The image of the grandmothers they'd seen in their childhood.

A large-bodied grandmother grinning shamelessly, scooping food onto plates with hands like pot lids.

"Kids should eat a lot!"

Each time she beamed and patted the kids on the back, it felt like even their brains shook from the impact.

To them, Mrs. Kim Deoksun was exactly that image.

On top of that, the praise for her cooking was constant.

"Mother-in-law's cooking is the best. I grew up eating Mom's food along with Myeong-eun."

"Oh. I want the sundubu my mother used to make."

Whenever Sun Myeongju and Lee Myung mentioned that magical taste, the kids and friends would swallow their saliva.

They were thrilled at the thought of tasting it themselves.

But now they were puzzled.

"The condition of the building...?"

They'd been told it was a shabby place in an alley.

So what was that building in front of them?

Maybe because the roof was tiled, it felt like looking at a massive palace.

"Majestic."

"This is way too majestic. Do Koreans call this an alley?"

"It's like a palace where the king of K-Food lives."

As those jokes flew, their eyes landed on the grandmother visible beyond the bus window.

She stood with staff arranged like henchmen, her coat flapping.

It was nothing like what they had imagined.

"Gangster-like."

She gave off the vibe of a godmother who keeps a foolish son as the front man while she runs the organization from behind.

Even the way she slid off her sunglasses was not ordinary.

Amid that atmosphere, her grandchild smiled gently and asked,

"Not quite what you imagined, right?"

"..."

They nodded silently.

We led the wide-eyed musicians off the bus.

"Grandmaaa—!"

I ran, shouting "Kim Deoksun!" and Aunty Sukja and the restaurant staff burst out laughing.

I hugged her tightly and soaked in that familiar warmth for a moment.

"I missed you so much, Grandma."

"You worked hard coming here."

As Grandma patted my back, our lackeys rushed in.

"Grandma! We're here too!"

"Oh my, it's been a while, Biju."

"And me~? How about me?"

The youngest stuck his head out, trying to be cute as he reunited with her.

The jazz musicians approached slowly, cautiously, until they were within a few steps.

I introduced them.

"These are the musicians who will play at my father's concert."

"Nice to meet you."

The musicians bowed slightly in Korean fashion to the grandmother, who responded with an elegant, dignified tone.

At first they were a bit reserved.

But once they realized our grandmother only looked fierce, they began chattering right away.

"I've heard a lot about you two. I'm Raymond Irwin. It's an honor to meet you."

"I've heard you make amazing food."

"The building is so beautiful. The Korean sign on the shop is so stylish."

As those offering handshakes extended their hands, Grandma clasped them and exchanged greetings.

Watching Paul Laurent greet her with graceful manners, Grandma whispered, "That one's handsome, hey," and blushed a little.

Then a flushed, rosy-faced old man stepped forward.

"...?"

The dark-skinned man with a pink flush on his cheeks was none other than jazz legend Winston Ross.

"Ahem."

Winston cleared his throat, took off his hat, and made a graceful bow. He kissed the back of Grandma's hand and introduced himself.

"I'm Winston Ross."

"Yes. Nice to meet you~"

Winston, shy like a bashful boy, drifted back and asked me,

"Friend—"

"Yes?"

"May I ask whether Madam has a husband?"

"...."

Madam Kim Deoksun, who always attracted old men like flies whenever she went to the senior center.

I translated his question to Grandma.

"He asked if you have a spouse."

"Tell him, men are tiresome. Because of that old man I went through so much hardship..."

"Right."

"Old women like me—if you don't have a husband, you live longer."

"That's right. Live long, you must."

I conveyed Mrs. Kim Deoksun's message with joy.

I watched Winston Ross's face turn slightly dejected, then turned my gaze elsewhere, satisfied.

"The wind is chilly. Shall we go inside?"

The musicians nodded as they buttoned their coats.

As soon as we stepped into the restaurant, chaos erupted.

"NewBlack!"

"Did they just appear on TV?"

"No, NewBlack is right there!"

"Huh? Uh—?!"

Patrons sitting at tables on the stairs sprang up and pulled out their phones.

We ushered the musicians up first, then went to greet the customers.

"Hello. I'm the grandson of this house! Is the food good?"

"We're his younger brothers!"

"Oh my. Oh my...!"

We high-fived and took photos with a mom who said she saw us on TV yesterday, shook hands with a man claiming to be a corporate executive who handed us his business card, and posed with a four-year-old making a V sign.

"Okay, you know what to do, right? Post a pic of NewBlack in person on the internet~"

"Big hit!"

"Personality?"

"The best!"

I clapped and nodded.

"Alright. I’ll buy soda and cider for everyone today."

"Woooo!"

I waved to the delighted customers and hurried upstairs to the musicians' floor.

Maybe because of the cheering from downstairs, the jazz musicians stuck out their tongues in astonishment.

Paul laughed.

"They are insanely popular no matter when you see them."

"They really take after their father. Their fan service is top-tier."

I laughed and asked,

"Have you placed your orders?"

"They started with the Newbulbaek. That's the restaurant's signature dish."

"Excellent choice."

I nodded toward the tables with charcoal grills and plates.

After the restaurant expanded, it had a somewhat grill-house vibe.

Apparently it was due to consulting from a dining industry expert introduced by CEO Park Gyuho.

"Wow..."

The musicians sniffed the smell of the bulbaek on the grill and hummed jazz with pumped expressions.

Even their hums had wit and sense.

Unsurprisingly, the response to the bulbaek was enormous.

"This is the best thing I've eaten recently."

"As of today, I declare Korea my second home."

"I've been to many places in Koreatown, but I've never had anything like this. It's truly the best..."

Even those who picked at side dishes praised the meat.

And one more realization.

"Hyung."

Junhyun set his spoon on the earthenware bowl and said, watching the foreigners.

"They really know how to eat sundubu."

"Right...?"

I was surprised that foreign guests who I thought might find it too spicy were actually enjoying the sundubu.

We had purposely made it less spicy, but still, it was surprising.

Maybe because of that food, our Mrs. Kim Deoksun seemed even happier than usual.

"Hyung, is Grandma mad?"

"No? She looks really pleased."

"?"

Maybe it was because of the stories the jazz musicians told her.

They talked to Grandma the whole meal.

"Myeong-eun used to cook and always talked about you. She said she wished she'd inherited your cooking skills... and she'd laugh so happily."

"You're the spitting image of your daughter."

"She was truly a wonderful friend."

What is it like to hear traces of your daughter in other people's voices?

Stories Mom told about Grandma, anecdotes about how lovable Mom was.

Only faint memories remain now, but each time others spoke of Mom, little recollections surfaced in my mind.

"Sleep well, my baby."

A clear, soft voice like a song.

The memory of falling asleep in my mother's arms under warm sunlight as the curtain fluttered felt real for a moment.

It was so long ago that I barely knew if it had actually happened, but...

It was comforting.

For a second I felt grateful that, around age seven, I had tried my hardest to say "I love you" to my mother.

Being able to tell loved ones you love them is a blessing.

"..."

During the quiet chatter, I turned my head and caught Grandma wiping her eyes.

'I love you, Grandma.'

Her eyes seemed to say the same back.

Her gaze at me today was strangely like Mom's, and I smiled quietly.

"See you in Seoul."

"See you again."

After seeing off Winston Ross and the jazz musicians on their bus back to Seoul, we headed to the Kim Deoksun house.

"What did you bring all piled up like that?"

"Come on, you can't show up empty-handed at Grandma's house."

"Of course Biju would."

"...Grandma always likes Biju the most."

The staff laughed softly at the housewarming gifts the lackeys brought, and Grandma looked at me with a wry smile.

"And you? You brought nothing?"

"I'm a present in myself."

"Stop with the nonsense."

"..."

As everyone laughed at my stone-faced joke, Mrs. Kim Deoksun smiled.

"Well. At least it won't be scary at night. There are five of you."

"Nice, right? Great, right?"

"It is. Good."

Since we had no special schedule for tomorrow, we decided to stay the night at Grandma's house.

"You can just go back to Seoul."

"No."

Jiho clutched his backpack and shook his head.

"Ri Hyuk hyung bragged so much after he went to Grandma's house last time. He said he was treated so specially. If hyung writes a solo song, won't he be the first?"

"What are you saying, King Jiho? When did I—"

"I don't know. Anyway he said so. This time I'm staying over too."

I admired the maknae who had even packed pajamas.

You need that kind of shamelessness.

Nyaa—

While the siblings made a ruckus, a cat trotted down the stairs from the second floor.

Seeing the cheese-colored cat made my brothers happy.

"Nabi!"

"No way. This is the first time I've seen Nabi in real life."

"I've already seen her."

At first wary of strangers, Nabi wandered over, rubbed against me, and purred, scanning the three newcomers with twitching whiskers.

"Of course she came to me first."

Ri Hyuk, holding a treat, was the first to be satisfied; then Nabi rubbed against Junhyun and Biju.

The maknae was left out.

"...?"

The others and I clapped and laughed.

For some reason, Nabi seemed uninterested in our youngest.

"Clearly cats know people well."

"...!"

The maknae tried hard to charm the cat, but received cool reactions each time.

Nabi simply slipped into Ri Hyuk's arms and stretched.

After that round of laughter, we lounged and enjoyed the New Year atmosphere with Grandma and the siblings.

We watched TV together in the living room like during Lunar New Year or Chuseok, chattered, and peeled tangerines until our nails turned orange.

We posted photos from the day on Instagram and monitored the comments.

"Good night, hyung."

"Good night."

Biju, who shared the same room, and I lay down on the bed.

Lights out.

In the quiet room, I closed my eyes.

"..."

Yeah.

I had made the most of the day.

Now I would close my eyes and fall asleep.

One by one... Red sun.

Red red sun sun

The red sun shines on me

The chorus and lyrics that fit the keyword "Red Sun" drifted into my head.

As potential verses floated by,

"..."

I opened my eyes and shook my head.

For once, I wanted to sleep without thinking about work...

—Next, the song camp locations for the next album. The places I've scouted...

Thoughts about what we'd decide in the meeting came with Seokhwan hyung's voice.

Designers and producer lineups for the next album passed through my mind.

No.

"..."

I opened my eyes, then closed them again.

Faces of people we met at the restaurant and the jazz musicians bobbed before my eyes.

Did I say anything wrong today?

I replayed the day to check for slip-ups, then stopped.

"..."

When I opened my eyes again, someone spoke beside me.

"Hyung."

"Yeah?"

"You can't sleep, can you?"

"Sorry."

Biju smiled.

"I can't sleep either."

"You too?"

In the dark, a slim shape sat up.

Maybe because of the moonlight through the curtains, his eyes glittered. I got up and leaned my back against the cool wall.

"Why is sleep so elusive? Seriously."

"I've been like that lately. I feel a bit on edge..."

"I'm tired but I can't sleep. You know how it is, right?"

"I do, hyung."

We laughed quietly in the dark.

Biju rubbed the back of his neck.

"I feel kind of guilty."

"From taking today off?"

"Yes."

"You should have days off sometimes... I want to say that, but I'm in the same boat, so I can't say much."

If you don't meet the quota of tasks for the day, you can't sleep.

Usually I'd decide since I wouldn't be sleeping anyway, I'd get up and work through the night, but the prolonged accumulation makes fatigue snowball.

"I get why older members get prescribed sleeping pills these days."

"We should solve it naturally. Hyung. If there's any press about it, it'd be a real problem."

"Of course."

Lately we've used massage chairs and stretches to relax our muscles.

But something more fundamental needs to change in our minds.

After stretching for a long time, I turned to Biju.

"Since we're stuck like this, shall we talk about the album?"

"Okay."

The third full-length album we're aiming to release this spring.

I opened my laptop for Biju.

"There are a lot of songs."

"Whoa... Are all of these songs?"

"Yes."

"Hyung, I'm honestly worried. You need to sleep. Songs or what..."

"Lots, right?"

Biju nodded and I smiled fondly.

"Hyung, this could cover up to ten full albums."

"I once counted — it could go up to forty. Probably."

"..."

"If you take outside requests for songs, it could be eighty."

I compose whenever I have a moment, so the number of songs is enormous.

The dilemma is this.

"The problem is choosing which of these to include."

Unlike when we did a special song camp for overseas releases, we already have enough domestic songs.

No, we even have enough for abroad.

The hard part is selecting a title track and forming a theme that matches it.

"I'll need to make a new title song... but deciding on the theme is what's tricky."

"Hmm..."

"Any ideas?"

"No. My head is fuzzy..."

At the mention of being sleepy yet unable to sleep, something popped into my mind.

"How about insomnia?"

"I like that. It's a relatable topic. There might be fans who can't sleep too."

"Tell them to sleep better?"

"Hmm. That's good. But since Metro, we've been planning to convey our inner stories. Isn't this part of our story too?"

"That's true."

"We could give a meaningful message to fans."

The message to the fans, telling them to sleep well, struck a chord.

"Sleep well, my baby."

I couldn't be certain I actually remembered hearing it, but Mom's voice with that line came to mind.

Biju yawned.

"But we should ask the others first."

"Right."

It wasn't something we could decide rashly among ourselves.

Click.

Whirr.

Three heads peeked in as the door opened slightly; the glow from the laptop reflected in their eyes.

Junhyun scratched the back of his head.

"I can't sleep."

"Me neither."

"Me too."

Biju and I exchanged a small smile and beckoned the others over.

Insomnia.

In that moment, the theme for the next album was naturally decided.

While NewBlack's members gathered in one room and stayed up all night talking about songwriting, letters were flying to corners of Korea and the world.

Though performance dates and places varied, identical invitation letters were arriving in the hands of those connected to them.

[His Last Vow]

You are invited to Sun Myeongju's final concert.

In Korea, those who won the drawing received their invites.

Where the drawing hadn't yet run its course, special invitations were being sent first to people around the world who had ties to NewBlack or Sun Myeongju.

[We hope it assists your thesis. From another Sun.]

"Oh?"

Sonya Adams, who had announced online that she would have to rewrite her paper on Sun Myeongju from scratch, widened her eyes at Wooju's message.

[Will you come to see my father's last performance?]

"...uh?"

A Japanese magazine editor who had revealed herself to be a fan while interviewing Sun Wooju covered her mouth.

[You will be among the first to hear my father's new music this year.]

"..."

"..."

Even members of the Sun Myeongju jazz fan club stared dumbly at the letters.

"Sleep is out the window tonight."

Only four days remained until the first Korean performance.

People clutching the invitations were spreading out across Korea and the world, hearts full of excitement.