Chapter 872: You’ve waited a long time, haven’t you? (1)

During halftime of the NBA game.

As the first half ended and we waited for the second half to begin, I looked down at my phone.

“No reply.”

Cold Brown glanced over, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“Who are you waiting on?”

“My members. Looks like they’re filming something, but as far as I know, they don’t have a shoot today.”

I stared at the screen, feeling something was off.

Cold nudged my side.

“Sunny. The camera’s on us.”

“Ah.”

Our two-shot appeared on the big screen.

It seemed they were introducing celebrities during halftime, with captions displayed beneath us.

[Cold Brown, Wooju]

[Their collaboration track “Answer” is climbing the charts!]

We waved, and the crowd applauded.

Seeing the commentators smiling excitedly, they were probably talking about us.

“Haah.”

Cold let out a rough breath.

“Fame is amazing. It’s the best. Feels incredible.”

“Hehe...”

I composed my expression calmly beside him.

To others, it probably looked quite elegant.

As I smiled, the players began gathering on the court again.

“Yo, Cold!”

A player named Jaden Carter greeted him again.

He was the one Cold said he had supported—and just as he said, his skill was incredible.

“Wooooah—”

It felt like watching a basketball anime.

He slipped between two defenders like a flash, leaped, and slammed a dunk.

Then spun smoothly through the defense and scored again.

“He’s amazing.”

“His nickname’s Jaguar. His explosiveness is insane.”

Each time he made a difficult shot, he glanced toward Cold and made a small celebratory gesture.

Curious, I asked—

“How did you end up supporting him?”

“I handle most of the support for the Black community in Chicago. I saw him playing at a local court. Just had a feeling—if he’s raised right, he could win a championship someday.”

So he had introduced him to coaches, even helped him move homes.

Cold waved at the player, smiling.

“Moments like this feel incredible.”

He sat back down and asked—

“Do you know why I do charity?”

“...Because it’s a good thing?”

“Because it feels good.”

He looked like a senior giving advice.

“Sunny, you know this too—once your wealth passes a certain point, money doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I agree.”

“From that point on, influence matters. There are too many problems in this world that money alone can’t solve.”

That made sense.

“I didn’t chase fame from the start. At first, it was to build a shield. People criticized me for not being from the streets, so I thought—I need to shape my image so that if someone insults Cold Brown, people think they’re trash.”

He spoke quietly.

“But over time, I just started to like it. I can’t change the whole world—but I can change a part of it. Like that kid.”

His gaze lingered on the player on the court.

Then he looked back at me.

“I’m telling you this because you’re similar to me. You’ve got massive influence too.”

“Me?”

“If you doubt it, grab that mascot doll and wave it. Your fans will buy it out instantly.”

As the broadcast camera caught us again, I picked up the bull mascot and waved it with a smile.

Cold continued—

“Anyway, use your influence for something good. Those things build up and become a shield that protects you. Plus—it feels good.”

He winked.

I nodded.

It was worth remembering.

As I started thinking about things I could do with the members—

“Huh?”

Cold and the Chicago Bulls fans suddenly stood up.

A reversal.

The score flipped.

Cold grabbed his head in shock.

“Wha—?!”

“Ah!”

“Ugh!”

Watching that, I nodded.

As expected—

You can change parts of the world with influence, but not a basketball score.

“Haah.”

Cold smiled in relief.

‘Good thing we won.’

It almost ended in a comeback loss, but they secured the victory.

His “games I watch live always win” superstition remained intact.

The NBA game had been fun.

Dinner afterward was great too.

If there was one regret—

“It’s time to say goodbye, Sunny.”

“I had a great time.”

The handsome man smiled warmly.

‘My future Grammy bundle...’

For someone who always topped charts, number one didn’t mean much.

The important thing was the Grammys.

This time, critics had unanimously called Answer “artistic.”

“If I win a Grammy, it’ll be thanks to you.”

“It’s thanks to you for turning it into hip-hop.”

“Hahaha!”

“Haha!”

After exchanging credit—

Cold paused in thought.

‘For someone like him... you can’t win him over with money.’

Wooju already had wealth and influence.

There wasn’t much he could gift.

So instead—

“If you ever need anything, call me. You said you’re working on a film—I can even do a cameo.”

“Thank you.”

Then Wooju handed him something.

“I prepared a gift too. Thanks to you, our staff stayed comfortably at your villa, and I had a great time.”

“What is it?”

“Clothing.”

“...!”

Cold stiffened.

Wooju raised his hands lightly.

“I had it custom-made for you.”

“...?”

“It’s called a gonryongpo. A robe worn by kings in the Joseon era.”

“Whoaaa!”

Cold’s mouth fell open at the red robe embroidered with dragons.

The same one he had seen at Gyeongbok Palace.

‘Clothes worn by a king of Joseon...!’

With the traditional headpiece included, he looked ecstatic.

Dressed like a king, Cold spun once.

“How is it? Looks good?”

“You look like a real king. The true king of East Coast hip-hop...”

He grinned at that.

“King of East Coast hip-hop... I should pass it down to the next one someday.”

They laughed.

Then met eyes.

It was time to part.

“See you at Billboard in May.”

“See you then.”

Cold left with a satisfied smile.

“Let’s head back to the label.”

“Yes.”

On the flight back to New York—

His smile never faded.

This one-week run had brought him enormous results.

Influence in Korea.

Expanded tour plans.

Chart success.

And most importantly—a real shot at a Grammy.

“The best.”

Wearing the royal robe, he headed to his label—

Like a king returning from conquest.

“Cold!”

“What’s that outfit?”

“Cold!”

Younger rappers greeted him excitedly.

Some were watching something on a tablet.

“What are you watching?”

“This.”

They showed him—

A video of Cold Brown dancing to a girl group song.

“....”

“Hahaha! You’re actually good at dancing! So sexy!”

“....”

“This is hilarious!”

“....”

As laughter echoed—

Cold’s face gradually froze.

One rapper, oblivious, kept talking.

“This will go down in hip-hop history!”

“....”

A cold silence fell.

The robe fluttered.

Just the air conditioning—but it felt chilling.

“Haha... haha...”

Then—

A devilish smile spread across his face.

The rappers swallowed hard.

‘We’re dead...’

And thus—

The royal robe became a symbol of power in the East Coast hip-hop scene.

When Cold posted a photo of himself in the robe—

I boarded my flight back to Korea.

“Phew.”

A week of nonstop promotions had drained me.

But the results were worth it.

Smiling, I looked at Answer sitting at No.1 on the US charts—

“Nice plane.”

A heavyset Asian American man sat beside me.

Frank Chow.

A legendary Broadway producer—and my collaborator on the Nostalgia OST.

“It’s my first time going to Korea. I’m excited.”

“Sorry for making you come all the way.”

“No need to apologize.”

He waved it off.

“The film will be shot in both Korea and the US. Visiting is only natural. And I want to experience Gunsan and Seoul firsthand.”

He was both producer and soundtrack collaborator for the Sun Myungju film.

Director Jo Gyuhwan added—

“The team has already begun research in Gunsan. Mr. Chow will use the meeting room at Lemon Entertainment.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Apparently, they had already met distributors.

“Frank Chow’s name really helped.”

“Really?”

“They ignored us before. But once they heard he joined, they listened seriously.”

The film’s budget: around 50 billion won.

We could fund it ourselves—but—

Distribution.

Without major studios, films don’t get screened.

So—

We needed them invested.

So they’d push it themselves.

I reviewed the documents during the flight.

After landing—

“Back.”

I smiled upon arriving at the company.

It felt like coming home.

I quietly opened the practice room door—

“...Why isn’t there a constellation for meat?”

“...Think about it. Sailors would’ve been starving at night.”

“...Oh...”

...What kind of conversation was that?

I left gifts and slipped away.

Then finally found the members—

“Guys!”

Bang!

Confetti exploded.

“Hyung!”

They ran toward me—

Then dodged me and rushed to the gift cart.

“...You traitors.”

Only Biju asked about my trip.

“They missed you a lot.”

“Did not!”

Ri Hyuk protested.

“...Just said practice felt harder.”

“Just say you missed him.”

“...Missed you?”

Suddenly—

They burst into singing ballads.

“...Idiots.”

But cute.

“How was the US?”

“How were the contestants?”

“Hyung, you watched NBA, right?”

“Oh right. I messaged you guys during the game. Why didn’t you reply?”

“We filmed something.”

“...Without me?”

“You passed the driving test, right?”

“......”

“....”

They failed.

But got “good footage.”

“...Hopeless.”

After giving gifts—

We started practice.

“Hyung. Hurry.”

“...?”

They were waiting for something.

The comeback song White Night played.

After finishing—

They looked disappointed.

“...You didn’t stop practicing?”

“No.”

“...!”

“Why would I?”

Their faces collapsed.

“....”

I laughed.

Idiots.

But cute.

After returning—

Good news kept coming.

“Billboard No.1 next week is confirmed... and collaboration offers are pouring in.”

Famous singer-songwriters.

Even individual members were receiving offers.

“You did great, Wooju.”

“I know, right?”

“And this—NBA teams sent tickets.”

“...What?”

“Because you waved that Chicago Bulls mascot.”

“...Oh.”

“Fans bought them all out. Word spread—if NewBlack uses something, it sells out.”

“....”

Cold was right.

Then—

Another awaited broadcast.

[Next Mission: Infinite Competition Hip-Hop Survival]

The show where I appeared as a judge—

Was finally airing.