Chapter 911: We are, well... uh... henchmen. (1)

New York City.

Like any major metropolis, New York City was infamous for its traffic congestion.

Ranked number one for the worst traffic in the United States.

And yet—

“Something’s weird.”

The locals felt it too.

‘This area is usually clear on Sundays.’

One particular stretch of road was unusually jammed.

Watching the yellow taxis inch forward, it felt like walking would be faster.

“What’s going on?”

Inside one of those taxis, a Korean exchange student named Oh Jihye looked around before speaking to the driver.

“Traffic’s really bad today.”

“It’s been like this all day.”

The driver chewed his gum lazily and jerked his chin toward a flag hanging from a streetlight.

[MET GALA 2018]

Seeing the flag fluttering, she realized.

‘It’s Met Gala season.’

The time when celebrities gathered for the famous costume party.

She wondered which attention seekers would win Best Dressed this year.

“...They say NewBlack is coming.”

“Sorry?”

The driver explained the traffic.

“They’re saying NewBlack is attending the Met Gala.”

“...?”

“That’s probably why it’s this bad. Fans have gathered near their hotel in massive numbers.”

“....”

The familiar name froze her thoughts for a moment.

‘NewBlack... at the Met Gala?’

It felt strange.

Korean celebrities being famous in America too.

Even stranger—the taxi driver casually saying, “Traffic’s bad because NewBlack is here.”

“You know NewBlack?”

“You don’t...?”

“No, I do.”

His tone implied it was obvious.

While she blinked in surprise, a song played on the radio.

—“Up next, do you want the answer to life? Here’s Answer by Cold Brown and Wooju!”

Released in March, still holding No.1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in early May.

A massive hit.

A jazz-hip-hop melody filled the car.

The driver sang along, completely off-key.

“Marcus said, waste no more time arguing what a good man should be~”

As he hummed happily—

They reached the worst congestion point.

“...What the—”

The student stared in disbelief.

Fans had gathered near the hotel.

Faces painted with flags and Souffle symbols.

Placards and light sticks everywhere.

Reporters with cameras.

Police cars lined up nearby.

Even officers stood with arms crossed, shaking their heads.

The driver whistled.

“Feels like Thanksgiving came early.”

“Yeah...”

The crowd looked like a parade.

“By the way—are you Korean?”

“How did you know?”

“Koreans have this expression when they hear about NewBlack. Like... recognition. People from China or Japan don’t react the same way.”

Apparently, it showed.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Sure.”

“They say NewBlack is insanely popular in Korea. Like—if they sell barbecue, highways get blocked. Is that real?”

To an American, it sounded unbelievable.

“No way a star could cause that level of impact.”

She hesitated.

“Well...”

Then said,

“Not everyone, but... I like them.”

“Haha!”

The driver burst out laughing.

“Why?”

“Every Korean I ask says the same thing.”

She laughed too.

NewBlack’s attendance at the Met Gala had become a major topic in the industry.

Especially among entertainment media.

[“The attendee list for this year’s Met Gala has been revealed. A stunning lineup—Alec West, Isabella Doris, Regina, Cold Brown...”]

[“And one name drawing special attention—NewBlack.”]

It wasn’t just because a popular boy group was attending.

[“Boy band members attending isn’t new. Freddie Ocean from Ocean Five attended in 2016...”]

Top individual members had appeared before.

But—

[“All members of a group attending together? That’s unprecedented.”]

[“And all of them are ambassadors for major luxury brands.”]

That was the key.

All five attending.

It was something no one had seen before.

At the press conference—

“Why were all members invited?”

The co-chair, Isabella Doris smiled.

“I saw Wooju’s runway video thanks to my friend Laura.”

She was referring to Laura McConnell.

“That video was breathtaking. Him walking with a floral crown... unforgettable.”

It had over 100 million views.

Like a mythological figure.

That moment made Wooju a fashion icon.

Luxury brand LeBlanc saw a 20% sales increase thanks to him.

And more—

The rise of “granny chic.”

A trend he helped popularize.

“All of that contributed to inviting NewBlack.”

Luxury brands had fought to include them.

Each one eager to dress them.

Because—

They influenced millions.

Meanwhile—

At the hotel.

“...This is insane.”

The suite’s windows were completely blocked—

By mountains of gifts.

“....”

“....”

Even the managers were speechless.

“If that collapses, Ri Hyuk might get buried.”

“Possible.”

Each member approached their pile.

[To NewBlack Wooju]

A handwritten note.

“Thank you.”

Signed by Georges Wenger, chairman of LeBlanc.

“...This is overwhelming.”

Shoes, perfumes, luxury goods.

They decided not to open them yet.

Too busy.

Sitting around the table—

“Alright, briefing time.”

“Okay.”

Seokhwan explained.

“Tomorrow, everything—makeup, outfits—is handled by the brands.”

“Got it.”

“But you won’t all enter together.”

“...What?”

“Wooju enters with designer Jimmy Robbins.”

The others—

Separate entries.

“...We have to talk alone?”

“...In English?”

They looked at each other.

“....”

Then looked at Wooju.

“You’ll be fine.”

“This isn’t Korea!”

“You’ll manage.”

Eventually—

They prepared for fittings.

Separate hotel rooms.

Secrecy was everything in fashion.

Then—

Inside LeBlanc’s suite.

“Sunny!”

Jimmy Robbins greeted Wooju.

“The greatest designer meets the greatest icon!”

“Haha!”

Their synergy was instant.

Clothes were brought in.

Wooju stared.

“...We’re going to make history tomorrow.”

“They’ll never forget us.”

They laughed and danced.

Monday.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art stood ready.

[MET GALA]

One of only four days it closed annually.

Red carpet.

Press lines.

Security everywhere.

A massive event.

Outside—

Fans and paparazzi waited.

“Who’s staying here today?”

“NewBlack.”

“Ah.”

Immediate understanding.

Then—

“They’re coming out!”

Cameras snapped into position.

‘First shot wins.’

But—

“...What?”

A black figure emerged.

Cloaked.

Slow.

Like a shadow.

‘Dementor?’

‘That’s a Dementor.’

Wooju walked forward— 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

Face visible.

Body hidden under a massive black cloak.

“WAAAAAAH!”

He waved.

“Hello!”

Fans cheered—

While also slightly... embarrassed.

He looked like a giant black potato.

Fluffy. Round.

Cute.

But chaotic.

Flapping his arms like a salon cape—

Then—

“Cold!”

He spotted Cold Brown.

Cold Brown looked—

Paused—

Then immediately got into his car.

Door slam.

Engine roar.

Gone.

“...He ignored him.”

Wooju reached out dramatically.

The crowd burst into laughter.