Tae-hyeon feigned ignorance and said,
“Number eight, I think you all know better than I do.”
The variety stars pounced like hyenas.
“Sunbaenim! Then what’s number nine?”
“We’re really curious.”
“Even if it’s the last thing, you must tell us number ten—beginning and end are the most important, right?”
Cornered in an instant, Tae-hyeon casually swept his fringe aside and pressed his hands together politely.
“I was wrong.”
“Ha ha ha!”
“That was a very big mistake...”
He bowed like a criminal, and we and the hosts clapped and laughed.
“Why are my eyes watering?”
“Ha ha ha!”
“You promised you’d treat me well if I came on this show.”
He poked at the corner of his eye with a mock-sad face, and the hosts broke into apologetic laughter.
“Wow. You really got hung up on it from the start. I came here thinking I’d confidently drop all seven and leave.”
“We were surprised too, Tae-hyeon. You said exactly what Woo-ju says.”
“Timing is everything in life, after all.”
As he sighed, everyone laughed, then the hosts, sniffing out fresh prey, changed the subject.
“By the way—your advice is...well, given you’re such a senior, your credibility’s a bit shaky.”
“Honestly, I find it hard to trust you. You plagiarized right when you walked in.”
“You came to advise on mental fortitude, but your own is falling apart right now.”
At that jab about his psyche, everyone burst out laughing. Tae-hyeon raised both hands to explain.
“There may be a bit of misunderstanding.”
“Yes—go ahead.”
“Actually, I’m the original source.”
Without realizing it, I swiveled my head.
“...Excuse me?”
My expression must’ve looked a bit baffled, because the hosts and the younger brothers giggled.
“Woo-ju’s face is like, ‘Did I hear that right?’”
“He must be really shocked.”
“I’ve never seen Woo-ju look so stunned.”
Tae-hyeon held up his hands, stammering,
“What I mean by being the original is—I was the first person to hear this story.”
“So you claim ownership? That makes no sense. Look at Ri-hyuk—he still doesn’t get it.”
Ri-hyuk, blinking, suddenly flashed a grin at the camera. As everyone laughed at our world-weary expressions, Tae-hyeon cleared his throat.
“...Anyway, when I coined that saying, I did contribute in my own way. I can’t explain how, though.”
When the hosts asked if that was true, I nodded. It was partially true—back in trainee days, someone far more clueless than our youngest had requested advice:
– “I think I’m screwed—what do I do?”
– “Hyung, if I do this, will I get scolded? What do I do? But I really want to try it.”
– “I fought with Seok-ji-hoon—how do I make up?”
There’d been many such moments.
“....”
Opening up with a faraway smile, I was met by a look that said, “Don’t you dare say another word.” At that moment, MC Kim Eui-ji laughed and summarized,
“You two must have a deep bond—giving each other advice since trainee days.”
“I owe you a lot,” Tae-hyeon admitted.
“So to sum up: one of the mentors who helped make the current Han Tae-hyeon is our Woo-ju, right?”
“That’s right.”
“A mentor’s mentor was right beside us all along.”
The Mr. Producer cast, eyes wide with revelation, asked,
“Then why are you here today...?”
“Ah...”
Before they could scold him for still not knowing the real reason, I stepped in at their pleading looks.
“No—it’s that, although sunbaenim says this humbly, I also received so much help after debuting.”
“Specifically...?”
“Uh, in various ways?”
The hosts laughed uproariously at my vague answer, and Tae-hyeon closed his eyes and shivered. Then I added,
“Just your very presence is a huge help. You make me want to work harder.”
I was winding them up.
“And because you’re so experienced...”
He kept invoking his own tenure. ATEN gasped, and only Tae-hyeon, sensing the subtext, narrowed his eyes in a knowing smile. Then Ji-ho jumped in to support him.
“That’s right. When preparing for our performances, we watched Tae-hyeon sunbaenim’s videos to study the dance a lot.”
“I did, too—for the end-of-month evaluation.”
As Junghyun’s praise ended, Tae-hyeon shrugged one shoulder at the compliment, then the other at Bi-ju’s.
“You sing so well even when dancing hard...”
At Ri-hyuk’s compliment, he tilted his chin upward with pride. Having collected praise like Horcruxes, he looked pleased. Then, prompted by the keyword “dance,” someone asked,
“By the way, sunbaenim, you saw our choreography earlier, right?”
“Yes.”
“How was it? On a scale of ten?”
Tae-hyeon, musing, whispered something to Bi-ju, who nodded with a smile. Addressing the curious hosts, he held up his fingers:
“About eight points.”
“Ooh...”
To those thrilled, he added with a grin,
“Out of twenty.”
“Hey! Then you two gave four each!”
Everyone laughed at that unexpected twist.
“Hey, you don’t know—that four could be mine, or Bi-ju’s.”
“Oh, stop it. Enough.”
Soon ATEN members, proud of their own improvement, sighed.
“We still have a long way to go.”
“We need more practice.”
“But getting an objective score like that feels good. We might’ve slackened off if it was just us.”
Seeing their disappointment, I sent a comforting look: “Cheer up.” The “original culprit” and his sidekick caught the hint.
“But you’ve improved a lot—maybe half the journey? Just do what you’ve done once more and you’ll be there.”
“Oh...”
“That’s how I feel. I don’t know what else you need, but just one more round seems enough.”
“Oh my...”
Tae-hyeon frowned at the groaning ATEN members, then looked around at us: starting with me, then Junghyun’s warm smile, Bi-ju’s gentle grin, Ri-hyuk’s smirk, and Ji-ho’s lively expression.
“Ah...”
Whatever that “ah” meant, he glanced alternately at Junghyun and me and seemed to find it satisfying. Then he turned to the cast.
“I don’t know the details, but I can tell something extraordinary has happened here.”
“You have no idea, sunbaenim.”
“No—I do. I subscribe to your MiTube channel.”
“Ooh! Even Tae-hyeon knows NewBlack TV!”
Chu Gi-seok, innocent as ever, was quickly reprimanded by the others. Then, turning to the exhausted ATEN, the seven-year idol offered,
“It must be tough, but you have to endure.”
“Sob...”
“If you received such a great debut song, you must work as if your bones will shatter.”
“Ah. Understood.”
They snapped out of their sorrow and agreed. Then, clearly curious, Tae-hyeon asked,
“By the way, where did you get these songs?”
Since it hadn’t aired yet, no one knew who the composer was. Chu Gi-seok asked,
“You two are close—don’t you know? This was written by Woo-ju.”
“Um...?”
“I thought you’d know.”
“No—I didn’t. He’s so strict about work and secrecy...”
“My grandmother still doesn’t know I write songs.”
The hosts laughed at that, and off-camera, staff gave thumbs-up in relief of no spoilers. Watching the stunned Tae-hyeon, Ju-hyung teased,
“You look really surprised.”
“Every composer has a signature style. I thought I could sense your color in NewBlack’s songs, but I saw none of that here.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It sounds like another person’s song entirely. I didn’t know you could switch styles so completely depending on the singer.”
At that sincere praise, the brothers puffed out their shoulders in pride. Meanwhile, lost in thought, Tae-hyeon’s expression began to shift in real time. Then he politely extended his hand and said,
“Please take care of me from now on.”
“Ah, yes, sunbaenim.”
As we shook hands, he introduced a small troupe behind him.
“These are my composition assistants.”
“Hello, assistants~”
The cast laughed at their team-bonding scene.
“Tae-hyeon, I saw on your face—you’ve already finished the album release in your head, haven’t you?”
“I even imagined the promo article headlines on the way here—‘Full album behind-the-scenes revealed on variety show’.”
“When we got attention, I practically saw Mango real-time charts floating in front of my eyes.”
Everyone nodded in understanding. Tae-hyeon, laughing awkwardly, changed the topic.
“By the way,” he clapped for emphasis, “I was worried about what advice to give you on the drive here, but now I see I didn’t need to worry.”
“Really?”
“Yes—there’s no advice I can give that your producers haven’t already covered.”
Looking around at us, he said,
“If you keep trusting NewBlack as you have, I think you’ll get great results.”
“Sunbaenim, do you really think so?”
“I thought of you as just great stage performers, but you’re also excellent at producing and coaching.”
He turned to Bi-ju beside me and said,
“You teach dance so well. I saw your coaching earlier—your lines are amazing.”
“Wow...thank you!”
“People always praise me for dancing like a choreographer, but really that praise belongs to Bi-ju.”
When the hosts teased him for going too far, we pointed at Bi-ju’s long fingers and said,
“It’s true—Bi-ju has big hands.”
“That’s right. Long hands make every gesture look more distinct on stage.”
“By the way, I have big hands too~”
“Me too.”
The six of us stretched out our long fingers in unison. The ATEN members looked at their own hands and fell silent. Even ballad singer Ahn Jae-hee agreed,
“But everyone’s face looks suited to their specialty. Ri-hyuk’s face is for singing.”
“Ahem ahem.”
“Look at me—my smile corners curl evilly. That helps maintain sound quality.”
After that banter, Tae-hyeon continued,
“Ji-ho, your facial acting is outstanding. I’m always amazed when the algorithm brings up your fancams on MiTube.”
“Which one did you see? ‘Masquerade’?”
“Yes, ‘Masquerade.’ I saved it to watch again later.”
Ji-ho jumped with delight. Then, after Junghyun’s rap praise concluded and it came to my turn—
“That’s all.”
I broke off naturally and exchanged laughs with the brothers.
“Sunbaenim, thank you~!”
“I’m just telling the truth. Ha ha!”
“Ha ha ha!”
The five of them laughed mischievously—it might just be my imagination. I smacked my lips sensitively, and as Tae-hyeon prepared to speak again, Kim Eui-ji asked,
“But, Tae-hyeon, why are you already giving the ending remarks when we still have so much more to record?”
“Oh, that...”
Tae-hyeon glanced around for a clock. Ahn Jae-hee said,
“We looked, but there’s no clock here.”
“That’s true.”
He checked his wristwatch and smiled.
“It’s time for me to go!”
“You’re leaving? Where to?”
“I told the writers earlier—haven’t they told you? I’m going to Boracay for a photo shoot. The 3 PM flight.”
“What? You’re really going?”
We exploded with laughter. PD Shin Murok gave an emphatic OK. ATEN’s members were stunned.
“Wait—what about the mentoring...?”
“I don’t have any special advice to give. As I said, just trust NewBlack!”
“Tae-hyeon...!”
“So I’ll be off~!”
“...Hey! You came only to hang out?”
The cast howled, “You came to chat with NewBlack!” Tae-hyeon waved. We laughed at his cheeky exit.
“Tae-hyeon! Are you really going just like that?”
“He came for tips? No—he came for fun with NewBlack.”
“You’re really going, mint chocolate?”
Tae-hyeon, shouting “I love mint chocolate!” stopped just before leaving the practice room.
“I’ve got one tip before I go!”
“What is it?”
“After the show, portal news articles will pop up—always sort comments by ‘most thumbs-up,’ not ‘most recent!’”
At that perfectly apt tip, the cast and we burst into laughter. As we waved him off, he suddenly poked his head back in.
“I’ll message you all!”
“Yes!”
“Hyung, I’ll text you before the flight~!”
“Yesss...”
The hosts spewed fire.
“Hurry up and go!”
“Sunbaenim, we’ll message you too~!”
Tapping his temple and winking dramatically, he made a striking exit.
“What’s with him?” Ju-hyung muttered, and everyone laughed.
After our mentor left on his flight, the space still echoed with his playful presence. The six of us howled with laughter.
“He really was the most outrageous guest ever.”
“He filled his personal agenda then left.”
“Isn’t that a ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) talent in itself? He’s infuriating yet somehow hilarious.”
Ju-hyung said,
“At first we expected something like a campfire circle with sunbaenim telling trainee stories.”
“And us crying.”
“A tearful melodrama about how hard idol life is. But instead he gave no advice and just made new friends with NewBlack.”
That apt summary made everyone laugh. Then they turned to us.
“We’ve realized again that on a debut project, you can only trust our teachers.”
“We’ll do better—teachers.”
“Yes—please do even better~”
After reaffirming each other’s importance, we delivered long parting words, since we wouldn’t meet for a while.
“Our concert is right around the corner, so we won’t have time to teach you any more.”
The dramatic youngest, brow twitching, whispered to me. I nodded and smiled.
“Sunbaenims, we appreciate those smiles right now. We’ll make time to check on you.”
“Wang Ji-ho... I’m Hwang Ji-ho, so I don’t know who Wang Ji-ho is~”
The cast, recalling the first-episode surname mix-up, grinned indulgently at the sulking youngest. I too laughed, softening the mood.
“I’m kidding about watching you, of course. I just said it because I want you to practice really hard.”
“We will!”
“Yes, thanks for all your hard work. We’ll only see you again after our comeback, so...”
We each gave final advice in our areas. Ri-hyuk emphasized,
“Choreography is important, but don’t skip vocal practice.”
“Yes!”
“If you don’t practice enough, you may experience hell in the recording booth—not with me, but someone else...”
ATEN’s gaze turned to me. The youngest testified,
“I spent nine hours recording one line of ‘Masquerade.’”
“...!?”
“Later, I collapsed in the booth, and the sweat I left there dried white in my silhouette.”
I told him that wasn’t literally true—only the sweat remained. The members, faces pale, vowed to work vocals hard. I smiled at them. Then Junghyun spoke about dieting, and after covering every detail of the idol debut project, I delivered the final words:
“One minute, one second is precious. Use your time wisely.”
“Yes!”
“Don’t spend it on MBTI tests or nonsense.”
“Yes...”
At that, Chu Gi-seok tentatively said,
“Still, sunbaenims, if you have time, take the test. I took it and it really is science.”
“Sunbaenim....”
We narrowed our eyes, and Ri-hyuk said,
“I think personality isn’t something that can be defined by just a few types.”
“That’s right.”
“How varied human personalities are...!”
The cast chuckled oddly, then sent us a link, saying, “Try it sometime.” We laughed and said,
“We don’t really believe in these things.”
That evening:
“OMG! Ri-hyuk hyung, this description matches so perfectly!”
“Hey, Ji-ho, shush! ‘Major traits of ISTJ: diligence, sincerity, enthusiasm’—that’s totally me.”
Ri-hyuk’s eyes glittered as he stared at his phone.
“Logical, rational—that’s me, right? Responsible personality...and wow...”
“Hyung, hyung, want to see mine? They say I’m so adored by the adults.”
“I just finished mine—ESFJ!”
“It says ‘upright and honest.’ That’s definitely me.”
“I’m ESFJ~ ESFJ~?”
They all shouted their types and shouted “awesome!” When I finally looked away, I saw Junghyun’s face and felt a chilling dread. Something that must never happen was happening.
“Why am I the same as you...?”
“I think I took it wrong. I can’t possibly be the same as hyung.”
He sounded so resolute. I said,
“No, Junghyun—that’s wrong. This is a bigger problem for me than for you.”
“You’re right. It’s more of a problem for hyung.”
“No! Look—our conversation isn’t flowing. How could we be the same type?”
He stared at his ENFP result and denied reality. The ending letter was different, at least.
“Surely the T vs. A difference is huge, right? It must be.”
“It must.”
As I tried to stay calm looking at Junghyun—the only one ending with A—Ji-ho’s video-call window lit up with a scowling face:
“Mm? I end in A too—ESTJ.”
“Why are you still taking photo shoots?”
“So cold...”
I pressed the end button, deleting Mr. Han Mo’s call with a click. Junghyun and I screamed together, “Aaaah!” when suddenly:
“Why all the commotion...huh?”
Someone pale as milk saw our test results and widened their eyes. Then, like an excited tomato, they exclaimed,
“I knew it! I always thought this when I watched you two! My theory was right...!”
“....”
“Is it really science?”
“What is it?”
The other two looked interested. Bi-ju and Ji-ho stared at our phones’ screens, eyes wide:
“Ah...!”
“What’s that ‘ah’ for? What does it mean?”
“Ahhh...!”
With looks of profound realization, they stared at Junghyun and me—and I felt like I might go insane.
