Ji-hoon sipped orange juice through a straw and stared out the cafe window. It wasn’t unusual for Sung-min to be late, but the fact that he insisted they meet that afternoon without providing a reason irked Ji-hoon. Just a text message: “Need to talk. French Croissant at 5 p.m.” But it was almost 5:25 and Sung-min’s layered bowl cut was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, man!” Sung-min emerged from somewhere behind Ji-hoon carrying a tray. Two slices of cake and a coffee cup sat atop.
“Woah, I didn’t even see you get here.” said Ji-hoon, startled.
Sung-min took the seat across from him. “Oh, I came in through the alley to the kitchen. I’m like their best customer lately, so they honor me with some perks.”
“Cool. So, are we celebrating something?” Ji-hoon asked, pointing at the cake.
“Nah, this is my pre-dinner.” Sung-min waved his hand dismissively. “An amuse-bouche, if you will.” He lifted a piece of cake to his mouth with two hands as if it were a slice of pizza. He took a bite and then extended it towards Ji-hoon.
“Uhh, I‘m good, thanks. So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Dude, I found a way to get us out of army service!”
“Really? How?” Ji-hoon asked excitedly.
“Well, more like a way to buy time. You heard what happened to BTS, right? They were topping charts internationally, basically acting as South Korea’s most effective diplomats. Forcing them to serve in their prime came at a high cost. So, they passed a law granting deferrals for pop group members.”
“Right, I know. And?”
“So, we can form a group!”
Ji-hoon searched Sung-min’s eyes for a hint of jest. But between bites of cake, he looked deadly serious. Ji-hoon’s heart sank. “We’re kind of old, don’t you think?”
“Psh. Says who?”
“And we don’t have any musical abilities.”
“What do you mean? You can break dance.” Sung-min had a point. “Come on, there’s no need to be humble about it. I’ve seen you bust a move. And your abs! When they’re looking at those they won’t even notice the receding hairline and crows feet.”
“Ok. So what about you?”
“I’ll be the face.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Harsh, man. I’ll figure something out.”
“We need more than two guys to have a group.”
“I’m one step ahead of you. You know my friend Jae? He can sing and he’s game. My cousin Carls says he’s down, too. Not because he wants to get out of service - he’s only 14 - but he’s been trying to break into the scene, become a trainee and all. He can rap. And he owes me for saving his life.”
“I didn’t know you had a younger cousin…What kind of name is Carls?”
“A name of ambiguous providence. A name with global appeal. So, are you in?”
“I don’t know.” Ji-hoon ran a hand through his hair and stared at the beret-shaped lid on Sung-min’s coffee cup. “I don’t even know where we’d begin. We’d have to compose songs, record, choreograph, perform, amass a social media following….”
“I’ll take care of all that.” said Sung-min, smugly.
“Ok. And we have to have a group name.”
“Pop group names are pretty arbitrary,” said Sung-min. “The more whimsical the better. Like…” Sung-min waved a finger around the cafe, searching, and landed on Ji-hoon’s glass. “Juice. That’s perfect!”
That night Sung-min sent Ji-hoon a link to a social media account he had created. By morning, the account was up to 13.4 billion followers, all with handles that were long strings of seemingly-random numbers and letters. All located in Jakarta. Ji-hoon packed his bookbag and puzzled over how much Sung-min paid for the ruse.
Lately, Ji-hoon had been despondent. What was the point of getting a PhD if he was just going to die on the battlefield? Nobody would remember him. Nobody would say “Oh, Ji-hoon! He was a pillar of the department, the one who created the automated object-oriented program refactoring algorithm (well, contributed five lines of code). Let’s name a building after him. Let’s erect a shrine in his memory, but we’ll have to post a guard 24/7 to protect it from all the young ladies that will come to perform lustful acts.”
His only glimmer of hope came from the emails he’d received from recruiters at tech companies interested in his research and asking if he’d consider working in industry. Some of the companies were located in South Korea, but a handful were abroad. He thought about applying for a U.S. visa, but he needed more time. And his 28th birthday, commensurate with his service deadline, was fast approaching.
Ji-hoon locked his apartment and headed to the train station. During lunch, he noticed a new message from Sung-min.
“A.I. babeee.”
Under the text was a link to an audio file. Ji-hoon popped-in his earbuds and pressed play. At first what he heard was indistinguishable from any boy band track, energetic pop with lush harmonies and a catchy melody, optimized for choreo. But as the song progressed, Ji-hoon realized he had never heard it before. And the longer he listened, the more he thought the main vocals sounded like Sung-min. Well, Sung-min if he was put through a vocal training bootcamp and autotune.
”Impressive!” Ji-hoon texted back. “What was your prompt?”
”Effervescent earworm with seductive male vocals in the style of Stray Kids with a touch of Fetty Wap.”
That night Sung-min called for a meeting at French Croissant. The cafe was closed, but Sung-min said that the manager didn’t mind if he used it as an afterhours gathering space. Ji-hoon was surprised to find the door unlocked and still no Sung-min in sight. He settled into a chair by the wall and scrolled through emails on his phone. Ji-hoon heard footsteps and looked up. A woman made her way up the stairs. She had short, glossy black hair with a subtle blue sheen. Matching blue eyeliner accented her sparkling eyes.
“H-h-ey,” Ji-hoon stuttered. “The cafe’s actually closed now. I, uh…”
“I know. Where’s Sung-min?” The woman asked with a voice octaves lower than Ji-hoon had anticipated.
”Oh, are you…?”
”I’m Jae.”
Ji-hoon introduced himself, still struggling to control his stutter. Jae took a seat next to Ji-hoon and Ji-hoon felt his cheeks redden. Somehow the revelation did nothing to put Ji-hoon at ease and the harder he tried to act smooth, the more he induced an episode of sudden onset restless leg syndrome.
Sung-min barreled-in carrying a box of audio equipment followed by a young boy with a bandana tied around his head, presumably Carls.
“Yo-o-o. Thanks for coming through, fam. Looks like everyone’s here.”
”Wait, aren’t there supposed to be five members?” asked Jae.
”There was, but the fifth member, who would have been Yong, declined on account of being a Christian.”
”What? Did you tell him the name of the group is spelled j-u-i-c-e?”
“Ohhh, right.” Sung-min placed a quick call to Yong who showed up shortly after. He was a clean-shaven guy with a wide smile revealing impossibly white teeth.
“I’m stoked to meet you all. And thanks again for inviting me to join. You know, as a pacifist I’ve been looking for a way to get out of service. I’m thinking this will give me enough time to get posted as a missionary.”
Sung-min made an inappropriate joke, which Yong tactfully ignored.
“I’ve been singing and playing guitar in my church’s band for, like, seven years. So I’ve got some skills I can lend to the group.”
They started by practicing the vocals for Sung-min’s original-with-the-assistance-of-AI song, which he informed them was entitled “Macaron Cherry Baby.” Jae and Yong tackled the soloist parts. Carls improvised some rap bars. When it came to the chorus, it all went downhill.
“Dude, who is whining like a donkey in heat?” asked Sung-min.
“That wasn’t you?” asked Jae. A down-the-line soundcheck revealed it was Sung-min, who agreed that lip-synching was his best option for live performance.
Every evening that week they convened at French Croissant and rehearsed. Practice progressed from unaccompanied vocals to vocals with instrumentals.
On Friday, Ji-hoon showed-up an hour early to work on choreography. He pushed the tables and chairs to the perimeter of the cafe. After a quick stretching session, Ji-hoon hit play on his phone and marked the steps. He stopped and started the track, working through some of the sticky transitions. He finally landed on a routine that satisfied him. Starting from the beginning of the song, he danced it all the way through. Finishing triumphantly, Ji-hoon air pumped and sank to his knees.
”Yeah! That was fire!” Jae hooted and applauded from the doorway.
”Gaaah!” Ji-hoon shot up like a rocket.
”Oh, crap. Sorry.”
”Gawd, you scared me. How long have you been standing there.”
”Oh, I walked in, like, mid-song. I didn’t want to interrupt. But, dude, that was sick. Can you show me how to do the thing where you skip to the side, then jump to the front, then throw your arms?”
”Ah, the Mansae.” Ji-hoon demoed the move.
”Yeah, that one!”
”Sure, so you’re going to start on one leg, then step behind with the other and shift your weight to that leg. Like a little trot. At the same time, you do a waving punching motion with your arms. After five of those, you hop 90 degrees. Bring your legs together, take four steps back while shimmying your shoulders. Then give a thumbs up, wave your arm, and swoop!”
Jae gave it a shot, but lost his balance on the jump. Ji-hoon caught him and helped him restabilize.
“Try tightening your core.”
Jae tried again.
”That’s it! Just make sure you travel in a straight line.”
Yong walked in “Woah, cool move. Is that part of the routine?”
”Yeah, do you think you can do it? Here, I’ll break it down for you.”
Yong executed the move almost perfectly.
”That was great. Now try it in the other direction,” Ji-hoon encouraged.
”O.k.!” Yong geared up to try again. This time he landed the jump, but backed into a table. Collapsing in pain, he hit his arm on a chair on the way down.
“Are you o.k., man?”
Yong lay on the ground, unmoving.
”Yong, hey.” Ji-hoon reached down and touched him.
Yong shrieked.
The gang breaked for a quick hospital run.
Yong was released with his arm in a sling. After the group learned Ji-hoon’s routine, Sung-min decided it was time to execute phase 2 of his plan - shoot a music video. He again insisted on self-producing. Sung-min was nothing if not resourceful. His job as an engineer at the power company paid well enough, but it was his philosophy to never pay someone to do something that he could do himself. And video editing was something he supposed he could do.
The Juice boys met up at Charlotte World, a mostly-indoor theme park adjoining a shopping mall. They chose a Wednesday afternoon, betting on it being less busy. In the bathroom, they changed clothes. They had decided on a biker look for the video and thrifted some leather jackets and jeans. Yong brought out a jar of hair gel, which they passed around and took turns applying.
“Come here,” said Jae, pulling Ji-hoon towards him. In his other hand, Jae held a sharpened stick of eyeliner.
“Wait, I’d rather not…,” protested Ji-hoon.
“Oh, come on. You’ll look so much more aegyo.”
“I think you’ve got the aegyo taken care of.”
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t offer.” Jae turned to the mirror and started lining his own eyes.
Yong gave up on trying to pull his leather jacket over his injured arm and settled for a vest instead.
“We gotta do something with that thing, man.” Sung-min said pointing to Yong’s sling. “I know! Give me sec.” Sung-min left the bathroom and returned a few minutes later with a sheet of adhesive rhinestones. The guys packed around Yong and placed rhinestones on the sling. When they finished, the rhinestones lined up to spell “Juice.”
As per Sung-min’s creative vision, Juice headed to the carousel, where they took turns filming each other bobbing up and down on lacquered animals for filler content. Then they went to the outdoor section of the park to get some roller coaster footage. Carls was barely tall enough to ride.
“Stand up straight, yo!” Sung-min admonished.
Carls uncoiled from his usual slouch and grew what looked like an inch. The attendant let him through.
To film the choreo, Sung-min set up a tripod and audio equipment in a vacant area of the food court. They did a few takes, but it became harder to get clear shots as a crowd formed, wanting to see what was going on. At the same time, the throng of smiling park goers bopping to their song energized them. Even though they had gathered enough footage, they continued dancing.
The show was interrupted by the arrival of a security guard. “Hey, I’m going to have to ask you not to do that here,” he said.
“Busted,” muttered Carls under his breath. Ji-hoon thought it was the first time he had heard him speak out of rap verse.
“It’s fine. We’re done here…,” said Sung-min. The group hastily bowed and waved at the onlookers before packing up.
“What’s going on with her?” asked Yong, gesturing to his left with a head tilt. The crowd had dispersed, but one girl stayed fixated on them from several meters away. Her stare was cold and hard. Only one of her eyes was visible, the other covered by a curtain of straight black hair.
“I dunno,” said Ji-hoon. “Maybe she’s confused. Or lost.”
“Creepy,” Yong muttered, shuddering and tapping his shoulders in the shape of a crucifix.
“Hey, wanna grab dinner?” Jae asked.
“Yeah, I’m starving,” Ji-hoon responded.
“I’ve got worship band practice. But maybe next time!” Yong said.
“I need to get back to work,” Sung-min said. The other members of Juice raised their eyebrows in unison. “I’ve got some deadlines coming up and I’m way behind and stuff.”
“Uh, o.k.”
Carls resumed his slouch, nodded silently, and walked off toward the elevators.
Ji-hoon shrugged. “Well, looks like it’s just us. Where do you wanna go?”
They settled on a tofu house just outside the mall. The restaurant had dim lighting and booths resembling huts with thatched roofs and enclosed by walls on all but one side. They ordered tofu soup, hot stone bulgogi, and a pancake to split.
“Sung-min was being weird. He never works past 5 p.m.” Ji-hoon mused.
“Yeah, I’m calling b.s.” Jae concurred. “What do you think he’s up to?”
“Maybe he’s just in a hurry to get the music video edited and released.”
“Could be. But he’s usually down to eat whenever.”
“I bet he’s playing Starcraft.”
They both chuckled as their soup arrived.
“So, why are you doing this?” Ji-hoon asked.
Jae blew on his spoon and raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, like, why did you join the group? Why are you trying to get out of service?”
“Ohhh.” Jae paused, thinking. “I guess to start fresh. To get away.”
“From what? I bet girls are, like, all over you.”
“Sure, but that’s not really the issue. I’m not good at anything. I think I’m kind of a dabbler. Growing up, I could never stay interested in anything for long. I would play soccer for a few years, then get sick of it. I asked my parents to sign me up for guitar lessons. But it was harder than I expected, and I guess I didn’t want it badly enough. I’ve been consistent with video games. But you can’t exactly call that a vocation.”
Ji-hoon nodded. “I know what you mean. I feel terminally-mediocre. And I don’t want to die being mediocre.”
“Right.”
“Maybe I’m a late-bloomer, but I don’t think 28 years is enough time to get my footing. To make my mark.”
“You’re 28?” Jae asked, aghast.
“Well, almost.”
“You old man!”
“How old are you?
“Guess.” Jae smirked.
“26.”
“Nope.”
“25.”
“Nope.”
“What? I shouldn’t even be hanging out with you!”
Realizing Charlotte World was still open, the two went back for another round of rides. After they got sufficiently splashed in the Nile River Rapids, Jae pointed at a booth selling headbands sprouting animal ears.
“Yo, let’s get some!”
Ji-hoon picked out a pair of black cat ears and propped it on Jae’s head.
“This one suits you.”
Jae checked himself out in a mirror and beamed. “Hmm, which one for you? How about..these!” Jae grabbed a pair of white rabbit ears and stuck them on Ji-hoon.
Ji-hoon grimaced. But before he could protest, Jae was dragging him to the Comet Express. The roller coaster launched, sending them up a loop before plunging underground into complete darkness. They screamed, holding onto each other, feeling as if they would crash at any moment. When the cart emerged above ground and into the sunlight, they let out their breaths and laughed.
“Remind me never to stuff myself before riding this thing,” said Jae, holding his stomach as they stumbled off the ramp.
After Sung-Min uploaded the music video, Juice’s social media following and download count soared. Hundreds of people liked and commented on the video.
“Sleeper hit,” wrote one person.
“Song of the summer,” wrote another.
But not all of the comments were positive.
“Juice is bravely challenging beauty norms,” read one comment.
“What’s that supposed to mean!?!” Sung-min raged.
Another comment was even less delicate: “I’m all for body positivity, but these are the ugliest dudes I’ve seen in a pop group. Only one is even close to aegyo.”
“I told you!” Jae said. “You’ve got to wear makeup. I don’t care if you wanna wear it to school or work or whatever. But it’s an industry norm. We have to look the part or someone’s going to catch on. Then they’ll make an example of us by sending us to Pyongyang to file Kim Jong’s calluses for the rest of our lives.”
“Ok, ok. You’re right,” said Sung-min, defeated. “Paint me.”
The next practice was spent practicing makeup application. Jae beamed, observing his work. Juice was transformed. Where there once was a gaggle of tech bros and squares, there stood a row of ethereal beings with dewy complexions and winged eyes. Except for Carls, who looked more like an evil doll or a contestant in a child beauty pageant.
“Amazing,” said Yong, admiring his reflection. “I barely recognize myself. What’s the face paint called, again?”
“Concealer,” replied Jae. “No, don’t rub your eye!”
A large track mark ran from Sung-min’s eyelid to his cheek.
“Oh, shoot. Mmm, maybe if I rub the other one they’ll be symmetrical.”
“We’re going for BTS, not Kiss!” said Jae.
“The real question is,” Ji-hoon started, facing Jae. “What do you look like without makeup?”
“That, you will never know…” Jae teased, smiling with an air of mystique.
Later that week, the group was contacted about performing at the Han River Summer Festival. They agreed without hesitation and began work on new songs and choreography.
“T minus 10 days until the festival,” Yong said jubilantly as he walked into the cafe.
“Ugh, I know. We still have so much to do. Maybe we should extend our practices this week to 3 hours.”
Carls sneered.
Their phones chimed in unison. A message from Sung-min.
“Sorry for the last minute, but I’m not gonna make it tonight. Have to stay at work to finish a few things.”
“Weird,” Ji-hoon remarked.
“Well, I’m glad he’s finally taking work seriously,” Yong added.
“I’m not buying it,” said Ji-hoon. “Did any of you notice he’s been wearing makeup lately?”
“Yeah, we agreed that we should…”
“No, that’s not what I mean. Even when he’s not doing Juice activities, he’s been wearing a bit of lip balm.”
“I don’t think that counts as makeup.”
“Ok, but it’s Sung-min. I don’t even think the guy even showers more than once a month.”
Juice proceeded to rehearse without Sung-min. The following night he showed up and it was as if nothing had happened.
The day of the festival came, and the Juice boys approached the back of the amphitheater, where an attendant ushered them into the dressing room. There, they did hair and makeup and changed into oversized, knock-off streetwear. Carls clipped a chain to his pant loops.
“You’re going to regret that,” warned Sung-min.
They stood in the wing, as the other groups performed, and waited for their turn. Ji-hoon craned to look at the audience. It wasn’t huge, but it was bigger than any group he had been in front of before. He heard his heart in his ears.
“It’s going to be o.k.,” Jae whispered. “We got this.”
Ji-hoon inhaled deeply and nodded.
“Our next performance is by a pop group that recently debuted. They are self-managed and making waves online with their latest single ‘Lemon Tart Lover.’ Please give a round of applause for Juice!”
The audience clapped as Juice bound across the stage.
The performance went off without a hitch, except when Carl’s legs got caught in his chain and he tripped. But he played it off as intentional. They finished, panting, sustained by the applause.
As they filed off the stage, Ji-hoon noticed a girl in the audience watching them intensely with only one eye visible. She looked familiar. Then it sank in. It was the girl from Charlotte World.
On the way to the dressing room, they exchanged high-fives and back slaps. Ji-hoon followed, but couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.
“Did any of you notice that the girl from Charlotte World was here today? She was at the front, stage left.”
“Seriously? That’s so creepy.”
“Bruh, we’re not famous enough to have groupies.”
“What do you think she wants? Doesn’t seem like a coincidence that we’ve seen her twice.”
“Wtf!?!” erupted Sung-min. “Why are you being such assholes?”
“What? Do you know her?”
“That’s my girlfriend.”
The guys started at Sung-min, mouths agape.
“You have a girlfriend?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I knew you’d act like this.”
“No, we didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, I just didn’t want to get murdered by a stalker.”
“Aecha doesn’t care about your ugly ass.”
“Why is her hair like that? Like, covering half her face?”
“Because she’s got a lazy eye. The doctor gave her an eyepatch to cover her dominant eye so that the weak one would get stronger. But it was uncomfortable, so she just uses her hair instead.”
“Ohhh.” They murmured in understanding.
“Well, that’s great. I’m happy for you.”
“Yeah, congrats, man.”
“How did you meet?”
“French Croissant. She’s the manager.”
Sung-min brought Aecha to the next practice. Aside from her inability to smile, she was nice. She sat in a corner reading a manhwa, looking up occasionally, and applauding when they finished.
A few weeks later, Juice received an invitation to perform on a local news station. Everyone was psyched except Sung-min. He said he would explain at the next practice.
“I’m enlisting.”
“Whaat?” They were stunned.
“I don’t want to leave Aecha, so I’m staying in South Korea. I’ll have to serve sooner or later. Might as well get it over while I’m young-ish.”
“That sucks, but I can’t blame you,” said Jae.
“Well, the group definitely won’t be the same without you,” said Yong.
“I know. I’m sorry to do this to y’all. But I will bequeath you the equipment and the audio files. I’m sure you can figure out how to use it. It’s not that hard.”
The others look downtrodden. They left French Croissant before completing the practice, needing time to process the news.
The next day they were back at it. Sung-min stopped by to hand-off the key and help them set-up the equipment.
“Aecha said you can keep practicing here.”
But barely another week passed before they were dealt another blow.
“I found out I can serve as a chaplain!” announced Yong.
He was met with looks of confusion from the other members.
“I didn’t want to serve if it meant I would have to engage in violence. But chaplains almost never take up arms.”
Ji-hoon put his face in his hands. “Does this mean you’re leaving us, too?”
“Well, eventually. I can still join you for the 9News performance.”
“I mean, I get it,” said Ji-hoon. “This was never meant to be a permanent solution.”
“If you want to recruit new members, I can put out a line.” Yong offered.
“That would be great. Thanks.”
Jae accompanied Ji-Hoon back to his apartment. The mood was sullen and neither wanted to be alone.
“We need at least two more guys. Anybody would do, but if they are good with tech or can play instruments, that would be ideal.”
“I could probably message some people I went to high school with. Though to be honest, I haven’t been good about keeping in touch with them. Is there anyone you sang with in the past that you think would be down?”
“Maybe. I think the hard part is not as much finding people who have skills but finding people who want to be part of the gimmick. You know? Most people our age have already served.”
Ji-hoon shook his head. “Time’s running out for us, too. Maybe we should be spending less time on Juice and more time ironing out a long-term plan.”
They entered Ji-hoon’s apartment and sank on the couch, exhausted. They passed a few minutes in silence, thinking.
Jae sat up abruptly. “Call me crazy, but the army is seeming so bad. In a way it’s not so different from Juice - just a lot of time spent with guys with bad hygiene.”
Ji-hoon scoffed.
Jae continued. “We’ve benefited from it, too. We’re safe because others have served. Maybe it’s our turn to do our part. As South Koreans.”
“Maybe.” Ji-hoon stared at the ground. “What if we do it together?”
Jae raised an eyebrow.
“What if we enlist together, at the same time, place, and choose the same branch, sector, specialty…? Maybe we’d get stationed together.”
“Well…we can try,” Jae said.
“Sung-min, too!”
“Dude, I’m not bunking with his stinky ass.”
“But showers are mandatory in the military.”
“That’s true,” Jae sighed, his smile growing. “So…it looks like Juice is joining the Army.”
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