The Catharsis of Knowing the Future
Is this what the catharsis of knowing the future feels like? Feeling like Jorge Mendes, spotting a tree destined to bear fruit. I'd already gotten a taste of the true pleasure of regression.
"Hello."
"Yes, hello!"
Ever the leader, Won Ji-min took the initiative in greeting them. The massive screen inside the Olympic Handball Gymnasium displayed the time limit, the seconds ticking away relentlessly. Terrifying.
I cut straight to the chase, politely holding out my phone with the beat loaded up.
"Please take my beat."
The program was trapped in its concept—a medieval theme to slay the demon king. Even the suggested pose to fit the show's vibe was styled in that medieval flair.
"Uh...."
Hye-soo glanced at the other members first, and Ray checked my expression. It made sense they'd hesitate to spend their precious remaining time on a beat from some unknown rookie composer.
Instead of wasting time debating, they could've listened to one more track. Won Ji-min took my phone.
"We'll accept it!"
Just because a player accepts a composer's "proposal" doesn't mean they're locked into teaming up right away. The player gets time to chew it over—whether they can digest the beat into a song, if it fits their concept.
Like a tasting station where you poke around with a toothpick. Yeah, exactly like that.
And in this tasting station, the composer hustles like an eager sales auntie, spitting as they pitch the track hard.
"It's the kind of safe, crowd-pleasing song everyone thinks of! That's why I believe it's exactly what Black Label needs."
"You think we need it...?"
Ray, uncharacteristically thorough for the maknae, piped up.
"It's your hidden charm."
G&X idols, failed products from the idol powerhouse. Anyone tuned into the scene knew their notoriety, and even casuals had heard of them at least once. But no hit songs, no members whose names you could rattle off—an awkward mid-tier fame.
In a flood of idol groups, it meant they lacked any real color. And you can't just slap color on them easily.
Years of wasted time had left stubborn stains everywhere. So I thought:
"A beat that grabs eyes instantly, lyrics that tug heartstrings—you guys aren't incapable. I plan to showcase Black Label's skills with a song that's approachable to viewers, minimizing backlash. That's priority number one."
Look, we're a group this talented. Too good to vanish like the wind, right?
"And after that?"
Won Ji-min propped her chin, asking. Maybe she thought anyone could say that much. She probably wanted something more concrete.
For whatever reason, things were moving faster than I remembered. It meant Black Label was desperate.
I unlocked the screen and opened the file.
"Better to hear it once than hear me talk a hundred times."
I'd straight-up called it mainstream, so it fit anyone—a cliché mash-up. Familiar melody lines that hooked the ear. Even Black Label, caught up in the groove, started bobbing their shoulders.
"First up."
The team's main vocal, Ray. A small frame belying a rich volume and clear tone. From memory, she boasted a high genuine vocal range, seamlessly switching between chest and head voice.
Dance was her weak spot compared to the others, so weighting the intro and bridge would make her stand out without part distribution worries. And if she stuck with Black Label long-term, part allocation would be easier.
"I think no one in Black Label can match Ray in the intro."
Ray's unique trait.
"Her voice has this knack for grabbing everyone's attention instantly."
I checked off the prepped part sheet, naturally dividing the sections. Next up after Ray:
Her vocals lagged behind the others, but she had untapped dance potential too. She might not shine at first, but she'd grow into a strong card.
The bridge goes to the leader, Won Ji-min. Her all-rounder potential meant she fit anywhere—a strength. The downside? She always yielded parts to others, never shining herself. But unavoidable.
First, make the group known. I assigned parts in order as planned, explaining the track. When I pointed to the last member, my eyes met Won Ji-min's.
"......We'll do it!"
"Pardon?"
True to form as leader, Won Ji-min unilaterally grabbed me.
"We'll team up with our composer."
***
"W-Wait a sec! Haha... hahaha!"
With an awkward laugh, Hye-soo led the others toward Won Ji-min. Seizing the moment, the composer introduced as Falcon had stepped away to the bathroom.
Hye-soo didn't lower her voice, asking freely.
"With that guy?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Doesn't mean there's anything good about it either."
Ray backed Hye-soo. Nothing bad, but nothing good either. No color, basically.
Won Ji-min shot back.
"Because we lack uniqueness?"
"Yeah."
Hye-soo nodded.
"What if he composed it that way on purpose?"
"Huh?"
Her confident response turned to confusion.
"What do you mean?"
Won Ji-min gestured toward where Seo Hyun-woo had gone.
"The composer said it. We need to get known. The song—it's a surefire earworm anyone would love."
Won Ji-min laid out reality calmly.
"It'll grab viewers' eyes, and that's good. But not now, I think."
She tapped the smartphone Seo Hyun-woo left behind.
"Right now's the time to show who we really are. Not get buried in the song."
"Hmm...."
Ray tilted her head uncertainly.
"Yeah, makes sense. No need to go all-out from round one. We've got multiple stages by concept—too intense a first one might pigeonhole our image."
Her mumble trailed off, then she turned to Won Ji-min.
"Unnie might be right."
Buoyed by Ray's words, Won Ji-min pressed play on the phone. The melody replayed.
"And it's not too safe either."
Cliché overload, sure, but not predictable. Melodies that could've been stale fit perfectly. And more—the parts were divided to highlight who shines where, better than the A&R team that ditched them.
"The composer knows our strengths and weaknesses better than anyone."
Won Ji-min said with conviction.
"Even if we waited, I don't think we'd find anyone better for us."
***
They pounced like hyenas on prey.
Supreme Beat Contest PD Jo Young-soo and his associate director prowled with cameras in hand.
G&X's Black Label. Perfect early-game bait to stir aggro.
Mutants from the idol factory that chews up music show #1s post-debut. Jo Young-soo scratched his arm.
Yeah, maybe reality had been too skewed lately. No company wins every time.
They tailed Black Label deep in discussion with the composer. Mid-tier rookies like them? Even if recognized, the composer was a total stranger.
"Never seen this guy before."
"Rookie, probably."
This rookie's got brains, Jo Young-soo thought, eyeing Seo Hyun-woo with interest.
Black Label—a poisoned chalice. Backed by G&X's muscle, it beat picking some no-name mid-agency idol for quick fame. High risk, high return.
Nail the concept and launch them? Break even at best. Flop? Endless backlash.
Why? A group that could've blown up? G&X would've hyped them a hundred times already.
That's why even top-tier composers avoid Black Label's shadow, despite the backing.
Yet rookie nameplate "Falcon" Seo Hyun-woo convinced them like a vet. Nothing to lose as a newbie?
Bitboy Kim Min-hyuk wandered over, curious. Old acquaintances, apparently.
Seo Hyun-woo played dumb out of excessive courtesy, neither acknowledging the other. If it was strategy, it worked big-time.
Kim Min-hyuk lingered, watching Black Label and Seo Hyun-woo with an intrigued smile.
Jo Young-soo and the cameras did the same.
Seo Hyun-woo dissected Black Label's pros and cons like a G&X staffer. Hell, even G&X insiders wouldn't know them this well.
As the crew stuck around, main writer Yoo joined the watch.
Jo Young-soo asked her.
"That guy's an agency composer?"
"Falcon?"
"Yeah. What producer just writes songs? This one's handling planning and production too."
"Pfft."
Yoo waved it off.
"Hyung-nim, idols do self-making these days. Any decent composer basics this. Why?"
She elbowed Jo PD.
"Didn't hear? That Majang-dong Tiger dropped hits then started his own label."
"Hmm. Really?"
Jo Young-soo stared at Yoo blankly. She clocked his scheming eyes instantly. Poker face, pupils darting.
Yeah, plotting the angle fast.
Sure enough, Jo PD grinned wickedly, giggles leaking out.
"Heh. Heh. Kekeke."
"What's up, hyung-nim? You're scaring me."
"Hey, Yoo Sun-young."
"Yes?"
"That line you just said—doesn't it mean that composer's actually skilled if he's doing all this?"
"Uh? Oh! Oh!"
Yoo Sun-young jolted. She stared at Seo Hyun-woo just like Jo had eyed her earlier.
Right. By her own logic, Seo Hyun-woo qualified as talented.
"Nah, no way. Probably just some hack pretending."
"Doesn't matter."
Yeah, didn't matter. Jo Young-soo directed the associate: don't miss a single cut, keep filming them.
Yoo turned.
"What're you planning? Better focus on Flex? Or... over there! Candice is solid too."
"Nah, those guys are already aces anyway."
He captured Black Label debating fiercely, Falcon off at the bathroom.
And Jo Young-soo said:
"This is turning trash into treasure."