Black Label's Fame Explodes!
['Black Label'’s fame has greatly increased!]
[‘Black Label’’s public recognition has greatly increased!]
[Composer ‘Falcon’’s public recognition has slightly increased!]
Hmm... Fame and public recognition—aren’t those basically the same thing?
The system popped up messages right away, as if refuting me.
The higher ‘Black Label’’s fame, the more its standing in the music industry changes!
The higher ‘Black Label’’s public recognition, the more its influence on K-pop changes!
Whether Black Label’s standing rises or its public recognition grows, it doesn’t matter much to me. Anything going up is fine.
‘Black Label’’s public recognition has increased, granting 100 achievement points!
As per the contract terms, I just need to get what I’m owed on time.
‘Black Label’’s fame has increased, granting 100 achievement points!
Getting both is even better.
Achievement Points: 200
Good things are good. Anyway, Black Label skyrocketing is great, but my recognition only ticking up slightly feels a bit stingy, doesn’t it?
...Not that I could complain. Unless you’re in the industry or a hardcore listener who digs deep, no one’s poring over the composer or lyricist credits for a song like this. It made sense.
“Haa...”
Back at the dorm right after Black Label’s performance ended, he picked up his smartphone to check reactions. A few people were chirping away, but no major buzz yet.
“They’re probably just starting edits now.”
Even if the PD slipped in some teaser hype, it’d take time. Which meant rest until then.
Black Label advancing to the round of 16. Their manager suggested a dinner party to celebrate, but he turned it down.
Good start, first button done right. But popping champagne already? Overkill.
He’d scraped together every dirty trick, maxed out their potential. It worked like a charm against Opus in the tournament opener, but the next opponent might not fall for those gimmicks.
Life’s unpredictable. Luck might strike again, but who knows. Can’t bet on flukes forever.
“Long story short, both me and Black Label need to level up our skills.”
The members’ talents were blooming as much as possible. Won Ji-min, dragging Black Label up from the brink of ruin? She was a munchkin anyway.
“Her growth’s no big worry.”
The others were the issue. Ji-soo, Ray.
They’d grown a ton in charisma, thankfully. But it’s tricky. Charisma only works on people already interested in Black Label. No point pumping stats if they’re denying the appeal.
“Tough. At this rate, winning’s a pipe dream—top 4’s even iffy.”
He lifted his phone to check public sentiment and glanced at the time. Time flies when it’s flying.
“If it keeps flying... timing might line up perfectly?”
He sketched the next matchup from the bracket. Rock Won, trot singer with massive middle-aged support, and Fist, male idol scraping teen interest. Winner faces Black Label in the round of 16.
“Tricky.”
No easy out. Not overwhelming fandoms, but solid concrete core fans.
“Gotta check the vibe.”
He peeled his back off the bed, grabbed an outer layer, and pocketed a power bank just in case. Time to spy if he could.
“Videos and live atmosphere are worlds apart.”
Needed to gauge their stage presence. He slipped on shoes and headed out.
“You’re the photographer, right? Homma? Dongpal-nim?”
“Huh? Oh... yeah.”
Park Jin-seon nodded, staring holes into Seo Hyun-woo. Bet this composer follows my account. Industry folks cosplay civilians best.
Seo Hyun-woo, striking a photo pose himself, grabbed Park Jin-seon.
“Mind if I ask a favor? Won’t be rude, I hope?”
“Uh... sure. What.”
Homma requests? Probably share pics. Happened plenty in six years.
Park Jin-seon handed over his phone.
“Email? Not SNS or Kakao—those crop and ruin quality.”
Seo Hyun-woo blinked.
“Nah, not that.”
He turned, pointing at the studio.
“You shot Black Label earlier, right?”
“Yeah, but...”
Not sharing? Telling him not to post? A composer warning, not even manager? Edge crept in. But faded quick.
“Maybe editing?”
“Y... yeah? Editing? Hold up.”
Composer wants photo edits? Park Jin-seon raised his camera.
“This edit?”
“Yeah, photo retouching. Super rude, but... could you kill the highlights?”
Kill the light? Bossy. Belly here, eyes there. But not annoying. Curious, even funny. Composer, not manager or PR, doing this?
Park Jin-seon asked.
“What’re you getting at...?”
“Well... uh...”
Seo Hyun-woo scratched his head; his smartwatch buzzed. Text. He checked.
“Sorry, gotta run urgent...”
Sounded genuine. He kept apologizing while turning away.
Park Jin-seon recalled the chat. Flashback ends. He left the Cheonbihoe studio, glanced back, pursed lips.
Tilting head, mulling the composer’s words.
“Kill the light, huh.”
What does a beat-maker know about retouching? Taxi pulled up, loaded with gear.
Studio loops to exit. Cheers erupted from one.
Waaaah—!!
Black Label done. “Fist’s turn now.”
Pity. Hot crowd, great shots missed. Should’ve scalped a ticket.
Park Jin-seon turned away. Better not dwell. Head drooped into nap.
Woke at home, grabbed bags, exited taxi.
He muttered, smacking lips.
“Whew—thought I’d die. Up since dawn for one show.”
Unlocked door, collapsed. Shoes stayed on at entrance. Kicked ’em off with Achilles, crawled to bed.
Shifted to headboard; gear by shoe rack caught eye.
Gotta sort that. “Ugh... too lazy. Screw it.”
No.
"Could you kill the highlights?"
Irritation surged.
“What do you know.”
Park Jin-seon sighed deep, arms outstretched, then sat up. Prove him wrong. Beat guy knows zilch.
Powered PC, slotted memory card. Software booted; picked test shot. Black Label’s Won Ji-min stage—‘Ji-min’ fancam would explode views. YouTube fancams boost RT rankings.
Killed light per Seo. And killed. Wacom pen darkened her skin.
“See? Kill the light my ass.”
Face invisible.
“Idiot talking nonsense.”
‘Don’t save’—back to original. Tap.
Dual monitor glitched. Colors drained like inkless.
“Haa. Pay up and swap this monitor soon.”
Not first time. Absentmindedly smacked back. Tap tap.
Usually fixes in two-three; not today.
“Totally busted.”
Kept smacking—no change. Sighing, stared blankly.
Won Ji-min stared back, perfect B&W filter.
“What.”
Not just B&W—impossible lighting match. Like old film camera, classic beauty vibe, pure charm.
“Kill the... light like this?”
Slapped cheeks, shook head.
“Nah. Predict this? Stage design?”
Shrugged.
“He’s a composer.”
How...? Denied, but result outshone any homma work.
“If this hits...?”
Fans would swarm. Staring at glitched monitor, new window—tweaked B&W relentlessly. Hours flew; forgot dinner, just pen fiddling.
“O! Got it.”
Matched the value.
Alarm buzzed. New post from Park Jin-seon’s homma account—he’d followed ‘Dongpal’ early.
He muttered.
“Should work, right?”
Originally, a month later. Event for Red Dice, whose tracks he composed.
Male idol tier lists—Red Dice always bottom.
One B&W filtered pic reverse-popularity. Timely comeback crowned them half-year’s top boy group.
“Not this life.”
He aimed to give new chances.