350 and Rakwon
They're carving out a unique position with a specific genre backed by solid skills. No need to flinch just because the opponent has a thick concrete layer. Break that concrete. Black Label and I are soft, after all. Swallow up the shattered concrete chunks.
Third-tier idols. But we'll keep the idol advantage alive. Hold tight to our own brick wall and absorb their fanbase.
I flexed and clenched my fingers. Repeated it. Won Ji-min was looking up at me admiringly. I was trying to sound intellectual and cool by throwing in some objective numbers to look impressive, but it was tough. Math was still too hard for me. Still, this one line I could say with confidence.
"Jimin."
"Yeah."
"From today, you're not Black Label anymore."
"Oppa, what are you talking about all of a sudden? Not Black Label starting today?"
"Black Label becomes Coconut Caramel from today."
"......Pardon?"
Back to the dorm right away. I glanced to the side. Suitcases from a roommate whose name I didn't even know were lined up in front of the bathroom. I hit the power on the computer, and the door opened.
"Did he head up?"
Long hair reaching his shoulders—we'd both burned the midnight oil nonstop to promote our assigned singers. As roommates went, we'd barely seen each other's faces once or twice. Now I was finally getting a good look.
"Yeah."
"Nice to meet you. Good luck on the remaining stages."
The guy pulled his bucket hat low and offered a handshake. I took his hand, and he shook it politely a few times. Then he grabbed the suitcases by the bathroom without a second thought and headed out the door.
Strange feeling. He wasn't my direct rival, but the eliminated guy seemed to have found the light of freedom. More a sense of refreshing relief than a regretful smile as he left the dorm.
"Didn't get along with your partner, huh."
I shrugged. None of my business anyway. Couldn't afford distractions. I was in the middle of drawing a line in idol history.
"Trot-based melody, and..."
Lyrics had to be simple enough for anyone, young or old, to sing along. With the repeating melody, a hook song would be perfect.
"Needs to snap open."
I clapped. Needed a sharp crack from the start to grab everyone's attention.
"Trumpet?"
Pwaaah~.
The sample sounds provided by the program were crap. I quickly rummaged through competitor program samples too.
"Yeah, total crap."
Not trumpet.
"Then cymbals."
I swapped program sources, hunting for an intro. Not quite right. Racked my brain.
Hmm... The first syllable you hear when the track starts is crucial—I knew that.
"What the hell, it's already 5 a.m.?"
Stayed up all night just for one intro. Not 5 p.m.—dawn 5 a.m. Sun would rise soon, and filming continued. With the brackets set, the associate directors would be scrambling for inserts today. Show me slacking off? Straight to the cutting room floor.
Right now, with the public focused on Rakwon, I couldn't hit the stage without face time. No matter how good the track, it'd be a total loss.
"To get the kids on camera, we need something."
For that, the track needed to take shape. I stared at the monitor. Empty measures, no beats laid down. Timeline spotless.
Time to revise strategy. Me, who hadn't touched trot or that "pong" vibe, couldn't outdo 350 on beats. No time for that anyway. Sampling it was. More efficient to slap my color on copyright-free base files.
So I shouted.
"System!"
Had to make a track no one saw coming.
Snet.
"How's the reaction now?"
"Uh..."
Jo Young-soo PD asked, and Shim Yu-jeong checked the YouTube responses.
"Definitely..."
"Definitely what? Yu-jeong, you're killing me. Spit it out all at once, don't trail off."
"Definitely... there's a variance in views per singer."
Jo Young-soo, staring at the Cheonbihoe channel data on YouTube, spun around. Again. About to chew her out proper. He gripped the chair back and turned fully.
"Ha."
Not just a glance back. Full turn now. Jo Young-soo let out a sigh that sank straight to Earth's core.
His breath stank, for real.
"Yu-jeong. View disparities are obvious, right? You like soccer?"
"Yes."
"If you uploaded Ronaldo clips versus some neighborhood uncles playing early morning soccer by your place, which would you watch? Obviously Ronaldo."
Senior, you know public sentiment toward Day Gang Doo is sour lately? She wanted to snap back. The words climbed her throat, passed her uvula, but her sealed lips held firm.
Shim Yu-jeong's reply was shorter than expected.
"Yes."
"So why state the obvious?"
"Who's first in the round of 16 brackets?"
A voice cut in from the side.
"Rakwon versus Black Label."
Jo Young-soo clapped. The half-zombified editors turned at the sound.
"Everyone knows it's tough, but let's push a bit harder. Section chief's buying next week's team dinner."
"Time for dinner?"
One zombie who could still speak pushed back.
"Ji-wan, don't worry. We'll make time. Plenty for eating. Two days, one night."
"Two-day vacation? Suddenly? Why?"
Could a zombie perk up like that? Nam Ji-wan shot to his feet, face alive with energy.
Jo Young-soo waved him down.
"Don't ask. Once these singers get a whiff of popularity, their agencies complain nonstop about schedules..."
Jo Young-soo clicked his tongue.
"We got stockpiles anyway. Can spare two days."
Nam Ji-wan sat, and Jo Young-soo stood. Surveyed the editing room—pigsty or what?
"We need a breather too."
Yeah, fair. Finished the round of 32 stages. Not top stars, but singers shot whenever ready. Split stages eased fatigue, but crew got hammered. Few days back, a junior AD collapsed. Jo Young-soo dressed it up nice, but he feared the reporters too. Now hyping "work hard till vacation" for show.
"So Rakwon and Black Label follow starts today?"
"Yes."
Shim Yu-jeong answered. Expected Jo Young-soo to say "grab the aggro bait, shoot well," but he was geared up. Snapped his fingers, two teams hustled over.
"Rakwon's firepower—you know it's killer, right?"
"Yes, aware."
"Then you get the setup, no explanation needed?"
Jo Young-soo handed Park Jae-won the storyboard he'd drawn himself. Park Jae-won took it politely.
Like receiving a royal decree? Park Jae-won turned. Split into two teams. He led one, prepping shots. The leftover team? Sketchy combo—just whoever wasn't taken.
"Shim Yu-jeong."
"Yes?"
No way. Bad premonitions never lied.
Jo Young-soo nodded toward the zombie horde behind her shoulder.
"Take them and follow Black Label. Got it? Confirm previews with me first."
Shim Yu-jeong turned.
"Uh... yes."
Couldn't show outright dislike. How could she? They all knew.
Shim Yu-jeong led B-Team out quietly. The one with some broadcast experience spoke up first.
"Senior, you think Rakwon wins too?"
"Gotta shoot and see."
Ended up on the same boat as Black Label. They probably didn't see it that way—too busy surviving.
"Not me."
The hollow-eyed junior shook his head. Newbie?
Happens sometimes. Nonstop camp shoots like this, performers feel like your own kids. Root for them. Yeah, varies case by case. Bonds form between cast and crew.
"Truth is, I volunteered before teams split."
"For? Black Label?"
"Yes."
Heading to the auditorium. Dorm block connected by bridges. Crossing one, she heard the junior's prophecy.
"I've been an idol stan for over four years."
"So?"
"They're not average kids. I think they can beat Rakwon."
"Ho, really? Our chief PD Jo Young-soo doesn't seem to think so."
Below the bridge, Park Jae-won's team checked issued drones. Milking viewer "pong" hard. Outdoor inserts already in round of 16.
"PD doesn't follow Black Label 24/7, so he doesn't know. I do. They're seriously no joke."
"You're no joke."
The junior nodded.
"I think so too."
What the hell, this guy. Shim Yu-jeong tilted her head, heading to the auditorium.
Bracketed teams were out early, syncing with composers and players. There—Black Label.
Shim Yu-jeong assigned members, handed mics. Black Label, Falcon, Seo Hyun-woo mic'd up, checked recording.
"Um... so we should do trot too, right, oppa?"
Trot? Black Label too?
"S-Senior. I'll share schedule with Black Label."
Shim Yu-jeong stopped the junior AD raising his hand to leave.
"Wait, not now. Later. Shoot this first."
Break the flow? No. She cranked volume, ears on headphones.
"Track's not bad. Good, actually."
"If oppa says it's good, I trust it."
"Me! I'll listen first!"
Hye-soo grabbed headphones first, plugged in. Couldn't hear, but her vibe killed. Body bobbed instantly. Shot up, howling.
"Whoa!"
What, what was that. What kinda goofy shit.