Insane Numbers
A dust-covered monitor frame illuminated the Black Label video, but it wasn't the group that was crazy—it was the view count stacked beneath it. The comments were insane too.
He hadn't slapped on "guy" or "bitch" to distinguish anyone. He just wanted that sticky, punchy vibe of sheer madness.
"Fucking... insane."
Every drag of the mouse wheel refreshed the views and comments, and they were off the charts. The video he was watching had already blown past a million views. How long had it even been up?
Lecca YouTubers pirating and reposting it everywhere amplified the spread like wildfire. There was a reason this was blowing up so hard.
The holy trinity. The intro snagged your eardrums from the jump with that piercing ziiing—the song was killer—but the real hook was that beat drop slamming down, arms and legs shooting up and crashing back. Brutal.
PD Jo Young-soo rubbed his forehead. This wasn't choreography. Not the tight, jaw-dropping idol sync fans crave. This was a cheer routine.
'What even is this? Girl group's nothing special.'
'I could do that easy.'
It looked tough at a glance but lowered the entry barrier so you'd underestimate it. The easy difficulty helped, but that bongfil vibe crawling up their arms sealed it.
The assistant director sitting in front of the monitor tilted his head, mimicking the arm wave.
"Hey."
Jo Young-soo called out, and the assistant froze his raised arm mid-motion, flashing an awkward smile as he made excuses.
"Oh, you were here?"
"You've been here awhile. What's the reaction?"
His scarecrow arm naturally drifted to the mouse. The assistant director clicked his tongue.
"It's nuts. Right now."
"I know it's nuts."
"Uh... so it's a massive hit?"
The guy whose passive was "downward chop" actually swung upward for once. But that just meant it wasn't a simple smash—it was a full-on explosion. He needed the whole story, stat.
"Where's Shim Yu-jeong?"
Jo Young-soo turned. In their cramped editing closet, the junior writer—who'd barely squeezed in—answered.
"She's on Black Label's tail right now."
"Okay. Good call."
He wanted the details, but securing footage came first. The junior writer explained why she'd held her post in the tight space.
"Um... PD-nim."
"Yeah?"
"Writer Han Young-seo asked if we're sticking to the script as-is."
"The script?"
"She said if we're changing the story, we should do it now."
"Oh, that?"
Jo Young-soo scratched his forehead. Hero "Rakwon" overcomes trials to defeat the villain "Black Label," who miraculously survives and returns. Unlike Black Label's pure song-production focus, they'd sprinkled in some tearjerker melodrama for the moms and dads. He'd poured everything into it—no way he was scrapping now. Black Label popping off a bit wouldn't flip the hero's win.
Jo Young-soo shook his head.
"Nah. Story stays the same."
He scratched the opposite side of his forehead this time. Patting the assistant director's shoulder brought up another point.
"Oh, right. PD-nim."
"Yeah?"
"Earlier, Shim sunbae asked if Black Label can keep doing these challenges."
"Challenges? What're they challenging?"
Hmm. Jo Young-soo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Call this a challenge?
The assistant director nodded at the screen.
"Looks like multiple versions. She asked if they can keep posting."
"No way."
"Huh?"
Why hand Black Label's account free promo? That million views already stung—they were raking in cash. Not like tossing up a quick SNS post begging for Supreme Beat Contest views. That made money. Big difference.
Jo Young-soo turned to the junior writer, who hadn't budged.
"Tell the 16-strong advancers: if they wanna post promo vids like Black Label, get my sign-off first. Oh, and use the official Cheonbihoe YouTube, not personal accounts."
"Got it."
The junior writer copy-pasted his words straight into the group chat. The participant count—over a hundred—plummeted fast. One logical type piped up through her.
"They want a reason, or the cast'll complain. What do I say?"
"Hm..."
It sure as hell wasn't about the money. Jo Young-soo thought it over. One word, but it'd resonate.
"Fairness."
Rumors were flying. Not one or two whispers—full-on chatter. With 16-strong looming, even nearby talk grated, and outside? Worse.
"Shouldn't we tell production? It's cheating."
"Huh? Cheating? Isn't it just promo posts?"
"Nah, not just posts. They dropped a performance vid."
"Hmm. What's the diff? Smart move, right?"
"Smart? Sure, if you think that way. Sneaky as hell. Love the promo posts, but dropping choreo and song? That's straight spoilers."
"Did they beg for votes?"
"No, but..."
Ray's face soured as she monitored. Eyes on her tablet, ears on the gossip.
"Isn't Rakwon just screwed now? They wanted a fair fight."
"Yeah... makes 'em look like dicks. Desperate to beat Rakwon once, pulling every trick."
Damn right we did. Without this, our votes wouldn't touch Rakwon's toes. We had to stir shit. But we didn't cheat.
"What pisses me off is separate."
The real spark for the buzz hit.
"Black Label's screwing us too?"
"What? You see this? Manager oppa showed me."
She flashed the group notice.
"This is bullshit. Now promo vids gotta go on the official channel, with permission. Black Label gets a pass?"
"Fucking infuriating."
No way Jo Young-soo reels in Black Label's viral challenge now. Not AI—what could he do? He'd cut losses on the escaped cat and leash the ones inside. But those insiders weren't golden geese. Glances our way confirmed: half these folks pack bags post-16-strong.
I spoke up.
"No need to worry too much."
"Huh?"
Ray's face—already wrecked—looked up. I shook my head.
"Ignore the chatter. We did our best."
I turned to the red light filming us. Cut or not? Up to fate. But whatever.
I dragged Shim Yu-jeong in.
"We got permission. Nothing wrong."
"But..."
Word of promo restrictions shook even Won Ji-min's confidence.
"Why? Feel bad for screwing others?"
"Uh..."
Won Ji-min hesitated, but her stutter said it all.
Chaos. 8-strong loomed. We'd face finalists in 16-strong, but doable. Time for clear-eyed reality.
"It's fine. We're the villains."
"Huh?"
Hye-soo crunched sweet potato sticks.
"What? Us villains?"
No hiding it. Mics caught every whisper, even camera-safe. I nodded at Rakwon prepping rehearsal stage.
"Who do viewers want to win?"
A quick Supreme Beat Contest search showed it. Like Manchester City vs. Crystal Palace: power gap, but upsets happen. Smart money on City, but Palace brings storms. Black Label could shock too.
[Black Label Search Volume: 3,432 / 10,000]
No full stage yet, and searches topped 3k.
"Live camera test, rolling!"
Momentum pushed online live viewers past 40k. Rakwon was Rakwon. Chat buffering hard—production yelled.
This spotlight pressure? Ours, not theirs. Killer song, killer choreo. Fair fight, no reason to lose—if the kids locked eyes with me showed true form.
Won Ji-min answered my question.
"Rak... Rakwon sunbaes."
"Yeah. Everyone roots for Rakwon, so edits favor them. We'll look evil."
Broadcasting's like that.
"Devil's edit. Y'know."
"Nah, no way. What'd we do wrong?"
Ray didn't buy it. Look at her. Pure innocent. Still green on shows. If seasoned, she wouldn't.
I eyed filling seats. Gazes weren't friendly. Hardcore Rakwon fans waved extreme pickets.
BLACK LABEL GO TO HELL
Camera followed my gaze; Shim Yu-jeong radioed quick, but too late. Even greenhorns feel stage vibe.
Ray snapped to it, denying reality no more.
"Let's show 'em good doesn't always win."
Time they learned true villainy.
"Already 50k."
Dong-pal Park Jin-seon watched the Cheonbihoe live, arms crossed.
"Not easy."
Foxy PD Jo Young-soo swapped the live thumbnail to Rakwon. Stream quality tanked.
"Whoa, what?"
10k flooded in seconds.
"Can they win like this?"
Tough. 16-strong onward, online votes 25%. No joke.
"They sing solid."
Rakwon's meh stage ended; Black Label's kicked off. Earworm intro hit; camera zoomed Won Ji-min.
"That chick. Smoking hot."
Clipping GIFs live—Won Ji-min's face scrunched.
"What? Buffering again?"
Nope. Weird roar, Black Label struck bizarre poses in sync.
"Whoa!"