Broadcasting Makes Money
Inquiries were flooding in. All these messages had arrived before the main Supreme Beat Contest broadcast, sparked by just a single preview clip.
Those who'd already watched the online live stream knew it. Black Label had absolutely crushed it that day.
She hurriedly processed them, but dozens more piled up. If today passed, how many more would accumulate?
On the day of the Supreme Beat Contest broadcast.
The channel rights that would've been snatched away in the old days stayed secure. Dongpal—no, Park Jin-seon—surreptitiously plopped onto the sofa and snatched the remote.
"Mom, I wanna watch something."
"Yeah, me too."
"Huh? No, the remote. I grabbed it first."
"I grabbed power in this house first. Here, eat this."
Mom had prepped a midnight fruit platter mixed with apples and set it on the dining table.
"Apples at night? What kind of apples are these?"
"Just stuff from the fridge that was going bad, so I peeled it. A grown kid throwing a fit over food... uh... what was it? Snet? Put that on."
Mom waved her strawberry-forked one toward the TV. Startled, Park Jin-seon dropped her tangerine.
"Not Excited Heungbu?"
"That drama's story went weird starting last week. Did the writer eat something bad and lose it?"
"Makjang dramas are always like that."
Park Jin-seon parried softly, but her hands weren't so gentle. She flipped channels faster than anyone, unsure when Mom might change her mind.
She already knew the outcome. Spoiler posts were leaking online, and plenty said Black Label had risen through this matchup.
Rockwon's diehard fans and mom fan squads didn't see it that way, though.
"Rockwon appears here, right?"
"He's been on every round. He didn't get the spotlight until the last one, when he blew up."
"Right? That kid Rockwon is so handsome. Sings great too—how's a young guy these days so upright?"
"Whether he's upright or not, we'll see once we hear his story."
She'd considered it once. Since she was making photocards anyway, why not for Rockwon too?
Poking a strawberry deep, Park Jin-seon quickly shelved the idea. Someone like her mom wouldn't know SNS or group buys. She still couldn't even use Hopang's one-tap rocket delivery.
No profitability there.
The Cheonbihoe broadcast kicked off, and Park Jin-seon pulled up SNS on her smartphone. Keyword alerts turned real-time posts into live commentary.
That was the fun part. Entertaining posts sparked huge inspiration for photocard concepts.
As always, Rockwon danced the tightrope between niche and mainstream, delivering a stellar stage.
"His voice is seriously killer."
"Is it the voice or the face? Mom, come on. How's his face match his words?"
"I didn't say just the voice. Both are great."
No more words needed.
"Weird."
"Huh?"
Mom, who'd been blankly staring at the TV, tilted her head.
"It's got that buzz, real buzz."
"Talking about Rockwon?"
"Yeah, weirdly sad. Should be hype but isn't. That gives it this deep, lingering vibe."
"Yeah..."
The TV camera caught 350. Wearing a fedora jammed low like some wild-man era throwback that didn't fit modern times, 350 grinned brightly.
It was 350's vibe, not Rockwon's. At this point, Rockwon was probably dreaming of the quarterfinals.
Mom, a late bloomer hooked on survival shows, asked, "Who's Rockwon's opponent?"
"Black Label."
"Huh?"
"Idol group."
"Hmm. Rockwon advances easy then."
Mom pegged Black Label as your average idol act. Fair enough—if they were top-tier, they wouldn't have dipped into a show like this from the start.
But Mom, guess what? The one dropping easy in the round of 16 isn't Black Label—it's Rockwon.
Except it's different now. Yesterday's Black Label, maybe. But today's? Changed.
[Hah!]
Black Label's stage hit, faces front and center. Kicking off with Ray's guttural yell, SNS exploded too.
The camera zoomed tight on Black Label, naturally. As she bellowed and twisted her face into something bizarre, Mom dropped her fork.
"...Is that right?"
Is that an idol? Park Jin-seon nodded quietly.
Black Label was idols—ones shattering every preconceived notion and not stopping there.
Nailed it. Rocking freakish performance in kindergarten-play outfits that should've bombed, but reactions flipped.
Mom shrugged her shoulders, humming the looping melody.
Having sworn to cheer Rockwon from here on, Mom switched up. "This... song's good."
"Yeah."
Unreleased track post-live stream. She'd hunted bootleg videos and hit repeat on YouTube.
"Love the song."
No doubt. The second high school seniors heard this, their year was done. The melody looped endlessly in your brain.
Judgment on Black Label, which she'd braced to twist into anti-Rockwon bias, turned glowing.
"So, who's that one?"
"Black Label."
"No, the name."
See? Even One Lady, who'd never cared about idols her whole life, was asking names.
Unexpected pick, though. Skipping prettiest Won Ji-min for the maknae.
"Ray or something. Yeah, that sounds right."
"Bet she's the most popular? I like her, Mom."
No need to say who.
"Hmm..."
Inquiries were already exploding anyway.
The sweet-as-honey vacation ended. Not that it was a real break. No shoots, sure, but broadcasts rolled on, so editing and misc tasks piled up.
Others might've jetted off whistling with packed suitcases, but not Shim Yu-jeong.
She'd thought it was a ghost story shoot, damn it. Every bathroom break during all-nighters had her freaking out.
Texted friends for a call at dawn, took the cursing in stride.
Creepy empty hallways? Terrifying. But those days were done.
Ghost or no ghost. Hell, maybe Shim Yu-jeong was the ghost now.
"Alright, everyone rested well?"
Rested my ass. We'd been grinding.
Slathered honey on your face or what? Jo Young-soo, skin smoother than ever, ran the meeting.
Only the PD slacked solo.
Didn't he see the bags under everyone's eyes?
"Why?"
Eye contact with Jo Young-soo; Shim Yu-jeong shook her head.
"N-nothing."
"No fun."
Jo Young-soo PD scanned remaining shoot plans. Glared at printouts, turned to the whiteboard crammed with camera paths, brackets, storyboards—every damn detail—then stood.
"Thought about it while I was off..."
He grabbed the board eraser.
No way? Nah, probably not.
He's not erasing, right? Why's bad intuition always spot-on?
Jo Young-soo PD shoved the whiteboard hard. Flakes of dried ink peeled off.
He glanced at the schedule, then ripped it.
Everyone froze. Especially the writers and directors who'd pulled all-nighters crafting it—mouths agape.
Shim Yu-jeong included.
"No need for this."
"...Pardon?"
Not defiance—just curiosity. With shoots starting in 3 hours, this nut who flipped if plans shifted was going unplanned?
Jo Young-soo folded then unfolded fingers. Picked up marker, drew a circle on the fresh board.
"One group here."
Circle on the opposite end.
"One group there."
Capped the marker, shook his head. "Don't you think the tournament's dragging? Sure, my edits make it fun."
Your edits? You just talk big.
Shim Yu-jeong bit back, waiting curious for his point.
"While off, read a psych book. People dig processes nearing goals, but drag too long? Backlash."
He waved the torn schedule. "Show one group's process, stage, results. Takes ~2 weeks. Quick edit: 1 week. Two teams? 2 weeks."
Held up two fingers. "Finals don't end in 2 weeks—getting there does. Then finals? Gotta crank it."
Added two more. "Month total. No good. Viewers drop off exhausted."
Clucked his tongue. "Ratings tank 100%. I see comments already. You don't? Just me?"
Like bundling those visible comments, Jo Young-soo clapped loud. Hate crushed in his palms.
One line: "No semifinals. Finals start today. 1st-4th decided this one stage."
"...Huh?"
Joo Seong-hwan, prepping the shoot, kept twitching ominously. Darting to production staff, holding back words. Mic on-off repeat.
I got it. Ah, this is it.
I said, "Kids."
"Yes?"
Black Label turned to me.
"Brace yourselves."
"Huh? Already have."
No, not snacks.
"This stage is the last one."