Who the Hell is Seo Hyun-woo?
As they stepped out of the studio, Jo Young-soo asked, “Falcon, what the hell is it about that bastard Seo Hyun-woo that’s got G&X moving for him?”
“What am I supposed to know about that?”
Kim Seok-mun took the question and glanced around the studio. Filming had already wrapped, and aside from the production crew zombies tidying up, there was no one around to overhear.
“You see him every day, rubbing shoulders with him—you’d know better than me. I barely show up here once a month.”
“Is that something to brag about? Huh? You bragging?”
Jo Young-soo glanced ahead. There was Shim Yu-jeong, whipping the zombies into shape like a splash of water to clear out fast for the day.
“And to be precise, I’m not the one rubbing shoulders with him. If we’re splitting hairs, it’s that guy over there.”
“Yeah?”
Kim Seok-mun followed Jo Young-soo’s gaze and turned his head.
“Then maybe that guy would know something if we asked~?”
“What’s there to ask? What do you think he’d even say?”
“At least we’d find out what kind of food Seo Hyun-woo likes. I told you, we’re not just gonna keep it professional. You don’t trample a promising sapling—you transplant it into your own pot ahead of time.”
Transplanting it into a pot still required the right size container. A thug like Kim Seok-mun, who jumped ship at the first opportunity, didn’t fit the bill. He’d wrangled a promise even the big shots at G&X headquarters and board members couldn’t secure. Straight from Jung Pil-woon himself, the rep you could hardly meet even if you were a hot variety PD.
Is this luck?
If it wasn’t luck, no word came to mind to describe it. Hard to dismiss it as mere luck, either. Just... a feeling. A gut feeling.
Jo Young-soo let out a deep sigh. He didn’t know. Didn’t want to think about anything right now. Sucking up to the cast strutting around like they were judges was tough enough, and now he had Falcon’s extreme nagging on top of it.
Annoying.
“I don’t know. Just... handle it yourself.”
Jo Young-soo slouched. Exhausted. He muttered so quietly that not even Kim Seok-mun or anyone nearby could hear.
“Who the hell is Seo Hyun-woo, anyway?”
[Who the hell is Seo Hyun-woo?]
[A lot of you must be wondering.]
[But before we get to that, we need to talk about this storm first. The program shaking up the variety scene right now: Supreme Beat Contest. It’s the survival genre Snet’s been churning out day and night. That’s just how Snet is, right? Every year, genre be damned, they gotta slot in a survival show to scratch that itch.]
Boring.
He’d clicked because it was a Rekka video with exploding views, but there was more talk than Yu-chan-ho, and what was exploding more than the views was Dong-pal and Park Jin-seon’s eardrums. Couldn’t take it. He considered fast-forwarding at double speed, but his ears would suffer twice the pain from the sped-up blather.
Park Jin-seon scrolled the timeline. He needed the conclusion. Everyone else was spotlighting all four teams prepping for the finals of the skyrocketing Supreme Beat Contest, so why was this guy zeroing in on Falcon and Seo Hyun-woo?
Just fishing for niche views on an untrended video?
[To understand Falcon and Seo Hyun-woo, we gotta start with this team first. Black Label!]
[The guy who’s raised Black Label from nothing. Sure, it’s G&X, so some say it’s all company backing—shut your mouths, all of you. Falcon built Black Label!]
[G&X. Yeah, great. True to their idol powerhouse rep, every idol they debut succeeds. Well, not 100% perfectly, I’m not saying that. There are flops. And that’s Black Label.]
[Take a look!]
It dragged out Black Label’s dark history, often floating around with malicious edits. The outfits were top-tier, as expected from a major agency’s prospects. The songs sucked, though. He vaguely remembered hearing one once and noping out. Sucked. Still sucked on a fresh listen. Sucked even after two plays. He skipped 10 seconds ahead. Even the YouTuber knew the song tortured listeners—he raced through his points.
[So, check out what stage Black Label’s putting on now!]
He played the music from their group prelims. Typical idol fare like before, but the vibe was different. A huge skill gap, shocking enough to question if it was the same singers.
[Still calling it G&X backing? Sure, agency push matters—you gotta get face time first. But audiences want idols who feel approachable and sing well these days.]
[Idols are ultimately at the mercy of composers!]
[So here’s my proposal to you all!]
“What’s this?”
The ominous background music swelled his chest.
[I know I’ve got over 400K subscribers! And if my videos keep blowing up! Blow up again! We’ll hit a million. So I’m boldly suggesting: For the finals, cast your precious vote for Black Label!]
[Then I’ll grind harder! Daily uploads, I’ll try...]
He closed it. Dong-pal and Park Jin-seon shut it off right there.
“Clickbait.”
No nutritional value. Nothing on how Falcon or Seo Hyun-woo rose, or who they even were.
“Just... anyone could upload a ‘Black Label composer’ video. I could do that much.”
A video even Park Jin-seon could upload—and a refresh showed views already over 300K. Uploaded just 8 hours ago. Making bank was easy in this world.
“Did word spread in the Black Label fan cafe or something?”
Too much for that. The YouTuber was ‘Issue Queen,’ one of the high-view naturals. The momentum was real. Black Label had launched into orbit separate from the Supreme Beat Contest. Brands were probably already flooding their agency with offers, and G&X would push to relaunch them on this wave. Comeback schedule likely locked in.
“Meaning Black Label prints money.”
Park Jin-seon rummaged his hard drive. Photos he’d snapped. Picking his nose, he eyed shots other home-masters couldn’t snag. Then Mom eyed Park Jin-seon.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Gah!”
“Why so jumpy? Busted picking your nose by Mom—is it that bad?”
“Huh? No! No...”
Park Jin-seon glanced at his digging finger. A sticky booger clung to his nail tip. He quickly wiped it on his pants and faced Mom.
“What. Why sneak in like that.”
“Lemme see that. That.”
“Huh?”
“Heard it’s on today, right? That group singing trot or whatever. Name was Black... something. Drama’s done, got nothing else.”
“If Mom watches with me, I’m thrilled. Was worried you’d hog the remote.”
Park Jin-seon headed to the living room with Mom. Normally, he’d be out now, big camera in hand, snapping away like the cheering crowds on TV. But no dice. Sold out instantly. Dove in at the second it went live—sold out. The broadcaster had lowered prices to drop the barrier, but popularity exploded even more. Felt like a K-pop final concert.
A fork speared a piece of belly and neared Park Jin-seon’s mouth.
“So, who ya think wins? You know this stuff.”
“Yeah. Mom knows too? I got the eye. Obvious, right.”
The first winner of Supreme Beat Contest was Black Label. Anyone would pick them—hundred out of a hundred.
But not Mom.
“I like that kid... who was it. The one with guitar and vocals.”
Guitar and vocals...
“Jang Hana? Her? She sings well, yeah. But not Black Label level. Fanbase scale’s different.”
“Good song’s all that matters, no?”
“Black Label songs are good too. Why...”
As he spoke, the camera panned to Black Label. Slowly zooming each member’s face.
“Whoa! Look at those visuals.”
Faces that drew gasps, even now. Should’ve been infinite shutter with his big camera, not broadcast feed. Regret. Every shot was cash. Felt like missing money everyone else scooped.
“Oh, starting now.”
“Alright, not much time left.”
“What d’you mean? It’s already started.”
“Everyone knows they’re all on audio check now, right?”
Three hands converged. They locked eyes, then pointed the same way.
“What’re you doing, oppa?”
“Huh?”
Won Ji-min grabbed my wrist and pulled.
“Oppa needs to join hands too. We’re all one team.”
“Uh, yeah...”
I added my hand to the pile, drawn in unwittingly.
“Okay, on three, we shout ‘Let’s win! Let’s kill! Let’s take it all!’ Got it?”
Won Ji-min said it, and Ray jumped in.
“Is that right? Different from before? Usually it’s...”
“Hey. The chant changes with the goal. You don’t get that yet?”
Hye-soo shut down the nonsense, and the maknae caught on. Won Ji-min set the direction.
“Up. We’re going up. One, two, three!”
The pile of hands, including mine, shot toward the ceiling.
“Let’s win! Let’s kill! Let’s take it all!”
“Azza! Azza!”
Shouting the chant straight out of an idol docu, the assistant director called naturally.
“Black Label! Standby right now!”
The long, grueling tutorial was finally drawing to a close.