Legacy Media's Lasting Power
“Hmm… Of course I’m thinking about appearing, but I’ll need to check with our agency first.”
“Check with the agency? Aren’t you indie?”
“Yeah, but we still manage that kind of stuff.”
“Sounds like a good place. Anyway, so you’re in?”
“Yeah… Um, hold on a sec.”
He set down the guitar he’d been tuning and asked the girls, “You guys up for going on Kim Jiyeon’s Music Letter?”
The kids nodded vigorously. He picked up the phone again. “We’re positive about it. Not sure about the agency’s stance, though…”
“Bad blood with the agency? Why keep bringing them up?”
“It’s my mom’s company.”
“…Yeah, that makes sense.”
Jiyeon fell silent for a moment after muttering that. The phone call grew a bit awkward. The silence lasted a few seconds before Jiyeon spoke up.
“Anyway, even if it’s your mom, no reason to turn it down. I’ll talk to the PD. We haven’t locked it in with him yet either, so once it’s fixed, our booking team will reach out.”
“Got it. Have a good day.”
As soon as the call ended, the girls swarmed him.
“That late-night show?”
“Isn’t it terrestrial TV?”
He gave them suitable answers while thinking to himself. It feels like the age of new media, but legacy media still holds serious power. Just look at this situation. They were thrilled about being on TV, after all.
“But I’ve never watched it. Don’t watch TV.”
“You… don’t watch TV at all?”
“Who watches TV these days? Just my parents. It’s all trot singers and idols. Strictly for old folks.”
Strictly for old folks.
It was just casual talk, but why did it stab him like a dagger? He couldn’t figure it out. Why? Even today, Iseo’s offhand comment hurt him. Or maybe it wasn’t offhand… maybe it was intentional.
After Sky Garden wrapped up, Ayoon was breathing hard.
Someone next to her was still murmuring, “A meaning I can’t grasp, just floating there…” lost in the song’s afterglow. It was understandable. She felt the same.
The intimate hall was small enough to make eye contact with every single audience member. The sound system and stage setup rivaled—no, maybe even surpassed—what they’d had at EBS Amplifier Now.
At this level, you’d think they were running at a loss for a fan meeting. And including the first half that had whipped up fan passion to the max… In an environment like this, there was zero percent chance the performance would suck.
Everyone was screaming, singing along in massive choruses, total chaos.
“The vibe’s gotten a bit too heated. I’m worried someone might pass out.”
Suyeon’s cool remark cut through the excited crowd like a firecracker in flames. No way!! Do more!! shouts erupted from the audience.
“You came for a fan meeting, not a concert, so cool it a little… We’ve got plenty more ahead. Plus, since we keep playing our songs, you can’t help but react. Anyway, here’s a fun one to switch up the mood.”
With that, Suyeon walked to the guitar stand nearby and picked one up. It was black like the others, but a different shape from what she’d been using.
It was the one she’d used since Group Sound formed—very familiar to Ayoon.
“What’s… that?”
The person next to her, sensing Ayoon knew, asked. As Ayoon started, “Oh, that’s…” the song kicked off.
Completely different from before—helicopter rotor sounds crashing in. Just as she wondered what the noise was, delayed guitar tones echoed from afar. Then a groovy bass line.
Ayoon thought it might be an unreleased track. But this isn’t our girls’ style…
She couldn’t be sure. As she pondered, Suyeon shouted into the mic:
“Another Brick in the Wall!”
A title and lyrics she’d never heard. Addictive bass and steady strums. Ayoon had never heard it, and neither had the other fans, it seemed.
But the disco-infused groove from that rhythm was enough to make even first-timers move.
The song built with four-part harmonies, seeming to end abruptly. Ayoon felt a twinge of regret, but then—whether reading her mind or planned—the stage went quiet except for drums during a few seconds’ pause. All spotlights converged on one point.
Suyeon.
“Wooooah!”
The stage reignited. The electric anticipation had the crowd roaring. Her response: a bouncy, upbeat riff.
Not her usual howling style, but a playful solo that danced along the line, like it was grooving.
Suyeon, bathed solo in the spotlight, picking away amid the rhythm section.
A bit different from usual…
Ayoon squinted at her. Serious face, head tilted down. Eyes staring blankly somewhere between guitar and floor, ignoring both.
Everything looked the same. Nothing had changed, yet something felt off.
Ah, that’s it…
Watching closely, Ayoon spotted the difference. Her heels. Her body rhythm.
Unlike before, when she’d played like a motionless machine, now Suyeon was tapping her feet slightly, swaying, riding the beat.
Whatever the mood shift—enjoying the music, or just for tonight—Ayoon caught a faint smile on her face.
It made her happy. Seeing the person she admired a little happier.
“That’s gonna be tough.”
“…What?”
Jiyeon had gone to the program PD about booking Group Sound. But what she heard was completely unexpected.
The spot was obviously empty, yet the PD said it’d be tough.
“Hey, why not? Why! You’re trying to slot in your faves, right?!”
“Sis! Calm down!”
The PD pried off Jiyeon grabbing his collar and straightened his clothes before speaking.
“The spot’s empty, sure.”
“Sure?”
Jiyeon glared, demanding he spit it out straight. But the PD wasn’t backing down. It wasn’t his first rodeo.
“First off, they’re not the right caliber for that slot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? There’s no such thing.”
“Sis, face reality. I like them too. Group Sound? My kid’s a fan—bought their album recently. But no-go is no-go.”
“So why’s it a no-go?”
The PD sighed, rummaged in his bookshelf, pulled out a file, and showed it to Jiyeon. A schedule of performers by date.
Jiyeon found her desired date and scanned the co-performers. She got it.
“Spot’s empty, yeah, but look at these. Tier-1 idols. Top rapper. Korea’s best singer-songwriter. Slotting rookies there? Won’t work.”
“Still, no harm trying, right?”
“Sis, reality check. They’d perform fine, record fine. But their agencies push hard, and screen time-wise, they’d get cut. I don’t wanna, but the pressure comes, and this one’s a rare TV appearance after years. The band kids would just look pitiful—no screen time.”
“Hey, if you edit properly…”
The PD scratched his head. Jiyeon thought: This guy doesn’t play favorites or take bribes. But he wasn’t the type to buck upper management either. Just a typical PD prioritizing his spot and ratings.
“Well, if they drop a legendary performance, maybe pivot to them. But it’s terrestrial TV. Odds-wise, these three are more likely to kill it. They all nail live. Some sports reporter’s already hyping a ‘dream match’ on even before footage drops.”
“Hmph…”
She got it. Now respected wherever she went, but back in the day, she’d been bounced around too. Overshadowed by others, unable to show her skills.
He was probably worried about that.
“So, push for another date. You promised them a spot, right? I’ll make it happen… Let’s see, way later, but around here. Say we’ll pull it forward if a slot opens. They probably don’t want a packed day anyway. Right?”
“Yeah, probably.”
Jiyeon conceded. Looking out for juniors was good, but you don’t let seedlings get trampled early. Protect them to grow—don’t chuck the pot outside.
“So yeah, looks tough.”
“…So that day stays empty? No performer?”
“Didn’t ask, but probably. They could go solo anyway. Anyway… Call if anything comes up. I’ll confirm the date and loop back.”
“Got it.”
“Aigoo, sorry. Said I’d hook you up, but… What can ya do.”
“No, it’s fine.”
Polite sign-off, then the call ended. He stared at the blank phone screen. Then Hyein spoke up.
“That appearance fell through?”
“Seems so. The other performers are too big to slot us in with…”
“I see. If they say so, then yeah. They’ll reschedule, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what they said…”
He kept staring at the dark phone. Something felt off. Not uncomfortable, exactly… some indefinable emotion. One he hadn’t felt lately. Frustration? Stifling, irritating…
Competitive spirit?
He sighed, reflecting on himself. That fit.
Competitive spirit. Tier-1 idols? Top rapper? Elite singer-songwriter? Fine to share the stage. Viewers probably want them over Group Sound. Logical.
But logic didn’t mean acceptance. If given the choice, he might’ve agreed. Group Sound needs airtime and promo, not needless fights.
But why do you get to decide unilaterally?
Even now—no, right up to his death—he’d been Korea’s top guitarist. Honestly… something he’d never admitted, but technique-wise, world-class.
Unable to even land a spot on a Korean late-night music show? Without asking him? PD decides solo?
Back then, he’d have nodded. Music wasn’t possible then anyway.
But now? He ran a hand through his hair and picked up the phone. The ringing tone buzzed in his ear.