Ripples of the Free Concert
It would've been perfectly fine during the live tour to simply announce, "Due to flooding, we can't use the sound equipment, so the show is canceled. We apologize for the inconvenience," and just move on.
But Group Sound didn't stop at full refunds. They struggled heroically to deliver a performance despite the dire conditions. The result was that evening's free concert. The outdoor venue couldn't hold everyone, so fans outside had to huddle under umbrellas and raincoats to listen. And yet, it was a show people desperately wanted to hear. A performance where you could truly feel the band breathing in sync with the audience.
"We have to turn this into an article."
The next day, seeing the photos snapped by the reporter who'd attended—it was only natural for the local paper's editor to say that.
Because there was no precedent.
Local shows get canceled all the time. Whether it's the artist's fault, a natural disaster, local issues, or poor profitability. And those canceled shows never come back. Local fans get robbed of their cultural lifeline. To artists, it's just one gig. But to residents, it's an opportunity that might never return.
Group Sound didn't do that.
They issued full refunds and shelled out for venue rental and equipment hire. They absorbed the losses to put on the show anyway. Not some token gesture, but on a scale big enough for everyone who'd missed out. Who could just shrug that off with "Eh, it happens"?
And those ripples didn't stop at local press. They spread wider, deeper, creating a steady, solid wave.
On the surface, it was just one free show. But people focused less on the "free" part and more on how they held it anyway—when the cancellation wasn't their fault—because they felt compelled to share their music.
The result? Group Sound's good deed spread through internet news, radio spots, a brief TV segment, community best-of boards, and more. It wasn't headline-dominating frenzy, but enough to etch into minds: "Oh yeah, that Group Sound band did something really nice."
Your band has made a tremendous contribution to promoting diverse local music culture through dedicated efforts to enhance regional cultural activities. We present this plaque in gratitude.
But by the time someone accepted the plaque on their behalf...
"Ughhhgh..."
"You okay?"
They were already aboard the ferry to Jeju. Looking utterly wrecked.
I'm gonna die.
"You okay?"
"No... ughhh!"
"Hey! To your spot, get to your spot."
Seoha half-shoved, half-kicked her there. She plopped down beside her, feeling wronged but too queasy to argue.
Dizzy enough to die, nauseous but weirdly unable to puke—this hellish limbo.
Did I always get seasick?
It had been her idea to take the ferry.
A bucket-list item from her Seo Myeongjeon days: a midnight sea voyage.
They could've shipped luggage ahead from Busan and flown, but she'd nudged everyone with, "Wouldn't the boat be more fun?" And here they were.
"If you're just gonna roll around like that, why push for the boat? Sleeping easy and flying tomorrow would've been way better."
Seoha's scolding drifted from afar. Normally she'd snap back, but words wouldn't come. She just lay there in the cabin, staring at the ceiling, groaning through waves of nausea, flopping over and over.
I'm dying.
Sometime later, past midnight. She dragged herself up after scoring some Dramamine amid the torment. No point suffering if it ruined the trip's purpose. Gotta enjoy the night voyage, even if it hurt.
She wandered the ferry. Checked the shop, peeked in first class. No cruise-ship glamor—just practical, which she loved. It evoked childhood vibes, worlds apart in scale but spot-on in feel.
"I'll take one of these."
"Two thousand won."
Ice cream in hand, she fought down the urge to hurl and headed topside. The vast black sky greeted her, horizon empty save for the sea. She gazed up. Stars, densely packed—ones she'd last seen as a kid, lost to city lights for decades.
Chilly summer air despite the season, waves slapping the hull. The rocking ship. Endless ocean, utterly alone.
Memories surfaced. Different place—not sea, but mountain. Same vibe: star-strewn sky, cold air. Like she was the only soul in the world.
A childhood recollection.
Back then, I had next to nothing compared to now. And yet, it was fun...
Ignorance was bliss, maybe. Perhaps that's why she couldn't purely enjoy music anymore. Living in a narrow well, thinking she was the best—pure happiness. But realizing taller peaks, unreachable constellations...
Things are better now, though.
The talent? Or a mindset shift? Who knows.
But now, music thrilled her. Just like in that moment, under this sky.
"Here's today's schedule..."
Go Kyungmin team leader rattled it off.
"Everything but one item is straight tourism. Enjoy without worry."
Iseo whooped with the others. Suyeon tried to cheer too but managed only a wretched "Greeegh" from the seasick hangover.
"You okay?"
"N... ugh. Egh. Yeah."
"The main event: As mentioned, we'll shoot MV source footage at Songaksan and Gapado. Gear and permits are all set."
Iseo patted Suyeon's back, recalling Go Kyungmin's earlier rundown. No specific song locked in yet, but they'd film versatile source material. With docu-team help to build hype for the next track.
Equipment's pre-set there. Maybe an impromptu set?
She scooped up Suyeon and boarded the van. First time in Jeju—heart pounding, no hiding it.
"Woooah!!"
Aewol beach.
"Woooaaaah!!"
Hallim's Hyeopjae beach.
"Woooaaaaah!!!"
O'sulloc tea fields too.
Work trip, so no lingering. But Iseo and the girls (Suyeon aside) soaked up Jeju feverishly. Basalt seas, lush nature. Alien horizons like Japan. Horse meat. Pork noodle soup.
After hours of bliss, they hit Songaksan. Tourist spot, bustling. Gear—amps and such—already hauled to a tidy shoot zone. Curious onlookers gathered.
Uh... just go for it like this?
Iseo wondered, eyeing the crowd. A staffer explained: "Crowds make for better shots."
"Mm. What now?"
As Suyeon muttered, a kid—elementary age?—slipped from the gawkers.
Mom yelled, "Jaehu!!" But the boy hit Iseo with:
"Are you Group Sound?"
"Yeah!"
"Mom! These are famous people!"
"Oh gosh, sorry!"
That sparked it—signs, photos. Crowd swelled slyly.
Iseo glanced at Suyeon; Suyeon at Go Kyungmin.
"Plenty of time."
Band did fan service, then grabbed instruments and paused.
"How's the shooting go?"
"Play a song first; we'll grab shots. Call out angles if needed."
"Cool, something random? Anyone know our stuff?"
Iseo's question drew cheers and requests. Familiar hits like Sky Garden. Someone yelled Ashen Days; Suyeon latched on: "Let's do Ashen Days."
"Here goes."
"Hold up—clear the crowd a bit... Signal when ready!"
"Thanks~"
Sudden impromptu concert. More watchers, shooters. Iseo finished one, chugged water. Glug-glug—spilled, shirt damp.
"Damn."
"Wipe with this."
Suyeon handed a towel. Break time, Iseo scanned around. Shoot crew, camera staff, company folks arms-crossed afar. Seoha in her tank-top-tank yelling "Hot!" Hyeona jellyfish-flopped silently. And Suyeon.
Just as hot, yet unmoved, staring skyward, lost in thought.
"Suyeon, not hot for you?"
"Saying it's hot makes it hotter. Think it's not, and it isn't."
"What kinda nonsense—"
She was about to call BS when Suyeon riffed out of nowhere.
Warn a girl before you start!
Iseo scrambled for bassline. What song? Low rumble like... but nothing clicked. Unfamiliar melody. Lonely, desolate. Like an anime scene: alone in an empty house, staring at your hands. Yet hopeful. Rough journey so far, but the road ahead bright. Fingers kept rooting it out, beckoned by the tune.
Seoha across the way eased into drums. Hyeona layered low piano.
What is this song...
Iseo's hands danced on. The line held, then closed softly.
Light applause. She exhaled—first time jamming a total unknown.
"A new song...?"
"Mm..."
Hyeona's question; Suyeon twirled her hair—that habit when pondering. Untwirled, she said:
"Kinda hard to call it 'made.' It's a song being made. Starting just now."