The Spark of Doubt

"We will now announce the winner of the Album of the Year at the 2026 Korean Music Awards. The winner is... Congratulations. Group Sound, Becoming a Star!"

A fourth explosion of cheers rocked the venue.

The girls, who had been completely dazed just moments ago, walked up to the stage and took their places with a touch of familiarity. Following behind them, Suyun was once again handed a trophy.

'Since it's the final award of the night... I suppose it's considered the most prestigious.'

The venue sat about three hundred people. While not completely packed, the seats were mostly filled with only a few empty spots scattered here and there, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Some shouted the band's name, "Group Sound!" while others yelled a cheesy, "Rock will never die!"

Hearing that cry, Suyun felt her cheeks flush slightly with embarrassment.

"Since we've walked up here four times already, I'm not quite sure what else to say."

A ripple of light laughter spread through the crowd. Suyun twirled a lock of her hair slightly before speaking into the microphone.

"When Iseor first suggested we start a band... I never imagined things would turn out like this. If I had turned her down back then, I probably wouldn't be standing here today."

"You'd better be grateful!"

Iseor chimed in slyly, drawing another round of laughter. Suyun placed a hand on Iseor's cheek, gently pushing her away, before continuing.

"Since I've already expressed so much gratitude in our previous speeches, I'd like to talk about something else. I don't know if I'm qualified to say this, but I believe that music, no matter which direction it takes, ultimately has the power to shine brilliantly."

At her somewhat abstract words, the clatter of the reporters' keyboards paused.

"Of course, the person basking in that light might not always be the creator themselves. Take people like Robert Johnson, or Vincent van Gogh. Sometimes, a person's journey ends before they can walk the path to its very end. You might wonder what the point of it all is once it's over..."

But at Suyun's next words, the audience immediately understood what she was getting at. Though she had used famous figures like Robert Johnson and Van Gogh as examples, the life she was truly speaking of lay elsewhere.

"But even a cycad eventually blooms. Until that day comes, let us all keep striving. Thank you."

Unless you were an idol, a fandom-driven artist, a household name known to almost every Korean, or... relying on the help of 'machines'—chart manipulation—it was incredibly difficult to climb Melon's daily, weekly, and monthly charts.

In fact, even with Hanging Garden, Group Sound had only managed to dip their toes into the Top 100; they hadn't even cracked the daily chart. After that, they had written it off as a realm they didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠need to stress over entering.

Yet, The Moment I Meet You had broken through all those barriers...

Without any viral marketing, promotions, or 'mechanical assistance,' it succeeded purely on the strength of the public. It had become a genuine 'public pick.'

And this phenomenon wasn't limited to Melon.

YouTube Music: #1 on the Top 100 for two consecutive weeks (currently #3). Music video views: surpassed 8 million.

Even the so-called 'parasites'—content creators who latch onto successful trends—had begun to appear. Reaction videos, music video breakdowns, lyric analyses, musical breakdowns... YouTube and the wider internet were flooded with people trying to ride the coattails of the 'The Moment I Meet You' hype train to suck up views.

After lunchtime, Manager Jung Yuyoung stepped out to a nearby cafe to catch her breath. After ordering her coffee, she sat down and began monitoring the online communities.

As she did, the idol song playing as background music in the cafe—a track she was all too familiar with—faded out, and the next song began. What played next was a song familiar to her in a completely different way.

Underneath the tree where cherry blossoms fall...

"Do you know what song this is? I've been hearing it everywhere lately."

"Wait, don't you watch You from the Next Door religiously?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"This is the OST from that drama!"

"Really? How did I not know that?"

"It's incredibly popular right now. You can't go into a single cafe without hearing it. What's crazy is that you'd think you'd get sick of it after hearing it this much, but it never gets old."

"Who's the artist?"

"They say it's a rock band."

"A rock band?"

It was what people jokingly called the 'people around me' metric. But Yuyoung believed that these casual, everyday conversations were actually incredibly important. After all, the world was ultimately just a collection of such small moments.

And judging by those small moments—like the conversation she had just overheard from the adjacent table—it was clear that Group Sound's public recognition had skyrocketed compared to before.

The problem, however, was how to convert that casual public recognition into actual ticket-buying concertgoers.

'There are artists ten times more famous than our girls who still fail to fill Jangchung Arena or the Olympic Hall.'

Ultimately, public recognition only determined whether people knew of the artist or not. Getting them to attend a live performance was an entirely different beast. There was a gap of a million light-years between making someone think, "Oh, I like this band's song," and convincing that same person to spend over a hundred thousand won on tickets and merchandise to spend their precious Friday or Saturday evening at a live venue.

'We need to instill the belief that the album alone is incomplete, that they absolutely must experience the live performance...'

"Customer A-35! Your Americano with two pumps of syrup is ready!"

While she was lost in thought, her coffee was called out with that bizarre, overly polite honorific grammar common in cafes. Yuyoung said, "Thank you!" and picked up her cup. The near-scalding heat of the cup jolted straight to her brain.

'What should we do...'

Leaving the cafe, she sipped her coffee and unlocked her phone. Then, she saw a post. At the highly intriguing title, she felt as though she had finally found her answer.

Most online community posts are written to share information without expecting any financial reward. Instead, the reward comes in the form of views, upvotes, and comments. The authors want more people to see their posts and leave replies. It is a system driven entirely by the desire for validation.

The post Yuyoung was looking at was written for that exact purpose. It was a simple time-killer meant to get onto the trending board, garner reactions, and perhaps earn some forum points along the way—a post written by a single individual with absolutely no official authority.

Yet, its contents were more than enough to send shockwaves through music-related communities.

In general communities, the discussion ended with praise for Ha Suyun, alongside the usual mindless skepticism. The post had successfully achieved the author's original goal of 'getting a reaction.'

However, the embers of that post began to ignite in an entirely unexpected place: within professional music communities.

The forum was burning up. The main argument of the skeptics was: 'Sure, Ha Suyun is good. But has she really shown enough in her songs and albums to prove it?'

Their public recognition had soared in a short span of time. But compared to that fame, there was still very little material to prove her actual 'skill.' Because of her short career, she hadn't performed live very often, and most of those performances had never been broadcast or shared widely.

"...So, why are you showing this to me?" Suyun asked, looking at the screen.

At her question, Manager Jung Yuyoung smiled.

"Our goal right now is to get people to come to our live shows, right?"

"Yes."

"So... let's take advantage of this opportunity."