Under the Satellite

"A band that sold over thirty thousand physical albums in Korea, a country dominated by K-pop idols."

"A rising star that sold out ten thousand seats a day, totaling twenty thousand seats over a two-day concert, in a country notoriously barren for rock bands."

While their album sales and merchandise revenue might pale in comparison to mainstream K-pop idols... revenue aside, if you surveyed music industry professionals on "Which group has generated the most buzz in the Korean music market over the past three years?", their name would almost certainly come up within the top three.

That was the reputation Group Sound had built in Korea.

Naturally, people assumed that this momentum would carry over to Japan.

However, the path Group Sound took after entering Japan fell short of expectations.

They weren't taking the industry by storm as they had in Korea, nor were they churning out new songs to maintain their momentum. Despite having debuted in Japan months ago, they were doing nothing but touring small live houses.

In a way, this was only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠natural. Just as rice needs time to cook, success in Japan required patience.

However, those who loved to tear others down pointed to the immediate impact of K-pop idols from the "Big Four" agencies upon entering Japan, using it as ammunition to mindlessly bash Group Sound.

Group Sound's fans had no choice but to wait for news that never seemed to come, either fighting off the haters, getting angry, or growing weary, constantly begging for any kind of activity.

They had to sustain themselves on occasional scraps—like the buzz from Super Guitarist, the Indies Music Expo, or the Chiyoda Music Festival—and endlessly re-examine the photos posted on the band's official accounts.

Until, suddenly, a new song dropped.

It was a surprise release, dropped without a single warning.

A song that no one would have ever heard unless they had been physically present at the Chiyoda Music Festival.

There was absolutely no promotion. The only news of its release was a post on their official Twitter and a promotional banner on Spotify's main page.

It was a marketing strategy completely uncharacteristic of Group Sound, who had previously made highly effective use of viral marketing on TikTok and Instagram.

Faced with this bold, almost arrogant move, fans in both countries reacted in very different ways.

Japanese fans, tired of the endless flood of viral marketing, found themselves intrigued by the band's sheer audacity.

Korean fans, on the other hand, were utterly baffled.

Yet, regardless of their conflicting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reactions, there was only one thing left for them to do: listen to the song.

And once they did, everyone, without exception, had the exact same realization.

Of course. It had to be this way.

The bass line was heavy and solid, like granite—the very textbook definition of a bass sound. It held its ground with absolute discipline, focusing entirely on driving ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the riff.

Similarly, the drums avoided flashy offbeats or technical showmanship, focusing instead on laying down a rock-solid foundation with razor-sharp timing.

The piano, though not overly ornate, delivered a classic performance that added rich texture and emotional depth to the track.

And finally, roaring over it all, leading the entire song—the melody, the tempo, the overall theme, and the emotional core—was the guitar.

Underneath this restrained atmosphere unfolded a bluesy, psychedelic melody.

Yet, it didn't merely copy the sounds of the past. It was a definitive reinterpretation fit for 2026.

It was a song with an atmosphere completely opposite to anything Group Sound had released before.

While Korean fans marveled at the quality of the track, they couldn't help but wonder if such a song could actually succeed. They didn't know much about the Japanese market, but they knew that in Korea, a song like this would have a hard time breaking into the mainstream.

But those worries proved to be entirely unfounded.

It had been years since short-form content like TikTok, Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts became the breeding ground for viral hits. Japan was no exception to this trend, and countless artists had achieved mainstream popularity through short-form platforms.

However, the difference between Korea and Japan lay in the sheer scale of the Japanese market. Because it was so massive, there were also far more people who had grown thoroughly sick of "viral" music.

And Group Sound's new single, Under the Satellite, pierced that exact pain point.

As if it had been calculated from the very beginning.

The lyrics directly targeted and stabbed at the modern condition, reminiscent of the classic rock era.

Fittingly, the song's structure was completely unsuited for short-form platforms.

Yet, despite the defiant lyrics and format, the powerful sound and melody captivated listeners.

And the results manifested—slowly at first, but with undeniable momentum.

It was the signal flare announcing the true beginning of Group Sound's Japanese promotions.

For some reason, an event called the "New Song Chart-Watching Ceremony" had become a tradition within the company.

The employees sat neatly in two rows in the office, waiting.

Suyun stared at the monitor with a nonchalant expression, though a faint trace of anxiety lingered deep inside her.

The screen was still blank.

"Alright, then... here we go!"

With that shout, Manager Jung pulled up three browser windows in rapid succession.

YouTube Music, Apple Music, and Spotify.

None of them showed the song on the front page.

First, Manager Jung scrolled down the YouTube Music page.

"YouTube Music, number eighty-three!"

A round of applause swept through the office.

"Oh... uh... is that high?"

"Of course it is! We didn't even make the charts on YouTube Music when we first started."

"I guess it's hard for people to remember where they came from."

"That's... well, I think Miss Iseor is just... a bit slow..."

"Hey! Who are you calling slow?"

"You didn't know?"

Suyun clapped along, listening to the members bicker next to her.

They say a frog forgets its days as a tadpole, and that's exactly what's happening here.

Meanwhile, Manager Jung scrolled down to the next chart.

"Apple Music, number fifty-five! And Spotify... is number forty-four!"

Another round of applause erupted.

Suyun tilted her head slightly. How should she interpret the different rankings across the platforms? There had to be some significance to it.

"The most important metric we need to look at is Spotify! Spotify is practically the largest music streaming platform in Japan. Since it's a platform favored by more dedicated music listeners, we need to put more weight on this result!" Manager Jung explained.

If so, then the high ranking on Spotify was a very good sign.

In any case, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rankings were much higher than Suyun had braced herself for, which was a relief. She had been prepared for the song to not even chart.

After all, this track was a hundred percent reflection of her personal taste.

"The reason YouTube Music is lower... well, we'll have to look into the exact cause, but in my opinion, it's because this song doesn't appeal much to casual listeners. The format itself is a bit heavy for casual listening."

"Heavy?"

At Iseor's question, Manager Jung pushed up his glasses—which he had started wearing at some point. Suyun thought the gesture looked like something straight out of an anime.

"Yes! Um... how should I put it? I don't mean this in a bad way at all, but the new song itself... feels like it's going completely against current trends, doesn't it? I think that aspect might have felt a bit heavy or demanding for casual listeners."

"Oh... but despite such trials and tribulations, she created music that captured the Japanese public anyway! Shouldn't we praise the Great Suyun?"

"Amen."

"A...men."

Following Manager Jung's explanation was Iseor's voice, delivering embarrassingly grandiose praise with the sole intention of teasing Suyun, as usual. The other members chimed in right on cue.

The employees snickered, expecting Suyun's usual deadpan reaction, accompanied by a sharp retort like:

"Stop talking nonsense."

But the response they got was entirely different.

"Yeah. I think I deserve some praise this time."

"...What?"

Suyun slowly nodded, wearing a very relaxed, satisfied smile.

Iseor and the other members' eyes widened in shock.

"What?"

"Uh, u-uh... O-Of course! As expected of the Great Suyun, the Golden Suyun, God Suyun! You've completely turned the Japanese music market upside down! Right? With Suyun's genius, we'll easily hit number one on the Oricon charts next, and then take number one on the Billboard charts..."

"Exactly. I really am the best. I do make pretty good music. Just look at this track. It completely defies the times and goes against every modern trend..."

Despite Iseor's second attempt to tease her, Suyun's reaction was completely different from usual. She went on to explain exactly what her intentions were, from start to finish, what kind of feeling she wanted to evoke, and what emotions she expected the listeners to feel...

While the office staff stood frozen in sheer disbelief, Suyun kept talking.

My intention was this, and that, and...

She couldn't help it. This was the first time Suyun had officially released a song that was a hundred percent reflection of her own intentions and musical tastes. It was only natural that she was in absolute bliss.

"Su... Suyun?"

"Hey, what's wrong with her? What is this? It's scary."

"Hmm? What's the problem?"

Suyun happily rambled on, completely ignoring the horrified reactions around her.

Finally, Iseor stepped up to her...

"Give me back Suyun! Give me back Ha Suyun! Give me back my friend Suyun!"

"What are you... ugh, ack, cough, stop! Stop, let go, gack, ugh!"

Iseor grabbed Suyun by the collar and shook her violently.

As she was being shaken like a ragdoll, Suyun looked into Iseor's eyes. There wasn't a hint of playfulness in them; she was dead serious.

Just what kind of image did I have before for her to react like this? Suyun wondered.

After the commotion finally settled down.

"Suyun."

"Yes?"

Manager Jung approached Suyun as she was smoothing down her clothes and catching her breath. He was holding some documents, looking as if he wanted to discuss something.

"You mentioned something about media requests before, right? To reject most of them."

"Yes, I did."

Suyun recalled that conversation. She had given those instructions to filter out trivial gossip interviews and articles. It seemed those guidelines were still being strictly followed.

"So we've been filtering out almost everything, unless it's a place that wants to have a serious discussion about music."

"Yes. That is what I requested... Is there a problem?"

"No! Not a problem. But we just received an interview request...!"

With that, Manager Jung handed her a business card.

The name of the magazine printed on it was Rock in Japan.

Even Suyun had heard of it.

In fact, anyone who had even a passing interest in Japanese music couldn't possibly be ignorant of its name...

A legendary publication with over fifty years of history—a truly prestigious magazine.

"We received an interview request from them. Would you be open to doing it?"