Watching the Fight from the Sidelines

"Damn it..."

In truth, Various had a completely different song lined up for their comeback. It was a track crafted by their in-house production team, meticulously selected through a rigorous screening process by both the composers and the staff. The choreography had already been blocked out, the music video treatment was finalized, and they were just about to head into production...

But then, a single email arrived, and every last one of those plans was instantly scrapped.

It was a completely unremarkable email sent to the A&R team. Like most emails sent to that address, it seemed destined to be deleted without ever being opened, or at best, to be skimmed briefly before being thrown into the trash...

"They say it's Roger! Roger! The, the... the person who wrote for Luminous!"

But thanks to an A&R employee who took their job very seriously, the email's life was spared. In fact, far from just surviving, it completely upended Square's entire strategy for the quarter.

Of course, the song itself was more than worthy of such a reaction.

In 2025, after Group Sound shook the music industry to its core with Hanging Gardens and Becoming a Star, the Korean music market realized the immense potential of the band sound. The shift was slow, but undeniable.

The final nails in the coffin were Aurora's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠August Night and Meteor. Those tracks proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that a band sound could dominate the idol market. They elevated Aurora from a solid A-list, second-tier group to a tier-1.5 powerhouse, occasionally mentioned in the same breath as the absolute top S-class idols.

Because of this, the idol composing market had been on fire for quite some time. Reaching out to Ha Suyun, the composer behind those two hits, was the default first step—though, of course, no one ever received a reply. Finding composers who could craft a decent band sound became a frantic search, and in extreme cases, agencies even tried to poach active band members.

Yet, all of those attempts fell flat. It was only then that people finally realized the truth: to pull this off, you either had to be a genius on the level of Ha Suyun, or a musician talented enough to front a top-tier active band.

And so, the band sound craze began to die down.

Until when? Until Luminous burst onto the scene with Starfire.

"Starfire! Starfire!"

Dubbed the 'miracle of a small agency,' Starfire became a massive sensation. It spawned countless viral short-form videos of foreigners claiming, 'You can't go anywhere in Korea without hearing this song.' It reignited the band sound craze with a vengeance.

Furthermore, unlike August Night or Meteor, Starfire didn't have an overwhelmingly heavy band color. It seemed like something existing commercial composers could actually replicate. As a result, the band sound trend had been burning at a steady, comfortable simmer ever since.

And right at this perfect moment, Roger, the composer of Starfire, had sent an email.

Naturally, the song bypassed every single standard procedure and went straight to the top. From the staff to the directors, and finally to the CEO. Then, it came right back down.

Once the decision was made, it was executed with terrifying speed.

Hardly anyone complained. Even the members of Various, who had to throw away weeks of practice and learn an entirely new choreography from scratch, accepted the change the moment they heard the song. Their original title track was good, but compared to Roger's song, it simply paled in comparison.

"No, but seriously, how does this even happen?"

The only person harboring any resentment was the unfortunate in-house composer. He had finally landed his very first main title track after joining the company, only to have it snatched away at the last second.

"Isn't this just too cruel, Hyung?"

What made it even more painful was that, deep down, he knew his own song couldn't compete with Roger's. Perhaps that was why he was struggling so hard to accept it. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity had been dangling right in front of his eyes, only to vanish into thin air.

"Well, these things happen."

His senior colleague looked at him with pity as the younger composer poured himself another drink. He could still vividly remember how ecstatic the kid had been when he finally got his big break. Who could have guessed it would end like this?

"Man, it's so miserable to have no talent. How is anyone supposed to survive? Some of us spend months breaking our heads, writing songs and getting feedback. Meanwhile, someone else just clicks 'send' on an email, gets paid their royalties, and immediately gets selected for the title track."

"You've had too much to drink. Stop."

"Hyung, don't you think there's actually something fishy going on?"

"What are you talking about? What would there be?" the senior asked, genuinely baffled. What on earth could be fishy about this?

"No, think about it. It doesn't make sense. Starfire itself makes no sense. They say he's a Japanese composer, right? But he doesn't work in Japan, and he hasn't written any other songs. It's impossible for someone like that to even exist."

What came out of the younger man's mouth was a dangerous line of thought. It was the dark, bitter territory that any creator could easily fall into when consumed by jealousy. The senior sighed deeply and spoke up.

"There are all kinds of people in the world, so of course it's possible. That kind of thinking won't do you any good, kid."

"Logically, it makes no sense. It's not like they're Ha Suyun. In my opinion, there's something behind this. It's like they're intentionally trying to manufacture a star composer."

"Hey. What kind of ridiculous nonsense are you..."

"Am I wrong? They released exactly two songs and both exploded? Who can do that? Honestly, I don't even think the song is that good. Is it really better than mine? It just hops on the band sound trend, cheaply clicking virtual instruments..."

As the younger man's rant drifted further into the realm of pure delusion, the senior slammed his glass down on the table.

"Stop drinking, kid. What can you do? That's what talent is. This industry runs on skill."

"But..."

"Get a grip, you bastard. If you're going to think like that, just listen to one more song tomorrow and analyze it. That's what people like us have to do."

The senior had been just like him once. Belittling others, refusing to acknowledge their success. Holding his nose high, acting as if he were the center of the universe while blaming the world for his failures.

But that was a long time ago. Now, he knew how to accept reality. He had to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠acknowledge that there would always be people better than him.

And there was one more thing he had to accept...

"Following behind the pioneers who break through, listening, analyzing, and catching up. That's our only way to survive."

They had to accept that they were already the followers. And to survive, followers had no choice but to run desperately just to keep up.

It was late August when articles of this nature began flooding the internet. To the general public, these headlines didn't elicit much of a reaction. It was just a simple, 'Oh, they're making a comeback.'

However, within the Korean girl group fandom, the response was explosive. To the core stans, this schedule was a declaration of war.

Currently, in the Korean girl group scene, Various was considered more than just tier-1—they were the undisputed, singular emperors of the industry. The advice to avoid Various's comeback schedule wasn't just internet gossip; it was a fundamental rule of survival for anyone working in the industry.

It was widely accepted that the only groups capable of stealing a music show trophy from Various were the absolute top-tier boy groups.

Aurora, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. When they won their very first music show trophy on a cable channel, they were immediately swept up in a controversy over their live vocal skills. They had never even touched a public broadcast trophy until they hit it big with Meteor.

They might have booked more events and festivals than Various, but their market value—their actual industry standing—couldn't compare to Various, let alone the other three tier-1 girl groups. Even after the massive success of Meteor, that reality hadn't changed.

But just as the triple walls of Constantinople eventually fell, any dynasty could collapse, and any empire could crumble.

The members of Aurora and the executives at Cream Entertainment believed exactly that. How long could a tier-1 group stay at the top? How long could they monopolize the industry?

Aurora had finally climbed to a position where they could openly challenge the throne. This was their era now. This was Aurora's time.

"We can do it this time!!"

"Let's go!!"

Believing in their victory, the members of Aurora poured blood, sweat, and tears into their practice. The music video crew pulled endless all-nighters, the styling team worked themselves to the bone, and the PR team drank with reporters until their livers screamed. The content team was no different.

Every single resource at Cream Entertainment was mobilized to secure Aurora's victory, aiming to shatter the rigid hierarchy of the fifth-generation girl groups led by Various.

And they truly believed they could succeed.

Because the raw material—the song they had been gifted, Lean on You—was just that incredible. They were confident they could bring Various down.

Rumors had even begun to circulate that Various had hurriedly changed their comeback track at the last minute.

At least, that confidence held strong. Right up until Various's new song, Blind Sight, was released.

"Wait, this..."

Monday, the third week of September, 18:00.

The moment Blind Sight dropped on Melon, Bugs, YouTube, Spotify, Apple Music, and every other platform, the members of Aurora and the staff of Cream Entertainment huddled together to listen. They needed to know how strong their opponent was. They needed to know how much effort it would take to defeat them.

And for the next three minutes, absolute silence filled the room.

No one uttered a single word. Not until Su-ryeon, a member of Aurora, finally broke the quiet.

"This... is really good."

As if her words had breached a dam, a torrent of voices suddenly burst forth.

"What do we do?" "Hey, we need to talk about our strategy quickly." "Isn't this too much?"

Originally, Aurora and Cream Entertainment had built their entire strategy on the assumption that Various's song wouldn't be as good as Lean on You. Their grand premise was to win over the general public by presenting a song that was clearly, undeniably a cut above the rest.

But now, that premise had completely crumbled. The staff had no choice but to panic. They had no idea how much effort it would take to salvage a campaign built on a flawed foundation.

"Yeah," Harin replied to Su-ryeon, brushing her hair back.

She had considered the possibility, but the reality was still a massive shock.

"What do we do about this?"

"What else? We work hard. That's all we can do."

"So what if the song is good? What can you even do?"

"What do you mean?"

"She probably saw something on the internet again."

If Harin had to grade the songs objectively, she would have rated their own track, Lean on You, at around a 90. Various's Blind Sight felt like an 88 or an 89.

Even with all her subjective bias and personal taste, she could argue their song was better, but no matter how much hostility she harbored, she couldn't deny the sheer quality of Blind Sight.

What made it even more shocking was that their own song was written by none other than Ha Suyun—the hottest, most sought-after composer in the entire Korean music industry. There were agencies that joked they would crawl on their hands and knees from Hongdae Station to Label Echo Sound just to get a single track from her.

Yet, someone out there had matched her genius. Who on earth could it be?

"Can we check the composer credits?" Harin asked over the noisy chatter of the staff.

The meeting room fell silent in an instant. Project Manager Lee Ui-min quickly clicked his mouse, trying to pull up the credits for Blind Sight.

"Why isn't it showing?"

"It's faster if you go to Spotify."

After a few tense seconds of buffering, the screen refreshed. The composer's name was clearly displayed on the screen—a name that was intimately familiar to almost everyone in the room.

[Composer: Roger]

"That... is the Starfire guy, right?"

"I think so. Wait, I heard a rumor recently..."

"What rumor?"

"That this person sent emails to multiple agencies simultaneously to sell a song. We didn't know who bought it..."

"And Square grabbed it? And it's coming out now? Holy shit, does this make sense?"

As the staff whispered in disbelief, Harin stared intently at the screen, lost in thought.

In the same era... no, at the exact same time. In the exact same ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠year.

To prevent any single genius from walking the earth alone, the universe had birthed two of them. The world was truly fair, yet incredibly unfair.

Two days later, Thursday of the third week of September.

"We can't turn back now."

Cream Entertainment's CEO, Park Jung-hyun, the Aurora team, the PR team, and every other staff member associated with the group had been summoned to the conference room.

Lee Ui-min, the project manager in charge of the Aurora comeback, made the declaration.

"Normally, or before the budget was spent, we would have postponed if Various's song was this good. But not now. We've invested too much to back out."

CEO Park Jung-hyun nodded. The budget allocated for this comeback was significantly higher than anything they had ever spent on Aurora before. A high investment demanded a high return. That was the simple law of business.

"If we chicken out now because we think we can't beat them on music shows, streaming, or downloads, it all becomes a sunk cost. It's gone. We can't do that... and the CEO has approved."

"Yes. This time, if anyone has an idea, report it directly to Director Lee and me. As long as it's not completely absurd, I'll approve the budget."

"Everyone, there are only a few days left. Prepare to pull all-nighters. Let's crush Various. Let's go! Let's do this!"

Without any prompting, a collective roar of determination echoed through the room. The staff quickly dispersed, rushing to execute their tasks.

Lee Ui-min stood still for a moment, then walked over to the CEO, his mind racing.

So, the first step is...

He honestly had no idea what kind of price he would have to pay. The person in question didn't seem like the type to be moved by money. But if there was a way, he had to try everything.

He would grab onto their pant legs... no, their skirt hem... wait, that would get him sued. Regardless, he had to grab onto whatever he could.

"CEO. First, about the first item..."

"Yes, go on."

Lee Ui-min approached the CEO and flipped open his notebook. There, alongside several scribbled notes, was a name written in bold letters:

Label Echo Sound