A Shift in the Air
The live tour continued. "Everyone, please calm down. We aren't doing this just for the Korean fans. Of course we're going to do it in Japan too!"
A bit more chatter followed, and then the final encore song... The Hanging Gardens.
"I climb endlessly up to the hanging gardens, which float there for no reason..."
With the Japanese audience singing along in unison, the concert came to an end. The crowd filed out, and Group Sound waved their final goodbyes before disappearing backstage. The broadcast ended, and the chat window closed. All the content prepared for the day was over.
However, the internet's time was just beginning.
Group Sound's last Korean concert was the KSPO DOME concert held last summer. Saturday and Sunday. With 10,000 seats each day, a total of 20,000 seats was a fairly large-scale performance for the Korean market. Naturally, that concert sold out in the blink of an eye. As shown in Group Sound's own content, they had a queue of 25,000 people waiting within minutes.
But there was one crucial thing people were overlooking: back then, Group Sound's overall stature was significantly smaller than it was now.
Of course, even at the time, Group Sound had proven themselves to be one of the top bands in Korea by releasing hits like The Hanging Gardens and Becoming a Star, composing the OST for The Girl Next Door, and appearing on shows like The Session and In Search of Korean Rock.
But no matter how high their status was back then, compared to now, when they possessed a global mega-hit... their past fame couldn't help but feel like a tiny, flickering candle.
So, it was only natural that people were up in arms.
The venue chosen for the concert was the Incheon Inspire Arena. Located on Yeongjong Island, it was a specialized performance venue with a maximum capacity of 18,000 people. In Korea, where performance facilities were notoriously poor, it was rated as having some of the best acoustics.
While a small minority speculated that the venue choice was due to acoustic concerns, the vast majority of fans looked ready to take a late-night taxi to Hongdae right that second and throw rocks at the Label Echo Sound building.
Fifteen thousand? Eighteen thousand? How on earth did they estimate the demand? Weren't they practically inviting scalpers to run rampant?
However, that public outrage was instantly pacified by Ha Suyun's announcement during the concert and the official notice posted by Label Echo Sound before midnight.
There was an important detail to note here. Unlike Korea, where most ticket sales operated on a first-come, first-served basis, Japan sold almost all tickets through a lottery system, with very few exceptions. While ticket prices sometimes varied depending on the seat's location, even those premium seats were ultimately decided by a draw.
Furthermore, when it came to ticket reselling, the ticketing agencies themselves officially supported a face-value transfer system. If someone couldn't attend a show, the ticketing company provided a built-in platform allowing them to transfer their ticket to someone else at the original price.
Of course, this method wasn't without its drawbacks. It had its own set of disadvantages, and there were limitations to immediately applying it to the Korean market.
But Group Sound was able to implement the Japanese system flawlessly—taking only the advantages without any of the drawbacks.
Group Sound's exclusive premium seats were priced at 100,000 won for 5,000 seats. General lottery seats were 90,000 won for 10,000 seats.
While it certainly wasn't a small amount of money, in an era where ticket prices had easily soared past 150,000 won, these prices made it feel like they were practically giving them away.
And so, people calmly entered their names into the lottery over the five-day reservation period and began to wait.
"Please let me win!!"
"I'll live a good life, please, God!!"
"If I win this, I'm seriously converting to Buddhism."
"God, Buddha, Allah, whoever is out there, please! If I win this, I'll make a massive donation!"
Actually, they weren't calm at all. Everyone was desperately clinging to a higher power...
"A hundred thousand people applied?"
"It looks like it! To be precise, the number is still steadily climbing!"
"Couldn't we have done it at a bigger venue? At this rate, if we had done it at a place that holds twenty or thirty thousand people... wow, think of the money."
"How much?"
"In terms of pure revenue, wouldn't it be around two to three billion won? Even if we estimate just a hundred thousand won per person."
Seoha's eyes practically turned into dollar signs as she rapidly calculated the figures. Suyun pushed up her glasses, watching her, and lightly twirled her hair.
Sure, they could have done it at a venue that held twenty or thirty thousand people, but...
"Well, Seoha! We did suggest that, but someone opposed it..."
"Who?"
At Seoha's question, Deputy Manager Jung raised his hand and pointed at Suyun.
Seoha gave her a resentful look (though Suyun had no idea why). Suyun shrugged and spoke.
"Well, as of right now, I have no plans to hold a concert in Korea at any venue larger than Inspire."
"Why??"
"The acoustics are terrible."
If people were already complaining about the acoustics at the Inspire Arena, what would other venues be like? In a country where you were lucky if the speaker delay didn't mess up the performance, Suyun had absolutely no intention of performing in such places.
"Performing in a place like that is a crime against the audience. If the sound quality is worse than what they'd get listening on their bookshelf speakers or EarPods at home after spending a hundred thousand won, is that even a concert? It's just acoustic torture."
"Hey. Are you saying all our senior artists who perform in those venues are torturing their fans?"
Despite her teasing tone, Seoha seemed to agree with Suyun's words. In the end, Seoha was a musician too, so it was only natural.
"More importantly, it feels like too many weird people are trying to latch onto this concert!"
"Pardon? What do you mean..."
Deputy Manager Jung chimed in. Suyun looked at him, wondering what kind of weird people were latching on.
"People claiming to be journalists asking if we have any complimentary tickets, celebrities saying they want to attend... so many people are begging for just one free ticket! They even offer to promote us in exchange! Isn't it ridiculous?"
"In what way?"
"They're the ones who need promotion from us now, yet they're acting like they're doing us a favor!"
"Ah~ that's true. Seriously. Who do they think they are, offering to promote us? Do they even have a single video with over thirty million views on YouTube? What's their deal?"
"There are always people like that. People who try to latch on."
While reacting to Seoha's highly exaggerated gestures, Suyun thought back to the past.
A long time ago—no, she didn't even have to go that far back. Just thinking about their early days...
Man, thinking about back then really makes me realize how far we've come.
The days when they performed at school festivals. The days when they performed in venues with fewer than three hundred seats. The days at Club Paradox.
The days Iseor had mentioned not too long ago.
Passing through those times, they had somehow arrived here. Not only were they performing, but the moment they announced a concert, celebrities and journalists flocked to them, begging for just a single ticket.
And they were now in a position where they could bluntly say, "If you want to watch, buy a ticket."
Even to the people they met through broadcasting stations and work, whom Suyun used to bow to out of gratitude...
They no longer needed to do so.
Why bother? Suyun thought as she flipped her phone face down on the desk.
The PD who had just messaged her wasn't someone who had ever treated her badly.
But still... he wasn't the kind of PD whose show she would split her schedule to appear on in the middle of a live tour.
In the past, we would have gone on shows like that to promote Group Sound...
And the company would have scrambled to pull strings or make calls to get them on air.
But now, there was no need.
Except maybe in Japan, in Korea they had become the ultimate power.
"I'm back~"
"Oh, welcome back."
"Drink... this... and let's... practice..."
Iseor handed out coffee to the office staff. Following her, Hyun-ah spoke in a slightly timid voice as she accepted her cup.
"Wow, I'm actually so touched right now. My bandmates are saying things like that? What's gotten into you guys?"
"The live tour is almost over, so we should finish strong."
Suyun clapped her hands and nodded. Yes, this was how a proper band should be.
"Right... then should we just do a little bit today?"
"Oh, no need to go that far."
"No, let's just do a little bit today and rest. You guys have worked hard lately."
"Shall we...?"
Suyun thought as she spoke. Since they were being so cooperative, she should keep the practice session light today and wrap it up. She couldn't afford to crush their spontaneous motivation.
"It... it worked..."
"See? I told you this would absolutely work."
While Suyun was feeling touched, Hyun-ah and Iseor whispered to each other.
Indeed. Even Suyun's reaction had been completely predicted by the two, who were doing everything they could to avoid practicing. It was the result of dealing with Suyun for several years.
In late November, after the Grouphead website was created.
After posting their verifications at their own times and in their own styles, the members of Group Sound didn't visit the Grouphead website very often.
The reasons varied for each member.
"It's nice going there because there are only posts praising us, but it's kind of... not that fun?"
"I'm... too busy doing other things..."
"I look at a few posts, but that's about it."
"In the first place, a fan site is the fans' domain. It's not really a space for us to hang out in. Those people like us, but they probably don't want us reading everything they write."
For these reasons, the Group Sound members rarely visited Grouphead.
The members of Grouphead knew this well, so they freely discussed various topics on the site—excluding anything that would violate community guidelines, of course.
And one day, a post uploaded by someone caught quite a bit of attention within Grouphead, though it wasn't an earth-shattering amount.
The relationship between stars and fans is usually structured such that fans pay money and stars return related content. However, as the bond between them grows deeper, that relationship can invert or transform into other forms.
And Group Sound's fandom was also standing at such a crossroads.
A shift had begun, moving them away from a simple star-and-fan dynamic toward a relationship where they could give and take more...