Resonance Across the Sea

A "full-album sing-along" during a live tour isn't entirely unprecedented. You don't even have to look globally; right here in Korea, artists with massive popularity or incredibly passionate fanbases occasionally experience the crowd singing along to every single song. Of course, Korean crowds are famous for going far beyond just singing the lyrics. They sing along to guitar riffs (like for Metallica), pull off completely spontaneous fan events (like Paul McCartney's "Hey Jude" reprise), or sing songs that weren't even on the setlist and hadn't been performed recently (like for Bon Jovi or King Gnu). In that light, a full-setlist sing-along might not seem like an earth-shattering anomaly.

Yet, even by those legendary standards, what was happening right now... was undoubtedly a moment that would go down in the history of live concert sing-alongs.

Over and over, to the point of exhaustion. Beyond appearing in her dreams, it had become life itself. Driven by the sheer inertia of endless practice, her hands moved forward automatically, without a shred of resistance. She played the melody of Paradox again and again. Not just Suyun, but all the other members as well.

However, seeing Suyun not singing, the other three members kept casting bewildered glances her way. This was something they had never experienced before. But Suyun's mind was vibrating too intensely to notice their concern. The scene unfolding before her eyes was just so... perfect.

When people watch "sing-along videos" online, some might think the roar of the crowd isn't actually that loud. And if you're watching from the audience or listening to a broadcast, that might seem true. The voices of individual people blend together, and the live instruments mix in.

But hearing a crowd sing along from the stage is on a completely different level. Unlike the instruments and vocals controlled through the mixer and blasted out of the speakers facing the audience, the crowd's sound is entirely raw and untamed. Thus, the voices of thousands of people screaming at the top of their lungs hit the stage louder than a clap of thunder. It was enough to make you feel crushed under the sheer weight of the song.

Was all of this just a coincidence? Suyun looked down at the crowd past her silent microphone, listening to the voices washing over her. It wasn't that she hadn't seen audiences singing along recently. She had seen it plenty of times during their Japanese tour, even if the volume there had been a bit quieter.

But those moments had always been carefully orchestrated by Suyun and the band. They had to coax the energy out of them. Get excited. Have fun. Let's play together. Only after cajoling, pleading, and encouraging did they get that kind of response. It wasn't the Japanese fans' fault, of course. Their concert culture simply wasn't accustomed to that level of wild participation. No matter how ready they were to party, if they had never done it before, playing music would only make them twitch awkwardly like Peter Parker infected by the symbiote.

But what about now? Every single person below the stage was screaming the lyrics. The song that Suyun had composed, Iseor had written, and the rest of the band had brought to life. Suyun stared out at them. They sang as if the melody had been playing in their hearts all along, as if they had truly, deeply yearned for this exact moment.

And when Suyun's gaze drifted to the pamphlets held in the hands of the crowd... the question lingering in her mind was finally answered. The sheets of paper held by all fifteen thousand audience members. They must have had the lyrics printed on them. So that not a single person would be left out. So that they could fully convey their emotions back to the band...

A sudden sting pricked the bridge of her nose. Suyun stopped strumming, her hand reaching up to push up the glasses Iseor had put on her. As the guitar fell silent, the other instruments followed suit, and the voices of the crowd began to quiet down. In the rapidly hushed arena, Suyun ran a hand through her hair, took off her glasses, and let them hang around her neck. She wiped her face with both hands and rubbed her eyes. She didn't want the audience to see her tearing up.

Then, after a brief moment of silence...

The crowd began to stomp their feet in unison.

Thump. Thump.

Applause erupted. Below the stage, and above it. The audience, seated in a full 360-degree circle around them, generated a massive, synchronized rhythm.

"Unreachable Paradox..."

The guitar roared back to life. The bass, the drums, the keyboard joined in. Not just their hands, but their feet, their entire bodies. No, everything in the arena vibrated. It felt as if some nameless, colossal entity that had been slumbering since ancient times was finally awakening.

"Unreachable Paradox!!"

The heartbeat of the song finally reached its climax. It surged upward, then poured down like a torrential rain. Deafening cheers erupted. The instruments raced toward the finish line.

The voices blended completely. It was impossible to tell which was the crowd's roar and which was the sound coming from the stage monitors.

And the people kept singing. On the stage, and below it. Until their voices fully reached one another, they sang on and on.

The atmosphere of the concert remained electric for the rest of the night. The entire audience pulled off the incredible feat of singing along to every single song, and Group Sound responded with matching passion. The concert, originally scheduled for two and a half hours, stretched to three hours and twenty minutes, filled with colorful banter and special events. The highlight among them was a surprise event the fans had prepared for Group Sound.

Since it will all be buried under the sand and disappear...

"One, two, three!"

Just as the second chorus ended and right before the guitar solo was about to kick in, paper airplanes began to fly. From the very front row within arm's reach, all the way to the nosebleed sections high above, thousands of paper airplanes took flight.

Since Iseor was busy singing, Suyun adjusted her fretting hand to play with hammer-ons and pull-offs, using her free hand to catch one of the paper airplanes. She was deeply moved. She had never imagined they would receive an event like this.

"Everyone, thank you so... so much. We really never could have imagined anything like this."

Every member of Group Sound repeated those words to the fans at every opportunity, their voices filled with absolute, unfiltered sincerity. And they weren't the only ones reacting this way.

After a brief discussion between Suyun and the executives of Label Echo Sound, they decided to release the footage of the Incheon Inspire Arena concert, which had been recorded for archival purposes, onto YouTube. It wasn't in 4K, but it was in crisp 1080p high definition.

Upon seeing the video, Group Sound's Korean fans practically wailed in despair. Why hadn't they been there to witness such a dreamlike spectacle? Why, of all things, had they failed to make the list of those fifteen thousand blessed souls?

Naturally, Group Sound's fans in Japan watched the video as well.

What was even more interesting was that people outside of Korea and Japan—regions where Group Sound was already popular—were also watching this video.

As always, the mysterious YouTube algorithm began recommending Group Sound to foreign viewers. And Korean Groupheads were more than happy to leave incredibly friendly replies to any foreigner who showed interest.

Naturally, reaction YouTubers looking to cash in on the niche quickly hopped on the trend, uploading reaction videos in hopes of drawing in Korean viewers to boost their view counts. However, there was a distinct difference between this and the usual pandering content...

It wasn't just the professional reaction channels shouting hollow phrases like "Wow!" and "That's crazy!" to farm views. Actual musicians and industry professionals were watching the video and posting genuine, heartfelt reactions, driven by a sincere feeling of I absolutely have to talk about this.

In fact, a significant portion of the content wasn't just simple reaction videos. Many creators made deep dives introducing Group Sound as a band or analyzing their music as a whole. In this way, Group ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sound's name was gradually spreading—faintly but surely—beyond Korea and Japan, out into the wider world.

Compared to the massive impact of the Korean encore concert, the Japanese encore concert didn't leave quite as strong an impression. This was despite the best efforts of the Japanese Groupheads, who had been deeply motivated after the Incheon concert video was uploaded.

"Alright!"

And just like that, after three long months, the live tour officially came to an end.

"Everything has wrapped up successfully! As for the payouts..."

"How ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠much is it?"

"It's not calculated yet! We have to audit the total revenue first."

Seoha, whose eyes had been sparkling at the mention of money, instantly slumped. Meanwhile, Iseor and Hyun-ah chattered away.

"I'm going to buy a car once this payout comes in~"

"I want to take my parents on a trip to America..."

"And with this, our Japanese promotions are officially... not over, of course! We still have plenty of places to go, so you'll need to stay in Japan until at least June. You all know we have a performance scheduled then, right?"

At Manager Jung's words, they answered in unison, "Yes~"

While the other three got up and began to wander around the office, Manager Jung turned her attention elsewhere.

"And, Suyun!"

"Yes?"

"About what we discussed before..."

"Ah, is that finally wrapping up?"

"Yes!"

While the other three discussed their plans—"Since we have some downtime, how about a trip to Hokkaido?"—Suyun rested her chin in her hand, watching Manager Jung straighten her posture.

Did I agree to this too quickly? I wanted to rest a bit too...

But then again, it might turn out to be excellent progress on a topic she had been pondering lately. In fact, that very thought was why she had accepted the offer in the first place. Still, it felt a little unfair that she was the only one who wouldn't get to rest while everyone else did...

"The revenue split has been negotiated to a reasonable degree! Now, you just need to meet up with the other members and start discussing the musical direction..."

"Hmm..."

"Here is the schedule! Oh, and I have one small favor to ask..."

"Yes?"

Her voice dropped, uncharacteristically quiet. Suyun looked at Manager Jung, wondering what she was about to say.

"Could you... maybe get me an autograph? I'm a huge fan of Araki Ryosuke..."

"Ah, sure."

So it was nothing major. Suyun nodded in agreement and stared up at the ceiling.

Not long ago, Araki Ryosuke had made a proposal, and Suyun had accepted. A project band—a collaboration that could easily be called a supergroup—was waiting for her.