Who's Chasing Whom?
The promotional broadcast in question was Music Share, commonly abbreviated as M-Share. It had succeeded The Best Eleven—a show that dominated the Showa era (1926–1989)—and went on to become the definitive music program of the Heisei era (1989–2019).
To say it defined the Heisei era was no exaggeration. In its heyday, global megastars touring Japan made mandatory stops there. Legendary acts like Oasis, Lady Gaga, and Justin Bieber had graced its stage to perform and chat.
Its prestige was equally absolute within Japan. During its peak in the nineties and aughts, a common saying circulated the industry: "You can't get on M-Share unless you're successful, and once you're on M-Share, you have no choice but to succeed."
But all of that was in the past tense. Of course, M-Share was still broadcast during prime-time television. As the saying goes, a rich man's house lasts three years even after he goes bankrupt; despite its endlessly plummeting viewership, it still hovered around three to four percent, and countless artists still lined up to promote their music.
The show's signature elaborate stage designs remained highly customizable, and the sound quality was still top-tier. Yet, the golden age when artists fought tooth and nail just to secure a slot was long gone. These days, they occasionally canceled broadcasts altogether if they couldn't find enough acts to fill the lineup.
Gone were the days when the network would pour tens of thousands of dollars into CGI for a single performance. Gone was the era when appearing on M-Share was an absolute necessity for music promotion. Nevertheless, it remained a program highly worth appearing on.
Major Japanese idol groups—like those from Johnny & Associates (though that agency was now defunct)—continued to make regular appearances. Even the young artists leading the modern Japanese music scene, such as King Gnu or Yoasobi, would occasionally drop by whenever they released a new album. Furthermore, M-Share held value in a slightly different aspect.
Suyun did not consider herself an entertaining person. Of course, the people around her begged to differ, but that was her stance. Still, she was merely being objective about herself, not a fool blind to how others perceived her. Thus, she participated in all the self-produced promotional content Group Sound created, bringing joy to their fans in various ways.
But that was strictly fan service. Ha Suyun's fundamental rule was simple: "I do not appear on shows that do not treat music with respect." It was a policy born from her past life, having witnessed all kinds of sordid behavior while working near broadcasting stations. However, because of this rule, the PR team at Label Echo Sound had to suffer immensely.
"Do you think she'd go on this show?"
"Ask her."
"...She said no."
"Why is she so stubborn about not doing broadcasts?"
"How should I know?"
It wasn't that Suyun only wanted to appear on "one hundred percent serious" music programs like EBS Amplifier or Kim Ji-yeon's Music Letter. During their promotions in Korea, she had almost appeared on a show where contestants sang while wearing masks. That appearance falling through hadn't even been because she rejected it; it was simply a scheduling conflict. So, while she had managed to appear on a decent number of shows in Korea, the real problem was Japan.
Japanese television was fundamentally hostile to its guests. Unlike in Korea, where a single slip-up would flood the station's bulletin boards with complaints and force the production team to apologize, it was perfectly normal in Japan for the hosts to roast or mock their guests. If Suyun, whose Japanese was still clumsy, went on those shows, it was glaringly obvious how things would turn out.
On top of that, Suyun's gentle side was reserved strictly for those inside her inner circle. To outsiders, she was practically a loose cannon swinging a sword. There was no way they could let her loose on variety shows. In this regard, M-Share was the perfect program to satisfy her strict criteria. They treated music seriously, allowed artists to design their own stages, featured one hundred percent live performances, and boasted a massive viewership. Best of all, artists could play whatever music they wanted. Could there possibly be a better show? But as is always the case in life, the problem was that wanting to appear on M-Share didn't mean you could just walk onto the set.
Deputy General Manager Jung—back when she was still just Section Chief Jung—had constantly sent pitches to music programs, including M-Share. Even though they hadn't released any songs in Japan yet, she proposed using or translating their Korean tracks. However, not a single music program showed the slightest interest in Group Sound.
Since they hadn't released an album in Japan, it was somewhat expected, but Jung felt a distinct wall. It wasn't just a rejection based on Group Sound's lack of fame; it felt more like a cold, exclusionary whisper: "You don't belong in our league." She had felt that same invisible barrier when they were touring live houses.
Although a show like Super Guitarist had shown interest, almost every other broadcast lost interest in Group Sound after Suyun utterly demolished the judges. That trend only began to reverse much later—well after their appearances at the Expo and music festivals, the release of Under the Satellite, and their magazine interviews. It was only after the release of Out of Time.
No matter how hard Jung tried to study Japanese culture, she was ultimately just an office worker in her early thirties. Highly competent in most situations, she still struggled to fully grasp the unique culture of the Japanese broadcasting industry. In turn, the Japanese television world had ignored her, and they had ignored Group Sound. But everything changed after the release of I'll Wait. Replies to her emails started arriving promptly, and discussions often progressed smoothly. Though ninety-nine percent of those opportunities fell through due to Suyun's stubbornness, these interactions made Jung realize just how popular Group Sound had become. This reality became even clearer after Faintly, But Surely became a hit through Sonar Music. And the moment the Japanese broadcasting industry's attitude turned completely favorable was when Kingdom blew up.
Seeing the polite, deferential tone—which read exactly like the emails Jung had desperately blasted to stations during their early days in Japan—made her think, Ah, this is why people strive so hard to succeed. While Korea had its share of this dynamic, it was never quite this two-faced. But regardless of Jung's personal reflections, Group Sound had no choice but to decline all these broadcast invitations. Once again, it was because of Suyun.
"Suyun, do you have any interest in appearing on a broadcast? A music show! On major network TV!"
"Ah, not really right now."
"May I ask why?"
"I'm too busy training the girls and working on music."
Under the pretext of preparing for their concert, Suyun had flatly rejected every single broadcast offer. On top of that...
"We've already sold out all the concert tickets, so is there really any need to go on TV and promote?"
"Well, it's always good to keep up the promotion!"
"That might be true, but... I'm sorry, I'm just too busy. Please decline them all."
"Understood..."
Suyun kicked away every single broadcast opportunity simply because she found them annoying. (She hadn't said it out loud, but Jung, having observed Suyun for a long time, could tell instinctively.) Thinking of the future, it would have been better to make those appearances, but what could she do? When the pillar of the company and the CEO's daughter said no, she had to comply.
In other words, the only reason they were finally appearing on a music show now—long after the massive success of I'll Wait, Faintly, But Surely, and Kingdom—was due to those very circumstances. With Suyun's collaboration projects in January and the need to coordinate their schedules, it was only natural that television appearances had been pushed back.
"By the way, when is the broadcast scheduled?"
"They haven't given us a date yet... We still need to negotiate the details!"
But even after surviving that arduous process, and even after their official appearance was confirmed, there was still a problem with appearing on M-Share. And this time, it was a rather headache-inducing one.
No broadcasting station can produce and air shows out of thin air. Every network needs money to survive. Of course, when this need goes too far, you get grotesque scenarios where a health show praises the benefits of "Ingredient A" while a home shopping channel "coincidentally" sells supplements containing that exact ingredient at the exact same time—a bizarre phenomenon that still occurs in 21st-century democratic nations. Normally, however, networks legally maintain their revenue through sponsorships and advertisements. It isn't a gray area; it is entirely legal. What could possibly be wrong with corporations sponsoring shows and buying ad space?
However, M-Share's revenue stream was in a precarious state. While they barely managed to defend their viewership ratings, their audience was rapidly aging. Ratings spiked occasionally, but those were solely driven by appearances of highly buzzed-about idols. Fans who tuned in exclusively to watch their favorite idols helped the ratings momentarily, but they did absolutely nothing for advertising rates or sponsorships.
Labor costs were rising, yet production budgets were shrinking. Even if they wanted to make a high-quality show, they couldn't do much without money. Shaving off a bit of the budget during stage construction or pocketing under-the-table kickbacks only lined the pockets of individual staff members; it did nothing to fund the actual production.
"Uh... are you referring to a sponsorship?"
"I didn't use that exact word, but..."
Consequently, the production team of M-Share was exercising a rather different kind of "flexibility."
"In any case, we have no choice but to ask for your cooperation. We have our own production costs to consider, after all."
"Ah... I see."
In a way, it was to be expected. In Korea, there were entire memes about television programs taking bribes to advertise restaurants. Just as a traditional herbal medicine recipe required chestnuts, jujubes, green peppers, ginger, onions, angelica root, thyme, rosemary, and everything in between, it was only natural that the Japanese broadcasting industry needed money to keep running.
Still, I didn't expect them to be this blatant about it. She had assumed such dealings were reserved for major corporations. Jung never imagined they would demand such an explicit "sponsorship" from a small, independent agency like theirs, no matter how successful Group Sound currently was. Feeling slightly flustered, she spoke up.
"Then... regarding this 'sponsorship,' since we are a Korean company, could you tell us what channel we should use to process this request?"
"We will contact you separately regarding those details."
With those words, the M-Share staff member stood up. Watching him, Jung felt another wave of bewilderment, recognizing the classic, arrogant posture of someone holding all the cards.
"At any rate... if you wish to appear on the show, please give this matter your deepest 'consideration.' We have quite a long list of groups eager to perform, you see."
"Yes, I understand."
"Well, I must get back to work."
As the staff member walked away, Jung couldn't help but think his attitude boiled down to a crude, "What are you going to do about it?" It was the smug posture of a top-tier music program: What can you possibly do to us? Just cough up the cash. That attitude drove home the reality of dealing with television people. Whether in Japan or Korea, it seemed broadcasting executives everywhere were cut from the exact same self-centered cloth.
A few days later.
"...So, in short, it looks like we'll have to provide a sponsorship... That's the situation."
Normally, there was no reason to disclose such industry politics to an artist. However, due to the weight of her lineage, Suyun was treated as far more than just a signed musician. Occupying a position that made her practically part of the management, Jung often consulted her whenever a particularly thorny issue arose. It helped that Suyun's advice had an incredibly high success rate.
"What do you think, Suyun?"
"A sponsorship."
Suyun looked utterly dumbfounded. Did they think their agency was some kind of personal ATM? To demand money so blatantly, no matter how cash-strapped their production budget was, was absurd.
"Does this happen often?"
"All the time. It's incredibly common in Korea, too. Though this is our first time encountering it in Japan."
Jung began listing numerous examples she had encountered in the past. These were things Suyun had never experienced firsthand, having only observed "broadcasting bastards" from a distance without ever having to drink with them or entertain them.
"Wow..."
"Compared to some of those horror stories, this transaction is actually on the cleaner side... But what do you think? About the appearance."
"Hmm..."
Suyun lightly twirled a strand of her hair. It seemed that ever since they came to Japan, nothing good ever came from dealing with corporate entities. First Kingdom, and now this.
Yet, Suyun also considered the pragmatic route. Going along to get along and keeping things smooth would ultimately benefit their promotions. After all, they were still the ones in the weaker position...
Wait, now that I think about it, we aren't the ones in the weaker position anymore, are we?
Suddenly, the realization struck her. The desperate party wasn't them—it was the network.