The True Value of Talent

To trace it back to its roots, ever since the Sex Pistols in the '70s, or more recently, Nirvana in the '90s—and even more precisely, the waves of alternative and post-grunge that followed—the concept of "live performance" or "live ability" in music has lost much of its absolute weight.

Sure, performing well live is a great asset. Having genuine, raw talent is undoubtedly a plus.

But even if a live performance is subpar, even if the artist's skills are lacking, or even if they are simply hand-syncing... people will still enjoy it.

No one really looks at an artist's skills anymore, gets disappointed, and says, "They're terrible. I'm never listening to their music again."

Whether it's their favorite singer, voice actor, utaite, VTuber, or streamer, fans will happily listen to their songs even if the pitch is off or the voice cracks.

In other words, we live in an era where performing poorly live or lacking raw skill simply means "they aren't great live" or "they aren't very skilled." It is the 21st century—an era where "skill" no longer automatically guarantees "honor" or "wealth."

But does that mean people will listen to absolutely anything, as long as they like the artist, as long as they are famous, or as long as it sounds decent?

Does it mean that no matter the raw material, as long as post-processing, autotune, and filters—the countless "assistive tools"—make it "tolerable," everything is fine?

Has "skill" truly lost all meaning?

If you've spent any time on the internet, you know the answer is a resounding no.

Paradoxically, because we live in such an era, people crave validation and want to give it in return. They desperately want their favorite artists to be talented, and when a truly skilled artist appears, they praise and elevate them to the heavens.

The First Shot is a YouTube channel that capitalized perfectly on this desire.

Capturing everything in a single, unedited take, it showcases the "true face of the artist" to promote them.

The channel's subscribers tune in precisely to witness that raw, unadulterated talent.

And Group Sound was the perfect artist to fulfill the channel's purpose.

The view count was exploding, and the comment section was even more volatile. The comments poured in so fast that the numbers changed with every refresh, and 99% of them were singing praises for Group Sound's performance—marveling at the clarity of their sound, their sheer instrumental prowess, and the brilliance of the arrangement.

This explosive reaction was entirely justified. It wasn't as if videos of Group Sound performing hadn't been made public before. Recordings of their Summer Sonic Festival set and their performance at the Inspire Arena in Korea were already on YouTube. They had done a radio show, and the soundboards from their live tour were available for free download. Anyone with even a passing interest could listen.

But that was the catch: "anyone with a passing interest."

Until now, Group Sound's live content had only circulated within the boundaries of those who were already looking for it. It sat right on the borderline where casual onlookers would glance and scroll past.

While those videos certainly had high view counts, they were fragmented pieces uploaded by people who were already deeply invested in music and willing to spend a bit of time on Group Sound.

But their appearance on The First Shot changed everything.

With 25 million subscribers, the channel was a massive global platform. Teasers for new songs were now being broadcast on morning television shows like Mezamashi and OhaAsa. Whenever news of a live performance broke, it was featured on the main page of Japanese YouTube and reported by major online news outlets.

By being introduced through such a wide-reaching medium, the general public finally got to see the true, unmasked face of the mysterious band known as Group Sound.

And they did so through a spellbinding acoustic live performance that perfectly captured the public's taste.

The response was explosive. In fact, it couldn't have been anything else.

It certainly wasn't entirely unintended.

Actually, to say it was unintended would be a lie. The whole reason they had started appearing on promotional broadcasts in the first place was to promote their songs and build up enough hype to ensure their June concert wouldn't fail to sell out.

If one had to choose, it was definitely intentional.

But if asked whether they had anticipated this level of success, the answer was a flat no.

Their first full-length album, Out of Time, which had been released quite some time ago and was barely selling a hundred copies a week, suddenly saw a massive resurgence in sales.

It got to the point where Zenith Music reached out, asking, "Is there any chance you'd be open to a reissue? We'd love to put out a limited-edition reprint..."

They also received proposals to release a physical single for Kingdom. Zenith Music and Red Rock reported being flooded with inquiries.

There were even constant requests to officially release the acoustic version or put out a single album, to the point where the labels had to stop responding to them individually.

Sign-ups for their Premium membership also skyrocketed, matching the growth rate they had seen during the peak of their promotions in Korea. The company manufacturing the physical membership medals was reportedly working overtime just to keep up with demand.

And Group Sound was not the kind of band to let such momentum go to waste.

"Our next guests... are incredibly popular these days, aren't they? We had a very difficult time booking them."

Count Down Live Live.

Similar to Music Share, it was a music program broadcast during prime time on terrestrial television. Its viewership ratings were nipping at Music Share's heels, occasionally even surpassing them in younger demographics.

And the defining feature of Live Live, which set it apart from Music Share, was...

"Just announced, the number one spot on the Live Live Weekly Chart! The song that was talked about and streamed the most in Japan this past week! The masterminds behind... Kingdom!"

Similar to Korean music shows, it utilized a ranking system. It wasn't based solely on physical album sales, but was calculated fairly enough that winning first place truly felt like a badge of honor for the most popular song of the moment.

"Please welcome, Group Sound!"

The second major feature of Live Live was that it stripped away the lengthy talk segments typical of Japanese variety-music shows, focusing instead on full, uncut live performances from intro to outro.

So, think about it.

They had already gone viral on YouTube. On platforms like Spotify, YouTube Music, and Apple Music, Kingdom had climbed to number one without any paid promotions, with Group Sound's faces plastered across the front pages.

It wasn't just music streaming apps either; video platforms were the same. The First Shot's performance of Kingdom had been thoroughly blessed by the algorithm.

Within just a few days, the view count had soared into the tens of millions and was still climbing rapidly. It sat firmly on the YouTube homepage day after day, refusing to budge.

And now, that very song was playing on prime-time terrestrial television.

The song called Kingdom.

It was an environment where people couldn't help but hear it. And once they heard it, they couldn't help but fall in love with Group Sound.

"I really didn't expect things to blow up like this overnight! How does something like this even happen?"

"I don't know if it's really that extraordinary."

"Huh?"

"I mean, we had Gangnam Style back in the day. Compared to that, what we're experiencing now is pretty normal, don't you think?"

"Ah."

Compared to a global phenomenon like that, their current popularity felt more like a natural harvest of what they had sown.

At Suyun's words, Manager Jung's face took on a look of deep contemplation, as if he were trying to dig up ancient memories. Since it was an event from over fifteen years ago, he really had to search his mind.

"Uh... but do you actually remember Gangnam Style? If I recall, your age back then..."

"Ahem! Even if I was young, I still remember things."

I've been letting my guard down too much lately, Suyun thought, clearing her throat lightly. She quickly shifted her focus to the documents Manager Jung had handed her.

A mountain of proposals lay before her.

"First of all, regarding the modeling gig I mentioned before, things have been moving in a very positive direction since this whole thing blew up."

"That's a relief. The girls were really looking forward to it."

"And besides that, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there are a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠few commercial offers... but I figured you wouldn't be interested, so I set them aside over there. Along with the standard variety show invites."

Manager Jung handed her another stack of papers he had separated.

"The tie-up proposals have also increased exponentially compared to what we usually get. It might be worth looking into!"

"Hmm... I wouldn't mind doing one song, but anything more than that might be too much. We have the live album to worry about, among other things."

"Well, you can look them over and make the final call."

Nodding, Suyun picked up a stack of papers and flipped through them.

Power of Music, Rhythm Buzz, Premier Melody...

Just a short while ago, these music programs had maintained a cold, aloof stance: "If you want to appear on our show, fine. If not, whatever."

But the proposals they had sent now carried an entirely different tone. Even just reading the sentences, the desperation practically bled through the paper. It was almost comical.

"There's nothing from Music Share? I figured they'd be begging us to come back by now."

"Music Share? Well..."

Hearing Suyun's question, Manager Jung grinned.

"If they have even a shred of decency left, they wouldn't dare send one. Though, to be fair, most TV people don't have any decency to begin with!"

It was the smile of a clear victor.

At a television station somewhere in Tokyo, in the meeting room of the Music Share team.

The executive director of variety programming and several high-ranking network officials were gathered alongside the Music Share producers.

"Now then, regarding next week's artist lineup..."

Listening to the leisurely, almost drowsy voice droning on, Nikaido fought desperately to hide his mounting anxiety. He prayed with everything he had that the words he dreaded most would not be spoken.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all."

"You don't look well."

"I'm perfectly fine."

Answering the senior colleague who had expressed concern, Nikaido forced himself to sit up straight. This was an official meeting; he had to hold it together.

"...Then we'll finalize next week's artists as discussed."

"I'm just glad we don't have to run a rerun."

After what felt like an eternity, the meeting began to wind down without anyone addressing Nikaido directly. He let out a quiet, imperceptible sigh of relief. It seemed he had survived another week—

Or so he thought.

"Ah, that reminds me."

"Isn't there that Korean band that's incredibly popular lately? The one with that heavy, classic rock sound."

"Ah... you mean Group Sound? The ones who sing Kingdom?"

"Yes, that's the one. Kingdom. I listened to it, and it's actually quite good."

The Director, who had been about to leave, sat back down and spoke. It was the exact topic Nikaido had been dreading.

"Can't we book them? They're massive right now. They're appearing on every other show, so if we invite them, there's no reason they'd refuse."

The words struck Nikaido like a bolt of lightning. He fought down a sudden, desperate urge to bolt out of the meeting room. But an even greater shock was waiting for him.

"Actually, Director, their agency did send us a proposal a while back."

"Oh, really?"

Had they seen the report from a few weeks ago? Or had the head producer simply failed to report it to the higher-ups? Whatever the reason, one of the variety department executives answered the Director.

Nikaido wanted to scream. He wanted to tell them that it was over, that the band had already rejected them. That because of his own monumental screw-up, they had kicked Music Share to the curb. That they had walked away with no intention of ever appearing on their show again, and were now happily performing on every rival network.

"Well, that's perfect then. If we received a proposal, there must have been some progress. Give us a quick update."

The Director spoke casually, but the head producer's face froze instantly, mirroring Nikaido's own pale expression.

It was only natural. He was the one who had ordered Nikaido to squeeze a "sponsorship" out of them, and he was the one who had been briefed on how spectacularly that order had backfired.

"PD, why aren't you reporting?"

"Well... that is... uh..."

"Don't stutter. Just tell us what happened."

"I-I'm terribly sorry, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but..."

"What is there to be sorry about?"

"Well, we... rejected their proposal a while ago. And they stated that they would never appear on our show again..."

The head producer's words, mumbled like a condemned criminal confessing his sins, fell upon Nikaido's ears with a crushing, suffocating weight.

"What on earth do you mean by that?!"

The Director's furious roar and the clamor of the other executives faded into a dull, ringing silence that Nikaido could barely hear.