A Perfect Fit
"Now, now, Director. The PD must have made some sort of mistake. There is no way they would refuse to appear on our show."
"Then what the hell was that guy talking about?!"
"I'll look into it personally and take the appropriate measures, so please don't worry too much."
The meeting, which had been filled with the Director's roaring fury, finally came to an end thanks to another department head stepping in to smooth things over. But that only meant that particular meeting was over. Nikaido and the Music Share production team trudged to another conference room, their faces grim, looking like men marching to the gallows.
"You. Just you, get in here."
"...Yes, sir."
The PD followed the department head inside, his voice dripping with reluctance. The moment the door slammed shut, shouting began to leak through the walls.
"Nikaido-san, what on earth were you thinking?"
"What do you mean, what was I thinking?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
Like hell I do.
Nikaido gritted his teeth at the colleague's thinly veiled mockery. You know exactly what I mean? What a joke. Why were they acting so clean? Every single one of them was doing the exact same thing, squeezing money out of agencies.
That conviction only grew stronger after the shouting inside the conference room finally died down. When the exhausted-looking PD called him in and he stood before the department head, this was the first thing out of the man's mouth:
"Why the hell did you handle things like that?"
"...Excuse me?"
"You bastard! Nobody told you to go out and secure a sponsor, so why did you take it upon yourself to pull a stunt like that?!"
Nikaido was dumbfounded. The words Isn't everyone doing the exact same thing? nearly escaped his throat. The department head, the PD, the guy whispering next to him earlier, and the guy next to him—they were all cut from the same cloth. They all pocketed sponsorship money, kicked a portion up the chain, and kept the rest as kickbacks.
"Well?! What the hell were you thinking?!"
Where did they think that money came from? How did they think he learned to do it? He had learned it either because his superiors had dropped subtle hints to "squeeze some cash out this way," or because they had shown him firsthand. The very PD looking at him now with a "why did you do something so foolish" expression had partnered with him just three years ago to extort money from a sponsor. Where did forty percent of that money go? It certainly hadn't ended up in the PD's pocket.
"I am sorry."
But Nikaido kept his mouth shut. As long as he could keep his job, that was all that mattered. If he survived this, another opportunity would come. Even if it didn't, he would still collect his salary and build his resume.
"It is entirely my fault."
"If you know that... *Sigh*, get out."
And just when he thought the matter was settled, it flared up in a different way.
"Nikaido, I need you to go on a business trip."
"Yes?"
"Team 1 needs some extra hands over in Sendai. I'll give them a call, so pack your bags. Think of it as a chance to cool your head after this incident."
The very next day, with those first words from the PD, Nikaido instantly read the intentions of the Director, the department head, the deputy head, and the PD. It was a painfully transparent ploy.
They want to sweep the evidence under the rug while I'm gone, don't they? Then they'll fire me, and everything will be pinned on me.
They couldn't afford not to have Group Sound on the show. At a time like this, if Music Share was the only program they skipped, people would start talking. But Group Sound would surely hold a grudge against them. So, they would fire Nikaido. And while he was away in Tohoku, they would bundle all their own dirty laundry together and pin it on him. They would erase and manipulate the evidence, then point their fingers and say, "He did all of it!"
A classic case of cutting off the tail to save the head.
You think I'm just going to sit back and take this?
He gritted his teeth. His termination was a done deal. If they had left him alone, maybe there would be a chance, but sending him to Sendai meant all hope was lost. They would hit him with disciplinary dismissal or a lawsuit for damages. There was no way he was walking out of this company unscathed. But he had absolutely no intention of going down alone.
Irrespective of the backstabbing and infighting among the culprits, let us turn back the clock—not just a little, but quite a bit—and take a quick look at the past.
Group Sound was a band that had never accepted sponsorships. Not once. Not for their outfits, their gear, or anything else. Everything Group Sound performed with was either purchased by their agency or originally owned by the members themselves.
It wasn't that they hadn't received offers. Far from it. Korea was a country where sponsorships were incredibly active—to the point where some celebrities even turned their airport arrivals into sponsored ad campaigns, causing public outrage for blocking airport traffic just to secure a payout. The moment the word "broadcast" was mentioned, people lined up to lend their products, and various brands even operated dedicated offices just to handle sponsorships.
And Group Sound possessed a rare combination of four elements in the twenty-first century: they were "highly skilled," "beautiful girls," "(formerly) minors," and a "band." Naturally, a deluge of offers begging them to accept sponsorships had poured in from the moment the band signed with an agency.
The categories were diverse: clothing, bags, instruments, audio equipment, and so much more—too many to count. Yet, Deputy Head Jung rejected every single one of them. This was her specialty, after all. She knew exactly how the industry worked.
Accepting a sponsorship is an act that defines an artist's "class."
It was a highly materialistic way of looking at things, but consider this: if there was an artist sponsored by a cheap, run-of-the-mill street brand, and another sponsored by a heritage or luxury brand, how would the public perceive them?
Of course, the first artist might simply prefer the street brand. They might have rejected luxury sponsorships of their own accord. Conversely, the one wearing the luxury brand might have practically begged for the deal. But the public never saw the behind-the-scenes reality; they only saw the end result. And there were far too many people who judged an artist's "class" solely by what they wore and who sponsored them.
That was why top-tier fourth-generation idols were appointed as ambassadors for the five major luxury houses even before their official debut. Knowing this all too well, Deputy Head Jung wanted their very first sponsorship or advertisement to be of the absolute highest tier. She didn't know how the girls felt about it, but to her, Group Sound was like her own child, her masterpiece.
And in Deputy Head Jung's estimation:
The time has come.
Group Sound had now reached a level where they could easily secure at least an A-tier, if not an S-tier, advertisement. It was time to discuss the next step. And that next step was...
So, which brand should we contact?
Biting down on the end of a felt-tip pen, Deputy Head Jung rested her chin in her hand and stared at her monitor for a long time. The screen was filled with countless photos—both fan-taken shots and official promotional pictures. They looked incredibly beautiful, but the more she looked, the more she realized they had a bit of a dilemma.
"Our girls really have zero fashion cohesion."
"Right?"
"Well, in my opinion, we just need to do something about Iseor and Seoha."
"I don't think so. Shouldn't we do something about Suyun-nim first?"
"Why do you call the other girls by their names but call Suyun 'Suyun-nim'?"
"Even Manager Kim is doing it right now."
The staff members bickered among themselves over how to address the CEO's daughter.
"Suyun-nim is an exception." "No, but seriously, she's clearly way younger than me, but sometimes I feel like I'm talking to someone my dad's age." As these comments flew back and forth...
"Alright, alright, whatever."
"So we're sticking with Suyun-nim?"
"She's the CEO's daughter, of course we add '-nim'. The one who signs the paychecks is always the boss."
After settling the debate, Deputy Head Jung looked back at the monitor. She had to admit her staff had a point. If they could somehow blend the completely contrasting styles of Iseor and Seoha, they might fit into a single category. Or perhaps they just needed to do something about Suyun, who dressed in absolute formality unless it was sweltering hot.
"What brand do you think would suit them? Give me some ideas."
"Celine!"
"Wouldn't Louis Vuitton be better?"
"But isn't it a bit weird for a rock band to become luxury brand ambassadors? It kind of dilutes that 'rebellion' image..."
"What era are you living in? If you're going to talk about rebellion, you shouldn't be making money in the first place. You'd have to donate all of it."
"I heard from Suyun-nim that Pink Floyd was basically a band full of semi-socialists, and even they didn't donate their money."
Rebellion, socialism, donations, blah blah blah. Feeling like she was watching a circus masquerading as a brainstorming session, Deputy Head Jung kept jotting down keywords. Yet, nothing stood out. Perhaps it would be better to dress them individually, or hire an external agency to aggressively pitch to corporations. After all, they couldn't know which brand would be willing to sponsor them.
As Deputy Head Jung stared at the monitor, trying to clear the fog in her mind—
"Hello."
"Suyun-nim! You're just in time. I was just hearing about how your mental age is older than Assistant Manager Park's father—"
"Manager!"
"What? What about my mental age?"
Suyun had slipped into the office unnoticed and was now reacting with strange sensitivity to the mention of "age." But the moment Deputy Head Jung saw what she was wearing, her eyes widened. Of course! How could I forget that?
It's definitely an S-tier brand... and it can encompass all of our members' individual images...
Furthermore, there was precedent. It was a brand that was absolutely perfect. Deputy Head Jung sprang from her seat and grabbed Suyun's hand as she was bickering with the staff.
"Suyun-nim!"
"Uh, yes?"
"Shall we do a fashion show?"
"Me?"
Of course, she didn't mean walking an actual runway. It wasn't that kind of brand anyway.
Inside a building in downtown Tokyo.
"Hmm."
He stood with his arms crossed, looking down from the window. He gazed at the endless forest of skyscrapers and the bustling streets filled with cars and people. With so many people in the world, why were their sales slowly declining? Why weren't they buying their products?
It wasn't that people had stopped buying entirely. Their product lineup was packed with timeless steady-sellers. Thus, there was no risk of their sales plummeting to zero or the company going under. That wasn't the source of his anxiety.
However, their inability to defeat their eternal rival was a definite problem. Though everyone pretended otherwise, any employee of the company couldn't help but be hyper-aware of them. "That brand," which they had been neck-and-neck with for years, had seemed on the verge of collapse a few years ago, only to make a spectacular comeback. And they hadn't even developed anything particularly new yet.
We lack a fresh vision.
That was why he believed they needed to drive innovation. Of course, even with his independent authority, he was still just a creative director for a single country. He didn't have the power to shift the global tide. But since he held immense authority within Japan, he certainly had the capacity to make something happen here.
"Director, the head of Team 3 is here to see you."
"Send them in."
Team 3 was the department responsible for external collaborations and public relations. He saw them often, but they had already finished reporting on their recent decisions yesterday. Wondering what brought them here today, he welcomed the chief team leader.
"What brings you here?"
"Ah, Director. We received a proposal today. I have a strong feeling it could really help elevate our brand image."
"What is it?"
"An offer just came in. They've even offered to do a presentation for us. They're a band, but..."
With those words, the chief laid out the documents. Photos of four girls. Among the various pictures and profiles...
"Who is this?"
"That's the band's leader."
A girl wearing their tracksuit with a somewhat indifferent expression. She was undeniably beautiful, but she wasn't a professional model. She wasn't a model, definitely not... yet she possessed an strangely magnetic aura. One that perfectly suited the symbol emblazoned on their clothes: the three stripes.