The Unsold Idol Returns to Music Shows (2)
“Haaaaawn….”
“Mmnh….”
4:51.
The shop wasn’t far now.
In the back seat, the kids were all nodding off one after another. Judging by the state of them, Eunchae and Se-a had pulled all-nighters too. The only one who looked halfway functional was Harin in the passenger seat.
“…….”
Harin wasn’t sleeping. She just kept fiddling with her phone. She’d been staring at something for a while now.
“What are you looking at?”
“Shorts.”
“Shorts?”
“Once we get to the music show, other groups are definitely going to come over and ask us to film challenges together…. I need to practice ahead of time.”
“……Impressive.”
The admiration slipped out before I could stop it. This was the kind of thing I, as their manager, was supposed to handle—but Harin took care of even these little details without being told.
“…I told the others to watch them yesterday too. I shouldn’t have.”
Harin glanced at the sleeping members behind her and let out a quiet sigh.
Ah. So that was why they hadn’t slept….
“It’s fine. There’ll be time for a nap at least. Good prep work, Harin.”
“…It’s been half a year since the third album that we’ve been on a music show. We have to be thorough. Even if it’s just getting our faces into a junior girl group’s Shorts or photos one more time, I want people to see us.”
“Yeah. That’s the right attitude.”
That was Harin for you. Admirable as always.
Music shows brought more than ten groups together in one place, so networking and socializing were inevitable. Along the way, people took photos for SNS, filmed challenge videos with each other’s new songs—a kind of mutual promotional favor-trading. From the morning commute all the way through the hours spent waiting in the green room, that kind of activity never stopped. Simply appearing on the broadcast was never the whole job.
That was why groups clawed so hard to get on air.
And that was why Harin—
“Manager.”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you tell us to wear the sponsored underwear?”
“Cough! Cough!”
I nearly slammed the brakes, but we were in traffic, so I barely managed to hold back.
“D-Did I… say that?”
“Eunchae kept insisting you specifically told us we had to wear them. She made a whole point of it.”
That Eunchae….
Told me to just trust her, then sold me out the second she got the chance?
“Well… we took the sponsorship. It’s basic courtesy, right?”
“Does the sponsor actually check whether we wore the underwear or not?”
“Of course they wouldn’t…….”
Though thinking about those two degenerates at Venus, they absolutely would.
Were they coming today?
“Still—doing what you’re supposed to do even where no one can see. Isn’t that the proper attitude for a celebrity?”
“…Ah.”
“What?”
“…Nothing. I just didn’t expect you to say something cool, Manager.”
I’d just been spouting whatever came to mind, but somehow it had landed.
“So. Did everyone end up wearing them?”
“Yes. ……Want to check?”
Screech.
I stopped the car on the spot.
“Ah—no. No need to check…. I’m sure you handled it.”
“Check. Inspect. Turn around and inspect again. You’re always saying that, Manager.”
“That’s true, but…. Hmm. No time. Okay? Let’s get to the shop first. Kids! We’re here. Wake up!”
“Huu….”
As I roused the others, Harin let out a long breath and unbuckled her seatbelt.
No need to check right now…. I’d be seeing soon enough anyway.
At the shop, they finished a simple round of makeup. Hair, foundation, the finer points of styling. This wasn’t the look they’d wear on the actual broadcast—for the live show they’d sit through makeup all over again and change into stage outfits. The session now was purely for the morning commute.
Just to look good on camera for less than five minutes, they spent a little over an hour and a half getting done up.
Did anyone out there have any idea how hard we worked for this?
I got back in the van and waited for the kids. Harin and Sarang were already finished. Eunchae seemed to have just wrapped up as well—she climbed into the car.
“Where’s Se-a?”
“Her hair isn’t fully dry, so she’s putting on a hat. She’s picking one out right now.”
“Hmm…. Fine. We’ve still got a little buffer.”
From here to the station meant another forty minutes across the Han River. We had about an hour left, so luckily there was still some room to spare.
“I’m hungry~.”
“There should be some snacks by your seats. Eat those.”
“It’s not sandwiches~. Always milk.”
“There’s yogurt too. I’ll buy you a real meal once the morning schedule’s over. Hold on a little. If you eat now your face will bloat.”
“Tch.”
The moment I mentioned face bloating, Sarang accepted it and pulled a yogurt from the bag, sticking it in her mouth. In the passenger seat, Harin was already silently nursing a strawberry milk of her own.
“Ah. Let’s film one video on the way. Fans come out for the commute—we should thank them.”
“Okay~.”
“Yes.”
Eunchae and Sarang took the selfie stick and the filming phone I handed over. Whatever else you said about them, they followed instructions well. If they couldn’t even manage that, I would’ve quit first.
“Two, three! We are Sepia, shining brightest in the world!”
“Seddoli~. You haven’t forgotten what day it is today, right?”
“Sepia is visiting you on a music show for the first time in so long. Shortly, at YBC Broadcasting Station, we’ll greet you with our commute hello!”
“Please come out and cheer us on, and Sepia will work hard to deliver our thanks right back to you Seddoli!”
“For those who can’t make it—tonight at seven! At YBC Music Center, Sepia’s first performance of the fourth album. Please tune in live!”
They nailed it. Four years of experience didn’t just vanish.
Without being told, the kids uploaded the video to the official SNS. Being the crack of dawn, comments weren’t flooding in, but several already said they’d arrived on site.
Having even a small number of passionate fans was the asset that let Sepia keep surviving right now.
How was I supposed to repay that?
“Huff. Huff. Oppa! Sorry! I’m late.”
Last of all, Se-a climbed into the van and pulled the door shut.
“It’s fine. We’ve got about forty minutes on the road. Fill your stomach a little and rest up.”
“What about bread?”
Same line as Sarang.
“Just eat that for now. I’ll buy you something later.”
“Tch. Breaad.”
Se-a grumbled, but she stuck a milk carton in her mouth and joined the others taking photos for SNS. Makeup was done. Every one of these shots would make decent bait. I left them to it.
On the commute itself, they’d have to take far more photos than this.
7:20. Beside the parking lot at YBC Broadcasting Station.
Hundreds of people had already poured in, and the surrounding traffic congestion rivaled a weekday rush hour. We waited briefly inside the van for our turn. Commute filming was a regular event, so when multiple groups arrived at once, staff made you hold back a little to keep everyone from entering at the same time.
While we waited, I took a look at the atmosphere.
“Whoa. Look at the ladders.”
The kids stared through the windows at the incredible scene beyond and marveled. Fencing lined the path the celebrities would walk, and beyond that fence stood countless fans and reporters with every kind of camera imaginable.
Naturally, with this many people, some climbed onto the flower beds and anything else raised. That habit had evolved to the point where people now brought their own personal ladders to shoot from—and not just the reporters. Fans did it too. Thanks to that, there were more ladders in sight than at most press conferences.
The real problem was how many of those hundreds of people had actually come to see Sepia….
Fans of the famous groups already had placards fixed to the fences and had set up every kind of display imaginable.
No Sepia in sight.
“Ah. It’s Gold Sun!”
“Waaaaah!!”
The instant Se-a finished speaking, a massive roar of cheers erupted beyond the fence.
The boy group currently skyrocketing in popularity. Gold Sun. They openly branded themselves with a thug bad-boy concept, but their reverse charm—being pure softies in private—had blown up on SNS and sent them through the roof.
“Wooooaaaah!! Oppaaaa!!”
Even inside the van with every window shut, the cheers were loud enough that we had to cover our ears. Flashes went off in rapid succession, and reporters captured every step of the Gold Sun members’ entrance on camera.
“Incredible.”
“…Could we ever be like that.”
Even when Sepia had blown up with the second album, I didn’t remember the reaction being this strong. Gold Sun was clearly the real deal as a trend.
I didn’t like them, though.
I didn’t like that name.
Knock knock.
“Next—Sepia, please prepare.”
A station staffer tapped the window, left those words, and walked off immediately.
“Kids. Let’s go.”
“Yes!”
The drop-off spot was designated, so I eased the van forward slowly. Watching the Gold Sun van ahead pull out, I parked in the same spot.
I looked back.
Every one of the kids had tension written all over their faces.
“It’s okay. Act natural. Always smile. Hearts. You know the poses you need to hit, right?”
“Yeah!”
The kids answered to Harin’s words. She had to be nervous herself—and even then, she looked after the members first.
I got out ahead of them, walked around to the door where the kids were waiting, and opened it.
Rattle.
“Let’s go. Leave the big bags. I’ll carry them later.”
“Yes!”
Toward hundreds of cameras, Sepia began walking slowly forward.