After the Concert (3): Underdogs in the Spotlight
In life, if you liken it to a film reel, that reel belongs entirely to the individual. Naturally. While the film plays, it becomes a mirror reflecting others' lives, but there's no need to show it to anyone else. It's personal property. Even to a lifelong partner, you don't have to reveal the whole thing. Unless you're some kind of maniac who'd sacrifice your entire life for someone, the reel is something inalienable, not to be handed over.
But there are people in the world whose reel gets exposed, no matter how much they hate it. No use hiding it in a locked box. Stars. Public figures, dragged around by that label, can never be free from the world. Not even the past they want to hide. Not even the past they must hide. It all comes out.
People have a contrarian streak—if you try to hide something, they dig even harder. It might seem like a life full of nothing but downsides, but there are upsides too. That's why countless aspiring stars still step into this world, dreaming of fame.
"Tae-il, you know about the underdog effect, right?"
"Yeah."
A sociological term for the psychology of rooting for the weak to succeed or cheering on underdogs. Sakuya, always reigning as the top dog, had experienced this effect ad nauseam from challengers. As the boss, the demon king position, of course.
"What? I was mostly the one teaching those underdogs that reality isn't a manga."
"Your very existence is straight out of a manga."
"Ahaha! Pot calling the kettle black."
"Me?"
"Anyone around you would say the same."
"Ah..."
Tae-il clammed up sharp when he realized dragging this out would put him at a disadvantage. Who'd win in a spat between them was obvious without watching.
"Ahem!"
As Tae-il shut his mouth, Sakuya cleared her throat.
"I did some digging lately, and the underdog effect works great in the indie scene too."
Sakuya loved sports manga. And protagonists in those are usually underdogs. Studying famous bands, she'd learned their histories too—and realized their pasts were pure underdog stories. They even felt like manga plots.
Humans are weird. They envy others' success, piecing together facts they half-know into jealousy fuel. But when a strong one crushes a weak one, they empathize with the underdog and cheer them on. And if the underdog wins, they celebrate like it's their own victory.
Sakuya, always the one crushing underdogs, wanted to flip it—become one and leverage the psychology. She could craft backstories for each member fitting the role.
Let's be underdogs.
Even without details, Sakuya's point was clear.
"I get what you mean."
As Sakuya said, famous bands often have rough origins. When their struggling pasts surface, the public eats it up. "They had those days?!" Pure marketing gold.
Tae-il had thought the same once. Maybe those tough lives honed special talents that led to success—like protagonists in stories.
But starting his own band taught him that was an insult, a misconception. Bluntly put, famous bands got famous for one simple reason.
They had the skills.
Plenty of artists backed by conglomerates stick to indie scenes on purpose. Despite promo pushes that could skyrocket them, they climb step by step from the bottom. Why?
"In music, the underdog effect only matters once you're famous."
Struggle tales known only to diehard fans mean nothing. It clicks when you've grown into a star—stood tall through fair competition in the same arena. That's when your backstory shines.
Same for idols. Non-corporate groups succeeding through luck and skill? That's when their origins get hyped.
"Maybe the underdog effect shines in sports, like you say."
Music's different. Here, success overrides everything—underdog or not. One hit, and every little thing you do is news.
"That's what being a star means."
Get famous first. Once you are, folks'll applaud even your crap.
Stars occupy that spot.
"Right."
So let's get famous. Use every trick, fair or foul, and climb as high as we can.
"I've got a plan too."
"A plan?"
"Yeah. A dirty, underhanded one."
With that, Tae-il flashed Sakuya the world's smuggest grin.
Lunchtime passed. As planned, Iris paced the hallway for her hospital visit.
"Miss? Aren't you going in?"
"Hold on."
Tense as hell, Iris waved off the prodding Kiriko.
"Miss."
"Just wait a bit!"
Kiriko's nagging frayed Iris's nerves; she exhaled long.
"Hoooh."
Kiriko got antsy at Iris's laid-back vibe—arms full of visit gifts. Thirty minutes since the parking lot. They ached.
"Alright."
Iris steeled herself, eyeing the door, hand inching forward.
Weird. Born elite, she'd thought tension was for others. Sure, Zenjiro intimidated her, but that was heir-patriarch hierarchy over father-daughter.
Ugh, this is tough...
Today, her heart fluttered oddly. Visiting Shin Tae-il of all people? Made it worse.
Why am I even nervous?
He was close like a friend, reliable leader, but fragile—needy, like a pet hamster. No one tenses over a hamster. Nothing about Tae-il should faze her.
Thump-thump.
Heart pounding in her ears, hand on the knob. Carefully. Ignoring the din, she turned it—
"Ah."
Froze. Hand trembled.
She turned to Kiriko, pouting.
"What do I do, Kiriko? Heart's pounding—I can't open it!"
"I'll do it—move!"
"Kyaa! Then what's the point? Tae-il and the others'll stare weird!"
"What do you want me to do?!"
Family creed: Arisugawas stay bold always. Defying that deep-rooted upbringing threw her into chaos.
"I'm going crazy, seriously!"
(Note: Not just Iris. Kiriko was too.)
Blushing Iris screamed "obvious" to anyone. The miss fell too...
Scary. Tae-il ensnaring a girl like her without idol-tier charm? Kiriko shuddered.
How do I report this to the master...?
As Kiriko mentally job-hunted—
"Screw it!"
Iris squeezed her eyes shut and flung the door open.
"What, now you show?"
Rena, who'd arrived first, greeted her. She'd planned to come together, but Iris's car jitters left her solo.
"Sorry!"
Iris clasped hands in apology.
"Kiriko took forever in the bathroom!"
"Miss?!"
Kiriko seethed at the backstab, fists shaking. Read the room!
Iris toetapped Kiriko discreetly. Owner like a thug. Bathroom excuse? Mortifying.
Head bowed, fists quivering in humiliated rage—
"S-sorreh..."
Rena, in on it, chuckled alone at the skit. Iris is hilarious.
Aristocrat to the core—matchless shamelessness.
"That so?"
Clueless Tae-il beamed welcome.
"If it took long, just come ahead."
"Wanted to, but lotsa stuff—needed a guard!"
Smooth lies—who'd she get it from?
"Here, Kiriko!"
Iris shoved fuming Kiriko forward like baton-pass.
Pro that she was, Kiriko smoothed her scowl into butler mode.
"A token from our miss."
"Huh?"
Kiriko thumped down the massive bundle. Tae-il panicked.
"What's all that...?"
"What else? Special get-well gifts I picked!"
"I told you not to."
Rena shrugged innocently at Tae-il's glare.
Tae-il awkward-smiled.
"Thanks, but... overkill for a little head bump, right?"
"Idiot! No such thing as a 'little' head injury!"
Iris snapped at his casual attitude. Humans are tougher than thought, scholars say. But bad luck sends you straight to the afterlife. Head's a kill spot—no relaxing.
"Iris is right!"
Ayane chimed frustration at his nonchalance.
"Shin-jjang thinks he's invincible!"
"Never said that..."
"Shin-jjang needs to treasure his body more!"
"I-I do treasure it...?"
"Liar!"
Over a decade as childhood friends—she knew best. Empty words on health? Never. Problem child.
"The word least fitting Shin-jjang is 'healthy'!"
"N-not that bad..."
"Agreed. Tae-il couldn't be healthy if he tried."
"Sakuya too?"
Last semester, half-year watch. PE classes, his rock-bottom stamina—serious face inevitable.
"Tae-il, think you could beat us in arm strength?"
"Arm strength?"
"Arm wrestling, easy terms."
"Uh..."
Tae-il's brain whirred.
Rena first. Lose? Humiliating. Must claim win anyway—and actually win. Lose-win, pure loss.
Ayane next. No workouts, slender—fragile vibe. But housework-honed muscles—he knew.
Nah, no way I lose.
Worst. Draw possible, no loss. Win to break even.
Iris last. Loss. Original knowledge: munchkin specs near Sakuya's, different focus. Athletic ace, second to Sakuya in sports fest.
Still.
Male pride.
"I'll win."
Tae-il bluffed never losing to anyone but Sakuya.
"Bet?"
Sakuya probed; Tae-il nodded coolly.
"Obviously."
Even rotten fish's kin—he's male. Lose to a girl? No way.
How'd it veer here? He wanted to believe.
"Shall we?"
Sakuya pulled her meal table, eyed Ayane and Iris.
Click—they rolled sleeves, elbows down.
"Uh, guys...?"
Tae-il blinked late; Ayane grinned first up.
"Ayane wins, Shin-jjang grants a wish! Deal?"
"No..."
"Scared of losing to Ayane, Shin-jjang?"
Ayane baited slick—no escape.
"Hah. Ridiculous."
Tae-il elbowed up, exasperated. Ayane beamed.
"No mercy 'cause you're patient, Shin-jjang."
"Says you."
Full throttle on a girl? He missed the red flag.
Sakuya ref.
"Count to two, go on three?"
"OK."
"Ayane gets it."
Sudden mini arm-wrestle tourney.
One, two...
Sakuya dropped hand—both tensed.
Thud!
One second knockout.
"Ah."
Unclear whose sigh; awkward silence blanketed the room.