Finding the Last Piece (4)
“Vocals only?”
Iris tilted her head.
It was an overly casual response for a question Tae-il had asked with such tension.
Tae-il secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
Good. She doesn’t hate the idea of giving up guitar.
Her pure reaction made him feel foolish for worrying she might dislike it.
Thanks to that, all the excuses he’d prepared in advance became useless.
“I don’t mind since I can focus solely on singing. But isn’t it tough with our current members?”
“It is right now. I’m not saying we do it immediately. I just wanted to lay out our direction in advance.”
“Is there a special reason you want me to stick to vocals?”
“Because I want to maximize our strengths.”
To make it easy to understand, Tae-il logged into a streaming site and showed her the top 50 popular songs in Japan right now.
“What do you think?”
“Asking ‘what do you think’ out of nowhere after showing me a song list… um…”
“There are a lot of idol songs!”
The voice answering wasn’t Iris’s—it was Ayane’s.
“Ayane got it right?”
Ayane beamed, asking in a tone that begged for praise, and Tae-il nodded in agreement.
“Correct. There are Korean idols too, but plenty of Japanese ones. Mostly K-pop since there aren’t many Johnny’s idols…”
No matter what anyone said, songs holding steady in the streaming rankings were mainstream hits, no question.
They dominated cafes, karaoke rooms, TV, the internet, even the streets.
Unlike Korea, still in its idol spring-and-autumn era, Japan’s idol scene had hit producing limits. Veteran singer-songwriters and bands who’d grinded indie scenes for years were conquering streaming services.
For idol songs to hold their ground amid such fierce competition was impressive enough.
“Ehehe.”
“Tch.”
Iris shot Ayane a frustrated glare, even though there was no prize for getting it right.
Desperate to find some difference, Iris quickly scanned the list again.
These idol group names are weird.
Iris didn’t know much about idols. Didn’t like them much either.
It wasn’t that she hated idols themselves—just a case where someone had soured her on them a bit.
Still, she didn’t completely ignore idol info.
The idols Iris bothered committing to memory were the top-tier ones famous in both Korea and Japan, the so-called first-string acts.
With Hallyu being half-essential knowledge for chatting with peers these days.
But Iris’s true expertise shone in the band scene, not idols.
At least for domestic bands, major or indie, she was confident she knew more than Tae-il.
She said lots of idols, but…
In reality, bands and singer-songwriters overwhelmingly dominated the rankings.
Rough estimate: three times more band songs than idols.
“There are tons of band songs here too, though?”
“Yeah.”
Tae-il acknowledged her point more blandly than expected.
“But all the band songs on this list share a few common traits. Know what they are?”
“Common traits?”
Iris examined the list again, this time scrutinizing not just artists but titles too.
“Huh?”
At first, she’d just thought they were familiar, good songs.
But once Tae-il pointed out commonalities, previously invisible patterns emerged.
“Figure out what’s different?”
“They’re all recent releases—late last year at earliest, early this year at latest—still hanging on in the charts.”
And that wasn’t all.
A couple tracks were from two whole years ago.
Tae-il clapped as Iris nailed it, looking pleased.
“Right answer.”
“Duh. With my eye for detail, this is child’s play.”
“For real. Ayane, you sang this one at karaoke last year.”
Ignoring the smug Iris, Ayane jumped in.
Iris’s eyelid twitched faintly.
“It dropped in the first half of last year and swept the second half for a full year.”
A J-pop track that mocked critics claiming the genre was doomed, surviving only on domestic sales—boldly charting on the US Billboard too.
It had blown up worldwide, YouTube views easily topping 500 million, nearing 600.
Holding top streaming spots that long meant exactly that.
Nationwide love or global smash.
In other words, the artist behind it had nationwide impact.
Rare in Korea outside one mega-hit group.
“Every song here is from Japan’s hottest bands and singer-songwriters right now—mega-hits don’t even cover it.”
“Yeah. One singer’s got six tracks solo.”
Besides BARD, Iris had covered a few herself, falling hard for their quality.
“Hearing Shin-ttsun say it, those idols holding on in this lineup feel impressive. Ayane, you don’t know any of these groups.”
“Ayane might not. Idols survive on fandom firepower.”
Strong fandoms keep idols alive.
Especially now, when broadcast power had waned.
But even strong fandoms couldn’t overcome bad broadcaster ties—public recognition tanked.
Ratings weren’t what they used to be, but Japan’s top music show, Music Station, had infamous cozy ties and bullying with Johnny’s.
Johnny’s idols gripped mainstream awareness tight.
In Japan, idols without Johnny’s were hard to discuss.
But Johnny’s, image- and sales-conscious, avoided streaming partnerships.
Idols bucking trends, clinging to physical albums.
Thus, Japan’s streaming idols were mostly K-pop or non-Johnny’s minorities.
And idol songs flickered out without global hits.
Streamers were ruthless.
Oricon could be fanned to the top, but streaming demanded quality to endure.
Japan’s national girl group’s month-old hit sliding to 100’s edge proved it.
Unlike enduring bands, non-mainstream idol tracks flared on fandom fuel then vanished.
Bands were different.
“In Japan, bands tap into nationwide empathy through musical vibes. Pretty much everyone’s strummed a guitar in school at least once.”
“Depending on the music teacher’s vibe, they even teach it in class.”
“And dominating that are emotive bands—what they call ‘sensual’ ones.”
Tough economy these days?
Like Korea, Japan was riding a retro wave.
Korea covered retro-feeling tracks or revived old-school singers via media.
Old hits reverse-charted; videos flooded YouTube algorithms.
Japan was similar but different.
Young or new bands wielded inclusive sensitivity, spanning generations to top the charts.
“It’s not just band style—lyrics highlight it too.”
Post-Ozaki Yutaka, Japan trended lyrics baring raw, honest emotions.
Even embarrassing inner lives or realities, sublimated through music, became shareable—that rough, pure vibe melted frozen hearts.
“That faded over time. Trends don’t last forever. But lately?”
They’re circling back.
Rough, honest lyrics coexist with peeking poetic flair, rhythm, melody—sweet harmony.
“Like Shin Tae-il said, nostalgia bait’s surging. I just want songs that sound good.”
“Ayane saw a 30-year-debut band’s Music Station comeback recently.”
“How was it?”
“Not really Ayane’s taste…”
Too dated folk for new-gen like Ayane.
Yet it settled comfy in the 40s.
“No clue how long it’ll last, but this style’s hot now. My tastes run old-school too, so if I write, it’ll lean emotive.”
“Meaning?”
“If we’re betting on emotion onstage, I want to max Arisugawa’s strength: emotional delivery and appeal.”
Tae-il closed his eyes.
Her voice singing those melodies still rang clear.
In the original, Iris’s songs brimmed with girlish sensitivity—pure anime OP hopefests.
Post-millennium chaos ignored, she’d captivated like Matsuura Aya or Morning Musume: vibrant image, performance.
Fearless girls in fresh love, princess dreams, unique worries—living now.
To future-doomers, such youthful hope from the young generation?
Memories romanticize.
Those clutching beautified pasts yearned for its return.
Hope reborn from young girls.
Nostalgic revival.
Honestly, impossible for us now. That’s solo idol or girls’ band territory.
Even wanting girls’ band route, Shin Tae-il impurity turned it mixed—change inevitable.
So, highlight Iris’s strengths, infuse her style.
He’d poll members eventually, but first album: his vision straight.
Not aiming to overfill on first try, but…
At least match original success?
Tae-il had confidence in emo-bait, not Korean melodrama films’ sobfests.
What’s needed: courage to bare myself unashamed.
Relatable soft melodies with human lyrics.
Calmly pen his story; Iris sings it prettily.
Tae-il opened his eyes, meeting Iris’s gaze head-on.
“I’ll make a song for Arisugawa’s first vocal that you won’t regret.”
Focus solely on singing, his declaration. Iris grinned.
“Hm. I like it. Totally on board. But you sure? Full vocal throttle means tougher sessions for you?”
“Handling that’s my job. Trust me. Won’t disappoint.”
“Deal. Plenty of time left anyway.”
Tae-il couldn’t tell if her “time” meant 30 days out or pre-graduation.
Either way, his tasks were set from the start.
“Ayane, keep drilling chords. Once mastered, entry songs first, build repertoire steady.”
“Just keep practicing like now?”
“But in a month, the song we set for group practice? Perfect execution.”
“A month…”
Long if long, short if short.
Splitting precious break time? Doable.
Key: worth investing in Ayane?
Of course.
No need to ask—Tae-il got instant “Yes” from her.
“Yeah. Ayane can do it in a month.”
“Exactly three songs. The ones we practiced today. Remember all?”
“All memorized. Iris gave me that tablature to study from.”
“Ahem.”
Iris suddenly coughed primly, slyly glancing at Ayane.
Ayane tsked in annoyance but thanked her honestly.
“Th-thanks…”
“Hehe. Save the gratitude. Plenty more to thank me for ahead.”
“Muu…”
Ayane pouted.
Hated Iris’s smugness, but couldn’t retort—zero flaws in her words.
Any scheming, Ayane’d have ammo; surprisingly, Iris had earnestly prepped Ayane-doable tracks.
Not gutsy enough to snub genuine favor in front of Tae-il.
“Arisugawa, don’t push Ayane too hard.”
“Nyee.”
Tae-il defended her timely; Iris pouted petulantly, propping her chin on the desk.
“So. When do we think we can do a live?”
“Hm…”
Tae-il hummed cautiously.
Unclear her “live” bar, so tricky to answer.
Stage? Just exposure? He revealed part of his schedule.
“For now, busking before winter’s the goal.”
Busking.
Indie singers/bands’ mandatory gate, unlike utaite from utauloid roots.
Tae-il wanted members tasting live via busking by year-end.
Summer too rushed; winter cold/burdensome. Fall it was.
Ayane’d be polished; Rena, Sakuya no issues on set songs.
“Hm. Fall, got it.”
Iris, expecting a full-year washout, nodded satisfied.
“Cool. I’m in. Busking spot?”
“Yoyogi Park in Shibuya.”
“Perfect. BARD busked there multiple times pre-major, right?”
Huge park, great vibe—Shibuya’s busking holy site.
“Before winter. I’ll hold you to it.”
“Yeah.”
Tae-il nodded firmly.
Both had already forgotten the 30-day bet.