The Only Concept That Fits Us
The month-long intensive training for the members, which had started with me and Tasha, was finally drawing to a close one by one. The company staff’s evaluations were surprisingly positive, so it seemed we had at least delivered the results they wanted. Which meant the other three members besides me and Tasha had been worked absolutely to the bone, right?
Come to think of it, Yu Hana had been binge-watching Rabbit Vader videos lately to cultivate her mind and body. Maybe it really was her way of recovering from all the grinding at the company. Of course, I still wasn’t thrilled about her taking it out on me after getting scolded there, but if that was the real reason, I could probably find it in my generous heart to forgive her the tiniest bit.
“But something feels off. Weren’t we the ones who were supposed to be in a hurry?”
When Tasha first asked me to teach her Fa Jin, I had promised I would. I just hadn’t expected we’d actually have the time. Our company was in a pretty desperate state, after all. I’d assumed that the moment intensive training ended, songs and choreography would drop immediately, leaving me no room to spend much time on her.
Yet contrary to my expectations, even after training wrapped up, the company remained eerily quiet. Large agencies have full A&R teams that handle everything, but Car Enter isn’t big enough for a proper one. Most of the musical work gets outsourced, and the most critical part of that process is receiving the tracks themselves.
Still, just because we’re a mid-tier company doesn’t mean we’ll accept any random song. We need tracks that match the concept we’ll be promoting. That means we need a group concept first, then songs, then choreography tailored to them. And yet we still didn’t even have a concept nailed down.
In truth, the company had been incredibly busy this past month. With only two artists simultaneously launching activities, the staff had been stretched dangerously thin. As I mentioned before, some people had already left when Black Dust fell apart, and the failure to replace them had created this exact mess. Of course, since our debut album was being funded by the money those two earned, I had no real complaints. But the fact that they still hadn’t settled on a group concept was genuinely worrying.
“Ah, that. They do seem to be agonizing over it quite a bit~”
“What kind of worries?”
“Our concept, obviously~ They apparently think a normal idol concept won’t work for us, but they don’t have any clear answers yet.”
“So that’s why everything’s dragging on?”
Leave medicine to the pharmacist and company affairs to Yu Hana. Curious about how things were actually running, I’d asked our resident squinty-eyed dreamer. The same girl who cared enough about office matters to install hidden cameras was happy to give me the full picture.
The company was, indeed, deeply troubled by our concept.
“Well, we are a bit…”
Most rookie girl groups debut with bright, positive images. That’s the standard. Even if they switch concepts later, starting fresh and refreshing gives them the highest chance of success. This world worked the same way—debut tracks were usually produced with that exact vibe. The problem was that our team’s image was simply too strong to follow the safe route.
Obviously. Let’s be honest: our team has three people with actual murder experience. Just because the victims were villains doesn’t make it any less killing. So how could something sparkly and cute possibly suit us?
Besides, those with plenty of real combat experience give off a subtle aura whether they mean to or not. It’s barely noticeable when we’re apart, but the moment we gather, the effect multiplies. Some kind of synergy, I suppose.
In the early days of forming the debut team, Tasha and Seong Jiyeong had tried their best to hide it. Lately, though, the reins had completely come off. As time passed, we’d only drift further from the image the company wanted.
“They must be really struggling. But for our team, there’s ultimately only one concept that works, right? Yu Hana, did any staff members mention the villain concept?”
“They did, but it was shot down immediately. The risk is too high, apparently~”
“As expected.”
Honestly, there was only one concept we could truly pull off: villain. No other group could execute it better than us. The problem was that it clashed violently with the idol industry—especially for rookies with zero fandom.
Naturally, no one would actually mistake an idol doing a villain concept for a real villain. That would probably hold true in this world too. The only difference was that real villains actually existed here. In the original world, villains only appeared in movies and novels. Here, they were very real.
If an idol group promoted with a villain concept, backlash was inevitable. Victims of villain crimes, civic groups, and every busybody with a keyboard would come for us like rabid dogs. Of course, not everyone would react that way. Plenty of people would understand that a concept is just a concept.
But from the company’s perspective, taking that kind of gamble with idols who hadn’t even debuted yet was terrifying. There was no need to deliberately walk down a road paved with landmines. So it made sense that they were losing sleep over it. It would suit us perfectly, but the risks were simply too great.
“Looks like it’ll take a while before they reach a conclusion.”
They were worrying now, but I had a feeling the decision would eventually land on that concept. There was clearly no other answer. And once they settled on it, the real headache would begin. This part had to be planned with surgical precision or it would collapse.
If we crafted the concept cleverly enough and built a worldview that fans could genuinely embrace, we could endure the external pressure. That was the only path. Since only we knew we were actual villains, the real issue was public opinion.
Anyway, for those reasons, it seemed like it would take a little more time before anything was finalized.
“Hmm. This really isn’t easy.”
“Really? Why isn’t this working?”
Thanks to the sudden free time, I was currently teaching Fa Jin to Tasha. These days practice only consisted of basic vocals, basic dance, and physical conditioning, so I had more breathing room than expected. With that spare time, not only Tasha but Seong Jiyeong had joined in. Since she was a former combat agent and these skills would definitely be useful, I gladly let her participate.
No matter how good her teleportation was, bullets wouldn’t automatically avoid her. At the very least, learning up to Bulletproof was a smart move.
“Like this…”
“Oh, it looks like it worked.”
“This is strange. It doesn’t work for me, so why does it work for Seong Jiyeong?”
Honestly, I had thought teaching Fa Jin to Tasha would be easy. It did require a fair amount of talent, but her combat sense was outstanding. I’d learned it in basically a single day, so I figured she could manage the same. As proof, Seong Jiyeong—who started learning at the same time—had mastered it in less than three days. The fact that Tasha still couldn’t do it was the odd part.
“Hmm. Probably… the difference in psychic energy?”
“I can clearly feel the psychic energy you mentioned.”
“No, not that. I mean the quantity and quality seem different.”
“Quantity and quality… That might be it.”
Seong Jiyeong’s main weapon was the whip. Whips are notoriously difficult to handle, yet she wielded one with incredible skill—probably because her specialty in rhythmic gymnastics had been the ribbon. Her senses were simply outstanding. Honestly, when it came to whip work alone, she was clearly better than me, so her talent wasn’t negligible.
But if you asked whether she was superior to Tasha overall, I’d say no. Tasha was a straight-up monster. If it wasn’t combat sense or talent, the only remaining difference was their superpowers. Not the type of ability, but how much they actually used them.
Psychic energy was like a muscle—the more you used it, the greater the quantity and the better the quality. Seong Jiyeong, who used her teleportation ability almost constantly as part of daily life, had excellent psychic energy in both respects. Tasha, on the other hand, didn’t seem to value her cloning ability much and rarely used it. As a result, both the quantity and quality of her psychic energy were lacking.
Techniques like Fa Jin that released psychic energy externally depended heavily on both quantity and quality. It was different from simply circulating it internally to strengthen the body.
“It is activating, but maybe there’s so little psychic energy that we can’t sense it?”
“That’s… problematic. What should I do?”
“Simple. Use your ability more to build up your psychic energy.”
“My ability… Cloning is too complicated, so…”
“That may be, but if your psychic energy stays this low you’ll tire yourself out later.”
“Understood. I will do so.”
And so Tasha decided to focus on increasing her psychic energy before learning techniques like Fa Jin.
“Still… even with almost no psychic energy, her physical abilities are that good? She really is a monster among monsters.”
If Tasha’s psychic energy ever reached Seong Jiyeong’s level, something truly unstoppable might be born. The efficiency of physical reinforcement through psychic energy was closely tied to its quality, after all. I was a little curious to see how she would change.
On the fifth day after intensive training ended, the company called all the members in separately. There was no way they’d have a song ready when we didn’t even have a concept yet, so they must have something else to discuss. I wondered what it could be.
Curious about what kind of plan the company had cooked up, I hurried the others along and quickly made my way to the office.