Episode 17: Time to Unleash the Sealed Black Flame Dragon
Even if my requests sound absurd, you shall heed them.
I foresaw the truck and slammed on the brakes.
I defied Team Leader and took you to visit the man in the hospital.
I brought you an event we’d normally have rejected.
These miracles, akin to a cripple standing tall, shall envelop you in radiant, multicolored light.
Doubt not.
All of this is by the grace of the Blessed Subscriber.
“Just trust me this once.”
On the surface, it’s a request, but I delivered it with the unwavering resolve of a sacred decree, violation of which would mean execution.
Of course, my confidence stems from the future videos.
It’s a gamble, no doubt. I don’t know how much more useful info will come for Free Sense, but what I have now feels worth betting on.
Transform into a five-member group, and you’ll earn the title of “the girl group that changed its fate.”
Chart number one?
Music show first place?
A music video with over 100 million YouTube views?
Honestly, I don’t know the exact benchmark, but for Free Sense, currently languishing in the abyss, even reaching Tier 3 recognition would be a life-changing reversal.
Of course, the concept of “tiers” is vague.
It’s based on stats like album and digital sales, fandom size, and big data mentions, but it’s not an official ranking. It’s more like idol fans debating “Who’d win in a fight, Iron Man or Batman?” for fun.
The so-called Tier 1, the top tier, usually consists of about three groups.
It’s not a spot you can reach just by having one breakout album.
These groups are from major agencies, consistently topping charts and music shows for two to three years per release, with official music videos racking up over 100 million views cumulatively to even qualify.
A significant chunk of people in their teens to thirties should know the group’s name, members, or hit songs.
Popularity overseas, like in Japan or Europe, is also a Tier 1 criterion.
According to objective idol fandom evaluations, even GraceOne, currently at its peak, doesn’t quite make Tier 1.
As a GraceOne fan, I have to agree.
They’d need to maintain this form for another year and see the current Tier 1 groups’ popularity dip to claim that spot.
Tier 3 is typically the threshold for recognition.
Being in this group means you’re somewhat known.
“Our goal is Tier 3 for now.”
My bold declaration—high yet low—left the Free Sense members speechless.
They seemed to silently agree to follow my words unconditionally.
Seung-ah stared quietly at the glass on the table.
Ah-hyun tied her purple hair back, then let it down, swallowing a short sigh.
Jin-ah poured PineBud into my empty beer glass.
What the heck?
I wanted to say something but held back to preserve the serious mood.
Then, to instill a sense of urgency in Seung-ah and Ah-hyun, I said,
“Since we’re being open, I’ll lay it all out. The company’s planning to pull your dorm too.”
Their expressions sank deeper into the abyss, and Jin-ah poured even more PineBud into my glass.
I decided to discuss the plan I’d been mulling over alone for the past few days.
I had a rough outline in mind.
“Let’s talk about the hopeful stuff now. I think it’d be best to keep the dorm life going. If you all live separately now, it might break the team’s synergy.”
“That’s true. Staying together helps us come up with something productive…”
Seung-ah nodded, then added with a self-deprecating look,
“I should’ve brought this up as the leader before you did…”
“No, I get it. In your position, it’s hard to think about asking or demanding anything from the company.”
Ah-hyun asked,
“They’re pulling the dorm. How are we supposed to handle that?”
“I’ll talk to them. Ask for a little more time.”
“And then?”
“We need to show the company something within that time. Seung-ah.”
“Yes.”
“If you guys asked to keep going, would the company listen?”
“How so?”
“Let’s say you’re a group at a big agency that doesn’t get much push. You’d write your own songs, promote yourself on social media, stuff like that, right? If you guys produced some results on your own, the company wouldn’t stop you, would they?”
“I don’t know…”
Looking at it coldly, Free Sense grew up like hothouse flowers.
VIP, backed by its parent company, focused entirely on Free Sense before GraceOne came along.
This made the members passive, doing only what the company told them, but at least they got the maximum promotion and investment a rookie group could ask for.
Big agencies are far more competitive.
They meticulously plan album releases and schedules to avoid overlap between their artists. Successful groups get massive support when the tide is in their favor, but those who flop a few times get naturally sidelined.
In that case, neglected artists have no choice but to hustle on their own.
They write songs, plan their own productions to pitch to the company, or pivot to acting or variety shows, actively seeking audition opportunities to show their drive.
Communicating with fans desperate for activity is a given.
Up until now, Free Sense has only eaten what the company fed them. It’s time they built their own competitiveness.
“Anyone here know how to compose?”
“No… I wanted to learn, but there wasn’t time,”
Seung-ah said, sounding like she was making an excuse.
Ah-hyun nodded in agreement.
Jin-ah shoved a half-filled cup of PineBud toward my mouth, forcing me to drink.
The others deliberately ignored her antics, focusing on my voice, and I didn’t resist, taking a sip before continuing.
“From now on, you need to actively show your presence and drive.”
“Learning to compose now would be too late, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m not saying you have to write songs, but you need to show that level of effort and sincerity. Ever been to a dog café?”
I likened it to a dog café I visited with an ex-girlfriend.
Dogs have their own personalities.
The ones that approach customers first, acting cute or bold, get the treats.
Customers don’t have the bandwidth to pay attention to the dog sulking in the corner.
Even the staff are the same—they can’t help but focus on the loud, troublemaking dogs because ignoring them makes their job harder.
Human relationships are similar.
Take me and my sister. I’m not the type to whine to my Creators.
If I need something, I work a part-time job or figure it out myself.
But my sister nags our parents, and if she doesn’t get her way, she sulks or gets cranky—asking for clothes or a later curfew.
About one out of three times, they give in.
Of course, if she crosses the line, she gets backlash.
“As long as you don’t cross the line, you need to keep making your presence felt. There’s a saying, ‘The annoying kid gets an extra rice cake.’ Soften that a bit, and it’s like giving a rice cake to quiet the noisy one.”
Ah-hyun, seeming to get it, asked, “Should we post on social media? Like, ‘The company’s not giving us an album and is kicking us out’?”
“No way, that’s a terrible idea. I’m not saying to turn against the company. I mean make your presence felt without getting on their bad side. Don’t bash the company—show your drive through hard work. Honestly, up until now, you’ve only practiced and done what the company told you. You haven’t shown anything on your own.”
“That’s because of the situation…”
“From your perspective, you should be grateful if the company just lets you go without fulfilling the contract term. They’ve lost hundreds of millions on you guys but aren’t asking you to pay it back—they’re just letting it slide.”
“Yeah…”
The members grew gloomy again.
I revealed a company secret from my insider position.
“But flip that around, and it means the company is obligated to do something for you during the contract period. They can’t force you to terminate early, so you have the leverage to demand an album.”
That said, the album’s quality would likely be much lower.
If past albums cost 100 million won to produce, this one might get a third or even a tenth of that—cutting corners on the music video, outfits, styling, promotion, and staff.
Free Sense’s last album was digital-only with no offline activities.
This time, it’d be even worse.
If they’re lucky, they might get a digital single.
But if they rub the company the wrong way, they could be stuck in limbo, tied to the contract without release.
“Despite that, we have to bet on that slim chance. Our first goal is to keep the dorm. The second is to release a digital single. To do that, you need to keep working on self-improvement and actively seek out your own content or ideas.”
Maybe because I’d been thinking it over, the words flowed smoothly.
“It doesn’t even have to be music-related. Like Seung-ah doing a Doraemon impression or Jin-ah going viral with her drawings, you need to keep showing the public what you’re good at to get exposure. There are so many ways for individuals to promote themselves these days.”
“Like YouTubers?”
Seung-ah stole the words right out of my mouth, and I nodded vigorously.
“Exactly. Whether it’s folding origami or doing handstands, keep filming it. I’ll ask my friend to edit the footage.”
I was saying I’d take on the work the company’s PR team or agencies usually handle.
Like a passionate homeroom teacher on their first assignment, I ignited the members’ ideals and determination.
“To do that, we need to stick together and never give up.”
Man, that was cool.
Even I thought that was pretty epic.
As Seung-ah and Ah-hyun took deep breaths to steel themselves, Jin-ah clapped loudly, her mouth agape.
“Hyun-jong-ssi, you’re like a cult leader. I didn’t know you could talk like that. Impressive.”
“Cult leader… doesn’t sound like a compliment…”
“It was a compliment. You’ve got a knack for captivating people.”
Seung-ah chimed in.
“When I first met you, oppa, I didn’t know you had this side. You seem so different now.”
“Oh? What was I like at first?”
“You lost your card on the first day, didn’t talk much…”
Ah-hyun picked up where Seung-ah’s voice trailed off.
“Honestly, you seemed like a total loser. We thought the company had really given up on us.”
“Was it that bad?”
“But seeing you talk with your parents at the event today was surprising. Turns out you’re actually good with words.”
“Now that you mention it, Jin-ah’s got a good eye,”
Seung-ah said, pointing at her.
“She said you seemed like you were hiding some kind of power.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. What was it she called you? A hidden-power loser?”
“Pfft, unnie, not a loser—a dork. Hidden-power dork.”
“Oh, right. Dork.”
Loser, dork, whatever.
That’s unexpected.
So Jin-ah saw through me despite the others’ teasing?
I looked at her with a proud expression.
She responded nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal.
“I believed in you from the start, Hyun-jong-ssi.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Drink this.”
Jin-ah poured the rest of the PineBud into my glass, her eyes glinting as she declared,
“From now on, I’ll unleash the Black Flame Dragon sealed in my left arm.”
“Do you read light novels or something? Hidden-power dork, Black Flame Dragon—that’s all straight out of that world…”
“Yeah, I love them.”
“I see…”
“I even serialized one online.”
“Huh?”
“For real?”
“No way, what’s her deal?”
Seung-ah and Ah-hyun seemed clueless about this too.
Jin-ah searched something on her phone and showed it to the three of us.
Holy…
It was a completed novel officially serialized in the web novel category of a major portal site.
Genre: Modern Fantasy
Author: PineBudLover