Utacon, a music program on NHK—one of Japan's major broadcasting stations—had a chronic problem with its audio quality.
Because it was a world essentially devoid of real bands, lip-syncing was the standard. More importantly, equipping a studio with high-end audio gear required a massive investment.
Who would pour a fortune into facilities that weren't even going to be used?
In that sense, even Utacon, despite its reputation as Japan's premier music show, lacked proper sound equipment. However, as Enfants Terribles emerged and raised the public's standards for sound, Utacon began to face heavy criticism for its audible footsteps, frantic camera movements, and its muddy, low-quality audio.
The backlash had been relentless since Enfants Terribles first appeared on the scene. Now, with the band scheduled to appear again, the Utacon audience was—as always—expecting the same poor sound quality that usually defied expectations in all the wrong ways.
"Wait, what? This feels different."
As a rookie idol from a small agency took the stage for the opening act, a crisp, clean sound began to flow out alongside a flamboyant laser light show.
The audience couldn't hide their shock at the jump in quality compared to the abysmal sound from just last week.
"Is this... really... the same Utacon...?"
"What the? Why is the sound so clean?"
The reason was simple: Utacon's audio standards had undergone a complete metamorphosis in just one week. This was largely thanks to the fact that Enfants Terribles was participating, and the efforts of Utacon's newly appointed PD.
The new Utacon PD stood with his arms crossed, watching the fans cheer for the improved acoustics.
[If the sound sucks, we aren't coming.]
He recalled the bold fax Enfants Terribles had sent over as part of their list of requirements.
"Yeah, you little shits. I prepared thoroughly. I threw a ridiculous amount of money at it."
To prevent a potential riot from Enfants Terribles—who were known to cause a scene if the audio was poor—the new PD had completely overhauled Utacon's sound, which had previously been ranked among the worst in the Japanese archipelago.
Thanks to those efforts, Utacon's current audio quality was high even by international standards.
"If you guys still complain after this, you're really crossing the line."
Just as the PD was enjoying the audience's reaction while watching the stage, a junior staffer came rushing over frantically.
"PD... I think we need to change the cue sheet."
"Why? It's already finalized."
"Well... Apex says if they don't get the ending slot, they're going to bail on the show..."
Apex was a major agency that had been driven into a corner after being caught sabotaging others during the ASAYAN semi-finals. They were barely holding on through their accumulated capital and the power of their existing stars, but the company faced potential collapse if they couldn't produce a new generation of hits.
Of course, they had backing that would likely prevent a total bankruptcy, but with breach-of-contract fees and other issues, their situation was dire.
"They're as consistent as ever, I see..."
The Utacon PD let out a sigh. He wasn't surprised. It was common practice in the industry for large agencies to throw tantrums to secure the ending slot on music shows.
However, no major agency had actually boycotted before. While the ending slot was important, it wasn't worth making an enemy of a broadcasting station, and the stations usually catered to the major agencies anyway.
"Ah... but they're desperate enough that I think they'll actually bail..."
Apex was cornered. That was why they were putting everything into pushing their new artist, Zard, to the top, utilizing their remaining status as a major player and their connections in the industry.
Normally, he might have handed the ending to Apex, but the PD was thinking of Enfants Terribles.
"Tell them to leave if they want."
Incidentally, the original owner of the ending slot Apex was demanding was Enfants Terribles. To the Utacon PD, it was much better to have Apex flake out than to deal with the band starting a riot.
"What...? But it's Apex?"
"It's better than having Enfants Terribles trash the place, isn't it?"
November is a busy month in the entertainment industry. It's the time when groups preparing for a comeback start increasing their public appearances and dropping hints to drive their fandoms into a frenzy.
"Next up is a group that has been receiving a lot of attention lately! Please welcome, B-Komachi!!!!"
B-Komachi, the seven-member girl group from Strawberry Productions, appeared amidst a cloud of pink smoke.
""Your idol, your sign is B! Chu!""
As the smoke cleared, the MR for B-Komachi's signature song, 'Sign wa B,' began to play.
"Huh...? The song feels a bit different?"
The B-Komachi fans in the venue began to show surprised expressions at the altered atmosphere of the track. If the original 'Sign wa B' felt like a somewhat dated song carried by the sheer star power of Ai, the version playing now felt rearranged to highlight the individuality of all the B-Komachi members.
Alongside the sound of psychedelic synthesizers came the sharp clack of castanets. As the bright melody kicked into full gear, the catchy sound tickled the ears of the audience.
The old-fashioned sound had been replaced with something sophisticated, yet it didn't lose B-Komachi's original selling points. Furthermore, the "point choreography" added by Hide—who had lived in the capital of K-Pop in his past life—made the charms of every member stand out even more.
B-Komachi was showing off a sensational new move that would soon be known as the 'Kkuk-kkuk-i' (Knead) dance, thrusting their fists toward the floor while swaying their hips.
The well-crafted choreography, the dance, and the melody were all harmonizing on stage like top-tier K-Pop idols from a past life.
"""Whoaaaaaa!!!!!"""
"B-Komachi! B-Komachi! B-Komachi!"
The audience roared with cheers for B-Komachi, who had just delivered the absolute pinnacle of what an idol stage could be.