The entertainment industry is ruthless.
Countless challengers strive to become stars in the sky, but barely one percent survive. Even those who make it into that one percent must live every moment in fear of when they might lose their place; such is the destiny of a star in showbiz.
However, contrary to this cold reality, people still crave 'romance.' Because of that, stars occasionally emerge from the garbage heaps.
Survival programs, in particular, are essentially created to chase the public's desire for that very 'romance.' Therefore, even if a contestant seems to have zero potential, the crew records interview footage of everyone to use in editing.
"Enfants Terribles...? What's with this convoluted name?"
To a veteran PD of ASAYAN who had grown old in the industry, this group—who had no agency, didn't dance, and showed up carrying heavy instruments—seemed like they would be eliminated in a heartbeat. Carrying instruments was a unique trait, but that wasn't enough on its own.
"Well, I guess... we should do the interview anyway, right?"
There are no absolute laws in the entertainment world.
Who knows? They might at least serve as decent kindling to spark a brief controversy.
.
.
.
.
"Is it Mr. Hide? Is there a particular reason you brought instruments?"
Sitting between a bald man and a muscular Black youth, a handsome young man with blonde hair opens his mouth.
"I'm just fed up with people playing a backing track and dancing instead of actually singing."
"Excuse me...? What was that?"
The staff member conducting the interview stammers and asks again.
"I came out here because I can't stand watching people who don't know the first thing about music acting like they're hotshots."
The editing PD, watching the interview from behind, breaks into a grin.
If they aired those words exactly as they were said, they'd get an explosive reaction right from the start.
'Should I get under his skin a bit more?'
The editing PD hands a small note to the interviewer.
"But can that trash used in dusty old concert halls even appeal to the public? Who even listens to instrumentals these days?"
It was a statement that insulted every music major on the planet, but the plan was to refine the dialogue and only show it as a subtitle during the broadcast. So what if they rattled their cage a little?
These guys wouldn't last long anyway, and provocative elements were always the best for boosting ratings. Since they had fired the first shot, it was only fair for the crew to poke back.
But there was something they hadn't anticipated.
"What, you little shit? Dusty trash?"
First, there was a crazy bastard in the group who lost all sense of fear the moment his musical pride was insulted.
"What are you doing?! Why are you suddenly cursing!"
"You think I wouldn't curse at that?! You son of a bitch."
"You just cursed at the broadcast staff. I'll make sure to remember this."
And second, the other members weren't exactly sane either.
"Our bald buddy here is acting out because he hasn't come to his senses yet, so how about you eat shit?"
"Ah, I naturally agree with that sentiment."
The muscular, dark-skinned man extends his middle finger, his biceps and triceps bulging. Isn't America the birthplace of the 'Fuck' gesture? As expected, the original flavor hit differently.
Their behavior was nothing short of raw audacity—an act fueled by pure self-assurance. After all, the name 'Enfants Terribles' literally translates to 'bold and uninhibited children who cannot be controlled by adults.'
"Ha, these guys are absolutely insane. Chul-soo! Chul-soo! Just you wait and see how this goes out on air! We recorded everything!"
The interview room instantly descended into a chaotic mess. However, seeing as the band walked out of the space provided by the staff on their own terms, this battle was already a victory for the 'Enfants Terribles.'
.
.
.
.
.
A short while later, the group introduction video for ASAYAN was broadcast nationwide. Naturally, the highlight was the scene of three unique men flipping off the station staff.
Simultaneously, articles regarding the incident slammed onto the front pages of every newspaper.
[The Ruffians Who Despise the Japanese Music Industry.]
—————
Saito Miyako, her hair a brownish-orange hue, shook her head as if the world were ending. She turned to Ai, who was sipping juice beside her.
"Ai, whatever you do, never get close to those people."
Hearing that, Ai let the juice she was drinking dribble straight out of her mouth. She was a problem because she was full of lies, but these guys were a problem because they were far too honest.
Ai remained frozen in place for a long, long time.