Chapter 33 : Second Performance(3)

A seated venue with about 250 seats and no standing area.

It was a band performance centered on anisongs, the first in a long time since COVID-19, and a significant number of people had taken their seats.

“There’s a chance we might sell out with today’s on-site sales. How many tickets were left after pre-sales?”

“Around 40.”

“Then we’ve already sold about 30 on-site. That’s unexpected. This isn’t bad at all. I thought we’d be in the red.”

“Tickets started selling rapidly a few days ago, but I didn’t expect a sellout…”

Even if 250 seats might seem small, it’s still a fairly large venue.

With ticket prices set at 25,000 won on-site and 20,000 won for pre-sales, selling out would generate roughly 5 million won in revenue.

Of course, some of it would go toward venue rental fees, and the rest to paying the bands, but a performance initially expected to operate at a loss had unexpectedly turned profitable. How could anyone not feel pleased?

Yeongshin watched the audience slowly trickle in.

When he thought about losses, he regretted organizing this and wanted to shave all those messy-haired attendees with clippers.

But now that it seemed profitable, he felt an urge to treat them to drinks. Though handing out drinks might push them back into the red.

“Could it be because of the new additions? Ticket sales seemed to surge after the additional lineup announcement.”

“Could be.”

It was the first paid performance for these new acts, yet their impact seemed noteworthy.

Yeongshin, however, attributed the surge to the increased number of bands making the event more cost-effective.

“But they were definitely good. They didn’t seem like your average anisong band. Especially the guitarist…”

Sehyun’s sat down and unzipped his parka.

Since it was a seated event, there’d be no jumping around, but it still felt better to loosen up indoors.

The number of attendees exceeded his expectations.

He had come because a friend performing in one of the bands had pleaded, “Please come… Tickets aren’t selling.”

While he liked anime and anisongs, he didn’t enjoy them enough to spend 20,000 won to attend a concert, so he felt a bit reluctant about the cost.

“Well, how good could they even be?”

He genuinely thought so.

No matter how much effort these performers put in, they were amateurs, not professionals.

The songs they played were created by professionals, after all.

No matter how skilled an amateur is, it’s hard to match a pro. “Live charm” or “reinterpretation” aside, the original songs are always superior.

Thinking that, Sehyun’s glanced around.

For an event like this—though this was his first time attending such an event, so his impressions were vague—there seemed to be a surprising number of women.

Come to think of it, hadn’t he heard that more women were into band-themed anime lately?

Apparently, some female otaku even started identifying with the protagonists of such anime.

He remembered reading something about it online and thought to himself that otakus, male or female, were essentially the same.

With that thought, Sehyun’s turned his gaze toward the stage.

Meanwhile, A-yoon, oblivious to being the subject of such misunderstandings, stared at the stage nervously.

“I’m looking forward to this.”

She was a fan of a certain band-themed game.

A-yoon, who originally had no interest in such things and only listened to idol songs, had her life as a fan completely transformed one day when she heard a song.

(A song she found utterly life-changing.)

Falling in love with that song, she devoted all her passion to the content it came from.

She bought albums, created social media accounts, and even looked into traveling to Japan to attend live performances.

However, passion alone couldn’t overcome certain barriers.

No matter how hard she tried, money didn’t magically appear.

As a broke college student, she couldn’t afford to attend live shows in Japan, with their tickets, flights, and accommodation costs.

Instead, she sought other ways to experience live anisong performances, which led to her current self—someone who attends anisong cover concerts to indirectly enjoy the essence of live performances.

“I have a good feeling about today’s concert.”

Though cover bands couldn’t match the originals, there were those that delivered respectable performances.

One such band was in today’s lineup.

“You can count on Solata!”

Clenching her fist with determination, she glanced at the lineup pamphlet.

Among the familiar band names, one stood out as unfamiliar—Group Sound.

“They’re covering Bocchi the Rock?”

She doubted how well they could pull it off.

Covering that kind of music wasn’t easy for a novice band, so she tempered her expectations.

“Thank you!!”

The cheerful voice of a band leader echoed as they left the stage, though their expression seemed far from cheerful.

The applause from the audience sounded perfunctory at best.

Their performance had been underwhelming.

Harmony is the most crucial aspect of a band.

Whether it’s vocals, guitar, bass, drums, or even keyboards, these components must work together to form cohesive music.

When one element dominates, no matter how impressive it may be, the rest fail to support it, resulting in mere noise.

Even the most inexperienced band would recognize this after one rehearsal.

Despite that, the previous band seemed to have forgotten this principle.

Each member played as they pleased—guitar, drums, bass, and vocals all out of sync.

“The first performance wasn’t bad, though.”

Sehyun’s thought.

Even without the amateur handicap, the first act had been decent.

But this band? Not so much.

In the distracted murmurs of the audience, Sehyun’s wondered why.

Surely, if they made it to this stage, they must have some skill.

Yet even to his untrained ears, they’d made basic mistakes.

“Did they feel pressured or something?”

A-yoon thought about it.

250 seats might be significant, but not enough to intimidate a seasoned band.

She’d seen them before and didn’t think they’d be fazed by the size of the venue.

Could something have happened during rehearsal?

“Thank you for waiting! Up next…”

While she pondered, the MC took the stage.

The silhouettes of four figures emerged as the third band prepared to perform.

“Covering songs from the hit anime Bocchi the Rock, an unprecedented high school girl band…!”

The MC’s introduction stirred a buzz of excitement among the audience.

A-yoon wondered, “Is that even possible?”

If it were true, the music itself wouldn’t matter much.

The novelty of a high school girl band would steal the show regardless of their skills.

“Introducing Group Sound!”

Applause, tinged with anticipation, followed the MC’s announcement as the stage lights dimmed.

Seconds later, a single spotlight illuminated the stage.

A girl with long black hair.

A black hoodie, black pants, and even a black guitar.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the ground, then strummed her guitar.

A single note, followed by a progression of ascending tones.

And suddenly, a burst of intense playing.

“This is… exactly like the original!”

As the band perfectly recreated a scene from the anime, a roar of cheers erupted from the crowd.

It had been an impromptu solo, starting without any signal. But it was worth it.

A few seconds later, with the cymbals striking in rhythm, the music began.

What was different?

Perhaps just the rhythm guitar being replaced by a keyboard and the lead guitarist doubling as the vocalist.

Beyond that, there was nothing else.

Nothing was lacking.

In fact, the audience felt the performance had surpassed the original in quality.

Why was that?

The bass and drums were steady, unremarkable but solid.

The keyboard, adding some flair, had been rearranged slightly, but not enough to diverge significantly from the original rhythm guitar.

And then, there was the lead guitar.

Unwavering rhythm and timing.

A tone that was slightly different from the original but not drastically so.

Yet, the audience felt it.

That this wasn’t merely a guitar performance.

The flow of the song—or rather, the entirety of the band’s music—seemed to revolve around that one guitar.

And the performance unfolded before the audience, unraveling slowly.

One strand at a time, precisely as the guitarist intended.

At the tempo she desired.

After the third song ended, there was a slight delay before the cheers erupted.

Then, applause exploded like thunder, as if it marked the end of the band’s set.

“That was insane!”

A-yoon thought to herself.

Where on earth had a band like this been hiding?

No, they couldn’t have been hidden.

A band like this couldn’t remain unnoticed because anyone who heard such a performance wouldn’t stay quiet.

They’d rave about it and post something like, ‘I just heard the most incredible performance.’

Therefore, this must have been their debut.

Jumping to that bold conclusion, A-yoon opened her SNS.

[Currently at Yeongshin APARK, and this concert is absolutely insane!!!]

As A-yoon typed her message, the venue lights brightened slightly.

The lead guitarist, who had hung her mic on the stand after the song ended, picked it up again.

“Then, we’ll play our last song.”