Chapter 17: A Matter of Quality

After watching the choreography video three times in a row, Han Hoseong asked, “Did you memorize any of it?”

“Do you really think I memorized it?” Woo Yeongchan retorted.

Predictably, Han Hoseong insisted on checking Woo Yeongchan’s dance moves anyway. The result was a total disaster. Hoseong wore the expression of a professor grading a failing exam paper. Woo Yeongchan had zero passion for dancing, but seeing that disappointed look triggered a spiteful spark of competitiveness inside him.

“If I practice, I’ll get better, right?”

“Yeah, I love the enthusiasm! I’ll break down the choreography again when all five of us gather. We need to sync our formations anyway.”

“Got it.”

“Oh, and while you’re practicing, it’d be good to learn our past songs too. We don’t have much time, so you don’t need to get them perfect, but at least to some extent.”

“Okay.”

Even as he agreed, Woo Yeongchan was certain that Han Hoseong’s definition of “to some extent” was vastly different from his own.

“Watch a lot of music videos and stage performances. Right now, you just need to absorb as much as you can.”

“I said I got it.”

Han Hoseong eyed Woo Yeongchan with suspicion, unimpressed by his half-hearted answer.

Contrary to Hoseong’s doubts, however, Woo Yeongchan pulled up HIGH-5’s past music videos the second he got back to the dorms.

Why the hell am I even doing this…?

Woo Yeongchan sighed, cutting off his own self-mocking thoughts. Regardless, to live as Xenon without drawing unwanted attention, he needed to grasp at least the bare minimum. Even without Hoseong’s nagging, he had intended to study Xenon’s track record anyway.

If this upcoming mini-album is the seventh, that means there’s a first.

It seemed best to watch them in chronological order. Opening WeTube on Xenon’s phone, he typed “HIGH-5 1st album” into the search bar, and a video popped up immediately.

“…’Frog Prince Magic’?”

The title alone gave him a bad feeling. On top of that, the thumbnail—showing the shadowy silhouettes of five men—looked strangely absurd.

Woo Yeongchan scowled slightly and hit play.

Ribbit— Ribbit—

A whimsical flute melody drifted over the sudden croaking of frogs. The composer had likely aimed for an air of mystery, but unfortunately, to Woo Yeongchan and the general public, it just sounded ridiculous.

“Hah.”

The moment Han Hoseong appeared on screen, Woo Yeongchan let out an incredulous breath. Hoseong was wrapped head-to-toe in green leaves, looking utterly bizarre.

“What is he supposed to be, a lettuce wrap?”

And that wasn’t the only problem; the song itself was terrible.

At your kiss / I truly exist

Magical love / Magical love

The moment I’m freed from the spell / I fall under another magic called love

“…Ugh.”

Woo Yeongchan grimaced. It felt like eating an overly sugary dessert and instantly getting a headache. The lyrics were sickeningly romantic, and the overall vibe was hopelessly tacky.

The members, all clad in green outfits, wandered through a dense, foggy forest. To Yeongchan, the fog looked less like an artistic choice and more like a desperate attempt to hide cheap, low-quality CGI.

Their budget must have been microscopic.

The backgrounds, the costumes, the props—everything looked laughably cheap. Honestly, a kindergarten play had better production values.

Woo Yeongchan wasn’t the only one who felt that way; the comment section was a disaster zone.

— Wow… I wondered why they flopped so hard back then, but now I get it.

— Ah, I remember seeing this on a music show back in the day. I thought it was weird then, and it’s still weird now.

— They should’ve at least given someone a princess or wizard role. Having all five of them as frog princes is hilarious;;

— This is it. Jujin literally has a Disney princess face,,,

— Frog concept, it’s so freaking ugly.

— LOL seriously, what group includes actual frog-hopping moves in a frog prince choreography? LOL The choreography team is definitely at fault here.

— I think the composer messed up first tbh.

— The MV director too.

— No, the agency is the one guilty of high treason here LOL.

The top comments were mostly from three months ago. Judging by the timeline, people had flooded in to check out HIGH-5’s older releases after their three “nursery rhyme” tracks went viral, only to end up completely traumatized.

Scrolling further down, he found comments from four years ago when the video was first released.

— Ah… I’m so devastated. Our Hoseong should only walk a flower path, so why is he trekking through a field of thorns…? He finally escaped that shady company, only to join an incompetent one…

— Thank you for overcoming everything and debuting again. I’ll always support you. My singer, my Bambi, my Hoseong, fighting! ♡♥♡♥

— The reason I’ve supported Han Hoseong since Flame Star is because I fell for how hard he works no matter where he is… I love seeing him give his absolute best, but did he really have to give his all in a music video like THIS?… Hoseong… seriously, what are we going to do with this…

— The guy in the green clothes is handsome.

— Which of the five are you talking about?

“…Hmm.”

It seemed people’s eyes and ears were largely the same, as the initial reception had been equally lukewarm. There weren’t many comments to begin with. When the song first dropped, only HIGH-5’s handful of fans had watched it, and it had only become a topic of discussion four years later. The buzz leaned far more negative than positive, but from a marketing standpoint, even bad publicity was better than complete obscurity.

“It’s a miracle they even made it to a second album,” Woo Yeongchan muttered as he loaded the second music video.

Perhaps because their experimental—or rather, bizarre—debut concept had bombed so spectacularly, this next release took a safer approach. The members appeared in neat school uniforms against a backdrop of a schoolyard filled with blooming acacia flowers.

“Mm.”

Han Hoseong, wearing a neatly tied navy tie, strolled through the courtyard. Woo Yeongchan unconsciously tried to guess his age. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he recalled hearing that Hoseong had re-debuted with HIGH-5 after completing his mandatory military service.

Which means he was already an adult back then, too.

Even so, the school uniform suited him remarkably well. He looked fresh and youthful, like a newly enrolled college freshman. In fact, he looked significantly fresher than Moon Haeil, who was three years his junior.

Yet, Woo Yeongchan still didn’t find the song particularly impressive.

He played the third music video with an expressionless face. He watched the fourth, fifth, and sixth videos in rapid succession before letting out a long, heavy breath.

“…Hoo.”

He couldn’t get a feel for them at all.

If they had been as delightfully absurd as the debut track, at least they would have been memorable. But from the second album onward, everything was aggressively average. Nothing left a lasting impression. It was like eating an unfamiliar dish and not even being able to tell whether it tasted good or bad.

“The public response seems decent enough, though.”

From the second video onward, the comment section took on a much warmer tone. Most comments read along the lines of: I’ve loved this song since it came out and I’m so glad it’s finally getting noticed; Why were you guys keeping this hidden gem to yourselves?; What are you talking about, fans promoted this forever ago, you’re the one who didn’t listen.

“Maybe it’s because that first song set the bar so low.”

First impressions dictated everything, and looking back, his own introduction to HIGH-5 hadn’t been pleasant either.

Or maybe I just don’t have an ear for music.

Even art appreciation required training; the more quality works you engaged with, the more refined your palate became. Classical music and fine arts were easier to appreciate once you understood the background context. Pop music was likely no different.

However, Woo Yeongchan quickly dismissed the thought.

“Or maybe these guys are just bad at what they do.”

It couldn’t possibly be his fault. Come to think of it, if a song were truly phenomenal, it would have been a smash hit the moment it dropped. The fact that people were only now calling it a “hidden gem” was simply a lingering side effect of their sudden “nursery rhyme” fame.

I should compare them to someone else.

He needed to figure out whether the problem lay in his own ears or in HIGH-5’s music, and listening to a top-tier group would settle it.

Woo Yeongchan searched “Over the Limit” on WeTube. He didn’t know many male idol groups, but he figured that if he was going to use a baseline, it should be the absolute best in the industry.

“Oh.”

Clicking on Over the Limit’s latest music video, Woo Yeongchan let out a low murmur of admiration.

For starters, the view count was in a completely different galaxy compared to HIGH-5’s. On top of that, the comment section was vastly more chaotic. If HIGH-5’s comment section was a cozy room where a few people chatted quietly, this was a roaring, packed stadium.

“English, Japanese, Thai, Spanish… is this Turkish?”

Just looking at the endless array of foreign languages gave him a tangible sense of Over the Limit’s global reach. Woo Yeongchan pressed play with a flicker of anticipation.

A heavy, explosive beat reverberated from the speaker.

The melody—packed with intense energy from the very first second—grew increasingly grand. He finally understood what people meant when they said a song “tasted like money.”

When the track hit its climax, the energy practically burst through the screen, matched perfectly by the members’ sharp, synchronized group dance.

It’s like a blockbuster movie.

The entire music video felt like a high-budget cinematic production, holding his attention firmly from start to finish. While he still couldn’t articulate the exact musical elements that made it great, he could vaguely grasp why it was a massive hit.

“So my ears aren’t the problem after all. It really is these guys.”

Muttering to himself, Woo Yeongchan switched back to HIGH-5’s music video.

On the tiny phone screen, the video—which now felt hopelessly bland by comparison—played once more. As the five members appeared on screen one after another, Yeongchan’s eyes instinctively fixed on Han Hoseong. Oblivious to the dismal fate awaiting the album, Hoseong was smiling brightly into the camera. He looked foolish, naive, and just a little bit pitiful.

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