The announcement was loud.
OG — New Album: JUICE.
Teasers flooded every platform—bright colors, confident poses, a bold concept meant to remind the world who OG were. The girls smiled in interviews, promised growth, promised something new. On the outside, everything looked the same.
But when the album dropped, something felt… off.
The numbers were slow.
Painfully slow.
"Maybe it's just the first hour," Yuki said, refreshing the chart again and again in the practice room.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Then a day.
OG didn't climb.
They slipped.
Their title track debuted far lower than expected, barely holding its place before slowly sinking. Music show nominations came and went—without OG's name.
Hana stared at her phone late that night. "This… this can't be right."
Sakura said nothing. She just kept scrolling, her face unreadable.
Online, the tone shifted.
"They've lost their spark."
"The concept feels forced."
"New groups are doing it better."
And those new groups—fresh, trendy, fearless—were everywhere. Their debuts exploded, their songs climbed effortlessly, pushing OG further down, one platform at a time.
Spotify.
Melon.
YouTube.
Down.
Down.
Down.
The second comeback came quickly, almost desperately.
It flopped.
The third followed.
Another flop.
Three comebacks in a row—each one weaker than the last.
The fandom that once felt unbreakable began to thin. Fan cafés grew quiet. Lightsticks disappeared from concert crowds. Even variety show invitations slowed, then stopped.
"We'll do better next time," Sakura said during a meeting, her voice steady—but her hands were clenched tightly in her lap.
"Next time," the staff repeated.
But next time never came the way they hoped.
Back in the dorm, the atmosphere changed. Laughter faded. Conversations became short, careful. Hana stopped humming. Yuki practiced longer than necessary. Kairi avoided mirrors. Aiko watched them all, worry etched into her eyes.
One night, Sakura lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Was it all just luck?
Was our debut the peak?
The trophies on the shelf felt heavier now—like reminders of something slipping through their fingers.
"This feels like a bad dream," Kairi whispered once, her voice breaking. "We'll wake up, right?"
No one answered.
Because deep down, they all felt it.
This wasn't a dream.
This was the beginning of their fall.
And none of them knew how far down it would go—or what it would cost to climb back up.