Hong Eunchae, the youngest member of K-Pop band Le Sserafim, is strutting through Seoul’s infamous Nakwon Instrument Arcade when she suddenly loses her footing.

With a crash, her drink flies into the air and the 17-year-old falls head-first down a metal staircase, landing with a sickening thud on a subway floor.

There’s a pause. Then she sits up with a shrug, completely unharmed, as though this is how she typically navigates the stairs.

Instantly meme-able, the scene features in the trailer for Le Sserafim’s third EP, Easy, which was released earlier this year. But Eunchae says it also carries a deeper meaning.

“When I’m following the path I want to follow, tumbling and falling down doesn’t matter,” she tells the BBC.

“I always start over like nothing has happened. That’s the message I wanted to deliver.”

Such defiance and persistence have helped Le Sserafim carve out a niche since they were thrust into the spotlight two years ago.

With the eccentric energy of Girls Aloud and the impeccable hooks of the Korean pop machine, they’ve released grungy, club-ready songs like Crazy and Antifragile, been nominated for multiple MTV Awards, and collaborated with Nile Rodgers and PinkPantheress.

To a casual observer, the quintet might seem like the prototype girl band: Coiffed, choreographed and bristling with confidence.

But they’re unusually forthright about the unrealistic standards the industry places on women.

On Eve, Psyche and Bluebeard’s Wife (a song named after three women who defied societal expectations), rapper and singer Kim Chaewon speaks about the pressure to perform, even when you’re not at your best.

“Smile bigger for the crowd/ Shut up, shut up, now shut your feelings out.”

On Good Bones, Huh Yunjin snaps back at her critics.

“You think it’s OK to degrade someone/ Just because they’re true to themselves?” she protests over a spiky rock riff.

“As a group, we’re always trying to show that duality of being strong but also being vulnerable,” Yunjin explains.

“But no matter what happens, we’ve got each other and that gives us resilience.”

Le Sserafim have an unusual origin story, with members drawn from all over the world at different ages and stages of readiness by their label Source Music.

Sakura Miyawaki is a showbusiness veteran, with experience in three other bands – KT48, AKB48 and Iz*One.

Aged 26, she’s the oldest Sserafim, and Yunjin calls her “a pillar” of strength who “always has good advice” about the industry.

Chaewon was also part of Iz*One, and acts as Le Sserafim’s leader, a role she characterises as being “a rock” who “makes everything smooth” when problems arise.

Yunjin was raised in New York and studied opera before entering the rigorous world of K-pop training. By contrast, Eunchae only had 15 months of preparation before making her official debut in 2022. Aged 17, she is nicknamed Manchae – a portmanteau of her name and maknae (막내), the Korean word for “youngest member”.

Last to join was former ballerina Nakamura Kazuha, who was swept out of the Dutch National Ballet Academy five months before Le Sserafim’s first single. To this day, she feels like she’s playing catch-up with the rest of the team.

“It’s been two years but every day is a new challenge still,” she says.

There was originally a sixth member. Kim Garam appeared on the band’s debut EP, Fearless, but resigned shortly afterwards following accusations she had bullied students in high school.

That’s not the only bump in the road Le Sserafim have faced.

Earlier this year, the band apologised for perceived vocal weaknesses during their performance at Coachella in California. Responding to negative press, Chaewon said the group had simply “become excited and lost control of our pace” while playing their first outdoor festival.

A recent behind-the-scenes documentary, Make It Look Easy, exposed more about the pressures the band faced promoting their first album, Unforgiven, last year.

In one scene, Chaewon breaks down in tears and confesses: “I don’t really know how to be happy.”

“To be honest, I sometimes think about quitting,” she tells an off-camera interviewer.

Kazuha also confronts insecurities over her abilities as a performer.

“Sometimes I get super-confident and I’m like, ‘I should work harder. I can do this’,” she says. “But then I lose confidence and I’m like, ‘I can’t do anything. I have no charm’.”

Yunjin is more fiery. Her American upbringing gives her a different perspective on K-Pop’s “idol” industry, and she’s expressed a desire to change it from within.

“Idols need to do this, do that. There are all these unspoken rules,” she says in the documentary.

“I could feel it when I was a trainee, but back then I desperately wanted to [make my] debut, so I just conformed. But after debuting I was like, ‘Why does it have to be like this?'”

She pours those frustrations into a solo song called I-Doll, which explicitly criticises the way pop stars are treated as products.

“They pick apart my body and throw the rest away,” she sings. “Idol doesn’t mean your doll to [expletive] with.”

In the past, the 23-year-old has declared she wants to “change the idol industry”, breaking down its “strict standards one by one”.

By being transparent about their struggles, Le Sserafim deliberately challenge a status quo that demands perfection – and their candour comes at a time when K-pop artists are increasingly willing to confront the system.

Earlier this week, a singer with girl group NewJeans testified to South Korea’s National Assembly about the bullying she has faced at work. Last year, the 11 members of Omega X won emancipation from their contract following allegations of “unwarranted treatment” by their label.

Le Sserafim – who have the full support of Source Music – put a more positive spin on their story.

“The message we wanted to deliver through the documentary was not that our job is hard and strenuous,” Chaewon says.

“Rather, we wanted to emphasise the fact that we have a lot in common with anyone who holds down a job.”

“We want to say that you don’t have to be perfect all the time,” adds Yunjin.

“Everyone faces difficulties,” Chaewon concludes. “So our message is, let’s overcome all those difficulties together.”

In a superficial industry, they make a virtue of their imperfections, projecting them as a strength.

Even the band’s name is an anagram of the phrase “I’m fearless”.

Their camaraderie is expressed in songs like Chasing Lightning – where Yunjin is teased for her obsession with Greek yoghurt, and Sakura describes her love of crochet – and their latest single, 1-800 Hot N Fun.

Powered by a sinuous bass guitar riff, it follows the band on a night out, kissing random strangers, demanding the DJ plays Beyoncé, and clinging to the dance floor until the break of dawn.

“I love that song,” says Yunjin. “It’s almost like a dialogue, we’re just all having a conversation.”

In the hook, the bandmates keep asking, “Where the heck is Saki?” – their nickname for Sakura – before someone responds, “She’s waiting down in the lobby.”

Does that mean Sakura’s always the first to be ready?

“Wow! Wow!” exclaims Yunjin. “That’s actually true! That’s the first time we’ve thought about it that way. That’s genius.”

There won’t be much time for partying this year, though. Le Sserafim have been speaking to the BBC in the middle of a long day of TV rehearsals, and fans have speculated they’re working on a new EP – completing a trilogy of releases called Easy, Crazy and Hot.

The title was hinted at in lyrics to Good Bones, but Yunjin skilfully avoids revealing any secrets.

“Will it even be called Hot? We don’t know?” she laughs.

“It might be cold, it might be warm. But whatever we come out with, it’ll be fire.”

Based on the evidence so far, there’s no reason to doubt it… as long as Eunchae avoids staircases.