Little Pink Starfish

Blue must’ve read the disbelief on my face, because he just shrugged.

“I’ve seen so many guys like that. Though… you don’t seem like one of them.”

“I’ll be extra mindful of that part too, just in case.”

“Alright, good enough. I’ve seen your pre-mission. Gotta trust you for now.”

“Thank you.”

“Right, Taehwan—you said you haven’t picked a song yet?”

“No, I’m still thinking about it.”

“What do you think, Si-on? What would suit Taehwan?”

So much for “I’ll bring it up naturally”—this is as direct as it gets.

“Hmm… personally, I think he has a great sense of rhythm, so something in a singing-rap style would be good.”

“Singing-rap? But he’s not a rapper.”

“I didn’t mean rap, exactly. Just a song that shows off his rhythm. Like contemporary R&B or trap house.”

“What about tropical house?”

From monitoring songs recently, I’ve noticed that K-pop surprisingly embraces subgenres well. Probably a result of industry growth and frequent collaborations with international producers.

But for some reason, K-pop really loves deep house.

Especially tropical house—like, obsessively.

Sure, it’s good for dancing and easy listening, but the obsession borders on madness.

“Tropical house is good too, but I think two-four rhythm suits him better than one-three.”

Blue took a sip of water, glanced at Taehwan, then asked:

“Si-on thinks so—what do you think, Taehwan?”

“…I’ll do my best.”

That’s it?

I gave him all that and he just says that?

I mean, I guess it might be unfamiliar territory for him.

He seemed to like upbeat ballads during the pre-mission—pretty far from the two-four groove of Black music.

Since I didn’t say anything more, Blue left it at that too.

We wrapped up lunch and went back to our own practice spaces.

The choreography still felt unfamiliar, so I needed to get a feel for it and show the trainer.

Oh, and I also needed to ask the arrangement team for something.

Even though I’m doing the original version with no arrangement, like Blue suggested, there’s still one thing I need done.

I was watching a YouTube video when—knock knock—someone tapped on my door.

It was Koo Taehwan.

“I tried picking songs based on what you suggested.”

“Oh… okay.”

Guess he couldn’t decide and decided to follow my advice?

I was surprised, but didn’t show it since the cameras were rolling. I took the list of song options from him.

Not bad.

Seems like he actually understood my feedback properly.

“I think these are solid.”

“Could you help narrow it down a bit?”

“Then… how about these two? Either one would work, I think.”

“I’ll do my best.”

And then he left.

He keeps saying he’ll ‘do his best.’

Dude’s kinda quirky.

After that, I performed in front of the dance trainer.

“Whoa—you’re really good at dancing?!”

I got major praise.

Wait, is it that surprising that I can dance?

“I just assumed you couldn’t based on the pre-mission. Talent usually piles up in one area.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“But your base style is locking? Can’t you do waacking or voguing? That’d go well with a girl group song.”

I’ve never learned waacking or voguing, and it wouldn’t suit the stage I have in mind.

I gave a roundabout answer, and the dance trainer clicked her tongue in disappointment.

“Well yeah, I guess you wouldn’t have time. Still, I don’t think there’s much that needs fixing. You’re good.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“What’s with all this ‘I’ll do my best’ stuff?”

Wait a sec… that’s Taehwan’s catchphrase.

It’s such a simple sentence, but somehow it’s uniquely addictive when he says it.

He lowers the pitch on “do,” does a G-to-A variation on “my best,” then drops again on the final syllable to make it sound firm…

What am I even doing?

This is the curse of being a regressor.

Once I snap out of emotional overload, it’s like my feelings need to spill somewhere.

Guess I’m on a high right now.

I scratched my head and headed back downstairs—only to find Taehwan waiting for me.

He said he got stuck while practicing.

What is he, a tiger or something?

“What exactly do you mean by good sense of rhythm? Like hitting the beat well?”

“No. Anyone can learn to keep time with enough practice.”

I mean, you shouldn’t be trying to be a singer if you can’t stay on beat.

“Then what?”

“Rhythm sense is something you’re born with. It’s about how you handle the length of sounds.”

“Length?”

“When you sing ‘Cause I want you,’ the first word is like ‘Cauuuse,’ right?”

“Yes.”

“Regardless of whether it lands perfectly on the beat, how long you draw out the ‘Ca,’ the ‘uu,’ and the ‘se’—that’s instinct. It’s your personal flavor.”

Taehwan muttered “Cauuuse” a few times, then nodded.

“So… you’re saying I’m good at that?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘good,’ but it’s unique. Try sticking to the measure, but sing the phrases freely. I think it’ll work well for you.”

That’s why I recommended music with two-four rhythm instead of one-three traditional pop.

Two-four rhythms give you more freedom to lay back.

Taehwan thought it over and nodded.

“I’ll do my best.”

Yes. That’s the original flavor right there.

But seriously—why is this guy actually putting in effort?

And just because a peer told him to?

“…”

I stared at him, and Taehwan hesitated before adding:

“I’ll give it my all.”

That starts on a D note, huh?

Caught up in my dumb thoughts, I decided to just help him properly.

I had time anyway.

Taehwan’s lucky—it’s rare for me to offer help when I’m feeling down.

“Wanna try singing it for me?”

---

The contestants on Coming Up Next were all unique, but could mostly be divided into two groups—vocalists and dancers.

To be precise: seven vocalists, three dancers.

Since all three dancers were also rappers, you could say it was seven vocalists and three rappers.

At the start, every vocalist thought they were the main vocal.

And that confidence wasn’t baseless.

Rion Entertainment had meticulously selected the cast (except Han Si-on), and they only picked people ready to perform right away.

They had to compete with Take Scene immediately—no time for training.

So all the participants were main vocals, even if they didn’t have trainee experience, most had won some local competitions.

Even Lee I-eon—whom Han Si-on had criticized harshly aside from his looks—was a main vocal from a small agency.

A good-looking main vocal is like a lefty pitcher who can throw a 100-mile fastball.

These people had lived lives full of praise.

But their confidence didn’t last long.

Because of Han Si-on.

“How are we supposed to beat that?”

“Should I just aim for lead vocal instead…?”

It wasn’t even because he had overpowering high notes or flashy technique.

Han Si-on just sang ridiculously well.

So much better than them.

That’s why the other vocalists’ confidence shattered.

“Hey, forget Han Si-on. Singing well isn’t everything in being an idol, right?”

The judges even had to comfort them off the record.

And it worked.

Think about it.

A perfect 100 for vocals and 50 for performance? That’s 150 points.

But 75 vocals and 75 performance? Also 150—but way more valuable for an idol.

Idols need to be all-around entertainers.

Then, one of the contestants overheard Han Si-on’s interview by chance.

“Mr. Han Si-on, why did you choose to go first? Isn’t that a disadvantage?”

“I just figured it’s better to get it over with.”

The rumor spread fast among the contestants.

Come to think of it—why would someone who sings that well choose to go first?

Only one reason.

He’s not confident in his performance.

Like, really not confident.

He’s afraid of not living up to the high expectations his singing created.

“Oh, really?”

“Man, if he’s a terrible dancer, that could get awkward…”

“Still, with vocals like that, I’d take him even if he was stiff as a board.”

Even the judges started believing this theory—except for Blue, who knew the truth but kept quiet.

Thanks to that, the vocalists finally relaxed and focused on preparing for the main round.

What they didn’t realize was…

“It’s not me who’s taking the beating.”

Han Si-on’s interview was missing a subject in that sentence.

Time passed quickly, and it was now 10 p.m.

The first main stage began—to decide the final lineup of Team B.

---

As Han Si-on stepped onto the stage, all eyes turned to him.

Except for Blue, none of the judges had seen his rehearsal.

Other contestants had caught glimpses of each other’s practice, but not Si-on.

After showing his dance to the trainer in private, he’d stayed holed up in the practice room.

Aside from Koo Taehwan going in and out of that room a few times, no one knew anything.

In this situation, PD Kang Seok-woo made a smart move.

He changed the rules so that song choices weren’t revealed to the judges until right before the performance.

The judges went along with it, thinking the PD probably had a good reason.

As a result, the judges had no idea what song Han Si-on picked until the moment he stepped on stage.

“Si-on, are you ready?”

“I tried… to be.”

“I’m curious now. What did you pick?”

Right then, the judges’ tablets lit up with the song information.

Just as PD Kang wanted, the reactions were gold.

Composer Lee Chang-joon made a “??” face and adjusted his glasses.

“Is this real? This is what Han Si-on picked?”

“For real? Why this?”

“I have no idea what he’s going for… Blue, did you know about this?”

“Yeah, I knew.”

“And you were okay with it?”

“Of course.”

This reaction made the contestants just as curious.

What did he pick to make the judges react like that?

Something without choreography?

Just some light hand motions?

As they watched the judges react, the backstage screen lit up with the song info:

Artist: Way From Flower
Title: Flowers Bloom

“…Huh?”

“Seriously?”

Flowers Bloom—the debut and title track of first-tier girl group Way From Flower.

A totally unexpected song choice.