Little Pink Starfish

As the judges flipped through the script in preparation for the second round of performances, Blue spoke up.

“But CEO… can we really fit all of this into episode 1?”

The original plan was to wrap up Team B’s selection in the first episode.

Since the format hinged on the competition between Take Scene and Team B, anything before the “challenge button” was considered not all that important.

Sure, the early stages had to give some spotlight to Team B members, but that was to be done after the final lineup was determined.

Focusing too much before that risked weakening engagement and fragmenting the audience’s attention.

However, in Blue’s opinion, if the second mission also turned out to be a hit, cramming it all into one episode would be overkill.

The pre-mission had been compelling, and the first stage had plenty of drama.

And just as expected, Choi Dae-ho shrugged.

“Producer Kang said something similar. He’s considering splitting episodes one and two.”

“Looks like he caught a whiff of that Han Si-on money, huh?”

“Yup. Seems like he thinks Under the Streetlight is going to be a hit.”

Since the cameras weren’t rolling yet, the atmosphere was candid. That’s when Lee Chang-jun jumped in.

“By the way, did they ever find the composer? Of Flowers Bloom?”

“Broadcast’s still digging. Sounds like he’s a foreigner. They’re being tight-lipped.”

“If he’s foreign, there’s a good chance he’s from a songwriting camp, right?”

Lee Chang-jun fidgeted with his script as he said this.

He was the only judge who still made a living off composing music.

Choi Dae-ho used to write songs but had fully transitioned into producing.

So Lee Chang-jun knew that Han Si-on’s first stage performance was likely to cause a stir among other composers.

To be precise, Han Si-on’s talent would be the talk of the town.

He’d heard Flowers Bloom before.

But he had never once thought the original might’ve been written for a male vocalist.

How did Han Si-on come up with that idea?

And what if he’s right?

He had praised Si-on generously during the evaluations, but now that he thought about it, it left an odd taste in his mouth.

If Han Si-on was right, then he had better musical instincts than Lee himself.

Maybe not better skills—not yet, at least—but instincts could be a more powerful weapon than technique.

“Still… why’s he rapping, though?”

“Right? Is he the type to sacrifice for the sake of part distribution?”

“Doesn’t seem like it, does he?”

“Well, Producer Kang actually said he hopes the second stage flops. Better to crash hard than be mediocre.”

The judges kept chatting about the second mission—until they realized they’d been talking about nothing but Han Si-on the entire time.

“Let’s not get too focused on just one person.”

Choi Dae-ho’s words, half a reminder to himself, were met with nods.

Shortly after, filming began.

---

The order between the Winning Team and Losing Team was decided randomly, with the Losing Team going first.

Apparently, the Losing Team had tried to change their team name, calling it ominous, but the head writer didn’t allow it.

No point naming a one-time team, she’d said.

Fair enough, I suppose.

“We’ll have the first team come onstage now.”

Blue, hosting the show, smartly chose to call them the “first team” instead of the “losing team.”

And so the five members stepped onto the stage.

Goo Tae-hwan, Lee I-on, Kim Hae-woon, Nam Sung-il, Park Sung-joo.

Goo Tae-hwan I’d connected with in the first mission, and Lee I-on’s face was the kind you couldn’t forget.

But I didn’t know much about the other three.

I knew they were rappers, but their skills were average at best.

The only one who stood out a little was Kim Hae-woon, who’d performed an original song in the pre-mission.

The Losing Team’s stage began with Buster Call by “Black Star,” a group often dubbed a “hip-hop idol.”

An unexpected pick.

I’d come across Black Star while researching K-pop. They were a group of five rappers and one vocalist.

Which meant Lee I-on was on vocals, and everyone else was rapping…

Goo Tae-hwan’s sense of rhythm is good, but he doesn’t suit rap.

Probably pressured into rapping because of what he showed in the first mission.

But just because someone can ride a two-step rhythm doesn’t mean they’re built for rap.

If that were the case, jazz hip-hop and R&B groove wouldn’t even exist.

Sure enough, Tae-hwan’s verse at the start felt awkward.

And the Losing Team made the same mistake the Winning Team would’ve made if I hadn’t intervened.

They obsessed over perfecting the group choreography—but it just wasn’t syncing up.

In fact, trying too hard to match up made them underperform even in the parts they were good at.

Ironically, this made Lee I-on shine like crazy.

Usually, his vocal tone would be hard to blend in a group, but in this song, it stood out—in a good way.

As the sole vocalist and bridge performer, his tone came off unique rather than awkward.

He’s definitely getting four passes.

The judges’ comments echoed my own thoughts.

“You treated choreography too lightly. Poorly matched choreography is worse than no choreography at all.”

“The song choice was also disappointing. It’s supposed to be hype, but your nervous energy sucked all the fun out of it.”

“Lee I-on’s vocals were better than I expected. Though you ran out of breath during the bend—bet you noticed that too, huh?”

They got a score of 72.

Hmm, a bit generous.

I’d have given them 27.

Also, they say passes determine the results, so why bother with scores anyway?

“Next team, get ready.”

As I crossed paths with the Losing Team members walking offstage with heads hung low, I headed up.

---

When the Winning Team stepped onstage in their Boy Scout uniforms, vocal trainer Yoo Sun-hwa grabbed the mic first.

“Before we begin, I’d like to ask about your part distribution. Who made the decisions?”

“It happened naturally. No one was fighting over parts.”

“Really? Then Han Si-on’s rap part—that was decided naturally too?”

“Yes. I believe everyone ended up with the part they’re best at.”

Han Si-on answered so shamelessly, even Yoo Sun-hwa seemed momentarily thrown off.

To her, Han Si-on was already a finished vocalist.

If he asked her for training, she wouldn’t even have anything to say technique-wise.

She hadn’t heard him sing enough to assess his expressiveness, but still.

That such a complete vocalist was rapping irked her.

Not because she had anything against rap, but because she feared he was thinking, “I’ve already secured my spot, so I’ll give others a chance.”

That kind of attitude might look noble to viewers…

But this is show business.

It’s the bold, not the modest, who succeed.

Soft-hearted contestants don’t survive in survival shows.

“Just one more question. How would you rate your singing and your rapping?”

“Hmm…”

After a brief pause, Han Si-on dropped an absurd answer.

“I’d give my singing about 70 points. My rapping… maybe 80.”

“…You’re not saying that backwards?”

“Nope.”

The others might not realize it, but Han Si-on was being completely serious.

He knew exactly how far his vocal skills could go.

With two years of vocal training and some timbre tuning, he could hit 100.

So for now, 70 was being honest.

On the other hand, rap was a genre he’d given up trying to perfect.

Still, he had topped the Billboard Hot 100 for three weeks and gone quadruple platinum with a rap album before.

But even then, he didn’t see himself as a 100-point rapper.

At best, 90 with full effort.

Rap didn’t need special training though.

Thin voice? Go with it. Rough voice? Use it.

50 Cent took a bullet to the jaw and made slurred pronunciation his signature.

So with the right vibe, 80 was realistic even now.

That was Si-on’s unspoken truth.

Of course, Yoo Sun-hwa had no way of knowing this.

Just as she was about to say something, Lee Chang-jun tapped her hand.

A silent cue not to focus too much on Han Si-on.

Calming down, Yoo Sun-hwa wrapped it up with, “Looking forward to it.”

After a few more questions from the judges, the performance began.

---

NOP’s BOY SCOUT was a bright, summer-themed song aimed squarely at seasonal charts.

The music video opened with boys in beige shirts and denim jeans stranded on a desert island.

Their adventures and friendship became the narrative of the entire song.

The Winning Team stayed true to this concept.

They began the stage sitting around, confused, as wave sounds played over the speakers.

The first to get up was Choi Jae-sung.

While the others looked bewildered, he wore a ridiculously sunny grin.

The kick drum came in, the melody exploded without warning—and Jae-sung began to sing.

Emm, Emm, 오늘은 Summer day 태양이 눈부셔

As if infected by his cheerfulness, Kim Sung-woo stood and followed.

Emm, Emm 오늘은 Shining day 파도가 들리네

After a few rounds of this, their expressions brightened and the adventure began.

This part was originally tightly choreographed.

The idea was to depict a dynamic adventure through dance.

But the Winning Team didn’t go that route.

Instead of marching in sync, they each moved as if headed in different directions.

The choreography was the same, but their lines and body orientations diverged.

It made them look more like playful kids.

At one point, Shim Joo-wan stopped in protest, and Han Si-on had to pull him back into the formation.

It was entertaining to watch.

As the first chorus ended, the most anticipated part arrived.

Han Si-on’s rap.

Normally, expectations wouldn’t be high for this section.

NOP wasn’t known for hard-hitting rap.

They leaned toward easy-listening styles.

Especially BOY SCOUT, which featured a lot of brass, making it hard for rap to stand out unless aggressively accented.

But the song concept didn’t allow for that, so the original used melodic rap for a soft touch.

Even if Si-on was a great rapper, this part wouldn’t let him prove it.

And yet…

Han Si-on did something… wild.

Is he out of his mind?

Even Choi Dae-ho, well-versed in Black music, was taken aback.

Party Tonight 오늘 밤 동안 우리 같이, 설렜어 막

Grime.

A UK hip-hop subgenre that evolved separately from American styles.

No, Si-on didn’t go full UK Garage or Drill—it wouldn’t suit the song.

But Grime had a unique bouncy rhythm and punchy accent patterns.

He threw in a British accent, breaking words apart for effect.

It was an unexpected choice—but it worked perfectly.

He split up a melodic section into rhythmically accentuated syllables, making it more engaging.

Maybe others didn’t notice, but to Choi Dae-ho, it was shockingly good.

Did it drift slightly from the original concept?

Maybe.

But it felt like the boys were having fun at their own secret party.

Like they’d pulled out a hidden stash of booze and gone wild for the night.

Si-on didn’t change a single lyric—just shifted the vibe and accents.

It was impressive.

The stage continued after his verse, ending on On Sae-mi-ro’s highlight.

And with that, the Winning Team’s performance was complete.