Little Pink Starfish

Album 3. Three Months and a Hundred Days

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The stage ended, and I felt pretty satisfied.

Not because it was some masterpiece—just that I’d hit my goal.

I came into the second mission with a clear aim: create a performance that was objectively good, but didn’t draw the spotlight onto me. The ideal result would be hearing something like, “Han Si-on has undeniable skill, but he didn’t stand out in the team round.”

Just that much. That was enough.

I added a bit of flavor with the rap verse, and without that, I might’ve been criticized. Expectations were high, and the original rap section was kind of a bore. But it wasn’t some grand spectacle like the pre-mission or first round. Grime isn’t even flashy—it just made things a little more interesting by switching up the delivery style.

While I was thinking about all that, the judges’ evaluations began.

They started with the overall performance.

The direction was praised as ideal for something made in a single day.

One judge said it was clever how we showed off individual charms while still maintaining minimal unity. I agreed with that.

Then came the specific feedback for each member.

On Sae-mi-ro and Choi Jae-sung got proper praise. Kim Sung-woo and Shim Ju-wan got solid, positive comments. My thoughts were the same.

Jae-sung really pulled through. There aren’t many people who can deliver a 70-level performance with 70-level skills. Most people have 100 in them but can barely show 70. But Jae-sung did his absolute best with what he had.

Honestly, the more I looked at him, the more convinced I was that I’d seen him before in a past life. Just couldn’t place where.

Then came the comments on my rap.

The judges were split down the middle.

Choi Dae-ho and Blue were full of praise, saying the expressiveness was excellent and the unexpected style made it a treat to listen to.

But Yoo Sun-hwa and Lee Chang-jun voiced their reservations. They said the rap itself was great but felt out of place with the concept of Boy Scout. They asked why I chose grime.

I answered that grime was the only rap style I could do. That it wasn’t a strategic choice.

As if I could say something like, “Grime just fits the song better than NOP’s version.”

Our team scored 94 points.

Compared to the 72 points from the last team, that was a huge gap.

When the second stage ended, I could feel the tension rising.

Every mission and evaluation that started with the pre-mission was now over.

Which meant—it was time to pick the final five.

Blue, after talking with the judges for a while, walked back on stage.

He went through some fluff lines for broadcast, then finally got to it.

The screen displayed the names of the contestants who had received four passes.

There were four of them.

Han Si-on, Lee I-on, On Sae-mi-ro, and Choi Jae-sung.

I-on and Sae-mi-ro were obvious. And I was inevitable.

The surprise was Choi Jae-sung.

Personally, I found Goo Tae-hwan to be the more compelling vocalist. If you had to sing a full song solo, Jae-sung would be better. But for group work, where parts are divided, Tae-hwan had more to offer—and he was easier to work with.

Still, Jae-sung did well today. It wasn’t a decision I could disagree with.

When I glanced over at him, his eyes were filled with tears.

Was he seriously crying over making it?

He saw me looking and gave me a big, bright smile and bowed his head deeply.

I really hope he doesn’t think I’m his homeroom teacher or something.

With four names announced, that meant only one spot remained.

Blue continued.

Three contestants received three passes: Goo Tae-hwan, Kim Hae-woon, and Nam Sung-il.

The final member would be selected after a mini-competition among them.

The ones eliminated lowered their heads as the camera zoomed in on them.

Someone’s despair often makes excellent TV.

And I’ve been doing this far too long to feel sorry anymore.

Still, I had to pretend.

I patted Kim Sung-woo’s back and said, “Good work. I’m sure even better opportunities will come.”

Now I just needed to read the judges’ intentions.

So far, all four picks were vocalists.

Even though I rapped, no one was going to treat me as a “rapper” pick.

Korea, for whatever reason, tends to value skilled vocalists more than skilled rappers.

Of the remaining three, Hae-woon and Sung-il were rappers. Tae-hwan had rapped in round two as well.

It felt like the judges were looking to fill the “rapper” slot now.

But honestly, I didn’t even remember what kind of raps Hae-woon and Sung-il had done.

Would be kind of awkward if they actually got picked.

That’s when Blue said something that made me smile inside.

But the judges won’t be making this decision.

The four selected contestants will choose the final member themselves.

Us?

Because you’ll be working together, Blue said. You should choose your own teammate.

The others went pale, obviously feeling the pressure.

But I liked it. This was better.

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At last, Coming Up Next wrapped after three exhausting days.

The contestants left first. Then the crew started packing up.

But I wasn’t done.

I had some paperwork to sign related to the digital release of Under the Streetlight.

A staff member handed me my phone.

“Thanks,” I said, checking my notifications.

Dozens of missed calls. Mostly from my great-uncle—ignored.

The rest were from LB Studio’s CEO, BVB Entertainment’s team lead, and my uncle Hyun-soo.

A few names from high school popped up too. Couldn’t remember most of them anymore.

I’d forgotten so much about who I was before all this time-looping began.

On my way to the restroom, I spotted someone waiting near the exit: Goo Tae-hwan.

“What’s up?” I asked.

He gave me a slight bow.

“I just… wanted to say thank you.”

“No need. You worked hard.”

“No. I wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for you.”

He wasn’t wrong.

He got the final slot in Team B.

And he did owe me, at least a little.

I gave him a light push in round one, but I pulled the strings fully in this last round.

Of course, no one else would’ve noticed.

I’m good at subtle manipulation.

“Let’s do our best. We’ll be teammates for a while,” I said.

“I’ll work hard.”

This kind of interaction… it really is addictive.

“If you haven’t eaten, wanna grab food—?”

“Nah. We’ll be seeing each other plenty. I’ve gotta talk to the producer.”

“Ah, okay.”

“But hey, I’m curious.”

He straightened up a little. Almost like he suspected something.

Just like Jae-sung.

Am I giving off old-man vibes?

Well… I have lived long enough.

“Why’d you trust me so much? I’m just another contestant.”

No one knows what I achieved in my past life. No one remembers the records I broke.

To everyone else, I’m just another trainee with a bit of talent.

It’s rare for someone to abandon their usual methods and follow my advice as faithfully as Tae-hwan did.

I wanted to know why.

“My dad always told me,” he said. “At some point in your life, you’ll meet a genius. When you do, don’t let your pride get in the way. Ask for help.”

“You sure geniuses help people?”

“If they’re real geniuses? Yeah. That’s what he said.”

“Huh…”

Come to think of it, maybe he’s right.

All the real geniuses I’ve met shared what they had—as long as they weren’t total jerks.

Either because they knew no one could copy them, or because they had too much to begin with.

“Your dad into music?”

“He runs a mushroom farm.”

…I guess you can be a genius with mushrooms, too.

Just then, Producer Kang Seok-woo turned the corner.

“What are you two doing here?” he asked.

“Just chatting. We ran into each other on the way to the restroom,” I said.

“Good. You’ll be seeing more of each other anyway. Han Si-on, you’re ready to talk contracts, right?”

“Yup.”

I waved goodbye to Tae-hwan and followed Kang.

Oh, right. I never did get to pee.

“Han Si-on,” Kang said.

“Yes?”

“You wanted Goo Tae-hwan to pass, didn’t you?”

“Not really. I just thought he was the best of the three.”

“Hmm. You know what Coming Up Next is, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

I hadn’t spent long with him, but I could already read the guy.

If he thinks you’re sharp, he respects you. He also tests people—like leaving out parts of a sentence to see if you catch on.

“A show designed to boost Take Scene,” I said.

“Then why’d you apply?”

“To make a choice.”

“A choice?”

“Instead of waiting around for someone to debut me, I wanted to be in a position to choose the hand that offers it.”

“Haha. So you really want to debut, huh?”

“It’s not about want. It’s something I have to do.”

Kang gave me a soft laugh and patted my back.

“Alright. Let’s make sure the first step is a good one.”

We went to sign the contract for Under the Streetlight.

It had the usual garbage terms—terrible profit shares and bad distribution deals. I didn’t fight it.

Because we’d just made a different kind of agreement.

Unspoken.

“Remember that favor you asked me for earlier?” Kang said.

“I do.”

“Would you really call that one favor?”

“Probably more like three.”

“…You’re something else. Let’s work well together.”

He’d shape the show around my vision.

And I’d run wherever he pointed.

As long as he didn’t push me out of the spotlight or damage my image, we’d be good.

So I let the music contract slide.

“I’ll schedule the recording around your condition. When’s good?”

“Any day but today. Tomorrow’s fine too.”

“Damn, youth really is something.”

We set the recording for three days later.

“Oh, by the way,” he said. “Do you know who composed Flowers Bloom?”

“I saw the name, but didn’t recognize it.”

“Then how sure are you about what you said on stage?”

“That the original was for a male vocal?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m 100% sure.”

“Huh…”

He made a strange face, then slowly nodded.

“If that’s true… this is gonna be real interesting.”