Little Pink Starfish

Lee Hyun-seok shrugged as he studied the look in my eyes.

“You already knew, huh?”

“I did. But I thought that approach suited a survival show better.”

“True enough.”

What he wanted to say was simple.

The way I sang Under the Streetlight didn’t touch the original arrangement at all.
According to the rules of the pre-show mission, I kept the backing track intact and only changed the vocal delivery.

Because of that, the song left more of a novel impression than a good one.

Not that the song itself was bad or anything—just that it was fascinating to hear something that fresh without any change to the instrumental.

“Ever think about rearranging it?”

“Pretty sure PD Kang would hate that.”

Even if it ended up sounding better, it might lose the buzz that comes from directly connecting it to the show.

If the song heard on the program and the one released as a single don’t match, that’s not a good look.

I said all that expecting Lee Hyun-seok to offer some kind of alternative.

Even if it was a bad one, I thought he’d at least have something in mind.

“Oh, right. That’s true. Wouldn’t match the PD’s vision…”

To my surprise, this guy had nothing planned.

Now I understood why someone with so many industry connections lived like a freelancer—he’s got no business sense.

I mean, he did say he’d introduce me to a company when we first met.

Hard to believe now that he said that out of pure goodwill.

I could’ve just ended the conversation there, but something about his idea stuck with me.

I hadn’t thought about it before… but now I was curious.

What would happen if I fully rearranged the song?

Billboard wouldn’t care.

On the Hot 100, all versions of a song—original, unplugged, UK version, whatever—count as one track.

But Korea’s not like that.

And in Korea, music shows matter—a lot.

After thinking for a moment, I spoke up.

“I am kind of tempted… how about this?”

“What is it?”

As I explained my idea, Lee Hyun-seok’s eyes widened.

“That’s possible?”

“We’ll make it possible.”

Oh right, I got a gifticon from Gu Tae-hwan this morning. I should probably reply to him.

---

I never told anyone this, but the reason PD Kang Seok-woo left MBN for M Show was simple:

Pressure.

Four years ago, a show he directed at MBN became a massive hit, and his cheerful on-screen presence made him the face of the network.

Every article called him “MBN’s ratings machine.”

But the truth was… not quite that.

If you actually looked at his shows’ average minute-by-minute ratings, their return on investment, or their intangible buzz factor—it didn’t add up.

He didn’t think he lacked talent, but he knew he was being overhyped.

That pressure gradually ate away at him.

Even when his newer shows did decently, he couldn’t shake the feeling they were flops.

So he moved to Channel M Show.

Maybe he just needed an excuse.

Lower budgets, less-known channels, harder casting—all made for a good pretext.

That’s how Coming Up Next happened.

No one expects a ratings bonanza from Lion Entertainment’s in-house survival show.

But…

“So it was all just rationalization in the end.”

Now that he was free of all that pressure, directing at M Show, he realized the truth:

He didn’t need excuses.

He just wanted to make a better show.

Even if it meant bumping the ratings by 0.01% or getting one more mention in trending searches.

So he headed for LB Studio.

Today was the day Han Sion would record Under the Streetlight.

Depending on how good this song turned out, everything could change.

If Sion’s performance was good enough to blow everything else away…

“Then I’ll have to go toe-to-toe with the execs and push for him as the lead in episodes 1 and 2.”

Even if Team B’s just a filler for TakeScene, and Coming Up Next exists for TakeScene’s sake.

He was heading to the studio to confirm that for himself.

He’d heard Sion’s version during filming—but only the first verse.

When he arrived at the studio, what he saw was unexpected.

The camera crew looked awkward just standing around, while Han Sion and Lee Hyun-seok were happily messing around with a guitar.

Were they warming up their fingers?

Why, when they’re supposed to sing?

Then Lee Hyun-seok spotted him, set down the guitar, and stood up.

“Oh, PD. You weren’t here yet, so I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

“Got stuck in traffic. But the recording?”

“It’s done.”

“It’s done?”

“Yeah.”

“Already?”

“That’s how it went.”

The cameras had been set up at 9 a.m., and the actual recording began at 10.

It was now 10:20.

Was he seriously saying the entire recording wrapped in 20 minutes?

Shockingly, yes.

The camera director said Han Sion only recorded Under the Streetlight twice.

After hearing it, Lee Hyun-seok immediately gave the OK.

Stunned, PD Kang pulled the director aside.

This camera director had shot music talk shows for over five years—he might not be an expert in mass appeal, but he knew sound.

“Director, you saw Sion sing, right?”

“Of course I did. I was filming.”

“Was it… okay? Can we seriously wrap with that?”

“Hmm… you know Jo Ki-jung’s outside smoking right now.”

That name caught Kang off guard.

“Jo Ki-jung? The original singer? He’s here?”

“Lee Hyun-seok must’ve called him. He was here early. Anyway, he went straight to the roof for a smoke after the recording. You know why?”

“Don’t tell me… he liked Sion’s version that much?”

“Nah. Not that.”

“Then?”

The director glanced around and lowered his voice.

“Jealousy.”

“…!”

“Old-school singers carry a lot of scars. Even if their songs blew up, most didn’t make much money.”

“True.”

“And the only thing keeping them going now is pride in their skill.”

“So you’re saying…”

“That pride got shattered. This young, no—kid shows up, good-looking, bound to make a fortune if he makes it… and he sings that well?”

PD Kang waved his hands.

“Hold on, hold on. Are we talking complex jealousy, or purely skill-based jealousy?”

“I’m not Jo Ki-jung, so who knows. But…”

The director shrugged.

“If it were me, it’d be the latter.”

Kang wasn’t sure whether to take him at his word—but either way, this wasn’t some half-assed recording session.

Unable to hold back his curiosity, he was about to ask for playback when a man in his mid-50s reeking of smoke walked in.

It was Jo Ki-jung.

He approached Sion and spoke.

“You’re Han Sion?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. Just call me sunbae, like you do with Hyun-seok. You taught yourself music?”

“Yes. Picked things up here and there.”

“You seem to play guitar pretty well. Want to do a song together? What do you like?”

Then Lee Hyun-seok jumped in.

“Hey, hyung. You’re gonna scare the kid if you go full throttle right away. Take it slow.”

“Slow? How?”

“Hmm… how about we jam Under the Streetlight? Play it however it feels right.”

“With my song?”

“Why not? Could be fun. Let’s do Sion’s version. That youthful vibe’s great.”

“Jam” in jazz means improvising—vocally or instrumentally.

Jamming to a specific version of a song was a weird suggestion, but Jo Ki-jung nodded.

Improv always starts with warming up the vibe.

And the best way to do that is by jamming something familiar.

That’s probably how he saw it.

The camera director turned to PD Kang.

“Should we film this?”

“I dunno…”

Technically, it had nothing to do with Coming Up Next.

Han Sion finishing his recording and goofing off with the original artist?

If they aired that, viewers would turn on Sion.

What kind of pull does this kid have to get such blatant favoritism from the network?

But then Kang remembered the whole recording only took 20 minutes.

He gave the signal to shoot—not for content, but just to grab some nice close-ups and bust shots.

Meanwhile, Lee Hyun-seok went to the counter and came back with the part-timer.

“Yeong-ha, play some bass. This is my niece—she’s a music major.”

“What the—Uncle, aren’t they filming right now?”

“Filming’s over. We’re just having some fun.”

“Already done? Oh—hello. I’m Lee Yeong-ha, I major in contrabass.”

As Yeong-ha picked up the bass, Lee Hyun-seok sat at the drum kit.

He wasn’t great at drums, but he was the only one there who could play.

“Sion, what are you gonna play? Keyboard? Guitar?”

“I’ll play whatever’s left after Sunbae Jo picks his instrument.”

“How about guitar?”

“I’ll take keyboard then.”

And just like that, they set up a four-piece band: drums, guitar, keyboard, bass.

“Sion, how should I drum? Original tempo?”

“Tempo’s good—just split the rhythm into smaller notes if you can.”

“Okay. Bass?”

“Just go with whatever groove feels right.”

“Right, it’s improv after all.”

PD Kang noted how unusually eager Lee Hyun-seok was—but didn’t think much of it.

After all, it was Lee who reached out to produce the show’s music… because of Han Sion.

Maybe it was just fanboy energy.

Strange to say, given the difference in their careers—but maybe not wrong.

Then the drums kicked in.

Dududu—thump thump—

Textbook rhythm at first.

Gradually, it felt faster—not in tempo, but in density of notes.

To Kang, unfamiliar with music theory, it sounded faster.

Then came Sion.

He filled the space with a tasteful, melodic keyboard riff.

Not the kind of piano playing that floods every bar with notes, but a sparse, intentional style.

He left just enough empty space that you felt something should fill it.

Then the bass came in.

People who love band music say drums are the roots, bass the stem.

Everything else grows from there.

Some say a band with bad bass is failed—but a band with no bass isn’t even a band.

It’s a crucial but understated instrument.

And sure enough, once the bass joined, Sion’s keyboard filled out beautifully.

Finally, Jo Ki-jung strummed the first melody on guitar—

Somewhere at the end of a gray alley…
Beneath the orange streetlight…

Without warning, Han Sion began to sing.

---

Pinky says: I break into song as soon as I wake up in the morning.