Little Pink Starfish

The cameras turned off, and the audience was given time to talk and take pictures with the Coming Up Next contestants.

“You’re so handsome!”
“Uh—uh, thank you!”
“I’ll definitely watch the show when it airs!”

Longtime idol fan Choi Se-hee watched the members of TakeScene and Three Months, Hundred Days with nostalgic affection.

Even her forever bias, Drop Out, had once been like this.

Back when they were startled and touched by fans, clumsy and fresh and full of awkward charm.

Of course, in time these kids would become used to all this too.

Some might eventually stare with dead eyes at fans during sign events, barely muttering “Oh, really?”

But right now? They were pure and charming—and it was lovely to see.

Though… there was one person who gave off a different vibe.

“How did you end up applying to be in the audience?”

“We were looking around Myeongdong for a date spot and came across this by chance!”

“Oh? So you two are a couple?”

“Do we not look like one?”

“They say couples start to look alike… I thought you were twins.”

“Twins?”

“I can’t be the one to say which of you looks older, can I?”

“Oh my god, I was not expecting that!”

It was Han Si-on of Three Months.

What is with this guy?

He was like a 10-year idol doing flawless fanservice.

When a couple approached him for a signature, he naturally led the conversation like a total pro.

When two high schoolers asked for a photo, he stepped between them, threw an arm over each of their shoulders, and cracked jokes with them like old friends.

His behavior screamed “social butterfly”—and yet…

*He doesn’t *feel* like a people person.*

Han Si-on’s looks are far from what you’d expect from a bubbly extrovert, and his vibe is even more distant.

Call it cringe if you want, but he’s got that “handsome classmate who looks like he’s hiding a secret, barely talks to anyone, but is devastatingly good-looking” thing going on.

And then—when you finally speak to him…

He gives you a warm, glowing smile like you’re the only person in the world.

Se-hee, caught up in her delusional fangirl fantasy, kept her eyes on Han Si-on.

There was definitely something different about the way he looked at the audience.

She didn’t know if she should say it like this, but it felt… like how you’d look at a longtime lover.

Not fluttery butterflies—just quiet gratitude.

…Am I insane?

As that thought passed through her head, Han Si-on looked over and smiled directly at her.

As if asking, “Why are you just standing there?”

That inviting smile made Se-hee flinch a little—then cautiously walk over.

“You’re a fan of another group, right?”

“…?! How did you know?”

“You came alone.”

Only then did Choi Se-hee realize all the audience members who seemed like her—weren’t here in groups.

They’d probably stumbled across the audience application while browsing idol-related content.

They weren’t die-hard fans of Coming Up Next—just casually curious about the new generation.

And of course, they wouldn’t invite their friends to tag along for that.

Han Si-on had noticed all of that.

Wow. His observational skills are insane.

But seriously—how did he know she was alone?

Had he been watching her?

Or was she just obviously standing by herself?

Couldn’t she have just been waiting for a friend in the bathroom?

As Se-hee mulled it over, she got his autograph and chatted casually.

“So you’re a Drop Out fan?”

“Yeah. I’m Dreaming.”

“There’s a rumor they’re making a comeback.”

“Wait, how do you know that? It’s only circulating in fan circles.”

“I heard it somewhere. I feel like their next title track is going to be amazing. Like Billboard #1 level.”

“…Billboard?”

“Yeah. I hope it’s a song about a selfish guy who’s begging desperately for one woman’s forgiveness.”

Si-on laughed after saying it.

And when she thought about it—he was right. That kind of theme was perfect for Drop Out.

They were the best at pulling off concepts like that.

He’s ridiculously good at this.

She’d already noticed from afar, but now that they were actually talking, it was stunning how naturally he led the conversation.

Even his eye contact felt like a masterclass in fan engagement.

If he did fan sign events like this, social media would blow up with fan accounts.

Then he handed her the signed paper with a dazzling smile.

“Next time we meet, I hope you tell me you’re a fan of both Drop Out and me.”

A menace.

He was a menace, for sure.

As the audience time ended, staff began dispersing the attendees.

Leaving the set, Choi Se-hee found herself thinking about a few things.

First: there were no restrictions.

Normally, audience members are warned not to share photos or spoilers.

But Coming Up Next didn’t do that.

They’re desperate for buzz.

It wasn’t some big-budget show or a public national audition.

It was an internal survival show for a company idol group—so their audience would be niche by default.

Might as well lean into noise marketing.

Second: the dynamic between TakeScene and Three Months.

She hadn’t seen their full performances—just karaoke songs—but she got the gist.

TakeScene felt polished and well-trained.

Three Months felt unique, colorful, rough around the edges.

And lastly…

Han Si-on.

In terms of looks, Lee I-on was the clear winner.

He had that universally appealing face that could sell every sports drink in Korea.

But Han Si-on was the one who left the biggest impression.

He just felt different.

She couldn’t say if he had the strongest vocals yet, but the feeling he gave off was unforgettable.

Even if Three Months flopped, Han Si-on would somehow make it.

“Hmm…”

Lost in thought, Se-hee pulled out her phone and opened a popular idol fan forum.

She’d had a fun day—so she figured she’d help the producers out with a little buzz.

Time to stir the pot, just a little.

She typed out a deliberately provocative post title:

“Went to that chaotic lion pit idol audition taping today lolol [review + personal picks]”

The idol world’s been boring lately—this should get things going.

Sure enough, within minutes, the comments started pouring in.

---

After the karaoke shoot, TakeScene and Three Months sat together in the first-floor café, drinking coffee and nibbling on bread.

It wasn’t a real conversation—more like some polite, camera-friendly small talk.

Even that dried up quickly, and people began sticking to their own groups.

“Si-on hyung, have you debuted before?”

“Of course not. Why?”

“You just seemed way too professional with fans.”

“Just tried a few things.”

The setup of the whole thing was odd.

We didn’t even know each other had sung.

The audience had already voted, and we faced off in person after the fact—with winners and losers determined right away.

So there was no point in trying to fake compliments like:

“You were so good! I just got lucky.”

We didn’t even hear each other’s songs.

Honestly, instead of just sitting awkwardly, they could’ve shown us our performances and filmed some reaction shots.

Hmm. Maybe I’m feeling overly sensitive again.

Maybe it’s because of Fade.

Should I poke him a bit to get this tension out of my system?

As the silence dragged on, I casually broke it with a question directed at him.

“Hey, do you like With’s music?”

Fade’s reaction was… not what I expected.

“So what? You happy you won?”

The other TakeScene members flinched and tried to calm him down. Our team froze. Even the staff looked rattled.

But me?

I wasn’t mad at all.

In fact—I found it amusing.

Fade’s a smart guy.

More precisely, he’s the kind who’s only clever when it benefits him.

So this wasn’t a mistake or a slip of emotion.

He’d already calculated everything.

He knew nothing he said here would make the final cut.

No way the producers would air footage of a TakeScene member throwing a tantrum.

Especially when TakeScene is the show’s intended debut team.

Soon enough, a writer or PD will come smooth things over.

Besides, if this had been real rage, there’d be swearing.

So Fade was just trying to rattle us—to make sure we knew who was actually debuting.

A reminder: no matter the votes, the spotlight’s theirs.

Pathetic little power play.

He’s always been like this—clever only when it comes to hurting others.

“Haha.”

I laughed, which clearly threw him off.

He looked startled by how calm I was.

But I was in too good a mood.

Fade underestimated me.

Right now, I’m more valuable than he is.

Sure, Lion Entertainment will protect him, but Coming Up Next is a little different.

Producer Kang Seok-woo’s already planning two versions of Under the Streetlight, and he’s banking on Flowers Bloom to go viral onstage.

And the composer of Flowers Bloom?

Chris Edwards.

A Billboard-tier songwriter negotiating his appearance based on my involvement.

They wouldn’t just toss me aside.

Actually, wait—this isn’t even about sunk costs anymore.

It’s about opportunity cost.

Yeah, that’s the right term here.

Anyway, no need to get technical.

Fade was thrown off again, then snapped.

“What’re you laughing at?”

“You an idiot?”

“…!”

“Why wouldn’t I be happy I won? You want me to cry about it?”

“You son of a—!”

It’s been a while since I acted like this.

With GOTM, I was so focused on that 200 million album dream that I played everything safe.

But this life? This one’s just a ride.

I’m not going to burn it all down—but I can have a little fun.

“Si-on!”

Lee I-on came over in alarm, but I waved him off.

Then turned to Fade.

“Apologize. I’ll let it go.”

“Or what?”

“Then I’ll leave.”

“What, are you crazy? You think you can get me kicked out?”

He scoffed—but I could see the unease.

I was too calm. Too confident.

He was probably imagining all sorts of things.

Maybe I’m the son of the M-Show CEO?

God, this is fun.

“I live in Yeoksam-dong.”

“And?”

“So you know where to come say sorry tomorrow.”

He kept yelling, but I was in such a good mood, I gave him a little extra.

“Oh—and take the subway. The traffic’s brutal.”