Little Pink Starfish

March 3, 2017.

Today is the day I become a legal adult.

In other words, it’s my birthday.

Thanks to that, I got a lot of messages.

The first one to reach out was Uncle Hyunsoo, and some old high school classmates sent me careful birthday wishes, telling me to hang in there and enjoy my day.

Not “high school friends,” just “classmates,” because I don’t remember them that well.

Maybe I’d recognize them if we met in person, but just seeing their names doesn’t bring back faces or memories.

Lastly, I got a birthday message in the Three Months Hundred Days group chat.

[Three Months Hundred Days – Lee Eion (21): Happy birthday, Sion. Since it’s not a filming day, you can spend it having fun with friends. Need anything for a gift?]

[Three Months Hundred Days – Koo Taehwan (20): Happy birthday. I was thinking of sending you a humidifier—do you already have one?]

[Three Months Hundred Days – Choi Jaesung (18): Hyung! Many heartfelt congratulations on your birthday!! I sent a gift via DMs!]

[Three Months Hundred Days – On Saemiro (20): Happy birthday. Have a great day.]

Messaging apps are kind of exhausting these days.

Why do they blast people’s birthdays like it’s a headline?

And the funniest thing…

[Uncle-in-law: I guess I’ve been too harsh on you all this time. I’m sorry.]

Even my uncle-in-law sent me an apology and a gift.

What a ridiculous guy.

Did he really think this kind of carrot would work?

Or maybe… he’s actually more perceptive than I thought.

Now that I’m legally an adult, I can apply to be a guardian through family court.

It’s hard to believe a 20-year-old would plan all this out carefully, but if my uncle-in-law sent that gift thinking ahead… I might give him some credit.

Still, the person I planned to meet today wasn’t someone here to celebrate me.

It was someone to defend me.

Attorney Choi Jiwoon.

“It’s lucky your birthday’s in March. If it had been around September, things would’ve been a mess.”

“Yeah, true.”

“So, how did it go with the doctor? Your parents still need to be declared in a vegetative state.”

I appreciated how Choi Jiwoon kept it strictly professional rather than offering half-hearted sympathy.

Makes sense—he’s charging ten billion won in legal fees. This is premium business.

“The diagnosis should be finalized by next week at the latest.”

Uncle Hyunsoo always follows through on my requests. No exception this time.

“Then let’s go ahead and move forward. Looks like jurisdiction will fall under the Seocho District Court too.”

“Are you confident?”

“If it were a different court, I’d say 70% chance of winning. Still pretty high.”

“What about Seocho District?”

“700%.”

Yeah, I’ve heard that one a dozen times, but I should still give him a little admiration.

After that, we talked about how we’d divide the spoils.

Cash-like assets would be liquidated immediately and split. Some bonds would be sold off later.

“As for the property, I’ll find a realtor and sell it quickly. No point in gambling on the housing market.”

That’s when Choi Jiwoon gave me his first truly human look.

“I need to ask this as an adult. Are you okay with that? That house must hold a lot of memories.”

“It’s fine. It’s just real estate.”

And I meant that. But I won’t actually sell it.

Selling a house takes time, and while Jiwoon is waiting on the sale, I can invest the money elsewhere and make a profit.

That’ll cover his fee.

I also told him that I was currently on M-Show’s audition program. He was pleased.

He said it was good to show that I was functioning normally in society rather than being labeled as someone with PTSD from the accident.

After our chat, I left the law firm and checked my missed messages.

First was PD Kang Sukwoo.

[Chris Edwards and HR reached out. After hearing your arrangement of “Flowers Bloom,” they decided to get on a flight to Korea.]

[They’ve got some things to take care of, so they’ll arrive in two weeks.]

Nice.

I sent a thank-you to PD Kang and then checked the message from Team Leader Seo Seunghyun at HR.

[BVB and Double M have confirmed the payments. Please verify.]

[Also, both NOP and Drop Out say they don’t plan to alter the original songs beyond basic part distribution.]

[They’re asking if you’re willing to handle the arrangements yourself.]

[What should I tell them?]

They want to leave the originals untouched?

Is this just a ploy to get my contact info?

Hmm. What should I do?

Honestly, I don’t mind what they do with I’m Not Your Man, which NOP picked up.

The structure isn’t the point—the sonic punch is.

As long as they don’t mess with the main melody, it’ll be fine.

But Selfish, the one Drop Out picked, will sound awful if the structure is even slightly off.

Now that I think about it… it’s a little disappointing.

I wanted to see how the K-pop industry would interpret my songs.

Maybe I should do the arrangement myself.

After confirming the deposit, I sent half of it to Team Leader Seo with a message.

[Sent the fee.]

[I’m okay to do the arrangement, as long as it’s remote and over email.]

[Actually, I’ll send a draft later today with part distribution and a vocal guide. Use that to negotiate.]

[If they accept, squeeze them dry for the arrangement fee.]

[If they pay enough, I’ll throw in mixing and mastering as a bonus.]

I let the composition fee slide because I wanted the deal to happen.

But the arrangement fee? That’s different.

It’s not about money—it’s about honor. Creative fees are a creator’s pride.

And mixing/mastering… if some clueless engineer is gonna ruin it, I’d rather do it myself.

Anyway, that was all nice and uplifting.

But the real deal was in the last message.

[Video]

A video message from Fade.

Well, “video message” sounds a bit weird.

Let’s call it what it is—a video apology.

“I sincerely apologize for the trouble I caused by expressing my bad mood on set…”

Yup, Fade’s a smart one.

It was a flawless apology in a genuinely humble tone.

This kind of thing can’t come off half-hearted or forced—it becomes ammo for later.

What if I released this video?

People might actually turn against me for dragging it out when I’ve already received an apology.

Without knowing the full story, it could look like I’m just trying to stir things up.

Now, if Fade had uploaded a half-assed apology instead?

Then he’d be the only one getting roasted.

In that sense, Fade’s move was perfect.

So I should respond perfectly too.

[Thank you for taking the first step and apologizing in a mature way.]

[Though our first meeting left us both hurt, I hope this becomes an opportunity to build camaraderie on set.]

If Fade’s team ever makes this public, my response becomes my shield.

Still… the look in his eyes.

Even though I handled it rationally, he must really hate me.

That stings a bit.

We even arranged things so he wouldn’t have to come to Yeoksam—just send the video.

Maybe he enjoys subway trips?

---

Coming Up Next is a competitive reality show between two teams, but it also takes the form of a documentary-style variety show.

People think they’re familiar with idols, but they actually know very little about their lives.

Most assume it’s just good-looking people training, learning songs someone else made, and going on stage.

If that were all, why would only a few succeed while most fail?

It’s not like all the failed idols were ugly, untalented, or under-trained.

So Coming Up Next aimed to show the daily lives of Take Scene and Three Months Hundred Days, giving viewers behind-the-scenes insight.

This emotional immersion would hopefully boost audience support and engagement.

So on March 5th, the main shooting began.

Ten contestants moved into the dorms.

---

Better than I expected.

That was my first thought, name tag reading Han Sion on my chest, looking at the dorms.

The show rented out a pool villa in Pocheon, not far from Seoul.

Two identical buildings, mirror images on either side of a central pool.

Take Scene would stay on the left, and Three Months Hundred Days on the right.

“Please don’t unpack. Leave your bags in the shared hallway and come back out.”

“Okay!”

All ten contestants started dropping their luggage off as instructed.

We were all strangers, but I guess we still had some subconscious grouping going on.

As soon as I placed my bags down, the rest of the Three Months Hundred Days team started placing theirs near mine.

Seems like I brought the most stuff, and On Saemiro the least.

Actually, he barely brought anything—just a tiny shopping bag.

I peeked out of curiosity. Turns out, despite his appearance, he’s a real man’s man.

Even if we were told not to bring clothes because of sponsorships, showing up with only lotion and sunscreen?

Looking to the other side, I noticed Fade glaring at me.

I smirked and mouthed, “Wanna apologize again?”

He started trembling—guess he understood.

Pretty good at lip-reading, huh?

But if he starts a scene here, the producers will see it in a really bad light.

Fiery youth get one free pass. Just one.

Right then, someone called out—

“Oh! Mentor!”

Blue stood in front of the villa with a warm smile.

No other judges in sight—must be here for the intro, not evaluation.

“Okay, everyone gather up. I’ve got some announcements.”

The main writer, standing next to Blue, said the show had been bumped up by two weeks.

“We were given two extra weeks of airtime, but the schedule was pulled forward. Got it?”

“So the show’s airing for 10 weeks total?”

“That’s right. We were going to tell you earlier, but…”

She glanced at me and Fade, hesitating slightly.

A subtle dig—take this seriously.

“Anyway, the first episode airs in just 16 days. Nervous?”

“So we might have to go live?”

Jaesung’s face turned pale as he asked.

The writer laughed like it was absurd.

She explained that episodes 1 and 2 were already mostly edited, and what we filmed now would be for episode 3, or maybe the end of episode 2.

“There’s a four-week gap between filming and airing. No chance of going live.”

After the explanation, the writer stepped back, and Blue clapped to sync the edit.

Clap!

The real filming began with a “catch-up talk.”

Nothing complicated.

They congratulated us B-team members and asked how we felt about the team name Three Months Hundred Days.

They asked Take Scene about their determination and mindset.

Since they were from Ryan Entertainment, they seemed to know each other well and acted relaxed.