Little Pink Starfish

As the stage ended, I could feel a flood of emotions rippling through the room in real time.

The SeDalBaekIl members seemed reassured.

PD Kang Seok-woo looked like he was thinking, “I knew it.”

And for some reason, it felt like there was some commotion among the writers too.

But the ones who reacted the most were, of course, TakeScene.

I had utterly crushed Fade with a devastating score, but I figured TakeScene probably didn’t rate me that highly until now.

That’s just the kind of song With’s “At the End of Dawn” is.

Wasn’t there a fan review from someone in the audience that said:

“Skill: sang an easy old song so it didn’t really showcase vocal strength, but sounded nice. Hard to score though. 8–8.5?”

Pretty sure that was written by a DropOut fan I signed an autograph for. That’s likely a very typical response from the general public.

And when it comes to TakeScene, their “listening ability” probably isn’t all that different from that public.

Training your “listening” skills is way harder than your “singing” ones. Some never develop it at all.

Anyway, I digress. What I meant was—it felt like TakeScene finally realized what I was capable of.

Sure enough, Fade looked rattled.

“Thank you,” I said.

After me, Goo Taehwan took the stage for the final performance. It was… amusing.

“Sing the intro,” I’d told him.

“The intro?”

“The intro needs to hook them immediately. Your rhythm’s good enough for it.”

Apparently, he took it to heart. He tried to sing every part like it was the intro.

Naturally, it didn’t quite work out.

He messed up halfway through, but honestly, I was glad.

That kind of bold attempt is exactly the right mindset if you want to go big.

Once all the TakeScene and SeDalBaekIl stages were done, the next mission was announced.

A position battle—matching members of the same position against each other.

Main Vocal – On Saemiro vs. Jooyeon
Lead Vocal – SeeU vs. Lee Ion
Lead Vocal – Fade vs. Goo Taehwan
Main Dancer – Choi Jaesung vs. iLevel
Sub Vocal – Han Si-on vs. Ready

Wait, isn’t Ready TakeScene’s main rapper? Why is he being counted as a sub-vocal here?

Ah—maybe I’ll sing, and he’ll rap?

Blue’s explanation confirmed that.

Genre doesn’t matter—we can perform whatever we want.

If I were Ready, I’d just go out with a rap and die with honor.

As the explanation wrapped up, CEO Choi Dae-ho took the mic.

“I have something to say to all of you. You need to start seeing yourselves as professionals.”

That came out of nowhere.

“To be honest, tonight’s performances were all below expectations. Even considering it was unannounced.”

He ramped up the tension as he continued.

“The first broadcast is two weeks away. Starting tonight, promotional ads will begin airing. Not just on MShow, but on subways, buses, taxis—everywhere.”

“…”

“And from now on, all performances will be judged not just by us, but by public audiences as well. We’re recruiting live audience members who’ll evaluate you directly.”

Now that is good news.

I’ve always preferred performing in front of real people, not industry insiders.

Insiders judge you through the lens of politics.

The public is honest.

And that honesty still excites me.

“We look forward to your improvement.”

With that, CEO Choi finished his speech, and we were given a short break.

Out of nowhere, On Saemiro came up to me and said something weird.

“Are you really okay with me being the main vocal?”

“Sure. You’re a good singer.”

“But you’re better.”

We’d had a similar exchange during the B-Team selection, I think. Maybe when I said I’d take the rap part.

Humans are complicated, but sometimes very simple.

If someone brings up the same topic again in a different situation, it often means they’re revealing their true feelings.

So what was On Saemiro trying to say?

Was he jealous of me?

Trying to keep me in check?

Maybe he even resents me?

These feelings—I’ve been on the receiving end of them from teammates more times than I can count.

No matter how kindly I treat people, some will always end up resenting me.

Jealousy often manifests as subtle sabotage. And when that fails, it turns to hatred.

Yeah, On Saemiro’s probably no different.

Even people who were carefully vetted over dozens of episodes still fell into that pattern—so it’s silly to expect nobility from a guy I met by chance on a reality show.

Let’s see where he’s going with this.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re better than me. So why didn’t you go after the main vocal spot?”

“And if I had?”

“We would’ve had to compete. Just us two.”

“And how do you think that would’ve ended?”

“I’d have lost. To you.”

“Then isn’t it better this way? You got to keep the main vocal role.”

“Yeah, but I lost without even getting to compete.”

Now I’m confused.

So On Saemiro wanted to compete with me?

And he’s disappointed that he didn’t get the chance?

I felt a flicker of hope.

Maybe he does have a high-level competitive drive. Maybe he genuinely wants to improve.

But…

No, that can’t be it.

Okay—maybe he feels that way right now.

Maybe Lee Ion does too. Or Goo Taehwan, or Choi Jaesung.

But that’s only because they haven’t seen what I’m truly capable of.

Everything I’ve shown on Coming Up Next so far has been carefully chosen. Mild.

“Under the Streetlamp”?

That was just timing. It happened to come to mind when I was thinking of a good short song for the 1-minute round.

Flowers Bloom? Boy Scout?

Same thing. They’re just songs that work well on idol shows.

So On Saemiro has no idea what I can really do.

He thinks I’m just one step above him. He’s wrong.

I’ve seen this type too many times.

“Hey Si-on, haven’t you done enough? Stop being so intense.”

“Come on, you know how much we’re getting paid. Let’s just chill.”

“Life is f***in’ good.”

“Don’t be so uptight. Just enjoy it a little.”

I don’t place my hopes in people anymore.

I place them in talent.

In the ones who, even with $10 million in the bank, still can’t stop themselves from creating something new.

The ones whose cells are bursting with talent—who have to share it, or else they feel like dying.

Those are my teammates.

On Saemiro is not one of them.

“…”

I had to bite back something sharp.

This isn’t his fault.

He’s twenty. What does he know?

There’s nothing wrong with wanting a reasonable amount of success and happiness.

What’s wrong is my own mess of a situation—my twisted emotions.

So I ended the conversation in the nicest way I could.

“We’ve only got three months. Let’s just do our best. If we do well, there’ll be a spot for each of us out there somewhere.”

“…Yeah.”

On Saemiro gave a quiet nod, looking at me thoughtfully.

After he left, I was left alone with my thoughts.

Maybe… I’ve been a little too passive until now.

Back in the U.S., things are always hectic.

You’ve got to prepare demos, hire a star agent, recruit producers, hit the press, build online presence…

But since I came to Korea to join this damn idol show, I’ve been using “I don’t know the industry” as an excuse to just go with the flow.

Especially on Coming Up Next.

Sure, I still don’t know everything about the idol world.

Sometimes I recall things from the For The Youth days, but I don’t know the fastest path to the top.

Still—if there’s one thing I do know for sure…

It’s that I’m really good.

I’ve already decided what I’ll sing for the position battle.

I’ve spoken with PD Kang Seok-woo—we’re doing a fully rearranged version of “Under the Streetlamp.”

So now it’s time to show them.

Time to flip the whole board.

I’m going to make sure Ryan Entertainment and MShow debut me, not TakeScene.

Even if it’s business-wise “impossible,” I’ll make it possible.

---

A week passed.

Since moving into the Coming Up Next dorms, Goo Taehwan had gotten close to Choi Jaesung, and they’d been talking a lot.

Goo Taehwan has sharp instincts, and Choi Jaesung is great at reading the room.

When Jaesung did something to maintain harmony, Taehwan would immediately compliment it.

“Everyone’s getting along because of what you did.”

“You were thinking of the group when you did that, right?”

Even if Jaesung was just acting on instinct, Taehwan’s praise made it feel intentional—almost noble.

They hit it off easily.

Lately, their two most common topics were:

1. Training.

“Ugh… I think I’m gonna puke, hyung.”

“Do all big agencies train like this?”

“Guess that’s why their idols are so good.”

Since entering the dorm, training had been relentless.

Wake up. Learn pilates. Individual dance. Vocal training. Group choreography. Endurance training. Meditation. More vocals…

“Anything but foreign languages, please.”

Yeah, they were even learning foreign languages.

SeDalBaekIl didn’t really need that, but Ryan Entertainment made sure to give them the exact same training as TakeScene.

Any difference could lead to accusations of favoritism.

Also, it was great PR: “Look at how systematic and advanced our idol training is.”

CEO Choi often dropped by to give personal guidance to each member.

For Taehwan, it was:

“You’ve got lead vocal potential—focus on expanding your vocal range and emotional expression.”

That was a different direction from what Han Si-on had advised.

Si-on had told him to explore comfort and narrow emotional immersion—to maximize rhythm.

So far, CEO Choi’s approach seemed to be paying off.

Taehwan, who bombed his self-intro stage, was starting to improve.

But something felt off.

His skills were growing, but his voice was losing its edge.

He was smoothing out his uniqueness to cover up flaws.

Hard to explain, but…

Maybe he should go back to Si-on.

Except—

“Isn’t Si-on hyung kinda scary lately?”

Yeah.

The second-most common thing they talked about?

Han Si-on.