Little Pink Starfish

Today’s filming was done in Sangam, and the dorm for Coming Up Next is in Pocheon.

Pocheon isn’t that far from Seoul, but it’s not close either.

So the production team gave the contestants a break, under the condition that they return by noon tomorrow.

Honestly, this show seemed more humane than expected.

Giving us a break after just a week of practice?

Thanks to that…

“I’ve got nothing to do.”

I really had nothing to do.

Uncle Hyunsu would still be in the hospital, and I didn’t want to visit my parents’ hospital.

They’d been declared in a vegetative state, but we hadn’t found a proper care facility yet, so they were still there.

I didn’t really have any friends in Korea.

…Actually, at this point, I didn’t have any in America either.

In short, the only ones looking for me were two shady old guys.

Buzz—

[You’re free today, right? Wanna grab some pork belly and soju under the studio?]
[Gi-jeong hyung’s joining too.]
[Aren’t you curious about today’s stage evaluations?]

From CEO Lee Hyunseok and Jo Gijeong.

Seriously though, how did they know the contestants had free time?

Maybe I should just go home and rest.

I was thinking that when Koo Taehwan suddenly made an unexpected offer:

He asked if I wanted to hang out.

Out of the Three Moon Hundred Days members, I had talked most with Taehwan.

But we weren’t exactly close.

Why would he want to spend his precious free day with me?

Especially after his stage today, he should be practicing, not hanging out.

I was about to refuse when he added something that caught my curiosity.

“I’m going to my parents’ mushroom farm. Wanna come with?”

“Is that in Seoul?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to stay long — we can just grab a meal and go.”

Wait, was Taehwan rich or something?

A mushroom farm in Seoul?

After a moment’s hesitation, I nodded.

I had to eat anyway, and I was curious.

When we grabbed a taxi, somehow Choi Jaeseong tagged along too.

At first, he said taxis were impossible to get, and asked to be dropped at a subway station — but when he heard about the “mushroom farm,” he got curious too.

Honestly, if someone said there was a mushroom farm in downtown Seoul, who wouldn’t want to see it?

And when we arrived…

It was a restaurant.

A huge, three-story mushroom specialty restaurant in the middle of bustling Jongno.

What kind of mushrooms were they selling that needed a three-story building?

From Taehwan’s embarrassed expression, it seemed he knew we’d misunderstand — and let it happen on purpose.

Honestly, he’s hard to read.

He seems quick-witted, but he barely talks.

“Uh, shall we go in?”

Taehwan said awkwardly, and we nodded.

The restaurant was packed, but we didn’t see his parents around.

Taehwan only exchanged a few familiar words with the kitchen aunties.

As we quietly ate the food, the real reason for today’s gathering finally came out of Taehwan’s mouth:

“My stage today was bad, right?”

Guess that was what he really wanted to ask.

But before I could even answer, Choi Jaeseong jumped in.

“Come on, hyung! You won today.”

“I mean, yeah, I won.”

“Because you did well!”

Technically, like Jaeseong said, Taehwan did win against Fade.

To be precise, Jaeseong and On Saemiro lost, and the other three won.

But Taehwan won not because he was good — Fade self-destructed.

The Fade I remembered should’ve easily beaten Taehwan.

Or… maybe not?

The Fade I remembered was from two years later, after For the Youth formed. Maybe he wasn’t that good yet?

Anyway, Taehwan was definitely unimpressive today.

“Yeah. You were pretty bad.”

Jaeseong flinched like I’d just dropped a bomb.

Was it really that shocking to hear?

The person in question, Taehwan, took it calmly.

“I really tried my best… why was it still bad?”

“Because the directing was bad from the start.”

“Huh?”

“The direction CEO Choi Daeho gave you was trash.”

Jaeseong flinched again.

Man, why’s the youngest one here so lacking in guts?

Back in my day, we were full-blown indie snobs — we made casting directors guess jazz songs from the 50s if they wanted to scout us.

(For the record, no one ever guessed correctly. I deliberately played obscure stuff.)

Compared to Jaeseong’s fussing, Taehwan stayed calm.

“Still, what he said wasn’t wrong…”

“Of course the advice itself was right. He has a very precise filter.”

“Filter?”

“Yeah. Imagine a sieve. If a gemstone’s too small, it slips through and gets discarded. Only the ones big enough to get caught survive.”

Choi Daeho was trying to bulk up Taehwan’s “size” as a singer: widen his vocal range, work on expression, improve live skills.

Not wrong advice.

After a few years of practice, Taehwan could definitely grow and show off his strengths.

But to me, that kind of producing felt irresponsible — raising everyone the same way and betting on the rare natural gem.

Especially for someone like Taehwan, who already had a clear “weapon,” it wasn’t ideal.

Still, I hadn’t said anything before because — well, I’m not responsible for his life.

Directing him to specialize in opening verses meant he might turn into a weird-shaped gem unsuitable for any group after Three Moon Hundred Days ended.

Of course, over time, he might grow while maintaining his strengths, which would be better than Choi Daeho’s method.

But again — not my problem.

When I explained this, Taehwan tilted his head.

“Aren’t you thinking too far ahead?”

“What do you mean?”

“Right now, my task is to do well in Three Moon Hundred Days. Shouldn’t I focus on that first?”

“…True.”

I had a habit of thinking too far into the future.

But now I was curious.

Was Taehwan really being sincere?

“You trust the words of a fellow contestant that much?”

“You’re good. Really good.”

“No jealousy?”

This time, Jaeseong jumped in again.

“Whoa, hyung… you’re seriously a genius.”

“You mean I’m annoying, right?”

“Uh… just a little?”

“I was asking Taehwan, not you. What about you?”

Normally, I wouldn’t ask something like this.

But I’d promised myself after my conversation with On Saemiro — this life, I’d fully use it up.

I wanted to be thorough, even in a throwaway round.

So I was curious about Taehwan.

He had a kind of talent I didn’t have.

“Of course I’m envious.”

“…”

“I want to be like you, but I probably can’t. Isn’t that jealousy?”

His answer was weird.

Taehwan wasn’t stupid — in fact, he was pretty sharp.

Thinking back, even when he awkwardly shadowed me like a “will work hard” bot, he seemed a little embarrassed.

He probably found his own behavior ridiculous.

(And yeah, back then I thought he was a weirdo too.)

Still, why was he speaking so strangely now?

The one who explained it was Jaeseong.

“I don’t think hyung really understands what jealousy is.”

“Of course I do. It’s wanting to catch up, surpass, get better than someone…”

“No, real jealousy isn’t about lifting yourself up. It’s about wanting the other person to come down. It takes time to feel it properly, though.”

“…”

This time, I was surprised.

That was spot on.

It’s something you only realize after experiencing it yourself.

From Jaeseong’s suddenly bitter expression, it looked like he had experienced it.

“If that’s what jealousy is… then maybe I’ve never felt it.”

At Taehwan’s words, I smiled faintly.

I didn’t entirely believe him — but I wouldn’t dismiss it either.

I knew someone like that once, in GOTM.

“I’ve NEVER been jealous of anyone, EVER!”

Guitarist Dave Logan.

“If that’s the case, then I can help you without worrying.”

“But what about CEO Choi Daeho’s directions?”

“Ignore them. Once you’re a company director, it’s all about results anyway. If you get good results, no one cares.”

“Since we’re talking about direction… hyung, have you thought about the self-producing mission?”

Finally, their real motive became clear.

Taehwan lured me with the mushroom farm.

Jaeseong joined because he wanted to talk about producing.

“I have some ideas. But I’ll need to hear the members’ opinions too.”

“Aren’t we part of the members? Can we hear just a little?”

“What are you worried about?”

“Honestly… that you’d want to do something like your last stage again.”

“You mean ?”

“Yeah. We heard it so much during practice and rehearsal, we thought we were prepared. But the real stage blew us away. We’re scared you’ll try something like that again.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

This time, I was planning to put on a perfect idol performance.

Showing off skill once was enough.

This life’s goal was to become a K-pop idol.

Jaeseong’s face lit up.

“So, hyung, what did you think of my stage?”

“It was good. Just a bit unstable live.”

Jaeseong was the most balanced of Three Moon Hundred Days.

No glaring weaknesses, but no standout strengths either.

Problem was, that made it hard for him to be a star or carry a song by himself.

Not something he could understand through words.

He’d feel it eventually.

While we were talking, a middle-aged woman approached our table.

“Son!”

It was Taehwan’s mother.

We stood and greeted her, and then ate until we were stuffed, thanks to the endless dishes she kept bringing.

Later, to help digestion, we ended up doing a bit of busking on the streets.

(Not my idea — Jaeseong’s.)

I played guitar accompaniment without singing.

Surprisingly, a lot of people gathered.

To normal folks, Taehwan and Jaeseong were still plenty good singers.

That’s when a man approached us and handed over a business card.

“Could we talk for a moment?”

Turns out he was a casting director from Double M Entertainment — Drop Out’s agency.

Feeling nostalgic, I played a prank.

“Guess the song title first.”

I played a 1950s swing jazz piece.

*”Isn’t that Count Basie’s *Dear?”

…Seriously, who was this guy?

I was playing a piano piece on guitar, and he still nailed it instantly.

In the end, I had to tell the truth.

But the casting director just stuffed his card into our pockets.

*”You never know — maybe we’ll be in touch after *Coming Up Next* ends.”*

He wasn’t wrong.

With Double M’s influence, they could negotiate for some trainees even against Lion Entertainment.

After that, we performed a few more songs and wrapped up the busking.

“That was fun. Hyung, you know every song, huh? And you’re good at guitar too.”

“I can play most pop sheet music. K-pop too, if it’s not too obscure.”

“Wow, what a monster.”

“You mean an insect?”

“…See you tomorrow! My mom’s yelling at me to come home!”

And with that, we all scattered to our homes.

It wasn’t a great day — but it wasn’t a bad one either.

[We’re still drinking. Wanna join us later?]
[We’re moving from Hongdae to Sangsu. Here’s the address. We’re heading to…]

At least, it was more fun than being stuck between Lee Hyunseok and Jo Gijeong drinking.