Little Pink Starfish

So, the idea was to take the most iconic part of a super famous pop song and build a track around it that fit Sedal 101.

But which pop song should they use?

‘Wait… is this even really self-production?’

Lee E-On, who had experience with monthly evaluations, thought of self-production as more of a reinterpretation—like keeping the original beat but changing the verse or the chorus.

Especially with pop songs, this kind of reworking was common.

Of course, this was a survival show, so they had to do better than that—but Han Si-On’s approach seemed like something else entirely.

Then a thought occurred to him.

“Si-On. This isn’t related to the planning meeting—just something I’m curious about.”

“Oh, sure. Go ahead.”

“What if I said we should take Baby and only rewrite the verses in Korean but keep the chorus in English?”

“As the mission song?”

“Yeah.”

“That wouldn’t count as production. That’s just a cover.”

“Even if the verses were reinterpreted creatively?”

“Unless you completely changed the verse rhythm… but then the chorus would throw the balance off.”

“No, forget the musical reasoning. How would you feel about it?”

“I’d probably think we should just sing the original as is…”

Oh no.

Lee E-On suddenly realized the source of the disconnect he’d been feeling since the meeting began.

Han Si-On had insanely high musical standards.

The word “producing” meant something totally different to the Sedal 101 members compared to what it meant to Han Si-On.

The realization hit the other members too, as their expressions shifted.

Only Han Si-On seemed oblivious to why E-On was even asking.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Uh, okay. Let’s just pick a song.”

In everyone’s head—except Han Si-On’s—the same thoughts raced through.

‘It has to be super famous.’

‘Even if Si-On rearranges it, the original should still be recognizable.’

‘Something the general public already loves.’

Of course, this was a bit of a misunderstanding.

Han Si-On wasn’t someone who stubbornly forced his own musical preferences.

On the contrary, he was always studying what the public liked.

But the members didn’t know that yet, and after putting their heads together, they picked a song that had taken over the world in 2015.

As of March 2017, it was still commonly heard on the streets.

Uptown Funk.

“Isn’t this song too famous? It’s not just major pop—it’s a mega hit. Listeners might be tired of it…”

“Si-On.”

“Yes?”

“Just do it. Majority vote.”

“…Okay.”

Han Si-On felt like he just got scolded by Lee E-On with a look.

‘Well, whatever. If the song’s that famous, I can rearrange it into something even more unique.’

---

When I said I wanted to control the entire process—from sampling to arrangement—the production team looked a little startled.

I learned this while competing on Stage Number Zero and various American survival programs: contestants actually don’t have that much musical freedom.

You have to pick from a pre-approved list of songs (usually because of copyright), and even for arrangements, contestants rarely handle the entire thing themselves.

Instead, professional producers are on standby to turn your ideas into reality through meetings.

No matter how much of a genius a contestant may seem, there’s no way a show with millions of dollars per episode will gamble everything on them.

Of course, on screen, it looks like the contestants did everything.

Coming Up Next was no different.

But I had a trump card.

“Oh, really? You think you can handle that?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need a beatmaker or sound engineer. You know how to mix and master too?”

“I can do the basics… I’ll let you hear the result after.”

“By the way, why didn’t you come out for soju the other night?”

My trump card was Lee Hyun-Seok, the head of LB Studio, which handles music and production for Coming Up Next.

The producers made it clear that if the quality wasn’t there, a pro would step in—but that won’t be necessary.

I might not know music theory, but when it comes to the science of sound, there’s no one better than me.

I’ve been doing this longer than anyone else in this industry.

So I started rearranging Uptown Funk…

“Si-On, are you struggling with anything? Is there something we could help with?”

“If there’s something you’re unsure about, feel free to let us know.”

“Hyung, do you ever think we should work on the melody together?”

The members were acting strange.

Instead of just practicing, they kept hovering and fussing over me.

I’ll handle it just fine, obviously.

Two days passed, and I had a draft of the track.

There were still some things to fine-tune, but direction-wise, this was the final version.

People liked it.

“Holy crap. This slaps.”

“Can’t we release this as an actual track? Why not? Why not? Why not??”

“We have the rights for broadcast, but not for commercial release…”

“Saemiro, no facts—just feel it with us.”

“…Okay.”

I was satisfied too.

But we weren’t audio-only artists—we were idols who had to own the stage.

This was only halfway there.

Now it was time to build the stage.

---

“What should our concept be?”

At Choi Jaesung’s question, Han Si-On tilted his head.

They’d already settled on a retro-disco vibe when they picked Uptown Funk.

So why bring up concepts again?

“Don’t we already have a concept?”

“Huh? Not the stage concept—I mean Sedal 101’s group concept.”

“You mean outfits?”

“No, like our identity. It doesn’t have to be some grand lore, but something fun to dig into.”

“…?”

Still didn’t get it.

They needed another identity beyond the stage concept?

Han Si-On tried thinking back to For the Youth days but couldn’t recall anything specific…

“It’s a parallel universe.”

“…A parallel universe?”

“One world is normal Earth. The other is a post-apocalyptic Earth. For the Youth are the only ones who can travel between them.”

“…”

“You guys absorb love from the normal world and send that energy to the ruined Earth to revive it.”

“…Why though?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“If the planet got destroyed, there must’ve been a reason…”

Han Si-On flinched.

He remembered now.

That ridiculous lore the company CEO had brought in, which made the A&R team flood them with easy-listening tracks in protest.

They intentionally buried the concept under songs that didn’t suit it, and eventually filtered out songs that matched the name For the Youth.

That’s how they became known as “youth idols.”

Their songs made people nostalgic for their younger days.

He’d completely forgotten, but now he remembered that For the Youth had basically tanked NOP’s positioning.

At one point, they even blackmailed an entertainment CEO to stop him from interfering with the group.

Still, Han Si-On didn’t really get the point of having a group concept.

Fine—he could accept worldbuilding in things like MVs, albums, or even to give coherence to scattered singles.

But when the stage already had a strong retro theme—what else did they need?

He tried expressing that to the team…

…and got scolded.

“If music was everything, people would just listen to the song. There’d be no reason to watch a stage.”

“Concepts help fans get more immersed in us.”

“Yeah, Si-On. Fans love this stuff.”

“Wait, are you embarrassed or something?”

At Onsaemiro’s last comment, Han Si-On jolted and quickly shook his head.

When someone said, “fans love it,” that was a trap phrase for Han Si-On.

He’d do anything if it meant selling even one more album.

“Anyway, how about a school dance club concept?”

“If it’s a club, basketball team might be cooler.”

“Ooh, basketball team is fun. But what if we go even bolder—like werewolves?”

“Fantasy theme? Then vampires are a must.”

As the ideas spiraled, Han Si-On mentally sank deeper.

Why were werewolves or vampires even coming up in a stage meeting?

At this rate, someone was gonna say “superpowers” too—

“Superpowers could be cool too. Everyone has a different ability.”

“…”

The discussion finally ended when Onsaemiro suggested an idea everyone agreed on.

Thank god.

It was something Han Si-On could actually live with.

As he gave Onsaemiro a grateful glance, he noticed something strange.

Onsaemiro had a weird expression.

That’s when Han Si-On realized—

His ears were red.

‘He asked if I was embarrassed, but he’s blushing too!’

Still, Si-On learned something valuable from him.

If you can’t avoid it, enjoy it—and if you have to do it anyway, you might as well contribute and make it something you can stand behind.

‘I’ll just do my best with the stage and see how people react.’

But his suffering didn’t end there.

“…Hyung. Be honest.”

“What.”

“You haven’t watched a lot of idol performances, have you?”

“I keep up with their music, though.”

“I meant performances—not songs.”

What Jaesung said was true.

Since deciding to try idol life, he made it a point to study every hit track from the 2010s.

But he didn’t have time to go through all the live stages.

He’d only looked up performances by 1st-tier groups like Dropout or NOP out of curiosity.

And it showed.

“What even is this choreography?”

At that, Han Si-On looked flustered.

He’d never seriously pursued dance before.

But that didn’t mean he’d neglected it either.

He’d trained diligently, and in terms of execution, he was probably the best dancer in Sedal 101.

But he had little experience in creating choreography.

He’d always learned what professional choreographers gave him.

“It’s bad?”

“No, it’s really good. Your moves are great. You’re a fantastic dancer.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s too centered on you. If you take the spotlight, the rest of us turn into backup dancers.”

“…”

Well… yeah. That’s how he’d always done it.

From there, the members gave him all kinds of feedback.

His facial expressions weren’t bright enough.

He wasn’t committed to the concept.

Don’t try to wear cute props by yourself.

But none of it touched the music.

Han Si-On’s self-produced track remained untouched by anyone.

Even the production team was buzzing.

“Did you see Sedal 101’s performance? Si-On did the whole thing himself.”

“That kid’s a real genius.”

Another week passed.

Three days left until the next round.

Everyone was drenched in sweat from nonstop practice—

COMING UP! NEXT!

The first episode of Coming Up Next finally aired.