Little Pink Starfish

Honestly, to me, it’s just common sense.

My goal isn’t for people to say, “Who was that guy on Coming Up Next again?”
I want them to say, “What was that show with Han Sion in it?”

For that to happen, the buzz I create has to be bigger than the show itself.

That’s why I touched WayFromFlower.

Of course, if this were a round where I was seriously going for 200 million album sales, I wouldn’t have taken that route.

The drawbacks are way too obvious.

“So you stirred up the seniors on purpose?”

“Not exactly stirred them up.”

“Sion, you should say ‘seniors.’ Be respectful.”

He’s acting like a handsome kindergarten teacher now.

“I didn’t stir anyone up. I just prioritized listening to the biggest groups’ most failed songs.”

There were a lot of options.

Some of NOP’s promotional tracks and Drop Out’s songs tanked hard too.

In fact, Drop Out was already a failed group, so if I touched their debut single or the title track from their first album, it would’ve caused a stir.

Even so, I picked Flowers Bloom simply because the song was fun.

Oh, and another big reason was Blue’s requirement for a performance with no rearrangement.

There’s no way to salvage Drop Out’s debut single no matter what you do.

Like, who even made that garbage?

While the others just blinked at my explanation, Goo Taehwan quietly stood up, checked outside the door, and sat back down.

“Thankfully, no one’s listening.”

“This stays between us.”

“Let’s keep it that way. If anyone hears about this, Sion’ll be buried alive—especially the Drop Out part.”

“Hyung, do people often tell you you’re annoying?”

I frowned at Jaesung’s comment.

That’s not because I’m actually annoying—it’s just the side effect of being a regressor.

He doesn’t know anything.

“It’s kinda fascinating. That you think about stuff like this, Sion. Wait, what about Uptown Funk? Why did we pick that one?”

“You four chose that one without me.”

“Oh right, we voted on it.”

“But why did that happen? You guys pushed for Uptown Funk like it was pre-planned.”

“Oh, that? It just felt like you were trying to do some wild, over-the-top producing, so we picked the most famous song we could.”

“Wild producing?”

“Yeah, you know. Something super experimental and avant-garde.”

That’s the reason?

What do they think I am?

I’m more serious about the public’s taste than anyone here.

I’ve never once thought about showing off my artistry.

Then Jaesung raised his hand and pointed at Taehwan.

“I have a question too!”

“Jaesung, don’t point at your hyungs.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Ieon really is playing kindergarten teacher today.

Jaesung’s question was actually pretty interesting.

“Why did Taehwan hyung become a ‘I will try harder’ bot?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t usually say that kind of stuff. But during the B Team selection, you were spamming it nonstop.”

Jaesung took out his phone and showed us some online comments.

– What is this, an NPC quest? lol
– He swore to try harder five times lol
– The NPC admires your passion!
– Hidden reward: song choice!

Apparently, once I started really helping Taehwan with his song, people were joking that it was like a delinquent and the school disciplinary committee.

Disciplinary committee? Me?

“Ieon hyung suits that role better.”

“Sion’s right. Ieon hyung is super strict about manners.”

“‘Manners’ is correct, but ‘etiquette’ is the more accurate word.”

“Exactly like that.”

Ieon shrugged.

“I’ve known this since I was a kid. Even if I did the same rebellious thing as my friends, I always got judged more harshly.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because it looks like I’m just playing into my looks.”

“…….”

Most people don’t say things like that about themselves, do they?

Then again, we’ve had conversations like this before.

“Hyung, have you ever met someone more handsome than you in your life?”

“Of course.”

“When? Where?”

“At a movie premiere.”

“……An actor?”

“Yeah.”

Guess when you’re as good-looking as Ieon, that kind of convo becomes normal.

Even after countless regressions, I’ve never had plastic surgery so I wouldn’t know…

Actually, no. I did try it once.

I wondered if being better-looking would help sell more albums.

But after the surgery, the way my voice felt was so off I just regressed immediately.

“Anyway, Taehwan hyung, what was up with that?”

“At first, I just said it without thinking. Sion gave some good advice, but I needed time to process it. I didn’t have anything else to say.”

“What about after that?”

“Sion seemed to really like it.”

What?

“Me?”

“Yeah. Your expression would change every time I said ‘I’ll try harder.’”

“That makes no sense.”

He’s got the order all wrong.

I only started reacting because he kept repeating it—no way it started with me.

Why would I even like something like that?

“You didn’t like it?”

“Of course not.”

“I only did it because you seemed to like it.”

“I said I didn’t.”

“Then why would I do it?”

“Well, at first…”

I was about to dig through my memory and argue, but it felt pathetic, so I stopped.

Like arguing in a bar bathroom about who bumped into who first.

“Feels like you guys are arguing over who confessed first in a relationship.”

I really don’t like Jaesung’s analogy.

“Then why’d you ask about the name Ryan?”

“I was pressured to ask something even though I had nothing to ask.”

“Wasn’t that CEO Choi Daeho?”

“Yeah. Probably remembered it from my audition tape.”

“Wow, shameless.”

“The real shameless one is Ieon hyung.”

“Oh yeah, totally.”

“What? Why me?”

From there, the members started asking each other things they’d been curious about.

I didn’t really have any questions, but apparently they had plenty for each other.

That’s when Onsaemiro asked something a little different.

“What do you think of my singing?”

“Oh, me too! Tell me too! After you said I was the worst in Seoul Town Funk, I cried a bit in the bathroom.”

“Sion actually said that?”

Ieon, channeling his kindergarten teacher again, looked at me with a scolding glare.

“He asked first.”

“That’s true, but your words were way too harsh!”

“Me?”

“It really hurt. Hyung, do you know what ‘masang’ means?”

“Horse… ride?”

“Masang means ‘emotional wound!’”

Everyone stared at me.

Like, “What did you even say?”

But what did I say again?

‘Hyung, after watching the footage, don’t you think I was the weakest in Seoul Town Funk?’

‘Yeah, you were the weakest. Mellow voices with soft textures don’t suit soul or funk genres. You should learn to lower your tone.’

‘…How do I lower it?’

‘Try approaching high notes with the same mindset as low notes. Most singers think differently for highs and lows—highs are “belted” and lows are “sung.”’

‘Not following? For example, remember the high note in your verse “Please overtake me”?’

‘You were going “ah– ah–” like that. You should aim for more of an “mm– mm–” tone instead.’

‘Why so quiet? Can’t do it?’

‘Well, yeah. Might be tough at your current level. Let me give you an easier example.’

That’s all?

That was too kind, honestly.

But everyone else disagreed.

“Whoa, that was harsh.”

“So that’s why Jaesung’s been getting up early to practice.”

“You didn’t have to go that hard…”

Seriously? I feel wronged.

This is just my feedback style.

Some singers only hear the compliments if you do the “praise then critique” sandwich.

And I did think Jaesung did well in Seoul Town Funk.

If his base skill was 80, he pulled off 80+.

That’s rare—he’s someone who instinctively knows how to draw out 100% of what he has.

It’s just that by absolute standards, he was the weakest.

“Then you should’ve said that first!”

“Then you’d get cocky.”

“No, I wouldn’t! And so what if a trainee gets a little cocky? Swinging between ‘my singing sucks’ and ‘my singing rocks’ is part of the process!”

“It didn’t suck, and it didn’t rock either.”

“Wow! Amazing!”

That last line was a joke.

Seriously, it was.

I’m not that socially unaware.

“So what about me? How am I doing right now?”

Starting with Taehwan, I gave brief evaluations of each member’s current skill level.

I’d already said most of it to Taehwan and Ieon before, so I kept it short.

The key was Onsaemiro.

“Onsaemiro, you’re good.”

In Three-Month Hundred Days, she’s overshadowed by me, and in TakeScene, she’s overshadowed by Juyeon—but skill-wise, there’s not much to nitpick.

The problem is…

“You might want to stop trying to prove yourself.”

“Prove?”

“The need to prove your skill is showing up more than your immersion in the song.”

It wasn’t like that during the early missions, but it changed over time.

Probably because of me…

She’s got a strong sense of self, so when she sees someone better, she instinctively marks her territory.

“Trainer Yoon Sunhwa has helped you a lot with technique. Now you need to manage your mindset.”

“I was fully immersed during Seoul Town Funk…”

“You were. You were the best there.”

She did really well in that performance.

We sang the same chorus almost like a face-off. She struggled in practice but nailed it on stage.

“Cliché as it sounds, just relax.”

“Oh wow, Sion hyung’s growing social skills.”

“Is this the power of social training?”

I chuckled at Jaesung and Ieon’s exchange.

Unexpected, but those two have solid comedy chemistry.

Still, jokes aside—I’m not planning to be on the same team as Onsaemiro again.

Not just for Three-Month Hundred Days, but in any future K-pop life.

I want someone who can score 90+ consistently, regardless of condition or mood.

Not someone who fluctuates between 100 and 50.

But if my advice helps Onsaemiro become a better vocalist, that’s great.

Because…

……

Without realizing, my thoughts wandered somewhere I didn’t want them to go.

I tried to stop, but thoughts don’t stop just because you tell them to.

If anything, they run faster.

At times like this, it’s better to follow the thought to the end.

Only then can I end it quickly.

……

During my second encounter with the devil, I had a chance to ask questions and get answers.

I asked a lot.

Why was I chosen?
Why do I have to sell albums?
Why this contract?

Once I got enough answers, one more question came to mind.

No—truthfully, it was a question I’d always had.

But one I had silently decided not to ask.

Still, I asked.

I shouldn’t have.

“What happens to the world I leave behind when I regress?”

I expected the answer to be: it disappears. Or it resets to before I existed.

If not, then how many people have I left behind in grief and loss?

How many lives have I ruined?

How many missed their rightful glory because of the butterfly effect I created?

That’s too cruel.

I’ve always lived by stealing others’ glory to achieve my goals.

But the devil’s answer was cold.

Almost confused.

[When you cross an intersection, does the intersection disappear?]