Little Pink Starfish

On Saemiro first realized what it meant to be “different” when he was in elementary school.

Looking back when he got a little older, he realized that difference was class.

“We’re going to Busan this summer!”

“I’m going to Japan!”

“I already went there last winter!”

There were two kinds of people in the world.

Those who went on vacation with their families during school breaks, and those who didn’t.

Saemiro, confused by this, asked his parents if they could go on a trip. In response, he was met with a cold expression and harsh words.

That’s when he understood clearly.

It wasn’t that some people went on trips and others didn’t.

There were people who could go, and people who couldn’t.

And Saemiro’s family was firmly in the latter category.

Because they were miserably poor.

He doesn’t really want to think about what came after that.

Poverty wasn’t something a teenage boy could overcome, and even as he got older, nothing changed.

The only difference was that at some point, Saemiro had become someone pouring water into a bottomless jar called poverty.

He couldn’t even study—just jumped from one part-time job to another.

“I don’t have anything.”

That’s what Saemiro always thought.

He was poor, uneducated, and unloved by his family.

There was a time in school when he filled his self-esteem with his looks, but even that ended quickly.

If you work construction jobs long enough, you eventually learn.

Whether it’s someone who scraped their face in an accident, or someone who lost their youth to endless misfortune, or someone who lost all energy from despair—

Looks don’t last long.

So when other workers would say things like “I used to be as good-looking as you when I was young,” Saemiro would secretly scoff.

Your looks didn’t change your class at all, so what’s there to admire?

And yet, Saemiro discovered—late—that he did have talent.

Singing.

He had no idea before, but he had as much singing talent as he had misfortune.

That’s when he wanted to become a singer.

Not because he was desperate to sing, but because he wanted to escape—somehow.

Passing the audition to become a company trainee wasn’t too difficult.

His skin was a bit tanned, but he had a good face and excellent vocals.

But moderate poverty makes for a Cinderella story.

Extreme poverty takes that role away entirely.

He missed practices because of work.

Got kicked out of his company for doing manual labor under the sun.

They wrote “bad attitude” on the paperwork.

It felt so unfair.

If his attitude had really been bad, he wouldn’t have spent money on sunscreen.

He wouldn’t have secretly applied it while getting cursed out by his parents.

That was the only form of self-care he could manage.

After this happened multiple times, all he had left were a few songs he’d learned and some choreography he could still dance.

That’s when he learned about Coming Up Next and auditioned.

Surprisingly, he got in.

Of course, the writers were more interested in his misfortune than his talent—but he didn’t care.

This was a show made to debut Take Scene. The B Team contestants were just fuel for ratings—but he didn’t care.

He’d be paid.

But the broadcast fees were much lower than expected—nowhere near enough to live on.

Just when he thought it was all the same cycle again, PD Kang Seokwoo extended a hand.

“We’re considering you as a main contestant from B Team. We’ll give you an advance on your appearance fee if you agree to join.”

And so, On Saemiro joined Coming Up Next.

For the first time, he had hope for the future.

He thought his life might finally change.

But then—Han Sion showed up.

His first thought when he heard Han Sion sing was resentment.

What kind of life must he have lived to sing like that so easily?

Had he never struggled? Had he lived his whole life only for music?

“You said you weren’t a trainee. You’re not in any agency, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How long do you practice singing each day?”

“About eight hours, I think?”

At first, Saemiro thought that was plausible.

And he thought if he worked hard enough, he could catch up.

If talent appeared in proportion to suffering, there was no way he could be worse than Han Sion.

So after hearing Under the Streetlight, he sang Lee Hyunseok’s Toothbrush.

It had a similar tone.

But he lost. Completely.

Even more shocking than the loss was that Han Sion had no feelings toward him.

Not even a sense of competition.

“Why?”

“You’re a good singer.”

“You’re… better.”

“Says who? It’s not like we’ve sung the same song.”

If that weren’t the case, there’s no way Han Sion would’ve handed over the main vocal part so easily.

After that, Saemiro tried to compete with Sion—but it was never a real competition.

“What if I had wanted it more?”

“Then we would’ve competed. You and me.”

“And how would that have ended?”

“I’d have lost to you.”

“Then isn’t that a good thing? You kept the main vocal spot.”

“But I lost without ever really competing.”

Han Sion was in a place far too high. He didn’t even look down at Saemiro.

Even this once-in-a-lifetime chance—Coming Up Next—felt like nothing to him.

“Do you… not care if you get eliminated?”

“That’s not it. Why?”

“Because nothing’s certain in this world. But it feels like you don’t care.”

“I believe it’s 100%.”

“Well… I guess that’s good, then.”

Still, PD Kang Seokwoo made Han Sion the face of B Team—of SeDalBaekIl.

Despite what he originally promised.

That’s when Saemiro’s competitive spirit turned to jealousy.

And that emotion hurt him deeply.

Even the one talent he had left was just being used as a comparison to someone else.

That shouldn’t happen.

That only leads to self-destruction.

Luckily, when they were preparing Seoul Town Funk, he was able to shake off the jealousy for a moment.

The performance was just that good.

After the broadcast, the world started revolving around Han Sion. The hate comments increased.

Saemiro had grown up with his parents telling him, “We’re poor because of you.” But he never got used to it.

He never got used to friends saying, “Why do you always mooch?”

But Han Sion was different.

“I appreciate your concern, but this doesn’t bother me.”

“How can it not? People are insulting you.”

“Try looking at it as interesting. In a way, I’m manipulating them. These people wouldn’t be acting like this if it weren’t for me.”

Manipulated?

Like how his parents scream that they wouldn’t be poor if he didn’t exist?

Maybe he’s not wrong.

Maybe it really wouldn’t have been this way without him.

Jealousy began to stir again.

This time, heavier. Damp.

Saemiro sneered at Sion.

He must’ve never gone through real hardship.

If even a little bit of difficulty came his way, he’d collapse.

That’s what Saemiro believed.

But he was wrong.

“You little shit—don’t even know your own damn parents! After everything I did for your father—!”

Han Sion’s uncle-in-law showed up on set.

“A few months ago, I was in a car accident.”

That’s what Sion said.

Lee Ieon, Goo Taehwan, Choi Jaesung—each of them had something where they beat Sion.

But Saemiro didn’t.

Not even in how miserable his life had been.

Then what am I?

Do I even have a reason to exist?

“You shouldn’t sing to prove yourself.”

“That feeling—wanting to prove I’m good—keeps getting in the way of immersing myself in the song.”

“It’s cliché, but try to relax.”

How?

I can’t sleep from the pressure to perform.

What if PD Kang demands his money back for not becoming SeDalBaekIl’s main star?

I don’t want to go back to where I came from when Coming Up Next ends.

Then, during the photoshoot, he realized.

“Try smiling a little brighter! No—like, genuinely smile!”

“Ugh, no matter what I do, it feels awkward.”

This wasn’t where he belonged.

He’d just been dreaming for a moment.

“Hey, you don’t like Han Sion either, right?”

That’s why he rejected Fade’s offer to go after Sion together.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Even if it did, he didn’t want to stoop to that level.

But somehow, Fade knew.

That PD Kang had given him money.

That he was poor.

“You broke-ass loser—have some pride. Gonna keep being his lackey?”

Saemiro had trauma from being verbally abused by adult men.

So he couldn’t say anything.

Normally, that would’ve been the end.

If he just endured Fade’s insults, he’d eventually get bored and leave.

At least Fade wouldn’t get physical on camera. It’d be fine.

But then, Han Sion stepped in and saved him.

“Don’t touch our member.”

Why?

Why did he go off on Fade but leave his uncle-in-law alone?

Does this team mean something to him?

Or… does he see something useful in me?

“No. I’m not staying at Lion. I’m debuting no matter what—this year.”

But that wasn’t it.

So before he gave up everything, Saemiro wanted to ask one last question.

“Do you think I can ever beat you?”

---

Like someone drunk.

Like someone confessing their sins.

On Saemiro spilled everything out in a rambling stream, and I was taken aback.

I had always thought Saemiro might be mentally unstable.

Sometimes I felt like he was overly conscious of me.

But I never realized it was because of my words and actions.

I’ve seen countless singers fall into despair after seeing my talent.

It never made me happy.

It was always painful.

Because my talent is a cheat code I gained by surpassing countless lifetimes.

But I’ve never seen someone want to quit singing entirely because of that despair.

Especially not someone as talented as Saemiro.

For him, singing must’ve been his only source of self-worth.

His only way out of poverty.

But someone like that shouldn’t compare themselves to me.

I don’t even deserve to be compared.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to comfort him.

I’ve never truly been poor.

Sure, I’ve had no cash in hand.

In the early days of my regression, I was broke because I didn’t manage my parents’ wealth well.

When I first went to the U.S., I got scammed in entertainment and had my accounts frozen.

But did any of that feel real? Of course not.

I had regression.

One reset could wipe away everything—even the bad parts.

If I couldn’t fix my twisted life, I could just cut it off.

So trying to relate here would be fake. Hollow.

It might make me feel better.

But it wouldn’t help Saemiro, who has to live on in this world after I’m gone.

What I need to do now isn’t that…

“Hey. Come with me.”

I need to show him—properly.

I led On Saemiro back to the studio I’d been working in just a little while ago.