Little Pink Starfish

“Do I… maybe want to side with SaeDalBaekIl?”

Did they actually underperform, and have I lost the objectivity to see it?

I’m human, too. Spend enough time in the same place with the same people, and you feel a sense of closeness.

Of course, that kind of emotion doesn’t affect my decisions.

But I might briefly lose my objectivity.

I reflected on our performance.

We performed a rearranged version of Chris Edwards’ “Highway,” titled “Crossroads.”

Choi Jaesung, who has a bit of an otaku streak, wrote the story for the song. To put it simply, it’s about facing a moment where you’re given a chance to give up on time travel.

Each person has ended up in a different time period, and their lives there are just too enjoyable.

People are kind, it’s peaceful, and they even get lucky enough to land decent jobs.

Their real lives are tough, so they see no reason to return.

The only thing bothering them is the friends they traveled through time with.

They’re happy, but they don’t know where their friends are trapped in time.

As the story unfolds, incidents occur and the friends eventually return to reality together.

The villain, Iion, is revealed to be the one who caused “the closing of time.”

It’s not like we shot a music video, so none of this story is directly told through the song.

But having a solid narrative gave us a clear emotional arc.

And that’s why we nailed the performance.

Koo Taehwan understood what he needed to do in the intro. Choi Jaesung delivered at 100% again.

Iion had a tough role, but he pulled off the weighty tone well.

And then there was Onsaemiro—he went wild.

He seemed much more at ease after we talked in the studio, and then he just exploded on stage.

Personally, I think Onsaemiro was more than just the lead of the scene—he carried it.

As for me, well, needless to say.

It was a great performance.

Everyone did their part perfectly, both as a team and individually.

“……”

Yeah, I didn’t lose my objectivity.

The ones who lost it—or ignored it—were the judges.

And here’s proof.

“Wow! That was a fun stage. I don’t understand Korean, but I’m not dumb enough to miss the vibe on stage. The five of you were clearly riding the same emotional wave, heading toward the same goal. And then you nailed it. Boom!”

Eddie was showering us with praise.

But it seemed like he was acting alone.

The judges’ faces showed visible discomfort.

Are they really going to edit this out?

And then our score was announced: 88 points.

Honestly, it was absurd—but I didn’t show it like an amateur.

“…Thank you.”

I bowed, like someone feeling awkward about receiving praise alone while glancing at their teammates.

When we got off stage, Iion spoke up.

“Sorry, I think I overdid it from getting too into the role. I thought I did well… was it too much emotion?”

“Same here. But Onsaemiro-hyung was really good, though.”

“Was I? I don’t even remember what I did. I couldn’t see anything up there.”

As I listened to their thoughts, I slowly opened my mouth.

“You all did great. It was a perfect stage—couldn’t have been done better. I mean it.”

They probably took my words as just comfort, but I was being sincere.

Still, I had to refrain from explaining in more detail because of the cameras.

Contradicting the judges in this setting would just make me look unlikable.

Especially when I was the one who got praised—it’d just look like I was throwing a tantrum out of embarrassment.

And then the audience roared with applause.

TakeScene was stepping onto the stage.

“Let’s watch. They prepared hard for this, too,” said Iion.

We nodded and started watching.

TakeScene did well.

Their previous performance of Maroon 5’s Sugar was okay, but this one was even better.

You could tell they’d trained together for a long time—there was unity.

But from another angle, the only thing TakeScene had over SaeDalBaekIl was that unity.

The arrangement.

The stage built on that arrangement.

The key moments created by the members.

SaeDalBaekIl did all of those better.

But the judges said otherwise.

“Since Coming Up Next began, this was the performance that best embodied the word ‘team.’ You covered each other’s weaknesses and highlighted each other’s strengths.”

“The song’s potential was lower than SaeDalBaekIl’s, but you bloomed fully. That’s why it was so enjoyable.”

“We prefer a wildflower in full bloom over a rosebud that hasn’t yet.”

“My score is…”

96 points.

It solidified my suspicion.

I’m not sure about Blue, but the judging trio of Chae Taeho, Lee Changjoon, and Yoo Sunhwa—they know what they’re doing.

They can tell what’s good and what’s not.

They’re lying.

My brain raced.

Eventually, I arrived at the answer.

They’re probably setting things up… to debut me with TakeScene.

---

As soon as the mission ended, the SaeDalBaekIl members returned to Pocheon, and I headed to Hapjeong.

I had to film Marble Live with WayFromFlower.

“Hello, sunbae-nim. I’m Han Sion.”

“Wow, hello.”

Before coming here, Iion gave me a 20-minute crash course.

He channeled his inner kindergarten teacher, explaining how to act when meeting an idol senior of the opposite gender.

Most of it was common sense, but a few tips were useful.

At least I learned that acting like I’m in America could send me straight to rock bottom.

Thanks to Iion’s coaching, WayFromFlower’s attitude was quite calm.

Honestly, I don’t get why they should be upset over Fallen Flower.

It’s not a song they made. Not even one they arranged. It was just a debut track the company dumped on them.

If anything, they should be grateful we revived that failed relic.

Not to mention, now the whole world gets to hear “It wasn’t the singers’ fault that song bombed—it was the arrangement.”

Of course, I kept those thoughts to myself.

I wasn’t going to say anything anyway, but Iion made me swear I wouldn’t.

“Sion, you’re too honest.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. We’re fine with it, but you can’t be like that with sunbaes.”

But that’s a misunderstanding.

Unless it’s about music, I actually choose my words pretty carefully around SaeDalBaekIl to avoid hurting them.

Maybe I’ve lived in America too long.

I worked hard not to look like the “shy Asian,” and now it’s just a habit.

As I was thinking that, WayFromFlower’s leader started explaining the direction of the stage.

I’d already heard the details, but I pretended to listen attentively.

Marble Live is based on the Korean saying, “Even three strings of beads need to be threaded to become a treasure.”

Performers sing their hits seamlessly, the goal being smooth transitions.

They overlap similar melodies or scales—it’s kind of like a DJ mix.

I’m scheduled to sing Fallen Flower right after Flowers Bloom.

WayFromFlower performs Flowers Bloom last, and I enter at the end.

It felt like they were boldly confronting the controversy and hoping to farm views with it.

“We’ll start rehearsal!”

---

After rehearsal, WayFromFlower wanted to change their positions, so filming got delayed.

Since I only appear for the last song, I had nothing to do.

As I sat idly, a middle-aged man struck up a conversation.

“Han Sion.”

I thought he was the Marble Live PD—but he wasn’t.

“I’m Cha Sunho, CEO of NT.”

“Hello, I’m Han Sion.”

“I’ve been watching you. You’re incredibly talented.”

“That’s too kind. I’m just trying my best.”

“You’ve probably heard this question a million times, but did you really teach yourself music?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Wow… That’s amazing.”

After a quick cough, Cha Sunho got to the point.

It was the usual spiel.

They’re building a boy group and want me to join as the leader.

But the team name he dropped? That wasn’t usual at all.

“We’ve settled on ‘LMC.’ Probably won’t change.”

“…LMC?”

“Why? Does it not sound cool to kids these days?”

“No, it’s not that. What does it mean?”

“Lead Main Contents. Honestly, the meaning’s secondary. It just sounds good.”

That’s right.

It’s the real LMC.

Come to think of it, WayFromFlower’s label, NT, is LMC’s label.

Prime Time and LMC.

A few years from now, they become the two true world-class K-pop groups.

When I was blowing up in the U.S., Prime Time and LMC desperately tried to build a connection with me.

It made sense.

If a Billboard superstar like me backed them, overseas success would come easier.

And I did help them once.

I thought a tight relationship might help with Korean album sales.

But the result was the opposite.

At first, fans thanked me.

But the moment those groups rose to global stardom, they started hating me.

Why?

Because no matter how hard they tried, they could never surpass me.

Because of me, they could never be “the first” or “the best” at anything.

Even if they hit impressive milestones, the Korean public had already raised its standards.

Billboard No.1? That’s expected.

Grammy Award? That’s expected.

And I didn’t even win a minor Grammy—I won a major one.

So the people who used to be desperate to get close to me started avoiding me once they hit the top.

That’s why I never followed through on the idea of producing their albums to boost sales.

But that doesn’t mean I dislike them.

When you talk to them in private, they’re just regular people.

Proud but overwhelmed by success, trying to meet fans’ expectations but wanting to run away.

But if I actually join the group?

That changes everything.

If I join LMC, then what happens?

“Do you have a debut timeline in mind?”

“Why? You want to debut fast?”

“Yes. I’d like to debut within the year if possible.”

Even if I join, debuting this year is impossible.

What I really want to know is whether Cha Sunho is telling the truth.

“Sorry, but no can do this year. Even in the best-case scenario, it’ll be June or August next year.”

It’s the truth.

Which means I’d spend at least a year as a trainee—likely more.

LMC’s real debut happens 3–4 years from now anyway.

But if it’s LMC… maybe it’s worth enduring.

I’m not sure I can survive years in uncertainty, but with a clear target?

That’s a different story.

“You seem interested?”

“Yes. Personally, I think NT’s producers do great work.”

“Even after what they did to Flowers Bloom?”

Ah, wait.

Does NT’s producer lineup only come together later?

Whatever.

I’ll just be involved in the composition.

Cha Sunho laughed like it was a joke and handed me his business card.

“The Coming Up Next PD is staring daggers at me. Let’s stop here for today.”

As he got up, he added:

“Not much of a meeting room, I know—but I hope you’ll take this seriously.”