Little Pink Starfish

I nodded as I watched Koo Taehwan step onto the stage.

Koo Taehwan will do well.

He clearly understood what I wanted, and he has the ability to make it happen.

That’s why out of all the members, Koo Taehwan had the smoothest training process.

Not that the others did poorly.

Over the past two weeks, the SeDalBaekIl members worked incredibly hard to absorb the directing.

Some of that is thanks to my good teaching.

But even so, it’s hard to pour in this much effort based on that alone.

Especially this time, since we were under tight time constraints and I often had to demand effort without much explanation.

Even in that situation, the members followed my lead diligently—almost miraculously so.

I don’t know why they put this much trust in me.

Just because someone shows overwhelming talent doesn’t mean they always earn this kind of response.

So I wanted to return the favor.

To help those who gave their all reap good results.

And now—

The performance of “I’m Dying” had begun. The one where we’d find out the result.

After a short intro, Koo Taehwan’s voice came in.

“I didn’t know— The meaning Behind your eyes—”

The melody sinks low, catching the ear instantly.

It felt like the calm before the storm, just before the clash. Or maybe someone barely suppressing their anger, speaking through a thin layer of reason.

Koo Taehwan was clearly in his prime.

It wasn’t that he had less to practice, which made his training go smoothly.

It’s that he didn’t take any wrong turns.

There are many ways to evaluate a singer’s talent:

Natural vocal tone, powerful voice, wide vocal range…

But for someone like me—who’s been through regression after regression and has grasped the essence of training—the most important talent is something else.

Direction.

People whose skills grow in direct proportion to their practice.

They improve by one when they learn one. Improve by two when they learn two.

It might look slow at first glance.

So-called “geniuses” often improve by ten when they learn just one.

But that’s a short-term view.

What happens after one year, five years, ten years of effort?

Those with steady direction end up at the top.

Koo Taehwan has that kind of talent.

On top of that, he’s gifted with a strong sense of rhythm.

“The word You were about to say Disgusts me.”

Koo Taehwan’s cold voice flows out slowly, dressed in a sharp suit.

The rhythm, slightly slower than the original, adds a layer of sophistication.

Not everyone, but a few audience members echoed the “disgusts me” line in unison.

“I’m Dying” is a popular song.

It ranked ninth on the 2015 year-end charts—a classic rapper + vocal duet format.

These types of songs are a dime a dozen.

Even in the 1980s U.S. hip-hop scene, pairing a female vocalist with a rapper was common.

So what made “I’m Dying” reach 9th place?

Two things.

First, the rap design was solid.

This was underground rapper “Breed’s” breakout hit.

Second, the concept was strong.

It’s a song where the vocalist and rapper argue.

The emotions lean more toward hatred than love, but it’s still a fight within the realm of love.

Choi Jaesung calls that a “toxic relationship,” but whatever the label, it wasn’t cliché.

The lyrics pull you into the story of the two narrators.

Here’s where the trap of duet stages comes in:

The one exploding with emotion is always the rapper.

The vocalist’s role is to collect and process those emotions and move on to the next verse.

No matter how catchy the chorus, the star of this song has to be the rapper, Ready.

Because audiences are more sensitive to a story’s structure than you’d expect.

At that moment, Ready picked up from Taehwan’s intro and started his rap with striking accents.

“I still remember Your eyes, your attitude How you treated me like dirt On your arrogant path.”

Not bad at all.

Back in the day, the “idol rapper” position was given to those who couldn’t sing.

Not anymore.

With Show Me The Money dominating the charts, people can now tell the difference between good and bad rap.

Idol rappers now have to be good.

And objectively speaking, Ready was a good rapper.

The way he glared at Taehwan and poured out his fury felt legit.

“I’ll get you back You’re no longer inside me And if you hurt— I’ll laugh hard watching it.”

But…

Koo Taehwan didn’t respond to that fury.

He moved along the set path and choreography, adding harmonies, but showed no reaction to Ready’s anger.

It was like he was singing and dancing alone.

That’s a hard task—it takes solid facial acting and mood control—but Taehwan pulled it off well.

That was the first thing I asked of him.

What happens when two people fight, and one of them doesn’t react at all?

The one screaming and crying ends up looking foolish.

After all, it takes two hands to clap. If only one person raises the tension, it looks weird.

Of course, this could easily ruin a performance.

The verse and chorus could feel disconnected.

But seriously, did anyone think I told Taehwan, “Let’s sabotage the stage so Ready won’t steal the spotlight”?

Now, it was time for the second trick.

As the verse ended and Taehwan’s chorus began:

“We still— Conflict and hate Spit and turn away Filled with curses—”

A low-octave chorus.

Considering the original was sung by a female vocalist, it was almost awkwardly low.

That was my second plan.

Taehwan had to adjust the octave to fit the female vocal line, but I purposely asked for a very low range.

And during practice, I told him to sing it like he was mildly angry.

“Mildly angry?”

“Like when Choi Jaesung spilled chicken breast sauce on the floor.”

“…I was really pissed that time.”

Thanks to that, Ready even asked the mentor during practice, “Isn’t this too bland?”

But mentor Choi Daeho brushed it off, saying it was just the vocal range Taehwan could manage.

He was probably glad inside. The TakeScene members were supposed to be the stars of this performance, after all.

But what happens when that chorus is stripped of all fury?

When it’s delivered from an icy, calm state?

“We still— Conflict and hate Spit and turn away Filled with curses—”

Emotionless.

Not a response to Ready’s rage, but something from a different emotional line.

Yet, it doesn’t feel careless or lazy.

Taehwan and I studied how to make the chorus of “I’m Dying” sound most compelling in a low octave.

We subtly delayed the rhythm to create a laid-back feel, finding the perfect timing to showcase Taehwan’s unique sense of rhythm.

And we succeeded.

–Waaahhhhhh!

Now, this song no longer makes the vocalist serve the rapper.

The lead role is simply whoever sounds better.

And Ready couldn’t outshine Taehwan.

“Oh…”

One more good thing: Ready had decent instincts.

When his second verse came, he faltered in his stance.

He instinctively sensed it.

If he exploded with fury again, he’d just look like he was having a tantrum alone.

But without a better plan, he should’ve just gone for it anyway.

Now he was caught in between.

A stage that would’ve been Taehwan’s win by decision became a KO victory.

“Oh…!”

“Wow!”

Even the SeDalBaekIl members murmured in admiration.

I chuckled at the sight.

Honestly, it felt ridiculous.

I never thought I’d rack my brain and get so immersed over something so petty.

The things I used to worry about were on a whole different scale.

How to sway the Grammys’ opinion to increase the odds of winning.

How to leverage Asian stereotypes to win traditional white support.

That’s what I used to focus on.

Compared to that, worrying about who steals the spotlight on a duet stage is utterly trivial.

A special showcase that’s not even scored?

And yet…

–Waaahhhhh!

The joy wasn’t trivial at all.

Hearing the applause pour toward Koo Taehwan—it felt pretty damn good.

I hope the rest of these “trivial” performances bring me just as much joy.

---

Koo Taehwan, Choi Jaesung, and I—

The three of us successfully finished the duet stage.

Well, I’m irrelevant, but Koo Taehwan and Choi Jaesung shattered TakeScene’s plan to be the stars.

Feel bad for the TakeScene kids?

Not really.

They all knew what was going on.

They stayed quiet about it—and that’s not a bad thing.

This is showbiz, after all. It’s only natural.

But when the tables turn, keeping your mouth shut is the least you can do.

Now, only Eion and Onsaemiro remain.

Honestly, I didn’t see a clear solution for Eion.

The problem was just that he was born too perfect.

People naturally empathize more with SeeU, the one putting in visible effort.

That’s just how emotions work.

And surprisingly, Eion himself offered a solution.

“People support SeeU over me not because of skill, but because emotions are involved, right?”

“Then what if I just completely overpower him?”

Not wrong.

People get jealous of someone moderately better.

But if someone is overwhelmingly better, they start to admire instead.

“Can you really do that?”

“You know what I’ve realized lately?”

“What?”

“I’ve been singing way too lazily all this time.”

Eion smiled brightly as he said that.

I knew exactly what he meant.

He had devoted himself to pitch accuracy, and had finally understood the power of precision.

Precise enunciation.

Accurate pitch.

It’s a far more powerful force than people think.

But you don’t really get it until you feel it.

Eion decided to go the honest route—and started his performance.

Interestingly, the song he and SeeU chose was “At the Edge of Dawn” by With.

A song that doesn’t flaunt vocal strength, nor should it.

It needs to be sung plainly, with a tinge of bitterness.

That’s why it was chosen.

If the audience can’t feel the skill gap, they’ll side with SeeU.

“We sit inside the dawn Just the two of us under the lights Below the dead neon signs Broken lights, shuttered streets…”

Eion and SeeU traded lines as they moved forward.

With calm voices, they spoke of the fading lights of the city.

As I listened quietly, I smiled.

It wasn’t obvious yet—but Eion’s city felt more vivid.

The way he portrayed the city was more beautiful, dazzling, nostalgic.

That gap would only grow as the song went on.

Sure enough, CEO Choi Daeho’s face began to cloud with bitterness.

He must’ve felt disheartened, watching every singer he taught fall one by one.

He probably also realized I had a hand in this.

Still—he should suck it up.

SeDalBaekIl has endured being looked down upon for the logic of showbiz.

And my choice to go with TakeScene won’t change—so he should tolerate a bit of frustration.

Then, Eion’s performance ended, and Jooyeon and Onsaemiro took the stage for their duet.

Hmm. Jooyeon’s really good.

Feels like today’s only draw.

Still…

“To tomorrow—! Once again—! You and I—!”

To my eyes, Onsaemiro seemed just a little better.

And so, the special joint showcase between SeDalBaekIl and TakeScene came to an end.

All that remained now was the real competition stage.