Little Pink Starfish

Episode 8 of Coming Up Next aired.

It was the concluding episode for the mission to rearrange one of Chris Edwards’ hit songs.

Sedalbaekil had reinterpreted Chris Edwards’ Highway into a performance titled “Crossroads (갈림길)”.

The stage was excellent.

They followed up the “time travel” concept from Seoul Town Funk, and even revealed the twist that Lee Ion’s character was actually the villain.

Of course, not everyone in the audience appreciated things like that.

But even those who didn’t like “concepts” admitted that the stage itself was so good, they couldn’t help but be impressed.

They came to realize something: when an average performance is slathered in “lore” and “worldbuilding,” it just comes off as cringe.
But when a great performance carries it? It becomes part of the charm.

• “Wow, turns out I do like stuff like this.”
• “I always thought idols doing all that ‘lore’ was dumb, but now I get it.”
• “Why?”
• “Because they couldn’t sing. It wasn’t the lore that was cringe—they just sucked.”
• “Sedalbaekil did great, but why throw shade at other idols?”
• “Because they’re salty and insecure.”
• “Flower stans, here we go again.”
• “Ten-Shion fans in the chat.”
• “Nah, probably Synth-stans.”
• “Could be TakeScene fans lol.”
• “Why does Sedalbaekil have so many enemies? LOL”
• “Because they’re objectively better.”
• “Seven-syllable wisdom: Absolute comparative advantage.”

Fans from general community forums wanted to keep that vibe going.

But then the judges’ evaluations aired—and controversy erupted.

[“This performance was carried by Han Si-on’s individual talent. The rest of the members benefited from that.”]

[“A sharp awl will pierce through the pouch. That might sound good—but in this case, the pouch named Sedalbaekil was torn apart by the awl.”]

Every single comment emphasized Han Si-on, while minimizing the rest of Sedalbaekil.

• “Didn’t Saemi-ro do great today?”
• “Right? I thought he was the best.”
• “?? Sedalbaekil was solid overall though?”
• “I think Si-on was too good. That’s why the judges focused on him.”
• “So Lee Ion’s not the villain—Han Si-on is. Dude’s a natural ecosystem disruptor.”

And then the scores came in.

Sedalbaekil’s score was surprisingly low.

Casual viewers shrugged it off, but hardcore fans took it seriously.

Especially those familiar with the idol industry—they began to suspect foul play.

• “Is this all to make TakeScene’s debut look better?”
• “Why not just debut Sedalbaekil then?”
• “Because TakeScene cost millions to train. Sedalbaekil was practically free. If Sedalbaekil debuts first, they’ll have to pay them fair shares.”
• “Right. If they debut TakeScene first and delay Sedalbaekil by a year or two, it’s way more profitable.”
• “This whole show was made to debut TakeScene. Don’t act surprised.”
• “I still remember Choi Dae-ho in Episode 1. Told TakeScene to ‘start competing’ without any reason.”
• “There’s already proof they’re planning a debut.”

(photos, leaks, and schedule screenshots)

• “Huge production company docs show TakeScene booked for September festivals.”
• “Mentions ‘Lion Ent. rookie group’ here.”
• “And no rookies debuted from Lion in the last 2 years.”
• “Whoa.”
• “There’s also buzz about them shooting an MV at Studio ㅇㅇㅇ.”

Of course, not everyone agreed with these theories.

Controversies around judge fairness were common in audition shows.

Nothing new.

But when Chris Edwards, the special judge, gave his evaluation—everything changed.

[“That was a fun stage. I don’t understand Korean, but I’m not so dumb that I miss the vibe.”]

[“All five of them reached the same emotional destination—and they detonated it. Boom!”]

[“Sure, they each have weaknesses if judged individually.”]

[“But as a group? I saw none of that. Just unity.”]

His take was completely different from the other judges.

And PD Kang Seok-woo?

He neither emphasized nor downplayed Chris’s words—he just aired them in a still bust shot without any flashy editing.

But that alone gave them weight.

• “Isn’t the PD lowkey shading the other judges?”
• “Maybe he’s fed up with Choi Dae-ho shoving TakeScene down everyone’s throat.”
• “Highly possible.”
• “Let’s be real. Chris Edwards’ take was the only one that made sense.”

Afterward, footage aired of Chris Edwards saying goodbye to Han Si-on.

[“That was an incredible arrangement. I’d say you chose all the right roads to make Sedalbaekil perfect.”]

[“Well, the original was already great.”]

They seemed close, and Chris even promised they’d meet again someday.

To viewers, it felt natural—Chris was a miraculous guest, after all.

But thinking about it more deeply… it was strange.

Why only Han Si-on?

Why didn’t the other judges say goodbye?

Why make Chris’s exit this personal?

The questions lingered.

The episode ended by revealing the next mission.

And as soon as it did, online news outlets exploded:

[“COMING UP NEXT! Breaks 10% Rating Barrier”]

[“M-Show’s Greatest Hit Since Launch — ‘Hiring Kang Seok-woo Was Genius’”]

[“MBN’s Ratings Wizard Now Becomes M-Show’s Midas!”]

Coming Up Next had finally broken the elusive 10% viewership mark.

Average Rating: 10.2%
Seoul/Capital Region: 10.9%
Peak (per-minute): 12.2%

That meant 1 in 10 Koreans had tuned in.

To add context, the total “pie” of TV viewership was estimated to be 30–35% across all networks.

So these days, a variety show scoring 10% was like earning a 10/30 on a max-30-point scale.

M-Show had always had influence in the music industry—but its channel content had been considered weak.

It usually hovered in 3rd or 4th among cable channels (excluding terrestrial).

But Coming Up Next was rewriting the rulebook.

Logically, M-Show should’ve been celebrating nonstop.

But internally?

That wasn’t the case.

Most employees didn’t know—but upper management was tense.

Because of Episode 8’s direction.

“Is Kang Seok-woo crazy? Why would he air it like that?”
“No clue. The CEO’s fuming.”

Critics blamed Kang Seok-woo.

“Did Lion Entertainment throw a tantrum?”
“Seriously. They wrecked the show and now they’re mad?”
“Why blame the PD? He’s doing his job—getting ratings.”

Supporters defended him.

Two camps, fiercely divided.

This was Kang Seok-woo’s choice.

He took Han Si-on’s advice to push Sedalbaekil—and it was the rational move.

But he didn’t stop there.

“If I take all the blame myself, they might throw me under the bus later.”

So he threw this as fuel into the internal M-Show power struggle.

He aligned himself against the CEO’s camp—who was close to Lion Ent.—and with the Board of Directors’ camp.

This way, unless the entire board got purged, he’d be protected.

And more than that—he had an Excalibur.

If anyone attacked him?

“HOW DARE YOU challenge the PD who scored the highest viewership in M-Show history?!?”

Just keep yelling “ratings! ratings!”—and you’re untouchable.

That’s a PD’s job, after all.

If he kept this stance, it would be difficult to pin blame on him for Sedalbaekil’s defection.

Because for the board to side with him, they’d protect his narrative:

“We got the ratings. Who cares about internal politics?”

Sure, the CEO’s faction had the real profit advantage—if TakeScene blew up, Lion would send massive perks to M-Show.

But that profit wasn’t on paper.

It wasn’t in any official contract.

The board had the public-facing legitimacy:

“You’re seriously going to ruin a show that just broke 10%… for business?”

“Wow, Kang Seok-woo’s sharp.”
“He was an external hire. Had to pick a side eventually.”

And so the internal consensus at M-Show became this:

“Kang Seok-woo’s pushing Sedalbaekil because he’s a viewership freak.”

Which wasn’t wrong.

But no one knew the true origin of all this…

Han Si-on’s silver tongue.

“This is cleaner.”

It was better to let people think Kang Seok-woo made a tactical play in a power struggle.

Better than admitting one contestant’s words had flipped the whole broadcast direction.

Now, the rest was out of Kang’s hands.

No telling how the board and executives would resolve it.

But…

“Sedalbaekil… seems to be fizzling out.”

He knew what Han Si-on was doing—roaming the indie scene, performing surprise guest slots.

But not a single news article had surfaced.

And none likely would.

If the buzz doesn’t ignite right away, it’s too late.

It had been a week—momentum lost.

A shame, he thought.
But business is business.

He might help someday.

But not now.

---

At the same time.

Someone else had the same thought as Kang Seok-woo.

Koo Tae-hwan.

“Si-on… we’re not doing that well, are we?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Like, we didn’t make any noise.”

Han Si-on had said they needed to prove themselves.

That they had to draw the attention from Coming Up Next to themselves.

Tae-hwan thought the indie gigs were part of that plan.

At first, it looked promising.

Fan cams, band forums buzzing with their names…

But in the end?

Nothing changed.

The buzz faded. Public interest vanished.

Most likely, Lion or M-Show had applied pressure.

Sure, they weren’t at zero.

They’d grown musically.
Their name had gained some recognition.

But if their goal was 100, they hadn’t even reached 1.

Maybe not even close.

That’s why he asked—not to blame Si-on, but to rethink things if the plan had failed.

And Si-on’s response?

“What are you talking about?”

He looked at Tae-hwan like he was speaking nonsense.

Kang Seok-woo. Koo Tae-hwan.
Even CEO Choi Dae-ho of Lion Ent, perhaps.

They were all mistaken.

Han Si-on’s plan hadn’t even started yet.