Little Pink Starfish

“The Storm Breaks, and the Sound Remains”

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Not everyone was bashing Han Si-on just from the headlines.

“Trash reporters are at it again. It wasn’t even a regular interview—it was from Ruin Detector. It’s literally a variety show.”
“Shouldn’t the producers be taking the heat? They’re the ones who threw that question at a rookie idol.”
“Isn’t Ruin Detector for, like, actual criminals?”
“?? You haven’t seen the show, have you. Go watch it first.”
“Honestly, this episode was the ‘Hope Arc’ of Ruin Detector. The press just found a target.”
“Does Han Si-on even have an agency? No one’s doing PR damage control.”

Some viewers defended him—at least the ones who actually watched the show.

But that didn’t mean the Drop Out fandom was calming down.

Because regardless of the context, Si-on’s words were fact.

“Sure, I get that’s what the show does. But didn’t his attitude suck?”
“Yeah. He pulled the veto card as soon as it got personal, but judged his seniors with no hesitation.”
“Dude didn’t even blink answering.”
“Got a bit of attention and thinks he’s a genius now.”

“Stuff like that gets shut down in our fandom before it even gets to the leader.”

Everything—from the Selfish vs. Sedalbaekil comparison to choosing NOP over Drop Out—irked Drop Out fans.

But that didn’t mean NOP fans welcomed Han Si-on with open arms either.

“Ugh, this irrelevant rookie just dragged us into another PR mess.”
“Drop Out, the past-their-prime trash, making their comeback with zero class.”

Even as NOP fans celebrated their group’s upcoming return, they hated being dragged into a VS Drop Out narrative.

Why?

If they didn’t dominate, there was nothing to gain from the comparison.

And Drop Out’s comeback song was already picking up serious momentum.

So when Han Si-on’s comments made headlines, pulling NOP into the mess, no one was happy.

Meanwhile, Sedalbaekil fans were panicking.

Some scandals are best ignored.

But this wasn’t one of them.

They needed to respond—within 3 days.

Based on Ruin Detector’s filming schedule, NOP’s comeback was next week.

But the video had dropped yesterday—meaning NOP would return in just 4 days.

After that, no response would work.

If NOP won, it’d become fodder to bash Drop Out.
If NOP lost, they’d be mocked in turn.

In either case, Sedalbaekil would get dragged—negatively.

“Guess it’s time to beat the company up again…”
“We need to email them ASAP.”
“Where even is their company?”

And eventually, fans all arrived at the same realization:

Sedalbaekil has no agency.

But then—

The one thing fans had begged for finally appeared.

Sedalbaekil’s official SNS went live.

“Now?! In the middle of this mess??”

With Drop Out and NOP fans ready to raid their comments?

But when they saw the first post, everyone froze.

Not just fans. Everyone.

“What… what is this?”

---

Choi Daeho scrolled through the finished TakeScene MV with a satisfied grin.

Perfect.

Exactly what he’d envisioned when he created the team.

Sure, the ending could’ve been cleaner—but Sedalbaekil’s presence had pushed them hard.

Thanks to Coming Up Next, TakeScene had gained desperation—and learned what it meant to be underdogs.

In a way, Han Si-on had helped them.

While thinking that, Daeho checked the online chatter.

Hit piece after hit piece attacking Han Si-on.

He didn’t love this tactic—but he’d chosen a “no comment” stance on Sedalbaekil from the start.

As Si-on had predicted, Daeho had known what was coming from Ruin Detector.

But he hadn’t approved of it because he liked it.
He figured that after a 10% viewership variety appearance, it’d look better if Si-on did an entertainment show.

Otherwise, the media might start whispering about pressure, blacklists, etc.

And if Han Si-on wanted to dive into a messy show like that on his own? Even better.

Then they could say:

“He flopped on his first variety show—that’s why he’s gone silent.”

So he let it happen.

But then, the buzz exploded way beyond expectations.

Silence wasn’t going to cut it.

So he flipped the strategy: feed the flames until the cycle burned itself out.

The press wouldn’t let go of a trending topic, and by the time NOP’s comeback hit, it’d all fade away.

Then his phone vibrated.

Team Manager Park.

“Yeah, Park?”
“Sir! You need to see Sedalbaekil’s SNS. Immediately!”
“Why? Did they screw up?”
“They launched it, and… just look for yourself!”

Daeho assumed they’d gone rogue and posted something wild.

If twenty-year-olds snapped under pressure—well, that’d be understandable.

But the post wasn’t what he expected.

[Sedalbaekil’s Indie Diary Ep.1 — Coming Soon!]

A teaser for their own content.

Self-produced variety show.

Daeho raised an eyebrow.
Where the hell did they shoot this?

No sign of which company produced it.
It was being distributed via a newly opened official YouTube channel, linked in the post.

Still, Daeho wasn’t too worried.

Launching content in the middle of a scandal?
A dumb move.

But—he was wrong.

There was another post.

[Ep.1 Guest Reveal!]

No name—just a photo.

Sedalbaekil, sitting side by side with—

“……!”

Drop Out.
At the peak of Selfish‘s chart domination.

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From his Santa Monica mansion overlooking the sea, Jankos Greenwood sipped wine.

Jankos Bolero Greenwood—a jazz legend.

He’d come to music late.

Until 25, he never thought of becoming a musician.

He studied law. He planned to be a lawyer.

And he regretted it.

If only he’d started younger, he could’ve created more—refined more.

He remembered:

• The jazz bar he escaped to while studying for the bar.
• The wild riffs during those improv sessions.
• The melody he played to ask a beautiful woman out.
• The upright bass he picked up to capture a fleeting mood.

He remembered the feelings—but not the music.

Because now, he was old.

So when his latest album topped the Jazz and Jazz Album charts, he felt something:

“This is enough. Time to retire.”

That’s why he agreed to appear in an HBO documentary.
A rare thing—he didn’t usually do media.

But knowing it was the end, he wanted to leave one last record.

Filming began today.

The crew was already setting up.

Then the young musicians arrived—bearing expensive wine.

• Pablo Jan Czek
• Chris Edwards
• Roman Cold
• Khalif

Some names familiar, others not.

But he’d surely heard all their music.

They were current Billboard leaders, after all.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Greenwood.”
“Call me Jankos. I’ve enjoyed your music too.”

They had a great time.

The young artists had clearly done their homework—sharing stories about Greenwood’s own forgotten albums.

“So, who do you think is the best jazz guitarist? Jankos? Bolero? Greenwood?”

Everyone laughed.

A humble-brag joke wrapped in a triple self-reference.

It was a good start to a week of filming.

The next day, they jammed together and held a party.

Then—filming paused.
Greenwood wasn’t feeling well.

A cough he couldn’t shake.

He sat by the seaside veranda to rest.

Then someone approached.

Chris Edwards.

The young producer with killer piano skills.

“How are you feeling, Jankos?”
“Good. The fact I’m only this unwell means I’m enjoying your company.”
“Glad to hear it.”

They sat together in silence, taking in the ocean view.

Then, quietly, Chris said:

“I have something I’d like to play for you.”
“A dilemma?”
“No. Not mine. Probably… yours.”

Jankos raised an eyebrow.

Interesting.

He held out his hand.

Chris passed him earbuds.

The moment he put them in—music began.

It started with slow, intimate guitar.

Not big band. Not flashy.

Just a lone player in a jazz bar or pub.

It was excellent.

Most modern guitarists obsess over sound manipulation.

But emotion must come first.

This one had both.

Skilled—but emotionally raw.

Behind the gentle melody, you could feel youth—its joy, sadness, ambition, and doubt.

Then came drums.
Upright bass.

No trumpet, but the space for it was there—like it might join any second.

Jankos closed his eyes.

The swing was perfect. The push and pull sublime.

Blue notes were slightly clumsy—but that made it better.

He saw himself in it.

Not old Jankos—but young Jankos, clumsily but passionately playing.

A version of him he could barely remember.

A self who might’ve written this very piece.

And then—

Click.

The music stopped.

“It’s a short demo. 1 minute, 12 seconds.”

Jankos was overwhelmed. Thoughts racing.

But he had only one question:

“Who… composed that?”