The preparations for our debut song had started to move smoothly.
Once we got on track, the work gained momentum. I was finally able to submit a few lyrics with differing concepts to Min Heejae. Though each of the candidate tracks he composed broke genre boundaries in his own way, I wrote lyrics focusing on their shared retro sensibility.
And today—
We gathered for a meeting to organize the content for our executive briefing.
All the members were assembled in the workspace within our dorm.
Min Heejae sat in front of his desk where his production PC was set up, and I dragged over a kitchen chair to sit beside him.
Madojin stood with his arms crossed, Han Iro held an apple, and Jung Noeul was scratching her head as she hovered nearby.
<…Please enjoy.>
Star Fragment forced a smile as he handed out drinks to the members.
“Thank you, Star Fragment-nim!”
Jung Noeul, who knew his true identity, smiled brightly.
“Thanks, Star-nim!”
Han Iro, unaware of his true nature, smiled just the same.
<Ha… ha… Sure…>
That smile—no matter who gave it—was enough to grate on Star Fragment’s nerves.
<I’ll be resting over there, then. I wish you a productive meeting. Ha, ha…>
He bowed stiffly and looked my way.
I gave him a shrug and a smile.
A silent thank you.
A few days ago, Star Fragment had dragged me out on a late-night trip all the way to Incheon. It had helped me more than I expected.
When you’re stuck creatively, it’s often a matter of emotional blocks—but I’d been blaming my skills instead of confronting my feelings.
We hadn’t gotten back until dawn, and I’d been tired, but I’d managed to find an answer to what I wanted to do.
“Well, shall we start?”
I said with a sheepish grin, looking at Min Heejae.
“First, Heejae-hyung, I listened to all the candidate songs. The lyrics I brought are matched to each one you made…”
Even though they all shared a retro vibe, the genres were varied. After all, “retro” isn’t a genre—it’s more of a cultural motif.
That’s why Min Heejae’s music ranged from synth-pop and retro punk to Euro-disco.
I wrote each lyric as if it belonged to a completely different song.
We began going through them, one by one.
“Adding a rock sound is nice, but…”
Han Iro spoke first.
“The Euro-disco one feels a bit too hyped up. With rock and pop mixed in, it kind of feels… excessive. The music is great, and the lyrics are good too—but it might blur our intended message.”
A fair point.
Even if we wanted a bright tone, it couldn’t just be bright. The song’s message needed to carry more of a wistful undertone than sheer energy.
“I like this one!”
Jung Noeul waved a printout of the synth-pop lyrics.
“Maybe because it makes me want to dance? I tend to think more about the performance side of things. Synth-pop is a pretty popular retro style… so it’d be great to choreograph.”
She was right too.
Compared to Euro-disco, synth-pop was still a trendy genre with solid demand.
That popularity helped secure broad appeal and made it easier to structure choreography.
“I… like this one…”
Madojin chose city pop.
“I don’t know much… but I think it’s important not to lose that urban essence. City pop came from a transitional period when Eastern countries absorbed Western culture during the bubble era… I feel like it fits the concept of a world where Constellations have withdrawn their support.”
“Oh, that makes sense…”
I nodded.
“Nicely said, Dojin.”
Min Heejae smiled and gave Madojin a light punch to the stomach.
It must have been a friendly gesture—but Madojin just stared wide-eyed in shock.
“You… hit me…”
Apparently, he thought Heejae had attacked him.
“Why? That’s what friends do, right?”
Heejae asked with such a pure expression.
‘…Is that true?’
Madojin looked at me for confirmation.
I gave him an awkward smile and nodded.
“I think city pop works.”
Han Iro chimed in.
“First off, Heejae-hyung did such a great job. It’s retro and refined at the same time. What did you do, seriously?”
“I focused on the charm of punk. I minimized the disco feel as much as possible.”
City pop had some mainstream appeal in Korea, but it still leaned toward a niche, somewhat “hipster” sensibility. But Min Heejae made sure to tone down the disco influence and emphasize a polished finish. He used a faster punk tempo to highlight brightness rather than melancholy.
“Maybe that’s why…”
Jung Noeul said,
“Normally, city pop makes you think of nighttime scenery, but this feels like broad daylight.”
“I thought the same.”
I added.
“The first time I heard it, it reminded me of a summer city. Normally, it’d be boiling hot, but with the dreamy feeling of city pop layered on, it just felt beautiful.”
So—
I continued,
“I think this song is a strong choice.”
I looked around at the others to check their thoughts.
After exchanging glances, we all nodded.
From there, time flew.
Even though Min Heejae was composing and I was writing the lyrics, countless professionals were involved in bringing our debut song to life.
We focused on fleshing out the concept, aligning the schedules, and preparing the teaser video.
Meeting after meeting after meeting…
There were so many people, I could hardly remember all their names.
Meanwhile, community posts began popping up, speculating on our debut date.
—Laurea confirmed to debut early next year (My friend works at YN)
Early next year?
According to our actual plans, our debut stage was set for just before Christmas.
The teaser would be released about two weeks prior to that.
While we were scrambling to meet our tight schedule, a random clout-chasing post was picked up by media outlets and gained attention.
‘…They always do this.’
I sighed.
But we didn’t have time to fuss over that.
Work, work, and more work…
And finally—
[‘CYB Male Idol Division’ Laurea, Confirmed to Debut on December 20 (Official)]
The official article dropped.
[Laurea ‘Aphorism’ Official Teaser]
…And the teaser was released.
[Laurea ‘Aphorism’ Official Teaser]
The thumbnail showed flower petals scattered across a desert.
I clicked on it.
It started with the sound of writing.
In the black screen, a pencil scratched across paper.
<…Professor.>
Han Iro’s voice began to narrate.
<For the past few months, I’ve been in a place unsuitable for life.>
A close-up of Han Iro’s hand writing in a notebook.
When the sentence is finished, the camera lingers on his smiling lips beneath a flower crown.
Then he looks up.
<The barren land stretched endlessly, and even the insects crawling through cracked earth looked famished.><I found myself wanting to make that place beautiful.>
<…But Professor.>
<To make it a reality, I’ll need some help.>
<But there’s one thing I know for sure…>
<I don’t need the help of gods.>
As the narration ends, a soft guitar melody begins.
The screen fades in to a wide desert landscape.
The camera pans across dry terrain, highlighting abandoned objects:
A dirt-covered bag.
Shoelaces untied.
Footprints stretching forward.
And scattered flower petals along the footprints.
The camera follows the prints—and my vocals begin, quietly.
We took off our shoes
And gently touched the hot ground
The volume rises.
Let’s make a flower bloom
Not something miraculous—
Just a single flower, blooming
Finally, Han Iro’s back appears on camera.
Wearing a dirt-streaked suit, holding a bouquet of brightly colored flowers glinting in the desert wind.
Ah…
A humming breath escapes me in the background.
Ssshhh—
Han Iro collapses softly.
The screen fades as he crumples to the ground.
Against a black background, the Laurea logo appears, accompanied by a punky city pop instrumental.
Aphorism
—12 / 20
The debut date flashes on screen, ending the 30-second teaser.
“Haa…”
I exhaled, staring at the laptop.
It felt like I’d cleared a big hurdle.
All my energy drained. Though the teaser was racking up views rapidly, there were still many things left to do.
‘I just want to sleep…’
I hadn’t had proper rest in days.
Stretching with an exhausted expression, I heard Star Fragment speak beside me.<So this is the kind of thing you release to stir anticipation in the creatures.>
He munched on chips as he chatted.
“I thought you didn’t eat human food?”<This one tastes good.>
He grinned, holding up a garishly packaged bag of potato chips.
<Besides, I’m currently living as a human man named Kim Star Fragment, right? I figured enjoying some human culture wouldn’t hurt.>
“So you’ve given in at last, Mr. Kim Star Fragment?”
I chuckled in defeat.
<People sure are watching this… obsessively.>
He grabbed the mouse and refreshed the page.
Seeing a literal devil expertly use a computer was surreal, but he was right—the view count was skyrocketing.
“All that’s left is the stage.”
Two weeks later—December 20.
Right in the heart of Christmas season.
We’d release the full music video and appear on a televised music show.
Neobus had already put up flashy banners announcing it.
People were watching us now.
That sensation—
It felt like masked eyes were staring at me from every direction.
<You’re nervous again? If there’s a god of nervousness, it’s you.>
Star Fragment sighed as if fed up.
“…No.”
I shook my head.
This wasn’t like back during CYB.
“I’m not nervous at all.”
Back then, I had no one to belong to.
But now—
We’re stepping onto the stage together.
“So it’s okay.”
That’s exactly why.
I turned to Star Fragment and smiled.
Little Pink Starfish 
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