Little Pink Starfish

Album 10. Resume

I had no idea.

I didn’t know there was someone named Yang Seokhun in Korea, nor that he was a YouTuber with nearly five million subscribers.

In fact, we had received countless emails asking for permission to use our music in content.

While we reviewed appearance offers together, we had been giving blanket permission for content usage.

So I never imagined Yang Seokhun would become our very own Yoav Kutner.

Especially since he wasn’t even part of the show business industry.

Well, sometimes you need luck like this.

Life doesn’t always have to be full of misfortune.

The ripple effect of Yang Seokhun’s video was enormous.

Purely by views, it surpassed ten million on day four of upload.

Until now, there had only been two videos related to me that exceeded ten million views.

First was Fall Detector.

Second was the Selfish music video.

But neither of those honors truly belonged to me or Sedalbaekil.

Fall Detector was a variety show, and Selfish was Drop Out’s song.

This time, it was different.

The exposure and attention from these views were pouring directly onto us.

Moreover, the people now discovering us weren’t part of the same idol-fan pool.

They were people who had been detached from idol content but had high potential purchasing power.

Well, I hope they all find jobs soon.

And those already employed—I hope they get promoted, earn lots of money, and buy our albums.

Because of this, comments like these started appearing on our self-content video.

-Took a break from studying to watch this, it’s so fun! Everyone’s so cool, I hope you succeed!

-When will the song be officially released? I want to put it on repeat while I study.

-It’s dreamy and bright at the same time. Feels like ASMR.

These were people we normally couldn’t target through conventional idol marketing.

Whether that interest turns into long-term affection depends on us.

Yang Seokhun also scratched the very itch we had.

Normally, ad revenue generated from videos using copyrighted music has to be shared with the original copyright holder.

Depending on the content type, sometimes 100% goes to the rights holder.

But since Resume wasn’t registered as an official release yet, Yang Seokhun technically could have kept all the revenue.

Of course, once registered, I could still claim revenue, though it might involve legal proceedings.

He’s a benefactor, so I wouldn’t go that far—but that’s the reality.

However, Yang Seokhun handled it very cleanly.

Saying he didn’t expect the video to blow up like this, he offered us generous revenue sharing.

To do that, one thing was needed.

Official registration of the song.

Yang’s side would need to process taxes too.

Which gave us a perfect “excuse.”

We now had a highly plausible reason to film the registration process for content.

Our series wasn’t titled Independence Diary for nothing.

If we uploaded the registration process, people wouldn’t think we were resisting Ryan Entertainment.

Rather, they’d think, “Wow, these rookies are making everything themselves, A to Z.”

“So we’ll first upload a thank-you video, and film the registration process. Since Yang Seokhun’s content is comedic, maybe we should film a funny thank-you message.”

“How about we film a reaction to Yang Seokhun’s résumé editing video?” suggested Goo Taehwan.

I nodded.

Not a bad idea.

At that moment, Choi Jaesung raised his hand—unnecessarily high like a kindergartener.

He’s been hanging around Lee I-on too much; Sedalbaekil’s becoming more like kindergarten by the day.

“Just say it.”

“Hearing you talk, it feels like you’re indirectly pressuring them—forcing the registration office to process it properly because everyone’s watching.”

“Exactly.”

Without this, it would’ve taken much longer to register the song.

It’s an obvious tactic.

Not unique to Korea, either.

But organizations like the Korean Music Copyright Association are public entities.

Public servants in dominant positions may be prone to corruption, but they hate public attention even more.

They couldn’t afford to ignore this situation.

“Why not just directly say that Ryan Entertainment is pressuring us?”

I could.

And I will if it becomes necessary.

After all, the business game I started with Ryan Entertainment will end decisively.

But I’m careful with my words for a different reason.

“For when we win.”

“Huh?”

“We’re not just going to beat Ryan Entertainment and call it a day. Eventually, we have to enter the industry.”

There are no outsiders among the rulers.

I intend to dominate the K-pop market.

Sold-out concerts will be the norm, album sales will skyrocket, our worth will soar endlessly, and we’ll be remembered as the greatest team in K-pop history.

Normally, that would be LMC and Prime Time’s arena, but not this lifetime.

We—or rather, I—will take that spot.

Even if those records are eventually erased by my regression.

So I avoid making statements that would make the industry uncomfortable.

One day, we’ll enter the system. If we make too many enemies now, what happens later?

Those who colluded with Ryan to suppress us would feel threatened.

That’s why.

---

“We don’t need to resort to that kind of thing to beat Ryan Entertainment.”

Han Sion’s words left the Sedalbaekil members momentarily stunned.

It wasn’t because of his seemingly reckless confidence.

Han Sion was anything but reckless.

If anything, he was the type who always laid down too many contingency plans.

The reason for their surprise was something else.

Han Sion showed no hint of satisfaction.

Lee I-on, Oh Saemi, Goo Taehwan, Choi Jaesung—

The four of them had been so excited lately they could barely sleep.

They had turned down Ryan Entertainment and chosen Sedalbaekil.

But that decision wasn’t easy.

So they felt joy in their current success.

The issues with Fall Detector, Drop Out, and NOP were mostly Han Sion’s doing.

But the indie gigs, self-produced content, and live performances were not.

Those were Sedalbaekil’s achievements.

Han Sion’s role was undeniably the biggest—but still, the team deserved credit.

They felt pride.

So why didn’t Han Sion, who contributed the most, feel any satisfaction?

Why did his eyes remain calm, almost hollow?

Especially while talking about future visions?

That’s what threw them off.

“You’re not happy?”

“About what?”

“All of it. The views, the song registration, throwing Ryan Entertainment off.”

At Oh Saemi’s scattered words, Han Sion seemed ready to give the answer they wanted.

He almost said he was happy.

But then paused, and after a brief silence, spoke:

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s all so fleeting.”

“Fleeting?”

“This kind of attention is like a hot potato. Too hot to touch for a moment—but that’s all.”

The moment you leave it alone, it cools instantly.

Han Sion shrugged and lightened his tone.

“But it’s not like we should feel gloomy, right? Why’s everyone so serious?”

At that moment, the members realized it was time to ask that question.

Throughout Coming Up Next, one mystery had always lingered.

It arose when Sedalbaekil first formed and remained even after Resume was born.

Especially after hearing from Oh Saemi that Han Sion’s goal was “200 million album sales.”

Lee I-on took the lead.

“Sion.”

“Yes?”

“Be completely honest. Totally honest.”

“This sounds intense.”

“Let’s say you have a grading system inside you. What score would you give Sedalbaekil?”

“…”

Han Sion clearly hadn’t anticipated this question.

But the members had always wondered:

What was going on inside that genius mind?

Why did he share credit so generously after accomplishing everything so easily?

Why did he have nightmares every night, yet act fine every morning?

Lee I-on wasn’t a romantic.

He didn’t believe Sedalbaekil would last forever.

He thought of them as business partners first, slowly becoming friends.

Between growing closer as friends or improving as a team, he believed improvement came first.

They needed standards.

And only Han Sion could provide them.

After a long silence, Han Sion curled his lips in a strained smile.

None of them had seen this expression before.

Hard to describe—a mixture of despair, self-mockery, and perhaps, a distant gaze.

“You’ll be hurt.”

“It’s okay.”

“By relative standards, you’re all doing well. You’re using your current abilities well, improving, and gelling as a team. In K-pop terms, maybe 90 points?”

“Absolute standards?”

“Forty.”

“…Forty.”

“Without Goo Taehwan’s unique intro, it could drop even lower. Maybe thirty.”

Silence followed, but Han Sion quickly put on his usual bright expression.

“You’re all doing great. If you didn’t have talent, no one would be cheering, right? Oh man, anyone hearing this might call me arrogant. Fellow idol trainees, after all.”

The silence lingered.

Eventually, Oh Saemi broke it.

“We’re recording Resume tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s delay by a week.”

“No. This is the golden time.”

“But if we delay a week, we might get to 70 points. Or even 60.”

“Impossible.”

“Why? You can direct us like you did for the final stage. We don’t even need choreography or performances this time.”

“Still impossible.”

“…”

“The only reason we improved on Coming Up Next was because we were isolated.”

Pocheon.

A dorm with no visitors.

Take Scene right next door.

Dozens of cameras and staff watching us.

The highly competitive atmosphere saturating every breath we took.

Listing them out, Han Sion looked around at everyone.

“There’s no way you can process that right now. You’re all too excited by success.”

“You don’t know until we try.”

“I’ve tried. A lot.”

“With us?”

“No.”

“Then you haven’t tried with us.”

A long pause followed before Han Sion let out a sigh.

“I might be truly disappointed. Because of that one week.”

“Let’s do it anyway.”

“Everyone agrees?”

The members nodded.

“Then cancel everything. A full week. YouTube shoots, indie gigs—everything.”

Finally, their faces brightened.

If entertainment producers saw this, they would be horrified.

They had caught a lucky break and gained buzz—and chose to halt all activities during the golden time.

Just to improve the song’s quality.

But Sedalbaekil made their choice, and Han Sion accepted it.

Thus—

A whirlwind week flew by.