Little Pink Starfish

“Sorry, but I’m not interested.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s not the time for solo activities.”

Eddie had brought me a great opportunity, but Colors Show wasn’t the kind of content I needed to appear on alone.

I knew it was a great platform.

It wasn’t some one-hit viral content; it had longevity.

I’d seen videos from one or two years ago suddenly blow up and gain popularity.

But for me right now, it held no particular merit.

I no longer needed to highlight ‘Han Si-on’ individually.

Up until now, I had no choice but to fend off Choi Dae-ho’s attacks, but not anymore.

It wasn’t Han Si-on’s Resume that topped the weekly chart—it was Sedalbaekil’s Resume.

Now was the time to build the fandom and cement Sedalbaekil in the public consciousness.

Consuming more of myself would be counterproductive.

There may come a time when I have to push myself to the forefront one last time—probably when we release our EP.

That’ll be the final time.

So there was no reason for me to appear alone on Colors Show just to make a name for myself in the Western music scene.

If I wanted Billboard success, there were far better routes.

“But…”

“I’d be interested if it were for the group.”

“Sedalbaekil?”

“Yeah.”

Receiving praise overseas always works as strong content in Korea.

Though, of course, it’s not just Korea.

It works just as well in the US.

Eddie seemed reluctant.

“I doubt COLORS would go for that. Groups don’t really fit their style.”

“That’s true. Even when they feature bands, they rarely use much harmony, right?”

“You know it well.”

Yes, I know Colors Show very well.

Even better than Eddie thinks.

They have a certain trigger point.

“Then how about this? We’ll record a video ourselves and send it to them. Have the staff watch it.”

“You want to go through a preliminary audition?”

“Exactly.”

“You confident?”

“I always am.”

“Fine, do whatever you want. I personally wanted to see you perform.”

“There will be other chances. Thanks.”

“Only now you say that?”

He grumbled, but Eddie was a good guy.

We kept chatting for a bit.

“Oh right. Alex tracked down all the Players’ session musicians.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. What was the guitarist’s name again?”

“Dave Logan.”

“That’s it. I heard he’s got tremors?”

Correct.

Around this time, he’d be struggling with alcohol-induced tremors.

He’d later try to fix it with weed and end up in a Chicago rehab facility.

“But his feel is good.”

“I don’t know, I haven’t heard him play yet. Where did you even find these people?”

“That’s a secret. If they’re not good enough, there’s no point holding on. Just giving them a chance is enough.”

“Nah, Alex seems to like them. He’s considering building a band.”

“That’s good.”

I hope GOTM’s friends get a good opportunity, but I don’t want to force it.

I’ve tried it across countless lifetimes—it doesn’t always bring happiness.

Happiness and success are things you have to fight for and achieve yourself.

“Oh, and Roots Robbie really wants to meet you.”

Roots Robbie.

A legendary—or soon-to-be legendary—reggae musician.

One of my favorites.

“Tell him to give me a solid moombahton track.”

“Moombahton? Why?”

“Because that works really well in K-pop.”

“He actually said he wanted to turn one of the sources you gave into moombahton.”

“Really?”

That’s rare.

Nine times out of ten, he would’ve gone full roots reggae.

After chatting for a while, I hung up.

By then, the Sedalbaekil members had moved on to playing console games.

Horror games, of all things.

They were too scared at night, but with the sun shining brightly, they had some courage.

When I sat down, On Saemi-ro peeked out from behind a cushion, eyes squinting at the screen, then turned to me.

He’s becoming more of a wimp every day.

Unthinkable behavior back in macho America.

“Who was that?”

“Eddie.”

“Chris Edwards? What did he say?”

“I heard something interesting. Alright, turn the game off.”

“Wait, hyung. I just need to grab this experiment log in the basement—”

Click—

I unplugged the console. Choi Jae-sung stared at me, stunned.

“The meeting’s not over. Gather up.”

“You’re the one who took forever on the phone.”

“Saemi-ro.”

“Huh?”

“Did you get your passport?”

“No.”

“Get it made. Now.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to the US.”

“Huh?”

Their eyes went wide.

We had nothing to do while developing the app anyway. Perfect timing.

Time to prepare for Colors Show.

And by prepare, I mean we’re definitely performing.

America is my home turf.

---

Choi Dae-ho sat in silence for a while, holding the report in his hands.

“Fix it for three weeks from now.”

“Will that be alright?”

“We have no choice.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once his subordinate left the office, Choi Dae-ho sank into thought.

TakeScene’s debut schedule was now set.

Three weeks from today.

For a full month, TakeScene would have a packed schedule.

Now that the debut date was locked, Lion Entertainment would start booking every hour of their time.

If they were complete rookies, not even Lion’s influence could land them such a schedule.

But thanks to the popularity they’d gained from Coming Up Next, it was possible.

Still…

“It almost feels like Sedalbaekil won.”

Seeing Sedalbaekil’s name topping the weekly charts left a bitter taste.

Especially knowing Sedalbaekil could have ended up under Lion Entertainment.

Not long ago, Choi Dae-ho had drinks with Double M’s CEO.

He’d asked why they let Dropout appear on Sedalbaekil’s reality show.

Allowing Dropout to appear complicated things for Lion.

The public narrative was supposed to be that Sedalbaekil was being persecuted by the entertainment cartel. Instead, it looked like Lion was acting alone.

Double M understood Lion’s position, of course.

Aside from that one appearance, Dropout never mentioned Sedalbaekil again, nor did they discuss the composer behind Selfish.

Still, Choi Dae-ho was curious.

Double M respected Lion, so why agree to appear at all?

During their sober moments, he had asked.

“Why did you do it?”

“You mean Sedalbaekil’s reality show?”

“Yes. At first, I thought you had some grudge against me.”

“Come on, CEO Choi. We both know how this business works. People call us the Big 3, the entertainment cartel, star factories… but you and I both know how we operate.”

Yes.

He knew very well.

Whether it was Lion, Double M, or any small agency — producing idols was always the same.

You’re lured by an indescribable feeling when you cast trainees, pick songs, and debut groups.

Big companies don’t succeed just because they’re big. There’s no solid science or sure formula.

It’s all intuition.

They were simply lucky.

Slightly better instincts, slightly better odds on the lottery.

Then they pumped massive amounts of capital to further boost those odds.

“I know.”

“So, if you had the chance to buy a guaranteed winning ticket, wouldn’t you do anything to get it?”

“What did Han Si-on give you?”

“Selfish. You’ve heard it, right? A man who’s lived selfishly all his life desperately begging one woman.”

“Yes. It’s a great song.”

“It turns out that Selfish is part of a trilogy. The man begs, but ultimately fails. He falls into despair, begins to hate her—what do the kids call it these days? Darkening?”

“Yes. Darkening. I know.”

“He turns dark and hates her. Ironically, that’s when the woman starts to like him. But the man, recalling his pain, rejects her.”

“Are you saying Selfish has a backstory?”

“No, I’m saying there’s a trilogy: Selfish, Twist, and Abandon.”

Selfish. Twisted. Abandoned.

Even the titles conveyed the mood.

“Han Si-on brought the other two songs directly to Dropout.”

“Dropout must have loved them.”

“No. I loved them. Do you know what Han Si-on told me?”

CEO Oh continued.

“He said he’d sell them to Double M instead. That way, I’d have extra leverage during Dropout’s contract renewals.”

“That’s… quite romantic. You think a couple songs will sway their renewal?”

“Of course not. But it does give me an extra bargaining chip.”

“……”

“The songs are phenomenal. We’ve already worked things out with Dropout. The next mini-album’s title will be Twist, and the following full album will be Abandon.”

Only then did Choi Dae-ho fully understand Double M’s attitude.

If Han Si-on’s songs were truly winning lottery tickets…

He couldn’t blame them.

Honestly, even Resume had shocked him.

For Han Si-on to write something like that right after Coming Up Next—and for Sedalbaekil to pull it off so well—was astounding.

It far exceeded his expectations of their level.

Then CEO Oh added:

“May I offer some advice, CEO Choi?”

“Please.”

“If you’re going to crush Sedalbaekil, you’ll have to do it swiftly and mercilessly. Those kids… they’re no joke.”

“……”

“Or, you could simply make peace. Let them be before it grows into something worse.”

Choi Dae-ho didn’t answer.

He simply smiled faintly and sipped his drink.

Lion Entertainment and Double M were different.

Lion succeeded with provocative topics, aggressive PR, and clever marketing.

Double M focused on the music.

That was why CEO Oh spoke that way.

But Choi Dae-ho didn’t agree.

No matter how high Sedalbaekil soared, they’d never return to Lion’s fold.

Still, on one point he did agree.

He would crush them—swiftly and mercilessly.

Until now, he had been too soft, thinking they might still come back to Lion.

Three weeks until TakeScene’s debut.

He would bury Sedalbaekil before then.