Little Pink Starfish

Sedalbaekil’s fan club kit caused a massive sensation.

And not just within the idol scene.

Even regular people were curious.

It didn’t make sense logically.

Just days ago, it was revealed that Sedalbaekil had no agency and were self-made under an independent label.

People enjoyed the twist that Sedalbaekil wasn’t an idol group but more like an indie band, even giving them the odd nickname “indie-dol.”

“LOL even their name didn’t sound like an idol group from the start.”

“The name was foreshadowing all along~”

“But seriously, they’re really good. I listened to Seoul Town Funk a ton. If they do a concert in Hongdae, I’d totally go.”

“Yeah! No need for crazy dome ticketing. And it’ll be cheap.”

“I bet they could fill at least 1,000 seats.”

“This kind of career path might not be bad?”

When fan club recruitment started, the public’s reaction was basically “guess they need money.”

The idol scene was much colder.

So when Sedalbaekil’s fan club kit was unveiled, everyone was flooded with question marks.

“How is this even possible?”

“Sedalbaekil doesn’t even have a huge production run, so unit costs must be high, right?”

It’s common for smaller groups to lose money trying to produce proper kits.

But Sedalbaekil’s kit was on another level entirely.

From the case to the design to the materials of the items — nothing was lacking.

Even the quality of the figurines was high, and both payment processing and shipping were lightning fast.

Considering they had no agency, it was all inexplicable.

Seeing this, those who had mocked Sedalbaekil’s fan club recruitment quickly shifted their stance.

“LOL guess their parents are loaded. Must be nice.”

“First time seeing a ‘spine-breaker idol’ LOL”

“Now it makes sense why they were so shameless. They had something backing them up.”

“Am I the only one who thinks this is ruining idol culture?”

“This is obviously going to pressure other groups. Thoughtless.”

But it was pointless.

“Huh? They said the members funded the kit themselves?”

“Look, we have this feature on our homepage. Pretty cool, right? LOL”

“(Photo)”

“(Link) And here’s a streaming link LOL”

“Does that answer your question?”

Sedalbaekil’s official site had many features, including a “ask Sedalbaekil” section.

According to the feature’s description, any fan club member could submit a question.

But not all questions reached Sedalbaekil.

Members could view each other’s questions and vote up or down.

Highly upvoted questions got a “best” mark and were sent to Sedalbaekil.
Questions with too many downvotes got taken down.

Someone had asked about the fan kit production process.

Questions about the funding source got downvoted and disappeared, but asking about the process itself was allowed.

The members of Sedalbaekil gathered these questions and hosted a live Q&A.

They discussed who chose which merch items, design candidates, confirmed that the official color was deep blue, and so on.

And then, naturally, the topic of production costs came up.

“The production costs came from the royalties we earned from the songs we released during Coming Up Next.”

“We really emptied our pockets!”

“Jaesung… you didn’t need to say it like that.”

“Oh, right.”

“Technically, Sion owns most of it, but once we do the settlements, we’ll split it evenly.”

“Eon hyung, isn’t ‘settlement’ a weird word choice?”

“Ah, true. What should we call it then?”

“Hmm… revenue sharing?”

Lee Eon tried to act like a wise elder throughout the Q&A, but since it was live, the information inevitably spread.

“LOL there’s a group that hasn’t even debuted on music shows but already has hefty royalty income?”

“Considering Sion holds the majority, I bet he poured all the money from Under the Streetlight and Falling Petals into this.”

“Honestly, even the two songs he gave to Drop Out and NOP probably brought in enough.”

“Oh, right, those too.”

“Look at how much Sion cares for the team. He’d be justified keeping it for himself!”

In truth, Sedalbaekil’s explanation was a half-truth, deliberately staged.

It was true that they used their royalty income to fund the kit.

Songs like Seoul Town Funk and Résumé had done very well.

But it only covered production.

Consider the costs of the dorm, practice rooms, website and app development, management staff for the site and fan club, storage, shipping, logistics, costumes, and makeup.

Running a team costs way more.

A huge chunk of this had been funded by Han Sion’s personal wealth.

Still, they framed it this way to manage their image.

Being seen as “begging idols” isn’t good, but neither is being seen as “rich kids idols.”

Desperation resonates more with fans.

But they hadn’t lied.

The “production costs” were indeed fully funded by them.

Hence, it was a staged truth.

Though the fandom didn’t know all this, they were emboldened.

Their argument was airtight.

The fandom was small, so they didn’t pick fights first, but if attacked, they could strike back hard.

“Just because your idols don’t do it doesn’t mean ours can’t.”

“Maybe a rookie who hasn’t earned royalties yet couldn’t do this… Oh wait, I’ll stop there!”

“Why is caring for fans seen as ruining culture?”

As a result, fan club sign-ups skyrocketed.

Those on the fence joined, and even many who said they wouldn’t changed their minds.

Even some who swore they’d never join ended up joining.

“I used to dislike Sedalbaekil because of Han Sion, but I’m seeing them differently now.”

“Yeah, the kid’s a bit rude, but kind of seems like he really respects his fans.”

“Even though I thought their music was good, I didn’t feel like becoming a fan… but this got to me a bit.”

“Plenty of people resell gifted merch for profit, but these guys are decent. I won’t fangirl, but I’ll support them.”

People got hooked on the narrative of a group without a company pouring their own money into the kit.

At this point, the entertainment industry’s view of Sedalbaekil began to shift.

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Show business is about stirring emotions to make money.

At first glance, you’d think people in the industry make business decisions based on instincts and intuition.

But in reality, it’s the opposite.

A “masterpiece” drama with 3% ratings is worth less than a so-called “trashy” one with 13% ratings.

Even if people criticize merch quality, if it sells well, it’s considered a successful product.

Since instincts and gut feelings can’t be quantified, everyone clings to numbers.

Thus, the industry didn’t care much about Sedalbaekil’s kit, merch quality, or streaming revenue.

They cared about one thing: fan club membership numbers.

Which were growing at an alarming rate.

“Should we try to book Sedalbaekil as guests?”

“Won’t CEO Choi Dae-ho flip out?”

“Yeah, true. That guy holds grudges forever.”

“Let someone else take the first hit, then we’ll follow.”

“Wouldn’t being the first to book them have meaning?”

“Or we risk getting blacklisted by Ryan Entertainment forever.”

“Yeah, that’s scary.”

No one was willing to take the first step.

They waited, hoping someone else would break the ice.

No one wanted to become the first mole to get whacked by Choi Dae-ho.

“Let’s just keep watching for now.”

That’s as far as anyone dared go.

But elsewhere, competition for Sedalbaekil had already started — college festivals.

Though most college festivals happen in May, there are many fall festivals in September and October.

Sedalbaekil was a perfect guest for student councils organizing these events.

First, they were cheap.

Celebrity appearance fees skyrocket during festival season, but Sedalbaekil’s price was reasonable.

Some schools were shocked at how low their fee was and booked them immediately.

Second, they were famous.

How long that fame would last was unknown, but their current buzz was growing along with favorable public sentiment.

Finally, they had many hit songs.

College festival performances typically last 15-30 minutes, but Sedalbaekil could fill the entire set with hits.

There was no reason not to book them.

Some universities even added them to already finalized lineups.

Industry insiders saw Sedalbaekil like a lit fuse.

In a good way, it meant an explosion was coming.

In a bad way, if the fuse was cut, it would amount to nothing.

For now, Sedalbaekil had lit the fuse.

But many external forces wanted to blow it out or slice it off.

And many temptations would come for Sedalbaekil as an independent group.

If even one member could be poached to form a new team, launching a boy group with low failure risk would be possible.

Could Sedalbaekil maintain their flame?

It was the industry’s biggest question.

What they didn’t know was—

Han Sion hadn’t lit just one flame.

---

Colors Media, the company producing Color Show.

Chief manager Paul received a bizarre email this morning.

No — not bizarre. Unbelievable.

Summarized simply:

HBO documentary staff discovered a musician.

He’s personally acquainted with Chris Edwards and is preparing joint compositions with the legendary participants of the documentary — an unknown genius.

But this genius is a Korean K-pop boy group artist.

Attached is the boy group’s video portfolio, which we recommend for Color Show consideration.

Paul blinked in disbelief.

“How is this not utter nonsense?”

Even reading it again slowly, it made no sense.

An unknown genius working on joint compositions with global legends — and he’s a K-pop idol?

If he’s unknown, how did he even get involved with these legends?

The logic was so broken Paul didn’t even know where to start.

More than anything, it was just unbelievable.

Sighing, Paul shook his head and clicked play on the video.

Planning to scold his staff afterwards.

But—

“…!”

Han Sion had just pressed Color Show’s “panic button.”