Little Pink Starfish

The members gathered around me with gloomy expressions.

For the first three days, they had said things like “Tomorrow will be better,” full of hope, but now they looked drained.

At first, I was dumbfounded, but thinking again, it’s a bit pitiful.

In my first life, I was far worse than them.

Both in character and in skill.

This might sound a bit like an old man talking, but as someone more experienced in life, I should help them.

“To make money anywhere, you need to understand the characteristics of the industry.”

“Industry?”

“We’re in show business, right? Showing and trading.”

“Right.”

“So you need to clearly decide what you’re going to show. What did you do when you went busking?”

I didn’t even need to ask.

They probably just sang.

Before the makeup disguises, that would’ve been fine.

Sedalbaekil doesn’t just have fame but also good looks.

I like reading fan comments on the official site, and I often see things like this.

If looks are the standard, Eion passes right away.

And not just Eion.

Taehwan and the others are quite handsome too.

That’s how they got through the fierce pre-competition of Coming Up Next to become final contestants.

This is a bit of a side note, but when I first started working in Korea, I didn’t think the Sedalbaekil members looked that handsome — except for Eion.

Living in Western society for so long, my standards of beauty were adjusted to that world.

Square jaws, prominent cheekbones, narrow foreheads, masculine looks — that sort of thing.

But now I know the members are handsome.

“Even with special makeup, if you’d actively engaged the crowd, talked to them, and drawn reactions, it might have worked. But you just awkwardly stood still and sang, right?”

At my words, Eion and Taehwan slowly nodded.

“Same for Jaesung, and for Saemiro too. Without a show, there’s no business.”

“Then what should we do?”

“There are two ways. Either think of something you can show off that isn’t your appearance, or think of something that doesn’t need showmanship at all.”

That’s the basic theory, and from here, the possibilities are endless.

If the members couldn’t catch on, I was ready to explain — but surprisingly, they caught on right away.

“Hmm, like a songwriting competition? Or singing contests.”

I nodded at Taehwan’s words.

Korea may be small in land area, but it has a wide artistic base.

There are countless aspiring singers relative to the population, and accordingly, endless competitions.

If you look closely, there are many local singing contests offering small prizes.

And even more songwriting competitions.

“But if we win too many, it might leave a bad impression. It wouldn’t seem fair to the other participants.”

Surprisingly, Jaesung was the one who objected.

“No, hyung. We’re not competing using Sedalbaekil’s fame. That’s actually a good thing.”

“Huh?”

“Because we’re competing to prove our skills. If someone’s good, others don’t lose anything because of it.”

“Hmm……”

I just nodded, feeling like I was seeing a glimpse of Jaesung’s untold past.

He might be right.

Honestly, I can’t really relate to amateurs’ feelings.

My first life was over a hundred years ago.

“What else is there?”

“Just a random thought, but how about webtoon OSTs?”

“Webtoons?”

“Lately, webtoons often come with music. There are good songs, but also many lacking ones. And webtoons already have their own show element.”

Saemiro’s idea was quite good.

Understanding the theory and immediately finding a practical alternative isn’t easy.

But the members did better than I expected.

“Should we email the webtoon authors? Like saying we want to work on their music?”

“We’re unknowns, so shouldn’t we make samples and send them? Ask them to hire us if they like it.”

“Oh, nice.”

“Would games work too?”

“Games might be tough. They probably already have everything composed during development.”

“But for updates or renewals, they might need additional music.”

“Hmm, dramas and movies are obviously impossible… Web dramas?”

“Oh, that might be possible?”

As the members started chatting excitedly, I stepped back a bit.

This was a good direction.

With enough skill, there are countless opportunities in this field.

While the members bring in small earnings, I can land the big shot.

Let’s see.

How much should we earn?

“How much do you think we need for a luxurious trip?”

“Maybe about five million won? It’d be nice to have a bit extra.”

“Five million?”

“Is that too much? But it’s our first overseas trip.”

“You went to the U.S.”

“That wasn’t really a trip.”

I laughed at Saemiro’s response.

He seemed to enjoy the rides more than anyone else.

And what can five people do with five million? Just upgrading the hotel would eat it up.

“Alright. You get the idea now?”

“But Sion, you haven’t told us what you’re going to do.”

I shrugged at Taehwan’s question.

“Whatever you imagine, I’ll bring in more.”

“By composing and selling songs to entertainment companies?”

“That’s my last resort.”

Because it’s boring. I’ll only do that if my other plans fail.

“Anyway, let’s break.”

Thus, Sedalbaekil… no, the members disguised as unknown side characters started moving to make money their own way.

Now the real fun begins.

---

The indie band Evening Promise jumped for joy after receiving news they had made it to the finals of a Seoul city youth singing contest.

Youth contests hosted by public organizations typically allow participants aged 9 to 24.

Fortunately, Evening Promise’s oldest member was 24, so they qualified.

“We can win, right?”

“Of course. We’ve been doing great lately.”

Though they said it to boost confidence, it wasn’t entirely false.

Evening Promise had been doing quite well.

At their monthly regular performances, they had a steady audience of 40.

Including acquaintances and walk-ins, usually around 60–70 people came.

To those used to mainstream pop, 70 people might seem small, but not for indie bands.

How many bands in Hongdae can draw 70 on their own name without guest performers?

At most, twenty teams?

Meaning they were top 20 in Hongdae’s indie scene.

Probably less than twenty.

Their rapid improvement was thanks to performing with Sedalbaekil.

They had seen Sedalbaekil perform at Brown Basic in Hapjeong with their own eyes.

Watching Sedalbaekil live — moving, singing, reacting — they realized:

Ah. That’s how music, and performance, should be.

Having a role model that touches your soul accelerates growth, even in different genres.

That experience greatly fueled Evening Promise’s growth.

“Alright, let’s go!”

“Let’s do this!”

Thus, Evening Promise joined the youth contest with 13 teams.

As they took the stage, spectators and judges near Sangsu Madang applauded.

And they crushed it.

“Excellent performance. Even if this were an adult contest, you’d be competitive.”

“There’s still some amateurishness, but that adds to the charm.”

Praise from both audience and judges.

They themselves felt it was their best performance.

Performing better live than in practice isn’t easy.

But once you experience it even once, your growth accelerates.

It was Evening Promise’s blessing.

“I think we might win…!”

As they whispered, the next contestant came up.

And then.

“……”

“……”

“……What the hell.”

They felt a wall.

In this youth contest where most performed under their real names or team names, a solo vocalist appeared with the stage name Mimyo.

Large thick-rimmed glasses that looked outdated, and an oddly awkward face.

Not ugly, but strangely unnatural.

Neither the audience nor the judges seemed to expect much from his looks, but then…

WAAAAAAH!

His singing was insane.

So insane that even the small audience of 200 screamed.

Not a competitor.

A slaughterer.

‘What could we have done to beat him?’

Evening Promise wondered, but couldn’t find the answer.

Thus, the grand prize and 2 million won went to Mimyo.

---

While Eion was slaughtering contests, webtoon author Min Heeyoung, pen name Mini0, received an email.

[Hello! I’m a huge fan of your webtoon and wanted to send you a song I composed!]

It wasn’t the first such email.

Like fan art or fan letters, fan songs occasionally arrived too.

She always replied gratefully but never felt like uploading one to her work.

Min Heeyoung casually clicked the email and downloaded the song.

And the moment she heard the intro—

“……?!”

She was shocked.

She quickly put on her headset and listened again, solemnly.

“……!”

Even more shocked.

Perfect.

The webtoon she was serializing was a historical romance about a modern doctor time-slipping to the Goryeo Dynasty and falling in love with the crown prince.

And it was at the most critical moment.

The heroine, facing death from false treason charges, reveals her true identity to the crown prince.

The prince, who hates supernatural beings due to his mother’s mysterious death.

The fear, the trembling.

The desperate plea to believe her.

And her trust in him.

All these delicately mixed emotions were driving her crazy trying to express them.

And yet…

One song solved everything.

‘Is this even possible?’

But yes, it was.

Sometimes one poem is more persuasive than a hundred essays, and one song shakes hearts more than a full hour of video.

Still, it was hard to believe an unknown singer could stir such emotion.

The singer called Miro said they were unknown.

Shocked and deeply immersed, Min Heeyoung snapped out of it.

The song… was incomplete.

Right as it reached the climactic emotional chorus, the track ended.

The chorus was great, but it felt like it was abruptly cut off.

Shouldn’t the chorus repeat at least twice? And obviously, there should be a second verse.

‘It… it must’ve been a mistake?’

Surely they didn’t fail to finish due to writer’s block!

She immediately emailed back and received a reply saying the rest hadn’t been made yet.

But they could finish it quickly — with a formal commission.

Since the agency handles those costs, there was nothing stopping Min Heeyoung.

The completed song soon arrived — perfect.

The agency was a bit stunned at the price quoted, but it was so good she would’ve paid out of pocket if needed.