Little Pink Starfish

As I ran back to the hotel, I imagined how the members would react to my proposal.

It hadn’t been that long since we released our first album — they’d probably feel reluctant about jumping into the second one already.

But knowing Sedalbaekil’s personalities, I didn’t expect outright rejection either.

Maybe they’d suggest putting out a few singles or mini albums first as a buffer before tackling a second full album?

That’s what I had assumed.

But their actual reaction completely blindsided me.

“Sure.”

“Let’s do it.”

“The sophomore slump won’t get us, right?”

The members nodded coolly and refocused on their board game.

“…?”

I was a bit thrown off.

I had come ready to throw a tantrum, but was it really this easy to decide?

Yet there wasn’t even an opening to continue the conversation.

They were staring at the board game with do-or-die expressions.

Feeling about fifty percent flustered and fifty percent awkward, I quietly sat next to them and watched.

“Game over! That’s it, right?”

The winner was Goo Taehwan.

“Ah…”

“You cheat.”

“You were holding onto the bank run card the whole time?”

After the others voiced their regrets, they cleaned up the board game and looked at me.

“Wanna play too?”

“No, actually… Is it really okay to start preparing the second album?”

“I told you it is.”

“We don’t need to put out mini albums or singles first?”

“Do you want to? Then we can.”

Of course, I didn’t want to.

The devil only counts physical album sales.

But that was just my perspective. Maybe the members felt differently?

My brain short-circuited briefly from the cognitive dissonance, and On Saemiro laughed in disbelief.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you break down like this, Sion.”

Goo Taehwan gave me the answer.

“That’s just your bias.”

“…”

“If we were normal people, we wouldn’t have quit everything and joined Sedalbaekil.”

He didn’t say it directly, but he perfectly understood the prejudice I carried.

That artists who achieve some success tend to focus on maintaining that success rather than on the music itself.

That instead of pushing themselves to make difficult music again, they’d prefer to earn money more easily.

That they’d want to balance their lives.

Yes, I held that bias.

Or rather, it was less a bias and more something I’d experienced over and over, for a very long time, with many people.

But Goo Taehwan was saying Sedalbaekil was different.

That they weren’t exactly “normal.”

Just like me.

We’ve had this conversation before, but I realized I was still doubting my team.

This felt like the second time I was making this resolution.

Not to be disappointed prematurely until Sedalbaekil gives me a reason to be.

Then Lee Ion spoke up.

“Do you already have something in mind for the second album? Or are you going to start planning now?”

“I’ve got something in mind.”

“You thought of it while working on the Apple ad?”

“No. While watching you guys as Masked Robbers.”

“Us? What is it?”

Lee Ion and Goo Taehwan widened their eyes.

It had been just a vague idea, but it solidified while I was playing with GOTM.

Not long ago, I told myself this:

I can’t let a song from a past life be my best.

If it is, then my skills have stagnated, and I’m living in the past.

For a regressor like me, looking backward is the worst possible thing.

So in this life, I must write my best song ever.

I wanted to. And I felt confident I could.

“Ion and Taehwan.”

“Huh?”

“Jaesung.”

“Yes?”

“Me and Saemiro.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to release the second album as units.”

“As units? So, three separate albums?”

“No. Just one album.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

The members didn’t understand me, and I didn’t want to explain.

I wanted to show them.

But one thing was certain.

I would show them magic.

Magic that has never been attempted before in K-pop history—no, in all of pop music history.

In the name of Sedalbaekil.

---

Chris Edwards was meeting Sion again for the first time in several months since Seaside Heights.

At Seaside Heights, Sion had seemed relaxed.

Maybe it was the setting, but he also seemed mentally different — more at ease after shedding his compulsions.

Whether that would help or hurt him musically remained to be seen.

Some artists improve through obsessive daily practice, while others improve by playing whenever the inspiration strikes.

Art and music aren’t so easily systematized.

But…

“You crazy bastard.”

“Why the sudden insult?”

“I’m just dumbfounded. Why do you get better every time I see you?”

Sion chuckled at Edward’s words.

“My skills haven’t changed. I’m long past the point where I can improve that easily.”

“But you always feel different.”

“That’s because your eye has improved. You’re just seeing my skills more clearly now.”

Chris shook his head in disbelief.

The band gathered.

Since Sion left yesterday, the players hadn’t slept a wink.

They stayed in the studio, relentlessly practicing their instruments.

That’s how impactful Sion’s performance and guidance had been.

“Alright then—”

Just as Sion was about to start, he paused.

“Come to think of it, I don’t know your band name yet. What are you called?”

“It’s not finalized. We have two candidates. One is BOTY.”

“BOTY? As in Band Of The Year?”

“That’s right.”

“People are going to think of Battle of the Year. You know, the famous street dance competition.”

“Doesn’t matter. We can’t worry about things like that.”

“It’s not bad. A bit cheesy, but band names are supposed to be like that.”

“Look who’s talking. Your group name is the cheesiest.”

“Sedalbaekil is a cool name.”

“Yeah, right.”

“What’s the other candidate?”

“Gram Of The Year. That was Dave Logan’s idea.”

Chris Edwards tilted his head.

Because Sion’s face showed a strange flicker of emotion.

But it disappeared immediately.

“BOTY’s better.”

“Really? I thought GOTY sounded cooler.”

“Not really. Let’s just go with BOTY for now.”

No one here knew, but originally, GOTM’s name had started as GOTY.

Sion had swapped out several members during the formation of GOTM, though guitarist Dave Logan and drummer Andrew Gunn remained constant.

GOTY was Dave Logan’s idea.

As a regressor, Sion’s memories were always mixed, so he slightly altered the name each time he upgraded the team.

First it was GOTY. After one round of lineup changes, it became GOTM.

The ‘M’ originally stood for ‘Month,’ not ‘Minute.’

Next came Gram Of The Day, and when the final members were confirmed, it settled as GOTM.

“Anyway, the name’s less important than the music.”

“What about vocals?”

“We’ll stick with guest vocalists for now.”

There are more bands without full-time vocalists than you’d think.

Bands like Blotted Science or Maybeshewill enjoyed considerable popularity that way.

They’re typically called instrumental rock bands.

But BOTY wasn’t exactly that.

Instrumental rock bands usually avoid or minimize lyrics entirely, whereas BOTY planned to consistently feature guest vocalists.

This was part of HR Corporation’s promotional strategy.

HR had a strong production line but lacked enough players.

Especially in the traditional white-dominated music market, popular bands were scarce.

So, taking Sion’s recommendation, they had started with project-based sessions and eventually formed an official band.

HR had the eye to recognize their talent.

Come to think of it, Sion had never heard who sang on Players.

Not because he didn’t care about Players.

It was a tribute song he wrote in memory of GOTM—a group that existed only in forgotten timelines.

He had delivered it to the GOTM members through Chris Edwards.

That’s why there was no place for Sion, who had been both vocalist and second player in GOTM.

He wanted them to use it however they wished.

But Chris Edwards brought up something unexpected.

“We’ll decide after recording, but you’re one of the vocal candidates.”

“Me? Who said that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? It could help the band too.”

“No thanks. I’m satisfied with just composing this one.”

Because that relationship was already over.

Sion called the GOTM—or rather, BOTY—members together.

And began directing.

Though their playing couldn’t improve drastically in a single day, they could absolutely solidify their direction.

If an artist understood his directing, Sion could produce the best results in the world.

“Guitar! The timing was right, but your heart lagged behind. Don’t follow from behind. An electric guitar is a six-string orchestra.”

“Drums. Don’t rush ahead. The house frame doesn’t need to be flashy. Leave the flair to the others.”

“Bass! Don’t get buried.”

“At this rate, we might as well record each part separately and fix everything digitally. That would mean you’re not really a band.”

Filming all this, PD Kang Seokwoo honestly felt a bit skeptical.

Sion was the youngest among them, with the shortest career.

Yes, The First Day was a huge success—but wasn’t that history far too brief?

Yet none of these veteran artists resisted his harsh critiques.

They gritted their teeth and followed him like he was the gospel.

‘Is Sion’s directing really that precise? Or are they just humble?’

Neither.

The truth was, every artist here sincerely believed that Sion was superior.

Time passed as numerous tracks piled up.

“That’s enough for today. Let’s continue the rest the day after tomorrow. You all need some sleep.”

Chris Edwards thought this was sufficient, but Sion insisted they were only at 50% and scheduled another session.

As the exhausted members were leaving, Dave Logan stopped Sion.

“Why won’t you sing?”

“In the U.S., I’m a nobody. Get a more famous singer.”

“Do you mean someone more famous, or someone better?”

“Obviously more famous.”

“There’s no one better?”

“There might be. But not for a song I composed.”

Sion tried to leave, but Logan was persistent.

“If HR names you as the vocalist, will you refuse?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Sion couldn’t answer, though it wasn’t because he lacked a reason.

He just couldn’t explain.

Singing with GOTM again would mean staying in the past.

His present was with Sedalbaekil.

Even if a song with GOTM—or rather, BOTY—became a huge hit, he wouldn’t feel happy.

So finally, Sion could only say this.

“Because I have a team.”

With that, he left.

Two days later, recording resumed.

And finally, Sion achieved 100% of what he had aimed for.

Not 100 points in absolute terms, but 100% based on BOTY’s current skill level.

Then HR Corporation made a proposal.

An idea for Sedalbaekil to sing Players.