Little Pink Starfish

A person’s perception can truly change many things.

The Olympics are one of the best proofs of that.

If you look at the records throughout Olympic history, aside from a few events where extraordinary prodigies appeared, the records always show a steady upward curve.

In 1908, the marathon world record was 2 hours 55 minutes and 18 seconds.

Back then, taking almost 3 hours to run 42.195 km was considered perfectly normal.

So rookies entering the marathon world aimed to break into the 2-hour-50-minute range.

But prodigies continued to appear, and the records gradually improved.

When the 2-hour-50-minute record dropped into the 2-hour-30-minute range after 30 years, people’s perception changed.

Marathon became a sport where it took 2 hours and 30 minutes to finish 42.195 km.

Another 30 years later, the so-called barrier of 2 hours and 10 minutes was broken.

At that point, people began to believe.

One day, someone would cross the finish line in under 2 hours.

And that belief was rewarded.

In 2018, marathoners are knocking on the door of the 2-hour-1-minute mark.

And though it’s a future not yet reached, the 2-hour barrier will be broken soon.

The reason such things happen is very simple.

Because people believe they can, so they do.

Advances in marathon gear, the evolution of human physiology, scientific training — all of these played a role.

But even with all that, in 1908, no one could have crossed the finish line in under 2 hours.

Because they believed it was impossible.

From this perspective, I was always like a marathoner running a closed time loop, constantly breaking my own record.

No one ever gave me guidance.

No one told me how to sell more albums.

So at first, I tried stealing others’ fame.

I took songs that were huge hits in the previous iteration and released them under my name.

But this was not a great method.

Setting morality aside, huge hit songs often succeed because they are deeply tied to the artist’s narrative.

You can steal the vibe, but you can’t steal the narrative.

And later, I learned the truth.

The people from the timeline I left behind were still living in that world even after I was gone.

For a while, I felt sick whenever I remembered that.

I couldn’t bear how my ugly thievery had stolen so many people’s honor, happiness, and futures.

After that, I tried broadening my horizons in genres.

From being a vocalist who could play decent guitar, I aimed to become someone who could do everything.

House, hip-hop, blues, and more.

I tried to make myself as wide a vessel as possible, so I could borrow any genre’s feel when necessary.

It wasn’t a bad attempt.

But it wasn’t the path to becoming first-class and beyond.

What mattered wasn’t breadth, but depth.

At that point, I returned to the basics.

I focused on doing everything with precision.

First, I concentrated on singing exact notes written on the staff.

C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.

Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Si, Do.

No one in this world knows how much time I spent trying to sing these accurately.

I visited countless people with perfect pitch to ask how the notes sounded, and I worked hard to stabilize the pitches that subtly changed depending on pronunciation.

I tried to make the C sung with “Ah-” sound and the C sung with “KaK-” sound indistinguishable to people with perfect pitch.

I wasn’t born with perfect pitch, but I obtained it through this process.

After that, I worked on expressing flat notes, and then compound tones.

But strangely, this was when my album sales plummeted.

Selfish was the only album that didn’t reach No.1 on the Billboard chart.

Even though No.2 is still a great achievement, it was strange since Selfish always topped the charts.

It was Dromen who gave me the answer.

Dromen was an R&B singer who burst onto the scene in 2017 and became a superstar within three years.

More important than his fame was that he had truly ridiculous vocal talent.

At one point, I even envied him.

Well, once my tone tuning is complete, I’ll surpass him in skill.

Anyway, having crossed paths with Dromen thanks to my need for people with perfect pitch, he once told me:

“Being precise doesn’t necessarily mean being beautiful. If you obsess too much over hitting the exact note, it stops being beautiful.”

That’s when I realized.

Expressing intervals and dynamics was just as important as hitting accurate notes.

For Dromen, it must’ve been absurd.

He told me not to obsess over precise notes, but I ended up obsessing over intervals and dynamics too.

But as a regressor, I had no choice.

Unlike people living one life, a regressor cannot focus on feelings or instincts.

Those can’t be accumulated or transferred to the next round.

The only things I can transfer are knowledge and processes.

From that point on, I worked to produce beautiful sounds through exact scales.

It sounds simple, but I probably spent decades on just this one thing.

If it were a marathon, I was running it alone.

Working alone, running alone, recording my progress alone.

That’s how I shaved off one second at a time.

After spending an unimaginably long time like that, I finally realized.

That my method of producing “sound” had been perfected.

After two years post-regression, my skills no longer improve.

Once my tone tuning completes after two years, my sound is complete.

The way to use that sound was already complete.

To be honest, I didn’t think anyone else could replicate my method.

It was something I earned through countless years of effort, and it was a process I never wanted to go through again.

There was no one to learn from, no standard to follow.

I don’t even know how I reached this level, caught between a regressor’s depression, paranoia, and obsession.

But…

Returning to the start once more…

A person’s perception can truly change many things.

I swam through the depths with endless doubt about whether I could succeed.

But Lee Ion was different.

“Hyung’s tone is one that must take center stage.”

“Try singing Do-Mi-Sol here. In exact pitch.”

“The scale isn’t wrong. This is a valid C chord harmonically.”

“But your tone doesn’t blend. With other people’s voices. That’s why it sounds like dissonance.”

I don’t know what emotions Lee Ion had at the time, but he accepted my criticism.

That’s remarkable.

Humans instinctively dislike admitting they’re wrong, so most people would’ve rejected my words outright.

But he didn’t. And that’s why Sedalbaekil exists.

If Lee Ion wasn’t that kind of person, we never would’ve made it this far.

We would’ve stumbled at countless obstacles.

Lee Ion thinks he doesn’t contribute much to Sedalbaekil, but I disagree.

Without Ion hyung, our team couldn’t exist.

So he asked me:

“Sion, is there really no way for me to overcome my tone?”

“Not even with the method you used when you sang Under the Streetlight?”

“Judge Lee Changjun said you treated your voice like an instrument.”

“Can’t I do that too?”

My answer was pessimistic.

“It’ll be very hard. Just because you can pull it off in practice doesn’t mean you’ll manage in actual performances.”

“What if it’s only for two measures?”

“…The chances go up. But, hyung.”

“Yeah.”

“Then your solo part in the final stage will be less than ten seconds.”

“I still want to do it.”

Lee Ion gave up on being the protagonist.

Honestly, I never could’ve done that back in my first lifetime.

I was the kind of person who couldn’t stand not being the lead, who always wanted to shine the most.

And that’s not just me.

The entertainment industry, showbiz, K-pop, Billboard, Hollywood…

Everyone in these strange worlds, where talent is burned to receive applause, lives with those feelings.

Without that drive, you can’t survive.

But Lee Ion let that go, and trusted me instead.

At the time, I couldn’t understand.

But now I do.

Lee Ion believed in me.

He was someone who couldn’t even imagine how massive my skills were, simply because he lacked talent.

Ironically, that ignorance and inadequacy created absolute faith.

If Sion can do it, then I can too.

If I just follow what Sion says, I’ll get there someday.

Under that ridiculous, unfounded belief…

We’ve reached this moment.

Seeing his hand trembling slightly on the synthesizer, I was a bit startled.

“……”

I’m someone who always becomes deeply immersed on stage, but this wasn’t my stage.

It was someone else’s.

Though Lee Ion and I are very close now, we’re still separate people.

Because I’m a regressor.

One reset erases all relationships and stories.

I’ve never been this desperate for someone else’s performance before.

But I genuinely wanted Lee Ion and Koo Taehwan to receive all the applause.

In those emotions, my hand moved, and Lee Ion started singing.

If you didn’t need it anymore

Why did you give it to me

The thing you had

Why did you share it

If this performance is aired, and people all over the world watch these two sing on camera—

What will they think?

Surprised that Koo Taehwan isn’t opening?

Surprised that Lee Ion takes the intro?

Surprised that a unit of Koo Taehwan and Lee Ion is debuting while announcing the album?

I hope not.

What I want is for them to simply be surprised by the two’s singing.

Lee Ion overcame his tone.

His sharpness became uniqueness, and the jarring sensation became captivating.

He trusted me, and I guided him.

The devil is funny.

Even if I produce and direct every track of an album, it never counts the full sales towards my score.

One sold copy counts for about 0.5 albums.

If my share is lower, it might drop to 0.1 or 0.2.

Realistically, since Sedalbaekil has five members, my share is 20%.

So one album sale counting as 0.2 makes sense.

But “teams” are different.

I don’t know why the devil values teams, but albums sold under Sedalbaekil count fully.

Koo Taehwan and Lee Ion’s unit will be the same.

Because they’re my team.

Behind Lee Ion’s voice, Koo Taehwan’s languid voice follows.

I didn’t take yours

I didn’t desire yours

I didn’t steal yours

I just held it tight

Assigning the intro to Koo Taehwan suited his rhythm, but more importantly, it stood out from the others.

If Koo Taehwan took the highlight midway, the other members’ parts would weaken.

That’s still true.

Even Choi Jaesung and Onsaemiro would lose impact paired next to Koo Taehwan.

Even if Onsaemiro sings better than him.

But there’s one exception: Lee Ion.

Turning two

Back into one

That cruel process

Why did you throw me into it

Lee Ion’s voice, unwavering in focus, carves out a new space behind Koo Taehwan’s steady rhythm.

My favorite genre is blues, and I love the R&B that stems from it.

Rhythm and blues.

Koo Taehwan’s rhythm, and Lee Ion’s blues.

The song they created.

Separate.

The song they are singing now is the title track of Koo Taehwan and Lee Ion’s unit album Stage Side A.