Little Pink Starfish

It had been a while since I stood on a music show stage.

To be fair, considering Sedalbaekil’s career and fame, we weren’t a group that appeared on music shows all that often.

But after nearly a year of promoting, I no longer felt awkward or unfamiliar with it.

Which meant… there was room for stray thoughts to creep in.

‘Will the fans like STAGE?’

That thought passed through my head for a moment—and yeah, I think they will.

To be honest, I personally wasn’t fond of the concept.

Not that I hated it—it just felt unfamiliar.

Someone might ask, “You’ve been a singer this long and never done a concept like this?”

But I couldn’t help it.

Back when I worked in the U.S., I put in tremendous effort to distance myself from the stereotypical “typical Asian” image.

I’d even plan vacations around places where I could get papped in ways that fit my image, and the company would choose people for me to get into “scandals” with.

Usually an actor with a rugged image, or a sports star.

But if I did a sexy concept the wrong way, I’d risk destroying everything I built.

I could already hear it: ASIAN FAGGOT ringing in from all corners.

Funny thing is, Americans are totally fine with K-pop idols doing sexy stuff if they start in Korea.

They respect the culture of K-pop.

They think, “That’s just how they do things over there. It’s okay.”

That’s why I think of America as a country full of biases.

Sure, they say America is tolerant of gays—but only the well-groomed, “typical” ones.

Clean personalities, neatly styled hair and nails, one large dog, hobbies like jogging—basically, the embodiment of self-care.

“……”

Why am I thinking about all this nonsense right now?

My thoughts are leaking out all over the place.

Being in this state right before going on stage means I’m not fully locked in.

I was fine during the unit stages, but now that it’s a full Sedalbaekil performance… I guess I’m feeling disappointed.

But I’m doing everything I can to deny that disappointment.

Isn’t it too cruel?

To be disappointed in the members who’ve done so well, just because of one test?

I know myself.

Right now, I’m flooded with emotions, irrational and ungrounded—just a worn-out regressor spiraling again.

It’s probably fear.

After all the lifetimes I’ve lived, I’ve never had a moment that was just purely good.

There’s always darkness with light, always silence with music.

The problem is that it’s hard to think of that silence as just a pause before the next melody.

Because all I’ve ever seen are songs that ended mid-play—unfinished.

As those thoughts weighed on me, On Saemiro—who had been standing beside me—suddenly tapped my hand.

“Sing it live.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t be surprised.”

“By what?”

But On Saemiro didn’t answer and darted back to formation.

It was time for the performance.

STAGE probably wasn’t airing live just yet.

Music shows are live, sure, but the feed isn’t second-by-second—it runs with a buffer of five minutes or more.

They were likely still broadcasting the performance before us.

Just as that thought passed, the intro to Winter Cream began.

My head wasn’t clear, but my body was honest.

My movements matched my training and smoothly flowed through the choreography.

Soon, the intro vocals—handled by Gu Taehwan—began.

For this album, Gu Taehwan hadn’t been given every intro.

We were finally at the point where we could assign parts based on who suited them best.

But for Winter Cream, the intro belonged to Gu Taehwan.

Snow-white, fallen down like
Foam, this Winter

I started feeling a little better.

Gu Taehwan always delivered perfect intros.

Even if this life ended, I think I’d try to recruit him again—or at least learn his technique.

His sense of rhythm is truly unique, and in terms of depth of talent, he might be deeper than me.

As Gu Taehwan stepped back, the members moved in sync with the beat, and Choi Jaesung entered with light steps.

Until now, most of Sedalbaekil’s songs didn’t split parts into tiny chunks.

Other K-pop groups sometimes divvy up a single measure (depending on BPM), but we almost never did that.

We typically gave members at least a full line or two.

But Winter Cream had fragmented part distribution.

Not because our members lacked ability—but because they were so skilled, we could split things that finely and still maintain cohesion.

True enough, Choi Jaesung followed Gu Taehwan’s part with a burst of clear, powerful vocals.

From last night,
No, even before that
FILLED THE WORD

And no, “Filled the word” isn’t a typo.

Some fans reported that the music platform had written “Word” instead of “World,” but that wasn’t the case.

The lyrics weren’t meant to say “filled the world”—they were meant to say “filled the word.”

Winter Cream represents snow-covered memories.

Choi Jaesung has really found his stride.

He may not realize it, but his success with the unit album gave him the one thing he needed most: confidence.

He tries to pretend otherwise, and works hard to not show it, but within Sedalbaekil, Jaesung has always struggled with insecurity.

He’s the best dancer, yes—but Sedalbaekil isn’t a performance-focused group.

Vocal potential matters more, and in that department, Jaesung is the weakest among us.

Winning Snumpje gave him a brief boost of confidence, but he lost most of it again during album recording.

Because competing within Sedalbaekil is way tougher than any outside contest.

But DROP? DROP never would’ve blown up without Jaesung.

He has a signature radiance—some call it star quality, some call it natural charisma, some call it image.

Call it whatever you want.

Sedalbaekil has a place that only Choi Jaesung can fill. Without him, we’d never find this balance.

If I had to form an idol group again after a few more lives, I’d look for another Jaesung.

You can’t make a great team with only Avengers—you need the cartilage that keeps the joints moving.

After Jaesung, it was Ieon’s turn.

Winter Cream!
Melts a little
With every season

People noticed Gu Taehwan didn’t sing many intros this time around, but there was another key point:

Ieon was given a lot of high notes.

Which meant… he’d gotten used to hitting exact pitches.

Ieon was originally the main vocal from a mid-tier agency—like all main vocals, he used to sing the climactic parts.

But until this 2nd album, he’d never had a true high point in Sedalbaekil.

But now, Winter Cream’s highlight belonged to him.

Not out of pity or kindness.

It was pure merit.

In this song, no one suits it better than Ieon.

If we’d needed ultra-high notes, we’d have given it to On Saemiro. But Winter Cream isn’t that kind of song.

Also, I mean—he’s good-looking.

If I were to create another K-pop group, I’d probably include Ieon, too.

Fans always say it: good looks alone are narrative, realism, and uniqueness.

In that case, Ieon is George Martin, Leo Tolstoy, and Charles Dickens rolled into one.

Why wouldn’t I pick him?

Next, On Saemiro split a brief pre-hook with Gu Taehwan.

On Saemiro’s kind of a mess, but he’s a good guy.

The pre-hook was originally his solo, but he suggested splitting it with Taehwan.

From a personal judgment, I’d say it was a 51-49 split.

It was good with both of them—but 49.

Solo, it was 51.

Still, he convinced me.

“Isn’t it better to lose 2 points and do it together?”

On Saemiro never had a real family.

I couldn’t tell him this outright, but his family was fake—a shackle.

That’s why he loves Sedalbaek so much.

To him, it’s not just a team.

That’s amazing.

For someone as skilled as On Saemiro to put team chemistry over his own part?

That’s rare.

So yeah—I’d want to pick him too.

Then came my chorus.

Onstage, rational thought doesn’t work well.

I move with the training I’ve done, harmonize, adjust spacing with the members—and subconscious thoughts flash through my mind.

Sometimes I catch them, sometimes I don’t.

Right now, I do.

A smirk slips out.

If I’m being honest—if I made another idol group, I’d want these exact members again.

It’s a paradox.

But for now, I have to sing.

I grabbed the mic and began the chorus—when I snapped back to awareness.

Something’s wrong.

This isn’t the formation we used in practice.

Was there a mishap?

A stage equipment issue?

I turned my head mid-song to check—

Poof!

All four members threw handfuls of confetti in my face.

I blinked.

They were wearing cone hats. No idea when they’d put those on.

They must’ve stepped back from formation to do this?

But why—?

And then I heard it.

Faintly at first, then louder.

Fan chants, timed perfectly to the chorus:

-Happy!

-Birthday!

Ah. That’s right.

March 3rd.

The day of our music show appearance. The official first day of promotions for Sedalbaekil’s 2nd full album STAGE…

And my birthday.

I must’ve stopped singing without realizing—because the members suddenly panicked and picked up my part.

Even with the abrupt transition, the four of them harmonized perfectly.

Since we were doing a fully live stage with minimal AR, it could’ve been a broadcast disaster.

But I pulled myself together and jumped into the rest of the chorus and verse.

Then I realized.

The formation and choreography had changed.

My moves were the same—but the rest had shifted around me.

They’d restructured the routine just to center this surprise.

Little celebratory gestures for my birthday were peppered throughout.

It had Choi Jaesung’s style all over it—they must’ve been planning this.

-Happy!

Every time the chorus repeated, the fans shouted in time.

They’d coordinated with the TTs, clearly.

Our official site has plenty of ways to communicate with fans.

So if I summarize all of this…

“That might be too risky. There’s only two days left.”

“Yeah, what if we mess up?”

“We’ve got tons of people watching our stage. We should keep it clean.”

Those were lies.

They were going to go ahead with this surprise no matter what I did, so they fed me those lines.

And suddenly, I felt something.

Of all the luxurious gifts I’d received across hundreds of lifetimes… this truth was the most precious.

I’d completely forgotten…

But this was a pretty good birthday.