Little Pink Starfish

Album 20. Unbending Heart

-Are you out of your mind? You’re staying in the U.S. again this week?

“I’ll be back soon.”

-It’s true that the overseas market is important, but Sedalbaekil is still in the stage of needing to strengthen their domestic market share.

“But we sold two million albums, didn’t we?”

-Korea has a population of 50 million. Of them, the potential album buyers or those who’ve purchased at least once are around 25 million.

“Hearing it put like that… kinda embarrassing.”

A deep sigh comes through the receiver.

After a brief silence, a slightly more composed voice follows.

-You have to come back next week.

“Understood.”

It was clearly the end of the call, but Director Seo Seunghyun deliberately let out a few exaggerated sighs before finally hanging up.

I shrugged after the call ended.

Ever since becoming the director of SBI Entertainment, Seo Seunghyun had always treated me with the utmost politeness.

No—more accurately, he treated all the members of Sedalbaekil that way.

It was necessary.

The members of Sedalbaekil are physically young, with little social experience.

Which meant if people weren’t careful, company staff could end up looking down on them.

That would never happen with me—and if it did, I’d fix it immediately.

But the same couldn’t be said for the others.

That’s why Director Seo maintained a level of politeness that bordered on excessive, and that attitude spread to the entire staff.

He’s a good man, and an excellent employee.

Of all the people I’ve met in this new life—aside from the members of Sedalbaekil—I like Director Seo Seunghyun the most.

This was the first time he’d really voiced any criticism.

And he wasn’t wrong.

We rode the momentum of the unit albums into our second full album and only performed on a single music show.

Then I flew to the U.S.

Originally, it was just a two-day trip to review a contract. But I ended up staying for a week.

To Director Seo, it must look like I’m wasting precious, golden opportunities.

But I don’t see it that way.

Sorry to say, but in the world of show business, Seo Seunghyun is still an amateur.

Real professionals must aim for the global market—and I’m someone who can do that.

No, someone who has to.

I want to sell 200 million physical albums.

I don’t want all the memories and bonds I’ve made with the people in this life to fade away like vapor.

When I hit fifty, I want to be able to say “We were really passionate back then” and mean it.

It’d be nice if the name Sedalbaekil lingers in people’s minds when they talk about K-pop—or even the world music scene.

A group that burst onto the scene in the late 2010s, ruled the 2020s, and sold 200 million physical albums.

If we hit that number, then under the RIAA standard, it’d be counted as roughly 1 billion units.

No—if you factor in digital sales too, we could hit 1.5 billion.

Then we’d be remembered as the greatest group since The Beatles.

That’s why I stayed in America a little longer.

Because boosting awareness in the U.S. right now is more important than selling another million albums in Korea.

It’s not because I enjoy being on Bonnie and Ronnie’s show, or because I’m more comfortable here.

But I can’t really explain all this, so I get why Director Seo sighed.

Thinking about that, I picked up my phone and called On Saemiro.

He’s the weakest mentally, so I check in with him from time to time.

He didn’t answer.

So I called Choi Jaeseong.

He didn’t answer either.

I finally got through to Lee I-On.

-Hey, Sion. You said you’re flying back next Monday, right?

Looks like Director Seo already filled them in.

Or maybe he’s just pressuring me to make sure I come back.

“How’s Korea?”

-We did a network variety show without you, quite a few radio appearances, and some YouTube channels too. Oh right, we filmed Mosaic Live?

Mosaic Live is a YouTube channel I’ve never understood the popularity of.

The whole screen starts fully censored, and the mosaics gradually disappear as the live progresses.

The face is the last to be revealed, and idols usually appear on it.

The other members really love that show, but I just don’t get the appeal.

Wouldn’t it be better to show everything at first, and then slowly add mosaics?

At least then the audience would be forced to focus on the music once everything’s obscured.

“What about my parts?”

-We split them up.

“You can’t split my parts.”

-You’re getting a bit cockier after drinking American water, huh?

“I’ve always been like this.”

-That’s true. I remember thinking, ‘Who’s this wild card who sings so well?’ back when you were on Coming Up Next.

I could hear Lee I-On’s quiet laugh through the receiver.

We chatted about random stuff, and I told him I’d be back soon.

Just as I was about to hang up, I remembered something.

“Ah, by the way, I couldn’t get through to Saemiro or Jaeseong.”

-Really? They should be at the dorm.

“They are?”

Those two are roommates, sharing a room.

They’re probably playing a board game or something on their phones.

-Got something to say? Want me to tell them to call you?

“No, it’s fine. I’ll talk to them later.”

I ended the call and glanced over at the laptop on the table.

A document was open, neatly listing all the songs I’d made and released since appearing on Coming Up Next.

Not just titles—each had links to audio or live performances.

What was it for?

I was going to send it to Bonnie and Ronnie.

Because I’m going to collect that $3,000 bounty they put up.

I mean, who knows me better than I do?

Still, one part had me stuck.

[If you can find a totally shitty song QG made, report it. We’ll roast the bastard live.]

I really don’t think any of my songs are bad.

There’ve been some underwhelming performances, sure—but not bad songs.

The most disappointing stage in this life was probably NOP’s Boy Scout performance on Coming Up Next, but that wasn’t my fault.

The other performers blew it.

And that song was just a cover of the original anyway, so it’s not even mine.

If I could win the bounty for my profile and for the worst song, that’d generate even more buzz.

The podcast listeners would love it.

But what song should I use?

Then I had a brilliant idea.

Since I don’t have a bad song—I’ll just make one now.

“Hmm…”

Suddenly, I remembered Masked Bandits, the unit formed by Koo Taehwan and Lee I-On.

Sounds fun.

Got any ski masks?

Just then, I got a message from Paul at Colors Media.

-Are you sure you don’t want to work full-time for our PR team? We’ll even make you chief manager.

Ah, that classic American humor.

I checked Sound Fact’s YouTube channel.

The video was already up.

Only an hour had passed, and the views and likes were exploding.

The twist that QG turned out to be Asian was hitting hard.

I shrugged and replied to Paul with American sarcasm.

-Didn’t you hire me per gig? Time to pay up for this marketing job.

The reply came fast.

-The gig includes outselling HR Corporation’s TFD.

Oh yeah?

So Colors Media wants to outsell HR’s The First Day with STAGE.

Realistically, that won’t be easy.

TFD is in English, tailored to American tastes.

Meanwhile, STAGE is in Korean.

Well, it’s like 70% Korean and 30% English, but still.

Doesn’t matter.

I like the ambition.

-Cool.

First, I’m gonna mess with Bonnie and Ronnie a bit.

---

“He was Korean?”

“Is Korea a coastal country? He had a clear West Coast accent.”

“Google Maps says it’s surrounded on three sides by ocean.”

“Is Korea just full of Cali guys or something?”

The staff around Bonnie and Ronnie were all making faces at their dumb conversation.

It’s not like California is the only coastal region in the world, and living by the sea doesn’t give you a California accent.

Besides, Korea doesn’t even speak English natively.

But you couldn’t really blame them for acting this dumb.

Even the staff working behind the scenes on Sound Fact were dying of curiosity about QG’s identity.

They’d even placed bets on whether he was American or Spanish.

Turns out he was neither.

“But something’s weird. The file this Korean student sent says QG started his career in 2017… So it’s only been a year?”

“Maybe 2017 was the start of his singing career? He might’ve been composing before that.”

“Yeah, that’s more realistic. But he’s only 20 years old (international age)?”

“Damn. What’s Colors Media saying?”

“They’re still discussing internally. Said he has schedules back home, so they’re not sure how long he’ll be in the States.”

Bonnie and Ronnie were poring over a file supposedly sent by a Korean student and debating when—

Another staffer rushed into the meeting room, a laptop tucked under one arm.

“Check this out.”

“What is it?”

“Looks like an email from QG.”

“What? What’s it say?”

“It doesn’t say much. Just a very detailed profile of QG.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think… he’s submitting it himself to claim the bounty.”

“…What?”

Bonnie and Ronnie looked dumbfounded—then burst out laughing.

They hadn’t seen it coming, but thinking about QG’s personality, it made perfect sense.

“Is he media-savvy, or just a born star?”

One staffer muttered it, and everyone silently agreed.

Bonnie and Ronnie took the laptop and began reading.

It was far more detailed and accurate than the file the Korean student sent.

Links, commentary, everything included.

But what really caught their eyes was the section titled “Bad Song.”

There was no specific song listed—just a single YouTube link.

“Got Wi-Fi?”

“No.”

They quickly connected the laptop and clicked the link.

A YouTube video popped up.

There was QG, wearing a full face-covering ski mask that looked like it belonged to a gangster.

-Hello?

You couldn’t see his face, but the voice was unmistakable.

-Looked like you guys were trying to find something that doesn’t exist, so I decided to make it myself.

Then, QG on screen started doing bizarre things, one after the other—and just like that, a new song was born.

It was almost magical how fast it came together.

-So? It’s trash, right?

He laughed—and the video cut.

In that moment, everyone in the meeting room had the same thought.

‘…Goddamn, this is good.’