Little Pink Starfish

I’ve thought this many times before, but it’s still amazing that I’ve made it this far with the members of Sedalbaekil.

Sedalbaekil wasn’t made up of people I picked—they were ones I met by chance.

Though even that “chance” wasn’t truly chance.

They were just people the reality show producers selected for the sake of the show’s success.

At first, excluding Goo Taehwan, not a single one of them appealed to me.

Choi Jaesung was average, On Saemiro made me uneasy, and Lee Ieon was uncomfortable to be around.

Even Goo Taehwan, who I kind of liked, only seemed promising for the future—he wasn’t particularly charming by the standards of that time.

With those kinds of people, I shook off Choi Taeho’s hand and went independent. We spent over a year together, through thick and thin.

I came to call them friends, and finally, we began to achieve success.

Success.

Yeah, success.

I don’t know how the devil will count our album sales.

Five million copies?

Six million, if we’re being generous?

Seven million, if we’re lucky?

But no matter what, it’s still nowhere near 200 million.

Five percent of 200 million is ten million, after all.

Even so, the reason I call it success is because I had fun.

I had fun selling albums.

I don’t know about the others, but the pressure from Choi Taeho didn’t bother me much.

It felt new, like I was experiencing something I hadn’t before, like I was walking a path I’d never been down—and that excited me.

Of course, I was only able to feel that way because the members were good people.

Now, as we look forward to the third album, our journey really does feel like success.

If the seeds HR Corporation is planting in the U.S., and the ones I just sowed at Sound Fact a few days ago, manage to sprout—then it’ll be even more so.

Maybe that’s why.

If it were the old me, the moment Choi Jaesung got hurt, I would’ve focused on healing him.

And if he couldn’t be healed, I would’ve changed the group into a four-member team.

But now, I can’t imagine Sedalbaekil without Choi Jaesung.

He always felt uncertain, like he had no role in the group—but he finally proved himself with Snomeje, and found success with <DROP>.

Just a few days ago, Bonnie and Ronnie even said that Choi Jaesung and I sound great together.

But if the four of us run toward success, leaving Choi Jaesung behind…

Isn’t that just too cruel?

The irony of a regressor.

If this were a once-in-a-lifetime scenario, then Sedalbaekil would have to move on regardless.

But I’m a regressor, and I can reset everything.

I have that kind of power.

“……”

Back to the beginning.

Sedalbaekil wasn’t made up of people I picked.

Maybe the reason I came to like them was a result of irresponsibility.

For the first time in my long journey of regressions, they were teammates whose lives I wasn’t responsible for.

Not because I chose them, but because each of them, by their own choices, stood by my side.

But if I regress again, that premise will break.

I’ll try to form Sedalbaekil all over again, and I’ll take hold of their lives.

And that version will be a little different from the current Sedalbaekil.

Even so…

I think I have to do it.

If Choi Jaesung doesn’t make it.

---

“What the hell is going on?”

“Right? The heavens really are indifferent.”

“There wasn’t a more kindhearted kid than Jaesung, and he never even got celebrity syndrome…”

The news of Choi Jaesung’s accident was never officially announced, but no way something like that would stay contained within the company.

Because of that, even the employees at SBI Entertainment had been walking on eggshells for days.

Understandable—Choi Jaesung was the closest to the company staff among Sedalbaekil members.

He always smiled, was polite, and treated the employees well.

Not that the other members were terrible people, but Choi Jaesung stood out.

“Stuff like this only happens in dramas…”

“Celebrities have stronger auras than others. Their fortunes are intense too, apparently.”

“I don’t think any reporters have latched onto it yet, but… it’s only a matter of time.”

“We have to stop it. No matter what.”

Just then, the door opened, and a man walked in, looking like a storm of cold wind.

Han Sion.

Han Sion, in a different sense, was the most distinctive among Sedalbaekil members.

There wasn’t a soul at SBI Entertainment who didn’t know that Han Sion was the real owner of the company.

When the company was founded, the shares were distributed evenly, so the member equity gap wasn’t large.

It was roughly known that Han Sion had 20%, while the other members had around 15%.

The remaining 40% was scattered, but no one knew exactly where.

Rumor had it Director Seo Seunghyun had a portion, and a top Korean law firm’s lawyer, Choi Jiwoon, had invested less than 10%.

Regardless of the numbers, Han Sion had an air of authority.

Employees who casually joked with other members still straightened up in front of Han Sion.

And it’s not like Han Sion even did anything in particular.

With that kind of expression on his face, paired with the current mood, everyone fell silent instantly.

“Team leaders. Please head to the meeting room.”

At Han Sion’s request, everyone stood up from their seats.

And in the meeting room, what Han Sion said was incredibly shocking.

“If you get one person to retire from the entertainment industry, you’ll receive a bonus equivalent to your annual salary.”

The show business world is a needle’s eye where countless people compete.

It’s not limited to singers or actors—agencies supporting them are in the same boat.

Which means, those who lack the will to fight can never reach the top.

And being a team leader at SBI Entertainment is the top.

The company may be new, but the team was entirely recruited by Director Seo Seunghyun himself.

And now they were being offered a bonus equal to a full year’s salary?

How could their eyes not light up?

“Is it just going to one person?”

“No. Since everyone will be working together, everyone will receive the incentive.”

“Who is it?”

“Fade.”

“……?”

A name out of nowhere.

Everyone expected it to be Choi Taeho.

Then again, that just meant this task wasn’t going to be that difficult.

“The reason…?”

“There’s no need to explain. If you want the bonus, just do it.”

“If we move like this, it’ll spread. It’ll be an all-out war with Lion Entertainment.”

“Let’s go to war, then.”

“But…”

If it came to that, these people would have to bury their bones at SBI Entertainment.

If the company ever collapsed, they could become industry orphans, with nowhere else to go.

That’s the very reason agencies tend to be more lenient with each other—even if they can be ruthless.

But Han Sion shook his head.

“Protect yourselves and play it safe. Use my name.”

He was saying to pin all the blame on him…

Unless the goal was to erase Fade from the industry completely, there was no need to go this far, was there?

The team leaders thought that, but couldn’t bring themselves to ask.

Because Han Sion’s face looked too scary.

They didn’t mean to feel that way toward a singer who was at least ten years younger than them…

“From now on, report everything to Director Seo Seunghyun. He’ll approve all bonuses as well.”

“Understood.”

“We’ll proceed.”

All they could do was nod.

---

I thought it was odd.

That I dreamed about Fade on the flight back to Korea.

Normally, you’d dismiss it as a meaningless dream—but I’m a little different.

I live with constant déjà vu and a sense of foreboding.

I’ve been through so much that my subconscious is sharper than my conscious mind.

Sometimes, information I didn’t even realize I had resurfaces in dreams.

There was no concrete evidence that Fade did anything shady.

But he just happened to return to Korea after TakeScene’s promotions, happened to go near the town where On Saemiro’s parents live, and happened to leave the country right after the incident.

If you turned that into a script, you’d have multiple episodes—and they all point in the same direction.

It was enough to deduce why On Saemiro’s parents, who had been so afraid of me, suddenly took action.

Even if Fade had nothing to do with the incident—honestly, I wouldn’t care.

That guy shouldn’t be active in any world where I don’t exist.

For Sedalbaekil’s sake.

I feel a little guilty toward TakeScene, but I’ll make it up to them.

Besides, after some digging, turns out they hate Fade too.

I’ll cut out the infection and offer compensation.

It’s selfish, I know—but I’m going to count it as a good deed.

After that, I was busy.

I contacted HR Corporation and Colors Media to say U.S. activities were off the table for now.

They were a bit taken aback at first, but they understood once I explained.

HR Corporation looked troubled, but Colors Media? Different story.

They seemed to think that having QG—no, ZION—disappear from the U.S. for a while was part of the character arc.

I hadn’t monitored closely, but Sound Fact’s podcast blew up in the U.S.

Now HR Corporation screams that the first album, TFD, is the best, while Colors Media shouts that the second, STAGE, is unbeatable.

They’re just dogs barking, though.

When they start growling, people will look—and that’s when we’ll sneak into their wallets.

Yeah. That’s showbiz.

“Why a will, all of a sudden?”

“Just because.”

Lawyer Choi Jiwoon looked baffled when I said I wanted to write a will. But he knew about Choi Jaesung’s situation, so he let it go.

When something bad happens to someone around you, it makes you think—what if it happens to me?

And then, I wrote songs like a madman.

Rather than songs that suited Sedalbaekil as a group, I made songs that suited each individual member.

Because I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. And I don’t know what’s going to happen to Choi Jaesung.

Of course, I haven’t fully committed to a reset yet.

If Choi Jaesung wakes up and can perform normally, all of this will be a passing incident.

The will? Just me being dramatic.

The composing? A way to manage anxiety through creativity.

Fade? Doesn’t matter what happens to him.

There’s no evidence, but no matter how I look into it, Fade seems to have met On Saemiro’s parents.

Time passed.

And the press and fans started to feel bewildered.

STAGE wasn’t just a hit—it was on its way to becoming the highest-selling album since the 2000s.

And Sedalbaekil had completely halted activities without any explanation.

Not even any communication with the fans.

Some reporters dug in to find out the truth, but they didn’t publish anything.

Because we placed an embargo until Choi Jaesung wakes up.

Embargoes don’t usually work 100%, but these days, reporters are scared of us.

Everyone knows Han Sion at SBI Entertainment is losing his mind trying to bury Fade.

They’re scared that if they mess with us, their names will end up tangled in whatever madness Han Sion has planned.

And during that time—

“……!”

Choi Jaesung woke up.