Little Pink Starfish

People often use the term “butterfly effect” to describe how small changes lead to big consequences.

But in its actual, academic definition, that’s not what the butterfly effect means.

What they’re describing is more accurately the snowball effect—a small change snowballing into something massive.

The butterfly effect isn’t about size.

It’s about this: Can the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil cause a hurricane in Texas?

Can a minute change in initial conditions lead to a result so massive it defies comprehension?

And I believe in chaos theory—more than anyone.

Because as a regressor, I’ve witnessed countless consequences that defied logic or causal explanation.

This isn’t about how something I did changed the course of someone’s life.

It’s far more complicated than that.

I’ve seen cases where I don’t even know what I did, and yet it completely rewrote someone’s life.

The one I remember most vividly is Robin Cooper.

Was it round 17? Or 18?

Somewhere around there, I had signed with Interscope Records and was working as a one-man band.

I handled everything—composition, arrangement, lyrics, lead guitar, rhythm guitar, bass, keyboard, vocals, even rap if necessary.

I did it all on my own, and the project became a massive commercial success.

At first, people didn’t believe I really did everything myself—but that doubt turned into overwhelming praise.

Because I really could do it all.

All except one thing.

Drums.

So when I went on tour, I had to pick a session drummer in each city.

I had two criteria:

Do they sell tickets?
Or are they really good at drums?

The first was simple.

When touring in a city, I’d scout out a celebrity beloved by the locals who could drum—even just basically—and bring them on.

Ticket sales were the priority.

The most popular one was probably John Smoltz, the legendary Detroit baseball player.

Detroit loved him, and he was decent on drums.

The one that never panned out was Dr. Dre.

I tried to get him when performing in California and just got chewed out.

“Are you insane?”

So when celebrity scouting failed, I’d turn to unknown drummers from the area.

There are a lot of incredible, undiscovered talents out there.

People praised me for giving opportunities to unknown artists, but that wasn’t why I did it.

Even if I didn’t use them in the next regression, I wanted to find talented drummers in advance.

One of those unknowns I found later became GOTM’s drummer, Andrew Gunn.

Anyway, during my 2022 tour in Denver, I got a demo tape from an unknown drummer.

Unbelievable talent. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t famous.

Inspired by his playing, I reached out and met him in person.

And was absolutely stunned.

Because that unknown drummer—was Robin Cooper.

Robin Cooper.

A phenomenal vocalist.

His delicate emotional delivery and unique melodic phrasing gave him timeless appeal.

Even now, as a member of Sedalbaekil, I think I could still learn from his vocal skills.

And I knew him well—our active periods in the U.S. always overlapped.

In fact, Robin Cooper was a 2022 Grammy winner.

Not just once—but a double winner, right at debut. A supernova.

That had never changed—not once in all my regressions.

So seeing that Robin Cooper living as an unknown drummer blew my mind.

I had assumed I just missed news of his rise because I was touring—but no.

Something had changed.

And I was intensely curious.

Clearly, something I had done had shifted his path—from vocalist to drummer.

Sure, sometimes people’s trajectories change without your intention. Like that one time comedian Burnett Adel got arrested for a DUI hit-and-run—or didn’t, depending on the round.

But those were one-off incidents.

A full career switch? That’s rare.

Especially someone like Robin Cooper—someone who wins Grammys no matter what I do. He must’ve had unshakable resolve to be a singer.

So I got close to him.

Robin was introverted, a bit uncomfortable with my friendliness at first. But eventually, he got used to it.

I traced his life backward, step by step.

If his life changed, then something I did must have caused it.

I compared our timelines. Dug into mutual acquaintances. Traced every possible connection.

I was an expert at this.

These days, I know that making good music is the fastest way to 200 million sales. But back then—I didn’t.

Back then, I valued not just music, but marketing, strategy, and the politics of the record industry.

Yet—Robin and I had no connection.

Nothing.

He had never even listened to my music.

He hadn’t even sent in the drum audition himself—his girlfriend did.

He wasn’t passionate about singing. Didn’t even have a reason for picking up drums.

He just said it happened naturally.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it—but I kept him close and observed him.

Years passed, and he remained a drummer.

Eventually, he became a renowned session drummer for film scores.

And after that—who knows?

I regressed again.

Even in the new life, Robin Cooper stayed on my mind.

So I found him quietly, watched from afar.

Same girlfriend. Same home. Same favorite artists.

Same everything.

But this time—he pursued vocals.

In the following lives too, the pattern repeated.

Robin Cooper was the first, but not the last.

After him, I began seeing this kind of thing more often.

That’s when I fully embraced chaos theory—represented by the butterfly effect.

Some things in this world simply can’t be explained.

A single honk from a passing car might rewrite someone’s entire life.

So…

It must’ve been the same for Choi Jaesung, the way I once saw him.

I’ve talked to Jaesung a lot—maybe more than anyone else in Sedalbaekil.

We’ve had deep conversations too.

I’m also the only member who knows about his past.

I know what kind of people his parents are, what they’ve done, and why Jaesung wanted to become a singer.

To be precise, Jaesung isn’t someone who loves singing itself.

He’s someone who wants to be loved.

He just chose singing and dancing—things he was good at—as his means to that end.

He enjoys them, sure.

But that’s why—it’s hard to understand how he ended up a rapper successful enough to perform at the AMAs.

Yeah.

The first time I saw Jaesung, he was a rapper.

That’s why his voice seemed familiar but not instantly recognizable.

It was the same voice—but used so differently.

And it wasn’t even a solo performance at the AMAs.

If he’d made a commercially massive debut, I definitely would’ve known.

No—he appeared in a cypher.

Award shows like the AMA or BET always include a cypher segment where artists show off their skills.

BET Cypher is so popular it’s practically its own brand, and the AMAs naturally followed suit.

Cyphers usually feature two groups: established stars in the “Best Cypher,” and rising talents in the “Freshman Cypher.”

Jaesung was in the latter.

To appear in a Freshman Cypher at the AMAs means he must’ve had a strong local following somewhere—probably in a specific state or county.

Which implies he was active in the underground scene.

And he had found success there.

That means he didn’t rise through marketing gimmicks.

And frankly, you can’t break into the U.S. underground scene just through marketing.

You have to be really good.

That’s why agencies in the States often sign underground artists with proven talent—then mold them into stars.

So Choi Jaesung must’ve had immense potential as a rapper.

None of us knew. I didn’t know. The Sedalbaekil members didn’t know.

He didn’t even know.

“……”

But thinking about it now—it’s strange.

Because Choi Jaesung has zero interest in rap.

Not that he dislikes it—he’s just genuinely indifferent.

I think it was when we were working on Pinpoint.

I had finished building the beat, and right before the final breakout section, I had an idea that a rap verse might sound good.

So I asked him if he was open to rapping.

His answer was:

“I’m okay with most things, but rap really isn’t for me.”

Back in his trainee days, before Coming Up Next, he had tried rapping for monthly evaluations and hated it.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it.

But now…

I looked down at Jaesung as he slept.

He still had at least three more weeks in the hospital before he could be discharged.

We were taking turns visiting him.

The doctor kept saying it was “wait and see,” but that’s okay.

Because I think I’ve found a way to avoid leaving Jaesung behind in my success.

There is a future.

Like the demon said—I haven’t given up yet.

And also—

[You’re too entangled in the rules of regression.]
[Have you ever once indulged in the rules of success?]

Just like the demon said, I’ve started to contemplate the rules of success.

That was when—

Slide—

The door to the single-person hospital room opened, and someone stepped in.

“Hello.”

I stood up and bowed.

Because it was Jaesung’s mother.