Little Pink Starfish

-Damn, the ads are so freaking long.

-Today’s gonna be good. Everyone knows the semi-final is always the best episode of Show Me lol

-So true lol

-I saw a spoiler that said Saoi and Breed made it to the finals.

-Blus got eliminated?

-Honestly, Blus was overrated even in the Top 4. Should’ve been knocked out in the Top 8 or Top 16.

-But the spoilers are all over the place; someone else said Saviour and Saoi advanced.

-I saw Blus and Saoi though?

-Well, Saoi’s definitely in, since he’s in every version lol

-Is it true Saoi took off the mask?

-That seems legit, but there’s so much trolling; they’re throwing around every NOP member’s name, Dropout, Sedalbaekil, even Do Jaewook lol

-I saw a pianist’s name come up too.

-Yeah, but that pianist is like 5’7″, and Saoi is clearly over 6’0″.

-Maybe he’s wearing lifts?

-If your lifts add 10 cm, they’re just high heels at that point.

-Whatever, we’ll find out soon enough lol

-Oh, it’s starting.

---

The semi-final broadcast satisfied the viewers.

Show Me generally splits its audience into two camps:

First, those who love rap music.

Second, those who just enjoy watching audition programs.

This broadcast managed to satisfy both camps.

-I thought Blus was a lock for finals, but what’s with Breed and Saviour? lol

-Seriously, they crushed it. Veteran skill hits harder when it matters most.

-Who’s gonna win the popularity vote?

-Probably Breed or Saoi. They’re the most popular.

-If Saoi takes off his mask and he’s ugly, his popularity’s gonna tank lol

-My friend says it’s Han Sion.

-That’s just trolls lol Every online community is losing it right now.

-Nah, my friend was in the semi-final audience.

-Get outta here, you troll

-He’s showing his face today, right?

-Yeah yeah, that part seems real.

Finally, it was Saoi’s turn.

A series of VCR clips showed him planning the stage with producer Kyo.

-This guy really doesn’t care what the producer thinks lol He just does whatever he wants.

-It’s not really that—Kyo wants it this way. He said he likes Saoi’s music.

-Going with Kyo’s team was a genius move.

-Yeah, and Saoi actually listens to Kyo a lot.

But then the VCR took a strange turn.

Over what looked like three days of stage prep, Saoi was shown staring blankly at a bass set to the side during ensemble rehearsal.

Kyo didn’t notice—he was doing something else.

The footage lingered on Saoi just looking at the bass.

In real time, it was probably just under ten minutes.

But it wasn’t a short amount of time.

In today’s world, it’s rare for anyone to sit quietly for ten whole minutes doing nothing but thinking.

Then Kyo approached.

Since he hadn’t seen how long Saoi had been staring, he asked casually.

[What’s with the bass?]

[I just suddenly… felt like playing it.]

[Then play it?]

[No, it’s not that… It’s just been a really long time since I played an instrument on impulse.]

[You never play when you feel inspired?]

[No, I do. Of course I do. But that kind of inspiration is always goal-oriented. It’s something I channel.]

Kyo didn’t really understand what Saoi meant.

He wasn’t a regressor, so he couldn’t know how a person who had repeated infinite regressions would approach writing music.

Han Sion wrote music from inspiration too.

And that inspiration often came from present situations, or from the other members.

But there was no such thing as inspiration without purpose.

He never just randomly felt like playing a melody.

Because his goal was to sell 200 million physical albums.

An artist’s popularity always declines over time.

Just because you sold 20 million albums in your debut year doesn’t mean you’ll do it again the next.

It usually drops.

That’s because shock value, novelty, and rarity fade.

So even if you put out music of similar quality, sales will drop.

Even if the music gets better, it barely holds steady—or drops anyway.

Han Sion accepted this.

That’s why he always worked in a group from a certain point on.

A soloist can’t overcome that wall—but a team can.

Unless, of course, the team loses motivation after success, or, like GOTM, fails to break through their limits even after repeated tries.

So for someone like Han Sion, feeling a strong, pointless urge to play bass just before a competition was weird.

It’s useless.

Even if he made a hip-hop track, he wouldn’t have a chance to perform it once Show Me ended.

Sedalbaekil was still a 5-vocalist group (since Choi Jaesung hadn’t officially become a rapper yet), and they couldn’t just do a straight hip-hop track.

Idol songwriting and hip-hop songwriting were fundamentally different.

Even for hip-hop idols.

But precisely because of that—

[It just feels like a really pure impulse, and that’s surprising.]

That’s what Saoi said as he approached the bass.

With the mask on, his expression wasn’t visible, but it felt like a dazed kind of moment.

Frankly, the audience didn’t understand why they were being shown something so irrelevant while he was prepping a competition stage.

Some even thought his words were cringey and melodramatic.

But everything changed once Saoi played the bass.

Even a complete novice could feel the power in that staggering, pulsing bassline.

Naturally.

Han Sion had learned bass by copying Victor Wooten.

Nothing unusual about that—most modern bassists were influenced by him.

But Han Sion had once been personally acknowledged by Victor Wooten.

Said he was probably the best bassist he’d seen after himself.

That meant a lot to Han Sion.

Back then, he was tired.

He didn’t want to be the face of anything anymore.

So he gathered promising young musicians and just played bass.

He left all the spotlight and leading roles to the team—aside from writing the music.

They did well. But again, motivation was the problem.

After three years, the band disbanded—with only one full album.

That one album sold 24 million copies.

That’s right—single-album sales.

An unbelievable number.

So when the band broke up, every other band tried to contact him.

Because it wasn’t easy to find a bassist of Han Sion’s caliber.

That’s the kind of bassline this was.

It couldn’t not hit hard.

Even before the bass solo ended, Saoi jumped up and ran to the piano.

Played with infectious energy, then picked up a guitar.

That scene didn’t get much screen time in Show Me, but it left an impact.

And then Saoi said:

[I feel real.]

[What do you mean, “real”?]

[Just… I need to figure out why I feel this real.]

From behind the mask, it looked like he was smiling faintly as he said:

[I’m gonna change the song a bit.]

And that was the end of the VCR.

The screen cut back to the masked man standing on a stage lit by a single spotlight.

There hadn’t been any obvious drama or conflict like with other teams’ prep.

But it raised expectations.

Not because of the level of musical skill Saoi had shown.

But because his attitude felt… real.

<Reality>.

The song title appeared.

[When I was Zero]

The music began.

The same bass and vocal interplay shown in the VCR.

Instruments pouring in when his voice entered, fading when it vanished.

A 16-bar intro.

Lyrics hinting at Han Sion’s first regression were vivid, and people imagined Saoi’s childhood.

Carrying a guitar to a studio. Buying beef for the family with his first gig paycheck.

-Oh damn lol

-That’s sick lol

Even while furiously typing comments, viewers quickly realized—

This was just the intro.

The camera, which had been tightly focused on Saoi under the spotlight, suddenly zoomed out.

A shot meant to make it feel like Saoi’s world was expanding.

Lights exploded into brightness, and the curtains behind the stage rose.

A live band of four instruments burst into sound.

And the rap began.

Before stepping
On the stage, the air
Is intense

Watching Onsaemiro
Nervously backstage
That’s the realest moment

There was no immediate reaction in the studio.

Not everyone could catch every lyric, and even if they did, it was hard to be certain.

When something unexpected is heard, people usually assume they misheard.

But broadcast is different.

Subtitles made it clear.

People were shocked by the sudden appearance of “Onsaemiro,” but no one raced online just yet.

They wanted to focus on the performance.

When Gutaehwan’s intro
Plays, we
Be a thing

Ieon hyung’s face
Feels unreal
Unfair

Jaeseong
Watches and dances
Like a meerkat

It sounded absurd—but viewers were torn.

They felt the urge to run to social media or their friends to talk about these mind-blowing lyrics.

But at the same time, they didn’t want to look away from the screen.

The tension between those two impulses was overwhelming.

And they started to wonder—

That’s clearly a story about Sedalbaekil.

And the narrator is Han Sion.

But… really?

Is that possible?

Ba-ba-bam!

The brass burst in.

A six-second beat break, and Saoi danced freely on stage.

Titi recognized it instantly.

Dance lines reveal a lot about a person—and Han Sion’s dance line had unique characteristics.

They screamed and opened the official website.

To announce what they had just realized.

But they didn’t have to.

Saoi removed the mask.

All sound vanished.

The camera cut across audience members’ faces.

Not a single one had the expression of “I knew it.”

Every one of them was gasping, screaming in shock.

The net exploded.

[H-H-HOLY SH*T!!! Saoi is Han Sion!!!!]
[I TOLD YOU. His movement was 100% Han Sion.]
SNS was on fire.

-Holy f**k.

-Han Sion? Han Sion? Han Sion? HAN SION???

-OMG I never imagined this even 0.01% lol

-Damn, every time someone said “he’s an idol,” I trashed them SO hard;

People who were live-commenting along with the show lost their minds.

And in the midst of all that chaos—

Han Sion, now unmasked, was just enjoying the stage.

Reality.

He was living it.

Savoring it completely.