Little Pink Starfish

Chris Edwards summed up his life with one phrase: “Seven parts luck, three parts skill.”

After all, the fact that “Pelle Jørgensen,” who thought he’d live his whole life in Denmark, ended up living as “Chris Edwards” on the Billboard charts—well, that says it all.

For reference, he learned that saying from Choi Jaeseong.

Anyway, the first portion of luck assigned to him was his grandfather.

His paternal grandfather, a composer of children’s songs, taught him piano and composition.

That was where everything began.

Thanks to that, it mattered that his roommate during his studies in the UK was a guitarist in a band—and it mattered that they sang his song and made it a hit.

When that band caught the eye of a promoter, Chris Edwards was able to attend the meeting.

That was the moment that propelled him onto the Billboard charts.

His grandfather used to always say:

There comes a magical moment in life.

At the time, it feels like a simple choice—but when you look back, you think, “Why did I do that?”

Don’t ignore that moment.

Because that choice is probably closest to the truth.

Back then, Chris didn’t give those words much weight.

Old people, he thought, spend most of their lives reminiscing anyway.

But lately, he’d been thinking:

Han Sion.

Could meeting him have been the “magical moment” his grandfather talked about?

Looking back, it seemed so.

He’d seen just one video of Han Sion and became convinced he was a genius—enough to fly to Korea.

That led to him appearing on a reality show, something he’d never even done in the U.S.

At the time, it felt completely natural.

He was in a slump, nothing was working out, and he needed to chase new fortune.

But now, looking back, he couldn’t figure out what exactly he’d been so sure of.

Everything afterward was the same.

He believed in Han Sion enough to introduce his music to legendary artists appearing in an HBO documentary, and to help gather unknown musicians and form GOTM.

All of it felt like a miracle. Like magic.

While he was thinking this, he heard that GOTM was heading to Korea for vacation.

Well—pretending it was vacation, but really to convince Han Sion to give them new songs.

But Han Sion beat them to the punch.

He offered: if they performed as his backing band on stage, he’d give them songs.

Not a song—songs.

GOTM was a little taken aback by the backing band request, but didn’t hesitate long to agree.

Then Han Sion said just one thing.

“Bring all your gear to Korea.”

Why the gear?

Because “songs” meant more than a few, and he planned to record them in Korea.

And seriously record them.

At that moment, Chris Edwards felt his heart race.

Chris wasn’t some stranger to GOTM.

Han Sion had given the information, but Chris and Alex of HR Corporation had personally hand-picked the GOTM members and formed the team.

Chris was even listed as a guest producer in their official materials.

So naturally, he followed GOTM to Korea.

It hadn’t even been that long since he last left.

He was in Seoul around the time of Choi Jaeseong’s accident—about four months ago.

But how often he visited didn’t matter.

What mattered was the music he could hear here—and the way his heart beat for it.

In that moment, Chris realized exactly how he felt.

This wasn’t a miracle, or magic.

It was just music.

Musicians traveling the world in pursuit of better music—nothing unusual about that.

So, after arriving in Korea with GOTM, he met Han Sion.

Surprisingly, Han Sion came to meet them at the airport.

Chris found it odd, until he saw a bunch of cameras waiting.

“…What’s this?”

“Our variety show crew.”

“Our what?”

“Come on, greet your Korean fans first.”

“Hello, Korea… wait, why am I doing this?”

“Because you’re going to be on our show.”

“I thought GOTM was appearing on a show.”

“Not that show. Our company is producing its own. It’s called Reverse the World. Now greet the fans.”

“….”

Chris stared at Han Sion’s shameless face and revoked his earlier realization.

This wasn’t a miracle, or magic, or even music.

This was just a scam!

---

HR Corporation occupies a significant portion of the Billboard charts, and has maintained that dominance for decades.

The market HR controls is that of traditional white-sound loyalists.

So, the company’s decision to push GOTM as the next big thing wasn’t surprising.

Drummer Andrew Gunn.

Guitarist Dave Logan.

Bassist John Sky.

Keyboardist Steve Lipgren.

These four were all immensely skilled, all white, and their sound direction was firmly rooted in traditional white music.

The one flaw was that they lacked a fixed vocalist.

But that could also be a strength.

What if every song GOTM released became a hit?

What if their band name grew big enough?

Then they could slot in anyone as the vocalist.

With the right timing, they could release albums with Adam Levine, Justin Bieber, or Robin Thicke as lead vocal.

From this perspective, GOTM’s trip to Korea wasn’t particularly welcome within HR Corporation.

HR wanted to make GOTM into white culture’s superstars.

A K-pop star wasn’t needed for that.

If the K-pop star hadn’t been ZION, the genius behind Players and TFD, HR would’ve done everything in its power to block the trip.

Some people might find this confusing.

Andrew Bryant, the new CEO of HR, loves ZION.

He praised his music highly and launched a 10-million-album sales project built around it.

Shouldn’t he welcome GOTM and ZION working together?

That’s a fair question.

But HR Corporation isn’t swayed by any single CEO’s preference.

The company is full of departments and factions.

And the team in charge of GOTM had nothing to do with Andrew Bryant.

Currently, GOTM was managed directly under Lloyd Macker, the Executive Vice President who had competed with Andrew Bryant for the CEO position.

It wasn’t that Andrew Bryant was incompetent and lost the rights.

It was just that Lloyd’s division handled the North American region—so by policy, it made sense.

Still, conflict was brewing over GOTM’s upcoming first full-length album.

Lloyd’s side wanted to use HR’s internal producer network, including Chris Edwards.

Andrew Bryant’s side wanted ZION—only ZION.

So the person who came to Korea with GOTM, “James Dean,” had a job to do.

Two jobs, specifically.

First: Is ZION really a genius?

That he has talent is clear.

But is it special talent?

There are many hit songwriters who shook the Billboard charts—but that doesn’t make them all geniuses.

If they were, “one-hit wonder” wouldn’t be a term.

Sometimes, moderate talent strikes gold thanks to timing.

Is ZION one of those—or someone heaven sent?

Second: Do ZION’s songs fit GOTM?

Yes, ZION made Players, GOTM’s breakout hit.

But he also made The First Day, and STAGE, a gimmick album.

His range is wide.

That could mean he’s a genius who transcends genre—or just a lucky fluke.

Especially the synergy between ZION and GOTM might’ve been just that: luck.

There were other tasks too, but these two were James Dean’s top priorities.

Andrew Bryant, who knew this, privately thought: “What a waste of effort.” More accurately, “What a load of crap.”

James Dean’s first impression of ZION wasn’t great.

“What the hell? Is this how they schedule a show?”

Chris Edwards’ schedule was Alex’s responsibility, not his.

And GOTM had already been approved to appear as backing band in a Korean program.

But still—it rubbed him the wrong way.

Following GOTM, James went to ZION’s private rehearsal studio.

It was far too nice to just be a personal practice space.

“You’ve memorized the sheet music, right?”

“Of course. I could play it right now, but… are we really just backing band?”

“What else would you be?”

“Like… a guitar solo or something…”

“Back bands don’t get solos.”

“Tch.”

Dave Logan and ZION’s exchange annoyed James.

He considered Dave a top-tier genius—yet ZION treated him like any other musician.

Then came rehearsal.

ZION said he composed the song himself—and it was fantastic.

James didn’t love that it was a rap track—but the rap was so good, he got over it quickly.

“No one said he rapped…”

Because it was in Korean, he could listen objectively—and it was really solid.

How much time passed?

They played nonstop, and then took a break.

Everyone looked jetlagged, but the show was only four days away.

Despite being their first run-through, it sounded great—and ZION looked very pleased.

Then, after a short rest, ZION stood up.

“Let’s be honest. You guys came here to ask for songs, didn’t you?”

Bassist John Sky shrugged.

“Yeah.”

It was a hot topic at HR: GOTM had rejected every song offered after Players.

Some of them weren’t even bad—some were great.

Even GOTM admitted that.

But still, they refused. Said none of it moved them.

“I’ll play three songs for now.”

“What?”

“Songs I wrote for you guys.”

ZION connected his phone to the speaker.

“I played the instruments myself. Only used a session drummer.”

Then he glanced at James Dean.

“You can record it if you want.”

“Record? Wouldn’t you just send the files?”

“Hmm, thought you were in a power struggle with Andrew Bryant. If you want the files, take ’em.”

Then he pressed play.

What shocked James first was the guitar.

The playing was phenomenal.

And once the guitar amazed him, he noticed the bass was insane too—then the keyboard blew him away.

Only the drums were average. Everything else was next-level.

But the real shock came next.

The song.

Great performance doesn’t make a great song.

But this composition? Incredible.

You could immediately picture what it would sound like with GOTM—and it was breathtaking.

But even more stunning was the vocal.

ZION’s voice was beautiful beyond belief.

This guy was K-pop?

If he started a band in the U.S., he’d sell tens of millions of albums.

James sat there, mouth agape—but the surprises weren’t over.

Track two. Track three.

Each song was just as good.

Of course they were—these were the highlights from Han Sion’s past life.

The best tracks he’d released with GOTM before.

And now, Han Sion planned to bring them into the world.