Episode 38: This Feels Right Today
The next day.
As soon as we got home last night, I sat at my laptop for thirty minutes.
Zia, looking a bit sulky at my focus, was so adorable that I spent the next two and a half hours with her—draining her energy and spirit to clear up her misunderstanding—before returning to the laptop.
Three hours total, and the result?
“This… you made this song yesterday…?”
Baek Kyungmin, looking like he might creak from shock, stares at me.
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“What do I think…?”
I nod lightly, and he sighs, clutching his forehead.
“This guy’s insane. You barely have time to practice, and you’re making MIDI tracks?”
Fair point.
“What can I do? My head was overflowing. Had to get it out.”
What else could I do?
Melodies, lyrics—if you don’t capture them, they vanish.
It’s a universal truth for humans, a fate no creator, not just musicians, can escape.
Baek Kyungmin knows this too.
“Ugh… yeah, fine. How is it? It’s good. Not just good—insanely good. I can’t believe you made this in three hours.”
His scolding for getting distracted before a big performance doesn’t go further.
As a recording engineer, he’s in the musician’s realm too.
“Especially here, the bridge into the pre-chorus. It’s a bit off from current trends, but it doesn’t feel dated either. Really nice.”
“Right?”
I can’t hide my smile at the part he points out.
That pre-chorus was meant to capture Zia gazing at the starry sky.
“Nice work. CEO Seo will love this. Blind Singer’s momentum is high, and having this ready early is even better.”
Baek Kyungmin, replaying the working title ‘Shooting Star’, smiles too.
“By the way, it’s wild. Earlier this year, you were making songs that felt like scraping rock bottom. How’d you come up with this? Even your Blind Singer performances are unreal—songs I couldn’t imagine.”
“Who knows?”
“Don’t start with that regression nonsense again.”
I haven’t even said anything, but his full-throttle reaction deepens my grin.
“If you’re gonna say that, at least give me lottery numbers or stock tips.”
If I knew those, I’d have used them already.
Heck, I didn’t even predict Blind Singer Season 3 would blow up like this, or that YTV’s stock would skyrocket because of it.
‘If I’d touched YTV stock, I might’ve been nabbed for insider trading.’
I don’t know the legal lines well, and I haven’t felt the need to rush into that anyway.
“Oh.”
But there’s one thing I can say with certainty.
“Hyung, if you still have Starlight stock, sell it now.”
Unlike other things, I’m sure about Starlight.
Before my regression, Starlight’s stock soared to the heavens, largely thanks to Polaris.
But now?
‘Polaris doesn’t have me.’
Plus, there’s a ticking time bomb of plagiarism that hasn’t exploded yet.
But Baek Kyungmin gives an ambiguous smile.
“I sold it all after hearing Kevin Lee’s advice.”
“And?”
“I’m regretting it big time. Look.”
He shows me his phone, pulling up a stock chart with a steep upward slope.
“Starlight’s hitting the daily limit every day. If I’d held on, imagine the profit… That’s why I don’t buy your regression talk.”
He tosses the playful jab and turns to enjoy my song.
I tilt my head, staring at his back.
Daily limit?
Why?
Why’s it spiking?
***
Six days after CEO Seo Yoonje, thrilled, received Shooting Star via Baek Kyungmin.
Back in Blind Singer’s private waiting room.
Rocking my chair on its front legs, I’m lost in thought.
I swore I wouldn’t care about Lee Heekyung, but I can’t help wondering why Starlight’s stock keeps hitting the daily limit.
Polaris’s current status is nothing like it was pre-regression.
Back then, they were the undisputed frontrunner for rookie awards.
Now, they’re neck-and-neck with other rookie boy groups.
Since Polaris was the biggest driver of Starlight’s sky-high stock pre-regression, this relentless surge feels off.
The reason becomes clear soon enough.
‘They tapped into China money…’
China, with its 1.3 billion people—a market no business can ignore.
But in the entertainment industry, it’s not a guaranteed win.
Idol culture, a global mainstream phenomenon, has its epicenter right here on the Korean Peninsula.
That’s true now and for the next sixteen years.
A group with insane popularity among 1.3 billion?
If they’re not recognized in this 60-million-strong peninsula, they’re just a derivative, never mainstream.
In that sense, the Polaris I produced was the savviest at riding that wave.
Even if 1.3 billion people scream, “They’re stealing our culture!”
I’d counter with, “Whatever, I’ll do what I want,” weaving Korean culture boldly into countless songs.
When investors grumbled, “This concept isn’t it,” I shot back, “Then do it without me.”
Why? Because Korean fans didn’t want that.
As a member, not just a producer, they couldn’t cut me out.
That stance let Polaris—and Starlight—completely sideline China money.
Betting everything on a mere 60-million-person market, ignoring China’s massive one, was a choice no business would make.
Yet, that’s exactly why Polaris maintained global popularity for sixteen years.
In the end, even if 1.3 billion cried, “Polaris stole Chinese culture!” over 4 billion others shouted, “China’s talking nonsense again,” creating that tide.
But now, Polaris is walking the opposite path from the start.
Fueled by that sweet capital, they’re carving a meaningful niche in the war zone of Blind Singer contestants and veteran idols.
‘If they can just milk that sweetness, what’s the problem?’
Easier said than done.
To me, it looks like Lee Heekyung’s drinking poison.
‘U.S. debut? No time for that.’
This trajectory makes their pivotal U.S. debut unlikely.
That seemingly random move was a desperate last-ditch effort to break through tough times.
‘No Yujin, no U.S. debut… Polaris is done for…?’
Maybe I’m overestimating myself.
But objectively, as a producer, Polaris’s future looks like a second-tier, mediocre idol group.
‘Seven-year contract…’
Seven years? They might not even make it that far.
If they don’t defuse that plagiarism time bomb…
‘Scrap Polaris and fast-track the fourth group?’
The Lee Heekyung I know wouldn’t hesitate to make that call.
Polaris’s members are talented, sure, but are they irreplaceable? Not really.
‘If we could push Polaris to second place… that might speed things up.’
A changed Polaris trajectory.
But what if a boy group emerges, following the exact path Polaris took pre-regression?
‘Wait.’
A thought flashes through my mind, but—
‘No way. That’s not happening.’
I shake my head, dismissing it.
Me standing in that spot again? Impossible.
Even if Polaris’s members are a sore spot for me, do I have to go that far to save them? No.
‘Just hold on for now.’
If they don’t change in the meantime, there are plenty of ways to save them.
As I chuckle at the thought, a singer on the screen catches my eye.
“Under the pitch-black night sky clearing up,
Shimmering starlight pours down!
Running wild on this dazzling stage,
The only stars are you and me!
Wipe away all complicated thoughts,
Party under the Milky Way!”
A fresh-faced boy in a blazer reminiscent of a school uniform, tie fluttering, commands the stage.
“Kang Taeoh’s energy, stage presence, and showmanship are incredible. That’s either innate or honed through time. For Kang Taeoh, it’s the former, right? He’s shining now, but with proper polishing, how dazzling could he be? That’s what this stage makes me anticipate,” Lee Ahjeong comments.
Her critique, aligning with my thoughts, pokes at my producer instincts.
Click.
The chair’s front legs hit the floor, sending a small jolt, but my thoughts don’t stop.
‘Taeoh, huh…’
It feels like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into an empty space.
“Huh?”
Wondering if this is right, I mutter aloud, tilting my head.
“Han Yujin-nim! Time to prepare!”
The waiting room door opens, and Kwon Junghyun’s voice peeks through.
‘Already?’
Click.
Switching from producer to singer mode, I shove my thoughts to a corner.
‘Whatever it is, I need to handle my own business first. That’s right.’
Even as I think this, my lips curl upward.
Not the joy of singer Han Yujin anticipating the stage, but the lingering thrill of producer Han Yujin.
Slap.
I lightly pat my cheeks for a quick mindset shift as I head to the stage.
“Yujin-ssi! Wait! You forgot ‘that thing’!”
Kwon Junghyun rushes to stop me.
For a moment, I’m confused, but—
‘Right, she didn’t see the rehearsal.’
The unease she feels is exactly what I intended.
Without stopping, I reply.
“No, this is right for today.”
A twist isn’t just about adding something new, after all.