Little Pink Starfish

“Who did you say the god of music was again?”

As a child, Min Heejae asked his teacher.

“Apollo.”

His teacher had answered readily.

Apollo, god of music—
And also the sun, poetry, medicine, archery, and prophecy.

“Why does Apollo get to govern so many things?”

To this, the teacher replied without hesitation.

“Because music can become the sun, poetry, medicine, archery, and prophecy.”

‘…Is that so?’

Min Heejae wasn’t sure he understood.

He just liked playing the piano.

Music wasn’t merely playing instruments—it was the art of molding a melody that echoed in one’s ears.

Art is the act of giving shape to the shapeless, using tangible tools to bring into existence something inevitably imperfect.

So, all music is born incomplete. No recording could ever be as beautiful as the melody inside the performer’s head. No matter how skilled the performer, a single slip of the hand or stray thought can disrupt the entire flow.

But drifting from perfection doesn’t mean losing beauty.

Music is beautiful because it consists of tones that can flow in any direction.

Min Heejae loved the unstable shape of music.

Because of its imperfection, music could become the sun, poetry, medicine, archery—or prophecy.

‘So then…’

There was no need for a perfect, all-powerful god in music.

That was what Heejae had believed growing up.

However—

In the era Heejae lived in, every musician followed a god.

It was a time when every entertainer received backing from a Constellation.

And since Heejae had decided to enter CYB, he too had to make a contract with a Constellation.

He chuckled at how retro the shrine beneath the agency building looked, with its temple-like interior.

“Min Heejae, please step forward.”

The shrine’s overseer guided him to a shard of a star.

“Pay your respects to the Constellations.”

Following instructions, Heejae knelt and folded his hands.

But there wasn’t a shred of reverence in his heart.

“The Constellations support entertainers so that those who are loved and respected may rise. Will you strive to embody their wishes?”

‘…Not sure.’

He nodded anyway.

“Do you swear to contribute to good and use your influence wisely?”

‘I really don’t know.’

He nodded again.

“Thank you. Now, close your eyes and rise to your feet.”

Heejae obeyed and was guided to place his hand on the star shard.

And then—

[Welcome to the domain of the Constellations.]

A pure, clear voice greeted him as light filled his vision.

[This is where the paths of all stars converge—the center of all worlds.]

‘…The center of the world.’

It smelled crisp and clean.

Heejae floated in the center of the cosmos.

Countless stars began to shine toward him.

[The Constellation ‘He Who Makes Sound Though He Cannot Hear It’ has taken an interest in you.]

[The Constellation ‘The Boy Who Made All Musicians Forgotten’ has taken an interest in you.]

[The Constellation ‘The Greatest Pianist of the Recording Era’ has taken an interest in you.]

Heejae let out a hollow laugh.

Apollo wasn’t the only god of music. There were mortals called gods of music, too.

Beethoven, Mozart, Rachmaninoff…

Musicians of the past whom Heejae had once played were now stars in the sky.

And they were all shining down on him.

[The Constellation ‘He Who Makes Sound Though He Cannot Hear It’ offers to fill in your musical shortcomings.]

[The Constellation ‘The Boy Who Made All Musicians Forgotten’ offers to help you play music joyfully for as long as you live.]

[The Constellation ‘The Greatest Pianist of the Recording Era’ refuses to be outdone and offers to help you converse with the piano itself.]

The stars began to compete for Heejae’s favor.

“Haha…”

He couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry, but I must decline.”

He spoke politely.

“I’ll reject all of you. I’ve never wished for miraculous musical talent. I already believe I’m doing well enough.”

The stars began to stir.

[The Constellation ‘He Who Makes Sound Though He Cannot Hear It’ laughs heartily and agrees with Heejae.]

[The Constellation ‘The Boy Who Made All Musicians Forgotten’ is pleased, saying you remind him of his younger self.]

[The Constellation ‘The Greatest Pianist of the Recording Era’ laughs awkwardly and agrees with the previous two.]

It seemed the Constellations were pleased with Heejae’s response.

“What I need isn’t a miracle for my music.”

Heejae closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he looked around.

There were so many.

An endless number of stars.

As countless as those that filled the night sky, these Constellations watched over the world.

And they burned with the desire to influence it.

That made even gods seem pitiful.

To think they would offer divine miracles just to get a mortal to say yes.

“Great Constellations,”

Heejae said, filled with derision.

“I’d like to make a deal.”

With all these Constellations desperate to work with him, surely a deal was possible.

That had been his goal all along.

“If you let me fulfill the wish of a friend who died…”

Then—

“…I’ll give you as many miraculous songs as you want.”

Creating miracles through music was the least he could do.

---

“…So that’s what happened.”

Madojin nodded as he listened to Heejae’s story.

“You went through CYB with your late childhood friend.”

“We agreed to speak casually, remember?”

Heejae sighed gently.

“R-right. You… went through CYB together.”

Madojin awkwardly corrected himself, his tone strained.

Unexpectedly, he seemed fully immersed in the story.

I already knew the general idea, but I hadn’t realized Heejae had personally negotiated with the Constellations.

‘I got rejected by all of them…’

…Meanwhile, Heejae had stars fighting over him.

I couldn’t help but feel a bit salty toward my ancestor Constellation, but I cleared my throat.

“So, hyung… are you satisfied?”

“With what?”

Heejae asked with a faint smile.

“You made the top rankings. We haven’t released the debut song yet, but we did debut as idols. That means you achieved your friend’s dream. You fulfilled your goal in CYB, right?”

“Yeah. I did.”

Heejae nodded.

“And how I’ve been feeling lately is…”

The same as always, he murmured.

After the final stage, Heejae had gone to visit his teacher’s house for the first time in a long while.

He hadn’t gone since his childhood friend’s funeral.

“I was really nervous.”

Heejae had admitted, looking uncharacteristically tense.

“After that… I never saw any articles or mentions of the teacher holding concerts. It seemed like he’d quit music. I wasn’t sure if I should show up, still immersed in music myself.”

“But when I saw him… it felt like I’d gone back to childhood.”

The teacher, who had lost his daughter, looked much older than when Heejae had last seen him.

The man who once called him a genius.

When he saw Heejae…

“…You’ve grown up so much. I didn’t notice on TV, but you’ve gotten really tall.”

He smiled weakly.

“You’ve gotten smaller, sir.”

Heejae had smiled back as he stepped into the home where his friend used to live.

Then he turned back and asked,

“Do you still have the piano?”

He played the old piano the teacher used.

It was dusty and in poor condition. He hadn’t expected it to be tuned. He simply played, pressing down hard on the keys, as if caressing the time that had been lost.

“Sir.”

He stopped and looked at the teacher who had been listening.

“…There’s something I want to tell you.”

Heejae told him everything.

That the girl he saw next to Heejae on TV had always been his daughter.

Throughout the entire story, the teacher laughed at times, cried at others—but always listened intently.

And seeing that, Heejae felt… hollow.

All that he’d done to fulfill his friend’s wish—
Could be conveyed in just an hour of conversation.

He felt the same when they stood before his friend’s grave.

“But…”

Heejae looked at me with a gentle smile.

“…I liked that feeling of hollowness.”

“You liked it?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded.

“Emptiness means it’s become small enough to no longer consume you. That’s why I liked it. Because something small can eventually be forgotten. The teacher might sit at the piano again. And maybe I’ll veer off the idol path and return to being a pianist one day. I’ve done what I had to do… so now I get to decide what my dream is.”

“You haven’t even released your debut song, and you’re already thinking about going solo?”

I joked.

Seeing me joke around, Heejae shook his head.

“No, Instru.”

And in his usual soft voice…

“I just wanted to say that thanks to my debut with that child, she and I—and our teacher—were finally able to treat our sadness as something small.”

He had put into words the very idea I’d been mulling over.

The suffering we need in order to make things feel small.

“…I think I get it now.”

I nodded.

“Did it help?”

“Absolutely. A lot.”

Heejae was the only contestant in CYB who reached the top rankings without a granted power.

He’d actually carried a penalty and still ranked.

And every bit of that struggle had been what he had chosen.

“Listening to you, something came to mind. I’ll need to discuss it with the others tomorrow, but…”

I scratched my cheek.

“…I’ll work on the lyrics. But I think each of us should decide on a problem we want to solve without a Constellation’s help… and base our concepts around that. For example…”

I pouted thoughtfully.

“In Noeul’s case, let’s have her play basketball.”

“…Basketball?”

Heejae squinted.

“Yeah. She’s not really tall enough for it, right? If she wanted to go pro and a Constellation offered to help, they’d probably promise her a miracle to make her taller.”

Just like how music Constellations had offered Heejae musical miracles.

“But without a Constellation’s help…”

Using only her own strength—

“…I want to write lyrics that tell that kind of story.”