Little Pink Starfish

If someone asked me what I thought of Rowen, I’d probably pretend to ponder it for a second before saying: the most perfectly crafted male idol.

His range covered multiple positions, and from the very start, he had the skills to create his own music.

From a purely musical perspective, Rowen might’ve been better off debuting as a solo artist. The debut team for his season of CYB’s male idol division was fairly average, but it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say Rowen dragged them all forward by the scruff of their necks.

Even putting aside his skills, Rowen had something that set him apart from other artists.

If I had to describe it—he didn’t display any particular desire.

There was nothing he seemed to strongly want to achieve.

Back when I was just a fan, I’d only vaguely sensed it. But now that I was somewhat closer to him, I felt more certain.

Most people, when they get on stage, are swept up by the desire to put on a great performance. When they appear on variety shows, they instinctively try to mesh with the tone of the program.

But not Rowen. He just seemed to enjoy the moment, nothing more.

‘It’s like…’

Like a man from a palace beneath the sea, casually strolling through the human world.

Still, I shouldn’t ignore the fact that part of that image was meticulously crafted.

Idols’ schedules are always packed, and they’re constantly at risk of being swept up in scandals and other messes.

Some fall into despair from it. Whether they succeed or not in the industry isn’t the only factor—it’s about how they take care of themselves while constantly being in the public eye. That’s what determines their quality of life.

And in that sense, Rowen was—

‘…incredibly well-made.’

He really felt like the most perfectly manufactured male idol.

“This is seriously ridiculous.”

Han Iro muttered furiously, frowning deeply.

“He ignores all my calls but reaches out to you to shoot a documentary together? I swear, I want to go to his studio and smash a flower vase over his head.”

Whenever Iro talked about Rowen, he became oddly aggressive.

Still, that side of him made them feel more like real brothers—it was nice to see, honestly.

“Sigh…”

After letting out a breath, he continued.

“Anyway, Eunyul, the reason I wanted to talk to you alone…”

I already had an idea.

“You know about Seol-ie hyung’s father, right? He told me he mentioned it to you…”

He asked while wrapping his hands around a hot canned coffee.

I nodded.

“That’s seriously top-secret info. He didn’t even tell the other Codess members about it.”

That probably means he really liked you, Iro mumbled as he sipped his coffee.

‘Then how the hell did Choi Sooyeon find out about it?’

I sighed and shook my head.

Iro and I were standing at the stairwell landing, keeping an eye out for anyone coming up or down.

“Seol-ie hyung’s dad passed away.”

I already knew that.

There was no point in pretending to be surprised, so I just stared at Iro in silence.

“I doubt it shocked him that much. He never really talked about himself, but… he didn’t have any fond memories of his father.”

“I figured.”

“…Well, I guess it’s fine if I tell you.”

Scratching his neck, Iro began to explain Rowen’s family background.

After the Gates closed, most surviving anti-Hunters were punished. But Rowen’s father avoided punishment by paying an enormous sum to the government.

In exchange, the business he ran collapsed.

Most of his wealth vanished. But like many disgraced tycoons in the news, he still had enough money to hide away in some remote countryside and act like a feudal lord.

He changed his identity and became a landowner in some rural corner of the country.

“He’s like a picture-perfect cartoon villain, isn’t he?”

Iro chuckled.

Maybe it was because he enjoyed lording over others—he built a massive mansion in the middle of nowhere and raised six children.

Rowen was the youngest.

“He must’ve had Rowen really late in life.”

“Yeah. Seol-ie hyung was the baby.”

Apparently, Rowen’s father didn’t feel any shame about his past, even though he’d contributed to the deaths of countless people. Well, maybe he felt a bit of shame—but only because he’d backed the losing side. He treated his past like a business miscalculation.

“So he didn’t hide anything from his kids. He even used his decisions as cautionary tales, telling them to succeed where he failed.”

Each child reacted differently.

One became a ruthless businessperson.

Another shut themselves away and never came out.

One turned into a reckless heir who blew through the family fortune.

Another became a diligent government official.

By the time Rowen began to form his own identity, all his siblings had already chosen their paths. Whether those paths were good or bad didn’t matter much to Rowen.

“Seol-ie hyung just… wanted to sever all ties with the family.”

Because it was just too strange.

Living in a giant wooden mansion surrounded by mountains—he felt something was off before he even knew who he was.

He realized early on that his classmates at the tiny branch school and his own family came from fundamentally different worlds.

His friends smelled like dirt.

He always smelled faintly artificial—probably from all the air fresheners in the house.

Rowen’s father apparently told him not to get attached to that place.

He’d failed, so he was stuck there, but Rowen needed to succeed and leave.

What is the difference between failure and success?

Even as a child, Rowen had wondered.

Were the people who stayed in their hometowns all failures?

He said he’d thought about it while looking out over a rice paddy during the sweltering summer.

It seemed strange. When it poured or during long droughts, everyone would worry. But eventually, they’d always recover and harvest their crops when the weather cooled.

It takes immense care to plant a seed in dirt and nurture it until it’s tall and strong.

But it’s not worth much. Even if you cover acres in green and grow crops, it doesn’t make you rich. Yet measuring value through success and failure felt odd. Like placing your life on a shelf and begging someone to buy it.

If the rice ripened well, then that was success. Even if the price wasn’t high. The people of his hometown were living well, after all.

“Seol-ie hyung’s dad always used to say: ‘Don’t end up a failure like me.’”

Of course, he had failed. Rowen knew that better than anyone.

And that’s why he found it so repulsive—his father’s desire to turn even his failure into a teaching point.

Avoid getting too close to people.

Don’t hang out with farmers.

Stand before me.

Take your punishment quietly.

At some point, Rowen found all of that completely unbearable.

“So… he got out.”

Iro exhaled as he finished his story.

I nodded silently.

“Why isn’t Rowen responding to me, then?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?”

Iro shrugged.

“Seol-ie hyung’s whole identity was built around his hatred for his father. But now that his father’s dead, that hatred has no target. Being angry at a dead man feels weird. It’s a perfect recipe for burnout. I bet he can’t even bring himself to work. And talking to me—someone who knows all his history—probably feels like a hassle.”

That alone was irritatingly understandable, Iro muttered with a laugh.

“But knowing him, he’ll show up again soon, acting like nothing happened.”

Rowen probably wasn’t shocked by his father’s death.

He was just… bored. Iro was sure of it.

And I agreed.

I hadn’t lived the same life as him, but that’s why I could understand it. From a distance, as an outsider.

“Then why’d he ask me to do the documentary with him?”

I asked.

“He’s probably curious.”

Iro answered immediately.

“Your dad was a really good man. A soldier, and the complete opposite of Seol-ie hyung’s father. They were nothing alike.”

And yet they were lumped into the same category—fathers.

“So Eunyul, he probably…”

Rowen probably wanted to understand how I’d overcome my own father’s death.

“…I see.”

To be honest, I didn’t really know how to feel.

I had no frame of reference for growing up under someone like Rowen’s father.

And Rowen probably didn’t understand it either—that’s why he came to me.

‘Either way…’

This was good.

I might finally get a lead on Jung Han-gyeol.

---

A few days later, I attended a pre-shoot meeting for the documentary.

I hadn’t told Choi Sooyeon about the schedule.

I figured she probably already knew somehow. Besides, our relationship was more of an alliance focused on finding out the truth about Jung Han-gyeol.

‘Whether it’s a fan or a reporter…’

Either way, it wasn’t wise for me to open up too much to her.

She probably knew that too. That’s probably why our main communication had settled into the slow pace of email.

<It’s been a while since I’ve seen that slime-eating creature.>

Saetbyeol commented as we walked down the broadcasting station’s hallway.

“Yeah… Last time we saw him was before the CYB finals even started…”

It had already been about half a year.

I chuckled.

Back when I was just a fan of Rowen, I never even had the chance to talk to him. Before joining CYB, I used to watch him from afar and feel content with that.

‘And now we’re talking face-to-face without hesitation…’

It still felt a little strange.

<By the way, you…>

Saetbyeol glanced at me.

<Looks like things worked out. You were digging around about Codess or whatever, weren’t you?>

“Saying ‘digging’ makes it sound way too dramatic…”

I squinted at her.

<Anyway, I already warned you. Don’t go charging around making a fuss. Try to be cautious.>

“I know.”

I smiled.

Saetbyeol probably knew I wouldn’t follow her advice either.

<Hmph.>

She scoffed.

<We’ve arrived.>

We stood in front of the meeting room door.

Rowen would be on the other side.

‘I wonder what it feels like…’

The thought crossed my mind.

‘…To have a terrible father.’

I gripped the doorknob, lost in that thought.