Little Pink Starfish

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

And for good reason—because the man who stepped out of Rowen’s car passenger seat was none other than Hamin.

Most people wouldn’t have recognized him. Compared to the last time I saw him, his body was more muscular, his hair cut short, and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. But he couldn’t fool the eyes of someone who had spent so many years as a trainee alongside him.

“Surprised?”

Hamin said with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Of course I am.”

I scratched the back of my neck. I had been thinking about him just a few days ago, but never imagined we’d run into each other like this.

A strange tension lingered between us. I wasn’t sure how to bring up what we’d been up to—or even how to greet him.

“Hamin’s been working as my road manager since the beginning of this year,” Rowen said with a gentle smile.

“He’s still not that great at driving, so I ended up teaching him myself….”

“I can drive my dad’s car just fine… it’s just your schedule is so packed, it’s scary,” Hamin added with an easy grin.

My mind went blank.

Now that he was an adult, of course he’d have a job. But after leaving CYB, I’d figured he was trying to get into college. It was bitter to admit, but making a comeback in the entertainment industry wasn’t exactly realistic.

“I bombed my grades after quitting CYB—what college would take me now? Maybe one of those barely accredited schools.”

It was a fair point. No matter how hard you tried, juggling trainee life and studying wasn’t exactly a recipe for academic success.

“So I told him to choose,” said Rowen, resting a hand on Hamin’s shoulder.

“Try again for college, or come work with me.”

The working conditions for a road manager aren’t exactly great. You have to handle all sorts of odds and ends, and the pay isn’t high. Not to mention the brutal hours.

“No need to worry about that. I have two other road managers besides Hamin… and I make sure they get incentives too.”

“Well, even if that wasn’t the case…”

Hamin laughed awkwardly.

“I probably would’ve become Rowen’s road manager anyway.”

“…Yeah. Probably.”

I nodded slowly.

If the roles had been reversed, I would’ve made the same choice.

Because even being on the outskirts is better than being nowhere at all.

We’d poured years of effort into becoming a part of this industry. Just because it all crumbled didn’t mean we could turn our backs on it so easily.

I’m sorry.

A voice echoed inside me.

I wanted to say I was sorry. Though I didn’t really have anything to be sorry for.

I knew that it was Aiden who led him astray. Even if he’d felt a twinge of jealousy toward me, the price he paid for that flicker of envy was far too steep.

I wasn’t the only one murmuring unspoken apologies—Hamin probably was too.

How did things come to this?

Around this time last year, we were throwing ourselves into practice, excited for the upcoming CYB.

‘Honestly…’

The only thing that came to mind was: We were toyed with by a god.

“You’ll be seeing me a lot once filming starts.”

Hamin looked away from me as he spoke.

“You going to be okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I clenched my fist and answered.

“It’s all in the past.”

That’s what I said—but in truth, I didn’t believe such a thing as “the past” really existed. Even now, people were probably still talking trash about either Hamin or me. I could hold my head high through it all, but for Hamin, that must have been much harder.

“Then I’ll see you at the shoot.”

Rowen waved at me.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Hiring Hamin as his road manager—and orchestrating this reunion between us—it was clear Rowen had done it all with good intentions.

If not for Rowen, I probably would’ve slowly forgotten Hamin. And I might’ve grown into one of those adults who see that as natural.

But that feels cowardly somehow.

A bit of youthful defiance was stirring in my chest.

“Thank you, Rowen.”

I murmured the words toward him.

He just tilted his head as if he didn’t know what I was thanking him for.

---

<So. You finally met.>

As soon as I got in the car, The Star Hated by All spoke, resting a hand on the steering wheel.

“You…”

I glared at them.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

<Of course. I’m not just some road manager, am I?>

The Star said as they started the engine.

“Then why didn’t you tell me anything?”

<…Who knows.>

They smirked and began to drive.

The car we were in glided smoothly across the road.

We didn’t speak for a while. I rested my chin on my hand, staring out the window, while The Star kept their eyes on the road.

I thought about Aiden.

‘…Yeah.’

I couldn’t stop pursuing him.

I didn’t even know what his true motives were, but I was certain that there were others out there, like Hamin and myself, who had suffered because of him.

It wasn’t anger on behalf of nameless victims that drove me. It wasn’t that I didn’t care—but it wasn’t something I could feel in my bones either.

So in the end, this was a personal matter.

I wasn’t obsessed with Aiden out of some noble cause or sense of justice. No use pretending otherwise.

‘I just want to hit him where it hurts.’

That’s all it was.

I wanted to ask—what the hell is he doing this for?

<Even if you do… it won’t change anything.>

Suddenly, The Star read my thoughts.

<Let me be honest. I’ve been keeping an eye on your old friend. Couldn’t let him screw up again. Though now, he’s no longer a threat…>

…Not that he was ever a real threat, even during the CYB finals.

Muttering that, The Star glanced over me.

<I’ve said it countless times already, but listen up again. You are merely a mortal.>

“So what?”

<Just because you’ve contracted with me doesn’t make you a god. Human life is truly pitiful. You saw it just now, didn’t you?>

Humans are nothing but toys, dancing on the palms of gods.

We’re driven by coincidences, swept up in the unpredictable.

Did the constellations choose to support the entertainment world because they saw humans as clowns?

<Maybe.>

The Star chuckled.

<But think about it. The only reason you can think that way—is because you’re human. If you were something inhuman, you wouldn’t even be able to question the constellations.>

“So in the end…”

I looked at The Star.

“You’re saying I should just accept that I’m powerless and be satisfied?”

<Wrong. I’m saying don’t hold onto hope.>

Taking revenge on Aiden wouldn’t change anything. Even if I learned his true intentions, it wouldn’t fix everything. If that’s what I truly wanted, I’d need to beg a higher being like The Star or Mika for help.

Because this was beyond what I could handle alone.

‘What happened to Hamin… and everything I went through back then…’

I laughed, hollowly.

“Nothing gets solved.”

<Right. Nothing gets solved. And that’s what makes it beautiful. Remember what I said once? That to us constellations, a human life is just a blink of an eye.>

“You did.”

I laughed again.

“When we were talking about that damn Son Bokgyu.”

When humans build towers high enough to reach the heavens, constellations see it as arrogance—and knock it down in an instant.

It takes a long time for a human to fall, but a constellation needs only a moment to erase them.

Hamin and I had been through so much.

Because we’re nothing more than mere humans, not constellations…

“…It’ll probably take a long time to rebuild our relationship.”

I muttered.

<Exactly.>

The Star smiled.

<That time is something constellations don’t have. It’s a gift given only to mortals. So enjoy it while you can.>

I…

The Star murmured.

<I was worried you might get hurt.>

“You were… worried I’d get hurt?”

<You may have forgotten since you’ve already moved on, but think back to the time everyone was talking about Boy A. You looked like you could’ve died at any moment.>

“Well… yeah, that was rough.”

Somehow, that had already become a distant memory.

It hadn’t been that long ago, but it felt like ages.

<That too is a privilege of the created. Beings like me don’t forget so easily. Maybe that’s why we’ve grown numb to your fleeting lives. Glimpse them once, and we remember forever.>

“You probably remember more about me than I do.”

<Most likely.>

Because we spent so much time together, I often lumped The Star and myself into the same category.

But I was human, and The Star was a transcendent being. The way we saw the world was fundamentally different. Even if The Star was next to me holding the steering wheel, it felt like their gaze was watching me from some faraway place.

“Let me ask one thing.”

After a brief pause, I opened my mouth.

“When you told me to stop chasing Aiden… was that because you were afraid I’d get hurt?”

<Why else would I say that? Do I really need to spell it out?>

The Star didn’t hesitate to reply.

<From a human perspective, you wouldn’t even notice.>

Their voice had a weight to it as they murmured.

<Not that it matters. You can’t be stopped anyway.>

The Star glanced sideways at me.

<But remember this, mortal. I stopped Enoch by myself—but what’s coming now is beyond even me.>

“…Even you can’t handle it?”

That only made me more curious.

What the hell is going on?

It wasn’t entirely unexpected.

If even The Star, who had taken down Enoch, couldn’t deal with it…

‘…Then I can only assume it involves the Savior Who Is One and All.’

The birth of a new constellation.

I remembered the words The Star once told me, still echoing in my mind.