Little Pink Starfish

I saw a man.

His body was slender, his skin pale.

For some reason, he reminded me of a mannequin.

I was watching this man from afar—as if suspended between the past and future.

<Mr. Eunyul, can you hear my voice?>

Suddenly, I heard Mika’s voice.

I tried turning my head to look around, only to realize—I had no body to move. I was merely an observer, gazing into the past. This place was never one I truly existed in, so it made sense I couldn’t shift my point of view.

‘This really feels like I’ve turned into a security camera.’

I thought to myself, and sure enough—

<That’s a fair way to understand it.>

Mika replied brightly.

<Your soul has arrived in the past through my authority. What you are witnessing is a segment of Jeong Hangeol’s life. Since these events have already occurred, all you can do is watch.>

So that’s how it was.

The man I was watching… must be Jeong Hangeol.

He was sitting motionless on the sofa in what looked to be his apartment. Staring blankly at the ceiling, barely moving, only exhaling softly.

<This is one week before Jeong Hangeol passed away.>

As Mika explained, Hangeol slowly adjusted his posture.

“Is it really possible?”

He asked while gazing at a space filled only with furniture. Most likely, he was speaking to Izanagi.

<Izanagi, the ‘Father Forever Tainted,’ made him an offer. If he truly wanted to end his life, he could make it so his very existence would vanish.>

‘Why would he offer something like that?’

<The ‘Father Forever Tainted’ had grown weary of observing this world as a constellation. Just as humans can tire of life, so too can constellations grow weary of their infinite lives.>

I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it.

Constellations are immortal. I could imagine they might get tired at some point, but at the same time, that infinite span was so far removed from my understanding, I couldn’t truly empathize.

<That makes sense. Most human emotions stem from having a limited time to live. Both joy and sorrow arise because life has an end.>

However…

Mika sighed as she continued.

<But that means constellations—beings with infinite life—end up experiencing emotional erosion. With nothing left to love or hate, constellations sink into a bog of ennui.>

Maybe that really was the case. If I had to watch the world forever, I’d probably get exhausted, too.

“Dear God, I’m so tired.”

Suddenly, Jeong Hangeol spoke.

“I’m exhausted. Going to therapy every week, taking medication that leaves me dazed, pretending to be okay and smiling in front of others… all of it.”

There wasn’t a trace of hesitation in his expression.

Like he was recounting the exhaustion of an ordinary day, his voice was steady and matter-of-fact.

“I want to die…”

He lowered his gaze.

“I’ve thought about it often. I even tried it a few times…”

He trailed off and took a shaky breath.

“But I stopped because I didn’t want to trouble anyone else.”

That was likely true.

The final barrier to ending one’s life is often the worry of burdening those left behind.

It was embarrassing to admit, but I’d felt that too.

When you’ve sunk deep into self-loathing, the idea of wanting to live doesn’t come naturally. After all, who would want to live while turning that hatred inward? Especially in Jeong Hangeol’s case, where exhaustion seemed to come from so many directions—his death must have felt like a kind of release.

The problem was… everyone else.

Those who would be left behind. That guilt of absence—that was the final hurdle.

“If I accept your offer… what will happen to you?”

<The ‘Father Forever Tainted’ told him not to worry. He, too, would simply disappear from this world. That this was the conclusion he desired.>

But I couldn’t believe that offer was truly for Jeong Hangeol’s sake.

What kind of constellation suggests dying together with their contractor? A god proposing a suicide pact with a mortal—it sounded more like a drowning ghost than a divine being.

<You’re right, Mr. Eunyul.>

Mika spoke firmly.

<The ‘Father Forever Tainted’ likely needed justification. Constellations are too powerful to die by their own hand. Only a being above constellations—like the ‘Savior Who Is One and All’—can end them.>

Unbelievable.

In the end, the ‘Father Forever Tainted’ lured Jeong Hangeol into death just to justify his own.

<To constellations, their creations mean many things. Some see them as subjects to rule. Others regard them as tools they’ve built. While a few may truly care about their creations’ well-being, most constellations treat the life and death of mortals as insignificant cycles.>

Bitterness laced Mika’s words.

Star could mock the other constellations freely, since he acted by his own whims. But for Mika—who stood beside the ‘Savior Who Is One and All’—dealing with these perspectives must have been frustrating.

“God…”

Jeong Hangeol looked up.

“Can I… have a little time to think?”

I didn’t know how the ‘Father Forever Tainted’ responded. Most likely, he granted the request. Because right after, Jeong Hangeol began living his daily life, almost mechanically.

A mechanical routine.

That was the perfect way to describe it.

Like he had a compulsion, Hangeol checked his calendar over and over as he went about his day. But no matter what he was doing, he never seemed to enjoy it. The only time he smiled was during phone calls—and even then, the smile looked forced and painful to watch.

“Suri?”

He was on the phone with Rowen too.

“Ah… yeah. I got a call from Reporter Choi. I’m going to give an interview about the rumors in the next few days. It’s okay. Everyone goes through stuff like this, right?”

Now that I thought about it, Star had said Jeong Hangeol was tormented by malicious rumors.

<Based on my observations of CYB idols after debut…>

Mika said in a sunken voice.

<Jeong Hangeol seemed deeply exposed to the depression that plagues many celebrities. Putting yourself in the public eye means constantly exposing your mind to pressure. Only a constellation could withstand the gaze of the masses in a single mortal body.>

That’s why the constellations began turning their attention to idols after the Gates closed.

That was Mika’s explanation.

And she was right. Receiving the gaze of the entire world in a single body is terrifying. If someone could physically feel the weight of a gaze, most celebrities would be hunched over. Even if it couldn’t be measured, that weight was real.

Living life with the fear that someone might be filming your every move…

Being an entertainer meant accepting that.

“Yeah. Got it. I’ll reach out if I need help. Thanks, Suri.”

Jeong Hangeol smiled as he said that.

If Rowen could see this now, what would he feel? Before forgetting Hangeol’s existence, I’m sure Rowen cared deeply about him in many ways.

‘It’s heartbreaking.’

That’s all I could think.

If Hangeol had chosen death because life had become too heavy—if he feared the pain his death would cause others and thus chose erasure instead—then while I could say it wasn’t right…

‘I couldn’t say he committed a sin.’

It was such a complicated matter.

After the call, Hangeol buried himself in his routine again. I’d thought he seemed obsessive even when I saw him with Rowen, but now, it was clear—he was unmistakably ill.

Even the way he picked a single hair off the floor and threw it away—everything was on edge.

<He was diagnosed with multiple mental health disorders. Years of accumulated stress had corroded his spirit.>

I figured as much.

Honestly, it was only Hangeol’s method that stood out. There were many in the entertainment world suffering internally. Some smiled in front of the camera, only to cry the moment it was off. I knew several people like that.

Some ended up making extreme choices. Some because they couldn’t endure obscurity. Others because they couldn’t handle the malice that came with fame. And sometimes, even perpetrators took their lives when they couldn’t face what came after.

It left a bitter taste.

Watching Jeong Hangeol like this—just before his death—at a distance.

I felt like I had become a camera, voyeuristically observing one man’s life.

That was when it happened.

Beep. Beep-beep.

The door lock clicked.

<Now you’ll see it.>

Mika’s voice sharpened.

The door to Hangeol’s apartment opened, followed by the sound of someone taking off their shoes.

Hangeol, mid-cleaning, jerked his head toward the entrance.

“You’re here, Woohyun?”

He smiled brightly.

Different from the call with Rowen—this one looked truly happy.

‘Woohyun…’

I repeated the name from Hangeol’s mouth.

‘Woohyun… Choi Woohyun…’

And I immediately realized who it referred to.

“What were you doing?”

A familiar voice replied.

So much younger than now.

“Cleaning. Did you eat?”

“Yeah. I’m super sleepy.”

The man walked toward the living room sofa.

‘…Aiden.’

It was Aiden.

‘No… not yet. At this point, he wasn’t Jeong Hangeol…’

So then—who was he?

Back in Codess, Jeong Hangeol had originally held Aiden’s role. So who exactly was Choi Woohyun, the one I now remembered as Aiden?

It was time to find the answer.