Little Pink Starfish

Choi Woohyun.

The man who, in the timeline I belonged to, acted as Aiden, a member of Codess.

But originally, in the original timeline, it was Jeong Hangeol who had taken on the role of Aiden, and through some process, Choi Woohyun came to occupy the position Hangeol once held.

It was strange. Why was Choi Woohyun the one standing there?

Had causality in the original timeline collapsed due to Jeong Hangeol’s erasure from everyone’s memories, causing the seat he left behind to be reassigned by the constellations to Choi Woohyun as a member of Codess? Or was it the influence of Choi Woohyun and his constellation, the ‘Mother Who Burns Eternally’? But thinking about it again—was filling Jeong Hangeol’s spot even necessary in the first place?

Project teams formed through CYB were usually composed of the top five contestants, but there had often been changes to the number of members depending on circumstances.

<That’s correct. If it were just a matter of filling the vacancy left by Mr. Jeong Hangeol’s disappearance, they could have simply left it empty.>

Mika spoke, then fell briefly silent before continuing.

<It was Mr. Jeong Hangeol’s own decision that Mr. Choi Woohyun came to fill his place.>

‘His own decision?’

That caught me off guard.

But slowly, I began to grasp the context.

After all, right in front of me stood both Choi Woohyun and Jeong Hangeol. Woohyun was sipping the coffee that Hangeol had handed him, sitting on the sofa. Hangeol, wearing a bright expression, was speaking animatedly to him. The darkness that had previously clung to Hangeol’s face had noticeably lifted, suggesting the two were very close.

“We’re thinking of preparing for a comeback next month.”

Hangeol said to Woohyun.

“We should’ve already started, but things got delayed because of me. The members say it’s okay, but it weighs on me. No matter what, we’ve got to get moving next month.”

From his words, it seemed Codess had already intended to work on a new release, but due to repeated controversies involving Hangeol—and his ongoing mental health issues—things had been postponed. Hangeol clearly felt a burden about it.

“Hangeol.”

Woohyun, who had been quietly listening, opened his mouth.

“I think… you’re carrying too much weight on yourself.”

Could he really say something like that?

“I haven’t seen your members that often, but from what I can tell about their personalities—they probably don’t want you to feel guilty. You don’t need to. What matters most is your health.”

Woohyun’s past self was almost the polar opposite of the Aiden I knew. That man had been cold, and only smiled in ways that felt tinged with ulterior motives. But now, Woohyun’s expression was filled with genuine warmth. Even his once-clouded eyes seemed clear.

<Originally, Choi Woohyun was not a member of Codess.>

Mika began to explain.

<He competed in CYB alongside Mr. Jeong Hangeol in the male idol division, but he didn’t rank very high. In the timeline where Jeong Hangeol still existed, Choi Woohyun was part of a relatively unknown group. Despite that, he and Mr. Jeong grew close during CYB and maintained a strong bond even after debut.>

So that’s how it was.

It was clear now—Jeong Hangeol and Choi Woohyun sincerely trusted each other. To the point where I doubted whether this really was the Aiden I knew. Woohyun truly worried about Hangeol’s well-being.

‘Which means…’

Choi Woohyun must be trying to bring Hangeol back to life—not because he wanted to become a constellation, but because he genuinely wanted to save him. That made far more sense. Whatever ambitions he had about becoming a constellation seemed almost incidental.

<Exactly.>

‘He’s not resurrecting Hangeol to become a constellation…’

<Mr. Choi’s goal is to bring Mr. Jeong back. The steps he’s taking just happen to align with the process of becoming a constellation. Many have followed that same path—wandering for ages, seeking to revive someone they loved, until their wish was granted.>

Reviving the dead is an impossible task from a human perspective, but perhaps it becomes a feasible aspiration for beings above humanity. If a human can’t save another, then they must become a god to do so.

‘That makes sense…’

So, Choi Woohyun isn’t trying to become a constellation in order to bring Hangeol back—he’s trying to become a constellation because that’s the only way to bring him back.

That seemed like the most reasonable understanding.

“Honestly…”

Hangeol opened his mouth.

“I kind of regret it.”

“What do you regret?”

Woohyun asked, smiling softly.

“Just… everything. When I first entered CYB, I—well, I can’t remember clearly anymore—but I think I was really full of dreams. My dream was to debut in a project team. But just because your dream comes true doesn’t mean the world becomes as beautiful as it looked in the dream. Sometimes, I think it might’ve been better if I hadn’t succeeded. Then I wouldn’t have to feel this emptiness.”

Woohyun listened quietly.

And maybe because of that, Hangeol’s tone became increasingly emotional.

“I don’t even know how it ended up like this. I’m afraid of seeing people. I don’t want to see the reflection of myself in their eyes. It gives me chills.”

“Hangeol…”

“I don’t want to do anything, but I have to. If I stop, it feels like even being still is a mistake. But my mind’s getting hazier. I don’t know how to keep moving forward.”

“…Hangeol.”

Woohyun placed a hand on his shoulder.

Hangeol’s tearful gaze turned to him.

“When you entered CYB…”

Woohyun began, his voice gentle.

“You were really struggling with your family. They mocked your dream of becoming an entertainer, called it foolish. They were… quite something.”

He smiled faintly.

“Remember? When your name started popping up everywhere, your parents called you, screaming that if you’d come this far, you better get first place. You almost broke down.”

“…I remember.”

“You came into my room, rambling nonsense, then said you wanted to die.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

Woohyun shrugged.

“Everyone thinks like that sometimes. When things get hard, when something bad happens, even just from embarrassment—you think it might be easier to die. Back then, I thought you saying you wanted to die… might have been your way of trying to push yourself forward.”

Hangeol’s dark gaze lingered on Woohyun.

He must have known Hangeol’s condition was serious. I didn’t know the full extent of the conflict with his family during CYB, but clearly, Woohyun didn’t take Hangeol’s thoughts of death lightly. Still, the reason he downplayed it now… maybe he was casting a spell on himself. Just like back then—he wanted to believe this, too, would pass. And Hangeol… wanted to believe that as well.

“It’s all going to be okay.”

Woohyun said.

“I’ve always thought you were amazing. Since CYB, you were my idol. Even when Rowen held a firm grip on first place, and others scrambled for second—you stood tall and said you wanted to beat him. You kept pushing forward.”

“That’s ancient history.”

Hangeol gave a faint, bitter laugh.

“Maybe. But for me, everything from those CYB days is still fresh—like it was yesterday. Don’t you feel the same?”

Hangeol hesitated, then nodded.

“So if the future looks uncertain, just look back.”

There’s no need to always run forward. You can pause. You can even look back. After all, run as fast as you like—the Earth is round. You’ll come back to where you started eventually. So don’t push yourself too hard. It’s okay to rest.

That’s what Woohyun told him.

‘…He really was a solid guy.’

It was almost hard to believe.

<Humans are dual beings.>

Mika spoke again.

<It’s their struggle between good and evil that makes them so compelling. Sometimes they perform miracles worthy of a constellation’s power, other times they unleash horrors fit for the kings of hell.>

‘I agree.’

I nodded silently.

‘If all humans were good, they’d be angels. If all were evil, they’d be demons.’

I watched Woohyun and Hangeol in silence.

From Woohyun’s perspective, Hangeol had already achieved his goal in CYB. He might have even felt that Hangeol, as an idol, stood far higher than him. It wouldn’t be strange if he felt jealous, or dismissed Hangeol’s despair. But Woohyun never lost his kindness toward him.

They had dinner together and continued their lighthearted conversation.

Woohyun made sure Hangeol took his medication and watched him fall asleep before finally putting on his coat.

Aiden…

I thought as I looked at the sleeping Hangeol.

Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought. But perhaps exactly because of that… he’s even more prone to falling into the wrong path.

<Are you speaking of Mr. Choi Woohyun… or Mr. Jeong Hangeol?>

‘Of course, I mean Choi Woohyun—’

Just as I was about to answer—

“…Dear God.”

Hangeol’s eyes opened.

“So… it really was all wrong.”

He spoke, not to Woohyun, but to his constellation—wherever they may have been.

“I heard such kind words. But I didn’t feel anything.”

Why was it like this?

Why had it come to this?

He mumbled, and then—smiled.

“I want to disappear.”

That’s what he said.

“I’m just… so tired now.”

So—

“Without leaving behind even a speck of memory…”

I want to vanish from everyone.

His whisper echoed in my ears.