The Demon God pulled a cigarette case from the inside pocket of her jacket.
She opened it, plucked out a cigarette with a navy blue filter, placed it in her mouth, and lit it. Inhaling deeply, she exhaled a plume of acrid smoke. The smoke scattered into the twilight sky.
“One week.”
Leaning against the wall, the Demon God spoke.
“In one week… we’ll leave for Korea.”
Hearing this, a faint excitement flickered across Vanessa Bernstein’s lips. The Demon God let out a sigh. Things had played out exactly as this woman wished. Under the original plan, this never should’ve been approved, but upper management had focused on the fact that she lacked an overseas tour despite her fame. Still, an Eastern small country? There were many concerns, but the Demon God decided to comply.
After all, she was Vanessa Bernstein’s manager.
“Hey.”
Vanessa spoke.
“What’s in that country?”
“My subordinates.”
The Demon God answered immediately. She probably expected an answer about specialties or culture, but the Demon God deliberately offered a different reply, as if to tease her.
“I polluted the seas of that country. I ruined its largest island.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t really know. I had no such power. My subordinates handled everything.”
The Demon God chuckled faintly. The Abyssal Sea King Muddorok likely reshaped the coastline, and the Prince of the Otherworld, Abrilah, transformed the island into something akin to his own realm. Korea was never strategically important. That’s why it never attracted much attention.
“I had many subordinates.”
The Demon God bit the cigarette filter.
“Some strong, some weak. The stronger ones crossed through the Gate before me and helped defile this world. Their power was beyond my control. I could never rein them in.”
She was never the vanguard wielding the sword before the army, nor the tactician scheming behind it. The Demon God firmly believed that. If anything, she was simply someone who remained in her place. Shrugging as she muttered this thought, she smiled faintly.
“That’s strange.”
Vanessa whispered.
“That such a useless, frail demon like you stood at the center of them all.”
“Is that really so strange?”
The Demon God tilted her head.
“You humans are overly obsessed with thrones. You firmly believe that the seat makes the person, like slaves do. A nation’s leader is managed by countless people behind the scenes; gods are no different. If believers stop thinking, even a god’s authority stagnates. In that sense, I was…”
Yes, I was a perfect Demon God.
The Demon God smirked.
“When I asked the Savior Who Is One and All to allow me to contract with you…”
It was because I wanted to know. Vanessa whispered softly.
“A tiny spark of curiosity.”
Her father, who died trembling in fear, what exactly had he faced to be so terrified? Vanessa couldn’t help but wonder. Had he confronted some nightmarish abyss? A monster with countless arms and blinking eyes? She once imagined so.
“My prediction was completely off.”
Who would’ve thought that her hateful father, Matteo Bernstein, faced not the strongest demon, but the weakest one—who nonetheless bore the title of Demon God.
“But I think it makes sense.”
In the hell steeped in the history of malice, perhaps it was the Demon God’s inherent frailty that made her precious. Vanessa was convinced of that. This woman before her—bearing human form—would’ve been revered like a saint among demons. Powerless yet ambitious. When desire fails to match ability, delusions are born. And outrageous things often come to fruition through such delusions.
“Come to think of it, you don’t seem to ask much about me.”
Vanessa stared at the Demon God with faint moisture in her otherwise dry eyes. The Demon God clicked her tongue. That look meant an unpleasant conversation was about to begin.
“Aren’t you curious? About me?”
“No.”
The Demon God averted her gaze as she answered.
“Really not?”
“No. Think for a moment, would you? You babble all day and often ramble about yourself without being asked. Why would I still have questions?”
“So you’re saying that because you’ve already heard everything I never asked, your curiosity’s completely gone?”
“Let’s say that.”
Frankly, the Demon God had no curiosity whatsoever about Vanessa. She was Matteo Bernstein’s daughter, and her own life—one that should’ve been erased—was now managed by her enemy’s child. That was enough. No further facts were needed.
‘I’m not a Constellation.’
Listening to a human’s personal story and granting power accordingly was something Constellations did. Though she called herself a god, she was not a Constellation. Thus, she had no desire to update her interaction with Vanessa.
“Well then…”
Maybe I should ask one thing.
If I don’t, she won’t let me go.
Thinking so, the Demon God opened her mouth.
“Why did you choose singing?”
<No need to be so tense.>
At Starlight’s words, my shoulders flinched.
“…I’m not tense.”
Despite my obvious reaction, I tried to play it off. Even I found it laughable.
The scenery outside the window was dull. The car Starlight was driving was stuck in heavy traffic. I propped my chin on my hand and gazed blankly. How could buildings be so densely packed? That dry complaint, usually dormant, now gnawed at my nerves.
<Are you feeling guilty?>
“Me?”
At his question, my gaze weakened.
<If so, do you think I would feel guilt? That would be nonsense. Only the two of us are here.>
“Well… yeah, I know you’re not one to feel guilty.”
I muttered, shrugging.
We were headed to Rowen’s studio. In other words, Starlight was asking if I felt guilty about Rowen.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure it was guilt. There wasn’t much reason for guilt toward Rowen. Perhaps guilt for ensuring Rowen remained unaware of what happened between Aiden and Jung Hangyeol. Or guilt for not being able to tell him the truth now. Or simply a vague, bitter feeling.
I couldn’t say for sure. When I contacted him to visit, Rowen’s voice was perfectly calm. It almost disappointed me. Maybe I secretly hoped Rowen would somehow remember what we’d been through.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’
Rowen had said. Or at least, I thought he did.
Or maybe I was just being childish.
I smiled bitterly.
<He must’ve been important to you. That lightning-born creature.>
Starlight said as he rested his hand on the steering wheel.
“Well… I guess so.”
I answered honestly. To me, Rowen had always been someone I admired. Watching his performances made me dream of becoming an idol. I nearly fainted when I met him at the hospital.
“And yet…”
So much had changed.
As a fan, I once wondered why Codess disbanded. Now, I stood in an absurd position, knowing the real reason. Back then, I only worried as a fan. Were the members drifting apart?
“…Now, I’m not sure I can truly consider him important anymore.”
Labeling someone important might be arrogant. It’s like declaring, “My goal is to become someone like you,” and shoving my future onto their back. Even now, I still wanted to become an artist like Rowen. But a flickering sense of rejection smoldered inside me.
“I wanted to be like Rowen…”
I mumbled, not knowing why.
“But now, I feel like I shouldn’t.”
I knew too much. It wasn’t just discomfort from seeing someone’s darker side. Rowen was a strong person.
It was the fatigue born from understanding truths that could only be seen from a higher vantage point—a divine perspective, almost voyeuristic.
I knew Rowen’s pain better than Rowen himself.
Like a Constellation. Like an observer.
That’s why I reached this conclusion. I shouldn’t idolize Rowen anymore. I don’t have the right.
<Looking back, it was such a tedious process.>
Starlight sighed.
His sharp gaze seemed ready to sweep away the traffic blocking the road.
<When we first met… you were obsessively rambling about idols to a nauseating degree.>
“…It wasn’t that bad.”<It was nauseating.>
Starlight chuckled.
<Think about it. Some snot-nosed kid was going on about music and passion. How do you think I felt, having existed since creation? It was absurd. The only reason I didn’t throw up was because I was in fly form.>
“How impressive of you.”
You’re free to vomit on my face now.
I mumbled, resting my chin on my hand.
<Back then, you were charging forward for your goal.>
Starlight exhaled lazily.
<How about now? Has your reason changed?>
Why you still want to sing.
Has it changed?
Starlight posed the question.
“Well…”
I trailed off with a sigh.
Has it changed?
Since CYB?
Probably.
I chose to admit it.
It probably had to.
Little Pink Starfish 
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