Little Pink Starfish

“You… remember?”

“Yes.”

Rowen nodded without hesitation.

“Vaguely, but I do remember.”

I turned my gaze toward Star. Even for him, it seemed unexpected that Rowen’s memories had remained, albeit faintly. Star shrugged, then twisted his body while mumbling some small complaint toward the Savior Who Is One and All.<A miraculous thing.>

His voice reached my mind.

<Constellations transcend causality. The process of a Constellation’s birth is essentially a rewriting of this world’s laws. And we prevented the birth of one. My proud father intervened during that correction process—there’s no need to elaborate. For a variable to appear in something touched by the Savior Who Is One and All…>

It is, quite literally, miraculous. That was Star’s conclusion.

“Can you tell me, Eunyul?”

About what happened to you. And what happened to me.

“If you know… would you tell me?”

“Ah, well…”

I once again looked to Star. Though he had just a moment ago turned away grumbling, now he was silently meeting my eyes. His voice, which always rang in my mind, had gone quiet. And so, what he was telling me felt all the more clear.

‘You’re leaving it entirely up to me.’

I let out a helpless smile.

‘These Constellations… always so damn arbitrary.’

They build the world as they please, create species as they please, and peek into the lives of their creations as they please.

Then they support the ones who live inspiring lives, while punishing those who lead disappointing ones.

‘Whether reward or punishment—it’s all the same arrogance.’

And now I, one of the created, was faced with Rowen’s question. What had happened to him? What had happened to me? What had happened to this world? I felt far too insignificant to answer.

“But I think…”

Still, I opened my mouth.

“I think I can tell you everything you’re curious about.”

My insignificance remained unchanged. I wasn’t the one who built this world like the Savior Who Is One and All, nor was I a rebel who stood against him like Star, nor a Constellation who shaped this world—I was merely a single human being.

Even so, I could tell the story.

Why? Why was I the only one who could tell Rowen all of this?

Neither Star nor Lightning That Whirls Like the Wind, but me—only me.

‘Maybe…’

It’s because I too am a miracle.

“Rowen… do you believe in miracles?”

I asked, stumbling over my words.

“Miracles?”

Rowen looked at me curiously.

“Why bring up miracles all of a sudden?”

“Because I don’t believe in them.”

The word miracle is odd. We call something a miracle when something seemingly impossible happens, but there’s an inherent contradiction in it. For example, someone surviving a lightning strike is considered a miracle. But someone dying from it is not. Even though the odds of being struck at all are minuscule.

“The fact that you still remember anything is absurd. The Constellations rewrote everyone’s memories. But I don’t think that’s a miracle—it’s more like a tragedy.”

“Really?”

Rowen smiled.

“Something pretty bad must’ve happened, huh?”

I nodded.

“But you shouldn’t be the one to decide that, Eunyul. Whether me remembering parts of this is a miracle or a tragedy—that’s not your call. It should be mine, right?”

His voice was endlessly gentle. As if he was the one trying to console me. I stared at him blankly. He was right. I shouldn’t be the one to decide that. Only those at the center of an event can truly judge whether something is a miracle or a tragedy. Not even the Savior Who Is One and All can declare such things absolutely.

“…You’re right.”

I whispered softly.

“I’ll tell you. Everything.”

And I began explaining step by step.

Aiden’s fall with the Ever-Burning Mother.

Jung Hangyeol’s soul, now reincarnated.

And all that I went through to reach this point.

Rowen listened in silence. Occasionally he tilted his head in confusion or blinked rapidly, moved by emotion, but he never interrupted me. He simply listened.

The silence weighed heavily. The soundproofed studio seemed to press on my ears. When I had finally shared everything—excluding only Star’s identity—

“I’m sorry.”

I whispered.

“I’m really sorry that it came to this.”

“I see.”

Rowen smiled.

“So the Aiden I knew wasn’t truly Aiden. The real Aiden had already vanished from my memories. And when my memories briefly resurfaced and I tried to act, it was too late. Then my memories were rewritten again, leaving me like this.”

Rowen neatly summarized his situation.

“And through all of this…”

No one got what they wanted.

That was his diagnosis.

“…Right.”

Aiden failed to ascend. He couldn’t save his friend.

Jung Hangyeol couldn’t be erased completely—he simply moved on to a different life.

And Rowen could do nothing for any of them. He wasn’t even allowed to fully remember.

“It must’ve been tough for you, huh?”

Rowen placed a hand gently on my shoulder.

“No, not really.”

I avoided his gaze.

It was true. I hadn’t done much.

“That’s not true, Eunyul. Just carrying these memories alone is exhausting. Being the only one who remembers what everyone else has forgotten…”

It makes you feel utterly filthy inside.

Rowen muttered, as if voicing the very bitterness that had been quietly gnawing at me.

“Honestly, Rowen…”

I hesitated.

“I don’t know anymore. If I can keep standing on stage and still feel joy.”

Because I’m dancing in the palm of the Constellations. Wondering whether that hand is good or evil feels pointless. After experiencing how someone’s entire existence can be wiped from this world, what remains in my mind is a heavy weariness.

“Of course, for now I’ll keep going. It’s fun. Making music with my members, they’re great friends. I want to stay with them as long as I can.”

But I knew that wasn’t realistic. Every group disbands someday. And I didn’t know what would become of me afterward. Would I try to stay on stage like Rowen? Would I find the drive to keep making music alone? I wasn’t sure anymore.

“That’s why I think… you’re even more amazing.”

“No, that’s not true.”

Rowen chuckled softly, shrugging his shoulders.

“You’re assigning too much symbolism to me.”

“…I am?”

“Don’t pretend otherwise, I’ll be hurt.”

Rowen pouted jokingly before continuing.

“You’ve said many times in interviews that you listened to my music since you were young… And judging by the footage they dug up from your school days during CYB, my music probably accompanied you through some tough times. So I’ve become your most respected senior, someone you admire and want to emulate…”

But what does that even mean?

Rowen stared at me.

“Just because you’re less certain about yourself now doesn’t mean I suddenly become more amazing. We’re very close senior and junior artists, but we’re still walking different paths. Your music is yours, mine is mine. So you don’t need to look up to me or down on me. That only makes it harder to meet each other’s eyes. You need to face me more directly.”

If I were to quit music someday, that would simply be that. Nothing to celebrate, nothing to mourn—just like the senior artists who took other paths after their groups disbanded.

If I continue making music, it would be the same. Neither a blessing nor a disgrace—just like Rowen, quietly continuing his own path.

“Do you understand what I mean?”

At his question,

“…I think I do.”

I answered softly.

“You’re happy with your friends now, right? Then enjoy that. The future can wait. As long as you don’t get into drugs or drunk driving or anything… I can respect whatever choice you make. I hope you can respect yourself too.”

“Drugs? I would never—”

“It’s just a figure of speech.”

What matters is to enjoy it.

You have people to share that joy with right now.

Rowen muttered.

Though he was speaking to me, it sounded like he was also saying goodbye to his own past self who had once stood on stage as part of COZ.

That must be it. A farewell to the time when he made music joyfully with his teammates.

“I wasn’t sure if I should meet you.”

“Why?”

“Just… complicated feelings.”

I smiled faintly.

“But I’m glad I came.”

It feels like my scattered thoughts have come back together.

“Thank you, Rowen. And…”

Though you might not be particularly pleased to hear it,

You were my savior during my youth.

I whispered.