Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Rumi’s Lament

“Let me guess.”

The great flame stirred atop its throne. It hissed, voice crackling. “They got away again?”

Trembling from head to toe, the low-level demon answered: “The Hunters... they’re too strong...”

“...I understand.”

“You,” The demon brightened slightly, “you do--?”

“I understand... that ‘you are weak’!”

The flame surged --

“Aaaaaaaagghhhhh!”

-- And it devoured the low-level demon!

“Pathetic! Useless! ‘All of you’!” The flame roared.

Below, the demon horde recoiled, groveling beneath its heat.

“Don’t you idiots know? Once the Hunters turn the Honmoon gold... it’s over for us!”

One demon sobbed.

Another whimpered.

Then:

From above, on a high eave bathed in darkness, a melody floated down, soft and haunting. A demoness in a flowing black-and-purple hanbok played a bipa, her fingers precise, her expression unreadable.

The demons looked up.

“There was once a mighty demon queen...” She sang, sweetly, mockingly, “stop me if you’ve heard this one before -- she was in total control, she feasted on souls.”

She stepped off the ledge...

“The world trembled when she roared.”

...graceful and effortless.

“But then some Hunters sang some songs, now all she does is starve.”

She landed.

A demon tiger padded beside her, growling low.

“Can’t get at the souls, and her flame grows cold. Just a whisper in the dark...”

Step.

♫ “And will she let the fire go out?” ♫

Step.

♫ “Is this the end of her now?” ♫

Step.

Demons parted before her akin to shadows before light.

Her voice turned to a harmony.

♫ “Dying queen with a crumbling crown?” ♫

Slow, deliberate.

♫ “Will she let the fire go out?” ♫

She halted just before the hundred steps.

“I let you keep that voice, Rumi.” The flame was disappointed. “And you dare to ‘mock’ me with it?”

Rumi smiled, “I’m not here to mock you, Celine. I’m here to ‘help’ you.”

Two demonesses appeared next to her.

Mira.

Zoey.

All in shimmering hanbok, power restrained beneath beauty.

Rumi suggested, she does so with a gentle lilt: “It’s time for a new strategy.”

She spread her arms, rising slowly. The others followed suit.

“We fight the Hunters where they least expect it.”

Their feet touched down before the throne.

Rumi’s gaze met the flame’s, unblinking, gold eye gleaming. Intricate sigils coiled up her skin in purple light.

Her smile sharpened. “Go after the very thing that powers the Honmoon.”

Beat.

“The fans.”

They struck a pose.

Rumi stood front and center, one leg forward, bipa on her shoulder like a weapon. Her hand rested on her hip, two fingers at her lips gave a mocking kiss, eyes (right iris brown, the other gold) fierce with challenge. Her hanbok flared with sign and demon rune, wind rushing about the hem with the beginning of a storm.

On the left, Mira knelt, one hand on the ground, the other lifted a sharp V before her face, the wrist turned up, and her eyes half lidded with a certain danger in them. Her sleeves swayed like birds and her shadows resembled the claws of a predator ready to pounce.

Zoey stood to Rumi’s right, with her arms crossed in the shape of X, and one knee lifted a bit, her head tilted with a smirk that dared the the world to say no. Her hair came floating back over one shoulder and purple flame flared a moment behind her in a shadow of wings.

The air shimmered.

The throne hall fell silent.

Even the flame paused.

“...”

A flicker.

“A demon... girl band?”

The flame rose upwards as Celine laughed ominously:

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

The demon hoard laughed at the absurd idea, too.

“What makes you think that could work?” Celine, intrigued.

Snap!

Rumi snapped her fingers, in a flash of power...

Fangs vanished.

Ears softened into perfect human shapes.

Horns retracted, curling inward until they dissolved into nothing.

They didn’t just look human, they looked ‘idol-ready’.

The horde stared, jaws slack, eyes bulging:

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...Oh, yeah, that’s totally gonna work.”

“Yeah, one hundred percent.”

“Oh, okay...” Celine was at a lost for words. Recovering her poise, “I know you, Rumi.”

Rumi smirked.

Celine, approvingly: “In four hundred years, you’ve never done a single thing that didn’t serve ‘yourself’.”

The curve in her lips fell. Rumi looked down, her eyes fluttered. A crack in the mask.

Memories... old and aching.

Celine asked, “What do you want?”

“The memories.” Rumi said. Then quieter:

“I want them ‘erased’.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Soda Pop

“SAJA BOYS!”

The crowd cheered, chanting repeatedly.

Some were jumping while waving their lightsticks, tapestries, and banners (with their bias’ name). The others are screaming at the top of their lungs, big smiles plastered on their faces.

The PRIDES entering the stadium turned toward the camera, crying out in delight: “Let’s go, SAJA BOYS!”

“We love SAJA BOYS!”

“Romance-oppa is my favourite!” A fangirl held her ‘사랑해 로맨스 오빠’ banner, showing it to the camera. “He’s the main dancer, a literal dance machine! Have you seen how effortless his movements are when he dances? No one can move like him!”

“I sometimes think Doyoung should’ve took up acting instead, he’s ‘so’ romantic, totally fit for a romance drama!” Her friend chortled, “He gives off the vibe of a campus heartthrob... he knows how to make our hearts beat for him endlessly!”

“My bias is Mystery! I mean... as his stage name portrays, he is ‘very mysterious’. Myunghunie is the group’s producer, lyricist, and composer! Even before debuting in SAJA BOYS, he had already produced for big artists -- well, that’s all we know of his background.” Another fangirl, giggled dreamily: “But nevermind that, I like the mysterious type anyway.”

“I respect his privacy wholeheartedly.” She placed her lightstick against her chest, as though making an oath.

A fanboy beamed, “Abby is the one for me! He is the lead rapper and vocalist of the group. His rap was ‘phenomenal’! And have you heard of his vocals? I’m glad they picked him to sing an OST for Twinkling Watermelon!”

Chuckling, “Ah, Eunwonie, born to be a TikToker, but forced to be an idol.”

“Can’t wait to see his dance challenge of Aespa’s ‘Drama’!”

“Why Abby? Ahem... first reason: his abs, second: his biceps, third... I’m kidding--!”

“Baby is the best! And with that adorable face and that ‘deep voice’? I just can’t believe the duality!” A fangirl expressed joyfully, “Hyukhee-yah is the spoiled and adored maknae of the group! He’s also the main rapper...”

“D’you know that his favourite hyung’s determined on who annoys him the least? It’s so funny and cute at the same time!” A boisterous cackle.

“My bias will forever be Jinu-oppa! He is the leader of the group, the ace, the all-rounder! I love-love-love the way he shines on stage, he’s not called ‘ace’ for nothing.”

“He is technically a ‘loser inside a hot body’! He says the most random things out of nowhere, bro literally posted: ‘PRIDES, would you still love me if I’m a worm?’ on Weverse late at night.” A sigh, a headshake, a click of the tongue -- all while giggling.

The SAJA BOYS’ dressing room was a whirlwind of color, sound, and sugary chaos.

Bright vanity lights blinked like paparazzi as stylists zipped past with curlers, glitter, and lint rollers. Pink satin, banana yellow, and sky blue clothes hung in perfect rows. The faint scent of hairspray, jelly candy, and heat packs filled the air.

Kang Eunwon -- Abby -- lounged in his chair with one leg folded under him, munching a strawberry rice cake. “If I mess up choreo because of this tight waistband, someone’s getting slapped with a boba straw.”

Shin Doyoung -- Romance -- stretching in front of the mirror, didn’t look up. “No one told you to eat three rice cakes.”

“That was spiritual preparation.”

Near the back, Lee Myunghun -- Mystery -- hummed softly, sipping warm honey tea to soothe his throat. His cheeks were already tinted peach-pink, his lips glossy.

Han Jinu stood quietly, running through choreography in place, hands sharp, footwork light. A fruit skewer lay untouched on the table beside him.

“Don’t forget to stretch your neck.” He murmured to Park Hyukhee -- Baby -- their maknae, who was lying upside down on a couch scrolling through fancams.

“I’m mentally rehearsing.” Baby replied. “That counts.”

A staff member passed behind them with a tray of drinks, smiling too wide.

Behind-the-scenes cameras rolled in the corner. Romance blew a kiss at the lens, then looked at Baby.

“Ready for your solo intro line, Sparkling Eyes-ssi?”

Baby hold up two fingers languidly. “Ready to destroy and devour, Doyoung-hyung.”

“Okay, edgelord soda bottle.” Jinu teased.

Their manager Bobby peeked in. “Ten minutes to standby. Final checks, boys!”

“Yes, Bobby-hyung!”

The room went into a high gear.

Brushes swirled.

Hairspray hissed.

One stylist pulled a loose end out of Romance’s collar. Another re-applied the gloss on Baby.

Then they gathered for their usual warm-up: a quick shoulder squeeze circle, a breath in-sync, a shared nod.

“Let’s slay!” Jinu said, excitedly.

“Hot on stage, abs deadly off it.” Abby remarked.

Just as they turned back to the mirrors, they froze, “...”

Their reflections stared back at them... but...

Not quite... right.

“Wait...” Jinu, voice tightening. “We just had final touch-ups.”

Mystery frowned, glancing at the untouched juice bottles. “Then why do we all look... off?”

Baby leaned in toward the mirror. “Why is my blush... smudged? I never smudge.”

Romance swiped under his eye, scowling. “My liner’s two shades darker than before.”

Abby pulled at his collar. “This isn’t even my outfit.”

They all slowly turned.

“...”

The stylists were still there, smiling, they were as still and unmoving as mannequins, hands mid-air, brushes poised. Not blinking.

“...Where are the staff?” Jinu asked again, only more quietly.

He looked at one.

She tilted her head, and smiled just a little too wide.

The lights above flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then dimmed.

A sharp ‘crack!’ echoed behind them.

The vanity mirror!

A web-like fracture split the glass!

Behind it, gold eyes blinked.

Then --

“Something wrong, boys?”

-- a voice.

Smooth and syrupy, one of the stylists cooed.

Jinu’s gaze didn’t leave hers. “You messed up our makeup.”

Another stylist giggled. “Oops.”

Suddenly, her smile split too far. Her teeth shimmered, row after row. Her skin flickered erratically. In the reflection, her true face leered back. Twisted, bone-white, ‘wrong’.

Baby, “...They’re not staff.”

“Nope.” Jinu whispered. “They’re ‘demons’.”

A patterned hand reached for Mystery’s face, he ducked fast.

“Break formation!” Jinu shouted.

The mirror shattered. One of the demons lunged!

Romance leaped over the couch, as he did so he twisted himself in the air. “Makeup is sacred, you hell-spawned freaks!”

His mic stand extended with a ‘click!’, he rammed it straight through the demon’s gut. Purple smoke hissed from the hit!

A second demon swiped at Mystery. He dodged, rolled, and flung open a compact mirror. Inside: glowing shuriken shaped like soda can tabs.

Baby, still holding a blush palette, crushed it in his fist. Inside the powder, tiny warded needles glinted.

Abby snapped open his fan prop, its edges rigged with gleaming blades, sharp enough to sing through air.

“Weapons up!” Jinu barked.

He raised his mic, and with a twist of his wrist, the handle unraveled, segments snapping apart into a glowing whip. It cracked once, leaving a scorch mark across the floor.

The dressing room exploded into motion!

Chairs overturned, lights burst.

Shimmering talismans burned bright as they fought back with their hidden gear.

Then--!

“Thirty seconds!” Bobby shouted from outside.

“Stage now, go!”

They ran.

‘The world will know you as pop stars, but you will be much more than that. You will be...

Hunters.

Demons have always haunted our world, stealing our souls and channeling strength back to their queen, Celine. Until... heroes arose to defend us.

Born with voices that could drive back the darkness, singing songs of courage and hope.

But Hunters are ‘more than warriors’.

Our music ignites the soul and brings people together. With this connection, the first Hunters created a shield to protect our world, the Honmoon.’

Lights blazed.

Fans screamed.

Music boomed through the arena.

The SAJA BOYS burst onto stage, faces perfectly backlit, smiles in place.

♫ All: “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!” ♫

The crowd erupted!

♫ Jinu: “Don’t want you, need you, yeah, I need you to fill me up masigo masyeo bwado seonge chaji ana.” ♫

Behind them... shadows moved.

Demons, cloaked from mortal eyes, stalked the boys even as they danced.

Abby spun, slicing a demon across the chest mid-twirl with a fan prop rigged with blades.

Jinu sang into his mic:

♫ Jinu: “Got a feeling that, oh, yeah (Yeah). You could be everything that that I need (Need), taste so sweet (Sweet), every sip makes me want more, yeah.” ♫

♫ Mystery: “Lookin’ like snacks--” ♫

♫ Romance: “‘Cause you got it like that (Woo).” ♫

♫ Abby: “Take a big bite, want another bite, yeah, neoui modeun geol nan wonhae, wonhae, wonhae, neo malgon modu pyeonhae, pyeonhae, pyeonhae.” ♫

♫ Mystery: “Whеn you’re in my arms, I hold you so tight (So tight). Can’t let go, no, no, not tonight.” ♫

Mystery ducked, split, landed into a body roll, while hurling a soda-tab shuriken into a demon’s chest.

The crowd? Losing their minds. Phones out, screaming, completely unaware.

♫ “Jinu: Jigeum dangjang nal bwa sigan еopjana.” ♫

♫ Romance: “Neon naekkeoya imi algo itjana~” ♫

♫ Jinu: “‘Cause I need you to need me--” ♫

♫ Jinu and Mystery: “I’m empty, you feed me--” ♫

♫ All: “So refreshing~” ♫

♫ Baby: “My little soda pop.” ♫

Kshh!

A pyro burst.

♫ All: “You’re all I can think of, every drop I drink up. You’re my soda pop, my little soda pop. Cool me down, you’re so hot -- pour me up, I won’t stop. You’re my soda pop, my little soda pop.” ♫

♫ All: “My little soda pop.” ♫

Baby leapt onto a raised platform, took down two more demons mid-bridge, hair whipping in slow motion as in a music video, glitter shimmering off his cheekbones like war paint.

Three demons closed in!

With a flick of his wrist, he threw his warded needles in a perfect arc, each one finding its mark:

One in the eye.

One in the throat.

One in the heart.

The demons screamed in silence, disintegrating into smoke before they even touched him. Baby exhaled, slowly.

Another demon lunged from behind. He didn’t flinch.

He whipped around, using the shattered mirror compact’s edge as a blade, slashing its cheek with enchanted glass.

♫ Baby: “Uh, make me wanna flip the top han mogeume you hit the spot. Every little drip and drop, fizz and pop, ah, soreum doda it’s gettin’ hot.” ♫

The demon recoiled, right into a glitter bomb trap he’d planted earlier.

It exploded in a blinding ring of pink, silver, and sigil-flame!

Baby dusted off his hands.

Abby stood center stage, the arena lights pulsing in a heartbeat around him. His stance steady, his gaze locked ahead.

♫ Abby: “Yes, I’m sippin’ when it’s drippin’ now, it’s done? I need a second round and pour a lot and don’t you stop ‘til my soda pop fizzles out.” ♫

A demon lunged from the shadows, claws outstretched, aiming for Baby’s blind spot.

Abby moved, with precision.

He flicked his wrist, and the bladed fan snapped open with a metallic ‘shhk!’. One graceful arc through the air, and its razor edge sliced across the demon’s shoulder in flight, sending it spinning off course.

Another came from the left.

Without even glancing, Abby spun and swept the fan low, its sharp ribs catching the second demon at the knees, knocking it off its feet with a cry of tearing cloth and smoke.

Meanwhile, Romance and Mystery moved together at stage right, complete opposites in style, perfect in sync.

Romance lunged first, his mic staff twirling.

Romance’s mic staff telescoped into a gleaming, double-ended baton, engraved with lyrics only he knew. With every spin, it emitted a trail of shimmering light or sound pulses in rhythm with the beat. Sometimes he even used it as a dance cane, or dipped it like a rose stem between his teeth, just for the drama.

He gestured to the left.

Mystery pivoted without hesitation, hurling a shuriken over Romance’s shoulder. It clipped a demon trying to flank him.

Down, again.

Another leapt from the scaffolding!

Romance launched off a speaker, grabbed the creature from the air, and twisted.

Mystery turned, caught the demon’s leg, and slammed it into the floor, timed with a bass drop.

♫ Romance: “Kkum soge geuryeowatdeon neo.” ♫

♫ Mystery: “Nan jeoldae nochil su eopseo.” ♫

♫ Romance: “Neol wonhae kkok, I waited so long for a taste of soda, so, the wait is over, baby.” ♫

Back to back, they struck a pose as the camera passed them.

Their eyes met briefly, confident, charged.

Another demon crept close.

Romance grinned. “Wanna dance?”

Mystery’s smirk was cold. “Always.”

They stepped in time with the beat.

Abby stepped forward, breath calm, hair perfectly in place.

His voice held the stage.

♫ Abby: “Come and fill me up.” ♫

♫ Mystery and Romance: “Just can’t get enough, oh~” ♫

Slashing, spinning, and ending in perfect symmetry as the final chorus hit.

♫ All: “You’re all I can think of, every drop I drink up. You’re my soda pop, my little soda pop (Yeah, yeah). Cool me down, you’re so hot, pour me up, I won’t stop (Oh, oh) -- you’re my soda pop, my little soda pop.” ♫

And then...

A final demon shrieked, launching itself at them from above, aiming to strike down the whole group!

Jinu moved.

He snapped his wireless mic. It snaked outward with a twist, transforming into a segmented whip of gleaming steel and glowing light.

Crack!

The mic-whip lashed through the air, wrapping tight around the demon’s throat as it flew.

It thrashed violently, but Jinu held firm, spinning his body to build momentum before slamming it down onto the stage with a bone-cracking ‘boom!’.

♫ Jinu: “Ooh, ooh. Ooh, ooh. You’re my soda pop, gotta drink every drop.” ♫

With that last sultry note, he gave the whip a final tug. The mic handle retracted the segments with a ‘snap!’, and he drove it like a hammer straight into the demon’s skull.

The creature burst into purple mist and shattered like glass, disintegrating mid-beat.

The lights dimmed.

♫ “Hollo eodumeul balghiryeo~ uri norae bureurira.” ♫

‘Every generation, a new quintet of Hunters is chosen to fulfill our ultimate duty. A barrier so strong it is impenetrable, that will keep demons and Celine from our world forever...’

‘Soda Pop’ ended.

The crowd roared!

♫ “Gudgeonhan i soriro... i sesangeul gochirira~” ♫

‘...the Golden Honmoon.’

The SAJA BOYS stood there, panting, smiling, glitter sticking to their sweat.

‘And now, that duty falls to you.

Han Jinu.

Lee Myunghun.

Shin Doyoung.

Kang Eunwon.

Park Hyukhee.

That victory is within your reach. It is your voices... your song, that will create the Golden Honmoon.’

‘Yes, Gwima-sunbae.’

The boys stumbled back into the dressing room.

Or what was ‘left’ of it.

Mirrors cracked.

Furniture overturned.

A patch of carpet was still smoking near the vanity.

A torn sleeve (once part of a demon’s disguise) hung from the coat rack.

Abby flopped face-first onto the couch. “That was the worst thing to ever happen on a world tour. Though, at least we saw the Honmoon nearing a golden glow...”

Everything they worked for was about to come together.

“I think one of them tried to bite my mic.” Romance tsk-ed, checking the base. “Do we invoice Hell?”

Jinu collapsed next to Baby. “I was holding a note while getting clawed in the back. Give me an award.”

Mystery didn’t speak. He was staring at the scorch marks near the vanity.

“They’re getting bolder.” He finally said.

Abby agreed. “And smarter. They knew how to mimic our staff perfectly. They knew the choreography cues.”

“That means they’ve been watching us.” Jinu noted.

Baby looked up. “For how long?”

A silence passed.

Bobby stepped in then, clipboard in hand, along with the other staffs (real this time), holding water bottles and fresh towels.

They stepped into the room, barely blinking at the wreckage.

The overturned chairs.

The cracked vanity mirror.

A still-smoking curling iron stabbed into the wall.

Bobby gave it all a once-over, “...” he sighed. “Okay, which one of you had a tantrum this time?”

Abby was still facedown on the couch, “...”

Baby was picking glitter out of his hair, “...”

Romance peeled off his jacket, inspecting the sleeve boredly, “...”

Jinu stood by the mirror, arms crossed, jaw tight. His gaze lingered on the shattered frame as if it was a warning written in glass, “...”

Mystery leaned against the wall, chewing the inside of his cheek. His eyes flicked to the corner where one of the ‘stylists’ had vanished, “...”

“Anyway,” Bobby muttered, scribbling on his clipboard, “maintenance’ll reset the room in the morning. Just don’t post selfies in here, it looks like a raccoon went through hair and makeup.”

“Also,” He beamed, as did their staff: “great job out there! Fans are going nuts! What a way to end the world tour!”

One staff gave Abby a dessert, “That finale with the guy in the demon suit exploding into a confetti?”

A staff retouching Romance’s makeup, “So chill.”

Another, rearranging Mystery’s bangs: “Those special effects looked amazing!”

Baby drank from a water bottle, “Yeah, ‘special effects’.”

“This is gonna break the bank!” Bobby took out his phone, “But, oh, oh, look at these social numbers! They’re off the charts!”

TOP 10 CHART

01. SAJA BOYS - Soda Pop
02. TOMORROW X TOGETHER - Sugar Rush Ride
03. STRAY KIDS - LALALALA
04. LE SSERAFIM - Eve, Psyche and the Bluebeard’s Wife
05. ENHYPEN - Sweet Venom
06. JUNGKOOK - Standing Next to You
07. JENNIE - You and Me
08. NEW JEANS - Ditto
09. NAYEON - ABCD
10. AKMU - Love Lee

“And to celebrate, I booked you a week-long staycation at the fanciest, most exclusive relaxation resort in Korea!”

Abby, smug: “Sorry, Bobby-hyung, we already have plans.”

“What? What plans?”

“We’re going for samgyeopsal.” Jinu replied.

“Wahoo~!” Abby cheered, taking off ahead and leaving the rest behind.

“Yah, Eunwonie! Don’t think you’re getting out of our deal!” Romance shouted after him.

Baby nodded, backing his Romance-hyung up.

Abby groaned, “Dammit.”

The others snickered, remembering how he’d tried to weasel out of their agreement just a few days ago.

They’d decided that, whoever lost at kawi bawi bo would have to pay for everyone’s meals -- including any leftovers.

Jinu stepped up, ready to start the game. “An naemyeon jin geo, kawi bawi bo!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Abby noticed the others exchanging sneaky glances.

Everyone threw scissors.

Abby had paper, “...”

What he didn’t know was that the maknae had suggested they team up on him, already predicting his escape plan.

Abby, expression already crumpling: “Wha--”

Jinu turned to Bobby, offering a tired but genuine smile, “Bobby-hyung, you should go enjoy the resort. This tour has been grueling for everyone. You deserve it.”

Bobby blinked, “Me?” he touched a hand to his chest in faux modesty. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly...” He grinned. “Just kidding! Robe me. I’m thirty-four short.” He twirled dramatically toward the exit, finger guns blazing. “See you in a couple of weeks, boys!”

“Bye, Bobby-hyung!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Golden

After eating samgyeopsal, the SAJA BOYS headed back to their penthouse (with Abby crying on the way from his loss, throwing tantrums at his members), cleaned up, and decided to have a karaoke night.

Jinu hurriedly turned on the TV in the living room while Romance and Abby set up the microphones, connecting them to the system. Baby and Mystery were in charge of snacks and drinks, already raiding the kitchen.

“Well, someone’s excited.” Mystery chuckled as he came back holding a bowl of chips. Baby trailed behind with a stack of drinks.

Now wearing a headband to keep his pale blue-gray hair out of his face, Mystery looked more relaxed than usual.

“C’mon, Myunghun-hyung,” Jinu grumbled, “moments like these don’t come around often. Of course ‘I’m’ excited.”

It was karaoke night -- no cameras, no staff, no fans. Just them, singing their hearts out during their rare downtime.

“You go first then, Jinu-yah!” Romance grinned, handing him the mic before flopping onto the couch beside Baby, who was already digging into the bowl of chips -- crunch, crunch.

Jinu didn’t even hesitate. He already had a song in mind: ‘Love, Maybe’ by MeloMance.

“Typical.” Abby muttered, as he joined the others on the couch.

Jinu cleared his throat dramatically before beginning:

♫ “Neowa hamkke hago sipeun ildeureul sangsanghaneun ge, yojeum nae ilsangi doego~ neoui jeulgeowohaneun moseubeul bogo isseumyeon, jayeonseure ttara utgo inneun geol~” ♫

“Sometimes you guys should stop putting words into his head,” Mystery sighed, “just because the fans -- and you guys -- said he sounds like Ahn Hyoseop, now he’s out here acting like he just booked a lead role.”

♫ “Neoui haengdonge seolleeohago dwicheogidaga~ jisaeun bami manajineunde.” ♫

Baby let out a groan. “Next thing you know, hyung’s gonna start practicing crying scenes in front of the mirror.”

Jinu, in delight:

♫ “Igeon nuga bwado sarangil tende, jongil hamkkemyeon jillil tende. Na doraseodo ontong neoin geol, amuraedo saranginga bwa.” ♫

Romance guffawed. “He already did! I saw him mouthing lines from ‘A Business Proposal’ the other day!” Even so, he put his hands up, waving them side to side, vibing with the song.

“Oh no~!” Abby teased. “Somebody take the mic away from him!”

“Woo! You’re doing amazing, sweetie!” Romance cheered.

Jinu paused the screen before turning his attention to the members, letting out a melodramatic scoff with a hand to his chest.

“Yah!” Jinu shot them a deadpan glare. “You’re gossiping about me like I’m not literally ‘right here’.”

After his song ended, Romance stepped up next with ‘Sweet Venom’ by ENHYPEN. The room erupted in cheers, except for Jinu, who sulked from their earlier teasing.

“You guys weren’t this hyped when I sang...” Jinu crossed his arms, getting all pouty all while glaring, the rest laughed at his antics.

Romance spoke through the mic, “Yah, Jinu-ssi! I was cheering for you when you were singing your hearts out, ‘for your information’.” He chided, putting an emphasis on his words.

“Argh! Don’t scream into the mic, I can hear you ‘clearly’, y’know!”

Romance ignored him and let the music take over.

♫ “Yeah, oh~” ♫

Abby, “Woo! Shin Doyoung!”

Mystery applauded, Baby whooped.

Romance flowed smoothly with the beat.

♫ “Hey~ I see your face you’re up to something, you make me nervous with your love games. Drunk on your poison in my blood veins, I’ll never be the same, now I’m spinning in my room, feeling kinda strange. Wishing I could get another taste of your--” ♫

Everyone leapt to their feet, this time Jinu included, swaying and bouncing with the chorus.

♫ “Swee-ee-eet veno-no-nom~ yeah all I nee-ee-eed is your poison. Paralyzed, paradise on my tongue so alive, I could die, gimme some, sweet-ee-eet, ee-ee-ee-eet, sweet venom.” ♫

Romance being the main dancer he was, danced along as well.

♫ “Sweet-ee-ee-eet, ee-ee-ee-eet, sweet venom. Sweet-ee-ee-eet, ee-ee-ee-eet, sweet venom.” ♫

The boys synchronized seamlessly, as though they’d rehearsed this a hundred times --

Every step, every turn.

-- hitting just right.

Afterward, “Hee-hee~!” Mystery struck a Michael Jackson signature pose, which made his group snicker.

How silly.

“Hyung, let’s duet.” Abby suggested to Mystery, the latter agreed.

“Sure, which song did you pick, Eunwon-ah?” Mystery asked. “Let me guess--”

“‘Tears’ by So Chanwhee-sunbaenim!” 

The members gawked at their immediate agreement, “...”

“Yeah! You totally get me, hyung!” Abby exclaimed.

“Hyung really does know us too well, does he?” Romance sweatdropped.

“Yeah...” Jinu replied.

“Is hyung a psychic?” Baby, too, sweatdropped.

Abby played their song of choice, its instrumental soft at first, then gradually building up.

Jinu, Romance, and Baby surrendered to the song’s magnetic pull, while Abby and Mystery readied themselves. Baby even waved their PRIDE Bong like a fanlight.

Abby adjusted the mic in his hand, took a deep breath, and gave Mystery a quick nod before the first note dropped.

♫ “Amuildo naegen eomneungeoya, cheoeumbuteo urin moreungeoya, weoeou neon geureoke nal bonaejulsuneun eopgenni~” ♫

Mystery, in a mellow tone:

♫ “Ijerado nareul ijeoyahae geureon moseub shwipjineunanketjiman, ajik nalgidarineun, na neoreul ara maeumi apa.” ♫

Abby and Mystery then, together:

♫ “Charari nareul miweohae. Ije geuman naege miryeon boijima. Dubeondashi neon nareul chajjima~ naro inhae apa haltenikka!” ♫

Their voices blended beautifully, the other three waited eagerly for the ‘iconic part’, still stepping to the pulse of the song and lip-syncing its lyrics.

Mystery delivered the first half of the chorus, the supposed ‘iconic’ part.

♫ “Janinhan yeojara~ nareul yokhajineunma! Jamshi neoreul wihae, ibyeoreul taekhangeoya~” ♫

Abby harmonized.

♫ “Ijjineun ma naesarangeul -- neoneun naeane isseo~! Giljin aneul kkeoya, seulpeumi gagikkaji yeongweonhi~” ♫

Romance, Baby, and Jinu gaped at Abby and Mystery’s showcase -- they are proud, in disbelief, in shock all at once.

More.

Romance, “Yo, what?!”

Dancing.

Jinu, “Omo.”

Again.

Baby, twirling the PRIDE Bong, “Woo! Kyaa~! Hyungs are the best!”

Abby, this time in solo:

♫ “Charari nareul miweohae. Ije geuman naege miryeon boijima. Dubeondashi neon nareul chajjima~ naro inhae apa haltenikka~!” ♫

Abby continued.

♫ “Gajyeoga naegeseo, nunmeon neoye sarangeul~ modeunge jipchagingeol neodo algo itjana!” ♫

Abby glanced at Mystery, signaling him to take the ‘highest’ note:

♫ “Jidokhaetteon sarang ttawin, modu jiweo beoryeojweo~! Giljin aneul kkeoya majimak sungankkaji saranghae~!” ♫

The two didn’t even notice Jinu recording them, they waved.

Mystery plopped down on the couch, exhausted. He drained all his energy -- his voice hoarse, his hair a mess under his headband, Abby followed suit, chuckling at Mystery’s appearance.

“Hyung went full rockstar!” With a laugh, Baby tossed him a bottle of water.

“Yeah, great job!” Jinu, focusing his phone at him.

Romance applauded their performance.

Mystery groaned, cracking the water bottle open. “Never letting you pick the song again...” He was referring to Abby.

“You killed that high note though,” Abby, nudging his shoulder, “plus, you agreed, hyung!” he crooned.

“I’ll go next then!” Baby stood up in glee, taking the microphone from Mystery.

Now playing: ‘BANG BANG BANG’ by BIGBANG.

The catchy vibe of ‘BANG BANG BANG’ played, and everyone started grooving again, free to move however they wished as long as they kept to the rhythm.

♫ “Ooh~!” ♫

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Everyone is clapping in unison, except for the star of the night, Baby (holding a mic in his right hand and his PRIDE Bong in his left).

Baby, with full zest:

♫ “Nan kkaeeona kkaman bamgwa hamkke, da deureowa damen nugu charye, han chi apdo bol su eopsneun makjang gerilla, gyeongbaehara mokcheongi teojige~” ♫

The hyungs grew even more excited when Baby began rapping T.O.P.’s line.

♫ “Jjijilhan bunwigireul jeonhwanhae, gwanggireul gamchuji moshage hae, namjadeurui pumwi yeojadeurui gasik, iyu moreul jasingami bolmanhae.”

They whooped, jumping around as if they’re in a concert.

♫ “Nan boran deusi neomunado ppeonppeonhi, ni momsoge pagodeuneun alleoji, isanghan jeongsinui sulleongineun cheonji, oneul yeogi mubeopji!” ♫

Baby knelt down, then stood slowly -- dancing to ‘BANG BANG BANG’’s choreography.

♫ “Nan bureul jilleo, simjangeul taewo, neol michige hago sipeo. B.I.G. yeah we BANG like this modu da gati.” ♫

When the chorus hits, they all belted together, voices loud and unrestrained.

♫ “Chong majeun geoscheoreom... BANG! BANG! BANG!” ♫

The room shook with their stomping and chants.

♫ “BANG BANG BANG, ppangya ppangya ppangya! BANG BANG BANG, BANG BANG BANG, ppangya ppangya ppangya!” ♫

Baby handed the other mic to Abby and that’s his cue to join.

♫ “Da kkomjjak mara da kkomjjak ma, da kkomjjak mara da kkomjjak ma -- oneul bam kkeutjang boja da kkeutjang bwa, oneul bam kkeutjang boja--” ♫

♫ “Ppangya ppangya ppangya!” ♫

Once the karaoke night wrapped up, they tidied up their mess, finally settling in for the night, a little tired but filled with contentment.

It honestly felt like one of the best nights they’ve had in a while -- lively, fun, and good vibes all around.

As they got comfy, Romance suddenly suggested. “Let’s have a movie night, shall we?”

As if karaoke night wasn’t enough.

He pulled up a thriller ‘Unlocked’ without even waiting for debate. Surprisingly, no one protested. They simply nodded, curled up on the couch, and let the movie consume the rest of their evening.

Halfway through, Jinu excused himself and headed to the kitchen, when suddenly --

Ting!

-- something came into his mind.

Hmm...

He fished out his phone from his pocket, scrolled through it until his screen showed their new single entitled ‘Golden’.

“Let’s do this...!”

He tapped ‘Launch’, and the MV for ‘Golden’ was set to drop in an hour.

Jinu glanced at the boys in the living room, enjoying the movie. A smirk. He dashed to their closet, lined with rows of neatly hung outfits.

With a sly smile, “It’s time.”

His hands went straight for the ones with golden accents -- sharp, clean pieces that practically screamed ‘royalty’. The white and black fabrics shimmered softly, touched with gold that gave the look an effortlessly regal quality, as though lifted from the pages of a modern fairytale.

Meanwhile, the others were engrossed in the villain’s schemes on the TV.

Mystery grumbled, “This scumbag...!”

Baby, Romance, and Abby equally shared Mystery’s frustration.

The antagonist of the movie is having the time of his life by ruining the protagonist’s living!

So scheming!

So annoying!

So frustrating!

Jinu popped up behind them, grinning. “Hey~! Have a good night?”

Mystery, “Huh?”

Romance, enthusiastically: “Yeah? The movie’s getting so good! Come sit back down.”

Abby, an eyebrow raised: “Where were you anyway?”

Jinu who was kneeling before, now on his feet, dressed in their ‘Golden’ Era outfit, he was still grinning...

“Huh?”

They foreboded mischief the moment they saw his mien.

...a little ‘too wide’.

“Why are you in your new costume, hyung?” Baby caught on. “No. Way. Hyung, you didn’t...!”

Mystery sighed, massaging his temple, “Jinu-yah, did you announce the new single?”

Abby is unable to comprehend what was happening, “The promo starts tomorrow--” then it hit him, “no... tonight?!”

“Andwae! Maldo andwae!” They lamented. “Jinu-yah, no!”

Jinu, at their reactions: “Hee-hee-hee-hee.” he distributed the outfits assigned for each member.

Romance, “But the movie--! The, the movie...”

Abby, “No!”

Baby, “Seriously, hyung...?”

Mystery, “What the hell, Jinu-yah!”

They cried, figuratively.

A few minutes later of convincing, Bobby came crashing in. “Boys, you won’t believe this!” He was tapping his phone as he entered the penthouse.

Abby, Romance, Baby, and Mystery are all hunched over, while Jinu stood at the middle with hands on his hips, seeming proud as ever.

Romance whimpered, “Bobby-hyung...”

Baby, lifeless, “No more relax time...!”

Abby and Mystery, stayed quiet. “(╥﹏╥)”

Bobby, with enthusiasm. “Your new single is on fire! Everyone’s listening to it!” He showed them his phone:

‘Golden’ Number One on Charts.

Hearing that, the four beamed, straightening up as their sadness and betrayal vanished, “Yes!”

Bobby, “So, let’s go promo!”

‘Golden’ Coming Soon.

Fifteen seconds before it officially releases...

PRIDES are all excited to watch it. No matter where they are in the world...

“New single?”

Different timezones.

“Oh. My. Gosh!”

On the way to work.

Or studying.

...they waited for the SAJA BOYS’ new single.

“New SAJA BOYS?!”

The countdown itself showed up at the KPop square mega screen in Seoul, fans stopped by it to take pictures.

“Sam, i, il!” PRIDES all countdown in unison.

♫ Jinu: “I was a ghost, I was alone (Hah), eoduwojin (Hah), apgilsoge (Ah).” ♫

♫ Abby: “Given the throne I didn’t know (Hah), how to believe (Hah), I was the king that I’m meant to be~!” ♫

♫ Baby: “I lived two lives, tried to play both sides, but I couldn’t find my own place.” ♫

♫ Mystery: “Called an ‘unknown child’ ‘cause I want to hide, but now that’s how I’m getting paid, kkeuteopsi on stage.” ♫

♫ Jinu: “I’m done hidin’ now I’m shinin’ like I’m born to be... we dreamin’ hard, we came so far, now I believe~” ♫

PRIDES all over the world sang along.

♫ Jinu: “We’re goin’ up-up-up, it’s our moment, you know together we’re glowing, gonna be, gonna be golden.” ♫

Netizens bombarded X with positive comments about it, even from different fandoms agreed.

♫ Romance: “Oh, up-up-up with our voices, yeongwonhi kkaejil su eomneun, gonna be, gonna be golden!” ♫

The interviewer, “You see my head bobbing right now? Tell us about that new single!”

The five sat comfortably, their faces radiant.

Mystery, the song producer, was the first to answer, “‘Golden’, it’s the story of ‘us’.”

Jinu, “It’s a song about who we are, and where we’re going next.”

Romance, gleefully: “And the first live performance is tonight!”

♫ Jinu: “Ooh, I’m done hidin’ now I’m shinin’, like I’m born to be~” ♫

Abby, “It’s the beginning of a new chapter for us, for the whole world.”

Baby, “We’re so excited to show you what’s next!”

♫ Jinu: “Oh, our time, no fear, no lies, that’s who we’re born to be.” ♫

The fans erupted in roars!

The boys are at the dressing room laughing and teasing each other -- they took selcas deciding whether to post them on Weverse or not. Shortly after, Jinu left to go somewhere more ‘private’. However, he did not notice the maknae watching him with worry.

All alone -- heart heavy as he leaned up against the wall, clutching the jacket he wore.

♫ Jinu: “Waited so long to break these walls down to make up and feel like me...” ♫

He took off his jacket, staring at his reflection, eyes clouded with misery, his skin -- decorated with patterns...

‘Demon’ patterns.

♫ Jinu: “Put these patterns all in the past now, and finally live like the man they all see.” ♫

He put his jacket back on.

♫ Jinu: “No more hiding, I’ll be shining, like I’m born to be.” ♫

Jinu zipped up his turtleneck top properly, he regarded himself, determined anew.

♫ Jinu: “‘Cause we are Hunters, voices strong, and I know I believe!” ♫

Now on the set of ‘Golden’, their routine flowed without fault.

Or so Jinu thought.

♫ Jinu: “We’re goin’ up-up-up, it’s our moment, you know together we’re glowing, gonna be, gonna be golden.” ♫

The crowd outside echoed ‘Golden’, singing their hearts out.

♫ Romance: “Oh, up-up-up with our voices, yeongwonhi kkaejil su eomneun, gonna be, gonna be golden!” ♫

A happy fan, “Romance and Jinu’s voices are so incredible!”

“I can’t wait to hear it live!”

♫ Jinu: “Oh, I’m done hidin’, now I’m shining like I’m born to b--” ♫

Jinu stumbled over the note, for a second, but it was enough.

He cleared his throat, quickly.

The music cut.

Bobby was confused, “Huh?” and so was everyone else.

Abby, a hand on Jinu’s shoulder, “You okay?”

Jinu gave a quick nod, “Yeah,” forcing a casual smile, “yeah, I’m fine.”

Don’t overthink it.

He said, “Let’s take it again. From the top.”

The music restarted.

They danced.

They sang.

Until...

♫ Jinu: “I’m done hidin’. Now I’m shining like I’m born--” ♫

Jinu coughed, hard.

“...”

His hand flew to his throat.

The music stopped again.

Bobby, concerned, “Um, Jinu, are you okay?”

Jinu has a growing suspicion that he couldn’t take it, at all.

“Do you need some water?” Bobby offered.

Jinu, “...”

Jinu stared ahead, not really seeing. His hand trembled slightly at his side.

Something was wrong with his... ‘voice’.

He clenched his jaw.

Slowly shaking his head. “I’m fine. I just... need five.”

Baby furrowed his brows, stepping forward. “Hyung... that didn’t sound fine.”

Romance looked at him sharply, his usual teasing demeanor gone.

Abby glanced between Jinu and Bobby, already halfway to grabbing a spare water bottle, but stopped when he caught the expression on Jinu’s face: tight-lipped, pale, unreadable.

Mystery sensed something was... off. He didn’t speak, he didn’t look away, either.

“Jinu...” One of them called, softly -- maybe all of them.

Jinu gave a weak smile, the kind you wear when you don’t want anyone to follow.

“I’m good. Just five minutes.”

He brushed past them.

Not one of the boys believed him, but none of them stopped him, “...”

Jinu left the stage.

Behind him, confusion rippled through the crew.

A staff member, “Five minutes?”

A cameraman, “Um...”

One checked his watch, “We go live in ten!”

Bobby muttered to himself. “Okay, I can handle this. I’m not having a nervous breakdown.” He convinced himself.

Deep breaths.

“Visualize there aren’t ten thousand fans at the door screaming and sounding scary...”

Cue the screams.

A guard, yelling into a walkie, “Mayday! Mayday! There are ten thousand fans at the door, screaming and sounding scary!”

The second guard took a picture as evidence.

Click!

Inside the dressing room, Jinu stood before the mirror.

He was breathing hard.

He tried to steady his hands.

“Okay...”

He unzipped his turtleneck, raised his chin to look at his reflection...

“!!!”

He looked terrible, pale, drenched in sweat, but that wasn’t what stopped him.

A pattern -- thin, branching, glowing faintly -- was spreading across the base of his throat!

It hadn’t been there before.

Jinu stepped closer to the mirror, fingers trembling.

The pattern pulsed, like it was alive.

Like it was feeding on his voice.

His heart dropped.

“...My voice?” He whispered. “No. No, no--”

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

He clawed at his collar.

He needed air.

He needed ‘out’.

Clack!

The backstage door slammed shut behind him as he bolted down the alley, leaving the spotlight behind.

♫ “We are Hunters--” ♫

Jinu ran.

♫ “--voices strong.” ♫

Past the tour vans.

♫ “Slaying demons...” ♫

Past the glowing screens.

♫ “...with our song.” ♫

Past the towering billboard of ‘Golden’, their smiling faces immortalized in LED light.

♫ “Fix the world and make it right...” ♫

A voice echoed in his mind.

♫ Jinu, in his trainee days: “...when darkness finally meets the light.” ♫

His voice trailed off, the last note echoing faintly in the practice room.

Baby, “Jinu-hyung, do Hunters kill ‘all’ demons?”

The overhead lights buzzed faintly.

Outside the room...

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

...distant footsteps echoed down the hall.

The scent of sweat and floor polish hung in the air.

Jinu took a slow sip from his water bottle. “Yes.”

Baby leaned back on his palms, eyes on the ceiling. “So everything that has... patterns?”

It made Jinu pause.

He stared down at the floor for a beat -- then toward the mirror, where his own reflection stared blankly back.

His grip tightened on the towel in his lap.

Almost rehearsed, he answered, “...Yes.”

The memory shattered around him.

Because Jinu was ‘one of them’.

Demon-born.

Patterned.

Cursed.

Jinu’s family is extremely poor and miserable. He had a single possession in his name:

A guitar.

The guitar was never new.

It had a crack near the neck, one string that buzzed, and the faint smell of mold clinging to its case. A sticker on the body said ‘ROCK ON’ half-scraped off, as though even that had given up.

Jinu found it in a trash heap behind a high school. Someone had wrapped it in a garbage bag (maybe they weren’t sure if it deserved to be thrown away or saved). He took it home.

He cleaned it with an old rag, tightened the tuners, glued the cracked neck with leftover paste meant for school projects. It didn’t matter that the frets were worn or that he could barely fit his hands around it.

It was ‘his’.

That night, he sat on the bare floor of their one-room apartment, cross-legged beneath a single candle’s light.

The walls were cold.

The wind howled through the cracks.

Hunger lingered.

But Jinu cradled the guitar, as if it was the only thing in the world that didn’t hurt him.

He strummed softly -- an off-key melody stitched together from memory.

Bits of lullabies.

Street songs.

The hum of strangers passing by.

From behind a tattered curtain, the clatter of dishes.

His mother was still awake.

He sat up straighter, he brushed his hair back, tightened his grip on the guitar.

“Just one more time...” He whispered to himself. “This time she’ll listen.”

He played.

The notes wavered, his hands trembling from cold and hunger, but he poured his whole soul into every string.

Every beat was a prayer.

Every chord, a confession.

He ended on a soft finish.

And waited.

“...”

“...”

“...”

The curtain snapped open.

His mother stood in the doorway, her figure sharp under the low light. Hair uncombed, face drawn, a dishrag twisted between her hands.

She looked at him the way someone looks at a...

“You should’ve died the moment I gave birth to you.”

...Stain.

Jinu’s fingers froze over the strings.

She stepped forward slowly. Her tone didn’t rise, but every word sliced clean.

“You think that broken thing will fix what you are? You think music can change the blood in your veins?”

“I... I just thought maybe you’d like the song...”

His mother, bitter and hollow, “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.”

“You’re a ‘curse’. A daily reminder of what he did to me. Why would I ‘ever’ love you?”

She knelt, her visage inches from his. The smell of grease and resentment clung to her breath.

“You’re not my son. You’re ‘his’. And don’t you ever forget it.”

Jinu looked down. He didn’t cry (he didn’t dare). He just wrapped his arms around the guitar, pressing it to his chest.

“Every mouth in this house is starving because of ‘you’. Every breath you take is one you’ve stolen from someone better.”

She stood, walking past him.

At the curtain, she paused.

“You want to help?” She said, without looking back. “Disappear.”

The fabric swayed shut behind her.

Jinu didn’t move, he didn’t breathe.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

His tears came quietly, without sobs... long, silent streams as he stared at the strings, blurred and trembling.

Even then, as her words dug into his bones, he lifted the guitar again.

His hands shook, but the music came. Not for her anymore. Only...

To remind himself he still ‘could’.

The streets were loud.

Trucks rumbled past.

Vendors shouted.

However, Jinu didn’t stop.

He was hunched on a milk crate near a subway entrance, a frayed hoodie pulled tight against the biting cold. His fingers were raw and pink, shaking slightly as they strummed the guitar. His breath fogged with each note.

The guitar buzzed off-key. The amp he borrowed sputtered when he tried to sing.

Still, he played (he ‘had’ to).

Coins in the cup: eighty-seven won. Not enough for a real meal... not even enough for bread.

His stomach growled, he ignored it.

Again.

His eyes flicked to the crowds rushing past:

Some slowed, most didn’t.

A few gave him pity.

One or two gave him disgust.

No one stayed (no one ‘ever’ stayed).

He closed his eyes, letting the melody carry him away from the concrete, the cold, the ‘shame’. He’d written it weeks ago, cobbled from dreams and the memory of warmth. The song wasn’t happy, but it was ‘his’. It sounded like wanting... something reaching out from the dark (hoping for a hand).

He lowered his voice and sang the last line:

♫ “I just wanna be happier, igeosdo keun yoksimilkka?” ♫

A voice interrupted from behind.

“You wrote that?”

Jinu blinked, startled. He looked up.

A man in a crisp, black coat stood a few feet away. Stylish and composed, sharp eyes behind dark glasses. His hands were in his pockets, but there was something about him... calm, confident, dangerous... in a way that didn’t look like danger at first.

Jinu lowered the guitar, unsure. “Y, Yeah. Just a small one. I didn’t think--”

The man, “What’s your name?”

“...Jinu. Han Jinu.”

The man tilted his head. “Do you want to be a musician, Jinu?”

Did he?

Jinu’s lips parted, “...”

Of course he did... didn’t he?

He wanted to say yes, but ‘wanting’ had never been enough.

He wanted to help his mother.

He wanted to be ‘worth something’.

He wanted to believe music could lead him somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t ‘this’.

He looked down at his guitar -- cracked, chipped, rescued from a trash heap like him.

And still, the only thing that had never turned its back on him.

“...Yes.”

The man inched closer, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Then what if I told you... I’ve been looking for someone like you?”

Jinu blinked again.

“Someone with a voice that carries weight, someone with pain in their chords. I’m forming a group, Jinu. A boy band. Not just any group -- one that will ‘change everything’.”

He paused.

“Would you join me?”

Jinu stared.

The city noise blurred.

All Jinu could hear was his own pulse, and the old voice echoing in his memory: ‘You want to help? Disappear.’

“If I say yes... will my umma...” He swallowed, then asked it out loud: “will she have a better life? Like... her belly finally full. Her clothes clean. Will she be... happy?”

The man was quiet for a long time.

Then:

“That depends,” He responded, carefully, “on what you become.”

Jinu’s breath hitched. “Become?”

The man stepped into the halo of the streetlight. His shadow fell long across the sidewalk. “The stage demands everything, Jinu. You give it your voice, your name, your body. And in return, it gives you power, fame, ‘influence’. Enough to feed a hundred mothers.”

Jinu’s grip tightened on the neck of his guitar.

‘Power’... he’d never had any.

Not over his hunger.

Not over her hatred.

Not even over the sound of his own voice.

He looked up.

His eyes were tired, but steady.

“Then I’ll do it.”

“Even if it means changing everything about who you are?”

“...I’ve never been allowed to be who I am anyway.”

He stood, and he didn’t look back.

Bit by bit, everything changed.

Jinu’s voice earned him praise, attention -- and success.

He had his mother moved into a better apartment, he made sure she had warm meals, clean clothes, and a life free from hardship.

She smiled more now --

Jinu visited sometimes (never up close, always from afar). He’d stand across the street, guitar case in hand, watching from the shadows.

He never let her see him.

-- There was ‘someone’ new beside her, holding her hand.

She laughed, easily, as though all the bitterness had been washed away.

In her arms... a little girl, bundled in soft pink.

Jinu stood quietly and smiled, even as something in his chest ached.

His mother had finally found the life she once dreamed of.

Warmth.

Stability.

Love.

And without him, it all seemed...

Possible.

He looked at the child, his mother’s new beginning, his own blood in a world he was never part of.

She looked so small... so safe.

♫ Jinu: “Saramdeureun da haengbokhanga bwa, can you look at me? ‘Cuz I am blue and gray.” ♫

He turned and walked away, heart weighed with quiet shame, carrying a hurt he had no name.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

How It’s Done

♫ “No more hiding, I’ll be shinin’, like I’m born to be!” ♫

His voice was raspy.

Jinu stood atop a rooftop, his jacket discarded, turtleneck pulled down past his collarbones.

His demon patterns pulsed faintly, crawling vines of magenta and silver traced over his shoulders, chest and neck, a shameful inheritance he could never erase.

He ‘hated’ them.

They were a reminder.

Of the demon who forced himself on his mother.

Of the mother who never let him forget what he was.

Of a childhood spent apologizing just for existing.

A curse in the shape of blood and bone.

He breathed in sharply, eyes locking on the distant shimmer of the Honmoon -- the sacred barrier they all fought to protect.

The symbol of everything he wanted to be: pure, brave, ‘human’.

♫ “‘Cause we are Hunters, voices strong, and I know I believe--” ♫

His voice cracked.

Then gave out.

Jinu doubled over, coughing into his palm, the sound splintering in the air.

Thud!

He fell to his knees, chest tightening, throat burning.

A raw, helpless sob wrenched itself from him.

“I... I need it...”

He clutched at his throat.

“I need my voice. It’s all I have...”

It was the only thing that made people ‘love him’. The only thing that made ‘her’ look at him, even if just on TV.

The only thing that made him feel like he ‘belonged’.

How was he supposed to save the world... fix himself... if he didn’t have the one thing that made him more than his blood?

His mind spiraled:

‘You’re not my son. You’re ‘his’.’

He could still see the way she’d looked at him, like he was something stuck to her heel.

But he had still tried.

He had sung for her.

Over...

‘Every breath you take is one you’ve stolen from someone better.’

...And.

‘You want to help? Disappear.’

Over.

On cracked strings, with trembling hands.

He had dreamed that maybe, just once, she’d say ‘I’m proud.’

And now...

Jinu lifted his head.

The Honmoon glowed brighter, like it sensed his anguish.

He reached toward it, with fury and grief:

“Why now, when I’m finally close?!”

He gasped, voice changing mid-scream -- deeper, layered, distorted.

‘Demonic’.

“Why?!”

A pulse tore from his chest...! Flare of magenta light that surged across the rooftop, rippling through the air akin to a shockwave.

The Honmoon flashed violently in response, light arcing skyward as if it had heard him.

Jinu fell backward, stunned, panting. His eyes wide with horror.

‘What did I just do...?’

He gripped his turtleneck top, pulling it over his chest again, trying to hide the marks.

But they were still glowing.

Still there.

♫ “We are Hunters--” ♫

Still ‘him’.

♫ “--voices strong...” ♫

He stepped into the SAJA BOYS’ penthouse and froze when he spotted the members gathered by the living room, all gazes on him as if they’d been waiting for his arrival.

It was quiet, their usual playful vibe replaced with something heavier. They had that familiar look of alarm written all over their faces, and it made his stomach twist a little.

Baby was the first to approach him, and then followed by Romance. The other two: Mystery and Abby, stayed in the living room.

Both Baby and Romance placed a hand on his covered shoulder, offering him a small, reassuring smile, the quiet gesture calmed him.

A bit.

The two led him to the living room where they’d have a ‘heart-to-heart’ talk.

Jinu was the first to speak up. “I, I’m sorry about the show.” He sat criss-cross on the couch -- his fingers locked together, his tone conveyed genuine regret, eyes ashamed.

Baby, who sat beside him, comforted. “Hyung, it’s okay. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Jinu wasn’t convinced, in the least, “...”

“Yeah, Bobby-hyung can handle it.” Abby, as if on cue, his phone rings on the coffee table: “Hi, Bobby-hyung!”

Bobby, on the phone, “Boys, I can’t handle this!”

They could hear a crowd roaring in the background.

“There’s thousands of disappointed fans, and the network is losing their minds! Okay, this is why you pay me three-percent -- okay, back off! My boys will sing when they’re ready!”

Abby was sheepish, since he’d just jinxed himself.

Mystery sighs and pressed the hang up button. “It’s okay. We can reschedule another live show within days.”

Jinu, “I, I don’t know if that’s going to be possible.”

His mind is being clouded with negativity.

“My voice... it’s in trouble.”

Romance upped an eyebrow, in utter confusion, “Wait, in ‘trouble’?”

The members looked at each other, puzzled.

Romance, “Then why did you push the ‘Golden’ release?”

Jinu perked up, “Because we’re so close, and it’s important.”

Baby, “Okay, how do we handle this? What do we tell the fans? Maybe we should call Gwima-sunbae?” He asks all at once, he gives Jinu a knowing look at the mention of Gwima.

Abby leaned close to Baby, he gave him a deadpan look, “We know what he’d say, Hyuk-ah.”

The rest sweatdropped, they know it too well.

“Oh, right.” Baby clears his throat.

“‘We are Hunters. Voices strong. Your faults and fears must never be seen.’” The three, Abby, Romance, and Mystery, recited along Baby.

They chuckled right after.

Romance, “Woah, Hyuk-ah~! You sound exactly like him.”

“Yeah, that’s how he says it.” Baby snickered.

Mystery, now serious, “No, we have to hide it and fix it.”

Romance agrees, “For sure, we have to hide it. Mm-hmm.”

Abby, “Jinu-hyung, why don’t we take a break? We’ll skip the MAMA Awards this year and--”

Jinu looked up at him, alarmed, “No, no way. It’s our most important show.”

His expression, now determined. “It’s when we strengthen the Honmoon for the entire year. We can’t skip it, we just ‘can’t’.”

Not when he’s so close...

The four exchanged uneasy glances.

Baby, reassuringly, “Hyung, hey, we’ll get through this. We can get through anything, together.”

Mystery, “Okay, we have two weeks to fix Jinu-yah’s voice. Any ideas?”

Romance is thinking hard, but nothing is coming to mind, “(ᇂ_ᇂ |||)”

Baby is scratching his head, “(ー_ーゞ”

Mystery himself is having a crisis trying to find a solution for his dongsaeng’s voice, “╭( ๐ _๐)╮”

Abby lit up like there’s a light bulb above his head, “Σ(☉o☉)”

Abby, “I do have one idea...”

Mystery, “Just one?”

“Actually, fifty-seven, but let’s start with my favorite.” Abby grinned at Jinu. “Don’t worry, it’s totally legit!”

A thumbs up.

Walking through the bustling streets of Seoul, Myeongdong, they blend into the crowd in their casual clothes.

Each of them had something to stay unrecognized -- a cap, a beanie, or a hoodie pulled up, with facemasks and glasses hiding most of their faces.

It wasn’t exactly the best disguise, but it did the job well enough, for now.

Abby walked ahead of the group, phone in hand, leading the way to his supposed ‘solution’. “He’s got this ‘special tonic’. Apparently, it can heal anything from sore throats to relationships--”

Jinu scolds, “Shh, quietly, Eunwonie...!” he whisper-shouted at him.

Baby scanned the faces of those around him. “Why are there so many people today?”

Romance shrugged.

Abby, tapping on his phone as though having a conversation with someone there. “Oh, it’s down that alleyway.”

He enters the alleyway first and tailed by the members.

People in the background hold a flyer, “Free concert?”

The flyer has a logo: a crescent moon wrapped in thorny vines that form an X in the center. ‘LILIX’ is written on its right side. On the left, one can spot a woman’s face inside the moon, its colors blend violet and black, giving it a dark, glowing appearance.

It is elegant but fierce, beautiful but bold -- it symbolizes female power shining in the dark.

Written below is:

‘LIVE PERFORMANCE, 11:00 AM, MYEONGDONG SQUARE.’

A local was curious, “Who are the ‘LILIX’?”

The boys stood in front of the clinic’s entrance, a sign that read ‘HAN 의원’ hanging above them. Since the alley was empty, they took off their disguises without worry.

Mystery, flatly. “Yup, about as legit as I expected.”

Romance and Baby were reading the poster by the door. “Yeah, ‘totally’.”

Jinu shrugged, “Hmm, earthy and herby. Smells legit to me.”

“Yo! That’s the spirit!” Abby cheered, an arm over Jinu’s shoulder. “Kaja, kaja, kaja!” He practically dragged Jinu with him, entering the clinic. Baby, Mystery, and Romance trailing behind.

“Hurry, before someone sees us.” Mystery grumbled, cautious of his surroundings, he looked left and right.

The consultation office is clean -- nothing unusual at first, or so Jinu thinks.

There are medical awards lined up neatly on one side of the wall, and even a whole bookshelf full of it, tucked behind the doctor’s desk.

Jinu turns to his left. “Huh?” His gaze land on a wall full of picture frames, all of them with Doctor Han posing beside different people. However, they’re not just random photos, Jinu realizes they’re probably past patients... and not just anyone, ‘actual celebrities’. Some of the photos even have signatures on them (mini autographs).

He turned to Abby, who gave him an ‘I told you so.’ look, “Ehhhhh~?” he showed him two thumbs up.

Mystery and Romance sat beside Abby, the two already invested on a magazine they’ve found somewhere in the clinic, its front cover a picture of them. And Baby? He seemed bored, slouching down on his seat, at the same time, eyeing the clinic’s interior.

Jinu replied to Abby, “ദ്ദി(^‿^;)ദ്ദി”

The doctor enters the room, “Jinu-nim~!”

“Sit, sit, you need no introduction.” Doctor Han gestures to them when they all stood up to greet him, bowing in fifteen-degrees. “So, a problem with your voice...”

Abby spoke for Jinu, like a parent would for their child. “Yes, so we need one of your awesome tonics, something that will work really fast!”

“Okay, let me see...” Doctor Han holds down his glasses.

“Ahhhh--” Jinu opened his mouth for the Doctor to check.

“Uh-uh-uh.” Doctor Han puts his hand up to stop Jinu, “In order to heal a part, we must understand the whole.”

Doctor Han inhales deeply and grunts, he stares hard at Jinu, eyes bulging from its sockets, leaning close to him.

“...”

Closer.

“...”

Closer...

Jinu backs away, weirded out on what the doctor was doing.

“Uh...”

Doctor Han, finally: “I see... I see...”

He contradicts himself, “No, actually, I don’t see. Very strange, you have lots of walls up.”

Abby observes in awe. “Woah! He’s so good right?” He shook Romance, who was still reading his magazine, not budging at all.

Doctor Han continued, “So many walls--”

“Walls?” Jinu scoffs, “I don’t have walls.” he leaned back on his seat and folded his arms.

Liar.

Mystery glanced up from his reading. “Uh, yeah, you do.” He shifted his gaze to Abby, “He is kind of good.”

“Yeah, who are you lyin’ to here, Jinu-yah?” Romance teased, not once looking up from his magazine -- flipping to the next page.

Jinu peeked at Baby, expecting him to defend him or what. The maknae only shrugged and lifted a brow at him, a sign that he agrees with the hyungs. Jinu groaned, lips forming a pout, petulant.

He quickly jumped to defend himself, “I’m just trying to stay focused.”

“Hmm... focus is good, but focusing on one part leads to ignoring other parts, making you separated, ‘isolated’.” Doctor Han explained.

Abby hoists a hand, “Ooh, emotionally closed off?”

The doctor, “Yes, yes!”

Mystery shuts close the magazine and places it on his lap, “He’s also a workaholic, doesn’t know how to relax--”

Jinu, “I ‘do’ know how to relax!”

The others turned to him, unconvinced, “...?”

Romance snorted, “When? Name ‘one’ time.”

Jinu held up a finger, smug, “Karaoke night. A few nights ago. I ‘relaxed’. I sang.”

Baby joined into the conversation, “You were ‘on key’ the whole time. That’s not relaxing, that’s competing, hyung.”

Jinu opened his mouth to argue -- paused, “...Okay, but it was ‘fun’, right? Still counts.”

The doctor interjected, “I bet he refuses to go to the bathhouse with you.”

Romance gasps, finally looking up from his magazine, “Correct!”

“How did you even--”

Romance cuts off Jinu, “Dude, we’ve been trying to take him to the bathhouse--”

“Forever!” All four of them said unanimously, laughing right after.

“How is this helpful?” Jinu whined.

Abby, “It’s helping ‘me’ a lot.”

Romance praises the doctor, “Woah, I can’t believe you got all that wisdom just from looking at him.”

Adjusting his glasses, Doctor Han gave Romance the same assessing look he’d given Jinu. “Hm... I see...!” His eyes widened, examining him.

Real close.

Romance nervously backed away. “Wait, why are you looking at ‘me’?” His smile wavered, feeling agitated.

Still staring at him, Doctor Han: “Someone almost took the light you followed, and ever since, even the thought of dreaming feels fragile to you.” He added, “You survived it, but some wounds echo, even in silence.”

Romance let out a nervous laugh, “Huh?! No way--” but his visage shifted, like something hit too close to home. “Wait, how the hell do you ‘know’ that?”

“Is this guy a psychic?!” Romance points his finger at the doctor.

Doctor Han turned his attention to Abby, making him flinch, “???”

Abby, ‘Crap, I’m next.’

“Um--” He started, but the words got caught in his throat.

Doctor Han didn’t appear too surprised. He just let out a soft sigh after giving Abby a quick ‘inspection’. “Obsessively overthinks the smallest things.”

Then he added, “Feels like every comparison is a fight you’re always losing.”

The room went silent.

“...”

Abby blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then frowned.

“What? Hell nah,” He denied, sitting up straighter with a scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, seonsaengnim.”

Doctor Han had a knowing look, so did the members, that unreadable kind of stares that made Abby feel seen, in a way he didn’t want to be.

Next up was Mystery.

He didn’t even flinch, no reaction at all.

But everyone could tell... he was ‘not’ having it.

Doctor Han squinted at him.

Mystery, despite his eyes being completely hidden under those heavy bangs, somehow squinted back. It was almost a silent battle of wills.

A weird, intense, slow-burn stare down.

Both of them grunted at the same time, low, grumpy noises. It made the tension in the room weirdly dramatic for no reason.

Then, out of nowhere, Mystery barked.

Mm-hmm, ‘actually’ barked.

A loud, deep, aggressive ‘bark!’, which caused everyone to jump. Even Doctor Han winced and instinctively stepped back like he’d just been threatened by an angry shiba.

“!!!”

Mystery didn’t say anything after that, he simply tilted his head slightly, bangs still covering everything like a final boss in a hoodie.

Mystery is saved, along with Baby.

The four members of SAJA BOYS sweatdropped at their hyung’s behavior: “(⁠•⁠ _ ⁠•⁠;⁠)”

Anyway, moving on, Jinu steps in between the doctor and Mystery, getting the former’s attention, “How does this help me get my voice back?”

Doctor Han, “As I said, to treat the part, we must understand the whole.”

He was repeating himself again, this time to Jinu.

Jinu was clearly done with him. “Aish, that’s great and all, but I thought we were just here for your tonics.”

Mystery backed him up, his tone laced with irritation. “Just give us the voice juice.”

Doctor Han grinned, he’s been waiting for that. “Hmm... I know just the tonics you need--”

Jinu sat with Mystery and Baby in the waiting area. Baby was just as bored as before, while Mystery leaned back, arms crossed, one leg over the other. Meanwhile Abby and Romance said they were going out for some ‘fresh air’.

Suddenly, Baby called out. “Hyungs, look.”

“Huh?” Jinu and Mystery followed his line of sight. “Is that... us?”

Sure enough, there were pictures on the wall -- one showing the SAJA BOYS, but with Doctor Han in the photo. All three stared, completely thrown off. It was so obviously ‘fake’, the doctor was just slapped on there like a sticker. As if on cue, the photo peeled off from the top.

Mystery snorted.

Baby guffawed.

Jinu, rubbing his temple. “Ugh, Eunwon-ah...”

He knew it was Abby’s doing, no doubt.

That’s when Doctor Han strolled back in, holding a box. “Your tonics are ready!” He announced, all cheerful.

Jinu grabbed the box while Mystery held the door open for him. Baby, of course, was already chanting, “We got the tonics!” and the rest, Mystery, Romance, and Abby, jumped in without hesitation:

“We got the tonics!”

Abby slung an arm around Jinu’s shoulder. “Woohoo! Once your voice is fixed, we can get back to the real priority -- the fans.”

The boys all cheered together, fists in the air. After their loud little celebration, they stopped by a vending machine for drinks, soda pops all around, except Baby, who got his usual: strawberry milk.

They stood there, chatting about whatever came to mind, until voices started approaching.

Romance froze. “Oh no. Fans!”

They could hear the chatter of girls getting closer.

Crap!

Everyone started moving in different directions like headless chickens.

“Ah, the tonics!” Jinu yelled, scanning around in a panic.

“I got it, hyung!” Baby held the box up as though it was a trophy.

Jinu let out a breath of relief. “Okay... okay.”

In seconds, they were all scrambling to throw their disguises back on.

Hoodie up.

Hats back on.

Glasses on.

A full-blown stealth mission activated in broad daylight.

Then all of a sudden...

Whoosh!

...there’s a soft breeze.

Three girls walk, in slow motion, dressed like sin and salvation.

Hair glinting in the sun, steps in sync with fate.

And that’s when it happens...

Jinu saw ‘her’ first.

♫ “Neowa hamkke hago sipeun ildeureul sangsanghaneun ge, yojeum nae ilsangi doego--” ♫

Out of nowhere, the memory of his own voice performing ‘Love, Maybe’ at karaoke played back in his head.

She wasn’t doing anything special, she was just... walking.

♫ “Neoui jeulgeowohaneun moseubeul bogo isseumyeon, jayeonseure ttara utgo inneun geol~” ♫

Braided hair swaying, eyes straight ahead, but something about her felt like... poetry, a secret chord that only he could hear.

♫ “Neoui haengdonge seolleeohago dwicheogidaga~ jisaeun bami manajineunde.” ♫

And that’s when the idea hit him. ‘What if I just... accidentally bump into her?’

His heart screamed, ‘Yes!’ (his common sense: missing in action).

Classic.

Smooth.

Cinematic.

Jinu timed it perfectly --

One step.

Two steps.

Go!

-- Or so he thought.

But instead of a suave shoulder-brush-and-catch move, he full-on collided into her and didn’t catch her. She fell...

♫ “Igeon nuga bwado sarangil--” ♫

...Hard.

The record scratched.

Jinu gasped! Panic hit him -- but beneath it, hope still bloomed.

The song in his head continues:

♫ “--tende, jongil hamkkemyeon jillil tende.” ♫

He reached out, hand trembling slightly: ‘She’ll look up at me. Our eyes will meet. She’ll take my hand... that’s how it starts in the dramas. This is it, this is our moment--’

She stared at his hand.

♫ “Na doraseodo ontong neoin geol--!” ♫

And then:

She stood up ‘without it’.

‘Love, Maybe’ cuts off, entirely.

She looked him in the eye--

“Ugh.”

-- and brushed off her shoulder, right where he’d bumped her.

Like she was wiping him off.

Like he was something she couldn’t wait to ‘remove’.

She rolled her eyes, and walked past him, “Watch yourself.”

Jinu, hand still outstretched, “...”

A loser in high definition.

The music in his head tried to come back.

Failed.

Tried again.

Died.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

His heart was thundering.

Jinu, “Okay. She’s it. I’m doomed.”

Meanwhile... Romance and Abby.

Just a few paces away, time slowed again.

The pink-haired girl strode past.

Long strides. Phoenix eyes. Confidence in every flick of her hair.

Hearts pounded.

Mouths dropped.

Romance elbowed Abby. “Eunwon-ah--”

Abby, already halfway unbuttoning his shirt: “I’m on it.”

“‘Sup.” He greeted casually, flexing his abs as though they were a natural part of conversation.

Romance joined in with a dazzling smile, tossing his bangs for dramatic effect. “We’re locals, you need a guide?”

Her eyes flicked to Abby’s abs -- for a second -- and then the biggest, most theatrical eyeroll they had ever been blessed to witness.

It only fueled the fire.

Romance whispered, “She totally ‘looked’.”

Abby nodded, deadly serious. “She wants us.”

“She’s gonna deny it.”

“Let her.”

They fist-bumped in unison. “We’ll share.”

As the girls passed by, the pink-haired one flipped her hair, and it smacked Romance square in the face!

He turned red, ‘full’ crimson-red.

Romance, reeling. ‘I’m in love...!’

Abby was still flexing casually as if his abs were part of national duty.

And then there was Mystery.

She smiled at him.

She smiled at him.

She.

Smiled.

At.

Him!

Peach-blossom eyes, freckles, soft smile, the kind that could unravel galaxies.

He couldn’t help it. His whole body went warm. He stood a little straighter.

Tried to stay cool: “Bark.”

The girl blinked.

What?

Did that come out of him?

He ‘barked’, out loud.

Her smile faltered. She tilted her head and said with mock offense, “Bad SAJA boy!”

Mystery panicked! Slapped a hand over his mouth, spun around, and walked straight into a trash can (too flustered to notice that she had recognized him as one of the SAJA BOYS even with a disguise). Someone please swallow him whole!

He didn’t bark again.

But mentally, he’s still barking.

On the sidelines... Baby.

He watched it all unfold from behind a vending machine, sipping on his Binggrae strawberry milk with wide eyes and the flattest expression known to mankind: “(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)”

The girl in a braided hair death-glared Jinu-hyung.

The phoenix-eyed one eyerolled two muscleheads.

The one with twin buns called Myunghun-hyung a dog -- oops, no -- ‘Bad’ (hold on... did she just say ‘SAJA’? She knew who they were? Anyways...).

And here he was, watching like it was a KDrama episode he never signed up for.

Romance caught his eye and mouthed, “Look away.”

Abby mouthed, “Stay single.”

Baby nodded solemnly and took another sip. “Hyungs are not ready to see me date anyway... wait, what is that?”

There’s music playing in the distance.

They exchanged glances, “...”

A low mist crept across Myeongdong Square, curling around.

They adjusted their disguises before heading toward the sound.

Three silhouettes emerged through the fog.

SAJA BOYS peered.

♫ Rumi: “Ugh, you came at a bad time, but you just crossed the line.” ♫

The boys, “...”

Huh... it seems directed right at them?

The line attracted people’s attention.

♫ Rumi: “You wanna get wild? Okay, I’ll show you wild.” ♫

Braid Girl stepped out first, her yellow bomber jacket flaring as she hit the choreo. The white crop top beneath stuck to her frame, and her dark denim shorts moved with each sharp jab of her knees.

Black mid-calf boots hit the floor with unshaken precision. Her braid whipped around as she spun, chains and layered necklaces catching the sun. Patches stitched on her sleeves gleamed as brightly as medals earned in battle.

♫ Rumi: “Better come right, better luck tryin’, gettin’ to our level ‘cause you might die, never the time, tryna start a battle.” ♫

She pointed into the crowd and grinned, a teasing, cocky grin that sent a ripple through them.

Mystery, “Oh, it’s them.”

Baby, holding the box of tonics, “Again.”

Romance, “No freaking way--!”

Abby, “They’re a girl band?!”

Jinu, quietly, stunned: “Wait... was she always this pretty? Did she get more powerful or is it just the lighting--?”

Then Pink Girl strode forward. Her black graphic tee clung to her back as she dropped low, only to rise again, fierce, fluid.

The bright yellow, layered skirt flared with every twirl, moving like fire around her legs. Dark maroon boots (heavy, armored) stomped with power.

Her high half-pigtails bounced, but there was nothing cute in her gaze.

Only ‘command’.

She looked directly into a teenage boy’s eyes in the front row, then mouthed the lyrics to him.

♫ Mira: “Bleeding isn’t in my blood, ppyeosokbuteo dallaseo, beating you is what I do-do-do, yeah.” ♫

“!!!” The teenager fainted.

Romance was already sweating. “I think I just caught feelings five times in one verse.”

Abby, arms crossed, tried to play it cool, but his biceps tensed every time she looked their way. “She’s totally doing that on purpose.”

A beat dropped.

Twin Bun Girl swaggered forward, her teal and gold halter-top shimmered under the morning light, catching every flick of her hips as she danced. High-waisted wide-leg pants rippled with each graceful turn, the gold detailing glittering like magic seals.

With a sweet but dangerous curve in her lips:

♫ Zoey and Rumi: “Body on body, I’m naughty, not even sorry. And when you pull up, I’ll pull up a little late to the party (Na-na-na-na).” ♫

She twirled, landing on one foot in perfect balance.

♫ Zoey: “Locked and loaded, I was born for this -- there ain’t no point in avoiding it. Annoyed? A bit, bureul bichwo da bikyeo, ne apgireul ppaetgyeo.” ♫

She winked and the crowd lost their minds.

Mystery, a hand over his chest. “How do you even breathe when someone looks at you like that.”

Baby squinted at him, “...You barked at her, hyung,” he exhaled, “you’re all so down bad. It’s tragic--”

A flicker.

“!!!”

He never got to finish his sentence... because what they saw next stopped them cold.

Those... ‘patterns’.

Those ‘golden eyes’!

Undeniable signs that these girls were...

Jinu, Mystery, and Baby: “Demons!”

Romance and Abby: “Magicians!”

Jinu, “...”

Mystery, “...”

Baby, “...”

Romance, “...I mean, demons.”

Abby, “Definitely demons.”

The awe, the flutter, the jaw-dropped silence, gone, replaced by one thing: recognition.

They weren’t just girls.

They weren’t just pretty.

They weren’t even ‘human’.

They were demons.

And just like that...

Infatuation evaporated, burned away by instinct.

The enemy stood smiling onstage.

♫ Mira: “Knocking you out like a lullaby.” ♫

♫ Rumi: “Hear that sound ringing in your mind.” ♫

♫ Mira: “Better sit down for the show ‘cause I’m gonna show you--” ♫

♫ Rumi: “How it’s done-done-done!” ♫

The crowd got louder after that beatdrop.

♫ All: “(Hey) LILIX don’t miss, how it’s done-done-done.” ♫

♫ All: “(Hey) LILIX don’t quit, how it’s done-done-done.” ♫

Mystery noted, “They’re good.”

♫ All: “Run, run, we run the town, whole world playin’ our sound. Turnin’ up, it’s going down. LILIX show this, how it’s done-done-done.” ♫

Jinu, frowning, “Incredible. But a demon girl band? Why?”

♫ Rumi: “Yeah, something about when you come for the crown, that’s so humbling, huh?” ♫

♫ Mira: “Gapjagi wae geurae? Meonjeo geondeuryeo, wae? Ijeya pogihae, what?” ♫

♫ Zoey: “Nothing to us, run up, you’re done up, we come up, from sunup to sundown, so come out to play.” ♫

♫ Rumi: “Won either way, we’re one in a million, we killin’, we bring it, you want it? Okay.” ♫

Baby was so ready to fight, he handed Jinu the box, stepping forward, “A demon’s a demon. We ‘kill’ them.”

Jinu, “No, it’s too public.”

♫ Rumi: “Heels, nails, blush, mascara.” ♫

♫ Mira: “Fit check for my napalm era.” ♫

♫ Zoey: “Need to beat my face, make it cute and savage. Mirror, mirror on my phone, who’s the baddest? (Us, hello?).” ♫

Baby was adamant, “Hyung! What if they try to kill these people?”

♫ Mira: “Knocking you out like a lullaby.” ♫

♫ Rumi: “Hear that sound ringing in your mind.” ♫

♫ Mira: “Better sit down for the show ‘cause I’m gonna show you--” ♫

♫ Zoey: “I’m gonna show you--” ♫

♫ Rumi: “I’m gonna show you~!” ♫

♫ All: “How it’s done-done-done!” ♫

Abby reasoned, “It doesn’t look like they’ll hurt anyone...”

♫ Mira: “I don’t talk, but I bite, full of venom (Uh) -- spittin’ facts, you know that’s--” ♫

♫ All: “How it’s done-done-done.” ♫

♫ Zoey: “Okay, like, I know I ramble but when shootin’ my words, I go Rambo, took blood, sweat, and tears, to look natural (Uh).” ♫

♫ All: “That’s how it’s done-done-done.” ♫

Abby, his hand on his chin, “In fact, it almost seems like they’re... ‘nice demons’?”

Jinu, Mystery, and Baby: “Demons are never nice!”

♫ Rumi: “Hear our voice unwavering ‘til our song defeats the night -- makin’ fear afraid to breathe ‘til the dark meets the light~!” ♫

♫ All: “How it’s done-done-done.” ♫

The audience cheered loudly after the Braid Girl’s high note.

♫ Mira: “Run, run, we run the town (done-done-done).” ♫

♫ Rumi: “Whole world playin’ our sound (done-done-done).” ♫

♫ Mira: “Turnin’ up, it’s going down (done-done-done).” ♫

♫ All: “LILIX, show this how it’s done-done-done.” ♫

The three girls lined up, they moved in perfect sync, each step choreographed and sharp.

“They’re coming after the fans.” Box in his hands, Jinu made his way through the crowd.

The boys followed suit.

“We have to stop this now.”

♫ All: “We haunt you down (down) (Done-done-done) -- we got you now (Got you now) (Done-done-done), we show you how-how-how (Show you how).” ♫

♫ All: “LILIX, don’t miss, how it’s done-done-done!” ♫

The crowd screamed.

Phones waved.

The girls spun toward the audience, threw finger hearts, blew kisses, and shouted:

“Thank you, Seoul!”

As they struck the final pose, Rumi turned her head -- locked gazes with Jinu. And leered.

She dusted off her shoulder: “How it’s done-done-done.”

Jinu, stunned, “...”

Mira casually swept her hair back and shot Abby and Romance a half-lidded glance. Their knees nearly gave out.

Zoey gave Mystery a wink and a mock bark before turning away with a grin.

Crowd roars:

“One! More! Song!”

“Hana deo, hana deo!”

“Encore! Encore!”

“One! More! Song!”

They stomped.

Clapped.

Screamed!

Phones were held up.

Zoey blinked, “Whoa.”

Mira smirked, “They’re not gonna stop, huh?”

Rumi ran her tongue across her teeth, smug: “Of course they’re not. We’re the main event.”

The girls strode -- slower this time, grinning, ‘owning’ it.

Sunlight caught the metallic accents on their outfits, casting flares across mirrored buildings.

The crowd went feral.

Mira rubbed the back of her neck, “You asked for it...”

Zoey giggled, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Rumi raised a brow, “Hit it.”

♫ “Hey, boy, I’mma get ‘ya. I’mma get you real good and I bet ‘ya. Hey, boy, once I get ‘ya, you’ll be, oh, so glad that I met ‘ya. Ow! LILIX~!” ♫

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Strategy

“That’s it for now!”

Rumi stepped forward just as the final note of the song faded. Her voice rang out (sweet and commanding), as the crowd erupted in cheers.

Beside her, Mira and Zoey struck playful heart poses, their fingers framing their cheeks.

“See you next time, everyone! Keep in mind -- LILIX loves you so much~!” Zoey blew a kiss toward the crowd.

Snap!

A single finger snap echoed.

In an instant, a thick swirl of purple smoke exploded around them. When the mist cleared, the girls were gone.

Just... gone.

But no one in the audience even blinked.

“Omo,” Someone whispered in awe, “that was incredible!”

Another chimed in: “I ‘loved’ that. Legends.”

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Oblivious to the unnatural disappearance.

The boys, jaws tight:

Romance, “Okay... to be fair, that ‘is’ something a magician could do...”

Abby nodded, lips pursed. “That’s true--”

“No, hyung,” Baby cut in, fuming, “those are ‘demons’, and we’re gonna ‘kill’ them!”

Jinu, “Then, let’s get battle ready.”

The news broke through their encrypted channel on X.

The headline:

“LILIX confirmed to appear on ‘The Silence of IDOL’ -- taping this week in Seoul.”

Bingo!

The boys didn’t waste time.

Huddled around the tablet, their eyes locked on the screen.

Romance, “We sneak in.”

Abby adjusted his fan, serious. “Monitor their activity. Confirm everything.”

“And once filming ends...” Baby muttered, practically vibrating with anticipation, “...we strike.”

Jinu leaned back in his seat. “No mistakes this time. We finish it.”

Mystery didn’t say a word, he tapped his soda-tab shuriken against the table.

Their plan was simple:

Infiltrate the venue.

Track the targets.

Wait ‘til they’re alone.

And then...

‘End them’.

The girls had made their move.

Now it was the SAJA BOYS’ turn.

The bass pounded through the penthouse walls.

Guitar shrieks.

Drum kicks.

Metal vocals that sounded like the apocalypse was headlining.

In the center of it all, chaos reigned.

Clothes flew.

Belts snapped shut.

Weapons clicked into place.

Abby had queued the playlist -- ‘Violent Vibes Only’ -- and it was doing its job.

Everyone was yelling over each other, half-dressed, half-armed, and entirely hyped.

They were gearing up for ‘war’.

Jinu stood at the mirror, dragging black eyeliner across his waterline. His hair was slicked back, save for a few strands that refused to stay in line (just like him). A leather trench coat hung on his shoulders, and beneath it a zipped-up black turtleneck clung tight to his chest. Leather gloves. Combat boots. Chains on his pants.

Beside him, Romance buttoned up his black shirt... then unbuttoned two of them again. Then three. He paused, admired the effect, and smirked. He tied his hair up into a clean man bun, threw on a trench coat, and flexed his knuckle-gloved fingers. “How do I look?”

“Murderable, Doyoung-hyung.” Abby muttered, walking by.

Mystery said nothing. His side-swept bangs covered one eye completely, and he wore a sleeveless hooded jacket that swayed when he moved. Black arm warmers hugged his arms. Cargo pants with too many chains. His fingers brushed across the belt of shuriken tabs at his waist. He tilted his head once, then turned away.

Abby tightened the straps of his fan-prop across his back. He wore a fishnet top under a black trench coat, a ridiculous combination that somehow looked as if it belonged on a runway. His beanie was tilted, with perfect recklessness. He flashed his teeth. “Let’s stab something.”

Baby adjusted his hair clips in the mirror. Cute, sparkling like innocence. Total lie. The second he zipped up his cargo jacket, he looked like a gremlin about to go off. His pants were scuffed at the knees. His boots were heavier than they looked. His needles glinted beneath his sleeves.

None of them wore color, only black. Shades of vengeance and eyeliner. A five-man storm waiting to descend.

Outside, the city stretched out in neon and haze.

Across the street, the venue glowed (too bright).

A van was pulling up to the back entrance.

‘LILIX’’s van.

Jinu, at the rooftop’s edge: “They’re here. Let’s go kill these girls.”

The others followed.

Five shadows in perfect silhouette, weapons in hand. They crouched, ready to leap!

Then Jinu threw out an arm and yelled, voice dead serious:

“Roar!”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...Jinu-yah...” Romance turned slowly. “...Seriously?”

“Let him have this.” Mystery mumbled.

Baby was already crouched like a cat. “Roar!”

Abby pointed toward the van. “We’re burning daylight, Simba.”

The hunt was on--!

Jinu’s roar (plus Baby imitating his favorite hyung). Abby’s ‘Simba’. That did it.

Everyone broke character.

Jinu’s serious face crumbled first, he chuckled, “(๑>؂•‌๑)”

Romance guffawed, “ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)”

Baby -- a little embarrassed, “(⸝⸝⸝-﹏-⸝⸝⸝)”

Mystery sighs, already regretting this group, “(≖_≖ )”

Abby, caught off guard, “∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?”

So much for being intimidating.

‘돌들의침목’ LILIX (릴락스)
‘Silence of IDOL - LILIX’

The staff were surprisingly kind (which was new for the girls). For once, no one barked orders or glared suspiciously. Instead, they were told to treat it like a fun sleepover at a boarding school, with one mission: prepare for a talent show... without getting caught by the ‘strict instructor’ keeping watch over them.

The challenge? Perform their latest single.

The set had a cozy, lived-in feel (clearly staged, yet charming).

A plain wall stood at the back, with a door in the center and sliding windows on either side. Two mattresses were laid out near the windows, opposite a tiny table stocked with essentials: an electric kettle, three cups of buldak ramen, six bottles of water, and disposable chopsticks.

To the far left, there was a hammock, a potted plant, and a zip-up wardrobe.

Pajama vibes were in full swing!

Rumi wore a purple-striped pajama set. Mira’s was pink with strawberry prints. Zoey’s were powder blue with white polka dots. They had socks on, and their hair was undone.

Total sleepover energy!

‘THE SUN HAS SET... AT THE GIRLS’ BOARDING HOUSE.’

The lights were dimmed.

Mira and Zoey shared one mattress, half-draped in a blanket. Rumi lay in the hammock, lazily swaying, her eyes half-lidded.

Then, she sat up, a mischievous spark in her tone. “Shall we have ramyeon?”

Zoey and Mira stirred like they’d just been summoned. “Yes, please!”

Rumi padded over to the table and flicked on the electric kettle. Steam started to rise.

As they waited, Mira grinned and stretched. “While the water boils, how about we do that trend -- ‘dance if you like the food’? With our fave human snacks?”

The camera crew exchanged amused glances, but let it slide.

Probably just the girls being ‘playful’.

Rumi nodded. “I like that idea.”

“Oohh~” Zoey squealed, already standing up.

They gathered in the middle of the room, bouncing on their heels.

“First up... bulgogi!” Mira announced.

Immediately, they launched into full-energy dancing. Head bobs. Wild, ridiculous body rolls.

Zero rhythm.

Maximum effort.

“Next up -- tteokbokki!” Rumi shouted, already flailing joyfully.

Their movements resembled those of possessed backup dancers... without actual choreography.

Zoey, “Ooh, how about... cheonggukjang?!”

She danced like her life depended on it.

Rumi and Mira... um, not so much.

Zoey paused, hurt. “Wait. You guys don’t like cheonggukjang?”

Rumi offered a diplomatic smile. “Zoey, it’s a matter of taste, dear.”

Mira just nodded solemnly.

Zoey opened her mouth to protest--

Fweeeeeet!

A loud whistle sliced through the air.

“!!!”

Panic mode: activated.

In a blur of limbs, they scrambled to the mattresses, diving under the blankets like guilty children.

The door slammed open.

The instructor walked in -- red shirt, black pants, red cap.

Frowning.

Scanning.

“What was all that noise?” He barked, squinting suspiciously.

Click.

A quiet sound drew his attention.

Rumi’s stomach dropped.

The kettle!

He zeroed in on the table.

“Who was boiling water here?”

Before Rumi could speak...

“It was Rumi-unnie!” Zoey blurted, laughing as she pointed. “It was her!”

Rumi sat up dramatically, hand over her chest. “Zoey?! You did not just throw me under the bus!”

Mira snorted from under the covers. “Pfft.”

The instructor sighed. “Quiet. I’m confiscating this. And the ramyeon too.”

“No!” All three wailed, springing to their feet.

“Please, sir, we’re starving!” Rumi pleaded, dropping to her knees, hands clasped.

Zoey and Mira copied her, kneeling beside her.

The instructor seemed unmoved. “If I catch you practicing or chatting again, I’ll personally put you to sleep. Understood?”

Groans of defeat.

“Fine... we’ll sleep.” Mira mumbled, flopping back onto the mattress. Zoey followed, still pouting. Rumi folded her arms and huffed before retreating to her hammock.

The instructor stared at them. “Hmm. They’re asleep.”

He somehow picked up the hot kettle with one hand and carried all three ramen cups in the other.

The girls watched silently -- stunned.

“That’s not human.” Zoey whispered.

“Definitely not.” Mira added.

Once he left...

They sprang up.

Zoey, “Argh! That’s so unfair!”

Rumi glared. “How dare you betray me like that, Zoey!”

Zoey threw her arms around her. “I’m sorry, unnie! I won’t do it again!” She made puppy eyes.

Rumi huffed, “I should banish you from the ramyeon circle.”

Mira was already plotting. “Okay. How do we get it back?”

Rumi tapped her chin. “We wait until he comes back... then one of us sneaks out.”

Zoey grinned. “I like it.”

Mira saluted. “Then I’ll do it, Rumi-unnie. I’ll reclaim our noodles!”

“But first,” Rumi declared, “since we have a talent show tomorrow...”

Zoey, “Let’s practice!”

They pulled a tiny radio from the bag, placed it in the center, and hit play.

As music filled the room, the three girls struck a pose, glowing under the soft lights (even in pajamas).

♫ All: “Hey, boy, I’mma get ‘ya. I’mma get you real good and I bet ‘ya. Hey, boy, once I get ‘ya, you’ll be, oh, so glad that I met ‘ya. Ow! LILIX~!” ♫

Zoey slid into center position, socks slipping on the floor, she tittered mid-move but recovered.

♫ Zoey: “Step one, do my highlight, make me shine so bright in the moonlight.” ♫

Mira was next, stepping in with a confident smirk.

♫ Mira: “Step two, silhouette tight, baby, even my shadow looks good, right?” ♫

♫ Zoey: “Step three, when I arrive, make you look my way with your heart eyes.” ♫

♫ Mira: “Step four, got you on the floor, make you say, ‘More, more, more.’” ♫

Mira danced with sharp, energetic steps, her movements occasionally punctuated by playful slips as she mouthed the lyrics, her laughter suggesting she was truly performing on stage.

Rumi twirled into the center, light on her feet, giggling.

♫ Rumi: “When I say, ‘Hi~’, I’m feeling all your attention on me. Hi~, no reason to be so shy with me.” ♫

But before Zoey could jump back in, the sharp ‘fweeet!’ of a whistle cut the moment short.

Instant panic!

Rumi dropped to the floor with a dramatic ‘flop!’.

Zoey dove for the mattress, snuggling up beside Mira who was already pretending to sleep, with a pillow over her face.

The door creaked open.

Hands behind his back, brows furrowed.

The instructor marched over to Rumi.

“You. Purple-striped pajamas. Get up. Back to bed. Now.”

Mira bit her lip to keep from snickering. Zoey did the same, shaking from silent giggles.

Rumi groaned as if she’d just been roused from a coma. “Oh, no... I must’ve moved in my sleep.” She stood, limbs heavy with fake drowsiness, and shuffled back to her spot on the hammock.

As soon as the door closed, the three girls erupted.

“Now back asleep.” Zoey mocked, mimicking his stiff stance and voice.

Rumi and Mira clapped through their mirth.

The radio was back on in seconds.

♫ Zoey: “I ain’t gonna bite, come on over (No), I know you wanna move a little closer (Yeah).” ♫

♫ Mira: “I~ got a plan to get you with me.” ♫

The chorus hits.

Rumi went into the middle, her movements more graceful -- fluid arms, light footwork, but still hitting every beat with purpose.

♫ Rumi: “I got you on my radar, soon you’re gonna be with me -- my strategy, strategy will get ‘ya, get ‘ya, baby~” ♫

♫ Mira: “Winning is my trademark, soon you’ll never wanna leave -- my strategy, strategy will get ‘ya, get ‘ya, baby.” ♫

Mira flashed a smile, pointing to a camera like she was letting the audience in on a secret.

Zoey bounced in beside her, bubbly and bright.

Zoey: “Hey, boy, I’mma get ‘ya, I’mma get you real good and I bet ‘ya. Hey, boy, once I get ‘ya, you’ll be, oh, so glad that I met ‘ya.”

Rumi winks at the camera.

♫ Rumi: “When your cheeks go red -- that’s cute, I wanna dance, you said: ‘Oh, cool.’” ♫

♫ Zoey: “‘Til I’m in your head, It’s cruel, and you can’t forget.” ♫

Fweeet!

Another whistle blast.

This time, the girls didn’t even flinch. They waited for the instructor to come in.

“What are you doing? Get back to sleep.”

Rumi stepped up, hands on her hips. “What if I don’t want to?”

Mira followed, crossing her arms. “We will... ‘if’ you give us back our ramyeon.”

Zoey made her move. Blanket in hand, she charged, a tiny warrior incarnate.

But her throw missed, completely.

The blanket flopped to the floor behind him.

“...”

“...”

“...”

Zoey, “...Oh no.”

Realizing her mistake, she scrambled back to bed, tucking herself in.

Rumi and Mira collapsed, wheezing on the floor, at their maknae’s epic fail.

The instructor turned slowly to Zoey. “You. Blue pajamas. Polka dots. Get up.”

She didn’t budge.

“Get. Up.”

Zoey sat up with the slow horror of someone accepting her fate.

He handed her a sleeping mask. “Rest, with this sleep item I give you.”

Zoey accepted it with a deep bow. “Ne, kamsahamnida~”

Then, with a sigh, he turned to Mira and Rumi.

“You two as well.”

Both of them obediently took their masks, still snickering.

The moment he left, they peeled off the masks and sat up.

Zoey, “So annoying!”

Rumi turned to her, lips protruding. “I can’t believe you threw a whole blanket and missed, Zoey.”

Zoey wrapped her arms around her. “I’m sorry, unnie! I panicked!”

Mira sat up, determined. “Okay, but seriously. What’s the plan?”

Rumi’s eyes sparkled. “Next time he comes back, Mira-yah will sneak out and retrieve the ramyeon.”

Zoey perked up. “And we’ll distract him, right?”

Rumi, “Exactly. We’ll point at the wardrobe and scream there’s a demon inside. Then we lock him in!”

The girls guffawed.

Mira high-fived Zoey. “I like that idea!”

Zoey, “I’m so down for it.”

Rumi, “But first... back to practice.”

They hit play again, and Rumi lip-synced to her next line:

♫ Rumi: “You’re feeling things now, and you’re confused~, watching my body getting loose~. You don’t know what you’re gonna do, you’re mine~” ♫

She slid once more, but gets back in formation immediately.

♫ Mira: “When I say, ‘Hi~’, I’m feeling all your attention on me. Hi~, no reason to be so shy with me.” ♫

♫ Zoey: “I ain’t gonna bite, come on over (No), I know you wanna move a little closer (Yeah).” ♫

♫ Rumi: “I~ got a plan to get you with me.” ♫

The three of them synced up near the chorus, stomping lightly in rhythm.

♫ Mira: “I got you on my radar, soon you’re gonna be with me -- my strategy, strategy will get ‘ya, get ‘ya, baby~” ♫

♫ Zoey: “Winning is my trademark, soon you’ll never wanna leave -- my strategy, strategy will get ‘ya, get ‘ya, baby.” ♫

They hyped each other up with giggles and cheers, completely vibing with the beat.

♫ Rumi: “My strategy, strategy, like gravity, gravity. One look at me, look at me. I bet ‘ya, bet ‘ya, bet ‘ya, boy~” ♫

♫ Zoey: “You’ll be down on your knees, calling me up, begging me, don’t leave -- my strategy, strategy, will get ‘ya, get ‘ya, get ‘ya, boy (Ah-oh!).” ♫

There’s no more whistle sound this time, but there’s a loud knock at the door.

All three froze for half a second, then ran toward it in unison.

“Go back to sleep.”

Rumi, a mock-scared voice. “Oh, no... we can’t sleep!”

“Yeah, I think there’s a demon in the wardrobe!” Zoey added with a fake quiver in her tone, clutching her arm for extra drama.

The instructor raised an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you wearing your sleep masks? Get back in bed.”

Rumi stepped forward. “No! Can you just... like, check the wardrobe?”

Zoey nodded frantically beside her, peach-blossom eyes wide and pleading.

With a sigh, the instructor walked across the room toward the far-left wardrobe. Zoey and Rumi trailed behind him, exchanging stealthy glances.

Mira took her cue.

Tiptoeing, she crept out the door while her unnies kept the instructor distracted. Zoey gave her a double thumbs-up behind his back, Rumi nodded, a proud general sending her soldier to war.

Outside, Mira found the three ramen cups and grabbed them quickly. On her way back in, she heard a loud ‘thud!’.

She entered just in time to see the instructor trapped inside the wardrobe -- Zoey and Rumi leaning against the door to hold it shut, both of them biting back laughter.

Mira rushed back outside, retrieved the electric kettle, and hid it under a thick blanket behind the hammock.

Mission: successful!

The moment Rumi and Zoey saw the signal (Mira flashing the OK sign), they let the instructor out.

He emerged, expression blank but very clearly unimpressed.

Mira joined them by the table, covering her mouth with her sleeve to hide her laugh. She was shaking.

The instructor, “Get back to sleep.”

All three replied sweetly in chorus: “Ne~!”

As soon as he left...

“You saw his face?!” Mira doubled over, holding her stomach. “That was funny as hell!”

Rumi wiped a tear from her eye. “That was so hilarious!”

Zoey, “He looked so disappointed in us!”

Rumi stood up and shook out her limbs. “Alright, alright. Let’s finish our practice!”

“Okay! Music start!” Zoey called.

♫ Mira: “Hey, boy, I’mma get ‘ya. I’mma get you real good and I bet ‘ya (Zoey: Real good and I bet ‘ya).” ♫

♫ Zoey: “Hey, boy, once I get ‘ya -- you’ll be, oh, so glad that I met ‘ya (Rumi: Oh, so glad that I, ooh~).” ♫

♫ All: “Hey, boy, I’mma get ya (Mira: Hey, boy, yeah). I’mma get you real good and I bet ‘ya (Zoey: Good and I bet ‘ya).” ♫

♫ All: “Hey, boy, once I get ‘ya (Rumi: Hey, boy), you’ll be, oh, so glad that I met ‘ya (Rumi: Oh, so glad that I met ‘ya~).” ♫

♫ Rumi: “Hey, boy, I’mma get ‘ya, I’mma get you real good and I bet ‘ya.” ♫

All three girls threw their hands up in the air, celebrating.

‘MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.’

Rumi grinned, hands on her hips. “We’re gonna kill that talent show tomorrow!”

Zoey clapped. “Yay! The ramyeon should totally be our reward!”

Mira flopped down onto the mattress. “I wanna eat~”

But then --

Fweeeet!

-- The whistle, again.

They scattered at the sound, diving under their blankets.

The instructor entered silently, scanning the room. “Hmm...”

“...”

Zoey peeked out from her blanket and called sweetly, “Instructor-nim, mianhae~”

The instructor blinked, clearly flustered by the unexpected apology. His mouth twitched, betraying his attempt to stifle a smile.

“Start behaving, then.” His voice returned to monotone. “You, purple striped pajamas. And pink with strawberries. Wear these.”

Rumi and Mira sat up, confused.

“We were literally asleep though...” Mira muttered.

But they still accepted their ‘punishment’ without question.

Rumi was handed a peach-shaped hat, Mira a plush strawberry one.

They plopped them on.

Zoey sat up and squealed, “Ahhh! Gwiyeowo, unnies!”

“Hmm... they’re now sleeping.” The instructor said, and walked out.

Once he left, Rumi leaned over and whispered, “Why didn’t Zoey get anything?”

Zoey chuckled. “Probably ‘cause I apologized, unnie~”

Rumi huffed. “Unfair.”

Mira mumbled under her breath, “So monotone... is that like his catchphrase or something?”

As if summoned...

Slide!

The right window creaked open. The instructor’s visage popped in, totally deadpan.

Mira shrieked, “Kamjagiya!”

Rumi and Zoey: “Ahhhh!”

Without a word, the instructor slowly slid the window closed again, as if nothing had happened.

Still catching their breath, Rumi clutched her chest. “Okay... let’s just eat the ramyeon now.”

Zoey and Mira nodded. “Yeah.”

This time, no interruptions.

Rumi plugged in the kettle and let the water boil. They dragged the small table to the middle of the room, sat down cross-legged, and prepared the buldak ramen cups.

Once the water was poured and the seasoning mixed, Mira and Zoey eagerly grabbed their chopsticks. But Rumi stopped them with a single pointed finger.

She pointed to the instructions on the lid.

“Three minutes.” She reminded.

Zoey, “Ugh, fine.”

Three minutes later, they dug in, slurping noisily and occasionally gasping for air between bites.

The heat was real.

Then, ‘fweeeet!’.

They froze mid-slurp.

The instructor was back, standing there, watching them.

Rumi turned her head slowly, still chewing. “Annyeong~”

The girls stood up like schoolkids caught mid-crime.

The instructor, “Get back in--”

Burp!

Everyone blinked. Mira looked stunned, so did the instructor.

The staff behind the camera burst into laughter.

“Get back to sle--”

Burp! Rumi and Zoey this time, in unison.

Rumi doubled over, holding her stomach. “I’m sorry, what?”

The instructor’s face twitched again, was that a laugh he was suppressing?

He stepped forward, “No eating at this hour.”

He moved toward the table.

“No, no, no... please,” Zoey begged, “you can have some, if you want?”

“We’ll pack up once we’re finished.” Mira added quickly.

But he was already stacking the ramen cups with quiet disappointment. The girls let out defeated sighs and helped clean up. He pulled out a plastic bag and dropped everything in.

“You’ll be wearing these as punishment. All three of you.”

He handed them three identical hats.

Ramen bowl hats.

Zoey gasped. “Omo! This is great!”

Rumi swapped out her peach hat immediately. “Can I keep this? I love it.”

The instructor said nothing. “Get back to bed.”

Mira adjusted hers proudly. “This is sick!”

All together: “Algesseo, instructor. Joesonghamnida...”

They climbed back onto their mattresses.

“Good night.” The instructor said as he exited.

“Good night, instructor~!” Zoey chimed sweetly.

Rumi called out, “Okay then, let’s sleep!”

The camera continued rolling as they settled into bed, ending the segment.

Filming wrapped.

The staff and LILIX stayed behind for a while, chatting, laughing, and going over the footage -- still smiling from the chaos they’d just captured.

Meanwhile...

From a hidden corner of the set, the SAJA BOYS were watching.

The ones stationed inside were Baby, Romance, and Mystery, sent to observe the girls’ movements.

Baby crouched near the ceiling beams, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“Look at them.” He muttered, dripping with scorn. “Acting all ‘human’... they won’t get away from us.”

Back on the ground, the girls were finishing up their goodbyes with the staff. Once the cameras were off and the mics removed, they slipped away to change out of their pajamas into casual clothes.

They weren’t dumb, they ‘knew’.

From the moment they entered this building, they could ‘feel’ it -- SAJA BOYS had been tailing them.

Three inside.

Two outside.

Waiting.

Right on cue, as the girls reached the less crowded hallway, three figures dropped down from the shadows above.

Romance, Mystery, and Baby.

The girls didn’t scream, they ran.

Zoey hopped onto Rumi’s back (for a piggyback ride), wrapping her arms around her unnie’s shoulders. “Yipeee~!” She squealed, kicking her feet as they dashed away.

They bolted past the back exit, deliberately avoiding the main door.

A nearby staff, carrying cables, blinked in confusion. “Wait... was that--? That was SAJA BOYS, right? I knew it from the hair!”

Outside, Jinu and Abby were already waiting near the van.

The moment they saw the others chasing, they regrouped.

Jinu didn’t slow. “They’re making a break for it. Let’s catch them!”

Abby pumped his fists, keeping pace. “We finally get to go to the bathhouse with Jinu-hyung!”

Jinu shot him a sideways glare as they sprinted.

“...Not the time.”

They all surged forward, headed straight after the girls.

Right into the ‘bathhouse’.

Steam clung to the air. Shadows danced on every surface as the SAJA BOYS stepped cautiously inside, weapons already drawn.

Jinu’s mic-whip hummed softly in his hand.

Romance spun his telescoping mic-staff once, both ends gleaming with energy.

Baby held his warded needles between his fingers, threads already glowing.

Mystery’s soda-tab shuriken clicked in his palm, metal teeth waiting to bite.

Abby flicked open his folding fan, the edges flashing silver.

They moved as one.

But then...

“Wait...” Mystery slowed. “This is...”

“The women’s bathhouse?” Romance grimaced.

“Aigoo...” Abby looked away, already regretting life.

Too late.

A voice rang out from the mist -- amused, melodic.

“Told you they’d follow.”

The steam parted as a curtain would.

LILIX stood on the edge of the pool. Arms looped casually around each other’s waists, hair glossy, smirks deadly.

Mira, tilting her head with a grin: “Well, well. Enjoying the steam, gentlemen?”

Zoey, faking a gasp: “Omo~! SAJA BOYS caught peeking? Perverts!”

Romance and Abby instinctively stepped back.

“We didn’t know!” Romance yelled, shielding his eyes like a saint. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Rumi took a slow step forward, chin raised. “It’s ‘exactly’ what it looks like.”

Weapons raised.

The air thickened.

Jinu also stepped forward, whip unfurling with a ‘crack!’. “We’re not here to peep. We’re here to stop you from stealing our fans!”

Zoey giggled. “Steal? Oh, honey... they ‘offered’.”

Baby growled. “Keep your hands off our Honmoon!”

Rumi, calm as moonlight: “We’re not here to fight.”

She stepped aside.

Zoey beamed. “They are!”

A roar!

The tiled floor split!

Water gushed upward akin to a geyser. And from it rose twisted water demons, dripping with hunger and sludge.

Romance, “Water demons?! Seriously?”

Mystery, flat: “Fantastic.”

Abby twirled his fan open with a snap, blades glinting. “Hope you packed your swimsuits.”

Rumi pointed casually. “Get rid of the Hunters. Then eat all the souls you want.”

The demons hissed and lunged!

The fight began.

Baby threw his glowing needles, weaving between their fingers mid-air. They connected to threads that lit up like constellations.

Mystery flipped, launching shuriken in a silver rain.

Jinu whipped out with a yell, mic-strands slashing through demon limbs like laser cords.

Abby deflected a wave with a graceful arc of his fan, slashing a demon’s throat clean open.

Romance extended his mic-staff, spinning it with the force of a whirlwind and smashing two demons backward into the bath tiles.

Jinu snapped his whip toward Rumi, who moved aside with the practiced ease of a dancer.

Rumi flashed a smirk over her shoulder. “Have fun!”

Then she ran.

The other girls followed right after, laughter reverberating as their footsteps pounded across the tiles.

Jinu lunged forward to chase--!

Slip!

His foot hit a small puddle of water near a bathtub.

“Eugh!” He flailed, nearly lost his balance, but caught himself with a stumble. A quiet gasp escaped him, “Oh, geez...”

Thank goodness. No one saw. The others were too busy charging after the girls.

Clearing his throat, he straightened up, trying to pretend it never happened.

The SAJA BOYS gave chase, finally catching up to them.

Zoey spun mid-air -- right into Mystery, who yelped as he caught her waist.

Baby threw a needle, pinning one bun to a post. “Don’t move!”

Zoey winked. “A little forward, aren’t we?”

Baby blushed, “I’m warding your soul!”

Romance and Abby squared off with Mira, who adjusted her jacket like she was prepping for a runway.

Romance spun his staff. “You sure about this?”

Mira cracked her knuckles. “You’re cute when you’re scared.”

She ducked under the first strike, swept his legs. Abby caught Romance, then slashed with his fan.

Mira backflipped off a bath stool. “Okay, abs. That was ‘hot’.”

Abby, smugly: “Told you they were useful.”

Jinu faced Rumi alone, cornered between broken tiles and swirling steam.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked, strained.

Rumi, circling, eyes fierce, “Because while I slept, the world turned to ash. And no one did anything.”

Jinu cracked the whip. “Then we’ll stop you.”

They clashed.

Her speed versus his precision.

She dodged.

He struck.

Sparks flew as water hissed around them.

Jinu growled. “You’re strong... but we’re not backing down.”

Rumi’s gaze softened for a split second -- then hardened.

“Then try to keep up.”

Clash!

Metal sparked against metal. Rumi’s bracer collided with Jinu’s arm as he swung.

Scratch!

A line of silver tore clean through his sleeve.

He barely registered the pain, but he felt the tear.

Then the sting.

Jinu stumbled back. His mic-whip snapped defensively toward her, buying him space.

Rumi didn’t stop.

She came at him again, fast and fluid, forcing him to parry.

They kept fighting.

One step.

Another.

Footwork echoing in rhythm.

His whip cracked, catching the edge of her coat. She twisted, kicked off the wall, swung low.

And then she ‘saw it’.

The pattern.

Magenta, iridescent, demon ink crawling beneath his skin.

Rumi’s eyes narrowed.

Her next strike slowed.

Jinu caught it. Caught her gaze, too.

Too late.

She’d... seen...?

His breath hitched.

For a second, the world seemed to go quiet.

Steam hissed in the background.

Shouts drifted from the other rooms.

However, in that heartbeat, it was just...

Him and her.

“A Hunter who’s part... demon?”

He clutched his sleeve, the ripped fabric flapping loosely beneath his fingers.

Crash!

A huge section of the wall exploded inward! Water demons flooding in a tidal wave.

“We’re outnumbered!” Abby, slashing his fan through three at once.

“We need backup--! Jinu-hyung, we need you!” Baby yelled from above, needles spinning.

Romance spun, slamming his mic-staff into the tiled floor. “Jinu-yah! Where are you?!”

They needed him.

They were calling for him!

Yet, all Jinu could hear was the roar in his head:

‘What if they saw?

What if they knew?

What if they turned on him too--’

Before he could blink...

Arms wrapped around him.

Warm.

Soft.

Steady.

Rumi.

She’d moved in a blur. Her body collided with his chest, holding him tightly.

His breath caught.

His brain flatlined.

His face flushed deep red.

Was she--?

In that split second, her hands moved.

A strip of cloth (torn from her own sash) wound around his arm, quickly.

She pulled it tight, covering the demon patterns completely.

Then she leaned back, met his eyes, and, despite the chaos around them...

Smiled.

Jinu’s mouth parted, “...”

Before he could say anything, Rumi turned and dashed off, flipping into the fray with the others.

Mira held back Romance with powerful kicks, countering his staff strikes.

“You’ve gotten better.” She admitted, panting.

He grinned. “I’ve been motivated.”

She raised a brow. “Still losing.”

He flinched as she jabbed him in the ribs.

Zoey vaulted into Mystery again, both dodging blades and shurikens with dizzying speed.

Zoey, “You always throw stuff to impress me, huh, SAJA boy?”

Mystery coughed. “Yes-- no-- wait-- what?!”

She grinned. “Cute.”

He exploded in blush.

The bathhouse shook.

Rumi stood in the center, arms raised. “LILIX, on me!”

Zoey, kicking Mystery into the steam.

Mira, “About time.”

Zoey and Mira regrouped beside her.

Rumi looked back one last time -- at Jinu -- then vanished into the shadows.

Demons screeched as the last of their numbers surged forward, snarling.

The SAJA Boys stood back-to-back in a broken ring, weapons drawn.

Romance twirled his mic-staff. “You guys ready?”

“No,” Mystery muttered, flicking a soda-tab shuriken from his sleeve, “but when has that ever stopped us?”

Abby grinned, fan extended in a deadly arc. “Don’t let this ruin bathhouses for you, Jinu-hyung!”

Baby snapped his needles out, each one crackling with protective sigils. “Yeah, they’re usually really fun!”

Jinu exhaled slowly, his whip flickering with sparks. His arm was wrapped with ‘her’ cloth, his patterns concealed.

“Let’s end this.”

The horde charged.

Crack!

Jinu’s mic-whip lashed through three demons in a blink, wrapping around a fourth and yanking it clean into Abby’s spinning fan-blades.

“Heads up!” Abby, cleaving two more as he whirled with flair.

Mystery somersaulted over a crawling demon, tossing his soda-tab shurikens in a perfect sweep. They sliced through the air with a metallic whistle: one embedded into a demon’s eye, another swiftly intercepted a clawed hand.

“Did you see that?” He grinned. “That was totally on purpose!”

“You aimed for the wall, Myunghun-hyung.” Baby deadpanned, and then drove a glowing needle into a demon’s neck. It exploded into steam.

Romance shot forward, his staff telescoping into a double-ended polearm. He slammed it into the ground.

A shockwave burst! Sending several demons flying.

“Make way for the main character!” He declared.

Abby, “Okay, main character-hyung... just don’t forget we’re still part of the chorus.”

More demons swarmed from the shadows.

Baby threw a circle of needles into the ground, a glowing ward erupted! Holding the line.

“Barrier won’t last long!” He warned.

Jinu glanced at his sleeve -- still wrapped, secure.

He didn’t hesitate.

He flung his whip in a graceful curve, tripping demons before they could reach Baby’s barrier. “Then let’s buy time.”

They regrouped.

Final wave incoming!

Jinu pointed his whip at the last cluster of demons. “On my mark--!”

“--now!”

They moved as one.

Abby sliced through the crowd.

Mystery tossed his last shuriken, sending it boomeranging off three skulls.

Baby channeled power through his wards, igniting the ground beneath the demons.

Jinu’s whip cracked.

Romance leapt, whipped around in the air, and slammed his staff down with a final ‘boom’!

Light exploded!

The last demons burst into purple smoke, screeching as they dissolved into steam and sparks.

Silence fell.

Jinu, chest heaving, whip crackling faintly. He glanced down at the cloth Rumi had wrapped -- still holding tight.

Her hands had moved like she’d done it a hundred times.

He exhaled.

“Everyone okay?”

Mystery flopped down, waving a shuriken lazily. “I was born tired.”

Abby grumbled, shaking soot from his hair. “I think I killed one with my forehead.”

Romance adjusted his collar. “Still looked good doing it, though.”

Baby just sat down. “We’re alive. Don’t push it.”

They all collapsed into a pile of groans and limbs.

Steam drifted past the broken windows.

The girls were gone.

But for now, the bathhouse was safe.

“Next time,” Jinu muttered, lying back on the cracked tiles, “I vote we fight somewhere with air-conditioning...”

“Hey!”

A shrill voice cut through the steam.

“?!?!”

From the far door, a small, furious ahjumma stormed in -- in curlers, a face mask, and wielding a plunger as a sword.

The owner of the bathhouse!

“This is a women’s bathhouse!”

The boys blinked.

Still lying on the ground.

Covered in soot.

Slightly bleeding.

Holding weapons.

She pointed at them like an executioner. “Out! Out! Out! Out!”

Panic, instant.

Baby scrambled up. “Sorry! Thought it was gender-neutral now--!”

Abby leapt over a bench. “We were saving your lives, ajumeoni!”

Romance tried to explain while bowing, but hardly noticed he was giving away a secret: “Respectfully, we were attacked by literal demons, it was an emergency!”

“‘You’ are the demons!” She screamed, throwing a sandal at him.

Mystery was already halfway out the window. “Abort mission!”

Jinu grabbed his whip and his pride and ran after them. “She’s scarier than the actual demons!”

They all tripped over each other trying to get out the door --

Crawling.

Limping.

Hopping.

-- while the bathhouse owner kept pelting them with rolled-up towels, slippers, and curses that made even the demons flinch from beyond the grave.

As the boys disappeared in a heap through the exit, the old woman stood in the center of the bathhouse, hands on her hips, “Boys.”

Then she grabbed her mop. She mumbled:

♫ “LILIX, don’t miss, how it’s done-done-done!” ♫

A demon crept up, silent and cold, and with one breath, her soul it stole.

By morning light, she wasn’t there, just whispers left in empty air.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Once Upon A December

“How do we go from gold... to ‘this’?”

All five of the SAJA BOYS are glued to the window, eyes wide as they watched the Honmoon. The barrier now glows with magenta light. It flickers like a dying heartbeat, broadcasting trouble for them to see.

Romance, “Look at all the weak spots... we’ve never seen the Honmoon like this before.”

Abby frowns, “Celine must know we’re so close to sealing it for good.”

Mystery scoffs, “So she sends a demon girl band?”

Baby, “Well, it’s working...”

Romance shrugs, “Don’t worry, I’m sure ‘How It’s Done’ and ‘Strategy’ are just a fad.”

Abby, with forced confidence, “Yeah, I’m sure these girls will be old news by next week, you’ll see...”

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

“!!!”

They scrambled to cover their bruises with makeup, reminiscent of students hiding cheat sheets before a surprise inspection.

“Boys?”

All of them snap to attention, with matching grins too wide to be innocent. “Hi, Bobby-hyung!”

Bobby scrolls on his phone, not even looking up. “It’s a lot more serious than I thought...”

Baby throws a playful glare at Abby-hyung and Romance-hyung (mostly Abby-hyung), as if saying, ‘Look what you jinxed.’

Bobby, “LILIX have gone completely viral after that variety show -- they even have their own fandom!”

He scrolls through TikTok, where the sounds of ‘How It’s Done’ and ‘Strategy’ had evolved into full-blown internet challenges.

The fans chant through the screen, “Join NOX!”

Bobby, helpless against the rhythm, starts bobbing his head to the beat.

Baby pops up behind him. He raps along effortlessly:

♫ “Yeah, something about when you come for the crown, that’s so humbling, huh?” ♫

♫ “Gapjagi wae geurae? Meonjeo geondeuryeo, wae? Ijeya pogihae, what?” ♫

♫ “Nothing to us, run up, you’re done up, we come up, from sunup to sundown, so come out to play.” ♫

The rest groans, “Bobby-hyung! Hyuk-ah! Control yourselves!”

Baby just shrugs, “Well, the rap is fire though!”

Bobby laughs, “Yeah, you’re right, Hyukhee-yah. They’re amazing... but they ‘suck’.”

He tosses his phone aside. “Sorry, I’ve been glued to this tiny screen for hours. I just need to look away... woo...!” He rubs his face and stares out the window. “Relax, Bobby. It’s just social media numbers, not the end of the world.”

But then came a ‘rumble!’ only the SAJA BOYS could hear. They stiffen, gaze snapping to the same window.

Jinu, “...This is a battle for hearts and minds -- a war for the fans. And what’s the biggest battlefield of them all?”

The four boys, “The MAMA Awards!”

Bobby (bless his innocent soul) chimes in, “State Fair?”

Jinu spins dramatically, “That’s right! We have to crush that stage! Be better than we’ve ever been, with a show that’ll end LILIX for good!”

He turns to Mystery, “Myunghun-hyung, we’re going to need a new song.”

Mystery smirks, pulling out notebooks. “I got twenty-three notebooks full of demon insults ready to go.”

Bobby pumps his fist, “Yeah! Let’s make it thirty notebooks!” already tapping away on his phone.

Next, Jinu looks at Romance. “Doyoungie, the choreography?”

Romance grins, “Yup, making them hotter~”

Bobby jumps in again, “Back-up dancers, ready to go!”

Jinu raises a fist, “We’ll write a brand new song -- a diss track to expose LILIX!”

Baby throws his hands up, “And send those disgusting demons back to the depths where they belong!”

Abby, “Yeah!”

Baby, “Yeah!”

Romance, “Yeah!”

Jinu, “Yeah!”

They all turn to Mystery, who’s squinting at them with the look of a disappointed teacher... then sighs: “Yeah!”

Romance grins, “We’re gonna kick their asses!”

Baby, “Yeah!”

Abby randomly lifts a small table, a warrior with a shield, “Rahhhh!”

Mystery and Jinu can’t help but chuckle.

They charge out of the room with renewed energy.

Bobby watches fondly, “That’s my boys! Not sure about this whole ‘demon’ thing -- they seem kinda nice -- but loving the energy!”

Clack!

Jinu slips into his room, leaning against the door with a deep exhale.

He reaches into a box and picks up a tonic. “Okay, tonics, let’s do this... what?” He pauses as he noticed the corner peeling off.

He peels it back.

‘100% GRAPE JUICE. 포도 에이드.’

He facepalmed, “Ugh, Eunwonie...”

Fortuitously, his eyes catch a cloth on the bed, his mind flashes back to LILIX... to Rumi, covering his demon patterns for him. He presses a hand to that part of his arm.

‘A Hunter who’s part... demon?’

Chirp!

A faint sound come from his balcony.

“Is that... a bird wearing a tiny hat?”

Sure enough, a magpie bird stands there proudly, looking as though it’s about to host a tea party.

Jinu opens the door. The bird stares at him... then lets out a shriek. Six sets of glowing eyes appear in the shadows.

“What?”

The bird begins to walk along the railing. Jinu follows, with barely a thought.

It stops and turns.

Eyes blink from the dark and out comes a white tiger. Huge, round eyes, playful tusks, and a somewhat creepy smile on its face. It steps forward, accidentally bumping into a potted plant.

Jinu, “...”

It tries (very hard) to set it upright again. And fails --

Jinu, “...”

-- And fails...

Jinu, “...”

Fails again.

Jinu blinks, confused. He glances at the bird, which gives him a disappointed ‘squawk!’, as though it was shrugging at him and saying: ‘Ah shit, here we go again.’

He walks over and re-sets the plant himself.

The tiger gives a soft, guilty growl as Jinu raises an eyebrow.

The tiger steps forward, it does it again.

“Pft--! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA no, no, really... it’s okay. Just leave it.”

The tiger, “...”

It sits down, now watching him closely.

“What... are you?”

The tiger opens its mouth. Its tongue holds a folded blue paper. It drops to the floor.

Jinu picks it up.

“‘Hello, friend.’”

He flips it over. “‘만날래?’” It’s signed ‘루미’.

The writing style, along with the brush strokes and the stamped seal, clearly points to the Joseon Dynasty.

“Rumi? Ru, Rumi? Oh.”

Jinu, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “Should I? I couldn’t possibly... I, I mean--”

The bird flew past him, bumping into his head -- Jinu let out a startled yelp as it landed right on the tiger’s head. Together, they started heading down into a glowing blue light.

Meanwhile, the tiger glanced at the potted plant, “...”

Jinu stood there, completely dumbfounded. He went to the railing and saw them below, the tiger and the magpie, both staring up at him, expectantly.

He smiles. “Okay, Rumi, let’s meet.”

Tucking the letter into his pocket, he jumps down to join them.

But as he followed the tiger and the bird through the shifting city lights, that nervous flutter in his chest began to twist.

Was this really just a friendly meeting?

He told himself, ‘Yes.’

Yet deep down, something about Rumi always felt like a mirror (one he wasn’t ready to look into).

They walk past a clothing store with mannequins dressed in hanboks. The tiger, with the bird on its head as some weird fantasy mascot, approaches a tiger statue.

Before entering it, it glances back one last time, making sure Jinu’s still following, “...”

Satisfied, it steps into the statue’s base.

Jinu peeks from the side, catching every moment.

Then his gaze shifts... and he stops breathing.

Rumi.

Wind ruffled the rooftop’s edge. From this height, the city pulsed quietly, lights blinking. Rumi stood alone, staring out over the buildings.

She looked smaller than he remembered. Older, or maybe he was just seeing her with different eyes now.

Behind her, Jinu landed with practiced ease.

She didn’t flinch.

Jinu, “...You always pick rooftops?”

Rumi didn’t turn, “...You always this bad at starting conversations?”

“Yeah... I mean, no.”

A beat.

Rumi, “Let’s talk.”

Jinu’s shoulders tensed. “Talk?”

Direct to the point.

“About your patterns.”

He went still.

“I could’ve told your friends what you are,” Rumi, glancing at him sideways, “but I didn’t.”

He stared, guarded, “...”

“Because... ‘they’ don’t know, right?”

A flicker of something passed across his expression -- something that remembered ‘fear’:

He crouched in the corner of an old apartment, arms wrapped around his legs. His mother’s voice echoed somewhere in the distance, screaming in anger. The whip cracked again.

‘You’re not mine.’

His shoulder throbbed, but he didn’t cry. He couldn’t. If he cried, she’d hit harder.

‘You’re a monster -- a ‘demon’!’

The words hurt more than the whip ever did.

Blood had started to bloom on his shoulder then. Faint, strange patterns crawling out like threads beneath the skin...

“Ah.” Rumi, “I did guess right.”

...The memory faded, though its echo stayed sharp in his chest.

Jinu’s jaw clenched.

“A demon,” Rumi, circling him, “also a Hunter. Hiding, walking around free in the human world.”

“Just ‘Hunter’.” Jinu muttered.

Almost to himself.

“Not ‘demon’.”

Almost pleading.

Rumi, “How’d you get the patterns, then?”

Jinu’s eyes flickered, “...None of your business.”

Rumi tilted her head. “I know what it feels like to have them.”

His tone was bitter, “You don’t.”

“I do. More than you think.”

He scoffed. “You? You’re a demon. Demons ‘don’t feel anything’.”

He didn’t know if he was telling her that... or desperately trying to believe it himself.

But Rumi... didn’t take offense. She only exhaled, sight fixed on the far city lights. “Is that what you think? That we’re monsters, without hearts?”

Jinu, “...”

Something in his silence wavered.

“That’s all demons do...” She continued, stepping toward the edge, “...‘feel’.”

She didn’t look at him as she spoke next.

“Feel our shame. Our misery. Our helplessness.”

She remembered it.

The ‘ache’ of it.

The way her body had trembled when she found her father’s corpse -- the one human who should have loved her, who hated her for what she was. His last words had been cruel, but even then... he had thrown himself in front of her.

He ‘died’ shielding her.

His blood still clung to her hands when she collapsed beside him, shaking and half-conscious, the grief too heavy for even her demon bones to carry.

That was the moment everything split open inside her.

That was the moment she broke... and changed.

That moment carved her soul open like a blade.

Jinu, “Is that how Celine controls demons?”

Rumi’s shoulders stiffened at the name. “Yes. But I’m not controlled by her. I’m here because I chose to be. I’m acting on my own accord.”

He stepped forward, the sound of his footfall soft against the concrete. “Why?”

She turned to him.

“Just as I said before...”

Her gaze burned.

“...because while I slept,” She said, slowly and with weight, “the world turned to ash.”

She’d awakened to ruin. Four hundred years lost to dreamless dreams and darkness. And when her eyes finally opened again, the demon realm was broken. The human world had changed, too. Names and faces gone. Familiar places erased.

“And no one did anything.”

In that moment, Jinu understood. This wasn’t about heroism or vengeance.

It was grief.

A quiet fury at being too late.

At having no voice when it mattered.

At waking up to a world already ‘burned’... and deciding, finally, to stand in the ruins and ‘do something’.

Even if she was broken.

Even if she was hated.

Even if no one else did.

♫ “Dancing bears, painted wings. Things I almost remember...” ♫

A page turns. A worn book with human poetry rests in demon hands. Rumi’s mother -- radiant and otherworldly -- smiles fondly, whispering to her swollen belly, “You’ll inherit more than his blood... you’ll inherit his words.”

A tear-streaked cheeks.

The mother turns her back on a stunned human man.

“It’s better this way.” She bid farewell.

He never sees her again.

Flash!

Lightning across a blood-red sky.

The demon woman screams in agony. The child is born. The mother dies. The baby wails in the arms of a figure cloaked in smoke and fire...

Celine.

♫ “And a song someone sings -- once upon a December...” ♫

Young Rumi, alone in a sea of sneers.

Demon children point, laugh, push.

“Half-blood.”

“Defective.”

“Unclaimed!”

She curls tighter, eyes glowing faintly -- but she says nothing.

Then... two hands reach out.

Mira, with a wicked smile.

Zoey, pretending innocence.

“We’ll play with you,” They offered, “you’re... ‘interesting’.”

♫ “Someone holds me safe and warm, horses prance through a silver storm--” ♫

Pages flip in fast motion.

Rumi reading by candlelight in someone’s shed in the human realm.

A kind man gently teaching her to trace letters. “Words are power, child.” He advised, unaware he’s speaking to a demon.

A flash of light--! Teleportation.

Back in the demon realm, she clutches paper like a lifeline. Mira and Zoey lean over her shoulder, watching as she writes her first song. Their eyes widen.

Her voice cracks.

She frowns. “It’s not good enough.”

Zoey, “Then make it good!”

Rumi stares at Celine’s throne. “...I’ll ask her.”

Celine laughs, high, unstable.

“For you? Perhaps. But they’re not ‘worthy’.”

Mira and Zoey look away, ashamed, but they stay.

♫ “Figures dancing gracefully, across my memory~!” ♫

Street dancers whirl on a human plaza.

Rumi watches, mimics, fails... and tries again.

Over and over.

A boy -- close to her age -- claps for her.

His eyes warm with admiration.

He always sees her effort. ‘Always’ praises her hard work.

Back in the demon realm, Rumi teaches Mira and Zoey the steps.

They dance.

♫ “Someone holds me safe and warm--” ♫

They sing.

♫ “Horses prance through a silver storm...” ♫

They laugh.

♫ “Figures dancing gracefully...” ♫

For a moment, they are just ‘girls’.

♫ “Across my memory~!” ♫

A warm evening.

A man offers her food, a book, a smile. “You remind me of someone...”

♫ “Far away, long ago...! Glowing dim as an ember--!” ♫

They sit.

They sing.

He doesn’t know he’s her father.

But he loves her.

Until he ‘finds out’.

A shattered cup! Shouting, “I was wrong about you.”

She freezes. “Appa...?”

♫ “Things my heart used to know... things it yearns to remember...” ♫

A Hunter breaks down the door, blades gleam. “Demon filth!”

Rumi screams!

Her hands are bloody.

A man lies still -- another comes at her.

She doesn’t move.

The father does.

A gasp!

A shield.

A fatal wound!

He whispers something as blood pools.

She can’t hear it through the ringing.

♫ “And a song someone sings--!” ♫

All fades to black.

Rumi lies in a secluded room. Her eyes closed. Her soul scarred.

Four hundred years pass.

♫ “Once upon a December...” ♫

Her eyes open.

Rumi’s patterns shimmered faintly, soft glows across her arms. She looked down at them, as if the sight still stung. “These are a constant reminder of my shame. A shame I can’t escape.”

She took a step toward Jinu.

Then another.

‘Don’t flinch.’ She told herself. ‘Don’t let him see how nervous you are.’

Jinu didn’t move. His jaw set, shoulders stiff. He wasn’t used to people stepping this close... not without ‘hurting him’.

Their eyes met, neither looked away.

Rumi slowly reached out, her hand hovering between them. ‘If he pulls back... I’ll understand. But I hope he doesn’t.’

Jinu’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know why his hand lifted in response (instinct, maybe...). Or something older? Something... he hadn’t named in years.

‘Don’t do it. Don’t trust her.’

Yet, the warmth in her eyes... it didn’t look like pity, it looked like someone who ‘knew’.

Their hands touched.

The contact sent a pulse of light down Jinu’s arm. His patterns lit up. He froze.

“Yours are a reminder too, aren’t they?” Rumi, softly. “Of a shame you carry alone.”

Jinu’s hand dropped back to his side.

He diverted his gaze. The words lodged in his throat.

She doesn’t get it.

She ‘can’t’.

She’s just another demon.

But... why does she sound like someone who does?

Jinu, “...You don’t know me.”

Rumi held her ground.

“I know enough.”

‘I see you, Jinu. The same way no one ever saw me.’

“And you know you can tell me. I’ll understand, I’m the only one who ‘can’.”

Jinu strums his guitar, clearly torn.

The boys are all huddled up in their music studio, trying to bring their brand new song into life.

The four sang together:

♫ “You know you’ll never beat us, your plan will never work, we’re gonna--” ♫

Crash!

The lyrics fall flat, something just doesn’t hit right.

Romance, “This song sucks!”

Baby flops onto the bean bag, dramatically. “We only have to write the best diss track ever to crush the MAMA Awards, or there’ll be a demon apocalypse--”

He casually chucks a dart at the dartboard with Rumi’s face on it.

“--no pressure at all.”

One wall in the studio is basically a shrine of petty vengeance: pictures of LILIX’s three members covered in devil horns, doodles, and sass.

Abby, “Yeah! We gotta get up close and insult her annoyingly beautiful face!”

He was ‘definitely not’ talking about a certain phoenix-eyed beauty.

Abby crawls closer to Mira’s picture, and Romance follows suit.

Romance, “Yeah! Her nasty, disgusting, not beautiful, fierce, powerful...”

Abby, “...gorgeous...”

And just like that, both of them had heart-eyes, dreamily staring at Mira’s poster.

Baby, “Okay, hyungs, enough! I’m taking these down--!”

He rips the posters off, including the one Abby and Romance were swooning over.

Abby and Romance, “Hyukhee-yah?!”

“--Just like how we’re gonna take down these girls!”

That line hits something in Jinu.

“‘Take down’? Takedown! That’s the song -- it’s a takedown!” Jinu exclaims, lighting up.

Mystery perks up and drops a line:

♫ “So sweet, so easy on the eyes but hideous on the inside.” ♫

Baby, “Nice, hyung!”

Mystery, “Yeah, you like it, Hyuk-ah?”

Baby gives a proud nod.

Abby jumps in:

♫ “Whole life spreading lies, but you can’t hide--” ♫

Romance finishes the line smoothly:

♫ “Baby, nice try.” ♫

Baby claps, impressed. “Woah, that’s sounding good.”

Jinu adds on:

♫ “I’m about to switch up this vi--” ♫

But a sudden cough interrupts him. “Sorry, guys.”

The others glanced at him, concerned.

Mystery, “No, no, take it easy, Jinu-yah.”

Baby gave Jinu a pat on the back, “Yeah, rest that voice for MAMA Awards, hyung.”

♫ Jinu: “Takedown, takedown -- takedown, down, down, down (Baby: SAJA BOYS to the world).” ♫

A girl walking home.

Headphones in.

♫ Jinu: “Takedown, takedown -- takedown, down, down, down (Mystery: It’s a takedown~).” ♫

Hood up.

Lost in her playlist, oblivious to the shadow trailing just a few steps behind. Its shape flickered strangely... sometimes human, sometimes not.

Jinu landed behind her without a sound. One crack of his mic-whip, and the shadow vanished into dust.

The girl paused, suddenly uneasy. She glanced behind her. The alley was empty.

Probably just wind.

She pulled her hoodie tighter and kept walking.

Jinu didn’t stay long. He never did.

♫ Baby: “So sweet, so easy on the eyes, but hideous on the inside, whole life spreading lies, but you can’t hide, baby, nice try~” ♫

On a subway platform, a man stood completely still, too still. His reflection in the glass lagged just half a second behind.

No one noticed...

Except for Baby and Romance.

They moved without a word. Quick. The fight barely lasted a breath.

A flash!

A shimmer.

The man was gone.

A woman standing nearby blinked, “...Was someone just standing there?”

The boys were already gone, disappearing behind the next train.

♫ Abby: “I’m ‘bout to switch up these vibes, I finally opened my eyes. It’s time to kick you straight back into the night!” ♫

Elsewhere, train ads flashed past in a blur -- the old ones featuring SAJA BOYS faded and worn.

But the new ones...

LILIX. Bright, colorful, polished.

Their faces were everywhere now: billboards, buses, phone screens.

On TikTok, clips of Rumi dancing hit the trending page. Mira’s behind-the-scenes vlog hit a million views in two days. Zoey’s smile was stitched into every fancam.

Meanwhile, SAJA BOYS...

A fan, “I miss SAJA BOYS, but LILIX just hits different!”

♫ Romance: “‘Cause I see your real face and it’s ugly as sin -- time to put you in your place ‘cause you’re rotten within.” ♫

A dusty fan cafe sat almost empty.

A few chairs pushed back, cold cups left behind. A SAJA BOYS poster curled sadly on the wall, corners loose.

Abby stepped in, paused.

He looked around, then quietly closed the door behind him.

♫ Mystery: “When your patterns start to show, it makes the hatred wanna grow outta my veins~” ♫

On a rooftop, Mystery ran.

Below him, people moved through a busy plaza:

Laughing.

Talking.

Living their lives.

They didn’t see the demon following them from above.

They didn’t hear the fight.

When Mystery dropped from the roof, the creature didn’t stand a chance.

One hit, gone.

The crowd kept walking, unaware they’d been moments from death.

♫ Jinu: “I don’t think you’re ready for the takedown! Break you into pieces in a world of pain ‘cause you’re all the same!” ♫

Jinu received a letter, delivered by the demon tiger and the magpie bird.

It was from Rumi.

It said, ‘Let’s meet.’

He stared at it for a long time.

Then, without a word, he slid the paper back -- tucking it into the tiger’s mouth.

He told himself it didn’t matter, that nothing she could say would change anything.

But even as he let go, his fingers lingered -- curled slightly, clinging to something he wasn’t ready to admit.

♫ Romance: “Yeah, it’s a takedown~! A demon with no feelings, don’t deserve to live, it’s so obvious~” ♫

Later that night, a teenage boy stood at a quiet bus stop.

He hummed a LILIX song under his breath, swaying slightly. Behind him, something crawled out from the dark.

Jinu appeared before it could strike.

One breath, one move... and the demon was gone.

The boy felt a breeze behind him and turned.

Nothing there.

He sat down, took a selfie, and posted:

“Wish something exciting would happen. This city’s so boring LOL.”

♫ Jinu: “I’mma gear up and take you down (Oh).” ♫

♫ All: “Da-da-da, down.” ♫

♫ Jinu: “It’s a takedown (Oh).”♫

♫ All: “Da-da-da, down.” ♫

♫ Jinu: “I’mma take it down (Oh).” ♫

♫ All: “Da-da-da, down.” ♫

♫ Jinu: “It’s a takedown (Oh).” ♫

The spotlight had shifted.

Billboards now announced LILIX WORLD TOUR -- SOLD OUT in bold letters. Streets were packed with fans. The world cheered.

But somewhere, in quiet corners of the city no one looked at (alleys, rooftops, half-lit tunnels), five boys kept fighting.

No cameras, no thanks. Just them...

And whatever was coming next.

♫ All: “Da-da-da, down (Take it down).” ♫

Music Bank’s chart-topping show is in full swing. MCs ILLIT’s Minju and ITZY’s Yuna stand center stage. SAJA BOYS are on one side, LILIX on the other. The rest of the idol groups stand behind them, all watching intently.

Fans scream from the crowd as Minju beams, “Before we wait for the KChart results for the second week of June 20XX... how was your day with us today, Yuna-unnie?”

Yuna smiles brightly, “It was so nice to MC with Minju-ssi today -- ITZY has come back so please look forward to it, thank you!”

Minju, “That was nice!”

Applause reverberated across the studio.

Minju, “Now let’s start the result reveal -- SAJA BOYS and LILIX!”

Yuna, gleeful: “Please reveal the scores to see who is the winner!”

Minju narrates as the numbers flash across the screen:

“Digital album scores, number of lives, KPop fan votes, album scores, social media scores! Then who is the winner?”

‘How It’s Done’ -- LILIX (릴릭스)

Digital Album Scores: 22
Number of Lives: 4177
KPop Fan Votes: 2000
Album Scores: 9093
Social Media Scores: 124

Total Score: 15416

‘Golden’ -- SAJA BOYS (사자 보이스)

Digital Album Scores: 984
Number of Lives: 3173
KPop Fan Votes: 637
Album Scores: 5
Social Media Scores: 143

Total Score: 4942

Confetti blasts into the air, catching LILIX by surprise.

On the other side, the SAJA BOYS clap stiffly, plastering on fake smiles.

Minju, all cheer and sparkle, “Congratulations, let us know how you feel!”

Bouquets and a trophy are handed to LILIX.

Rumi takes the mic with an over-the-top gasp: “Wow, oh my goodness!” Her tone was drenched in fake sweetness -- at least in the boys’ ears.

“Thank you so much NOX for making this possible -- we really didn’t expect this win today! This is our first win, and we’re honestly shaking. Thank you to our company, our staff, our managers, and to our members who worked so hard! We promise to keep improving and show you even better performances. We love you!”

The crowd roars with cheers!

Zoey was next. “NOXXXX! We really didn’t think we’d win today, so we didn’t prepare anything...”

Her sugary-sweet tone only cranked the fan screams up louder.

She continues, “Thank you so much to everyone who cheered for us! We’ll keep working hard and never take this moment for granted. Thank you for believing in us!”

Baby fought the urge to roll his eyes right then and there. ‘Stop acting all humble, demon.’

Mira finishes it off, “To everyone who stood by and supported us: this win is yours too. NOX, you’re our strength and motivation. We put our hearts into this performance, and seeing your support means everything. Let’s keep shining together! This is just the beginning. Thank you!”

SAJA BOYS clap along with everyone else, trying not to appear dead inside.

Minju, “Yes, sounds good! Then, shall we say our goodbyes?”

Yuna, “When you need music--”

Minju and Yuna, in unison, “Live Music Bank!”

“Have a nice weekend!” Minju waved goodbye to the camera.

Yuna does the same, “Bye-bye~!”

‘How It’s Done’ starts playing as everyone applauded. LILIX bows politely to the people around them, including the SAJA BOYS.

The boys put on their practiced grins, while smug looks show the girls’ sure wins, like they knew just what would unfold.

But next came ‘Golden’ -- SAJA BOYS’ gold.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Free

At Ilchi Art Hall -- a performing arts theater in the Gangnam District of Seoul -- a fansign event for SAJA BOYS was being held. Outside, around two to three hundred fans were already waiting, buzzing with excitement.

The stage screens lit up with the SAJA BOYS logo. Colorful banners were hung all around the venue.

The boys sat behind their table, waiting for the fans to come in. Staff stood behind them, checking everything one last time.

Bobby, “All right, team, I know everything is all ‘LILIX, LILIX, LILIX’, but we’re gonna turn it into ‘SAJA, SAJA, SAJA’! Yay!” he waved his arms enthusiastically.

Everyone, including the staff, tuned in to Bobby’s classic pre-show hype speech.

The five stood up and moved to the center, forming a circle. They leaned in and mumbled: “Happy fans... happy Honmoon!” Their markers clicked together in a shared ritual.

Bobby motioned to the bodyguards by the entrance. “Let’s bring them in! Welcome!”

Fans rushed forward, screaming, phones out, already taking pictures and videos.

One of the bodyguards approached Bobby and whispered something in his ear.

Bobby’s expression changed to shock, which confused the rest of the members. “It’s an honor! Table, now--!”

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice cut him off, “No need.”

The boys glanced about, genuinely befuddled.

A woman walked in -- Bobby assumed she was probably LILIX’s manager -- and said, “My girls suggested that they’ll be sitting with the boys!”

Three girls trailed behind her. No doubt about it, it was LILIX! They were all wearing matching pink Blade Camou Velour zip-up hoodies and sweatpants.

Baby couldn’t help blurting out, “What the hell?”

The other four, mouths agape, “What the--”

How shameless!

Everyone in the hall -- except for the SAJA BOYS -- gasped, “It’s LILIX!”

More squeals followed:

“Omo! It’s really them!”

“Today is just my lucky day!”

Someone straight up started screaming and jumping.

Then came the questions.

“Wait, huh? Same table?”

The whole hall erupted with louder cheers, thrilled at the idea of their idols sitting together.

“Apologies, miss, however we’ll be needing Jinu, the group leader’s approval for that.” Bobby turned to Jinu. “What do you think, Jinu?”

All attention focused on Jinu. The members were silently begging him to say no, while LILIX stood there waiting -- patient, but smirking. The fans stared in anticipation.

“We’ll probably lose half the fans...” Jinu mouthed to the members. He cleared his throat and grabbed the mic. “LILIX will sit with us!”

An outburst of celebration filled the room.

However:

Mystery, “What?”

Baby, “Really, hyung?”

Abby seemed excited, “Oh, my...”

Romance, shrugging with Abby, “Oh... well...”

It was clear Bobby was suffering physically: “Genius!”

Since the table was long enough to fit all eight of them, they didn’t need to add another one. Only a few extra chairs and mics were brought in.

Jinu muttered, “We need ‘every’ fan.”

Mira sat between Romance and Abby, already rolling her eyes and huffing at them both.

Romance leaned in, casually placing his arm behind her chair, “Hmm, we keep meeting like this~”

Abby, on her other side, simply smiled at her.

Mira ignored them, brushed Romance’s arm off the chair, leaned back, and crossed one leg over the other. “Save the charm for someone who ‘cares’.”

Baby sat nearby, visibly irritated.

Mystery scoffed, “I am not sitting with no LILIX girl--”

Zoey sat down between Mystery and Baby, flashing her usual bright smile.

Mystery, “...”

He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, obediently.

Zoey, giggling, “What’s up~?”

Baby was stunned. His hyung had just folded that fast... for a damn LILIX?!

The final seating arrangement: Romance, Mira, Abby, Mystery, Zoey, Baby, Jinu, and Rumi.

The fansign officially started!

While Abby was signing a fan’s copy of their ‘Golden’ single, he could feel Mira side-eyeing it. Specifically the part where his abs were on full display in one of the photos. Even if she was busy signing her own, he ‘knew’.

And yes, he felt very proud!

Romance noticed too. He was chuckling.

The fan in front of Mira... oh, she saw everything! And she was ‘definitely’ writing a fanfiction about these three being in a poly relationship. She’ll post it later in AO3, teehee.

“I didn’t think you liked sharing.” Jinu muttered, eyes flicking sideways without turning his head. He passed a signed photocard to the next fan, fingers twitching slightly as he capped his marker.

“I love sharing,” Rumi replied, “do ‘you’ love sharing?”

Jinu scoffed. “Yeah. I do.”

She glanced up, faint smirk on her lips. “Oh? So you’ve shared your ‘secret’ with your friends, then?”

His hand stilled. The marker clicked too hard in his grip.

“...I’ll tell them. Eventually.”

Before the tension could thicken, a fan stepped forward, exhilarated. “Are you two whispering secrets? Omo, so cute!”

Jinu straightened fast.

Rumi blinked.

“Secrets? No.” She denied too quickly, already scrawling her name on the fan’s poster.

“Just ramyeon talk.” Jinu added, grinning like a hostage.

The fan beamed and held up her shirt. A fanmade design stretched across the front -- cartoon Rumi on Jinu’s back, hearts floating around them, with glittering text that read:

‘RUJINU’.

Jinu almost fell out of his chair, “...”

The fan, “RUJINU forever!”

“...So cute,” Rumi forced out, nudging Jinu with her elbow, “right?”

“Adorable.” Jinu, heat creeping up his neck.

When the fan walked off, still giggling, Rumi leaned in just enough so only he could hear. “That’s what you get for bottling things up, ‘Jinu-yah’.”

Jinu, his ears were red, “...”

At the same time, Mystery’s radar was going off.

There was a guy -- supposedly a fan -- standing in front of Zoey. But the way he was looking at her... Mystery didn’t like it.

At all.

He didn’t even know why he felt the need to protect her -- Zoey was more than capable. Still... something in him was twitching.

The guy had already had his turn, talked and signed, but was still ‘here’. Even the staff was telling him to move to Baby already.

Mystery didn’t hesitate.

He barked at the guy, loudly.

The members and LILIX didn’t even blink. They were used to it. But the fans were petrified!

The quiet, mysterious member of SAJA BOYS barking at a fan?! Like a dog?! Jinjja?!

“No! Bad SAJA boy!” Zoey scolded, smacking him with her marker.

Mystery pouted, almost as though his puppy ears had gone flat.

Some fans snickered, some whispered, others just stared, their expressions mirroring disbelief at some cosmic anomaly.

Baby let out a heavy sigh and facepalmed, clearly embarrassed. He pointed at Mystery and mouthed to his fansite, “I don’t know this guy.”

The person behind the camera guffawed.

Simultaneously, Romance, Mira, and Abby were in their own little world, teasing each other by signing over each other’s autographs on a fan’s cast. The fans in front of them felt invisible for a moment (honestly, they ‘loved it’).

“Excuse me, Rumi-unnie...” Rumi rerouted her gaze at the call of her name.

A little girl approached and handed her a piece of paper. “I made this for you.”

Rumi was flustered, “Oh, um... f-for me...?”

The little girl beamed at her in response.

Jinu leaned over her shoulder, eyeing the drawing with her. He offered a quiet smile. “Maybe hold on to that as a happy memory, not the painful ones.”

Rumi, “...”

Out of nowhere, Jinu stood up and grabbed the mic. “Isn’t she great? Woo, Rumi, everybody! Yeah, Rumi!”

The fans applauded, delighted to see their idols hyping each other up.

Baby snorted, one brow arched as he looked up at his hyung with a judgmental stare. “‘Woo, Rumi’?” He said without even using a mic.

Jinu shot him a look before plopping back down in his seat.

Without realizing it, a smile crept onto Rumi’s face.

The drawing wasn’t exactly a masterpiece -- it showed her as an ‘angel’, drawn in crayon, with the words ‘Rumi-unnie, you have a beautiful soul’ scrawled above it.

Yet, something about it made her chest...

Ache.

A staff member neared, ready to place it into the box with the other fan gifts, but Rumi gently pulled it back, keeping it on the table with her. The staff didn’t argue and left it where it was.

Bobby was showing something to the members. Romance, Abby, Mystery, and Baby all crowded around him curiously.

“The internet loves this, and the internet is ‘never wrong’!” Bobby, scrolling through TikTok.

Abby leaned in, “Okay, what is it, Bobby-hyung?”

He swiped down to reveal a picture -- well, a video, actually -- of Jinu and Rumi sitting ‘really close’ to each other.

“RUJINU! That’s genius!” Bobby exclaimed.

He swiped again. This time, it was Mystery and Zoey... carrying a ‘baby.’

“ZOEYSTERY, where did they come up with that?”

Mystery blushed hard when he saw the drawing of them with Baby.

Wait -- Baby?!

“Okay, seriously, why the hell am I even part of this?!” Baby burst out sassily. “They could’ve just left me out! I’m not their damn kid!”

Abby smirked, “Aww, I’m happy to be an uncle, Myunghun-hyung~!”

Romance wiped away a fake tear. “Your son grew up too fast, Myunghun-hyung, I’m getting emotional!”

Bobby cracked up, watching Baby get teased.

Mystery gave Baby’s dusty teal hair a fatherly pat. “Oh, well, my son--”

Baby’s cheeks were bright red. “Shut up, hyungs!”

Bobby swiped again.

The next video popped up, and Romance gasped, “Holy shit, bro!”

Abby’s eyes lit up. “MIROMABBY? Yo, that’s fire~ I like that ship name!”

Romance nodded excitedly. “I know right? It’s got a nice ring to it! Aww, we’re so cute together--!”

Baby made an exaggerated gagging noise like he’d just swallowed spoiled milk.

Mystery chuckled.

Bobby’s eyes sparkled with anime stars, ‘This is canon now.’

After the fansign...

Jinu had convinced his members -- and even Bobby -- to go on ahead without him.

It wasn’t easy.

Romance paused in the doorway, eyes narrowing. “Where are you going, Jinu-yah?”

Baby crossed his arms. “Why aren’t you coming with us, hyung?”

Mystery’s voice was quieter, but firmer. “We don’t leave each other behind, remember?”

Even Abby, who was already halfway out, turned back. “Hyung... just tell us what’s wrong.”

Jinu smiled faintly, forcing ease into his voice. “It’s nothing. I just need a breath. I’ll catch up.”

“...”

They felt uneasy.

Suspicious...

They didn’t fully buy it. But eventually, after exchanged glances and reluctant nods, they left.

They looked back.

They hesitated.

And once the door clicked shut behind them... Jinu exhaled.

Finally alone.

He sat on the bench, elbows on knees, fiddling with the straps of his mic-whip. His jacket was still zipped, collar hiding the faint shimmer of his patterns. The dim room buzzed faintly with the leftover quiet of voices that had moved on, but he stayed.

He was waiting.

And ‘she’ was late.

He glanced at the clock. At the door. At the clock again. He knew she’ll come -- the anxiety didn’t make sense.

Still, he waited.

And waited--

A sudden shape moved in the corner of his vision.

“Aaaahhhh--!” Jinu leapt off the bench, letting out a startled yelp as Rumi suddenly appeared from the shadows, a jumpscare in human form.

Rumi, deadpan. “Drama queen.”

He clutched his chest. “I nearly died.”

“You’ll live.”

Rumi stepped out fully, calm like she hadn’t just given him a near-death experience. She tilted her head slightly. “You always this jumpy?”

He sat, “Only around people who sneak in like ghosts.”

But he was smiling, barely.

Rumi stopped a few feet away. Her voice lowered. “You could’ve told me you hated Celine.”

Jinu’s expression shifted.

His smile dropped.

His head snapped up, “...What?”

“You hate demons,” She held his gaze, stepping closer, the teasing gone, “you hate her.”

“I hate ‘her’.” He said, “And yeah. Demons too. All my life, I thought they were monsters. My mom made sure I ‘knew’ that. She beat it into me. Told me my blood was filthy, a curse.”

Rumi didn’t interrupt.

“I thought... if I could just ‘hide’ the patterns, I could be normal... ‘human’.” He looked down at his arm, where the markings always pulsed faintly beneath the skin. “But they never stopped growing, just like the anger.”

There was a pause. Then:

Rumi rolled up her sleeve.

Her patterns shimmered -- magenta, soft under the dim light. “You think I don’t understand? That I don’t wake up some nights wanting to rip my skin off just to feel wholly human?”

He stared.

She lowered her arm. “I hated myself, too. For being born from a woman who died giving birth. For being called a ‘mistake’ by both sides. Demon enough to be feared. Human enough to be hated.”

He didn’t answer, he didn’t look away, either.

“Celine used that.” Rumi, softly. “She fed on it. That’s how she keeps demons under her thumb... guilt, shame, fear.”

Jinu, “...I thought if I ‘used’ a whip... maybe I could stop flinching. Maybe I could control it.”

Rumi, “So you weaponized your trauma.”

Jinu let out a bitter sigh. “You say it as if it’s a bad thing.”

Rumi, “I say it like someone who did the same thing.”

Their eyes met.

For a moment, neither said anything.

Then Rumi turned to leave. “Next time, don’t wait until a fan shows us kissing on a T-shirt before you talk to me, okay?”

“...That was ‘piggyback’.” Jinu, glaring at the floor.

His ears flushed crimson, the redness deepening with every second. A blush crept onto his cheeks.

Rumi laughed -- mellow and genuine, almost breathless. She didn’t mock him. She just laughed like she hadn’t done it in a long time.

She headed for the door.

However...

Jinu, “Wait.”

It wasn’t loud, but it stopped her.

The air stilled again, it settled carefully -- a lull in the storm.

She didn’t turn right away. She stood there, the space between them holding its breath.

Jinu’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. Something had changed. In the world, no, but in ‘him’.

And when she finally looked back, he was already bracing himself for what he needed to say:

“What if I told you there’s another way to get your freedom?”

Rumi was caught off guard. She leaned her weight to one side, “Go on.”

He stood now, restless, “Help us win the MAMA Awards. If we win, the Honmoon will be sealed. That means Celine -- her power, her reach -- everything she’s done, all the demons she controls... it ‘ends’.”

Rumi’s brows furrowed slightly.

He pressed on. “No more hiding for me. No more lies. I’ll be free of these cursed patterns. And you... you won’t have to keep running. You can choose to stay here, on this side. Away from her. Away from ‘that’ world.”

Rumi didn’t move. She stared at him, unreadable.

Jinu, “You could finally rest, Rumi. No more guilt. No more past. Just... a future.”

She studied him for a long second. Then: “What makes you think the Honmoon can save a girl like me?”

Jinu’s eyes locked with hers. And for once, there was no mask, no biting sarcasm, only... honesty.

“Because I’m a man like you.”

Carved from guilt.

Raised on fear.

Wearing a face that never felt like theirs.

He stepped closer, his voice low and raw. “And I still want saving, too.”

Her lips parted, “...” closed again, the words unsaid, her eyes flickered.

Something in her mien, incomprehensible.

Whoosh!

A gust of air stirred as the venue’s back door opened somewhere down the hall. From inside the dressing room, they could hear distant fans still lingering outside, chanting names, their presence felt but unseen behind thick walls.

A flicker from the muted TV screen cast red-and-white flashes across Rumi’s hoodie -- the billboard ad outside must have changed again.

She averted her gaze.

“They’re gonna be looking for you.”

Jinu didn’t move. His grip on the mic-whip relaxed, ever so slightly.

“Let them.”

But the moment was already slipping...

Rumi rerouted her attention, “You should go, before they start asking questions.”

A beat of hesitation, then Jinu withdrew.

“Think about it.”

Before leaving, his tone lowered one last time:

“I meant what I said.”

♫ “Time to put you in your place ‘cause you’re rotten within.” ♫

The mirrored studio was dim except for the warm glow of the overhead lights. Scuff marks lined the floor from hours of dancing. A half-finished water bottle sat abandoned near the speakers.

Jinu sat alone in the corner, legs stretched out, back against the wall. Sheets of lyrics lay scattered on the floor beside him:

Some scribbled over.

Others were tightly folded, worn from many readings.

He hummed softly to himself.

♫ “When your patterns start to show, it makes the hatred wanna grow--” ♫

He winced, scratched it out with his pen.

Tried again:

♫ “When your patterns start to show, I see a pain that lies below...” ♫

That one lingered softer, ‘sadder’. He tapped his pen against his knee.

Knock.

A light knock against the studio doorframe.

Jinu jolted upright.

Romance leaned casually by the open doorway, arms crossed, sweat still clinging to his hair from earlier drills.

Romance, “Didn’t know we were pulling solo overtime tonight.”

Jinu was startled, “Oh, uh, yeah! Just... needed to clear my head.”

He scrambled to gather the scattered papers around him.

Romance stepped inside, walking slowly across the floor. His reflection moved beside him in the mirror, calm, observant.

Romance, “You skipped cooldown.”

Jinu, “I was writing. I didn’t realize how late it got.”

Romance crouched beside him. He picked up one of the papers Jinu had missed. He read it. “You’re changing our lyrics?”

Jinu, “Just experimenting, seeing if it could hit a different way.”

Romance, with eyebrow raised, “Or maybe it already ‘hit you’, and now you’re rewriting what you felt.”

Jinu, “...”

Romance set the page down, watching him. “I’m not here to scold you, you know.”

Jinu, “I didn’t think you were, Doyoung-ah.”

Romance was quiet. He looked at Jinu sideways. “You’ve just been... somewhere else lately. Your body’s here, but your head’s not. You okay?”

Jinu flinched. He tried to mask it by organizing the lyric sheets. He failed. “Yeah. I’m just... thinking.”

Romance nodded slowly, but he didn’t buy it. “You’ve always thought too loud, Jinu-yah.” He smiles a little, “I can hear it when you’re holding things back.”

Jinu chuckled, “You make it sound like I’m a walking radio.”

Romance, “Maybe. Your station’s all static these days.”

Beat.

Romance, “Look... I don’t need the whole truth right now. Just... don’t shut me out completely, okay?”

Jinu finally met his gaze, his sincerity evident. “I’m not trying to. I... I don’t even know what I’d say yet.”

Romance’s expression softened further, “Then let me wait with you.”

Jinu, “What?”

Romance, “I don’t need answers. Just... let me be here. Even if you’re quiet.”

He gave him a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

Romance, “Don’t let whatever you’re carrying eat you alive before we hit that stage.”

Romance stood and dusted off his knees. “And if you’re writing something new... make sure it’s ‘still you’. Not... someone else.”

Jinu forced a nod.

Romance sighed, “I’m grabbing water. Don’t mope yourself into a coma.”

He walked to the door.

“I need to see ‘Golden’ live. Like, full choreography, no backtrack--”

“Counting down... two days! The MAMA Awards is where you either make history or become a meme forever.”

Swipe.

Another panel loaded.

“SAJA BOYS are up against LILIX. That’s not a comeback, that’s a ‘suicide mission’--”

Swipe.

A clip auto-played from a reaction channel. Blurred faces, chaotic jump-cuts, voices loud and fast:

“Omo, omo, if they don’t open with ‘Golden’, I swear--!”

“Thank goodness I didn’t hold my breath waiting for this performance--”

Beep!

At their rehearsals...

The SAJA BOYS were in the middle of running through their new track ‘Takedown’. The stage echoed with the heavy beat as the boys moved in sync, sweat glistening from hours of repeating the same routine.

♫ “Time to put you in your place ‘cause you’re rotten within. When your patterns start to show, it makes the hatred wanna grow outta my--” ♫

Jinu’s voice trailed off as he stopped singing. The music cut off abruptly too. The rest of the group froze mid-move, confused.

Romance, catching his breath, “What’s wrong? Why’d we stop?”

Jinu turned to his members, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “It’s these lyrics. They’re... throwing me off. I don’t think they’re right yet.”

Romance blinked, concerned but trying to stay calm, “Is it just one part? Or...?”

Mystery -- the group’s producer, lyricist, and composer -- notebook in hand. “No, no, it’s fine.” He let out a small, nervous laugh as he flipped through his notes. “Second verse, correct? How about this: ‘When the pattern starts to show, the world will know that you’re depraved’?”

Jinu grimaced and shook his head.

Abby and Baby were peeking over Mystery’s shoulder now, reading through his scribbles.

“Ooh, how about that one, hyung?” Abby pointed at a line. “‘My sword will happily show you to your grave’.”

Still a no from Jinu.

Mystery flipped to another page and read aloud, “‘You’ll be pummeled ‘til no remains’.”

Baby whispered, “...That’s a little... a lot.”

He glanced nervously between them, noticing Mystery’s jaw tightening.

The tension was rising fast.

Jinu, struggling to find the words, “No, hyung... it’s not just that line. It’s... the whole song. Something’s off.”

Mystery’s eye twitched. “Oh. Great. Cool. Just the whole song. No big deal, I only sold my soul writing this--”

He snapped his notebook shut and made a dramatic motion to tear it in half.

“No, hyung!” Baby yelped, grabbing at the notebook.

“Don’t, please!” Abby pleaded, clutching the other side.

Mystery was yelling now, trying to rip the whole thing apart while Baby and Abby wrestled him for it.

Romance sighed, finally stepping forward, tone calm, he doesn’t sound cold nor mad. “Jinu-yah... I know this song’s not easy, but the MAMA Awards is in two days. We’ve been working for weeks.”

Jinu looked down at the floor, hands clenched at his sides. “I know. I just... I don’t think I can sing this and still sound like me.”

“...”

Even Mystery stopped thrashing.

“...”

Abby and Baby let go of the notebook, stunned.

“...”

That’s when Bobby walks in, carrying a box full of snacks. “Hey, boys! Thought I’d bring some last-minute pick-me-ups!” He grinned. “I know it’s been tense and you’ve all been working hard on the routine, so--”

Suddenly, there was a rumbling sound and a pulse of glowing magenta light flashed through the Honmoon.

All five members regarded each other.

They didn’t need to say a word.

They had demons to slay.

Bobby, “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. Just wanted to say I’m here for literally anything--”

He turned around.

The boys were already gone.

“--you need.”

The last train had just pulled away.

The platform stood abandoned, save for flickering fluorescent lights, a few peeling ads, and the electric hum of silence. Somewhere above, the city pulsed with life.

Down here...

It’s eerily still.

Jinu moved first. His boots tapped against cracked tile, the mic-whip coiled at his side like a sleeping serpent.

Romance finally snapped, “Seriously, Jinu... what’s going on with you?”

Jinu’s gaze lifted, “I told you, it’s just the song--”

Romance interrupted him, tiredly, “I’m not talking about the song. I’m talking about ‘you’.”

The atmosphere changed, the others froze.

He wasn’t shouting, yet his words cut... because he ‘cared’.

Romance, “I said I’d wait. And I did, but we’re days from sealing the Honmoon... and you’re still somewhere else.”

His voice cracked, with fear. “Jinu-yah... I know something’s wrong... what aren’t you telling us?”

Jinu, jaw clenched, hands twitching at his sides. “I... I can’t--” He turned to walk off, “Let it go.”

However, Romance stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, a gesture both firm and tender. “Don’t walk away.”

Romance was not willing to ‘lose him’.

“Not from us.”

Jinu shook him off, frustrated, “Not everything has to be your business, Shin Doyoung!”

“...!!!”

Abby started to move, but Mystery held him back with a look that said: ‘This is their fight. Don’t step in.’

Baby stood rooted to the ground, wide-eyed and speechless. He wasn’t used to seeing his hyungs like this!

Romance flinched, not from the words, but the way Jinu said his full name... distantly, defensively...

He stepped back, silent and still.

Jinu was instantly regretful, “Doyoung-ah, I didn’t mean that, I--”

Romance, cutting in, hushedly: “Then don’t push me away.”

From the tunnel mouth... there’s a flicker.

The air grew oppressive.

Shadows came, a ripple across the floor! Shapes unfurling from smoke. Dozens of demons surged forward, writhing things with jagged mouths and smoky skin.

Romance, “If you’re with us... ‘really’ with us... then show me.”

Jinu stared at him, the weight of all his secrets pressing down on his shoulders, heavy as lead.

♫ Abby: “It’s a takedown, I’mma take you out, you break down like, ‘What?’, it’s a takedown, I’mma take you out and I ain’t gonna stop!” ♫

Abby’s fan snapped open with a metallic whisper -- folding silk with flashing silver edges. He moved. Every swing was a cut. Every breath was calculated. The demons didn’t stand a chance.

♫ Baby: “Jeongsineul nokko neoljip balpgo gareul sigyeonwa, you’ll be beggin’ and cryin’, all of you dyin’, never miss my shot.” ♫

Baby dashed forward, low and fast. His warded needles flared between fingers, a glint of deadly fangs. A flick of his wrist -- one embedded into a demon’s core. It wailed (a soundless shriek) and vanished.

Mystery remained at the edge, unreadable as ever. In his palm, soda-tab shuriken gleamed. He flicked one sideways. It arced, slicing through two demons before ricocheting off the wall and back into his waiting hand.

Romance twirled his mic-staff baton. He struck the ground! A beat as resonant as a drum echoing outward. The pulse hit the demon mid-leap, snapping it back into purple smoke.

He spun again, clean and practiced.

♫ Jinu: “I don’t think you’re ready for the takedown, a demon with no feelings, don’t deserve to live, it’s so obvious!” ♫

Jinu pivoted too fast, dodging a rush of claws. His heel slipped on broken tile. A demon lunged! Jaws gaping--

But Romance was already there.

His staff baton swept in with a ‘crack!’, blocking the blow. A second strike shattered the demon into smoke. Jinu recovered, breath hitching, eyes locking briefly with Romance.

No time to pause.

♫ Baby: “You can try but you can’t hide~” ♫

Jinu cracked the whip, the sound a thunderclap that ripped through the air. The mic cord surged with light, coiling around another demon’s throat and slamming it into the rail pit. Sparks danced in its wake.

More came, still.

♫ Baby: “It’s a takedown, I’mma take you out and I ain’t gonna stop!” ♫

The fight turned brutal.

Smoke and limbs.

Light and teeth.

No blood, but everything else: shattered tiles, broken signs, the sting of charged energy.

The SAJA BOYS didn’t stop.

They moved with a single thought, synced even in chaos. They held the line.

Until... silence.

Heavy.

Ringing.

Ash floated through the air. The platform scorched. One CCTV camera blinked in the corner -- screen fractured, static dancing. No civilians had seen.

Yet, the threat had been ‘real’.

The demons came for people, and the boys had gotten there first.

Now, it was over.

Jinu stood, chest heaving, whip slack in hand. Romance leaned on his staff. Abby cleaned soot from his fan’s edge. Baby retrieved the few needles still intact. Mystery scanned the dark as if it might move again.

And far above, a glowing billboard for LILIX lit up the night sky.

Down here...

The SAJA BOYS had saved the city.

Still standing.

Or so they thought.

Romance’s voice dropped to a whisper, only for Jinu to hear: “We’ve fought everything together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Without another word, he turned and walked ahead of the group. His posture was stiff, betraying his inner weight.

Abby, gently, “You know I’m always by your side, Jinu-hyung, but it’s really hard to understand this time...”

Still, he followed after Romance.

Only Mystery and Baby stayed behind with Jinu for a moment longer.

Before heading off, Mystery turned to Jinu, “We can’t win this without your voice, Jinu-yah.”

Jinu’s face fell, a wave of melancholy washing over him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Baby’s gaze filled with a sad, knowing understanding.

Wordlessly, Baby gave his arm a light tug, urging Jinu to follow the others.

‘Just a little longer.’ He thought. ‘Trust me. I’m not abandoning you. I’m doing this because I ‘have’ to win, for us.’

Rumi stood motionless at the top of the steps, the moonlight painting her silhouette in silver. Her head was bowed, fingers clenched slightly at her sides, as if caught between staying and fleeing.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Measured footsteps approached.

Jinu climbed the steps toward her, his breath visible in the cold air. Behind him padded a large white tiger, fur rippling. Perched confidently on its head was a tiny, smug-looking magpie.

The tiger bumped its head gently against Rumi’s hand, nuzzling her until she absently reached out to stroke its ear.

Jinu stopped beside her, eyes lingering on the odd pair, amused, “Okay, I’ve been meaning to ask: why does the bird wear a tiny hat?”

Rumi, suppressing a smile, “I made it for the tiger, but the bird keeps taking it.”

Jinu, “...”

The magpie let out a victorious: “Chrrrip!”

A blink, then a soft laugh escaped Jinu’s lips.

She laughed too, the sound small and real.

The laughter faded, and silence settled between them, more comfortable than awkward. Below them, the city blinked with sleeping lights.

Jinu, “So, about tomorrow... have you thought about my proposal?”

Rumi’s fingers tensed around the tiger’s fur. Her smile fell. “Look, I want to believe in your crazy plan, but... I don’t think I’m the one to help you. Not with this.”

Jinu, “...You already have.”

She turned her head toward him, startled.

Jinu, “I spent my whole life keeping this secret. This shame of what I am. And the more I hid this shame, the more it grew and grew, until it started to destroy the one thing that gave me a purpose... my voice.”

A pause.

“But since I’ve met you,” He drew a breath, “and the more I talk to you... I don’t understand it, but somehow, my voice has ‘healed’.”

A breeze swept through the steps, stirring Rumi’s hair. The tiger sat, an image of quietude. Even the magpie stopped chirping.

Rumi’s eyes softened.

♫ “I tried to hide but something broke, I tried to sing, couldn’t hit the notes -- the words kept catching in my throat.” ♫

Rumi inclined slightly.

She didn’t smile, though she was listening.

♫ “I tried to smile, I was suffocating though, but here with you I can finally breathe, you say you’re no good, but you’re good for me.” ♫

For the first time in a long while, Jinu didn’t feel like a secret waiting to explode.

♫ “I’ve been hoping to change, now I know we can change, but I won’t if you’re not by my side~” ♫

He faltered.

Jinu glanced sideways.

♫ “Why does it feel right every time I let you in? Why does it feel like I can tell you anything? All the secrets that keep me in chains and all the damage that might make me dangerous.” ♫

Rumi walked beside him, hands tucked in her jacket pockets, hair tousled by the wind.

♫ “You got a dark side, guess you’re not the only one -- what if we both tried fighting what we’re running from?” ♫

Her expression, usually unreadable, was relaxed under the moonlight.

♫ “We can’t fix it if we never face it, what if we find a way to escape it?” ♫

They kept walking, the tiger and magpie trailing behind as shadows from another world.

♫ “We could be free~! Free~! We can’t fix it if we never face it. Let the past be the past ‘til it’s weightless.” ♫

Rumi stepped closer. Without asking, she joined in. Her voice rich and steady, effortlessly slipping into harmony.

♫ “Ooh, time goes by, and I lose perspective, yeah, hope only hurts, so I just forget it.” ♫

Her eyes were brighter now, less guarded:

♫ “But you’re breaking through all the dark in me when I thought that nobody could -- and you’re waking up all these parts of me that I thought were buried for good.” ♫

Their boots tapped lightly against the concrete rooftop, unhurried.

Up here, they weren’t anyone else’s version of themselves...

♫ “Between imposter and this monster, I been lost inside my head, ain’t no choice when all these memories keep me pointing towards no end.” ♫

Not the demon girl who ran.

Not the demon man who sang through his pain.

♫ “It’s just easy when I’m with you, no one sees me the way you do.” ♫

Two people, and no more.

Breathing in the same sky.

Singing the same song.

♫ Jinu and Rumi: “I don’t trust it, but I want to -- I keep coming back to--” ♫

And for once... not running away from it.

♫ Jinu and Rumi: “Why does it feel right every time I let you in? Why does it feel like I can tell you anything? We can’t fix it if we never face it... what if we find a way to escape it?” ♫

The air between them shimmered as spilled stars. It felt as if the rest of the world had dropped away.

♫ Jinu and Rumi: “We could be free~! Free~! We can’t fix it if we never face it, let the past be the past ‘til it’s weightless.” ♫

Jinu reached out...

♫ Jinu: “Oh~! So take my hand, it’s open~ (Rumi: Free, free~).” ♫

...And she didn’t think.

Her hand met his halfway.

♫ Jinu: “What if we heal what’s broken~? (Rumi: Free, free~).” ♫

It wasn’t perfect. Their fingers didn’t slot together like puzzle pieces. Yet, it was warm.

♫ Jinu: “I tried to hide, but something broke. I couldn’t sing, but you give me hope.” ♫

They felt the weightless feeling of being ‘seen’.

Of being safe.

♫ Jinu and Rumi: “We can’t fix it if we never face it. Let the past be the past ‘til it’s weightless.” ♫

For a long moment, neither said anything, punctuated only by the sound of the city, the fading echo of their song, and the space between them -- smaller now.

Rumi spoke in a near whisper. “You ever think... maybe we were meant to be broken like this?”

Jinu didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, handmade bracelet. Neatly woven in soft blue and purple thread.

Jinu, “A fan gave this to me. At the last fansign. Said it was for luck, and that I should wear it during hard times.”

He looked at it for a second longer.

Jinu, “I think they were right. But I also think... maybe it’s not mine to keep.”

Gently, he took her hand. His touch was careful. He fastened the bracelet around her wrist.

“Now it’s yours, Rumi.”

Rumi stared down at it. The bracelet was warm from his hand.

This man... a Hunter. Her ‘enemy’.

Someone who could destroy her world with a voice.

Someone taught to see her kind as ‘monsters’.

And yet here he was. Giving her something precious, ‘trusting’ her with it.

Jinu, “No. I don’t think we were meant to be broken like this. I think we were meant to ‘find’ each other like this.”

She inhaled sharply.

And slowly, she met his gaze, fully this time (heart open, ever so slightly). She didn’t just see the idol who sang onstage, she didn’t even see the Hunter trained to kill her.

She saw the man who saw ‘her’.

All of her.

The bracelet rested against her skin like it ‘belonged’.

Oh, Jinu...

She stepped forward, close enough to feel his breath.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned in...

Chu!

...and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Soft and quick, full of everything she couldn’t say yet.

Jinu stood as still as a statue, but his eyes closed for half a second, like he was holding that moment somewhere no one could take.

A slight tremor ran through his chest.

Thump.

Not because of the kiss itself, but because of how gentle it was.

Thump.

As though she thought he’d break.

Thump.

As though she knew he already had.

Thump.

It should’ve terrified him.

She was supposed to be the threat.

He was a Hunter. She, the danger. He was drilled to strike first, to never hesitate.

However, all he could feel was the warmth still lingering on his skin. The delicate ghost of her lips. The way she’d looked at him, like he wasn’t a weapon, or a warrior, or a lie.

Just a man...

His hands were still. His heart wasn’t.

He didn’t know what would come next... only that he didn’t want this moment to end.

Not yet.

Rumi stepped back a little, “I’ll make sure LILIX will lose tomorrow.”

Jinu smiled, his eyes kind. “Then we’ll both win.”

“...”

“...”

Rumi fidgeted, her gaze flitting from her bracelet to him.

“...”

Words formed on her lips, “...” she swallowed them.

Rumi, “...Okay, bye.”

Jinu was taken aback.

Jinu, “...Yeah, uh, bye. Uh--”

He sighed, more at himself than at her, rubbing the back of his neck. He wished he knew how to make this goodbye not feel like leaving something unfinished.

Rumi didn’t respond immediately.

Though she smiled, barely.

Then she turned and walked away, steps light but swift, fearing that looking back would make her drift.

Jinu watched her fade into the night, thumb on his cheek where her kiss felt right.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Not Human Enough

Rumi couldn’t stop smiling to herself, her heart still fluttering from that stolen moment with Jinu.

It played over and over in her head as though a favorite song on repeat.

His voice.

‘A fan gave this to me. At the last fansign. Said it was for luck, and that I should wear it during hard times.’

The look in his eyes.

‘I think they were right. But I also think... maybe it’s not mine to keep. Now it’s yours.’

The way her name had sounded coming from his lips, almost reverent.

‘Rumi.’

Thump.

A fleeting, tender kiss... a brush of lips against his cheek.

She hadn’t meant to do it.

She hadn’t planned it.

Thump.

She didn’t regret it.

Thump.

He didn’t pull away, his closed eyes mirrored her own desire to hold onto the memory.

Thump.

And now... she couldn’t forget.

The impossible felt possible, if only for a second, even though it might not be easy or safe.

Thump.

As she made her way to the LILIX penthouse, her steps felt lighter than usual. She softly hummed a tune, sweet and familiar... a melody that now reminded her of him.

It wasn’t even a real song, just something she made up on the spot, yet it perfectly captured her mood... the warmth of the moment, the quiet joy of feeling ‘seen’, the fluttery, reckless thrill of letting someone brush that close to her heart.

Someone like Jinu.

Once inside, Rumi barely had time to shut the door before she was met by Zoey and Mira standing stiff, their expressions clouded with tension.

The melody she’d been humming fell silent in her throat, “...What’s going on?”

In retrospect, she didn’t even need to ask.

Zoey glanced at Mira before speaking, hands twisting nervously at the hem of her sleeve. “Um... Rumi-unnie... Celine’s asking for you.” Her voice trembled slightly, laced with unease.

It wasn’t merely a message --

Mira stepped in. “She said she wants to ‘talk’.”

-- It was a ‘warning’.

Her tone conveyed the gravity of the situation. This was no casual conversation, but a summons.

In a flash, Rumi’s smile was gone, replaced by a chilling, unreadable seriousness.

It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Rumi dared to steal a moment for herself...

To laugh.

To care.

To ‘hope’.

...and now the realm remembers what she is.

The memory of Jinu’s smile didn’t disappear. No, it clung to her akin to sunlight fading behind clouds. It dulled, dimmed beneath the weight pressing on her chest.

What had once been a soft, golden thing... a spark of something almost human... now felt impossibly far.

She looked down.

The bracelet on her wrist still held his warmth.

In such a harsh world, warmth offered only limited solace.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she straightened her spine.

Don’t look back.

Her hand twitched, fingers curling, ready to snap her fingers and disappear alone.

Before she could do so...

Zoey inched forward. “Unnie, we’re coming with you.”

Rumi, replied flatly, “No need.”

This isn’t their fight.

Zoey, more firmly this time: “Please. Don’t face her alone.”

Mira nodded, jaw clenched. “We started this together. We end it together.”

They’re still here.

Rumi exhaled through her nose, the sharpness in her eyes softening for a beat, not much. Though enough to show she heard them.

She gave a single nod.

Snap!

In an instant, they were gone.

The room dissolved into purple mist, and reformed into the roaring heat of the demon realm.

The three of them stood in front of a massive fire, its glow casting long shadows across stone.

Celine.

Before anyone could speak, their gaze instinctively lifted to the sky.

Souls streaked across it like shooting stars. Only... they weren’t ‘stars’.

And they definitely weren’t ‘free’.

“Well, for a second there, I almost thought you believed you could be ‘free’, Rumi.”

Celine's tone was edged, mockingly sweet. There wasn’t a drop of humor in it.

Rumi’s mouth twitched, the bitterness already rising in her throat. She exhaled a single, hollow laugh.

Zoey and Mira flinched, sharing a nervous glance before subtly eyeing Rumi from the corners of their eyes.

“So funny, right?” Rumi’s mutter wasn’t directed at anyone, it was a whisper to the suffocating silence closing in.

Celine wasn’t done, “Because if you really believed him, if you ‘truly’ thought you could escape who you are, and what ‘you’ did--”

“...!”

And just like that, the floodgates in Rumi’s mind opened.

Memories -- dark, violent, ‘sickening’ -- roared through her skull in a tidal wave! Drowning out the present.

Four hundred years’ worth of horrors crashing down all at once!

A scream clawed its way out from behind her ribs.

Rumi, “Aaaaaagggghhhhh!”

Heat burned through her lungs!

Her vision blurred.

Reality fractured.

Mira and Zoey rushed forward as her legs gave out, catching her just in time. One hand on each shoulder, gripping tight, like they were trying to anchor her to this moment...

Her chest heaved.

Her claws dug into her own palms.

A hundred images seared behind her eyelids...

Her father’s blood.

A shattered memory.

Jinu’s smile.

Hyunmin’s disappearance.

A fire that wouldn’t go out.

“You would’ve told him the ‘truth’.”

Celine’s voice sliced through the haze.

“Your hands are stained with your father’s blood... that’s why Hyunmin left you. And soon enough, Han Jinu will, too.”

The ghost of a sound, the trace of a light.

Inside Rumi’s head, a memory ignited.

Her father, lying in a pool of blood, his lips moving, saying something...

But she couldn’t hear it.

The ringing in her ears swallowed it whole.

Then...

‘You’re doing great, Rumi-yah!’

That voice.

...Hyunmin.

That grin that always made the cold feel less cold.

Gone.

‘You haven’t heard? Hyunmin’s gone missing.’

No.

No, he wouldn’t--!

He wouldn’t leave her...

He promised, didn’t he?

...would he?

Would he, still...?

Celine’s voice slithered through her thoughts, venomous. “Don’t forget our deal, Rumi. I can sharpen those memories if you’d like. Make you ‘feel’ every piece you buried.”

Huff.

Rumi’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

Huff.

Each breath was agony.

Huff.

“Or,” Celine, sweetly, “I can take them all away. Erase ‘everything’. But don’t fool yourself, you can’t run from what you are or what you’ve become.”

Silence.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Rumi couldn’t tell anymore.

A vacant stillness settled over her mind, devoid of peace, filled only with numbness.

“Half-blood.”

In the jeering courtyard, young Rumi faced the demons. Their sharp eyes and even sharper tongues spat the word:

“Defective.”

It echoed with their mocking laughter, making her very being the punchline of their wicked joke.

“Unclaimed!”

It was the most stinging insult.

In a world obsessed with lineage, to lack a noble house, or worse, to be a demon-human hybrid, was utter ‘disgrace’.

When Rumi’s mother died and her human father never came to claim her, she was left nameless and unwanted, a blemish on demon society.

However, Celine (a powerful and respected demoness and her mother’s close friend) took her in, not out of obligation or self-interest, but out of love for her deceased friend.

Initially, it was genuine kindness and protection, offering Rumi a home.

“Rumi,” She cupped her face, “your mother would’ve told you to stand tall. So I will too. No matter what they whisper, you are not shame.”

Her hand wiped away tears. “You are her daughter.”

However, even in the demon realm, kindness has boundaries.

As Rumi matured, whispers and expectations grew, twisting Celine’s kindness into something harsher, more conditional.

“If you can’t make them fear you, then you have to make them forget what you are.”

Rumi stood frozen in the doorway, “And what am I?”

A pause.

Then: “A halfbreed. And in this world, that means ‘weak’.”

Love yielded to legacy.

“Victory is expected...” She says coolly.

Affection to control.

“...Emotion is not.”

Celine still provided for Rumi -- education, training, power -- though affection and trust became commodities Rumi had to earn.

“Filthy half-breed.”

“Your mother should’ve let you die with her.”

The demons relentlessly hurled insults, their viciousness deliberate.

“Not demon enough for us. Not human enough for them.”

Rumi remained silent, enduring their mockery like ash falling on her.

“Celine’s little charity project. How pathetic.”

She was used to it, or so she told herself.

Each day was a battle fought not with weapons, but with words intended to ‘break her’.

“Do you even know what side you belong to, mutt?”

A true demon would have retaliated, but Rumi’s human blood, they claimed, made her weak, impure.

‘Disposable’.

“No wonder your father didn’t claim you.”

She balled her fists, claws digging beneath her trembling fingers.

“Come on, say something, little reject. Or has the human in you gone mute too?”

Rumi lifted her head, eyes dark and twice as cutting.

“Funny.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, “I was just thinking the same about you.”

The lead demon faltered, their sneer wavering as something shifted in the air, in the silence.

In Rumi herself.

A flicker.

Heat.

The wind stirred oddly, and from somewhere unseen came the crackle of fire.

“!!!”

The nearby demons recoiled instinctively, their taunts cut short by the unspoken threat of her power.

That alone was enough to remind them what she was.

Rumi didn’t glance back, she didn’t even dignify them with a glare.

Instead, she turned and walked forward, cutting through the crowd as flame through fog. Their presence didn’t touch her. Inside, her heart was raging.

She hadn’t chosen her birth, this ‘hateful’ world. She didn’t choose the cruel divide that made her existence something to scorn.

But every look... whisper, every bitter insult confirmed it:

She didn’t belong.

In the demon realm, hierarchy meant ‘everything’.

High-class demons (like Celine) could shift between monstrous and humanoid forms with ease. They walked with grace, spoke with eloquence, and were clustered into noble kingdoms that ruled with power and pride.

Most of the population were middle-class demons.

Horned.

Fanged.

Twisted in body but capable of speech and society.

They lived in cities, followed orders, held status, but never quite high enough to matter.

Low-class demons were servants, blunt tools of destruction. They are summoned only in war, used to attack the Honmoon and fight in numbers. They steal human souls and send them back to the demon realm for use and consumption. They did not speak. They obeyed.

And below even them, were the Creatures -- wild, instinctual beasts. They fill the demon realm the way animals filled the human one, devoid of language, loyalty, or allegiance, driven only by hunger.

Rumi had lived her whole life between lines -- too human to be truly demon, too demon to ever be human again.

Born from love or not, she was unclaimed by both worlds (even Celine, for all her power and influence, couldn’t change that. She took Rumi in, yes... but she never officially acknowledged her, leaving Rumi vulnerable to the constant gossip, and occasionally ‘bullying’).

Even in that oppressive place, a small, unexpected moment interrupted her loneliness.

When someone reached out.

No, ‘two’ someones.

Two hands reached for her.

One clawed, “Mira.”

The other deceptively delicate, “I’m Zoey!”

Mira had reached first, her wicked grin curling as she pulled Rumi out of the dust with effortless strength.

“Look at you,” She’d told her that day, “half of nothing, but still walking like you matter. I like that.”

She was the epitome of rebellion. She mocked the rigid Demon Laws, ignored her elders, and proudly wearing every contempt as a badge of honor.

“You are a disgrace to our whole demon bloodline! Get out of my sight!”

Mira had only shrugged. “Cool.”

Mira was a middle-class demon, though her bloodline remained a mystery. Some whispered she descended from a fallen high-class house. Others claimed her monstrous form --

Serpentine gold eyes.

Smoke-streaked hair.

Skin etched with glowing purple runes.

-- was a ‘punishment’ from a curse long ago.

However, Mira didn’t care.

Horns curved back from her head like a crown, and her fanged smile never wavered. Whatever she was born as, she lived by one rule:

‘Do whatever the hell you want.’

Beside her was Zoey, a gentle hand outstretched, but a calculating gleam softened her eyes.

Like Mira, Zoey was also a middle-class demon, though one could hardly know it at first glance.

Her appearance was ethereal:

Her cheeks were traced with iridescent scales. Her horns were small and spiraled, almost ornamental. And her wings -- translucent and spiderweb-fine -- folded neatly against her back in a high-fashion accessory.

To most, she was the picture of cheerfulness, a seemingly harmless demon whose peculiar hobbies included collecting human music boxes and imitating human dances.

Yet, beneath that soft exterior was a mind always working.

Some called her a people-pleaser -- no, demon-pleaser -- others said she used her charm to manipulate anyone who got in her way.

They were right.

At first.

Their first meeting was far from friendly. Mira’s chaos clashed with Zoey’s calculation. The wild flame and the quiet spark. But grudging respect bloomed from their clashes, and from that, something deeper.

Then they found ‘her’.

A half-demon.

Half-human.

Unclaimed.

Unwanted.

Living between worlds.

At first, they didn’t see a friend... they saw ‘use’.

For Mira, Rumi’s soul was rare, strange. Something tasty, in the spiritual sense.

For Zoey, Rumi was a living key to the human realm -- a world Zoey had long obsessed over from beyond Honmoon’s barrier.

So they approached her.

Two demons...

“We’ll play with you.” Mira, smirking.

...Pureblooded.

“You’re... ‘interesting’.” Zoey added with a grin.

Masked in false kindness.

Rumi had known, of course she had. She saw through their motives easily.

Still...

“Okay.”

...She whispered.

Because even pretended warmth was warmer than the cold she’d lived in all her life.

But time wore down masks.

Beneath Mira’s snarl was someone desperate to belong (to anyone) without being told who to be.

Behind Zoey’s ever-sweet smile was a girl aching for something true... tired of charming her way into affection she didn’t believe she deserved.

Eventually, everything spilled out.

The truth of why they’d approached her.

The selfish reasons.

The ‘manipulation’.

Mira had scoffed, jaw tight, her voice shaking more than she’d admit. “You were interesting, okay? I thought you’d be an easy mark. Half-human, quiet, soft... I thought you’d break easy.”

Zoey, for once, didn’t try to spin it. She spoke in barely a whisper. “I just wanted to know what humans were really like. I thought... using you would make that easier...”

They yelled.

They cried.

They stopped speaking.

For days, none of them said a word.

Until one night, Mira muttered from her corner of the room, “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Zoey, lying upside down on a floating couch, let out a sigh, “I haven’t tricked anyone in three days. That counts for something, right, unnie?”

Rumi didn’t say anything, at first.

But she didn’t leave.

Softly, finally, she answered: “It does.”

Under the cloak of darkness, imperfect apologies were exchanged, their truth undeniable.

The day before Rumi left for the human realm, Mira snuck her a blade etched with runes.

“It sings when liars are near. Pretty cool, huh?”

Zoey pressed something small into her hand too, a silver bell shaped like a human heart.

“It doesn’t do anything, but... it was my favorite. So now it’s yours.”

Rumi looked at them.

They didn’t say, “Don’t go.”

They didn’t say, “Stay.”

“If you ever forget who you are,” Mira muttered, “we’ll remind you.”

Zoey smiled. “Even if it takes a hundred years.”

Their words stayed with her.

Even when the wind shifted.

With quiet resolve, Rumi slipped through the weak breach in the Honmoon, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no real plan, only a desperate need to prove her worth to Celine.

If she could step foot into the human realm and return unscathed, maybe she’d be seen as more than a half-blood mistake.

The human realm was a jolt of cold water to her, air stung her lungs, the ground strange under her feet. Momentarily stunned, she stood on a deserted moonlit stone path, enveloped in silence.

She blinked up at the sky.

Oh, there’s no crimson clouds... no floating citadels.

Just stars... scattered and pure, as if someone had spilled silver dust across velvet.

So this is the world ‘he’ came from...

She stepped forward.

A breeze danced past her, tugging gently at her sleeves. The streets were lined with wooden houses, curved roofs and candle-lit lanterns swaying. She could hear distant music, laughter, the rustle of footsteps.

Life.

So much life.

Her heart stirred.

How can a place feel so warm... even when no one knows you?

She wandered down narrow, lantern-lit alleys, across low stone bridges, and past shadowy stalls being closed for the night, observing old women sweeping and children chasing fleeting lights reminiscent of fireflies.

She didn’t know what this world was made of... for the first time in a long time... she wanted to.

But her strength was waning.

The longer she walked, the heavier her limbs grew. The lightness of crossing realms faded into a dull ache in her bones and behind her eyes.

Keep going...

Just a little more...

She desperately held onto the thought, but the street lights smeared into stars.

The ground tilted.

Her knees buckled.

Step.

Step.

Step.

A shimmer of robes, a hand outstretched. Fate moved quickly, the moment etched.

He tried to reach, but light did lack, and all she knew turned cold and black.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

The Blue in You

She awoke to soft cotton and candlelight. A wooden ceiling above her. Herbal smoke curling in the air.

“You’re awake.”

A voice, warm, surprised.

Rumi’s gaze darted toward the source.

A man, plainly dressed, gentle eyes. He smiled kindly. “You fainted near the southern gate. I brought you here. It’s a clinic. Do you... understand me?”

She nodded faintly, though the word ‘clinic’ meant nothing to her.

He knelt beside her, adjusting the covers. “What’s your name, little one?”

She hesitated. Her throat tightened, “...”

“Your parents... where are they?”

She averted her gaze, “...”

In that silence, he understood.

He didn’t ask again. Instead, “My name is Jang Haejun.”

A small smile softened the tension in the room.

“You can stay here for now. You’re safe.”

True to his word, he didn’t press further. Rather, he guided her through the back door of the clinic, past the quiet garden, and to a small shed nestled behind his home.

It was modest. Wooden walls, a roof patched with care, straw bedding tucked in the corner, but it was dry.

Warm, still.

Her own space...

The first she could ever call that.

Each morning, he’d bring her a bowl of rice, quietly setting it down before she woke. When the nights grew cold, he added a blanket, and when it rained, he made sure the roof didn’t leak.

But most of all, he gave her something she had never asked for:

Patience.

He never expected anything in return, not even her name.

He let her be, let her breathe.

And slowly, that safety started to take root, in the small, steady kindnesses she’d never known she needed.

When she found the words, she made her first favor.

“Teach me... your letters.”

“You wish to learn our script?”

She nodded. “I... I wish to understand.”

He blinked, then laughed softly. “Of course.”

They sat outside the shed, kneeling on a straw mat beneath the shade of a ginkgo tree. He showed her how to hold the brush, how to draw each character with care.

He took her hand, he guided her fingers.

“Words are power, child.” He said, never knowing the truth of what she was...

Or the storm she’d someday carry.

The first time she held a brush, she gripped it too tightly, as if it was a weapon rather than a tool.

The man -- Haejun -- gently corrected her fingers. “Like this.” He adjusted her grip. “Let it flow like water, not strike like fire.”

Rumi frowned. “But why make marks like this? What’s the use?”

He smiled, dipping his brush again. “To remember. To pass on what matters. Even when your voice is gone, words remain.”

Words... remain.

She practiced alone every night. Characters lined the pages of borrowed hanji paper until her fingers cramped. Some letters, she liked more than others:

“Moon.”

“Kindness.”

“Truth.”

They felt round in her mouth, soft on her tongue, a stark contrast to the jagged, guttural words of the demon realm.

Eventually, he let her spend time inside the house.

He brought her his treasured old books, filled with stories of kings and commoners, of war and songs, of mistakes and mercy.

She devoured them, slowly at first. Then faster.

He made her laugh too.

The second time he caught her trying to eat a lotus lamp thinking it was candy, he laughed so hard he nearly dropped his tea.

“You tricked me!” She cried, cheeks burning.

He teased, “You did that all on your own, little one--”

“I’m not ‘little one’!”

Haejun, “???” Yes, you are?

“...My name is... Rumi.”

“...”

Her chest rose and fell, a fire behind her eyes.

He only nodded, “Then Rumi you are.”

Rumi huffed, swearing she’d never be tricked again!

She tried new things.

Porridge too sweet, “(⁠๑⁠ᗒ⁠﹏ᗕ⁠)”

Cold water that stung her teeth, “( ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)”

A bamboo flute she couldn’t figure out, “(⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠)”

Ink on her sleeves, “༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽”

Her first laugh from her belly, “(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)”

Her first quiet hum, “(⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*♪”

Sometimes, she’d hear him humming too, soft melodies that lingered like morning mist. Once, he caught her listening.

“You like music?”

She nodded.

He handed her the old flute. “Keep trying. Songs speak when words can’t.”

She kept it.

Late at night, she’d sit by the doorway of the shed, brushing her thumb over the carved wood of that flute. She didn’t know why, but there was something about his voice when he sang that made her chest ache.

Something familiar...

Something safe...

And yet, even then, she never told him what she was.

She didn’t know how.

Not yet.

Day by day, Haejun taught her what he knew. How to listen, how to feel the rhythm. How to let her voice carry emotion, not just notes. She stumbled a lot, though she never gave up.

However, the time came when she had to go back ‘home’ -- back to Mira, Zoey, and Celine.

She clutched the flute tightly in her hand.

“I’ll come see you again.” She promised.

He inclined his head, “I see. Be safe.”

She hesitated (only for a breath), then turned and walked away.

Rumi couldn’t stop humming as she crossed the breach into the demon realm.

It was a song unlike any other, falling between the realms of human and demonic, yet distinctly ‘hers’.

Her fingers still lingered over the flute tucked into her sleeve, the wood warm from nights of practice. She carried it, a memory etched into her bones.

She was still smiling when she stepped into Celine’s compound.

But the air changed.

It was subtle, a stillness in the halls, the way the servants glanced at her then quickly looked away. How the walls seemed to listen.

She passed two demons she vaguely recognized from the inner court -- they whispered behind clawed hands. One said her name as though it tasted wrong in their mouth.

The curve in her lips began to slip.

“...”

There came a squeal.

“...!”

“Rumi-unnie!”

Rumi barely had time to react before Zoey launched into her arms, full-speed and beaming, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs.

She laughed, genuinely, surprised. “Zoey!”

Zoey grinned and pulled back. “You’re finally back! We thought you’d gotten lost in a library or something!”

Rumi opened her mouth to respond--

“Derpy, no!” Zoey shouted.

A demon cub -- tiny, fluffy, with wide eyes and a crooked flower crown -- came tumbling down the hallway after her, paws too big for his clumsy body. He pounced and immediately began gnawing on the end of Rumi’s cloak.

Rumi, “...What is ‘that’?”

“His name’s Derpy!” Zoey, proudly, scooping him up as he tried to gnaw her hair. “Mira found him in a crater eating rocks.”

“She kept calling him ‘Disaster Child Number Two’ so I took him.” Mira added, appearing behind them.

Perched on her shoulder was a young magpie, sleek black and white, with one tail feather missing. Its beady six eyes followed every movement, sharp and curious.

“Who’s your friend?” Rumi, the ghost of a smile touched her lips.

“This annoying bird wouldn’t stop following me.” Mira, flatly. “So I figured it either wants to spy on me or die trying. I fed it once and now I’m stuck.”

Zoey leaned in, whispering (not quietly at all), “She named her Sussie.”

“I did ‘not’.” Mira snapped.

“You did. I heard you say, ‘Sussie, if you poop on my head, I’m feeding you to Derpy.’”

The bird gave a delighted ‘caw!’ and flapped once, as if proud.

Rumi chuckled, the sound soft and fleeting.

Because then Mira’s eyes sharpened, “You’re late.”

“I know,” Rumi replied. “I lost track of time.”

“You were gone for two weeks.”

Rumi stiffened. “Two...?”

It hadn’t felt like that long.

“Celine noticed.” Mira interrupted. “And she’s been asking questions.”

Zoey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s been in a mood, Rumi-unnie. She had ‘that’ tone.”

The one that meant ‘people vanished’.

Rumi’s stomach twisted.

Her grip on her flute tightened. The warmth of reunion suddenly gave way to unease, much as a hum might fade from memory.

Yet, she couldn’t falter now.

Mira, voice quiet but cutting, “Wherever you went... you came back different.”

Back inside their quarters, Rumi pulled them aside -- Mira, Zoey, Derpy (still chewing a stick), and Sussie (currently pecking at a hairpin).

“I want to show you something.”

Rumi stepped into the center of the room, cleared her throat, and began to dance.

Each motion was precise. The spin of her heel, the flick of her wrist, the way her body curved to the invisible rhythm. Every note of the song she sang trembled with sincerity, built from everything she learned in the human realm.

Her feet knew the pattern.

Her voice knew the shape.

Halfway through...

Her voice cracked.

She froze.

Her arms dropped to her sides.

“...It’s not good enough.” She muttered.

Zoey stepped forward, brows furrowed. “Then make it good!”

“I’ll ask her--” Rumi’s breath hitched, “!!!”

Her chest seized, sharp and sudden!

She stumbled mid-step and dropped to one knee, gasping.

“Unnie!” Zoey rushed to her side.

Her lungs ached, strained. Her human-forged strength was thinning again. The price of crossing realms was beginning to show.

Mira moved in too, instantly lighting her fingertips. “You need a balance spark. Just breathe with me, Rumi-unnie, okay?”

In the human realm, her lungs had grown stronger. Her heartbeat steadier, but here... in the demon realm...

The air clawed at her from the inside.

Zoey’s hands joined Mira’s flame. “Come on, unnie. Stay with us--!”

The faintest golden glow flickered behind Rumi’s left eye. Her human and demon blood were tugging in opposite directions. Too much time in the upper realm... too many changes she wasn’t ready for.

They steadied her.

They held her.

The pressure lifted, little by little.

When she opened her eyes again, shame swept over her.

“I’m okay...” She croaked, even though she didn’t look it, “Thank you, guys.”

“Don’t lie to us.” Mira, eyes searching.

“I’m not.” Rumi, faintly. “Just tired. That’s all.”

Mira, concern furrowing her brow. “That wasn’t just tired, unnie.”

Zoey stared at her. “You can’t keep doing this, unnie. The switching, the hiding... it’s messing with you.”

“I have to.” Rumi, softly. “This is the only way I’ll get better.”

“Then let us help you.” Zoey pressed.

In the throne room, Rumi asked Celine.

Celine laughed.

A jagged, mirthless sound that echoed too long in the hall.

“For you? Perhaps.” Her voice was bored. “But them?” She flicked her fingers toward Mira and Zoey with the same disdain one might show dust on silk. “They’re not ‘worthy’.”

Rumi’s throat tightened, “...”

Behind her, Mira’s shoulders tensed. Zoey clenched her fists.

Neither walked away, they stayed. Just like always.

And that... that... said everything.

Celine, however, didn’t notice.

Or if she did, she didn’t ‘care’.

She was already rising from her throne, one hand gripping her goblet too tightly. Wine sloshed over the side, streaking the dark marble floor. Her eyes had the gleam of glass, too bright and too sharp.

She hadn’t always been like this.

Rumi remembered a different Celine: kind, poised, calculating, cold in the way fire is cold before it burns you.

But lately...

Lately she twitched. She rambled.

She spoke to unseen voices and stared into fire for hours. Her whispers were half-spells, half-pleas. And sometimes, Rumi would find her fingernails bloodied from clutching too hard at the edge of her own seat.

Some said her mind was splintering.

Others believed it was punishment -- a curse left behind by the one who’d betrayed her.

Rumi wasn’t sure what to believe.

Only that once, she’d heard Celine mutter a name in her sleep.

“Yeong-ah...”

Rumi didn’t know who ‘Yeong-ah’ was.

But the way Celine gasped after -- like the word hurt -- was burned into memory.

Now, even her cruelty was changing.

It was no longer tactical.

It was ‘personal’.

And she’d started asking questions.

“Where were you these past nights?”

Celine inquired the next evening, tone mild, but laced with something that could shatter.

Rumi stood stiff. “I was practicing.”

“Away from the fortress?”

“...No.”

Celine tilted her head, the kind of tilt that meant danger in the wild.

Her smile stretched wide and slow, unsettlingly so.

“Good.”

One word. Sweet and sour, like poison fruit.

Rumi turned away before her hands could shake.

She returned to the human realm, unseen, unheard, a stranger under alien stars.

She watched from rooftops and temple stairs. She listened from behind market stalls and paper doors.

This time, she studied ‘everything’.

The angle of each bow.

The breath before each note.

The tiny human details that made a performance feel like ‘truth’, not just technique.

Because if Celine wouldn’t see them -- her, Zoey, Mira -- as worthy...

Then Rumi would become impossible to ignore.

She would rise.

Even if it meant returning with secrets.

Even if it meant drawing Celine’s gaze tighter.

Even if it meant offering up parts of herself in exchange.

Because this wasn’t just for herself anymore, it was for the girls who stood beside her.

Mira...

Zoey...

For the kindness they had carved into her with laughter and bruises and matching scars.

For the hope that somewhere, somehow... there was still a future where they didn’t have to ‘beg’ to be seen.

Somewhere in the upper realm, where the wind carried the scent of flowers instead of fire, Rumi danced alone.

The forest was remote, nestled between two ridgelines, where faint echoes of human music drifted from a distant village -- flutes, drums, wooden instruments she couldn’t yet name. The air smelled of pine and soil. The ground was cool and damp beneath her bare feet.

She sang, voice unsure at first, the melody soft and unfinished. However, with each note, she grew steadier. The song wasn’t perfect -- she didn’t need it to be. Here, in the hush of leaves and shadows, no one was watching.

Or so she thought.

The final note fell from her lips, light as a feather. She smiled quietly to herself -- breathless and flushed.

‘Free’.

Clap!

The sound shattered the stillness.

Her entire body jolted. Heart leaping, she stumbled back, cheeks burning in panic. She ducked behind the nearest tree, half-shielding herself in the folds of her oversized sleeves.

Who--?!

But the boy didn’t laugh.

He stood a few feet away (not much older than her), smiling in that open, stunned sort of way. Not mocking. Not curious. Just... delighted...?

“No, don’t be embarrassed,” He raised his hands as if not to spook a deer. “I think you did great. Amazing, actually.”

Rumi, peeking from behind the tree, unsure whether to run or stay, “...”

He didn’t come closer, “I’m Seo Hyunmin.” he rocked back on his heels. “I live nearby. I perform too.”

Rumi stared at him -- his eyes were warm. Human. But not afraid.

She didn’t respond.

The next day, he came back.

And the next.

He brought snacks the second time -- rice crackers wrapped in cloth, and a candied chestnut she’d never tasted before.

He brought a bipa the third -- a polished string instrument carved with blossoms and foxes. “I thought maybe you’d want to try.”

She didn’t trust him, at first. He didn’t ask questions she couldn’t answer. He didn’t press for who she was or where she came from. He only sat, and played, and clapped every time she sang.

They started laughing more and sharing stories. She mimicked his accent until he scolded her through a grin. They made up songs from nonsense words. She taught him a lullaby from the demon realm -- softened, rewritten, masked -- and he called it ‘haunting and beautiful’.

Whenever she sang, he listened with rapt attention, as though the world held its breath to hear her.

“Your hard work shows.” Hyunmin’s words, though quiet, carried the weight of his conviction.

And every time he did, something in her chest fluttered.

She didn’t understand it... this flutter, this ‘warmth’.

She wasn’t used to being seen this way.

She wasn’t used to being safe.

She didn’t know what this feeling was...

But it felt... ‘human’.

And she liked it.

She liked him.

Maybe, for the first time... she liked... herself.

She didn’t know when it stopped feeling strange -- his presence.

It just... became part of the rhythm.

Some mornings, she’d hum a tune before she even reached the forest, and a part of her would wonder if he’d show up again. If he’d bring more snacks. If he’d smile that way, like she wasn’t a mistake.

That day, he brought her something else.

A folded piece of parchment, worn at the edges.

“What is it?” Rumi was wary.

“A song. One I wrote a while ago, but I never finished it. I thought maybe... you’d help me with the ending.”

She read it in silence.

♫ ‘Nan nan nuneul gamayo, bitgwa geudae moseup sarajyeo -- ije eodumi... millyeoone. Jeo paran eodum sogeseo, geudae wae jamdeureo gana. Sesangeun... ajik geudae gyeote inneunde.’ ♫

The lyrics were clumsy and unpolished, but their sincerity was as pure and genuine as he was.

She nodded once. “I’ll try.”

They sat side by side on a moss-covered log, shoulders not quite touching, knees barely apart. She filled in the last verse with her own hesitant yet honest verses.

Then, together, they sang.

♫ Rumi and Hyunmin: “Sarangeun anijiman uriye mannam eodumeun sarajine weo~! Shiganeun bicheuro muldeureo, ttodashi heureune.” ♫

♫ Hyunmin: “Nae nunbit sok--” ♫

♫ Rumi and Hyunmin: “Geudae~” ♫

A tremor ran through her initial notes, but his voice blended seamlessly, conveying unwavering support, as if he were saying:

‘I’m right here.’

♫ Rumi: “Nan nan kkumeul kkueoyo, geudaewaye shiganeun meomchweojigo, ije eodumi... millyeoone, yeah~” ♫

♫ Hyunmin: “Bitbaraen sarang sogeseo, geudae wae jamdeullyeo hana~! Shiganeun (Rumi: Shiganeun~).” ♫

♫ Hyunmin: “O ajik geudae gyeote inneunde.” ♫

The melody wound through the trees, and for a moment, it felt like the world had hushed to listen.

♫ Rumi and Hyunmin: “Sarangeun anijiman uriye mannam eodumeun sarajine weo! Shiganeun bicheuro muldeureo, ttodashi heureune.” ♫

♫ Rumi and Hyunmin: “Nae nunbit sok geudae (Rumi: Geudae~).” ♫

♫ Hyunmin: “Nae nunbit sok--” ♫

♫ Rumi and Hyunmin: “Geudae~!” ♫

♫ Rumi: “Ooh~” ♫

♫ Hyunmin: “Nae nunbit sok--” ♫

♫ Rumi and Hyunmin: “Geudae~” ♫

When they finished, he was quiet for a beat. Then:

“That was...” Hyunmin let out a breath, as though he’d been suppressing it. “Perfect.”

Rumi looked away quickly, flustered. “It wasn’t.”

“It was,” Hyunmin, firmly, “because it was ours.”

Something squeezed inside her chest.

‘Ours’.

She didn’t know what to do with that word.

She didn’t know what to do with the way her hand lingered too long beside his. Or the way her heart skipped when his laugh came unguarded and real. Or the way he brushed dirt off her sleeve, so gently it was barely noticeable.

It was dizzying.

Terrifying.

Beautiful.

She found herself making excuses to see him more. Staying longer, bringing him little things -- a smooth stone she found, a pressed flower. She caught herself humming his melodies when she thought no one could hear.

Sometimes she imagined what it’d be like... if she wasn’t demon. If she could stay here. If her name meant nothing, and she could just be a girl who liked songs and flute music and a boy who smiled like sunlight.

She never said any of it out loud.

Not yet.

But when Hyunmin laughed and nudged her arm with his --

“You’re doing great, Rumi-yah!”

-- and she laughed back...

It felt like something almost real.

Something hers.

And it ‘scared’ her.

Because in this realm, nothing that beautiful ever lasted.

Pitter-Patter.

Pitter-Patter.

Pitter-Patter.

A soft, steady drizzle that drummed on the shed’s roof. Rumi was curled up near the window, her borrowed blanket snugly wrapped around her, a comforting cocoon, her nose deep in a book of fables.

Haejun entered quietly, his hair damp from the walk, a bundle of firewood under his arm. He shook off the water and glanced at her.

“You like that one?”

She nodded. “The one about the mountain girl who made a home in the clouds. It’s... strange, but kind.”

He chuckled, kneeling beside the small fire pit to stir the embers. “My eomeoni used to tell me that story. She said I was like that girl, always climbing where I wasn’t supposed to go.”

She looked up. “You, ahjussi?”

He smiled, yet there was something wistful in it. “When I was younger, I used to believe the world had secrets waiting just beyond the next hill. I’d run off for hours. Got into trouble more times than I can count.”

“What happened?”

He leaned back, arms resting on his knees, eyes distant. “I grew up. I took in the weight of the world. I had to stop climbing hills and start planting roots... for someone else...”

Rumi’s gaze didn’t waver. “Someone else?”

The fire crackled between them.

He hesitated, then, “There was... someone. Years ago. A woman. She was wild, like lightning in the middle of a storm. She came and went like a ghost, but when she smiled... the whole world stopped.”

He said softly, almost to himself.

“I loved her, but she left before I could ever say goodbye.”

His tone was calm, but Rumi could hear the ache buried deep beneath it, a pain untouched by time, only muted.

“She turned her back and said, ‘It’s better this way.’”

A pause. A breath.

“She vanished after that. No letter, no trace.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, weary and wistful.

“For a while, I thought maybe she died. Or maybe... she just didn’t want to be found.”

Rumi didn’t breathe.

The words clung to the air, wrapping around her like vines, tightening.

“But then I heard whispers... that she’d had a child.”

Rumi’s spine straightened slightly.

“A little girl.” He went on. “No one knew where she went. Or if the baby even survived.”

His eyes, though still, spoke volumes -- a silent, searching quest for understanding.

“Sometimes, I think... if I ever met her... I’d recognize her.”

Rumi said nothing.

It couldn’t be...

Her mouth opened slightly.

...could it?

However, no words came out.

Instead, she reached for the flute he had given her, clutching it to her chest in an attempt to calm her racing thoughts.

He stood up and gave her a smile, mild and distant. “You remind me of her...”

Rumi blinked.

She didn’t know what to say.

She didn’t even know ‘why’ those words made her heart beat just a little too fast.

“...In the way you walk. The way you fight sleep to read one more page. Even in your quiet.”

“I’m... not her.” She murmured.

“No.” Haejun, gently. “Of course not.”

He smiled, anyway.

Rumi didn’t understand why that smile made her chest ache, like she was standing in a memory that didn’t belong to her.

‘Seo’s Silks & Stitches’.

The shop was tucked between a rice merchant and a silversmith -- unassuming, with an old wooden sign in careful calligraphy.

It smelled of cedar, ink, and faintly of roasted chestnuts from the vendor across the road.

Rumi stepped inside, running her fingers across spools of thread stacked in a colorful, tempting display --

Crimson.

Ochre.

Indigo.

Midnight.

-- Rolls of silk and ramie hung neatly behind the counter, whispering as they swayed in the breeze.

Behind a low desk, Hyunmin was bent over a jacket, mending the collar.

“Careful,” Hyunmin, without looking up, “some of those threads are cursed to tangle on sight.”

Rumi rolled her eyes. “You said that about the dye last time.”

“And did it stain your sleeve or not?”

“...Maybe.”

He finally raised his gaze, his grin charming. “Welcome back, Rumi-yah.”

She hesitated, watching the way he stitched -- sure fingers, steady hands. “You’re really good at that.”

He shrugged. “Years of fixing torn hems and noble tantrums. My eomeoni used to say, ‘If you’re going to sew people’s dreams onto fabric, make sure your knots don’t come undone.’”

Rumi’s eyes trailed to the shelves of finished work.

Hanboks.

Scarves.

Ribbons.

“Do you only sew what people ask for?”

Hyunmin paused, thread between his fingers. “Not always. Sometimes I make what no one dares to ask for.”

“...Can I try?” She blurted.

Hyunmin, “???”

“I want to make a hat,” She said quickly. “A black one. Rounded. Kind of like the ones in the stories.”

There was a beat of silence -- then a fond laugh.

“You’re a mystery.” He murmured, rising from his stool. “But I like that about you.”

He reached for a bolt of black silk. “Let’s start with this.”

They worked side by side, knees nearly touching as they knelt on the tatami floor. He showed her how to cut fabric with the grain, how to loop the thread so it wouldn’t slip. Her first few stitches were crooked. The next ones better.

“You’re holding the needle like a dagger.” He teased.

She flushed. “I’m used to sharper things.”

He raised an eyebrow, he said nothing.

They stitched in silence for a while, save for the creak of the stool, the rustle of fabric, the occasional hiss when Rumi pricked her finger.

“Why a hat?” He asked mildly.

Rumi, “...Because it covers things.”

“Like your thoughts?”

She didn’t answer. The corners of her mouth curved upward, ever so slightly, “...”

When they finished, it was far from perfect -- uneven stitching at the rim, a tilt that gave it more character than symmetry.

Still, Rumi turned it over in her hands, her fingers tracing its form with care.

Hyunmin leaned back, admiring it. “It looks good on you.”

“I haven’t even tried it...”

“I meant ‘you made it’. That’s enough.”

She glanced up. His gaze was warm.

And for a moment, something clicked in her chest, a door swung open in her mind, revealing a previously unseen landscape.

In the demon realm, in her quarters...

Rumi sat by the brazier, the black hat resting in her lap -- carefully stitched, the fabric dyed deep as night, the brim just wide enough to cast shade without hiding her face. She had trimmed it with a dark cord, simple but elegant, and etched a faint symbol beneath the inner lining: a crescent moon cradling a flame.

It was ‘hers’.

She didn’t know if it was beautiful, not in the way court women’s silks were. But it was honest.

She brushed her fingers along the seam once more, then turned as footsteps padded in.

“Is that a hat?” Mira squinted from the doorway. “Did you steal it?”

Rumi rolled her eyes. “No, I made it.”

Zoey gasped. “You what? Since when do you make things, unnie?”

“Since I wanted to,” Rumi muttered, a little flustered. “Hyunmin taught me. Well, his family. A bit.”

Zoey rushed in, gently picking up the hat like it was made of gold. “Rumi-unnie! It’s perfect. Look at the stitching! And the lining... this is yours, isn’t it?”

Rumi looked down, hiding a small smile. “Yeah. I thought... maybe it’s time I wore something that’s mine.”

Mira lifted an eyebrow. “‘Hyunmin’?”

Rumi tensed just slightly. “He... helped.”

Zoey leaned in with a grin. “‘Helped’, huh?”

“It’s not like that!” Rumi, her ears already pink. “He’s just... nice. His family owns a clothing shop near the forest. I needed fabric.”

“And he just ‘gave’ it to you?” Mira crossed her arms, skeptical.

“He gave me scraps!” Rumi argued. “And I paid him back. Sort of. I... helped sweep.”

Zoey nudged Mira. “Sweeping the floor... or sweeping ‘his’ heart?”

Rumi groaned, tugging the brim of the hat over her face. “I hate you both.”

Mira smirked. “So when do we meet the mystery tailor boy?”

“You’re not meeting him.”

“Sounds like some unnie doesn’t want us scaring him off~!” Zoey sang.

Rumi tried not to smile. She failed.

Mira whistled low. “Well, move over Celine’s Crown of Sadness, there’s a new queen in town.”

They giggled.

Zoey twirled the hat once, then perched it on Rumi’s head with a proud little flourish. “There. You’re officially the coolest demoness in all the realms!”

Rumi laughed freely, a hearty laugh that made her shoulders heave and tickled her stomach.

“Okay, show us the human stuff!” Mira, flopping onto the floor. “The moves! The songs! I want to look like I almost belong in your weird stories.”

Rumi, “Wait, really?”

“Duh!” Zoey, grabbing Derpy (who had wandered in, chewing on the corner of a floor mat). “We’ve been bored to death. Sussie’s been trying to teach herself how to juggle rocks.”

The bird chirped indignantly.

So Rumi stood. She took a breath.

Then hummed.

Low at first -- then rising, a sweet, aching melody that reverberated softly in the room. Her fingers moved, slow and graceful, tracing the steps she remembered: foot behind, pivot, flick of the wrist, sway, bow, turn.

“Like this. Gentle, not forced. Listen to the beat.”

Mira tried. She stumbled twice, nearly elbowing a lamp. “I’m doing my best, okay!”

Zoey followed, surprisingly graceful -- until Derpy started dancing with her and knocked them both into the floor cushions.

They collapsed in laughter, arms around each other, the song still lingering in the air.

And Rumi stared at them. The way Mira’s laugh reached her eyes, the way Zoey twirled her fingers like she’d been dancing her whole life, the way the room felt full even with no gold or thrones or power.

This was what belonging looked like.

Not because they were perfect.

But because they stayed.

Because they ‘chose her’.

Rumi adjusted the black hat on her head, lifted her flute, and whispered, “Let’s make our own song.”

And they did.

Right there... with one bird, one cub, three girls, and a sky that finally didn’t feel so empty.

It unfolded as if in a dream.

Back in the human realm...

The fire crackled. The moonlight slipped through the cracks of the wooden roof. Rumi sat beside Haejun, her posture steady, the brush held with practiced control between ink-stained fingers. Her strokes were cleaner now, shaped by discipline and repetition.

“You’ve improved.” Haejun was watching her finish the last curve. “But this one...” He leaned in, tapping the parchment, “You keep writing ‘person’ when you mean ‘peace’.”

She exhaled through her nose, an acknowledgment, neither sigh nor frustration.

“They’re almost identical.” She murmured. “Only one line separates them.”

He smiled. “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe peace can’t exist without people. Or maybe people shape what peace becomes.”

Rumi looked down at the character again, thoughtful.

She dipped her brush again, this time writing more deliberately and accurately.

It would’ve been a perfect night --

A rustle at the door!

-- if she hadn’t already learned that perfect things rarely lasted.

A knock.

“Stay here.” He told her, rising to his feet.

Rumi crouched, heart pounding, and peeked through the slats of the shed’s wall. Cold wind snaked through the cracks, its icy fingers brushing her skin.

Two men stood outside.

Cloaked.

Armed.

“We found it.” One of them said. “A demon in this village, likely disguised.”

Her chest squeezed. Her nails dug into her palm.

Haejun didn’t blink. “Where?”

The man handed him a scroll, wax seal freshly broken. “Description matches a girl. Hair braided. Left eye bright gold. Around your house, actually. You’ve seen anything?”

Her heart stopped.

Her fingers curled tight around the wooden slat, the wood creaking beneath the pressure.

And then--!

He took the scroll, he nodded once. “I’ll handle it.”

The men left.

Their boots crunched over gravel until the silence returned.

Rumi backed away from the wall, trembling.

He stepped inside. He closed the door behind him.

His expression unreadable.

She didn’t understand...

She didn’t want to!

“You knew.” She whispered.

His eyes met hers. “Of course I did.”

Her stomach twisted. “You’re... you’re a Hunter.”

Silence.

“I am.”

“But you said--!”

“I didn’t know who you were, not at first. But I should’ve guessed sooner.”

He saw the signs.

The eye.

The patterns.

The magic.

The questions.

She stumbled back a step. The walls of the shed suddenly felt too close, the air too thick.

“All this time... you were waiting to... kill me?”

“I was waiting for proof,” He said, tightly. “I told myself I’d be wrong. That maybe... just maybe... you were just a strange child. Lost. Misunderstood.”

His voice cracked.

“But I’ve seen your power. And now they’re watching me. I can’t protect you anymore.”

Her voice was barely audible. “You lied...”

“No,” Haejun, softer now. “I ‘cared’. But that doesn’t change what you are.”

His hand drifted to the dagger at his side.

And something inside Rumi snapped!

She doesn’t remember what she did.

Not really.

Only--

The scream.

The rush of blood.

The way the flames roared from her fingertips before she could think to stop them.

The way his body hit the ground, hard and final, eyes wide with shock.

Her hands--!

They were glowing.

Burning.

Dripping...

“No...”

Dripping...

“No, no--”

Dripping...

“No--!”

Red.

She dropped beside him.

He was still breathing.

Barely.

His eyes found hers.

And through the blood... sorrow reigned, not anger, not hatred.

“I was wrong...” He whispered. “Not... about what you are. But what you mean to me.”

A silence fell, devoid of peace, a silence that clung stubbornly to the ears.

The room stank of ash.

Charred wood.

Burnt blood.

A life... ‘gone’.

The fire she summoned had long since died. What remained was the smoke, clinging to her skin, her hair, her lungs.

She didn’t cry.

She couldn’t.

The body lay still beside her.

The hand that once guided hers over paper now limp in a pool of fading warmth.

She looked at her clawed, stained, trembling hands, and felt...

Nothing.

Or maybe everything. All at once.

Too much.

Too loud.

Too heavy.

A whisper echoed in her head:

‘I was wrong... not about what you are. But what you mean to me.’

He’d meant it.

And still, he’d ‘tried’ to kill her.

The contradiction festered within her, a poisonous seed of turmoil.

Her voice came out broken.

“I didn’t mean to...”

But maybe she had.

Maybe instinct knew before her mind caught up.

“I was just scared...”

Or maybe that rage had always been waiting.

She stood. Her legs trembled, but they moved.

One step.

Two

No sobs.

No wails.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Footsteps and smoke.

She didn’t look back again.

“I killed my teacher.”

He was just a Hunter.

“And I’m not even sorry.”

He would’ve killed her.

“Because part of me wanted to.”

It wasn’t her fault.

However, the image always came back.

His eyes.

His voice.

That final whisper.

‘What you mean to me...’

The only man who ever taught her how to read.

The only one who gave her a bed when she had nothing.

The only one who smiled like she was something good.

And she ‘burned’ him.

Now, every time someone told her she was kind, gentle, soft...

She laughed.

Because how could she be any of those things?

When the first person she ever loved...

Was the first person she ever killed?

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

The Fire Still Hadn’t Gone Out

The first few days passed in a blur.

Rumi didn’t count them. There was no sunrise, no moonrise, the world a gray, smoky void behind her eyes.

The shed was reduced to blackened beams and broken pieces of the life she’d tried to build.

The scrolls Haejun once read to her were gone. The mat where she traced her letters -- gone.

The ink stains on her fingertips were the only proof it ever happened at all.

And the smell--

It clung to her no matter how far she ran.

Charred wood.

Burnt iron.

Blood.

Even when she dunked her hands in streams and let the river drag her hair behind her, the stench ghosted through her clothes, curled beneath her nails.

The forest, once a place of peace, now closed in as a tomb. The trees loomed, their rustling leaves a mournful chorus above her. Every rustle of leaves made her flinch, every shadow made her stomach curl with dread.

Tears never came. Sleep didn’t either. Her eyes stayed dry. Her body would crumple in patches of moss and stone, only to jerk awake minutes later, heart hammering, breath sharp.

Some nights, her hands sparked on instinct, unable to tell the difference between a dream and memory.

Bark scorched.

Grass withered.

A rabbit fled once with its fur half-singed.

She didn’t trust herself anymore...

Once, she tried to light a fire (a small one, to keep warm) and a whip of flame shot from her palm! The kindling incinerated. She stared at the ashes.

Her breath hitched.

She felt a sudden, sharp ‘pang!’ of something akin to rage or fear.

Rumi wrapped her arms around herself and sat there until dawn.

By the fifth or sixth day (time stretched and distorted, leaving her disoriented), her voice was hoarse from not using it. Her lips cracked. Her feet were scratched and raw. Her fingers still trembled when she looked at them too long.

“I didn’t mean to,” She whispered to the trees, to the sky. “I didn’t.”

The wind changed, carried with it the scent of old ash and rain-damp soil, settling in her lungs like grief she hadn’t yet spoken.

Her stomach twisted.

It started in her chest, that tight, crawling heat that surged up her throat like bile. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stumbled away from the river’s edge, and fell to her knees.

She retched.

Dry, heaving sobs that gave nothing but pain. Her body buckled forward, shaking as the taste of smoke returned to her tongue. As if her guilt was clawing its way out.

Her vision tunneled.

The environment blurred, and when it came back into focus, the air was different.

Too still.

A silence that felt heavy and unnatural.

She was in the shed again. Ink still wet on the scroll. The hearth flickered in the corner. Haejun was stirring tea, humming a tune she never quite learned.

“Sit, Rumi.” He told her, gently. “Your hands are shaking again.”

She blinked. Her hands... yes, ‘ink-smudged’. Just like always.

However, something tugged at the edge of the moment.

A sound, outside.

A sudden knock!

A harsh voice: “There’s a demon here!”

The door burst open!

Four Hunters stood in the threshold.

“Demon filth!”

Blades drawn, cloaks heavy with ash and dust.

Rumi staggered back. “No, no--! I didn’t do anything--”

One of them lunged!

Her body moved before her thoughts.

Flame surged from her palm, caught him across the chest!

A scream, a ‘thud!’.

A.

Body.

Falling.

Still.

Rumi, “!!!”

The second Hunter yelled and rushed toward her, sword raised!

But suddenly...

Haejun stepped in front of her--!

The blade pierced him, right through.

Everything... stopped.

“No--!” Rumi cried out, catching him as he collapsed. “Ahjussi!”

His blood was warm. It soaked into her arms.

His last words hadn’t been angry, they hadn’t even blamed her --

“I didn’t mean to...”

-- that was the cruelest part.

“I didn’t...”

He looked at her.

And somehow, ‘smiled’.

“...Still... Rumi...” He whispered. “I’m not... afraid of you.”

As if she still deserved that kindness.

Then he was, he was...

Gone.

She screamed!

And woke.

Her eyes flew open, her heart a thunderous pulse in her chest.

She was curled on the forest floor, damp with dew and shaking uncontrollably. Her fingernails were full of dirt. Her sleeves scorched. Her lips cracked from thirst.

She gazed at her hands.

“They attacked first...” Rumi, barely moving her lips. “They were going to kill me. And he... he ‘protected’ me.”

The wind rustled, but no answer came.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone... I didn’t know...”

Her memories -- the real ones -- tried to fight back: the crackle of fire, the way he reached for his dagger, the look in his eyes when she struck him.

Yet, the illusion was more comforting, kinder, more merciful.

“Ahjussi wouldn’t have hurt me.” She murmured, rocking, ever so slightly. “He ‘loved’ me. He smiled.”

She stared into the trees, unblinking. “There were Hunters... he saved me... they were going to kill me...”

Her words broke, but she sheltered behind that ‘story’.

If it wasn’t true, then she had murdered him.

If it wasn’t true, then everything she feared about herself was ‘real’.

So she chose the illusion -- no, she called it ‘vision’.

She draped it over her shoulders, a familiar comfort, reminiscent of the old blanket Haejun once gave her. Instantly, the truth faded, subdued, lying dormant.

The sharp edges of her grief and the accusing voice of her guilt had vanished, replaced by a quiet acceptance and belief.

Rumi didn’t plan to look for Hyunmin.

In fact, she told herself she ‘wouldn’t’.

She told herself she was still healing. That she didn’t want to be a ‘burden’. That maybe he was safer without her.

But her feet...

They just moved.

Step by step, down familiar paths, drawn not by logic but by instinct. By the need to feel something other than ash.

The store wasn’t open when she arrived.

Morning mist still curled along the ground, pale tendrils wrapping around her ankles as though trying to pull her back. The world felt scrubbed bare, its usual sounds and activity silenced. The scent of pine and river water clung to the air, a cruel contrast to the smoke that still lived in her hair, her lungs.

Her memory.

She stood there for a long time -- arms crossed, hat in hand, eyes glazed. She didn’t know why her feet had brought her here, what she thought would happen.

Maybe he won’t answer.

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Yet, she stayed.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Quiet footsteps.

A hinge creaked.

The door opened.

Hyunmin appeared, squinting into the early light. His robe hung loosely from one shoulder, sleep still soft in his eyes. His hair was a mess, flattened on one side.

He stopped when he saw her.

One heartbeat.

Two.

“You look cold.” Hyunmin, softly.

That was all.

He didn’t ask about the soot still clinging to her sleeves, or the blood that hadn’t scrubbed clean from beneath her nails. He didn’t ask why her eyes looked hollow or why she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He only stepped aside and held the door open.

“Come in.”

And she did.

The inside was just as she remembered: worn floorboards, a stack of cloth near the window, a crooked little shelf of tools. It smelled of cedar and ink, good things.

She sat down wordlessly.

He didn’t press her. He didn’t look at her with pity or confusion. He boiled water. Poured her a cup. Set it gently beside her without comment.

Then he sat across the room and began tuning his bipa.

The delicate twang of the strings was the only sound between them.

She held the teacup, but didn’t drink.

Her eyes stared into the steam. Something in her had been scooped out and stitched shut. “I didn’t mean to...”

But she didn’t say what, not out loud.

Because in her mind, the memory was already twisted, recast in softer light. Haejun’s arms around her. The sword meant for her. The fire only a reflex.

The real memory (of the heat, the scream, the dagger in his hand) she shoved down until it blurred at the edges.

That was the truth she couldn’t face.

So she didn’t.

She sat suspended in a void, neither hollow nor full.

For hours, they sat there in companionable quiet. He didn’t try to disrupt it.

When night fell, Hyunmin brought out a spare cot. He didn’t say it was for her. He didn’t need to. She lay down without uttering a word, the flute tucked beside her pillow.

She couldn’t sleep.

Her body wouldn’t let her.

So Hyunmin sat nearby, his bipa in his lap, and played a mellow, unspoken melody, its steady rhythm a balm to the space.

By the time her eyes drifted shut, he was still playing, because he knew she needed it.

“...”

“...”

Now, the instrument rested. The room held its breath. Hyunmin lay asleep across from her, barely visible in the dim glow of the hearth’s last embers.

That night, the dream returned.

But this time... it didn’t come in flames.

It came in ‘sound’.

The screech of steel. The flash of red. The face of a Hunter lunging at her through smoke. Her hands raised, fire flaring before she could think.

The scream.

Then--!

Haejun, stepping in front.

The blade meant for her... catching his ribs instead.

He’d turned, blood spilling from his mouth, and smiled.

“...Still... Rumi...”

She jolted awake.

“!!!”

Her hands were shaking. Her cheeks were wet.

Her fingers brushed the flute.

“I’m sorry,” She choked. “I didn’t mean... you weren’t supposed to--”

The stars outside had already begun to fade.

But inside her chest, the fire still hadn’t gone out.

She didn’t notice Hyunmin stir until she heard the rustle of fabric and soft steps approaching.

He crouched beside her. He reached out slowly, like asking permission -- and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You had a dream.” His words implied more than a question, they were a knowing.

Rumi’s throat was raw, “I saw him.”

Hyunmin didn’t ask who.

“I think... I think he saved me.”

Her voice cracked.

“He shouldn’t have. But he did.”

She didn’t say it was a ‘lie’. She didn’t say it didn’t make sense.

Because it did.

Now it did.

It ‘had’ to.

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure to whom.

Hyunmin, “Dreams can’t fix the past, but sometimes... they tell us what we haven’t said out loud.”

Her grip on the flute tightened.

Hyunmin stayed still for a long moment. Then:

“I’ll put on some porridge.” Hyunmin, tenderly. “You don’t have to eat yet. But it’ll be warm when you’re ready.”

The scent of warm rice and barley filled the room.

Rumi hadn’t moved from the corner, but her grip on the flute had loosened. Her fingers now traced the carvings absentmindedly -- over and over -- as if grounding herself in the grooves.

Hyunmin set the steaming bowl on the low table beside her. He didn’t speak, didn’t nudge, didn’t ask.

He sat across from her again, folding his legs and adjusting his sleeves. His bipa rested nearby, but he didn’t reach for it yet.

Instead, he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world: “You’re safe here.”

Her eyes flickered to his, unsure how long she could believe that. But she gave a faint nod anyway.

Unexpectedly, she murmured, “Do you have any more of that black silk?”

Hyunmin, “The one you used for your first hat?”

Rumi, “...I, I want to make another one.”

“Any reason?” His tone kind, patient.

Rumi hesitated. She shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe... maybe if I make something with my hands, they’ll feel less cursed.”

That made Hyunmin pause.

But instead of sympathy, he offered hope.

“You could start with thread.” Hyunmin, standing. “Black again?”

Rumi nodded. “Black. And maybe... something red. Just a little.”

He smiled. “A spark, like the ones you try to hide.”

She didn’t argue.

He returned a moment later with cloth, thread, and a worn wooden hoop. He set them down between them.

She reached for the needle.

And for the first time since that night, her hands moved without fear.

Through the dance of needle and thread, silence and smoke transformed. A new creation emerged, the thread a whisper between her fingers.

Once.

Twice.

Pull.

Rumi sat cross-legged by the low table in Hyunmin’s shop, the sunlight barely filtering through the paper windows. Her movements were slow, steady, careful. The fabric in her hands was plain -- an old sleeve he said she could practice on -- but it gave her something to hold, something to fix.

And then, a ghost of a memory, elusive as light and shadow, ignited into existence:

The crackle of a fire, its glow painting the edges of old wood and paper scrolls.

Haejun’s voice, low and soothing.

“You’re improving.”

A chuckle.

“But this one... you keep writing ‘person’ when you mean ‘peace’.”

She remembered replying, “They’re almost identical. Only one line separates them.”

His smile had been a soft thing. “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe peace can’t exist without people. Or maybe people shape what peace becomes.”

Her fingers paused on the fabric now.

The needle hung motionless.

She blinked, eyes stinging.

The memory surprised her, intruding on the calm of the sunlit morning and the lingering scent of tea.

But her hands... they remembered without asking.

The thread in her lap began to blur.

She swallowed hard and forced the stitch through.

Again.

And.

Again.

If she stopped now, her hands would start trembling, a luxury she couldn’t afford after all she’d lost.

Hyunmin glanced up from where he was folding fabric in the corner. His gaze landed on her, on the stillness in her spine, the way her fingers gripped the thread too tightly.

Hyunmin, “...”

He moved, setting the cloth aside, and padded over to her side of the room.

He crouched nearby, careful to maintain a respectful distance. His voice was mild as he observed, “You’re holding your breath again.”

Rumi, “???”

Had she been?

She inhaled sharply, then exhaled slow, feeling the pressure on her chest ease.

“I’m fine.” She murmured.

Hyunmin didn’t argue.

He reached out -- not to touch her -- but to slide a cup of warm barley tea closer to her side. Steam swirled between them.

“I used to sew like that too,” Hyunmin, after a beat, “whenever things got too loud up here...” he tapped his temple, his words light but carrying a subtle weight of truth. “One stitch at a time. Just to feel like I could still make something that wasn’t... falling apart.”

Rumi didn’t answer right away.

She couldn’t.

She regarded him. Her fingers relaxed their hold on the thread. “It’s not much. Just... a sleeve.”

“It’s still yours.” He replied. “That counts.”

The silence returned, lighter and less burdened.

The thread slipped again between her fingers.

Once.

Twice.

Pull.

Hyunmin stayed beside her, offering comfort without demands for explanation, until her ragged breathing smoothed.

The mornings began with tea now. Hyunmin made a habit of steeping it just before the shop opened, always pouring hers first even if she hadn’t asked.

“This blend’s new.” One morning, holding out the cup. “Tastes like flowers.”

Rumi took it, fingers brushing his briefly. “It smells like laundry soap.”

“Rude.” But he smiled.

The scent lingered.

One afternoon, they worked side-by-side -- him repairing a client’s sleeve, her hemming her black hat. The sun cut slanted beams across the floor.

“That edge is crooked.” Rumi, nodding at the sleeve he was stitching.

“I’m left-handed, judgmental Rumi-yah.”

She snorted. “You’re ambidextrous.”

“You’ve wounded me far worse than this needle ever could.” He dramatically clutched his heart.

“Maybe you should switch careers.”

He looked at her, a grin tugging at his lips. “And leave all this glamour behind?”

Later that evening, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a small charm, nothing fancy. A circle of silver with a thread-thin etching: two curved wings, surrounding a single note.

“I was going to sew it on one of my belts.” He turned it over in his palm. “But... it feels like it suits your hat better.”

Rumi, “Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because it reminds me of you.”

They sat outside the shop. The stars above the upper realm shimmered as soft breaths across the sky. Fireflies blinked lazily in the grass.

Rumi tugged at the hem of her sleeve. “You know... for the first time in a while, I don’t feel like I’m running.”

Her voice was steady, as if someone who had finally convinced herself the past made sense.

“I’m glad.” Hyunmin glanced sideways. “You deserve to stop running.”

She looked down at her lap. The words were there.

‘Thank you. I trust you. I’m--’

She only said, “You’re a good tailor.”

Hyunmin chuckled. “That’s your compliment?”

“You’re welcome.”

Rumi didn’t say goodbye.

She left before the sun rose, slipping out of the warm stillness of the shop and back into the cold, watchful realm she called ‘home’.

The demon realm.

The weight of what had happened -- of what Haejun had done for her -- still clung to her skin, under her nails, in the corners of her breath. But she told no one. Not Mira, not Zoey.

Not even herself, really.

She found them in their quarters. Mira braiding Sussie’s feathers, Zoey pretended she wasn’t crying, gently stroking Derpy’s fur while watching something flit by outside.

Rumi... she stepped, inside.

Her friends noticed the heaviness in her steps, the strange undercurrent in her voice.

“I’m okay.” She told them.

They didn’t believe her.

They didn’t push.

That night, she curled between them in the hushed darkness, fingers trembling under the blanket, the chill of memory replacing the physical cold. When they asked what happened in the upper realm, she simply mumbled:

“He died... because of me.”

“A demon?” Zoey inquired, considerately.

She shook her head, “A human.”

Mira’s brow creased. “Did they hurt you first?”

Rumi hesitated. Then gave a broken nod. “I tried to protect myself. But he... ahjussi...”

Zoey, “‘Ahjussi’... your teacher?”

Rumi, “...He took the blow.”

That response was enough.

They didn’t ask again.

It rained purple fire the night Rumi woke screaming.

She’d remembered ‘something’.

Very terrible.

Her hands covered in blood.

Haejun’s eyes fading.

She was trembling.

Mira sat beside her and pressed their foreheads together, empathetically sharing the storm.

Zoey knelt and took Rumi’s hand. “Tell us... or don’t. Just... let us stay.”

And Rumi did.

She didn’t speak. But she let them hold her.

Rumi couldn’t stay.

A day passed.

Two.

And then her feet began moving again.

Back toward Hyunmin.

She returned to the human realm.

The village was less bustling than usual. Shop doors were half-closed. Curtains drawn. She made her way to the place that had always felt safe: the little storefront where laughter once lived. Where she’d sewn her first hat. Where tea always brought comfort.

Hyunmin’s family shop.

But the awning was down.

The front was spotless, unnervingly so, as though someone had tried to erase the days.

She knocked.

After a moment, the door opened -- revealing Hyunmin’s mother. Her expression shifted when she saw Rumi: from surprise, to hesitation, to something that strongly resembled guilt.

“I... I was hoping to see Hyunmin.” Rumi, cautiously. “Is he... here?”

There was a pause, uncomfortably long.

Before his mother could answer, a boy stepped forward from behind the counter -- one of Hyunmin’s local friends, who regularly helped deliver bolts of silk to the nearby market.

He looked at Rumi, expression pitying. “You haven’t heard?”

Her stomach turned.

No. Not him.

Not Hyunmin.

The boy glanced at Hyunmin’s mother. She said nothing, lips quivering, eyes wet but silent.

The boy exhaled shakily.

“He’s gone missing.”

Rumi stood frozen.

What...?

No, that’s wrong. That’s not... he promised--!

The words didn’t register right away.

Hyunmin’s mother looked like she wanted to speak -- to soften the blow, to explain it gently. But the truth had already landed, sharp and raw.

“He went out to deliver cloth to a village a few ridges east.” The boy continued. “He... never came back.”

Rumi’s mouth went dry.

That’s not far. That’s not dangerous. It’s just...

He should have come back.

“No one saw anything?”

“We’ve searched. People from three villages helped. Nothing.”

His mother added weakly, “It’s been over a week...”

A week.

That meant--

He was already gone when she returned!

She searched anyway.

Rumi combed the places where they used to meet, replayed every moment, every smile, every laugh, hoping it might lead her to where he was now. Her black hat grew damp from morning fog, her boots caked in mud.

She lit flames for light, called his name--

“Hyunmin!”

Where are you?

“...Hyunmin-ah...!”

Please. Please answer.

Just once...!

-- until her voice cracked.

She asked birds, beasts, even the wind.

Someone must have seen him. Heard him. ‘Anything’.

Please--!

Nothing. Only the heavy silence and a persistent pain.

Suddenly...

Summoned to the demon queen’s court.

Rumi already knew.

She felt it in her bones, long before Celine opened her mouth, a wrongness curling around her lungs.

Celine lounged atop her throne, a figure carved from starlight and malice. “Still searching for your little human?”

Rumi, “...”

She kept her eyes down. Her fists tight.

She knew Celine meant Hyunmin. But her heart, her guilt... they heard ‘Haejun’.

The names were different, but the story was the same: someone who tried to protect her, someone who got too close...

Someone who didn’t come back.

If she spoke, the truth she didn’t want to face might slip out -- and she wasn’t ‘ready’.

She wasn’t ready to let go of the version where Haejun had ‘saved’ her.

Celine swirled her glass of red, she hummed, “He asked me for help, you know. ‘Hyunmin’. He was so ‘earnest’. So sure he could protect you.”

Rumi’s gaze snapped up. “What did you do?”

Celine only smiled. “I did nothing. I offered him a deal. That’s all.”

She descended the steps of the dais, slow and deliberate, circling Rumi with the predatory grace of a vulture.

“He came to me. ‘Begging’. He said he didn’t care what it cost, as long as you were safe. Touched, I was. So I gave him a choice. His soul, for your silence. His freedom, for your safety. He asked for time to think. Then returned the next day, eyes clear, hands shaking.”

She tilted her head, watching Rumi’s face crumble by degrees.

“He chose ‘you’.”

Rumi’s knees nearly buckled. “You ‘manipulated’ him. He would ‘never’ leave me.”

Celine gave a light, delighted laugh.

“I gave him ‘truth’. You think he hadn’t noticed? The way you spark when you’re upset. The way your hands shake when you try to hold back power? You frighten people, Rumi. Even ‘yourself’.”

Rumi’s fists clenched. Her throat tightened. “No.”

But the memory surged regardless.

Not Hyunmin this time.

Haejun.

Fire in her lungs. Smoke in her hair. A scream.

A flash!

Her grief twisted the story until it was justifiable, until it became ‘mercy’.

He had pulled her out. He shielded her.

He--!

Celine’s tone softened, crueler for its gentleness.

“Maybe Hyunmin didn’t leave because of me. Maybe he left because of ‘you’.”

And just like that, the names tangled in her mind.

One gone.

One missing.

Both ‘haunted her’.

“You killed a man named ‘Haejun’, didn’t you?” Celine, sweetly. “And Hyunmin ‘knew’. He saw the blood on your hands -- and still ‘stayed’. But perhaps he realized... that loving you wasn’t enough to save you. Or him.”

“I didn’t kill ahjussi!” Rumi’s outburst was sudden and explosive. “It wasn’t like that. I, I saw it. Ahjussi... he jumped in front of me.”

Celine’s brows arched, mocking.

“Is that what you remember?” Celine, calmly ruthless. “Or is that what you ‘need’ to remember?”

Rumi’s fire flared.

Her magic surged uncontrollably -- heat spiking in the air, shadows stuttering along the floor. Her ‘rage fire’, Mira once called it.

Her ‘grief flame’.

“He wouldn’t...” Rumi uttered. “He wouldn’t leave me.”

Celine stepped in close. “Then why hasn’t he come back?”

That broke something open.

Rumi staggered back a step, her breath ragged. “You won’t tell me where Hyunmin is. Because he’s ‘not dead’.”

Celine regarded her with a long, cool silence. She grinned.

“Dead? No, not quite.” She turned away. “But he’s not yours anymore, either.”

The words twisted inside her.

Hyunmin’s name, but Haejun’s death.

Love and guilt blurring together until she couldn’t tell whose absence hurt more.

“You think clinging to that little fantasy -- that Haejun died for you, that Hyunmin loved you enough to stay -- it doesn’t make you strong, Rumi.” She glanced over her shoulder. “It makes you ‘weak’.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving Rumi standing in the echo of it.

Rumi didn’t scream.

She didn’t break anything.

She didn’t ‘cry’.

She walked out of the high hall with fire coiling beneath her skin and a thousand questions screaming in her skull:

What if Celine was right?

What if she’d driven Hyunmin away?

What if she made the deal too easy to accept?

What if...

What if Rumi hadn’t been saved at all?

What if she’d killed Haejun -- and the story in her head was just the only way she could live with it?

‘You killed a man.’

No.

He saw her. He stayed.

But not forever.

No.

No, Haejun shielded Rumi!

She remembers!

She saw it--

...Didn’t she?

Outside, she found a place where the trees were black with soot, where no one was watching.

And there, without meaning to, she burned something again.

Grass.

Bark.

Air.

Her hands were still shaking.

“Come back...” She whispered.

To whom, she didn’t even know anymore.

The sky didn’t answer.

Only the smoke.

Only the silence.

But Hyunmin didn’t.

Not that year.

Not the next.

Rumi vanished.

Some say she slept. Others say she burned herself down to silence.

For four hundred years, the world moved on without her.

Until one day, in the human realm, on a mission traded for the price of her memories...

In Myeongdong Square hazy with sunlight and noise...

She saw ‘him’.

A boy with dark eyes, windblown hair, and the same mouth that once said, ‘You’re safe here.’

He turned toward her.

And Rumi forgot how to breathe.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Bigger Than the Whole Sky

It was Zoey who found the scorch marks first.

Mira who followed the trail of ash.

But Rumi didn’t hear them.

She was sitting in the center of it all. Blackened ground stretching in every direction, her hands open on her lap like she no longer knew what they were for.

Ash clung to her face, a grim imitation of paint.

Her lips were cracked.

Her eyes were dry.

“...Rumi-unnie?”

She didn’t even turn when they called her name.

Step.

Step.

Step.

She didn’t flinch when footsteps drew closer.

She sat, still as a ruin, cold as an abandoned hearth.

Mira knelt beside her, careful as though approaching an injured animal, “Rumi-unnie... what happened?”

Rumi stared ahead, “...”

What ‘hadn’t’ happened?

♫ “No words appear before me in the aftermath.” ♫

Zoey crouched opposite her. “Unnie. Look at me...”

Rumi blinked, once, “...”

Her voice, when it came, was dust. “I ruined it.”

♫ “Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears.” ♫

They didn’t understand.

She didn’t explain.

She didn’t say, “I lost him.”

She didn’t say, “Celine broke me.”

She didn’t say, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Because maybe she never did.

♫ “Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness.” ♫

Because what was the point?

Even if they held her...

Even if they whispered, “We’re here.”

Even if they ‘stayed’...

It wouldn’t bring Hyunmin back.

It wouldn’t bring Haejun back either.

And it wouldn’t fix ‘this’.

♫ “‘Cause it’s all over now, all out to sea.” ♫

She returned to her room, but something about her didn’t.

She still smiled sometimes. Still ate. Still trained.

But Mira noticed how she stared too long at fire.

Zoey saw her wince when she hugged her too tightly.

Derpy stopped jumping into her lap.

And Sussie (once loud and fearless, always stealing scraps from Rumi’s pockets) now only perched from a distance, head tilted, watching her with quiet eyes.

She never landed on Rumi’s shoulder again.

♫ “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye -- you were bigger than the whole sky.” ♫

Rumi cloth-wrapped the flute Haejun gave her -- the only thing left from the man who once called her his light.

She didn’t wear the hat anymore.

♫ “You were more than just a short time.” ♫

When asked why, she only shrugged. “I outgrew it.”

The girls didn’t push.

Because even they could feel it:

Rumi hadn’t cracked.

She had ‘shattered’.

And no one could piece her back.

♫ “And I’ve got a lot to pine about, I’ve got a lot to live without, I’m never gonna meet, what could’ve been, would’ve been, what should’ve been you.” ♫

However, even ruins can move.

And Rumi did.

She searched.

♫ “What could’ve been, would’ve been you...” ♫

She inquired in corners most demons avoided. Spoke with whisper brokers, former servants, even low-ranking demon guards who had once worked under Celine.

She went through the archives of Soul Records, scouring for mentions of Hyunmin’s name, his face, any trace of him crossing into their world.

But all she found were closed doors.

And tighter lips.

Some flinched at her questions.

Others looked confused.

Even if Celine knew what she was doing, the others never said it outright, not to her face.

They just watched her with shuttered expressions, waiting for her to ‘break’.

A few gazed a little too long, their eyes betraying a secret they wouldn’t speak.

Whether out of fear or orders, Rumi couldn’t tell.

Eventually, her name started drawing suspicion.

She had to stop.

Because if she pushed too far, they might realize what she was trying to protect.

Who she used to be.

And who she had ‘loved’.

♫ “Did some bird flap its wings over in Asia?” ♫

Still, she couldn’t let it go.

Not yet.

Rumi searched again (slower this time, more subtly), in the human realm.

♫ “Did some force take you because I didn’t pray?” ♫

She didn’t scream his name anymore.

She didn’t light fires.

Rumi retraced their steps, her whispers questioning, watched every crowd for a familiar laugh.

But he had vanished without a trace.

No body.

No name.

Until --

“He left it with me.”

-- His mother didn’t cry when she handed her the bipa.

She simply bowed, soft and tired. “Hyun-ah said... it was yours now.”

Rumi tried to ask more:

When?

How?

The woman shook her head.

Why...?

“He didn’t tell me anything else. Only that if you ever came looking, I should give it to you.”

Rumi stood there for a long time, holding it.

She bowed in return.

And she walked away.

She never found him.

No one did.

Only the bipa remained.

She grew quieter, distant and empty.

Like she had buried something inside her too deep to ever dig out.

Like she had buried Haejun, twice.

And at night, when the others slept, Rumi would sit by the window, watching the stars above the demon realm -- stars that shouldn’t have been visible here.

Maybe they weren’t.

Maybe she just ‘needed’ them to be.

She’d mutter his name sometimes.

It wasn’t a prayer or a curse, but a wound she refused to let close.

“You gave everything. For me. And I still lost you. And now... I can’t go back.”

And now all that remained of her grief was habit, carried in her hands, heavy and unplayed:

A dark wooden flute, smooth, worn down from touch -- her teacher’s gift.

And a bipa, strung with golden silk thread -- silent now, but once it had sung under Hyunmin’s fingers.

She never played either.

The flute stayed wrapped in cloth. The bipa, in black silk -- its strings loosened so it would never accidentally hum his name back to her.

Time passed.

She changed.

She became sharper, more composed. The court grew to fear her, not just for her strength, but for the unnerving silence that was as much a part of her as her own skin. Her flames burned steadier, honed by grief -- never wild, never wasted.

Mira and Zoey stopped asking about him. About either of them.

Some nights, Rumi still sat alone. She’d take out the bipa. She wouldn’t play... just stare at the tuning pegs, wondering if her hands still remembered how it sounded when he laughed.

She tried to forget.

She told herself she had.

The past endures differently than a rotting wound.

It waits... deep within the chest, beneath the breath itself.

♫ “Every single thing to come has turned into ashes.” ♫

She wasn’t looking for it.

She had been cleaning out her old trunk, where she kept the flute wrapped in cloth.

Something about the way the wood creaked... hollow where it shouldn’t have been.

Her breath caught.

And there, tucked inside the lining... a parchment, hidden for years.

Brittle at the edges, but folded neatly, tucked away on purpose. The ink was pressed hard, as though the writer’s hand had been trembling.

She almost didn’t open it.

She didn’t think she could bear ‘one more thing’.

Her fingers moved anyway.

She read the first line.

“To the child I’ll never get to meet...”

Her vision blurred.

No.

No, no, no.

Not now.

Not again.

But she kept reading.

“If fate is kind, maybe I already have...”

“Your mother was light in a world full of shadows...”

“Maybe I’m a fool. But I believe I’d know you if I saw you...”

The flute fell from her lap.

The air left the room.

The grief -- the one she’d pressed so far down it had no name anymore -- clawed up from her throat, choking her.

All these years...

Haejun -- her teacher, her ‘father’ -- had written this.

He had loved her.

And she had ‘killed’ him.

♫ “‘Cause it’s all over, it’s not meant to be, so I’ll say words I don’t believe.” ♫

It didn’t matter if it was instinct, fear, or if he had raised a dagger first.

None of it changed the ‘truth’.

She could almost hear his voice: “I was wrong... not about what you are. But what you mean to me...”

♫ “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, you were bigger than the whole sky -- you were more than just a short time.” ♫

She curled around the letter like a dying thing, sobbing not just for the man she had lost, but for the girl who had once believed herself monstrous -- maybe still was -- and for the father who had never blamed her.

♫ “And I’ve got a lot to pine about, I’ve got a lot to live without, I’m never gonna meet -- what could’ve been, would’ve been, what should’ve been you.” ♫

She placed the letter beside the flute.

She didn’t burn it.

She ‘couldn’t’.

♫ “What could’ve been, would’ve been you.” ♫

Then she picked up the bipa -- still dusty, still silent -- and tightened the strings.

Once.

Only enough to hear it hum again.

♫ “What could’ve been, would’ve been.” ♫

That night, Rumi couldn’t sleep.

Even when she closed her eyes, the ache behind them throbbed too loud.

The letter beneath her pillow.

♫ “What should’ve been you.” ♫

Unburned.

Unread again.

Yet, ‘remembered’.

♫ “What could’ve been, would’ve been you.” ♫

Somehow, when her breath finally slowed, when the dark folded in...

She was no longer in her room.

The scent hit her first -- pine, smoke, a trace of old paper and oil.

Click!

The wooden door clicked open behind her, though she hadn’t touched it. Cool air stirred gently through narrow slats in the walls, moonlight tracing clean lines across the floor.

She blinked.

And realized where she was.

The shed.

‘Their’ shed...!

The one Haejun built behind the garden, tucked between trees, far from the noise of the others. Where they once stored scrolls, spare tools, tea leaves. Where they sat together when the world outside was too loud.

It hadn’t aged.

It looked exactly as it did the last time she saw it.

A small brazier flickered in the corner, casting shadows against the shelves. And there, on a woven mat by the fire...

Haejun sat.

Stirring something in a ceramic kettle.

Humming.

The same lullaby he used to hum while guiding her hand through crooked brushstrokes, patience in every note.

Her breath hitched.

“...Ahjussi...”

A pause.

Barely a whisper: “Appa...”

He looked up.

And smiled.

As though he’d been waiting, this whole time.

“Rumi.” He said, imbued with the warmth and safety of home, a haven from the storm. “You got taller.”

A broken sound slipped from her throat -- part sob, part disbelief.

She stepped inside, reluctantly.

The boards shifted underfoot. The heat soaked into her bones, an old comfort.

“I didn’t mean to--”

“I know.”

Her voice trembled. “I thought I made it up. That you were never that kind. That I just... changed the story in my head.”

He let out a small laugh. “You always drew me with more hair.”

“Appa...”

He looked at her, softly, steadily: “I’m proud of you.”

She halted.

Her hands shook.

“No, you can’t... I’ve done things. Awful things. I lost Hyunmin. I ‘ruined’ everything. I let the world turn me into a monster.”

“You survived.” He said simply, looking into the fire. “That’s ‘not’ nothing.”

Rumi sits down across from him.

The warmth of the brazier flickered between them.

She reached out. Her hand hovered near the pot, near his shadow. “I miss you...”

“I know.”

“I thought I forgot your voice.”

“You didn’t.”

She swallowed. “You gave me the flute. I couldn’t play it again.”

“That’s alright.”

“I left it wrapped in cloth. Like if I touched it, it would disappear...”

He glanced at her, gaze tender. “It’s still yours, Rumi. You never had to earn it.”

The silence that followed was not heavy.

It was full.

Of all the unsaid years.

The losses.

The softness she buried.

The way she still waited for someone to come ‘home’.

Rumi, after a long pause, “Do you forgive me?”

Haejun stared at her.

And then he smiled -- it held no trace of sadness or pain, only a calm, unshakeable certainty.

“There was never anything to forgive, my daughter.”

♫ “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, you were bigger than the whole sky, you were more than just a short time.” ♫

Her eyes closed.

The tears didn’t fall.

Her heart wept, anyway.

In that little shed -- surrounded by firelight, tea steam, and the man who once called her his daughter -- Rumi exhaled.

Not of surrender, but of stillness and release, the stillness before sleep, the letting go after the final ember fades.

♫ “And I’ve got a lot to pine about, I’ve got a lot to live without, I’m never gonna meet, what could’ve been, would’ve been, what should’ve been you.” ♫

When Zoey and Mira found Rumi, she was already gone.

Not dead.

But still.

Curled in the far corner of her room, wrapped in the last warmth she could remember -- a coat, a blanket, the flute held tight against her chest, the bipa beside her, silent.

Her presence was tenuous, a whisper of life. Her shallow breaths, barely moving her chest, mirrored the fragile flicker of a dying flame.

The earth did not take her.

The fire did not consume her.

Time simply moved on without her.

Rumi -- flame-blooded, sorrow-struck, once fearless -- slept.

For four hundred years.

Some speculated that she was ‘cursed’.

Others said she was ‘divine’.

However, Celine never called her anything.

She only looked at the girl once: “Let her rest.”

She didn’t entomb her.

She didn’t seal her away.

Because power does not need fear to explain itself.

And because deep down, Celine knew:

Rumi will wake. And when she does, she’ll come to her.

So they left her room untouched.

The demon realm moved on.

Empires rose.

Rebellions died.

The court changed faces but not its crown.

Celine remained.

So did Rumi’s silence.

Dust fell.

Light shifted.

Her name slipped into myth.

But some, remembered.

Zoey returned, sometimes, only to sit outside the door.

Mira sharpened her blades on the steps below, never questioning why.

Neither dared open it again.

Then one night...

A resonant hum, more song than memory, pulsed within Rumi’s frame.

Something had changed.

A rhythm she hadn’t heard in four hundred years... was ‘urging’ her.

Unhurriedly, and without any fanfare, Rumi’s eyes came open.

Her mouth was dry. Her limbs ached like she’d been buried in stone.

She didn’t speak.

She simply... breathed.

Somewhere, a subtle change rippled through reality.

“!!!”

Mira dropped her sword mid-swing.

Zoey gasped, nearly spilling the soup she was stirring.

Derpy jerked his head up with a startled growl.

And high above, perched in the rafters, Sussie let out a sharp cry with recognition. Twice, her wings fluttered, hinting at an irresistible pull home.

Mira pressed her hand to her chest. “That was...”

Zoey mumbled, “Rumi-unnie...”

They didn’t wait.

They ran.

Rumi shot upright.

Dust clung to her skin. Her black coat had thinned with age, the hem torn, the fabric ghost-soft. Her hat -- once her shield -- hadn’t turned to ash, but it might as well have. She couldn’t remember when it last held the weight of armor. The flute beside her trembled with some invisible echo.

She reached out.

Touch.

Memory.

She didn’t remember everything, not yet.

But her chest ached -- a hollow that used to hold music, fire...

Names that had once meant everything.

And a scream splitting through smoke. A figure throwing themselves between her and the burning light. Arms around her, their embrace a heavy cloak of protection, but at what cost?

She remembered a man’s voice, rough with affection.

Her father.

And she remembered the ‘Hunters’, their blazing, terrible presence seared into her memory, along with the pain they inflicted on her Appa.

He died because of them.

Because he ‘saved’ her.

And then--!

Another face.

Hyunmin...

His laughter, soft and close. His words, assuring that she was never too much. That monsters didn’t cry the way she did.

She remembered his hands -- how they quivered when he stitched the tear in her sleeve beneath a sky full of fireflies.

“You’re a good tailor.” She had told him.

He’d laughed. “That’s your compliment?”

Later, almost in a vow, “If anything ever happens... I’ll try to reach you.”

But he didn’t.

He never did.

Maybe he tried.

Maybe he ‘died’ trying.

Rumi drew a breath that didn’t soothe her chest.

She didn’t know what was memory and what was longing.

However, the throb -- the emptiness where he should have been -- that was ‘real’.

And it hurt.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

She heard footsteps.

Mira’s voice cracked before she even entered the room. “Rumi-unnie?!”

Zoey, breathless, scared, half-sobbing, “Please, please be here--! Please don’t be another--”

Seeing Rumi froze them in place, as though a sudden movement would shatter the fragile moment and cause her to vanish.

Rumi blinked, emerging from a vivid story she wasn’t ready to abandon, “...Hi.”

She said nothing more.

Zoey broke first...

Thud!

...knees hitting the ground.

“Don’t ever do that again...” She sobbed. “Four hundred years, unnie! Four hundred!”

Mira knelt beside her, cupping Rumi’s face. “We thought you were gone.”

Rumi, “...I, I was.”

They cried.

She didn’t.

But the tenderness of their hands, the way they held her, the way Derpy whimpered and pressed close. The way Sussie fluttered down from Mira’s shoulder and nestled against Rumi’s lap, quiet and careful, like she remembered too...

She leaned into it.

Just a little.

They cleaned the room.

Lit a small fire in the old brazier.

Zoey cooked, even if the root stew scorched. Mira braided Rumi’s hair, the way she used to. And Rumi watched the stars through the window, uncertain if they belonged to this realm... or just another dream that hadn’t faded yet.

For the first time in centuries...

She didn’t feel alone.

Later that night, the fire crackled.

Zoey slept with Derpy, his old tail thumping faintly in his sleep.

Mira lounged near the fire, sharpening her blade more out of habit than need. Sussie dozed on her shoulder, one foot tucked in, feathers ruffling slightly every time Mira moved.

Rumi didn’t sleep.

She hadn’t, since she woke.

She only watched the embers, her eyes half-lidded, listening to something no one else could hear.

“You’re different.” Mira, mildly.

“I was gone too long.”

“You were hurt.” Mira replied. “Not lost.”

Zoey stirred, still half-asleep, her voice thick with sleep and something else -- worry. “Unnie... you really don’t know what’s happened, do you?”

Rumi turned, tiredly, “Know what?”

Mira exchanges a glance with Zoey, who sits up sluggishly from her blanket nest.

“Celine’s network is collapsing.” Mira murmurs. “The soul routes are drying up, fast.”

Rumi stilled.

She didn’t need to ask why.

“The Honmoon,” Zoey says, “it’s turning gold.”

The Hunters...

Mira’s jaw tightened. “Their songs... their resonance. They’re close to sealing the demon realm completely.”

Rumi’s breath catches.

“No more soul extraction.” Zoey, grimly. “No more crossing. Not unless Celine burns through it. And doing that would expose her. She’s... agitated.”

Unstable.

Mira, “She’s taken her flame form. Twice in the last moon cycle. It’s worse than before.”

“The courts are fracturing.” Zoey adds. “Some lords fled. Others are vying to replace her. There’s talk she’ll start pulling from our realm next. Us.”

Rumi, “And the humans?”

“They adore the Hunters--” Zoey leans in, eyes gleaming. “You won’t believe this -- during their latest concert, the barrier shimmered ‘gold’. They’re that close.”

Their songs are evolving...

Mira exhales. “If they succeed... this realm starves. No more glamor shows. No more soul circuits. Celine loses everything.”

The fire crackles faintly.

Zoey watches Rumi, wide-eyed. Mira’s knuckles tighten around her blade.

Rumi doesn’t blink.

Lyrics.

Vocals.

Movement.

Blessed cadence...

Zoey, “Their idols are Hunters. Their stages are battlegrounds.”

A beat.

Rumi straightens deliberately. The fire responded to her, its flames climbing higher.

‘Appa died for me. Hyunmin vanished for me. I won’t let it end in silence.’

“Then we use it too.” Rumi says.

Mira and Zoey, “What?”

“We give them something they’ve never faced before.” Rumi continues, “We fight their purity with poison. Fire with fire.”

Zoey sits up. “You’re talking about glamor bands--”

Rumi, “No, I’m talking about a counter-force. Demon-born, girls who can sing in reverse frequencies, move with cursed rhythm, dance with blood in their breath.”

Mira’s eyes widen. “Like dark resonance.”

Rumi nods.

She rises now, the bipa slung across her back, her fingers brushing the flute still wrapped in cloth.

“They’ve made stages sacred.” She murmurs. “We’ll make them ‘haunted’.”

Zoey, exhilarated, “Unnie wants to start a group?!”

“A girl group.” Rumi affirms.

Demonic.

Iconic.

Unholy in all the right ways.

Mira stares. “Do you even have people for that?”

For the first time since waking, Rumi offered a genuine smile, though it held an edge.

“I only need two. And I already have them.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Breathe

The barrier snapped shut behind them with a ‘hiss!’, echoing the sudden silence of a candle blown out in a dark cave.

Mira stumbled out first, horns glamoured by Rumi’s spell -- but her glare stayed unhidden. She looked around, tense, fearing the ground would bite her if she blinked.

It’s too open. It’s too loud! The overwhelming number of lights was dizzying. And yet... she liked the wind on her face.

♫ “Just feel it ppumppum!” ♫

Zoey followed, peach-blossom eyes wide, taking in the towering buildings and luminous signs.

“Where are the flying carriages?” She wanted to ask. Instead, a scooter zoomed past her, and she nearly hissed at it.

♫ “Yeah, ppumppum!” ♫

Rumi stepped out last. She took one breath. Then another. She brushed off her sleeves, the gesture held the gravity of ages. Her eyes moved with surgical sharpness across the neon cityscape.

♫ “Seolleeo neowa naye rangdebyu (Rangdebyu), nae maeumeul deureotta nwatta hae mamdaeru (Mamdaeru).” ♫

Rumi, deadpan, “This is not how I left it.”

And it wasn’t, not even close.

♫ “Jigeum nae nunen nunen nunen ne eokkae mureup bal (Oh), sumi tak makhil geot gata nan neoman bomyeon.” ♫

The world she remembered had temples and high mountains. This one had vending machines and taxis.

♫ “Wow, wow, jeongshineul tto nwa nwa ne maeryeoge nan nan nollage dwae tto (Hit it hit it hit it, ho!).” ♫

Zoey poked a traffic light.

It changed color!

She yelped, staggering back, “∑(;°Д°)ᵒᵐᵍᵎᵎᵎ”

Mira cackled, “ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)ʱªʱªʱª”

Rumi groaned, “(ತ⁠_⁠ʖ⁠ತ)”

♫ “Uuu museun mari piryohae neon, sumi kwak makhil geot gata neon.” ♫

Mira found herself trapped in a revolving door and kept circling like a cursed soul until Rumi yanked her out by the sleeve.

When they passed a convenience store bright under fluorescent lights, Zoey gasped reverently.
“Look! A glowing shrine!”

“...”

“...”

People were staring now!

Rumi pulled her hood up and muttered into her sleeve, “You two are going to get me arrested.”

But even with the burden of centuries in her bones, something tugged at her chest.

The world had changed beyond recognition -- but these two hadn’t.

♫ “Jakkuman bwa jakku wa, ije naman boge doel geoya, neoreul deureotta noeul geoya neon -- jeomjeom deo fall in love~” ♫

Rumi had missed them, even like this.

Especially like this.

♫ “Give it to you my nunnunnunnunnunnun nunbit, ssodajineun my teoteoteoteoteoteo teochi.” ♫

Inside a shed that smelled of rain and old paper, Rumi dropped a sack on the table.

Out spilled jade hairpins, faded bronze coins with square holes, an embroidered dragon robe worn soft by time.

Her voice, calm and practiced, was the same soothing tone she used to quell her memories: “These are antiques now. We’re opening a shop.”

Mira leaned toward Zoey and whispered, “...What’s an ‘antique’?”

Zoey whispered back, “A dead person’s comb.”

They snorted.

Rumi rolled her eyes, smiling faintly. At least they weren’t scared anymore.

♫ “Hanappunin my reobreobreobreobreob my luver -- nae meoributeo ppumppum, nae balkkeutkkaji ppumppum ppumppum eo.” ♫

They hang a crooked sign that reads: ‘Ancient Elegance’.

Zoey mislabels a royal-grade tea whisk as a bamboo face scrubber.

Mira nearly sells a fox-shaped celadon oil lamp to a curious kid, claiming it’s a nightlight that grants wishes.

Rumi whips their hands away as a tired teacher might and resets the shelves with reverent precision.

Despite the mess, people came.

♫ “Just feel it ppumppum!” ♫

A subtle gleam emanated from the artifacts, hinting at something more profound.

♫ “Ne apeseo nan ppumppum, nege julge ppumppum ppumppum eo.” ♫

♫ “Yeah, ppumppum!” ♫

And for the first time in a long time, they made bank.

♫ “Jigeum bogo inneun ge kkumeun anil geol wake up, wake up, ttaengttaengichigo nal mannage doel geol take off, take off.” ♫

Treasure mining is ‘not’ as cool as it sounds.

They’re in the dirt behind a mountain, sweating and sore with rusty shovels.

Zoey flopped dramatically. “Unnie... why can’t we just summon treasure like normal demons?”

Mira scoffed, “Because someone burned our last summoning scroll.”

Rumi, sporting sunglasses and chewing gum with the nonchalant air of a KDrama villain, said coolly, “Adapt, sweethearts.”

They found one ancient coin. Mira held it up like a trophy.

They threw a party that night.

Rumi didn’t say it aloud, but her chest ached -- a warmth that startled her. So long apart, and yet... they still moved in sync. They still found reasons to laugh.

This was their first shared celebration in living memory.

♫ “Maeryeogeul ya ppumeoppumeoppumeoppumeo, boyeojulge pick up the phone, now or never pick up, pick up.” ♫

The three girls are sitting in a park.

Rumi is hunched seriously over a smartphone, tapping with one index finger, very slowly.

Her brows furrow as she squints at Google.

♫ “Wow, wow jeongshineopshi kung kung nae maeumeul ppum ppum -- sajeongeopshi tto (Hit it hit it hit it, ho!).” ♫

Rumi, murmuring: “...What is TikTok? Is this some kind of ritual...”

Meanwhile, Zoey and Mira both have phones too, unopened, still in their boxes.

Mira is trying to sniff hers.

Zoey is holding hers upside down.

Mira, “Do these things hatch?”

Zoey, “Why is yours glowing? Is it possessed?”

No, that’s the flashlight. Zoey should stop pointing the flashlight at her eyes.

♫ “Uuu yeogiseo mweol eotteoke deo -- najina bamina bichina michyeonnabwa.” ♫

♫ “Tteolliji mak tteollyeowa, ije naman saenggak nal geoya bame jamdo jal mot jal geoya -- jeomjeom deo fall in love~” ♫

Their first street performance wasn’t perfect, but it was unforgettable.

The girls stood on a street corner in mismatched thrift store clothes, hearts pounding, palms sweating.

A speaker crackled to life.

Mira was the first to move, her sharp, fluid motions blurring the line between dance and combat.

Zoey’s verse dropped in with swagger, her rhythm clean, her grin infectious. A toddler reached for her mic. Zoey winked, knelt, and let the kid tap the handle as one would a button. The crowd laughed.

Then Rumi stepped forward. She closed her eyes.

Her voice was low at first, almost unsure -- then it soared, smooth, aching, and filled with nostalgia. It wound through the beat, much as incense smoke curls from a shrine.

Somewhere within her, Joseon still lived... still breathed.

People slowed.

Phones were raised.

Someone clapped off-beat and was quickly shushed.

And from across the street, a woman in dark shades leaned forward behind the car window.

Watching.

A woman approached, extending a card with a keen, assessing gaze, “You girls ever thought of going pro?”

Zoey blinked.

Mira froze.

Rumi smiled, knowingly, her head tilted to one side.

Only every other century.

♫ “Give it to you my nunnunnunnunnunnun nunbit -- ssodajineun my teoteoteoteoteoteo teochi.” ♫

Zoey squinted at a form.

Name: Zoey of the Blood Lakes

Birthday: One thousand moons after the fall of--

Rumi sighed and crossed it out.

“Nope. You’re ‘Park Zoey’. Born two thousand and four.”

Mira glanced up, squinting. “Wait, am I legal?”

Rumi didn’t answer, “...”

Probably on purpose.

♫ “Hanappunin my reobreobreobreobreob my luver, nae meoributeo ppumppum, nae balkkeutkkaji ppumppum ppumppum eo.” ♫

The girls stood outside the imposing glass building of CLN Entertainment.

Zoey held her forged ID upside down. Mira blew a pink bubble and popped it against her fangs. Rumi adjusted her collar, her fingers trembled, once, then steadied.

The logo held her gaze, in her eyes, a quiet storm of passion raged.

This time, they ‘stay’.

LILIX.

Rise of the Demon Idols.

A whiteboard stands crooked against the wall. Markers everywhere. A paper sign above it reads: ‘ANOTHER HUMAN TONGUE: ENGLISH’ (scrawled in Mira’s handwriting, she spelled ‘tongue’ as ‘tang’, at first).

Mira squints at a vocabulary list. “‘You’... ‘me’... ‘vibe’... ‘lit’... what is ‘lit’?! Is this fire magic?!”

Zoey, flatly. “‘Lit’ means cool, unnie.” Then, uncertain: “...Or burning?” She pointed to a meme of a burning dumpster.

Rumi sits cross-legged, writing down translations neatly on a notebook. She mutters English phrases to herself, monotone but focused. “‘Where is the toilet?’ ‘Don’t touch me.’ ‘What is tax?’”

Mira watches an English learning video on YouTube. The instructor says, “Repeat after me... the cat is on the table.”

Mira, nodding earnestly, “The cat... is on... the food.”

She beams.

Heh! Close enough.

Zoey is trying voice search. “Okay, Google-ssi. How to kiss--”

Rumi, immediately turns, “Stop.”

At the convenience store...

Zoey frowns at a food label. “This says... ‘Hot Cheetos’... but it is not hot. It’s spicy. These people lie.”

♫ “U neoman bomyeon neoman bomyeon, nae gaseumi ppumppumppumppum -- u jakku bwado jakku bwado, nae gaseumi kungkungkungkung.” ♫

Mira stood in front of the mirror, arms crossed, a frown on her visage as she studied a dance video on a tablet.

The dancers’ synchronized performance was precise and crisp.

Mira, “Mm...” noting the precision and predictability of the movements. Her own imitation, though not exact, was equally forceful and graceful.

Zoey, a warrior in war paint, stretches in the corner, preparing for battle. The microphone stand becomes her spear, she grabs it, twirled it once with flourish. “If it doesn’t survive, it wasn’t worthy.”

Rumi, “It’s a ‘microphone’, Zoey.”

♫ “Give it to you my nunnunnunnunnunnun nunbit, ssodajineun my teoteoteoteoteoteo teochi.” ♫

Rumi stood at the whiteboard, sketching vocal anatomy. “You know this, Mira. You’ve been singing for centuries. Just remember your technique ‘and’ the modern terms.”

Mira lay on the floor, bored. “This ‘diagram’ is human. I don’t need lungs to sing.”

“You do.” Rumi said plainly. “Unless you want to explode again.”

Zoey’s rapid, clean verse flowed seamlessly into a powerful, raw, belted note.

Rumi raised a brow. “Good lungs, Zoey. Now try less roar, more range.”

Zoey huffed. “That ‘was’ my controlled version, unnie.”

Mira’s mic sparked mid-harmony. She paused, blinking. “Okay... that wasn’t me this time.”

Zoey broke into a body roll that turned into a half-split. She held the pose. “Totally intentional.”

Rumi pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’re debuting, not summoning thunder.”

Empty water bottles lay strewn about.

Post-its marked with ‘Vocal Curse’ and ‘Choreo Hazard’ stuck to every wall.

A trainer peeked in, pale, “...” backed out.

♫ “Hanappunin my reobreobreobreobreob my luver, nae meoributeo ppumppum, nae balkkeutkkaji ppumppum ppumppum eo.” ♫

It was night.

Dim lights.

Calm breath.

Rumi stands in the center. She hums serenely, clear, enchanting.

Mira and Zoey sit on the floor, watching.

Rumi finishes.

Zoey’s tone was mellow, “...That was beautiful, Rumi-unnie.”

Mira, “I wanna sound like that, too.”

Rumi, an upward curve displaying on her lips, “Then let’s go again. From the top.”

Sharp turns, perfect sync.

Mira’s steps carried weight.

Zoey’s timing locked in.

Rumi adjusted a wrist, not to correct -- only to refine.

Mic in Zoey’s hands, no longer a weapon. Now, an offering.

Three figures dancing in near-unison.

Breath.

Fire.

Laughter.

They collapsed in a pile.

Mira, “I think my soul left my body.”

Zoey grinned: “But we ‘slayed’.”

♫ “Just feel it ppumppum!” ♫

Mira clicks on SAJA BOYS’ live stage performance. She chokes on her drink. “So hot.”

Zoey’s eyes widened, mirroring the wonder of a sunrise, “Wait... are those real abs?!”

Rumi walks past them, uninterested. “You guys are so gross...”

Looks like eyeliner and abs are all it takes now.

She doesn’t glance at the screen.

Doesn’t pause.

Doesn’t see ‘him’.

At the door, she merely adjusts her oversized knit sweater, and leaves.

Behind her, the video freezes on a black-haired guy’s smile. But Rumi never looks back.

Mira frowns. “Wait... is that--?”

She rewinds a few seconds, zooming in on the stage backdrop. A blurred insignia... faint, but familiar, glimmers behind the group.

Zoey inclines, “...That’s a Hunter crest.”

Mira’s brows knit, “But I thought TXT were the Hunters? Didn’t they just have a concert with the Honmoon shimmering gold?”

“Yeah.” Zoey murmurs. “That stage lit up like divine approval.”

“...”

“...”

Mira whispers, “The SAJA BOYS? ‘They’re’ the Hunters?”

In a mid-range seafood restaurant...

Three lobsters, still hot from the pot and impressively large, were placed on the table.

Mira and Zoey regarded their food with the intensity of warriors facing a challenge from a long-lost kingdom, diving in without utensils or delay.

Chomp!

Shells.

Chomp!

Claws.

Chomp!

‘Everything’.

Zoey, her mouth full, “Crunchy!”

Mira was grinning, “Tastes like armor!”

Appalled, the waitress stopped dead in her tracks, “...”

A family beside them shields their toddler’s eyes, “...”

An old man across the room drops his fork in slow motion, “...”

Meanwhile, across the table...

Rumi is seated still, a crease forming her brow. Phone in hand, one finger (her index finger) painstakingly types:

“How to eat lobster properly human world.”

Back then, she’d dined with a queen. Now, she had to Google how to survive lunch.

She squints at the screen, lips mouthing each word with the search result. “Oohh... you crack it... you use the--”

She looks up.

“?!?!”

Too late.

Mira is gnawing on the tail like a dog with a bone.

Zoey sucks thoughtfully on a claw, her visage mirroring the delight of a child with a lollipop.

Rumi was horrified, “Mira! Zoey! You’re not supposed to eat the ‘exoskeleton’!”

Zoey, innocently, “But it’s the most defensive part?”

Mira, cheerfully, “Ten out of ten crunch.”

Rumi sinks into her seat, “...”

♫ “Ne apeseo nan ppumppum, nege julge ppumppum ppumppum eo.” ♫

She doesn’t know them. She is alone. Rumi is a solo act.

♫ “Yeah, ppumppum!” ♫

On the way to Myeongdong Square...

Mira, “This world is kinda weird...”

Zoey, “...but kinda fun!”

Rumi, “Just wait. We’re gonna eat it alive, together.

As they walked through an alleyway, a breeze kissed her cheek.

Whoosh!

Time cracked.

The moment hung suspended.

Five boys walked toward them from the opposite end, heads slightly bowed, hoodies up, faces half-hidden.

Glasses.

Hats.

Disguises.

All but ‘one’.

He stood at the center, mid-motion, raising a black mask to cover his face... when his hand stalled.

His eyes lifted.

And Rumi went rigid.

She didn’t need to think.

She didn’t need to blink.

Her body knew before her mind caught up.

That ‘gaze’.

Pointed and inviting, as though beckoning her.

It slammed into her like a memory, cold and wild and unwanted.

She used to wonder if fate was cruel enough to bring ‘him’ back in someone else’s skin. Now, she feared it might be true.

The thought had haunted her, that the universe could play tricks like that -- deceptive, hopeful tricks.

Her heart stuttered, a split-second skip, painful in its recognition.

‘Him’.

That man...

His hand still half-lifted.

His breath caught as hers did, as if he knew her.

But he didn’t.

No.

He couldn’t.

Still...

‘Hyunmin...?’

His appearance was a frighteningly accurate imitation, far too real to ignore.

Same uneven fringe falling across his brow.

Same jawline, cut sharp but soft when he smiled.

Even that same look in his eyes betrayed his unspoken words, a wall between them he didn’t know how to climb.

Rumi gasped, her breath stolen by a sudden, sharp tug.

She walked faster, head high, throat tight. Her footsteps reverberating, pursued by something unseen.

And then--!

Their shoulders met in a forceful, sudden collision!

She staggered back -- weight thrown off -- and hit the pavement.

Thud!

Pain bloomed across her palms as they scraped the concrete.

“!!!”

Voices... distorted, distant.

She blinked up through the sting in her eyes...

Her fingers had twitched, a little. Enough to remember what it was like when Hyunmin pulled her up, almost enough to reach back.

And it was him, standing over her.

Frantic confusion shone in his countenance. His outstretched hand, fingers open, conveyed a wordless plea.

Of all the times Hyunmin had pulled her up from grief, from chaos, from the edge of crumbling...

But this wasn’t ‘him’.

This wasn’t real.

Her eyes narrowed.

‘It’s not him.’ She reminded herself.

Her body might remember, her heart might plead, but she wouldn’t falter. She stood alone, composed, she dusted off her shoulder right where he had touched her, a futile attempt to erase the imprint.

“Ugh.”

Her words came out cold:

“Watch yourself.”

She wheeled around and walked past him.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Each step stiff.

Each breath more shallow than the last.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Her vision swimming with the emotions she refused to acknowledge.

Behind her, he was a statue of longing, his gaze and offered hand never wavering.

She couldn’t turn, the ghost of Hyunmin, in this man’s face, was too much for her heart’s fragile pretense.

“Thank you, Seoul!” The girls shouted in unison.

Rumi held the pose, adrenaline in her veins. Mira and Zoey threw hearts, twirled and winked.

The crowd roared!

But Rumi...

A visceral pull drew her attention.

Amidst the screaming fans, there he was.

The stillness of his stare, those eyes identical to Hyunmin’s, was unnerving.

A flash of disbelief crossed his features... then something more complex, familiar.

No...

Not here.

Not now.

Not after she’d finally found some semblance of calm.

She cocked her head, and smiled -- a mocking grin that didn’t reach her eyes.

She raised a hand, brushed invisible dust from her shoulder, she mouthed: “How it’s done-done-done.”

Then turned, yet inside, she felt a relentless thrumming.

Han Jinu.

A ‘Hunter’.

Her breath hitched.

So it wasn’t just coincidence.

That man...

That man who resembled a phantom from her past--

Was one of ‘them’.

Rumi’s expression held steady as cameras snapped. However, behind her lashes, her thoughts stormed.

So you’re not Hyunmin.

But you’re dangerous too.

“Get rid of the Hunters. Then eat all the souls you want.”

The water hissed at her heels.

Hot, stinging steam billowed around her, she remained unfazed.

Across from her -- Jinu.

Not Hyunmin.

Not.

But everything about him pulled at the wounds she thought had scabbed over.

The shape of his shoulders.

The crease of his brow.

The way he looked at her, as though he still believed she could be ‘saved’.

She hated it.

She hated ‘him’.

Jinu stood between her and the demons. His whip crackled in the wet air as thunderously as it did in her ears.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked, as though its importance was self-evident.

She moved around him with deliberate control, a predator embodying their worst fears.

“Because while I slept, the world turned to ash. And no one did anything.”

The snap of his whip, fast. He was trying to contain her, herd her.

Her movements grew more aggressive, fiercer.

‘Don’t look at his face...’

“Then we’ll stop you.” He growled.

Their weapons clashed!

Sparks flew.

The metal kissed.

Her bracer met his arm with a shriek of sound!

He winced.

‘Good.’ She told herself.

Yet, her chest twisted.

Why did his pain matter?

Rumi lunged again, faster.

Hit.

Twist.

Dodge.

Her coat flared, her boots splashed across the tiles.

Then--!

She saw ‘it’.

Mid-strike, as his arm raised, his sleeve split.

And there, a shimmer of something unnatural, coiled under his skin. Demon sigils, faint but crawling.

She stilled, momentarily stunned.

Demon?

No, ‘part’ of one.

Their gazes locked, his were wide with frantic fear. She could have killed him then and there.

Instead, her fist hovered. The edge of her knuckles just shy of his cheek.

“A Hunter who’s part... demon?”

He recoiled, clutching his sleeve.

Behind him, the chaos roared back in.

The wall burst!

Water demons poured in, a veritable flood.

“Jinu-hyung, we need you!”

“Where are you?!”

But he didn’t stir.

Rumi ‘felt’ it, his fear.

Not of her.

Of ‘them’.

‘He’s like me.’

Thought yielded to action. In an instant, her arms were around him.

He stiffened, “!!!”

She heard his breath falter, the soft sputter of his heart skipping like hers always did when she was afraid to be seen.

Her hands worked fast. The torn sash from her waist -- looped, knotted tight, covering the sigils on his arm.

He stared at her.

As though she was someone else.

As though she was someone worth trusting.

Their gazes connected. She smiled once, small and honest.

Thump.

The cold night air bit against her flesh as the girls burst out of the bathhouse, steam clinging to their clothes, fading rapidly in the wind.

Footsteps pounded around her:

Kang Eunwon shouting, Park Hyukhee spinning needles in the air, Lee Myunghun cut through the shadows, Shin Doyoung yelling for regroup.

Rumi glanced back, catching sight of Jinu, holding his arm, still hiding what she saw.

The image wouldn’t leave her mind.

That ink... that glowing, inhuman ink flowed beneath his skin, tracing paths like veins.

No, not just demon ink.

Hunter stance.

Hunter skill.

Hunter heart.

But demon patterns...

A contradiction.

A betrayal.

A mirror.

She gritted her teeth and continued forward.

Every step was heavier, the burden of someone else’s secret a physical weight within her.

Her hand still tingled from their contact, and the quiet desperation in his eyes -- an expression she recognized not from Jinu, but from Hyunmin centuries ago, when he’d wanted to speak but held back -- still haunted her.

‘A Hunter who’s part... demon?’

It wasn’t just a question anymore. It was a ‘truth’ now, stuck in her throat.

Her knuckles whitened.

Is that why he looked like him?

It wasn’t his countenance or his words, but his stance that spoke volumes.

The loneliness behind his fire...

She blinked, twice, forcefully pushing the unsettling comparison aside.

She couldn’t afford to feel that now.

Not for someone who was both the thing she once trusted... and the thing she was born from.

Still, her chest throbbed.

Because somewhere between the chaos and silence...

He looked scared.

And somewhere between rage and instinct...

She covered it for him.

Why?

Why had she done that?

Why hadn’t she outed him to the others?

Rumi didn’t have an answer.

Only the wind in her ears.

Only her pounding heartbeat.

Only the ghost of someone who wasn’t Hyunmin... who never came back.

And the man who ‘did’.

The wind curled around the rooftop’s edge, playing at the ends of her coat. Down below, Seoul breathed in fractured neon, flickering as stars caught in a storm drain.

She stood, arms crossed, shoulders high, jaw clenched.

The silence wasn’t peace. It was pressure. Thoughts crashed in waves, all wearing Hyunmin’s face.

Behind her, a faint shift. Then the lightest ‘thud!’.

She didn’t need to turn.

She felt him.

Jinu.

He approached, careful not to disturb the air. But his presence always did.

“You always pick rooftops?”

His voice was almost sheepish.

Rumi didn’t look back, “You always this bad at conversations?”

“...”

A huff of breath, half amusement, half tension.

“Yeah... I mean, no.”

She peered over her shoulder.

The city lights cast a glow on his face, highlighting a painful familiarity, a spectral remnant of the past. It wasn’t just his features -- his posture, his hesitation, the barely contained heat in his throat -- all spoke of ‘him’.

Hyunmin had looked at her like that once, right before he disappeared.

She didn’t want to say it. But the truth had sat between them for too long.

“Let’s talk.” She said.

No more circles.

No more ghosts.

“Talk?”

He tensed, he knew what came next.

“About your patterns.”

It hit him.

A hush descended, as delicate and precarious as a butterfly’s wing, barely contained.

“I could’ve told your friends what you are,” She added, calmly, “but I didn’t.”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t flinch.

Since he already knew what she’d seen.

“Because... ‘they’ don’t know, right?”

She watched the guilt flit through his eyes.

“Ah. I did guess right.”

She recognized the shape of that silence, the kind that only grows in children who are called things no child should be called.

Her voice gentled, but not weak.

“A demon, also a Hunter. Hiding, walking around free in the human world.”

“Just ‘Hunter’.” He muttered. “Not ‘demon’.”

“How’d you get the patterns, then?”

“...None of your business.”

Of course.

She didn’t blame him.

He thought she wouldn’t understand.

“I know what it feels like to have them.”

“You don’t.” He shot back, bitterly.

Not because he hated her.

But because he couldn’t believe anyone could see him and stay.

“You? You’re a demon. Demons ‘don’t feel anything’.”

She might’ve laughed... if it hadn’t cut so deep.

Instead, she exhaled slow, her vision drifting back to the skyline.

“Is that what you think? That we’re monsters, without hearts?”

She didn’t need to prove it. She only had to remember.

Her father’s body.

The blood.

The wooden floor under her knees.

The disbelief, the rage, the shame she had never been allowed to feel because demons weren’t supposed to mourn.

“That’s all demons do... ‘feel’. Feel our shame. Our misery. Our helplessness.”

They drown in it, even when the world says they don’t bleed.

“...”

She noticed his silence shift, the same way a blade shifts when it’s being lowered.

“Is that how Celine controls demons?”

She stiffened at the name. Her throat constricted, “Yes. But I’m not controlled by her. I’m here because I chose to be. I’m acting on my own accord.”

“Why?”

She confronted him squarely. Let him see the years etched in her bones.

“Because while I slept... the world turned to ash.”

The words fell like stones.

“And no one did anything.”

She shared the silence with him, letting him fully absorb what it means to wake up too late to stop anything that mattered.

To grieve after the fires had already cooled.

To rebuild when all you have left is ‘ruin’.

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t interrupt.

And that’s when she knew, he understood.

Not because he knew the details, but because his shame ran in the same color.

She looked down.

Her sleeves had slipped, the patterns shimmered dimly along her skin.

Still there.

‘Always’ there.

Reminders of the choices she made.

The people she lost.

The power she didn’t wish for.

Step.

Step.

Each step deliberate.

Step.

Step.

Jinu didn’t back away, but his jaw set.

She sensed it.

‘He’s not used to people being close... unless it’s to hurt him.’

So when she lifted her hand and hovered it near his, she left space.

She hoped he wouldn’t pull back, but she would understand if he did.

He didn’t.

Their hands touched.

Her fingers light, his stiff.

His patterns responded.

Jinu flinched, not from pain. From being ‘seen’.

“Yours are a reminder too, aren’t they? Of a shame you carry alone.”

He pulled his hand back, eyes shadowed.

“...You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

Silence settled between them. Raw, unfinished.

They never saw each other again -- not until a fansign, weeks later.

This time, she appeared different, yet she couldn’t quite hide the exhaustion in her eyes.

Jinu’s voice was lower when he leaned in.

“What if I told you there’s another way to get your freedom?”

Another way out...?

Not through hiding. Not through running. But through the ‘stage’. Through the MAMA Awards. If the SAJA BOYS won, the Honmoon would seal. Celine’s power would die with it. Her chains broken. Her reach shattered.

No more control.

No more fear.

Not just for him -- for her.

No more running.

No more lying.

He could live.

And she could stay.

She could ‘finally’ rest.

The way he said it -- so quiet, so certain -- made something in her twist.

She wanted to believe it.

She wanted to believe in anything that didn’t have chains. But Celine’s voice still resonated inside her:

‘Even if you run, you’ll always crawl back.’

And sometimes, she believed it too.

But belief was a dangerous thing.

It made you trust. It made you stay. It made you bleed for people who ‘never’ bled back.

So she asked the question that had always plague her:

“What makes you think the Honmoon can save a girl like me?”

He didn’t lie.

He didn’t promise her the world.

He only said the truth:

He was like her.

Broken in the same places.

Raised on the same poison.

Wearing a face that had never felt like his own.

“And I still want saving, too.”

That... she hadn’t expected.

It didn’t fix anything.

But it cracked something open.

“Think about it. I meant what I said.”

Rumi stood alone in the dressing room, her patterns glowing subtly, and wondered:

‘What if he did?’

The air was thick with moonlight and secrets.

Rumi sat alone beneath the eaves of a temple, her fingers trailing delicately across the strings of her bipa. The melody was old, older than she could name. Something her hands remembered, even when her heart tried to forget. The notes danced in the wind, warm and lonely.

She wasn’t sure why she brought it tonight. Maybe it was for comfort. Maybe it was for defiance.

Maybe... for...

A soft ‘crunch!’ of footsteps over gravel.

She didn’t look up. Only, she plucked one final string before resting her hand atop the instrument.

“You’re late.” She murmured.

“I got held up.” Jinu replied. “That... sounded beautiful.”

She glanced at him. “You say that as if you’ve heard it before.”

Jinu’s tone dropped, “...My family has a story. It has been passed down for centuries -- about a bipa that vanished in the late sixteen hundreds. A priceless heirloom.”

Rumi, “...?!”

He went on, half to himself, “It belonged to a boy named ‘Seo Hyunmin’. My late halmeoni said he disappeared -- not just gone, he walked away from everything. She said he played music so ethereal it could stop snow in its tracks.”

He looked up at her.

“He was my ancestor.”

What...?

The world lurched.

“Wait... what did you say?”

“I’m a descendant of Hyunmin. Not by direct bloodline, but close. Halmeoni used to joke, if the bipa ever came back, maybe I’d be the one to hold it. I never thought it’d be real.”

He gestured towards it, “I think this is it.”

Standing up, Rumi took a shaky step back.

“You’re not... him.” Her hands trembled. She’d known the answer all along.

Jinu blinked. “What?”

“You’re not Hyunmin.”

“No. Why would I be?” He said, perplexed.

Her fingers slipped.

The bipa slid from her grasp, but Jinu lunged and caught it just in time.

Rumi stared at it in his arms.

She choked back a sob, the absurdity of the situation almost making her laugh.

Her heart didn’t. It clenched, a devastating twist of old hopes and illusions. For so long, she thought... maybe fate had given her a second chance--

It hadn’t.

Jinu wasn’t Hyunmin.

He was his legacy.

A living reminder of what she once lost.

“...You okay?”

“You’re not him... you’re just his ‘echo’. A ghost I can’t stop hearing...”

And she hates that she still listens.

Her eyes reflected pain and guilt.

“And that bipa... no one knows it was given to me. It wasn’t lost. Hyunmin’s mother -- she gave it to me before he left.”

“Wait, what?”

She didn’t answer.

She fled, heart a mess of thorns and wilted flowers.

Because Rumi had loved Hyunmin, fully, desperately. And somehow...

She was starting to ‘fall again’.

Not for a ghost.

But for the man who carried the ghost’s blood.

Damn it.

Love was a jinx.

♫ “Sumeul keuge swieobwayo dangsinui gaseum yangjjogi jeorige.” ♫

She didn’t know why she lined up for the ferris wheel.

♫ “Jogeumeun apaol ttaekkaji -- sumeul deo baeteobwayo, dangsinui ane nameun ge eoptdago neukkyeojil ttaekkaji.” ♫

Mira had offered to come. So had Zoey. But she told them no. Some things had to be done alone.

♫ “Sumi beokchaollado gwaenchanhayo amudo geudael tathajin anha.” ♫

Maybe it was the blinking lights. The gentle way it turned against the sky. Or maybe... maybe it was because it reached higher than anything else. Up there, maybe her voice could travel farther.

Maybe Hyunmin could hear her better.

♫ “Gakkeumeun silsuhaedo dwae nugudeun geuraesseunikka, gwaenchanhdaneun mal malppunin wirojiman.” ♫

When her turn came, Rumi climbed into the small capsule and settled into the seat alone, cradling her coat around her. The door shut with a soft ‘click!’. The world below began to fall away, bit by bit.

She observed the people shrink into tiny specks -- laughing, eating, ‘living’. A part of her wished she could join them.

♫ “Nugungaui hansum, geu mugeoun sumeul, naega eotteoke hearil suga isseulkkayo?” ♫

But her heart had always belonged to someone no longer here.

♫ “Dangsinui hansum geu gipil ihaehal sun eopgetjiman gwaenchanhayo naega anajulgeyo.” ♫

The ferris wheel creaked gently as it rose, and when her capsule reached the very top, the ride paused.

As if the universe was giving her a moment.

She gulped, “Hyunmin, how are you? I hope you’re happy there.”

♫ “Sumi beokchaollado gwaenchanhayo, amudo geudael tathajin anha.” ♫

She looked out at the city, the lights stretching as rivers. But all she saw was his face.

♫ “Gakkeumeun silsuhaedo dwae nugudeun geuraesseunikka, gwaenchantaneun mal -- malppunin wirojiman.” ♫

The first time he looked at her was one of pure wonder, free from fear and suspicion.

♫ “Nugungaui hansum, geu mugeoun sumeul, naega eotteoke hearil suga isseulkkayo?” ♫

The way he touched her hands, treating them as something sacred.

The way he made her laugh on the worst days, even when her eyes were still red from crying.

The way he sang for her.

The way he stood between her and danger without hesitation, even though he was human and she wasn’t.

♫ “Dangsinui hansum geu gipil ihaehal sun eopgetjiman gwaenchanhayo naega anajulgeyo.” ♫

She blinked back tears.

“I miss you. I miss the way you said my name, like I belonged... like I wasn’t something broken.

You were always the brave one, weren’t you? You never said the words, not once. But I knew, I felt it. In the way you stood beside me. In the way you looked at me like I was still someone worth choosing.”

She pressed her forehead to the cold glass.

“I’ve been trying to live... to keep going. But it’s hard, Hyunmin. Sometimes I feel like I left too much of myself in the past... with you. I don’t know how to carry this love when you’re not here anymore...”

♫ “Namdeul nunen him ppajineun hansumeuro boiljin mollado naneun algo itjyo -- jageun hansum naebaetgido eoryeoun harureul bonaetdan geol~” ♫

The capsule rocked slightly. She didn’t move.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to protect you. I should’ve--”

Her voice broke.

♫ “Ije dareun saenggageun mayo gipi sumeul swieobwayo, geudaero naebaeteoyo~” ♫

“I should’ve saved you...

I still see you in the rain. In music. In firelight. In every stupid moment I wish I could share with you.”

She stared up. The stars were pale, but they were there.

♫ “Nugungaui hansum, geu mugeoun sumeul, naega eotteoke hearil suga isseulkkayo?” ♫

“Can you tell me you’re already happy...?” Rumi, softly. “Wherever you are?”

Her hands quivered in her lap.

“...Can you tell me that I’m allowed to be happy, too?”

Silence. But she imagined he was listening, as he always did.

“I love you, Hyunmin. And I always will.”

She closed her eyes.

“Can... can I love someone else now? P-Please?”

She thought of another voice -- not Hyunmin’s, but soft and strange. A promise whispered at the edge of grief, one she pretended not to believe... but did nonetheless.

♫ “Dangsinui hansum geu gipil ihaehal sun eopgetjiman gwaenchanhayo naega anajulgeyo.” ♫

She waited for an answer she knew would never come. But she hoped... hoped that the stars were kinder than the gods.

It wasn’t that she wanted to replace him.

It wasn’t that her love had faded.

But her heart... it was ‘changing’. It terrified her, because she knew what it once held... and how it ‘shattered’. And now, against every warning it whispered... it was starting to reach again.

As the wheel began to move once more, lowering her gently, she kept her hand pressed to her chest. To remind herself it was still beating.

♫ “Jeongmal sugohaesseoyo.” ♫

She just hoped -- wherever he was -- Hyunmin understood.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Takedown

Jinu lifted a hand to the spot where Rumi had just kissed him. His fingertips brushed lightly over his skin, lest the memory smudge. He kept them there, chasing the warmth she left behind.

♫ ‘Why does it feel right every time I let you in?’ ♫

A delicate pink bloomed across his cheeks, and a shy smile tugged at his lips, starting soft, then stretching wider and brighter with each passing second.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

His heart hammered a fierce rhythm against his ribs.

♫ ‘Why does it feel like I can tell you anything?’ ♫

It wasn’t just the kiss... their song still resonated in his ears, in his chest, in his blood, threading through the thrum of his pulse.

♫ ‘We can’t fix it if we never face it...’ ♫

It felt as though something had changed inside him, something that couldn’t be taken back.

♫ ‘What if we find a way to escape it?’ ♫

He mounted the demon tiger and rode off beneath the dawning sky, the city lights twinkling far below. The cold wind stung his face, but he barely noticed. He went home.

To the SAJA BOYS penthouse.

To his room’s balcony.

To the one place he could find peace and clarity.

Jinu uttered to himself, “Everything’s set...”

The demon tiger purred as he stroked its fur, the soft, mechanical coo vibrating beneath his palm, grounding him. He leaned into the curve of its body, vision fixed on the sky, letting the stillness hold him.

“Well, ‘almost’ everything.”

He sighed and turned. His gaze landed on his room, and halted.

He wasn’t expecting anything. Maybe silence, maybe sleep, but not this -- a memory, solid and tangible, sitting so neatly on his bed.

Rumi’s bipa...

His chest tightened.

He crossed the room slowly, feet silent against the floor, as though even his steps might scare away what was waiting.

Beside the bipa, a note. Two simple lines, scrawled in Rumi’s unmistakable handwriting:

‘I’m sorry. Keep the bipa.’

“You’re not him... you’re just his ‘echo’. A ghost I can’t stop hearing...”

Her voice quivered, but it was her eyes that shattered him. This was not a secondhand grief, but one she’d lived through and remembered vividly.

“That bipa... no one knows it was given to me. It wasn’t lost. Hyunmin’s mother --  she gave it to me before he left.”

Wait.

His breath caught.

She hadn’t said ‘my halmeoni’ or ‘his friend’. She hadn’t tripped over the memory like someone retelling an old tale. She had spoken it like someone who had ‘been there’.

The realization crashed into him.

No.

A roaring filled his ears.

No, that couldn’t be--

Except... the way she played, the way she looked at the bipa, the way sorrow clung to her, heavy as aged silk.

The way she winced when he said the name ‘Hyunmin’.

A chill ran down his spine. “Wait,” He rasped, “what?”

What did she mean by--

But she was already leaving.

“Rumi-- wait!”

He dropped the bipa gently (too gently, too late) and ran after her, feet thudding down the rooftop. Her shadow vanished.

One flight.

Two.

Three.

“Rumi!”

Jinu stared at the space where she should’ve been.

“Rumi...”

He realized, he wasn’t meant to catch her, not yet.

She was a memory too heavy for the present, a story desperately trying to remain untold, a love that transcended time, yet was once again lost.

And Jinu was the echo left behind.

After that meeting, Jinu received a note, delivered by the demon tiger and the magpie bird.

‘I’m sorry. Keep the bipa.’

He’d read it again and again. Still, the words didn’t make sense. Or perhaps, they made ‘too much’.

He exhaled with a tremor, hands in his lap. The silence bore down, pervasive and enormous.

Hyunmin...

Her voice, when she uttered the name, held the raw pain of an open wound.

What did he mean to her?

What did she mean... to him?

He arched his head back, gazing up at the ceiling as if answers could be drawn there.

Had she really lived another life?

Had she really loved someone else?

Or worse, was she still carrying that grief while he tried to offer her something new?

Back in the present, the balcony door was still open, wind billowing through the curtains.

Jinu sat beside her bipa, his fingers grazed the strings. Instead of a hum, a sigh escaped the instrument. He folded the letter carefully, almost reverently, and tucked it inside the bipa’s hollow.

Later that morning, the SAJA BOYS were gathered once again in their living room.

A palpable tension perfused the air -- the untouched tea, fidgeting, and averted eyes said what words didn’t. The remnants of Jinu and Romance’s earlier argument still lingered, unspoken, not forgotten.

“Look,” Jinu started, “these past few weeks have been... hard. And I admit, I haven’t been at my best.”

He glanced around the room. No one interrupted, but no one quite met his gaze either.

Romance was staring at the floor, his hands clenched tight on his knees, “...”

Abby picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, head slightly bowed, knuckles pale, “...”

Baby sat rigid, his fingers digging into the couch cushion, “...”

Mystery crossed his arms, less a show of defiance, more a way of containing himself, “...”

Jinu pressed on, “But I know we can win tomorrow. We just have to sing the right song. And ‘Takedown’ isn’t--”

Mystery cut him off gently, “It’s okay, Jinu-yah.”

Abby nodded, shifting closer and nudging Jinu’s knee with his own, “We agree...”

Romance finally looked up, his eyes glistening, “It’s not the song that’s gonna connect all our fans... it can’t even connect... ‘us’.”

His gaze locked with Jinu’s -- searching, ‘hurting’.

“I know we’re idols. We’re supposed to be flawless, perfect, untouchable.”

Their faults and fears must never be seen.

“But the truth is... I hate pretending.”

Romance’s voice was strained, a faint crack hinting at the emotion held within.

“Trust means everything to me, because when I gave it freely as a kid... I got ‘burned’. I was betrayed by someone I called a friend. It wasn’t just emotional... it left a scar, one I still feel here.”

He brought a hand to his chest.

“So when someone close to me starts hiding things... it brings it all back.”

The doubt.

The fear.

The ‘ache’.

Jinu didn’t defend himself. He simply listened -- shoulders stiff, face downcast. His fingers were knotted together, white at the joints.

Romance was right.

He ‘had’ been hiding something, and it mirrored Romance’s wounds in the worst way.

Abby whispered, “...I, I tried so hard to change... to become someone they wouldn’t laugh at. I thought if I trained enough, if I looked different... maybe I’d feel different too.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“Sometimes, even now, I still look in the mirror and wonder if I’m just pretending. As if... I’m not really enough... not really ‘anything’.”

Romance quietly reached over and placed a hand on Abby’s back. Abby leaned into it.

“But then I met you guys, and... I don’t know, for the first time, I didn’t feel like I had to try so hard. That... maybe, being me wasn’t such a bad thing.”

Mystery was silent for a moment before he spoke, gravel-soft, “It’s the same for me, honestly.”

He glanced toward the window, the morning light glinting off the tired curve of his smile.

“I’ve, I’ve always blamed myself for surviving... for not being able to save ‘them’...”

Jinu’s hand extended instinctively, brushing against his wrist, an implicit reassurance of his presence.

“But being with you guys... it’s the first time I’ve felt safe enough to stop running and just ‘breathe’. I can simply be ‘Myunghun’, not some label or story, not some defector.”

Baby was last.

“I agree with hyungs. Growing up, I was told music was foolish, that it wouldn’t take me anywhere. I always felt like I had to choose: be a good son, or follow what I loved. I couldn’t have both.”

He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“My teachers said I’d fail. My parents didn’t believe in me. But hyungs... hyungs showed me I could be ‘both’. Just me, chasing what they said I never could.”

Music.

Love.

Brotherhood.

Mystery reached across the back of the couch, lightly ruffling Baby’s hair. Baby blinked back the tears.

Jinu’s eyes were glassy, but he didn’t look away. He let it all their truths, their fears, their hopes sink in.

Each word chipped away at his defenses -- guilt, yes, but also something warmer.

How had he ever deserved this kind of trust?

This kind of love?

His throat bobbed, “I feel the same, I’m afraid of losing you guys, and that’s why we have to finish this. All these fears... it’s the demons talking.”

He straightened, energy rising. Romance gave a small nod of encouragement.

“But tomorrow, we can win this war, and when the Honmoon is sealed, we will be free of these demons -- free of these fears, forever.”

The mood shifted. Their hearts still ached, yet a shared sense of purpose and renewed determination emerged.

“After that...”

Jinu scratched his cheek, suddenly bashful.

“...Maybe we can take a hiatus? Maybe... go to a bathhouse together?”

Abby immediately perked up, “The ‘men’s’ bathhouse, right?! Not the women’s?!”

Baby bounced in place, “Really, hyung?! I can’t wait!”

Romance laughed, pumping his fist, “Yes! I’ll fight for that spa day with Jinu-yah!”

Mystery, the tension in his shoulders finally melting, “Let’s do it.”

Abby, “Wait... what song ‘are’ we singing, again?”

In unison: “‘Soda Pop’ and ‘Golden’!”

The songs about the best in them...

Mystery, concerned, “Jinu-yah, is your voice good to go?”

Jinu nodded, his grin lopsided, and raised a thumb, “Never been strong, hyung.”

A genuine, reserved smile touched Mystery’s lips.

They all came together, standing in a circle.

“Happy fans?”

Hands stacked -- Baby’s small palm on top, Abby’s covering it protectively, then Mystery’s, Romance’s, and Jinu’s last.

“Happy Honmoon!”

They threw their hands up, laughing, bright, and free.

No longer hiding.

Five boys.

Five dreams.

One bond.

And one ‘last fight’.

Or so they thought.

The SAJA BOYS were seated near LILIX, close enough to hear the rustle of their outfits and the subtle hum of whispered conversation. The stadium lights dimmed into stage mode, crowd murmurs as waves beneath the blaring bass.

Before the girls could even sit down, Jinu’s gaze lifted instinctively, and there she was...

Rumi.

Their eyes locked, for a split second.

In that instant, a wordless exchange passed between them, a look that confirmed the deal and her irrevocable decision.

And she was keeping it.

He blinked, and she looked away.

Onstage, LE SSERAFIM’s intro blasted through the speakers, snapping the crowd’s attention forward. Smoke swirled along the stage floor as the girls emerged with a stunning display of confidence. Their deft movements sliced through the beat with effortless grace.

Every moment, every hair flip and smirk, was pure power.

The SAJA BOYS watched with genuine admiration. Abby letting out a soft: “Ooooh!” beside Baby, who was already nodding in sync with the rhythm.

The performance ended with a final fierce pose and thunderous applause.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

LILIX stood and headed backstage to get ready, the shimmer of their outfits catching the light as they slipped behind the curtains. The tension ratcheted up, thick with anticipation.

Jinu inclined slightly forward in his seat, hands steepled.

The audience buzzed. A few NOXs waved their banners higher, chanting the girls’ names:

“Jang Rumi!”

“Kim Mira!”

“Park Zoey!”

A chime!

Followed by the voice of the announcer crackling over the speakers: “Due to unforeseen circumstances, LILIX will not be performing tonight. Please welcome... STRAY KIDS!”

“???”

A wave of murmurs, gasps, and whispers rippled through the stadium, punctuated by stunned expressions.

Jinu, however, simply let out a breath. A subtle smile played at the corner of his lips.

She did it.

He didn’t need to know how or why, she kept her promise.

He closed his eyes for half a second.

‘Thank you.’

STRAY KIDS hit the stage with infectious energy -- flashing lights, strobe bursts, and thundering bass. Their set was kinetic, crisp, and commanding, one of their tightest to date.

The SAJA BOYS clapped and nodded along, respect in their demeanor.

And now, it was their turn.

Backstage, the SAJA BOYS were a whirlwind of pre-show excitement. Hushed footsteps padded across the floor, makeup brushes danced, a final hair spray spritz permeated the air.

Mystery and Jinu were humming lines of their chorus under their breath, checking in on each other’s pitch without words. Abby was still getting a quick retouch, lips pursed and gaze focused. Baby stood in front of the mirror bouncing on his heels, mouthing lyrics and shaking out his hands.

In the corner, Romance had earphones in, eyes closed, running through the footwork again, every beat internalized.

Knock!

“SAJA BOYS, ready in two.”

They gathered.

Jinu looked at his members, their eyes, steady and resolute, met his, “Okay, this is it. For the fans--”

Romance picked it up with a grin, “For the world.”

All five of them, “For us.”

Bobby, throwing a fist in the air. “Yes! We win this, and then we celebrate with Itaewon corn dogs!”

Without waiting, he rocketed out of the room.

Abby whooped, “Woo~!”

Romance was already moving, “Kaja, kaja, kaja!”

Baby parroted, “Kaja, kaja, kaja!”

Mystery chuckled.

Jinu stayed behind for a beat.

He stared at the empty space where Rumi had stood earlier. At the thought of her vanishing act, her silence, her ‘sacrifice’.

He went back to his team with a tender smile and followed them out.

The performance began in near-darkness.

A single spotlight.

Romance stepped into it, body still, head bowed.

And...

Boom!

As the beat hit, he became a blur of motion, each step flawlessly executed. His solo dance break was a spectacular display of precision, electrifying the audience as ‘Soda Pop’ reverberated through the stadium.

His footwork was impactful -- spins tight, arms slicing outward before pulling back into sleek, poised snaps. He radiated control and charisma.

One by one, the rest of SAJA BOYS came into view. They slipped into place behind him, their movements melded together seamlessly.

The choreography was tight but playful. A conversation in movement, popping shoulders and twisting hips as they built toward the chorus. They moved as five but felt like one.

♫ All: “My little soda pop!” ♫

Fans screamed at the drop into the hook, lights dancing in neon waves over the crowd.

Baby took center.

♫ Baby: “Uh, make me wanna flip the top han mogeume you hit the spot. Every little drip and drop, fizz and pop, ah, soreum doda it’s gettin’ hot.” ♫

Followed by Abby.

♫ Abby: “Yes, I’m sippin’ when it’s drippin’ now, it’s done? I need a second round and pour a lot and don’t you stop ‘til my soda pop fizzles out.” ♫

♫ Romance: “Kkum soge geuryeowatdeon neo.” ♫

♫ Mystery: “Nan jeoldae nochil su eopseo.” ♫

♫ Romance: “Neol wonhae kkok, I waited so long for a taste of soda, so, the wait is over, baby.”

♫ Abby: “Come and fill me up.” ♫

♫ Mystery and Romance: “Just can’t get enough, oh~” ♫

♫ All: “You’re all I can think of, every drop I drink up. You’re my soda pop, my little soda pop (Yeah, yeah). Cool me down, you’re so hot, pour me up, I won’t stop (Oh, oh). You’re my soda pop, my little soda pop.” ♪

♫ Jinu: “Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh. You’re my soda pop, gotta drink every drop.” ♫

The lights shifted.

Jinu’s dance was impeccable, in time with the ‘Soda Pop’ instrumental. His body was instinct itself, rhythm pulsed through him, every movement honed by muscle memory. Every flick of his wrist, every step, every glance toward the crowd was magnetic.

Fans screamed louder as the music smoothly transitioned.

From the cheeky vibe of ‘Soda Pop’, the beat slowed and deepened into ‘Golden’. The stage lights warmed, casting golden hues over Jinu and his fellow SAJA BOYS as they took their positions behind Romance.

♫ Romance: “I was a ghost, I was alone (Hah), eoduwojin (Hah), apgilsoge (Ah).” ♫

♫ Abby: “Given the throne I didn’t know (Hah), how to believe (Hah), I was the king that I’m meant to be~!” ♫

♫ Baby: “I lived two lives, tried to play both sides, but I couldn’t find my own place.” ♫

♫ Mystery: “Called an ‘unknown child’ ‘cause I want to hide, but now that’s how I’m getting paid, kkeuteopsi on stage.” ♫

Then, the four members disappeared into the wings, leaving Jinu alone with the back-up dancers.

♫ Jinu: “I’m done hidin’ now I’m shinin’ like I’m born to be... we dreamin’ hard, we came so far, now I believe~! We’re goin’ up-up-up, it’s our moment, you know together we’re glowing, gonna be, gonna be golden.” ♫

Backstage, the four watched, exhilarated.

Baby, “Hyung’s killin’ it out there!”

Mystery, “Let’s go finish this!”

Romance chimed in, “Yeah!”

Abby added with a salute, “Roger that!”

However, just as they turned to head out...

A muffled scream rang from behind them.

“?!?!”

They whipped around.

A few feet away, ‘Bobby’ was being dragged away by two large ‘security guards’.

Mystery frowned, “...Bobby-hyung?”

It felt wrong somehow.

Too rough.

Too ‘real’.

Abby, “Bobby-hyung!”

Before anyone could react, they bolted after him.

A staff member popped out frantically, “Wait--!”

“You’re on in twenty seconds!”

♫ Jinu: “Oh, up-up-up with our voices, yeongwonhi kkaejil su eomneun, gonna be, gonna be golden! Ooh, I’m done hidin’ now I’m shinin’, like I’m born to be~” ♫

Jinu’s smile blossomed as the Honmoon started to shine a mellow, radiant gold.

♫ Jinu: “Oh, our time, no fear, no lies, that’s who we’re born to be.” ♫

Right on cue, his ‘members’ reappeared, stepping out to join him as the back-up dancers exited.

Everything was aligned.

Jinu glanced at the four with a relieved grin, ‘We’re almost there...’

But something didn’t feel right.

None of them smiled back.

Only blank, expressionless stares. Eyes as cold as glass, bodies gliding on autopilot.

Jinu faltered slightly, brow furrowing, ‘What’s wrong with them...?’

♫ All: “You know we’re gonna be, gonna be golden, we’re gonna be, gonna be -- born to be, born to be glowin’, balge binnaneun uri.”

Backstage, the four caught up to Bobby...

“!!!”

...only to freeze in horror.

Before their very eyes, ‘Bobby’ twisted grotesquely, bones cracking, form stretching unnaturally. The ‘security guards’ followed suit, their faces morphing, limbs warping into monstrous shapes.

Demons!

Romance barely managed a: “Bobby-hyu--?”

It was too late.

The demons vanished!

Only the real Bobby stood behind a curtain nearby, at the monitor, beaming, “Yes, they’re crushing it!”

♫ All: “You know that it’s our time, no fears, no lies, that’s who we’re born to be--!” ♫

Suddenly, the music cut off!

The lights blacked out.

Gasps swept through the audience, “!!!”

Confusion became rampant, “???”

Someone questioned: “Was that part of the show?”

Then, slicing through the silence...

♫ “Takedown, takedown -- takedown, down, down, down. Takedown, takedown -- takedown, down, down, down.” ♫

Jinu, holding on to his pose, breathing heavily, “Mwo...?”

Backstage, Mystery’s heart dropped. “Wait... why are they playing ‘Takedown’?”

Romance’s tone was stilted, “That wasn’t in the setlist...”

Dread rose in their veins.

“Jinu-yah!”

“Jinu-hyung!”

They took off again, racing toward the stage.

“‘Takedown’...?”

Jinu stared at the crowd, trying to make sense of it.

“They put this back in?”

He spun--

The ‘members’ were smirking, their eyes glinted faintly, revealing not happiness, but a cruel, mocking amusement.

From the front row, a fan, “Is this... their new song?”

♫ Mystery: “It’s a takedown~” ♫

Jinu’s limbs worked, automatically. It had been choreographed, but the routine had been scrapped yesterday.

Why bring it back now?

‘Baby’ stepped forward, a hand on Jinu’s shoulder. His voice came with a teasing lilt:

♫ Baby: “So sweet, so easy on the eyes, but hideous on the inside, whole life spreading lies, but you can’t hide, baby, nice try~” ♫

Jinu’s breath caught. “Hyuk-ah...?”

‘Abby’ shoved him, hard.

“...Eunwon-ah?” Jinu stumbled a bit, “What’s going on...?”

♫ Abby: “I’m ‘bout to switch up these vibes, I finally opened my eyes, it’s time to kick you straight back into the night!” ♫

Each word was a searing blow.

Next came ‘Romance’, his features grim, his gaze piercing and unforgiving. He bore no resemblance to the gentle brother Jinu knew.

♫ Romance: “‘Cause I see your real face and it’s ugly as sin -- time to put you in your place ‘cause you’re rotten within.” ♫

‘Romance’ pushed him toward ‘Mystery’, whose countenance was just as frigid.

Jinu backed away, heart pounding. “Guys... stop. What is this?!”

♫ Mystery: “When your patterns start to show, it makes the hatred wanna grow outta my veins~” ♫

He was surrounded now. All four circled him, predatory in their intent.

One fan, equally puzzled, asked, “What’s going on...? Are they fighting?”

Another fan, “Why are they bullying Jinu-oppa...?”

Bobby watched all of this unfold on-screen, “No... that’s not right...”

Backstage, the real four sprinted with reckless abandon.

Baby, “Jinu-hyung!”

The fake four lunged, tearing at Jinu’s jacket! He struggled, trying to fight them off!

But it was four against one.

Then--!

“!!!”

The patterns!

The marks he had hidden his entire life!

Shining dimly, their existence now ‘undeniable’.

A chorus of shock reverberated from the audience.

Fans raised phones.

Murmurs spread.

♫ All four: “I don’t think you’re ready for the takedown! Break you into pieces in a world of pain ‘cause you’re all the same!” ♫

Mystery, “Hang on, Jinu-yah! We’re coming!”

♫ All four: “Yeah, it’s a takedown~ a demon with no feelings, don’t deserve to live, it’s so obvious~ I’mma gear up and take you down (Oh), da-da-da, down.” ♫

The false versions leaned in closer.

‘Romance’ muttered, “We see what you are.”

‘Baby’, sneering, “You’re a demon.”

‘Mystery’, devoid of emotion, “A filthy... demon.”

‘Abby’, coldly, “Disgusting.”

All four, in haunting unison:

“A mistake.”

Jinu choked, “No... no, please...”

This can’t be real--

They echoed:

“You’ve been one since the day you were born.”

He clutched his ears, as if he could block them out, nails digging into his scalp.

“No--”

From his chest, a rupture!

An unearthly, guttural scream tore from his throat -- raw, inhuman:

“No!”

The ground trembled!

Lights shattered!

Chaos erupted!

A deafening ‘crack!’ split the air as something ancient and invisible roared awake beneath the stadium floor. Glass rained from the rafters, the enormous stage lights exploded in a burst of sparks!

Panic spread like wildfire.

“Aaaaahhhhhh!”

People screamed in terror -- idols, fans, crew. A frantic stampede formed as bodies scrambled toward the exits, clutching phones, lightsticks, and each other.

The noise was assaulting, yet at the heart of it all... silence. Jinu stood alone, frozen.

The lights failed, leaving him bathed in the unwavering beam of a single spotlight.

He appeared spectral, caught in a nightmare. His chest rising and falling, eyes wide as enigmatic markings burned bright across his face, neck and arms. Every soul left in the stadium saw him.

By the stairs leading down to the wings, four figures stood, petrified.

Abby.

Mystery.

Baby.

Romance.

The sight chilled them to the bone: Jinu, bathed in light, exuding an eerie glow.

Romance stumbled back first. ‘No way...’ His eyes reflecting shock and betrayal.

Baby’s expression crumpled. His whole world seemed to cave in. His lips parted, but no sound came. He looked almost... heartbroken.

Abby stood in stunned silence. He didn’t even seem to register what he was seeing, his brain had short-circuited. ‘Jinu-hyung is a demon...’ Those words were entirely foreign to him until now.

Mystery didn’t move. His eyes were wide, unblinking behind his messy bangs. His mouth hung open. His fingers twitched slightly by his side, as though preparing to summon a weapon, out of reflex.

One after another, they quietly withdrew, descending the stairs, waiting for Jinu.

He did. He rushed down, frightened and breathless.

Huff.

Huff.

He bounded down the stairs two at a time. He paused at the last step, the cold metal of the railing a stark contrast to the trembling in his hands.

Huff.

Huff.

“?!?!”

Four pairs of eyes met his, four figures, rigid and waiting.

Jinu, perplexed. “What? How are you here? You were just on stage, that... wasn’t you guys?” He sighed, “Good... that’s a relief...”

Approaching, hand outstretched, he found all but Baby recoiling. Their gaze were glued to the fiery patterns that danced across his frame.

Jinu looked where they looked, and stopped dead, “!!!”

Curls of magenta light flickering from beneath the skin, laced with delicate cracks like fractures in porcelain.

Terror clawed up his throat. “No, no, no, no...”

Jinu scrambled to cover them.

Too late.

Abby’s words disrupted the silence, “Hyung... how do you have... patterns?”

Jinu, “...These were supposed to be gone! You weren’t supposed to see--!”

Romance’s voice was low and brittle, “You were hiding this from us... this whole time...?”

Jinu shook his head, “No, no--! I have a plan! I was going to erase them, Rumi was supposed to-- I-- she was--”

Mystery cut in, “‘Rumi’...? You’re working with her?”

“No! I mean, yes, but not like that! I was using her to ‘fix’ this, to fix ‘me’! So we could all... we could all do our duty! Be strong... stay together!”

His words tumbled out too fast, in a desperate attempt to outrun the truth.

Romance’s voice softened, yet it hurt more that way. “It just hurts, Jinu... not knowing when you’re being ‘honest’ with us.”

Mystery, barely audible, “...I guess part of me always knew... this wouldn’t last...”

Jinu pleaded. “Hunie-hyung, no! Didn’t you see? The gold? We’re so close! We can still save it... save everything!”

Mystery and Romance averted their gaze.

They stepped back.

And Jinu crumbled.

His voice, no longer panicked, roughened with a furious, inhuman rage: “I said I can still fix it!”

The Honmoon flared to life.

A violent burst of magenta light erupted from Jinu’s chest, washing over the walls and stairwell. The air vibrated. The tiles split. The force shook them all where they stood.

Abby immediately lunged in front of Baby, arm shielding him from the sudden wave.

Baby didn’t stir, he only stared, his breathing shallow. He looked lost.

Romance and Mystery exchanged a grim glance, understanding passing between them without words. There was no time for doubt.

Romance gripped his staff baton, jaw clenched.

Mystery summoned his shuriken, gleaming in the light.

Both pointed their weapons at Jinu.

‘So that’s it, then. Not even a moment of trust...’

Jinu looked to Baby. “Hyuk-ah... p-please.”

Baby’s eyes brimmed with tears.

‘Don’t look away. Please, don’t look away...’

Baby’s lips parted, he wanted to say something (anything!), but, “...”

Jinu, “...”

Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Realization struck him with brutal force: he was completely alone, rejected even by brothers he’d once considered ‘family’.

So, he ran.

He roughly wiped his face.

He didn’t even know where his legs were carrying him. Just--

One name in his mind.

Her name.

The relentless beat of his heart, dominating as a war drum, spurred him onward.

He had to find her.

He had to find Rumi.

“Rumi? Rumi! Where are you?!”

The dim, ruined backstage corridors amplified Jinu’s desperate, raw call.

He stumbled left, then right. The halls flickered with faulty light, shadows dancing over crumbling posters and cracked walls. He didn’t know where to look -- just that he had to find her.

“Rumi!”

He turned a corner, and--

There she was.

Rumi, standing in the middle of the illusions, bore threads of magenta demon patterns -- alive across her surface.

The fake versions of his members -- Abby, Mystery, Baby, Romance -- their faces calm, smiling... ‘empty’.

Jinu’s gaze narrowed.

His steps picked up into a storming stride as fury surged in his chest.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

He stopped a few feet away, fists clenched, his voice wavering beneath the weight of disbelief, “Yah. Say you didn’t do this.”

Rumi didn’t flinch, “...”

Her visage was an impassive mask, a barrier suddenly erected between them. With a ‘snap!’, the illusions contorted into grotesque demonic forms, their false smiles replaced by snarls, wings, horns, and fangs. Just as quickly, they disappeared in a burst of purple dust.

Jinu didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed Rumi by the collar, yanking her close, “How could you do this?!”

No reaction, still, “...”

Then, his hands trembled from panic. He only realized too late how tightly he was holding her.

She diverted her eyes. She spoke softly, as though she was somewhere else, “It was all a lie...”

Jinu’s grip loosened, “It was real...”

He let go of her shirt, his fingers balling into fists at his sides. His jaw set, ragged breaths, he wrestled with an overwhelming urge to unleash something long suppressed.

“...what we had was ‘real’. I know it was...!”

For a second, her lips quivered.

“That’s not how it is...”

The weight on her shoulders finally proved too great, she wheeled slowly, burdened.

Jinu stared, time stretching to a crawl.

He didn’t want her to go.

He didn’t want to be alone again...

‘Don’t walk away... please, not you too...’

His chest burned.

‘...Rumi...!’

His legs wouldn’t move.

Inside, his heart cried:

‘Don’t leave me, too!’

Before the words rose to his throat, he saw it.

The way her shoulders hunched, ever so slightly, in defeat. The shake in her fingers. The way she didn’t even wipe the tear that clung to her jaw. For a moment, he didn’t see the illusionist or the liar. He saw the girl who once pressed a timid kiss to his cheek, quiet, afraid, and full of storms.

He whispered, almost inaudibly:

♫ “You know I want you... it’s not a secret I try to hide.” ♫

The sound of his voice -- shaky but filled with unbearable emotion -- made Rumi freeze mid-step.

That voice...

She stiffened.

So fragile. So real.

She didn’t mean to turn around. Her heart just did. Her fingers folded slightly at her side, breath caught somewhere between her ribs.

♫ “I know you want me, so don’t keep sayin’ our hands are tied...” ♫

Jinu walked toward her with reverent steps, as if the air itself might break.

♫ “You claim it’s not in the cards and fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me, but you’re here in my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?” ♫

Rumi was supposed to shut him out. But something in her moved anyway.

She met his gaze, seeing no mask, only hope, desperation, love, and fear.

He reached out, carefully, and when his fingers found hers, they held like a promise he wasn’t ready to let go of.

♫ “What if we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine? Nothing could keep us apart, you’d be the one I was meant to find.” ♫

He took her other hand, their palms fitting together with aching familiarity.

♫ “It’s up to you and it’s up to me, no one can say what we get to be.” ♫

It wasn’t a dance, but it felt like one all the same, their feet moved in fluid unison, their gentle sway reminiscent of the ocean’s rhythm. The moment held them captive, a world unto themselves.

♫ “So why don’t we rewrite the stars? Maybe the world could be ours tonight.” ♫

Suddenly, Rumi blinked, a sharp, jarring return to reality.

Stop...

This shouldn’t be happening.

She pulled her hands away -- it stung. Her body shaking, tears springing to her eyes:

♫ “You think it’s easy? You think I don’t want to run to you? But there are mountains and there are doors that we can’t walk through...” ♫

A deliberate retreat. Rumi fought to control the tempest raging inside. He responded in kind, advancing forward, then stopping just short of contact, the unspoken message clear:

His nearness felt dangerous.

♫ “I know you’re wonderin’ why because we’re able to be just you and me within these walls, but when we go outside, you’re gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all...” ♫

They found themselves at the edge of the ruined stage.

The seats were empty.

♫ “No one can rewrite the stars, how can you say you’ll be mine?” ♫

The stadium hollow.

Debris of glass crunched beneath their feet.

♫ “Everything keeps us apart and I’m not the one you were meant to find.” ♫

A single lightstick flickered weakly on the floor, blinking in fading red.

♫ “It’s not up to you, it’s not up to me -- when everyone tells us what we can be.” ♫

Rumi faced him.

♫ “How can we rewrite the stars? Say that the world can be ours tonight...” ♫

She walked to the aerial swing -- the same rig built for Jinu’s ‘Golden’ performance.

She sat on it quietly. She gripped the sides.

A lift, as soft and elegant as a returning memory.

She didn’t know why she was singing. Maybe because it was all too heavy. Maybe because it was the only way she remembered who she was.

As the swing climbed upward, she joined his voice:

♫ Jinu and Rumi: “All I want is to fly with you. All I want is to fall with you. So just give me all of you~” ♫

From below, Jinu watched her, his heart in his throat.

The light caught in her hair. She’s otherworldly, akin to a dream that was slipping through his fingers.

♫ Rumi: “It feels impossible!” ♫

♫ Jinu: “It’s not impossible!” ♫

♫ Rumi: “Is it impossible?” ♫

She leaps, a spinning arc of grace against the (fractured) LED sky, hair a wild halo. Jinu’s arms, strong and steady, met her descent, a practiced embrace, as if fate itself had orchestrated it.

♫ Jinu and Rumi: “Say that it’s possible~” ♫

He held her close, spinning gently. The air eddied around them, similar to wind in a snow globe.

For a moment, the world was serene again.

♫ Jinu and Rumi: “How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine. Nothing can keep us apart ‘cause you are the one I was meant to find!” ♫

He lowered her to the ground.

They didn’t let go.

They danced again, somber, aching. Their foreheads nearly touched.

♫ Jinu and Rumi: “It’s up to you and it’s up to me -- no one can say what we get to be! Why don’t we rewrite the stars? Changin’ the world to be ours~” ♫

A slowing dance, a frantic beating of hearts.

Rumi raised her hand, and touched his cheek, tenderly. Thumb brushing under his eye.

Their lips were inches apart.

♫ “You know I want you... it’s not a secret I try to hide...” ♫

A single tear fell from her eye.

♫ “But I can’t have you -- we’re bound to break and my hands are tied...” ♫

Silence.

She stepped back.

One breath.

Two.

Her hand lingered in the air, the ghost of a goodbye.

“The things I said before... I just need you to trust me. That’s all.”

Another turn.

Jinu reached out.

He gently grabbed her wrist. Not to hold her back, but to ‘anchor’ her.

“Wait, I know your story. You were good, Rumi. You ‘are’ good--”

A harsh, ragged cry escaped her, “I killed him!” her left eye flashed gold, though it did not show once she faced Jinu.

It was a confession soaked in rot and memory. One she’d never dared to say aloud.

“That’s right, I lied to you.” Her words came fast, agitated. “I made a deal with Celine just to erase the memories. I told myself it wasn’t my fault, that it was all because of those Hunters...”

She bowed her head, “I did it. I killed my own appa.”

The words rang around them like a curse. The confession sat between them, pulsing. Jinu’s lips parted, “...” closed. What could he say?

He stepped closer.

“...But that’s not all you are.” He said, full of fragile belief. “That’s your demon talking. You have to fight it, Rumi--”

Suddenly, her voice altered, low, dissonant, a layering of voices that weren’t hers. “That’s not how it works!”

Jinu’s response was a terrifying, monstrous bellow.

“Yes, it is!”

He recoiled.

His own words reverberated in his skull.

That sound... that wasn’t fully him.

His ‘own’ voice...

Rumi breathed out with difficulty. “Listen to yourself. Is it really working?”

Jinu, “...”

“You’re a demon too, Jinu.” She muttered. “Just like me. All we ever get is pain. Misery.”

For one heartbeat, she looked like she might stay. Her foot shifted slightly toward him. Her mouth opened, but she shook her head, once. And it was over.

Jinu didn’t speak.

He couldn’t.

“That’s all we deserve.”

Then, she vanished, purple smoke whirling around her.

She didn’t run.

She didn’t fight.

She just ‘let’ go.

And Jinu stood there, arm half-extended...

Alone.

‘Again’.

The hall around him faded into silence.

He exhaled, broken. A breath dragged from the bottom of his soul.

His feet began to move.

Tap.

He didn’t know where they were taking him.

Tap.

Maybe nowhere.

Tap.

Maybe somewhere darker.

Tap.

Behind him, a luminous magenta rift shimmered in the air.

A wound in the world.

And it followed him, stealthily.

Tap.

“Due to the sudden earthquake, today’s MAMA Awards have been cancelled. Here are the winners of the MAMA Awards. The ‘Artist of the Year’ goes to--”

Before the announcement could even land, the screen shifted.

“Magnitude 5.0 Earthquake Strikes South Korea Late at Night.”

“Seoul, South Korea -- a magnitude 5.0 earthquake struck South Korea at approximately 11:30 PM local time tonight, catching many residents off guard. Authorities are currently assessing the extent of the damage and potential aftershocks. No immediate reports of injuries or major destruction have been confirmed.”

Everyone saw it happen. The entire thing blew up online -- videos, clips, conspiracy threads. Jinu was exposed right then and there, all over the world. Social media couldn’t stop talking about it.

And as if that wasn’t enough, there was this so-called ‘public disbandment’ circulating everywhere too.

Their followers, once in the millions, were now slipping down the charts. One by one, people started to unfollow. The comment sections turned into war zones. Some fans defended. Others felt betrayed. Many just didn’t know what to believe anymore.

People across the globe started putting pieces together, or at least ‘trying’ to.

SAJA BOYS. That ‘new song’ performance. Jinu. The roar -- very inhuman. And then ‘boom!’ -- an earthquake hits, right after.

It was too much to ignore, too eerie to be coincidence.

Was it all connected? Just bad timing? Or something way bigger than anyone could comprehend?

Or just scripted?

They don’t know for sure.

No announcements were said.

Online forums lit up. Fans think the same thing:

“Something isn’t right here...”

Everything happened so quickly, it was overwhelming and felt intensely real.

No one knew what was coming next.

Jinu stood outside an apartment building, heart pounding against his ribs, breath uneven.

He had grabbed a hoodie from the dressing room. It belonged to a back-up dancer, left on a chair. Subconsciously, he had pulled it over his sleeveless turtleneck before leaving the stadium.

Now, it clung to him, soaked from the rain, the fabric heavy with regret. His shoulders shuddered from the weight of it. Under the hoodie, his patterns blazed, the same cursed lines he had inherited from the demon who forced himself into his mother’s life.

Jinu tugged the hood lower over his face. He gripped the sleeves, knuckles white. But the rain had soaked through everything. The thin fabric clung to his skin, and the sheen of the markings at his throat and jaw bled through as bruises under moonlight.

He hadn’t come here in years. And yet, here he was, like a child again, yearning, shaking, stupid with hope.

‘Hope’.

That maybe... just maybe... despite everything, despite who he was, who his father was... she would open the door and not look at him the way she always did --

He stood there for a moment longer, staring at the door buzzer.

-- That maybe, just this once, she’d say his name as though it meant ‘something’.

He lifted a hand and pressed it.

“...”

He pressed it again.

“...”

He laid his palm to the metal, leaned forward, forehead touching the surface seeking solace. “Please...”

The door clicked.

His mother stood there, hair unkempt. Wrinkles deeper now, but the expression was the same one he remembered, devoid of surprise or warmth.

Only ‘disgust’.

“What are you doing here?” She snapped.

Jinu opened his mouth, “...”

Her eyes fell on the glow at his throat, the faint shimmer under his eyes, the patterns throbbed in the dark.

Her countenance twisted, not in fear.

In rage.

“You bastard.”

He flinched as he used to.

Ten years old again. The word, a whip.

He told himself it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

He lied.

“You dare show your face here? After everything? After you disappear and come back looking like ‘that’?”

“I didn’t-- I didn’t know where else to go,” Jinu, quietly, “I just... I wanted to see you, umm--”

Umma...

She let out a brittle, mirthless laugh. “See me? What, you want me to clap and say you turned out alright? You look like ‘him’, Jinu. Don’t you see that? You became the thing I tried to beat out of you.”

He bit his lip hard.

No.

No.

No.

No!

‘I’m not-- I’m not like him.’

He wasn’t anything like that... monster!

‘I’m not!’

“I didn’t ask to be born like this--”

“No. But ‘you’ were. You always were.” She hissed. “Even when you were a baby, you’d scream at night like something was crawling under your skin. And I knew. I knew he left his filth in me. And when I looked at you, all I saw was ‘him’.”

His throat burned. The patterns brightened in pain.

“You were ‘never’ a son.” She spat. “Just a reminder. A curse.”

Jinu’s hands shook at his sides. “I, I tried to be good... I tried so hard...”

“You mean all that crying and shaking like a stray dog?” She sneered. “You think I didn’t see through that pathetic act? You were ‘weak’. Just like him when he begged.”

He froze.

Behind her, a small voice stirred.

“...Umma?”

A voice that could have been his, back when it was still small and untouched.

Not yet broken.

Tiny feet padded into view. A little girl, probably seven, clutching a bunny plush to her chest, groggy from sleep.

She blinked up at Jinu.

His heart skipped a beat.

She was so small, so vulnerable, so pure.

Does she scream at night, too?

‘Has umma held her the way she never held me?’

“Who are you?”

“I’m... I’m your brother...”

Her chin tilted. Slowly, curiously, she stepped forward into the hall. The light fell on him.

His glowing lines.

His right eye gold.

The way his features mirrored the very demon from their mother’s nightmares.

The little girl’s expression morphed, confusion turned to terror.

She retreated a step, “...You’re not my brother...” she mumbled.

“Wait-- no, no, I am...” Jinu, alarmed. He dropped to a crouch. “It’s just my skin-- it’s just a part of me, it doesn’t mean I’m bad, I’m not--”

“Monster!” She shrieked.

“!!!”

There it was.

The word he always feared. The one he whispered to himself at night, wondering if it was true.

He didn’t blame her.

His mother grabbed her, yanking her back. “Get inside.”

“But--!”

“I said, now!”

The girl vanished into the room, sobbing.

His mother turned back to him, words venomous. “You don’t get to crawl back here when the world spits you out.”

“I just wanted--”

“I should’ve left you in that alley, I should’ve never let you live.”

Jinu staggered backward.

The world lurched.

The door slammed.

He stood there.

For.

A.

Long.

Time.

Was he breathing?

Did the rain stop?

Or did he just stop feeling it?

Rain rolling down his face like tears.

The glow beneath his skin pulsed, soft and wavering, like a heartbeat trying to disappear.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Changgwi

The streets blurred.

Jinu walked without knowing where he was going. Just one step.

Then

Another.

Then.

Another.

The rain had stopped, but the cold remained, a chilling embrace. His hoodie hung heavy with damp. His breath fogged the air in short, uneven bursts. He didn’t bother wiping his face anymore (what was the point? It was all wet anyway).

However, the echo of her voice wouldn’t leave him.

‘You were ‘never’ a son.’

Every syllable is a biting shard in his bones.

‘Just a reminder.’

His mother’s voice had always been cold, final -- it cut too deep to scream.

‘A curse.’

He didn’t know why it still hurt. He should’ve been used to it by now. He should’ve buried it years ago, as he had buried the rest of himself. Yet, her words had rooted deep, even after all this time they were thorns growing in him.

A shop window caught his reflection. For a fleeting second, he saw a stranger staring back.

Not a boy.

Not her son.

Not anyone.

A ‘shape’ wearing his face...

He blinked.

The luminescent lines under his skin flashed again -- magenta, cruel and abhorrent. Alive, even when he wished they weren’t.

Twisted light beneath surface.

Sharp cheekbones.

Eyes that didn’t belong to any human.

For a breathless moment, he thought he saw his ‘father’.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

He stumbled back! Heart pounding.

No, no, no--!

No, that wasn’t him... that couldn’t be him!

It was.

The silence whispered louder now, loud enough to feel:

‘You are him. You’re not real. Even your sister screamed, even she ‘knew’.’

He shoved his hands into his sleeves, trying to smother the glow.

And still, it bled through.

He wandered into a back alley, legs shaking. A cat hissed and fled from the shadows.

Good, everything ran from him (even stray cats had the good sense to leave. He must’ve smelled like wrongness).

He sank down.

Thud!

Spine against the cold, dented metal of a dumpster. The rot curled around him. He didn’t care.

His hand moved to his chest.

There was nothing there.

No pick... no paper.

‘I’m sorry.’

No proof ‘she’d’ ever meant it.

‘Keep the bipa.’

The bipa was still in his room, untouched. Her letter, still hidden in the hollow of its belly, sealed as tightly as a wound.

She left the letter, but not herself.

The bipa held her words, but words couldn’t hold him.

‘The things I said before... I just need you to trust me. That’s all.’

How could he...?

His palm was empty, so was everything else.

‘It was all a lie...’

He stared at his hand, expecting it to still carry her voice, her warmth.

It didn’t.

His fist trembled...

Slam!

...Then slammed against the pavement.

Once.

Twice.

Fingers clenching with enough force to bruise.

“Liar.” He rasped.

The word reluctantly scraped through the alley.

If it had been real... if Rumi had ‘meant’ it... then why did he still feel so empty?

Why did he still feel so shameful? Like something she had to leave behind? Like... he was never meant to be loved in the first place?

The patterns under his sleeves throbbed erratically, as though his body didn’t know whether to fight or burn itself alive.

His breath hitched, a murmur escaped:

“Maybe umma was right.”

She always said he’d end up alone, a curse to carry.

And damn it, he was proving her right.

Jinu, “Hahahahahahahahahahaha.”

Bitter, small and cracked.

“...Maybe I should’ve just died back then...”

There was no answer.

“...”

“...”

“...”

Only the sound of his breathing, thin and strained.

Far above, the moon watched with pity.

But ‘pity’ didn’t change anything.

Because monsters didn’t always grow fangs. Sometimes they learned to sing. Some were made with lullabies. And some...

Were born ‘glowing’.

Baby saw the quiet desperation in Jinu’s eyes, a plea that doesn’t scream or shout, yet begs with everything it has: ‘Please... please be on my side...’

Baby knew, somewhere deep in his gut (in that part of him that always watched Jinu closer than the others) he ‘knew’ this day would come.

Maybe not exactly like this... not with glowing veins and unspeakable truths and weapons raised. But he’d always known that Jinu would fall to his knees and reach out...

And nobody would catch him.

“Hyuk-ah...”

Jinu’s voice shattered the silence as a thread snaps under too much weight.

“...p-please.”

Baby’s heart dropped so hard he felt sick.

His name... the way he said it.

It wasn’t a demon speaking. It was ‘Jinu-hyung’. It was the same Jinu who ruffled his hair and brought him snacks and made dumb jokes about being the ‘cool hyung’ when Baby was upset.

That voice, laden with grief and need, pierced through him.

Jinu-hyung...

Tears stung Baby’s eyes, hot and instant, but his body wouldn’t move.

His lips stayed clamped shut. His throat locked. His hands shook.

‘Say something!’ His mind screamed. ‘Do something, idiot!’

He tried.

‘Speak up!’

He really tried.

‘Hyung needs you!’

He inhaled sharply, forcing air into his lungs, forcing something... anything... to rise! But...

“...”

Nothing.

“...”

Not a word, not even a whisper.

And that silence -- ‘his’ silence -- was what truly broke Jinu.

A whimper.

He watched it.

The way his hyung’s expression fell, as though the sky caved in on top of him --

He ‘watched’ it.

-- the way he broke in real-time.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Jinu ran.

Tears streaking his cheeks.

His hyung’s back... shaking, retreating into the dark.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

No goodbye.

No one followed.

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

Time passed (five minutes? Ten? Baby didn’t know anymore) but it didn’t feel real. Baby’s cheeks were already dry, but he hadn’t wiped them. The tears just stuck there, crusted like guilt he didn’t know how to clean off.

Still, all he could see was that moment:

Jinu, standing alone, begging.

And Baby... rigid, paralyzed with fear... paralyzed with doubt.

Paralyzed with ‘cowardice’.

He could’ve spoken... he should’ve!

He could’ve stopped Mystery and Romance from raising their weapons against Jinu!

He could’ve stopped the whole damn thing before it spiraled out of control.

He felt twelve years old again, small, voiceless, powerless, just as every time his parents dictated everything he did.

His thoughts were disjointed, a broken reel playing fitfully.

And then--!

A flicker.

Doctor Han, “Very strange, you have lots of walls up.”

Abby, “Woah! He’s so good right?”

Doctor Han, “So many walls--”

Jinu, “Walls? I don’t have walls.”

Mystery, “Uh, yeah, you do. He is kind of good.”

Romance, “Who are you lyin’ to here, Jinu-yah?”

Baby remembered that. Not clearly, more of a flash behind his eyes. A hollowness in his chest.

Jinu looked at Baby expectantly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes that he would take his side, as he always had.

But Baby hadn’t said anything.

He remembered that part the clearest.

He ‘hadn’t’ defended Jinu.

Just like now.

His head shot up, a raw, shaky cry, sharp as a firecracker’s blast, disrupted the stagnant air:

“Andwae! Jinu-hyung--!”

It was cut short by a sob.

‘I’ve failed him twice now. First with silence, then with fear...’

He moved, his legs were already turning, ready to chase after Jinu--

Grab!

A firm grip stopped him cold.

A hand around his wrist.

Abby.

“Eunwon-hyung, let go!” Baby shouted, wild with panic. “Jinu-hyung needs us--!”

His breaths came in hiccups. He thrashed, trying to tear free!

“Hyukhee-yah, stop it... ‘please’.” Abby was trembling too.

“Hyuk-ah, don’t!” Romance stepped forward, his expression laced with guilt.

“We’re not letting you go after him.” Mystery, flatly, calmly, ‘too calm’ for everything burning in Baby’s chest.

He lost it.

“I don’t care if Jinu-hyung’s a demon! He’s still our brother! Don’t you know that?!”

Feral and mournful, a wail clawed its way out of him.

“!!!” Mystery winced. It was small, subtle -- Baby saw it.

Mystery, “...Of course--”

Baby wasn’t done:

“Then what did you do?! Huh?! W-What did you all do?!”

“Hyukhee, watch your tone--” Romance tried to cut in, stern.

“Shut up!” Baby retorted, without looking at him.

Romance halted, shocked. Abby flinched.

“...Hyuk-ah--” Abby, gentler this time.

But Baby’s gaze was locked on Mystery.

“Weren’t you supposed to be the most mature one here?! You’re literally the eldest, godammit! You could’ve handled it a lot better, but instead you brushed away Jinu-hyung’s feelings, just like that!”

Mystery, his jaw set, “...”

Romance, “Yah, Park Hyukhee!”

Abby, “Hyukhee!”

Baby kept going, “Am I in the wrong here?! Huh? Tell me, hyung! Am I wrong for caring?! For loving him?!”

His words trailed off, weak and unsteady.

“Admit it, you’re all ‘cowards’.”

Was he talking to them?

Or to himself?

He stared straight at Mystery.

He wasn’t the leader, he never had been, but Baby had always looked at Mystery as the one who held them together -- the steady voice, the calm in the chaos.

And now? He was the first to walk away.

“But ‘you’, hyung... you’re the ‘worst’. You act so wise and calm but the moment things get messy, you run and call it ‘leadership’--”

Slap!

The sound echoed! Baby’s head turned with the force of it.

Romance stood there, hand still raised, shaking, “Park Hyukhee! Do you hear yourself?!”

“...”

Abby didn’t move. His chest rose and fell fast, as if he couldn’t breathe.

“...”

Mystery didn’t flinch, but his hands were folded.

“!!!” Romance’s angry bearing dissolved the second the sting hit, “I-- no, no-- Hyuk-ah... I didn’t mean to-- I’m sorry-- I’m so sorry...”

But Baby didn’t look at any of them.

His voice was small.

“...I knew.”

Three heads turned.

“I knew that Jinu-hyung was a demon... I knew for a long time...”

A beat of stunned silence.

Abby’s breath caught, “...”

Mystery’s lips parted, “...”

Romance’s knees nearly gave out, “...”

“But I stayed quiet... I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t stand up for Jinu-hyung... I let him carry it ‘alone’...”

A soft, bitter laugh.

“I’m the coward.” Baby muttered. “Not hyungs, ‘me’.”

Thud!

He sank to his knees, the strain of everything finally taking its toll.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry, hyungs... I’m so sorry...”

The sobs broke free, violent, ugly, uncontrollable.

♫ “We are Hunters, voices strong...” ♫

He covered his face, body trembling, breaking apart right there in front of them.

♫ “...Slaying demons with our song.” ♫

Nobody moved.

Not even Abby.

Not even Mystery.

Not even Romance.

♫ “Fix the world and make it right...” ♫

They only stood there, watching their youngest crumble, realizing that maybe...

Maybe... they all had blood on their hands.

♫ “...when darkness finally meets the light.” ♫

He hadn’t meant to speak, yet the words spilled out, rough and quiet: “Jinu-hyung, do Hunters kill ‘all’ demons?”

He studied Jinu’s reaction. That tiny hint of fear in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched before he answered, “Yes.”

Baby, “...”

It was during break when he saw ‘it’. The others had gone for water, and Baby circled back into the studio, humming to himself. He had forgotten his towel.

He paused by the half-open locker room door.

Inside, Jinu was changing shirts, pale back turned, and for a second, Baby froze.

There it was... those purple lines, not tattoo ink, not lighting tricks.

‘Demon’ patterns.

Baby’s stomach dropped, a chill swept through him, “!!!”

He shied away slowly, towel forgotten.

“So everything that has... patterns?”

Jinu didn’t blink, he didn’t wince, but Baby heard it, that ‘rehearsed’ tone, “...Yes.”

He couldn’t look at Jinu the same way, not right away.

He kept dodging him, leaving early, pretending to nap during breaks, slipping out of group meals. Even when Jinu ruffled his hair or asked if he was okay...

Baby couldn’t answer.

It barely lasted twenty-four hours.

By the next morning, he was crying. In the dorm bathroom, pressed against the sink, hands quivering. “Jinu-hyung...”

He missed Jinu, he missed the laughs, the warmth, the snacks, the lame puns, the quiet shoulder to lean on.

His Jinu-hyung.

So he made a choice: he wouldn’t tell anyone. Not even Gwima, not even Jinu.

Because no matter what anyone said...

Jinu-hyung was still his favorite.

Outside, everything was chaos.

♫ “Ge nuguinga gakkai wabosige, olchi jogeumman deo geurae eolssigu jota (jota~)”♫

People scattered in every direction:

Crew members yelling into radios.

“Control, respond! Are you seeing this?!”

Security weaving through panicked civilians.

“Evacuate immediately! Move toward the west exit!”

“Clear the way! Emergency crews incoming!”

News reporters already setting up tripods and cameras like vultures descending on a corpse.

“We are live at what appears to be the epicenter of the quake--”

“Panic is clearly spreading--”

“Stay tuned as we try to gather updates from the scene--”

Their names were being called out over the din, echoing across the crowd, frantic, urgent.

“Where are the SAJA BOYS?!”

♫ “Geop eopsi bamgireul geonineun nageuneyeo nae mal jom deureoboo -- namusip dongdong ttuiun mul han jan masimyeo jamsi swieo gao.” ♫

“Do we have eyes on any of them?!”

“Kang Eunwon! Lee Myunghun! Shin Doyoung! Park Hyukhee! Han Jinu, please respond--”

None of them turned, none of them answered.

The noise faded into static, drowned out by the one thing that held their full attention.

The Honmoon.

Their pride, the symbol of everything they had built together...

Now.

Falling.

Apart.

♫ “Namuamitabul sillyeongnimi bouhasa, namuamitabul sillyeongnimi~” ♫

The once-pristine barrier pulsed with an unnatural magenta light. Veins of color ran through its foundation, blazing and twisting up the walls, as though trying to devour it from the inside out. Cracks webbed across the facade that resembled breaking glass, splitting the reflection of everything they’d once believed unshakable.

Side by side, the four were motionless, a tableau of silence. Shock on their faces, horror blooming behind their eyes.

♫ “Naneun olhaero seumulhanaga doen cheongnyeoninde, beomeul jamneunda geodeureokdaedaga moksumeul ileotsoman. Idaeroneun dalsanghayeo hwangcheoneul geonneol su eopseo -- oltaguna dangsini nareul dowajusige!” ♫

Abby’s words broke the spell. “The Honmoon... it’s coming apart...!”

No one replied.

What could they say?

They witnessed its ruin unfold, powerless to stop it. All that training, all that brotherhood, all the sacrifice...

♫ “Eolssigu jota eojeolssigu jota geudae nawa hamkke eokkaechumeul deongsil deodeongsil, jeongsineul ilko sseureojil ttaekkaji I bam, sansinui ippal arae...” ♫

...it was unraveling before their eyes.

Then--!

♫ “Namuamitabul... namuamitabul...” ♫

A sudden roar ripped through the sky!

They all jerked, heads turning upward.

A jet soared low above the chaos, sleek and silent except for the sound it left behind: a storm of flyers, raining down as confetti from a funeral.

One fluttered into Baby’s hands.

♫ “Mukkurireul haeboja ne moksumi gonhi buteoisseulji, mukkurireul haeboja micheonhan myeongjuri eonjego ieojilji (namuamitabul... namuamitabul...)” ♫

The paper was glossy, purple and black and bold.

At the top: ‘LILIX’.

Beneath that: ‘SPECIAL LIVE PERFORMANCE, 12:00 AM @ NAMSAN TOWER’.

And in cursive along the bottom, mocking in its elegance: ‘DON’T MISS IT FOR THE WORLD’.

Baby’s stomach lurched.

♫ “Namu saieneun ungsinnimi yeonmot badageneun susalgwie (asurabalbalta), byeokgongneomeoeneun bulsajoga nageune dwieneun dokkaebiga (asurabalbalta) -- gyogyohada hwiyeongcheong manworirose eolssu! Sugundaeneun yeongsane horanginim haengchahaopsinda~” ♫

He looked up, his hyungs had caught flyers too, their expressions reflecting his own dawning dread and recognition.

Baby, “What the hell...?”

Without warning, he crushed the flyer in his fist, knuckles going white, and hurled it to the ground.

He stomped on it, once, twice, a furious gesture against everything he hated, everything they’d ‘lost’.

His tone rose, urgent and strident, “Hyungs, we have to stop this. We have to stop LILIX and Celine!”

Abby nodded immediately, fire returning to his gaze. “Of course.”

Romance followed a beat later, jaw tight with conviction. “Let’s go.”

But Mystery didn’t move, he only stared at the flyer in his hands. His shoulders hunched.

♫ “Eolssigu jota eojeolssigu jota geurae eodi han beon eokkaechumeul deongsil deodeongsil, hachaneun ne nom jaejureul bojakkuna, igosi neoui mudeomiroda!” ♫

Mystery, quietly, almost bitterly, “There’s no hope for that.”

“!!!”

The words hit as a blow to the chest.

Baby recoiled, “What...?”

Abby stared.

Mystery let the flyer fall from his fingers. It drifted to the pavement, “It’s all over.”

He didn’t rage, he didn’t even glance back. He simply turned and walked away, the silence a cloak around him.

♫ “Eolssigu jota eojeolssigu jota uri modu hamkke eokkaechumeul deongsil deodeongsil.” ♫

Romance looked after him, stunned, “Hyung...?”

Baby and Abby stayed rooted in place, too flabbergasted to follow.

That wasn’t their Myunghun-hyung...

Not the eldest brother who always held them together...

Romance exhaled hard and turned. “Stay here. I’ll talk to him.”

Baby, “But--!”

But Romance was already moving, weaving into the crowd after their eldest, disappearing into the noise.

A long, painful pause.

Abby, “...What was that...?”

And Baby...

Baby just gazed at the ground, “...It’s, it’s because of me... it’s my fault.”

♫ “Nuneul tteumyeon sarajil gokduyeo I bam, sangunui gil wieseo~” ♫

Abby whipped toward him. “No, it’s not!”

Yet his words were swallowed by a sudden, cruel chorus of unreal voices:

‘Your dream was a mistake, didn’t I tell you that?’ The familiar chill of his mother’s disappointment settled over him.

Baby stiffened, he balled his fists, “No... it wasn’t. Y-You don’t understand me at all!”

‘You didn’t listen. And now look, everything’s ruined.’ His father’s fury was stern and unmistakable.

“...I tried,” Baby mumbled. “I really tried--”

‘You couldn’t even stand up for Jinu-hyung...’

“!!!”

His own voice! Warped and biting: ‘...And you yelled at Myunghun-hyung like a brat that ‘you’ are.’

He gasped.

“No... I panicked... I didn’t mean to! I, I just didn’t know what to do...!”

The voices layered, distorted and dark:

‘You’re a piece of shit.’

His lungs constricted.

‘Your dream is shit.’

He clapped his hands over his ears, but the noise was inside him now.

‘Your hyungs hate you now.’

Inside his chest...

‘It’s your fault.’

Inside his blood...

‘‘All’ of it.’

He couldn’t breathe!

He couldn’t think!

‘You froze when it mattered most.’

‘I didn’t mean to!’

‘But ‘you’ did.’

“...”

His legs moved before he realized.

Abby’s call sounded distant, underwater. “Hyuk-ah! Park Hyukhee-yah!”

Baby, “...”

Unblinking, Baby moved, a stillness within mirroring the silence of his steps.

One step.

Another.

Toward Namsan Tower... toward midnight.

♫ “Neoreul deryeogagennora~!” ♫

Toward the only thing he could still feel pulling him forward.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

“This is what you’re doing instead of studying?”

Baby -- no, ‘Park Hyukhee’ -- was twelve when he first tasted the feeling of dreaming in secret.

“You think this will get you anywhere? On stage, rapping these... childish things?”

He would sit at his study desk with a thick medical textbook opened wide before him, words blurring into symbols, diagrams swimming across the page, alien and unknown. None of it stayed, none of it mattered. He was supposed to become a ‘doctor’. But in his bones, in his breath, lived ‘music’, not anatomy.

“Do you know how hard we’ve worked for you to have a future? And this... this is what you want to waste it on?”

His mouth opened, but what would he even say? That dreaming made him feel alive? That pretending to care about biology made him want to disappear?

“I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

The poster caught flame!

“Umma, stop!”

She threw in more --

“No! Stop it! Please! Umma...!”

-- albums, lyrics, photocards.

“That’s mine!”

Flames rose!

“Those are--!”

Crackled...

“--mine!”

Devoured.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Whoosh!

The air assaulted Hyukhee, cold and sharp as a blade. He didn’t stop. His legs carried him blindly, past intersections, under flickering streetlamps, down endless blocks.

“We’ve given you everything, the best teachers.”

His chest burned. His eyes blurred. His sobs reverberated off empty sidewalks.

“All we ask is that you ‘focus’. Is that so difficult?”

Eventually... a park.

He collapsed onto a bench.

Huff.

Huff.

Huff.

He couldn’t breathe.

With shaking hands, he fumbled for his phone.

The first name that popped into his head was samchon.

Gyeongtae-samchon...

The one light that never dimmed. A former idol trainee, now an instructor, now Hyukhee’s only co-conspirator. His safe place...

His compass.

Gyeongtae had plans. He’d found a way to bring Hyukhee along to Hanlim, without really telling his parents what it was. Just ‘hanging out’, he said with a grin.

“Oppa.” Umma was cautious, “You’re not... spoiling Hyukhee too much, right?”

Gyeongtae chuckled. “Spoiling? I’m just giving him a little freedom. The kid’s been cooped up like a chicken in a cage.”

“That ‘cage’ is called ‘discipline’.” Appa interjected. “We just don’t want him getting distracted.”

“I’m not saying let him run wild.” Gyeongtae, coolly, “But maybe, once in a while, let him breathe. You two act like a B+ is a death sentence.”

Umma sighed, “We... don’t want him making the wrong choices. He’s smart, he just needs guidance.”

Gyeongtae, “Exactly, and that’s why I’m here -- guiding him.”

Late-night dance practices, secret vocal warm-ups, rap flow sessions in whispers. Samchon taught him with nothing but support and patience, Hyukhee owed so much to him.

Samchon...

Hyukhee’s thumb hovered over the screen. No... samchon had done enough. Always protecting him, always covering for him. He couldn’t ask for more, not tonight.

Next was Eunwonie-hyung.

But, Eunwon-hyung was busy, he had training, school... his own life to handle. Why would he want to deal with someone like him?

Eunwon-hyung is samchon’s student in Hanlim.

Hanlim Multi Art School was a dream made real. Hallways filled with music, energy, and light.

“Wanna sit in?” Samchon had asked with a wink.

He sat in on a class. Hyukhee scribbled into his notebook, eyes wide. Then a boy beside him turned and smiled. Older, but kind.

“So you’re Hyukhee?”

Hyukhee blinked, startled by the sudden conversation.

“Ah, mian! That came out of nowhere, huh?” The older boy laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m Kang Eunwon, by the way. You can call me ‘Eunwon-hyung’ or ‘Eunwonie-hyung’ or just... ‘hyung’. Up to you.”

Hyukhee quickly bowed his head out of habit. “Ah! I’m Park Hyukhee, nice to meet you, hyung!”

Eunwon chuckled nervously. “Aigoo~ no need to bow like that! We’re all friends here.”

Hyukhee couldn’t help but smile back.

“Y’know, saem really adores you.” Eunwon, casually. “He talks about you a lot in class.”

Hyukhee, “Mwo?”

“Yeah.” Eunwon, brightly. “He always says how hardworking you are. He even called you his ‘little sunshine’ once. Honestly, just hearing saem talk about you made me wanna work harder too. Kinda contagious... your energy.”

They talked, it was easy. Eunwon didn’t see him as a lost child. He smiled as if Hyukhee mattered. As if... the way he rapped might matter too.

“We’re doing a mini performance later this afternoon in the practice room. You should totally watch! Saem will be supervising too.”

He beheld Eunwon and the others dance. These weren’t just students, they were ‘stars’ in the making.

His chest ached.

This... this is what he wanted... what he ‘burned’ for.

Eunwon ran up after, glowing with sweat and joy. They talked more. Swapped KakaoTalks (“So I can spam you with voice notes.” Hyung teased). Compared lyrics. Rapped in tandem. Laughed until their stomachs hurt.

From the sidelines, Gyeongtae observed, quiet pride in his eyes.

That night, Hyukhee wrote again. Lyrics keener, deeper. Still in hiding, but no longer alone.

“On stage, I’m real. In this house, I’m a ghost.”

The visits became routine. Sometimes once a week. Sometimes twice. With Gyeongtae’s help, he began to grow. Eunwon became a constant, a big brother in spirit if not in name. They trained together, wrote together, supported each other in small ways that mattered.

[Eunwonie-hyung 🌽]: hyuk-ah!!!! u were so bright today. i meant it. keep writing, keep rapping. u got this (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Hyukhee started to believe, even just a little, that maybe he could do it. Maybe the fire inside him wasn’t ‘foolish’.

Maybe it meant something.

[Eunwonie-hyung 🌽]: next time ure rapping w/ us, arasseo?? 😤🔥💪

And for a while he was happy.

However, this happiness was fleeting. The demands of his family, the need to conceal his dream, and the lack of understanding from those who should have loved him, ensured it ‘wouldn’t last’.

Hyukhee looked down at the phone in his lap as tears slipped down his cheeks.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

His body curled in on itself, and the sobs came harder -- breathless and broken. He squeezed his fists, nails digging crescents into his palms. It hurt, but it still wasn’t enough to match what he felt inside.

“...Did you seriously... go through my stuff?” He muttered, throat tightening.

He tensed in place, standing right there in the living room.

Both of his parents stared at him. Umma holding a sheet of paper in her hands, her gaze fixed on the words, incredulous. Appa stood beside her with his arms crossed, face set in stone. He didn’t speak, though his silence was louder than any scream.

On the coffee table sat all his KPop merch. His albums. Posters. Photocards. His lightstick.

All dumped there as refuse, a pile of shame.

Scattered among them were crumpled papers -- his lyrics. His dreams.

His ‘secrets’!

Hyukhee’s blood ran cold.

‘They went through my things... they actually... searched my room--’

Shame, fury, and dread wrenched at his heart.

Umma didn’t look at him when she spoke, flat and icy.

“You wrote... this?”

She held the paper like it was radioactive.

“You think we’re ‘controlling’? That we’ve ‘forced’ you into a life you didn’t choose?”

The pain of hurt and betrayal shone in her eyes, devoid of any softness.

‘She’s not even mad I lied. She’s mad I told the truth...’

Appa didn’t wait for a reply. He snatched the paper from her hands, scanned it with a scowl.

“You call this ‘struggling’?” He scoffed, shaking the paper. “We gave you everything: a roof, education, a ‘future’. And this is what you write behind our backs?”

His tone wasn’t raised, but it hit like a slap.

Hyukhee’s fists curled. “I didn’t mean for you to read that. It was... for myself.”

Umma, “For yourself? Then why write it at all?”

“It’s not that--!”

Appa, “Then what is it? You think we’re the enemy because we want what’s best for you? Because we expect you to grow up with a real job and not chase after illusions?”

“It’s not about being ‘real’...” Hyukhee snapped. “It’s about being happy!”

“...”

“...”

Then Umma’s features hardened.

“‘Happy’?” She spat. “You think chasing idols, singing childish songs, wasting time in that... fantasy -- that’s ‘happiness’?”

She stepped forward, voice trembling. “You used to be a good boy... now you’re sneaking around, lying... ‘embarrassing’ us.”

Appa slammed the paper onto the table. “We had hopes for you, real ones. And this -- this is what you’ve been doing in secret?”

Hyukhee’s breath came faster now, tears stung the corners of his eyes. “I’m not trying to shame you. I just-- I just want to be ‘myself’. I didn’t, I didn’t ask to be what you wanted.”

For a second, the room was still.

Umma’s lips thinned. “We’re your parents. We know what’s ‘right’ for you.”

“And that’s the problem...” Hyukhee mumbled. “You’ve never once asked what ‘I’ wanted.”

A fragile quiet hung in the air, poised on the brink of shattering.

Appa’s voice dropped to a low rumble. “You’re too young to know what you want.”

Hyukhee, “No, I’m not! You just never cared enough to ask!”

Umma, “I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

She reached forward, her hands quivering with barely controlled fury. She grabbed a handful of albums and posters, his lightstick.

“Umma, stop!” Hyukhee cried out, lunging forward.

She didn’t.

She walked to the fireplace, opened the grate -- and tossed his posters in!

“No!”

Then added albums, lyrics, and photocards, feeding the growing fire!

“No! Stop it! Please!” Hyukhee cried out. “That’s mine! Those are mine!”

She looked right at him, tears in her eyes, but they weren’t tears of apology or love.

Only the kind that said, ‘You failed me.’

“They’re destroying you.”

Snap!

She snapped the lightstick in half! She threw it in.

The plastic melted with a ‘hiss!’.

“No!” Hyukhee tried to grab the merch from the fire. He didn’t care about the heat, he didn’t care about the smoke! He just wanted to save something!

Appa stepped in, gripped his arm, yanked him back, “Enough, Hyukhee!”

Hyukhee fought him, struggling like an animal. His eyes were wet, breath gone, everything gone--!

“Why would you do that? Why would you burn everything I love?!”

Umma, “Because it’s poison! It’s turning you into someone ungrateful, someone weak!”

He broke.

“...You never saw me...” He wailed. “You only saw what you wanted to see. I was never your son... I was your project!”

“!!!”

Appa’s hand loosened.

The silence after that -- it didn’t fall. It hung, thick and suffocating.

‘They were never going to love the real me...’

Hyukhee didn’t wait.

He ran.

Out the door.

Down the stairs.

Out into the night.

“...Hyukhee?”

A voice, familiar, gentle.

He lifted his head slowly.

There, standing under the dim park light, Eunwon.

Hyukhee, blinking away the tears. “Hyung...?”

“Hyuk-ah...” Eunwon rushed over, kneeling in front of him, full of worry. “What happened? Are you hurt? Why are you out here alone?”

Hyukhee couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I, I have nowhere else to go...” He wept, a torrent of words pouring from his lips. “They found out, hyung... they saw my lyrics, my dreams, everything -- and they burned it, they burned it all...”

Eunwon’s eyes widened, jaw set. “What do you mean burned it?”

Hyukhee’s voice caught, rising in anguish. “My albums... my posters... my photocards, even my lightstick! Umma threw them into the fireplace... appa didn’t stop her, he just stood there! I, I tried to get them back, hyung, even if they were burning... but appa pulled me away...”

Like he was crazy...

Eunwon pulled Hyukhee into his arms.

Hyukhee collapsed against him, burying his face into his hyung’s shoulder as the sobs wracked his entire body. He clutched Eunwon’s shirt as though it were his only hope.

“I hate them.” He choked out. “They don’t even see me... they only see the kid they want me to be... not the real me.”

Eunwon, “You don’t have to go back. Come with me, stay at my place tonight.”

Hyukhee nodded through his tears.

In Eunwon’s embrace, he still felt broken -- but at least, for now, he wasn’t alone.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

A drip of rain. Or tears, or maybe, finally... a heartbeat that was his own.

That night, sleeping in Eunwon’s room, Hyukhee dreams.

He’s onstage, lights warm on his face. A faceless crowd beyond the glare. His parents are in the front row, they don’t clap. Hyukhee sings anyway. When he turns his head, Gyeongtae is there. Eunwon is there, smiling.

His real family.

He wakes up with tears in his eyes, but not fear this time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Lovely

“No way that’s all there is...”

A so-called ‘fan’ was deep in the trenches of the internet --

Google.

Click.

Naver.

Click.

YouTube comments.

Scroll.

X threads.

Scroll.

Sketchy forums.

Tap.

-- She searched it.

Tap.

All in a desperate attempt to dig up ‘anything’ about Mystery’s background.

Click. Click.

She’d been at it for hours.

Scroll. Scroll.

The glow of the screen stained her face bluish-white, and tabs stacked across the top bar like crooked teeth.

Tap. Tap.

Her eyes were dry, fingers cramped, but she wasn’t giving up.

“Come on...” She squinted closer, “Something has to be here...”

No luck, nothing new. Nothing useful, only the same recycled blurbs and media-trained responses. Same old curated image... fansites saying he was ‘quiet’. Journalists calling him ‘mysterious’. Coworkers praising his ‘professionalism’.

“God, even his scandals are boring...” She scoffed, refreshing a search again.

‘Lee Myunghun’... if that’s even his real name.

Producer.

Lyricist.

Composer.

Crafted hits for everyone from rookies to legends.

Reclusive.

Private.

Untouchable.

That was it.

School records, none.

Baby photos, none.

Hometown stories...

None.

Not even one messy tweet or awkward live broadcast moment?

“Too clean. No one’s ‘this’ clean... not unless they’re ‘hiding’ something...”

The deeper she dug, the more her frustration grew.

How?

How does someone this famous erase their entire past?

How?!

Her knee bounced beneath the desk, fingers tapped restlessly at the mouse.

A tab auto-refreshed.

“...Tsk.”

Still nothing!

“Maybe Myunghun-oppa bought it all off. A digital wipe... yeah, must be. Or... maybe oppa’s not even who he says he is.”

The name: Mystery.

That couldn’t just be ‘branding’, could it?

Step.

Step.

Step.

He barely heard the soft footsteps until a voice broke the quiet.

“Myunghun-hyung.”

He looked up from his phone, blinking away the haze of screen light. Jinu stood in front of him, hands tucked behind his back, seeming to try not to fidget.

“Hmm?”

Jinu tilted his head, ever so slightly. “Why do you always cover your eyes? Doesn’t it bother you? Your hair.”

A ghost of a smile touched Myunghun’s lips.

It wasn’t aggression, nor mockery. Simply, a curious observation.

That was Jinu... always watching, always choosing strange moments to care.

“I’ll tell you guys later,” Myunghun murmured, “at the open forum... when we’re all complete.”

Jinu nodded, he understood that was all he was getting for now.

A beat passed.

Then, “...I’ve been practicing tying hair... is it okay if I try it on hyung?”

“???” Myunghun blinked.

He should’ve laughed. Teased him, maybe, yet something about the way Jinu asked -- so casual, so careful -- made him pause instead.

“Sure.”

Jinu moved behind him with a gentleness that caught him off guard.

Myunghun sat still as warm hands brushed his fringe away from his face, combing carefully through tangled strands. It was... odd, letting someone this close, touch his face, his hair.

His ‘eyes’.

But he didn’t pull away, “...” he stared forward at the empty wall, feeling each motion.

Jinu’s fingers were steady, deliberate, as though he was memorizing every strand, as though... he was afraid of hurting him.

“You have nice hair.” Jinu said under his breath. “Soft.”

Myunghun huffed. “You sound like Eunwonie.”

“Then Eunwon’s right.” Jinu replied easily.

A few more moments passed in silence, the air thick with something unspoken. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just... tender.

Myunghun felt fingertips pause, right at his temple, for a second.

Then they moved again.

“There.” Jinu, mildly. “All done.”

He looked at the glass door nearby, he caught a faint reflection.

His bangs were tied up. His face -- his eyes -- on full display. He looked... exposed.

He reached up, fingertips brushing the loose tie, “...Thanks.” he said, and meant it.

Jinu stepped beside him, still holding the wrapper of the hair tie. “You look good, hyung.”

Myunghun froze, startled by the raw sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t about his hair, it was about ‘seeing’ him, the real Myunghun, not ‘Mystery’, not the carefully constructed image.

It made his throat tight.

He rerouted his gaze, trying to hide the heat creeping into his chest, “You’re good at this.”

Jinu, “...Tying hair?”

“No.” Myunghun, glancing sideways. “Being... kind.”

[THEORY] Is Lee Myunghun even real?

[INFO THREAD] What we know about Mystery (which is basically nothing lmao)

[HOT] Possible SAJA Records Cover-Up?

The ‘fan’, “It’s a warning. He ‘wants’ us to question him.”

Her search bar blinked expectantly. She clicked anyway.

Again.

Click.

Again.

Click.

And.

Click.

Again.

Nothing stuck.

“What’s your deal, huh?”

Nothing satisfied.

“What are you hiding, Myunghun-oppa?”

She leaned closer, gaze frantic, as though staring long enough would peel the answer out of the pixels.

“I just need one slip-up, just one.”

He had to have one, ‘everyone’ does!

A half-deleted post, an untagged photo... a leaked yearbook.

Something...

Anything!

“I’ll find it,” Her brows furrowed. “I swear to God, I’ll find it.”

Because she didn’t want the fandom’s version of him. She didn’t want the myth, she wanted the ‘truth’.

All of it.

Every jagged, buried, ‘painful’ piece.

And she isn’t going to stop until she has it.

Lee Inseung stood outside the electronics store, his fingers balled into fists inside the pockets of a too-thin jacket. His breath misted against the cold glass, fogging the corner of the window where he pressed his forehead, eyes fixed on the flickering screen behind it.

The television was old, bulky, and mounted on a stack of dusty boxes. It played a news segment in Mandarin -- a North Korean defector being interviewed. Her voice was shaky, her hands fidgeting in her lap, but her eyes were full of fire. Each word, though foreign to Inseung, carried a weight that settled heavily in his chest.

He didn’t understand the language, but he didn’t need to. The sorrow in her tone, the courage threaded between syllables... it was clear to him. It was the same trembling he felt at night, trying not to cry too loudly inside cold, borrowed rooms. It was the same defiance he saw in his Umma’s spine whenever she told him they’d be okay, even when she was lying.

“喂, 小屁孩, 滚开!” Behind him, the store owner (a middle-aged man with a sallow face and short fuse) had stepped outside, waving his hand like shooing a stray dog.

Inseung flinched but didn’t argue. He cast a glance over his shoulder, then stepped away from the window without a word.

A sharp click of the tongue, “啧.” before disappearing back into the warmth of his shop.

The screen dimmed behind the glass.

♫ “Thought I found a way, thought I found a way out...” ♫

Whoosh!

The cold cut straight to Inseung’s bones.

His Umma was at work, he was alone again...

And he missed ‘them’... Appa, Myungjoo, Jihun. Even Umma, though she was technically still here, her eyes didn’t light up the way they used to... the way they did before they crossed ‘that’ river.

♫ “But you never go away (never go away), so I guess I gotta stay now...” ♫

A year ago... in a coal-mining town near the Chinese border...

There was a family of five. They were not wealthy, their lives bound, but full of love.

Appa was quiet and solid as the mountains that surrounded them -- broad shoulders blackened with coal, hands calloused, and always moving. He never said much, but when he did, the words stuck, like nails in wood. His love wasn’t spoken, it was felt in how he gave his portion of food to Umma when there wasn’t enough, in the way he sat guard by the door during the winter blackouts.

Umma had softer edges, yet there was steel beneath. She smiled often -- a smile that soothed without asking questions -- but her eyes flicked toward the window whenever a military truck passed. She knew how to be invisible, how to keep the boys’ laughter down when neighbors might hear too much.

Inseung was the eldest, the quietest. He was always scribbling, always humming, not because he had nothing to say, but because there was too much, and only music made sense of it.

He filled old notebooks with half-finished lyrics and doodles of stage lights. He hummed idol songs in the spaces between chores. He kept his dreams small and tucked away, reminiscent of folded paper in a pocket. He knew how fragile they were.

Myungjoo and Jihun (his younger brothers) were total goofballs -- the best kind. Myungjoo, inventing games with bent twigs and plastic bottle caps. Jihun, his shadow, laughing loudest at his own jokes. They were eight and seven, little wild things with scraped knees and big hearts.

Their house was cramped (one room for sleeping, another for eating and praying) but sometimes Appa came home from the mines with something forbidden tucked deep inside his coat:

Smuggled DVDs. Anime, movies, KPop performances burned into scratched discs.

Those were the best nights, they’d huddle around their rusty player as if it was magic.

‘Naruto’ was their favorite. Heroes who fought for their dreams, for their friends. It felt... both distant and real.

“I’m Naruto!” Myungjoo would yell, forming awkward hand signs.

“Then I’m Sasuke!” Jihun declared, arms flailing.

They’d chase each other around the room with paper shuriken, giggling until Umma shushed them fondly.

Inseung didn’t play, he ‘watched’, “...”

Later, after his brothers slept, he’d dance in the corner of the room. Small movements, mimicking idols he saw on screen. He tapped out rhythms on metal bowls. He copied vocal riffs until his throat went raw. He sat by the river and sang to the current, pretending it carried his voice to someplace freer.

Once, he found a broken keyboard in the scrapyard, keys chipped, cord missing.

Appa saw him dragging it home.

“Want me to fix that?” Appa, wiping soot off his brow.

Inseung shook his head, hugging the broken thing to his person. “It’s okay, Appa. You’ve done enough. I’ll make it work.”

Appa gave a long sigh. With a rare softness, he reached out and ruffled Inseung’s hair. That one moment of fatherly affection stayed in Inseung’s memory longer than any song.

He held onto it, even now.

Because soon, everything would fall apart.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Men in uniform came to their door.

“!!!”

Soldiers with cold stares and loaded guns!

Appa had been caught!

Someone had reported him for trading USBs -- packed with banned content, foreign media. A ‘traitor’, they said.

They dragged him out into the frost! And Umma held all three sons in the corner of the room. She didn’t cry, she just rocked them.

Inseung, quivering: “Appa...”

They couldn’t scream... they only watched.

♫ “Oh, I hope some day I’ll make it out of here... even if it takes all night or a hundred years...” ♫

Two days later, the grim news arrived: ‘public execution’, intended as a warning and a brutal lesson. They were instantly branded as ‘enemy collaborators and traitor’s relatives’, subjected to surveillance... public shaming.

Displacement.

They were sent away from their town, herded into a labor village where the snow was thicker, the food thinner, and no one looked them in the eye.

Everything from before was left behind.

The DVDs.

The keyboard.

Even the dream. Or so he thought (the notebook stayed with him, a constantly updated record of his past).

“Appa...”

His eyes blurred with tears. He blinked hard, trying to hold them back, but the ache was too overwhelming.

“...Myungjoo... Jihun...” He muttered, as if saying their names might summon them. “I miss you so much...”

People passed by on the sidewalk, too busy or too cold to care about the trembling boy by the store window, no one stopped, no one asked.

“I just want to be safe...”

Is that too much?

“...with umma...”

Safety didn’t exist here.

China wasn’t the haven they hoped it would be. It was another waiting room between fear and fear, this time in a different language. They hid wherever they could: in backrooms of shuttered shops, plastic-covered greenhouses, drafty shacks that reeked of mildew. Moving... listening for footsteps that might mean trouble.

A man once promised to help them -- a broker, with slick smile, and fast words. Umma believed him for one night.

By morning, he ‘tried’ to sell her to traffickers.

♫ “Need a place to hide, but I can’t find one near -- wanna feel alive, outside I can’t fight my fear...” ♫

They fled.

Again.

And.

Again.

For days they wandered, cold and starving. Feet blistered from walking. Their shadows the only thing they could rely on.

Thud!

Inseung collapsed in a heap, gasping. “I’m... tired, umma...”

“Just a little longer, Inseungie...” She crouched beside him. Her fingers gently swept his sweaty bangs away from his forehead. Her voice was steady, her eyes were not.

He clung to her hand and didn’t let go.

Eventually, they found a ramshackle shed behind a crumbling farmhouse. It had a cracked window, a single cot with rusty springs. It was quiet, and it was dry.

It was enough.

Umma found work nearby, cleaning in secret under a false name. She left before sunrise, she came back well past nightfall, her hands chapped and red. Some nights she didn’t eat, saying she wasn’t hungry.

Inseung didn’t question it, he simply nodded and pretended to believe her.

He stayed inside, pretending to be mute, just as Umma taught him. “Don’t talk unless I say it’s okay.” She warned. “Don’t answer. Don’t trust anyone.”

In the hours alone, he clutched the only piece of his past he still carried -- a battered notebook, frayed at the edges, pages covered with messy lyrics and scribbles from another lifetime.

He flipped through the pages one evening, fingers ghosting over sketches of his appa and brothers’ smiles. Beside it, a melody line curved across the paper, a tune he kept within him. He hummed it.

♫ “Isn’t it lovely, all alone? Heart made of glass, my mind of stone...” ♫

Knock!

♫ “Tear me to pieces, skin to bone--” ♫

Crik!

The door opened. “Inseungie?”

♫ “Hello, welcome home...” ♫

“Umma!” He run toward her, relief rushing through him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her coat. “You’re back!”

She held him tightly. “I’m here, baby. I brought someone.”

He blinked up at her.

A woman stood behind her.

“!!!” Inseung recoiled slightly, unsure.

Strangers were danger, strangers meant risk!

Umma placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuring. “It’s okay, Inseungie... this is Han Yerin. She’s here to help us.”

He stared at the woman... pale skin, tired eyes.

Han Yerin knelt slowly, leveling his gaze. “Hello, Inseung-ah. It’s nice to meet you. I’m from the North too. I crossed that same river.”

“...!”

She knew... she ‘knew’. An unspoken understanding passed between them.

“...”

He hugged his notebook tighter.

For the first time in weeks, the icy haze around his heart lifted just a little. And in that tiny sliver of space...

Hope bloomed.

“I’m North Korean.”

A stunned silence.

“...”

The words were too loud in the space, even though his voice had barely risen above a whisper.

Myunghun could hear the thrum of the practice room’s aircon unit, the faint rustle of someone shifting on the floor, the way his own heart seemed to stutter as he waited.

“...”

A breathless pause. The whole room seemed to have taken in air and forgotten how to exhale.

What now?

Would... would they look at him differently?

Would something shift, some invisible line drawn, some sense of otherness returned to him after he’d tried so hard to blend in?

He kept his eyes low, not brave enough to meet anyone’s gaze just yet.

However, in the stillness, he felt the absence of rejection. No one moved away.

Jinu was the first to react, though not with words. He stared at the floor, contemplative. He didn’t appear shocked, rather, his expression hinted at recognition, as if he understood the burden of carrying a truth unsuitable for polite conversation -- a truth that could be devastating if revealed to the wrong person.

Hyukhee’s brows rose, not in judgment, but in a mixture of curiosity and respect. Unstated questions lingered, yet there was no accusation in his gaze, only a reverent admiration for Myunghun -- a boy who crossed a river and ‘survived’.

Then Doyoung uttered, tenderly, carefully.

“...That must’ve been really hard, hyung. To carry that alone... for so long.”

“...” Myunghun wasn’t prepared for the gentleness, the lack of interrogation a soothing balm. The feeling was akin to a cozy embrace, catching him completely off guard. A deep-seated tension within him begin to uncoil.

“I’m not even sure why I said it,” He murmured, “I guess... I just didn’t want to lie, not to you guys.”

A hand settled lightly on his knee. Eunwon, steady and present. His palm was warm, comforting without being intrusive. “Thank you, hyung. You didn’t have to share that, but you did. That means something.”

It did, he could ‘feel’ it. The impact of his words was palpable, a precious weight held gently in the silence of the room.

“I... haven’t told anyone since I got here,” He admitted. “I changed my name... I buried everything.”

There were days he didn’t even remember his appa and brothers’ voices. Even with umma right beside him, there were nights he felt he was remembering her from afar -- a glass wall separated him from his heart. Twelve felt like lifetimes ago. And yet, speaking now, that boy -- the one who ran -- was still curled somewhere inside him.

“Maybe you don’t have to bury it anymore,” Doyoung affirmed, the sound so faint it could’ve been a mere mental echo. “Not with us, hyung.”

Myunghun finally looked up. Doyoung’s tentative smile, though small and unsure, conveyed a genuine reassurance: ‘It’s alright to be as you are.’

A surge swelled in Myunghun’s heart. A grief too old to cry for, a relief too deep for words, “...I lost my appa and dongsaengs, when I was t-twelve...”

The others didn’t look away, there was neither pity nor empty platitudes. They simply stayed, listening, letting the gravity of it settle without it crushing him.

Then Hyukhee, sincerely, “...I think they’d be proud that Myunghun-hyung made it. I would be.”

The words hit him harder than expected. He turned, wide-eyed, toward their youngest. So much depth in a voice barely past thirteen.

Hyukhee smiled sheepishly, and added, “Also... hyung speaks better Seoul accent than me, and I grew up here.”

The tension broke, a too-full dam releases just enough to keep from cracking. Someone laughed. Maybe it was Doyoung, or Eunwon, or Myunghun himself -- a breath of air pushed through his chest, startled and shaken loose.

Jinu lifted his gaze and met Myunghun’s. “You’re one of us, hyung. That doesn’t change.”

Somehow, that was the part that made Myunghun feel the most undone. It wasn’t the silence or the story itself, it’s the simple truth that followed:

He was still here, and they ‘hadn’t’ let go.

He closed his eyes for a second, letting the peace sink in.

Jinu, “You don’t have to be alone with it anymore.”

Winter in the labor village was cruel --

♫ “Walkin’ out of time... lookin’ for a better place (lookin’ for a better place).” ♫

-- It gnawed through bone and hope, stripping even the color from the world.

Gray sky.

Gray snow.

Gray expressions.

♫ “Something’s on my mind (mind), always in my head space.” ♫

There was no warmth here, only wind that was sharp as knives and meals that could barely keep a child breathing.

Inseung had grown used to the ache of hunger, to the groan in his stomach that felt more familiar than his own name...

But he wasn’t prepared for grief.

That morning, Jihun didn’t wake up.

♫ “But I know some day I’ll make it out of here -- even if it takes all night or a hundred years.” ♫

He still remembered the night before... how his little brother had rasped through the dark:

“Inseungie-hyung... once we get out of here... I wanna eat that bread thing... the kwo-shan...”

Even now, the memory ‘pierced’ him.

Inseung had chuckled despite the hunger twisting his insides. “It’s croissant, silly.”

He remembered ruffling Jihun’s hair, brushing the frost from his brow.

Jihun, cracked and weak, “Ha... ha, haha...” still full of that flickering light that made him who he was.

“Yeah... that one. The fancy bread. I want that... hyung... and chocolate... and...”

He drifted off mid-sentence.

Inseung didn’t know it would be the last thing Jihun ever said.

Now, in the cold stillness of morning, his body lay stiff beneath the same blanket.

He wasn’t breathing.

No pulse.

“Ji, Jihunie?” Inseung shook him lightly. “Yah... come on. Stop joking...”

“...”

His hands grew frantic.

“Jihunie... wake up... please...”

Umma rushed to his side, scooping her youngest boy into her arms.

“Hunie, baby, no-- no, not like this-- open your eyes, please...”

Her voice tore at itself. Inseung had never heard her sob like that.

She rocked him back and forth, tears spilling onto his frozen cheeks.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

His skin was ice. His lashes frosted white. He didn’t feel like Jihun anymore--!

Thud!

Inseung dropped to his knees, forehead pressed to Jihun’s side, “You said we’d eat croissants together... remember...? You can’t just go like this--”

He wasn’t ready. He’d never be ready! Jihun was just here, alive and vibrant, laughing and breathing. How could he disappear like that?!

Myungjoo stood nearby, small fists squeezed, his body trembling from cold and confusion. Then his knees buckled, “Hunie-yah! Wake up-- this isn’t funny! Stop playing dead!”

“...”

Jihun didn’t answer.

“...”

He never would again.

Inseung screamed! Screamed until his voice gave out.

Umma wept until her tears froze on her cheeks.

♫ “Need a place to hide, but I can’t find one near -- wanna feel alive, outside I can’t fight my fear.” ♫

They buried Jihun behind the barracks that night. The hard ground and raw hands didn’t stop them, they dug with whatever they could find -- sticks, stones, even their fingernails.

Inseung laid his brother’s crumpled paper shuriken beside him.

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you...”

They barely had time to grieve.

♫ “Isn’t it lovely, all alone? Heart made of glass, my mind of stone.” ♫

A week later, Myungjoo’s fever began.

It came in waves. Sometimes he burned, sometimes he shivered, sometimes he opened his eyes and mumbled things to the dark:

“Appa...? Appa, are you coming home soon...?”

Appa.

It was hauntingly reminiscent of a ghost.

He wanted to say Appa was fine, that he’d come home as he did in the stories -- but he couldn’t lie.

Inseung and Umma sat at Myungjoo’s side through the nights, refusing to sleep.

“We’re here,” Umma, with that gentleness, even now. “Appa’s watching from the stars, okay? You’re not alone.”

And Myungjoo would smile, so weak it nearly broke Inseung in half. “Then... I’m not scared anymore...”

There was one night when he seemed lucid again.

Inseung had clutched his hand --

“Hyung... I’m gonna be a ninja... just like I said...”

-- His palm burned as coal. Inseung wished he could draw the heat into his own body.

“You will be,” Inseung promised, fighting back tears. “You’ll be the strongest ninja in the world...”

“Yeah... stronger than Naruto... you’ll see...”

And then he closed his eyes.

♫ “Tear me to pieces, skin to bone. Hello, welcome home...” ♫

Umma, “Inseungie... he’s... he’s not...”

“No... no, no, no-- Myungjoo-yah, please-- wake up! Please!”

He gripped his brother’s hand tighter, hoping, praying, that he’d squeeze back!

It was limp.

“You can’t leave us too-- please... I’ll give you my food next time... I’ll give you everything... just don’t go...”

“...”

“...”

And then a scream--! A cry so raw it tore the air apart... rose from Umma’s throat.

They buried Myungjoo beside Jihun the next morning.

The wind howled with the grief of a mourning mother. The snow poured down heavier, as though to bury what little was left of them.

Inseung placed Myungjoo’s wrinkled ‘Naruto’ drawing in the grave, hands quivering.

Umma could barely stand, her knees buckled, her shoulders shook.

Inseung caught her before she fell.

He held her.

She was all he had left.

And he was all she had too.

Two graves, devoid of life’s joyful sounds -- no laughter, no playful paper shuriken dancing on the wind. The only sound was the fall of snow.

“Please...” He whispered into the empty sky. “Please, God... don’t take umma too...”

From that day on, the music in him died.

There were no more hums, no more scribbled lyrics in the margins of his notebook. No soft taps of rhythm on the floor, no whispered verses while folding laundry... all gone, replaced by silence that stretched and suffocated.

The world moved on, indifferently -- footsteps drummed in the crisp, powdery snow, guards barked orders, the wind howled as always. But for them, time had stopped.

Two small graves stood behind the barracks, marked only by crooked wooden slats Inseung had carved with shaking hands. The names weren’t even written, as there were no pens and ink, only scratches. He stared at them every morning before stepping out of the shed, and again every night before lying down on the hard floor.

His body moved, the rest of him didn’t.

He stopped speaking. He stopped drawing. He stopped singing.

His notebook remained tucked beneath his pillow, untouched, as if opening it would let out something too fragile to survive, as if the force of memory might tear him apart.

Umma moved like a ghost. Her eyes had hollowed, a void that could never be filled. Her hands bled from the fields, cracked from ice and work, but she never winced. She had forgotten how to feel pain, or maybe she was already beyond it.

She rarely spoke, her words few and barely audible, as fragile as falling ash. She clung to him now -- her last son. The only piece left of the life she once had. The only reason she hadn’t let herself collapse into the earth.

Some nights, he would wake to find her arms wrapped tightly around him, as though she needed to feel him breathing. As though she was terrified he, too, might vanish in his sleep.

One night, under the dim flicker of a dying candle, she said it:

“If we stay here, we die. If we run... we might die... but... we might ‘live’.”

Was it cowardice to be afraid of hope?

For the first time in weeks, Inseung lifted his eyes.

Her voice shook, rough from disuse, her gaze didn’t. Her eyes -- sunken and red -- held fire, still. It was the dimmest ember of defiance.

Inseung, “...” his fingers curled into the floorboards. He swallowed, his throat burned. So many words sat trapped inside him, he didn’t know how to let them out.

Finally, he murmured, “...Can I take their picture?”

It was feeble.

“Just in my head... so I don’t forget them...”

They didn’t own a camera, what he meant was: ‘Can I still remember them, if we leave?’

Umma leaned forward, cupped his cheeks in both of her palms. Her thumbs brushed the tears he hadn’t realized were falling.

She kissed his forehead, “We’ll never forget them.”

“...Eunwonie. Have you not been eating well?”

Eunwon looked up with his usual grin, “Ah, hyung! Of course I have! Why’d you ask?”

Myunghun didn’t smile back.

It was subtle, most people wouldn’t catch, yet Myunghun noticed.

At dinner, Eunwon had laughed as usual, tossed jokes around, and requested for extra pickles.

But he didn’t finish his food.

After the meal, when the others had gone to their rooms, Myunghun passed by the bathroom, and heard the faucet running far too long.

There were other signs, too. The way Eunwon tugged at his shirt when he thought no one was looking. The way he watched their dance footage over and over, lips pressed into a line. The way his jaw had grown sharper, his eyes duller, his smiles... thinner.

That night, Myunghun found him in the dorm kitchen, poking at a bowl of cereal as if it had personally offended him.

He’s not okay.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Myunghun sat across from him, resting his arms on the table.

“I was just worried. You’ve seemed... tired lately.”

Eunwon waved it off, laughing. “I’m fine, really, hyung. Just, cutting a little for the comeback. You know how it is.”

Myunghun looked at him, Eunwon didn’t meet his eyes.

Myunghun, “...Do you feel like you have to?”

Eunwon, “...Hyung?”

His tone didn’t rise, he didn’t accuse. He simply asked, “Do you feel like you have to shrink yourself to deserve being here?”

The words landed with the impact of a stone dropped into a still lake.

Eunwon stared at the cereal, his grin faded, “...I just, I want to look right beside everyone else. Next to you... Doyoung-hyung, Jinu-hyung, Hyuk-ah... all of you look like you belong onstage already.”

Myunghun’s heart tugged. ‘You do, too.’ He wanted to say.

“And you think you don’t?”

Eunwon didn’t answer, “...”

So Myunghun did, “You don’t need to disappear to be worthy, Eunwon-ah.”

Eunwon, “I’m not-- it’s not... I’m--”

Myunghun shook his head. “You don’t need to explain. I don’t know exactly what it feels like, but... I know the feeling of having to earn your place just by surviving.”

He let that hang in the air for a beat.

“Back then... I didn’t get to choose when I ate. It was ‘survive or starve’. Now you’re here... ‘we’re’ here... and it hurts to see my dongsaeng choose pain because the world made you feel you’re not enough.”

Eunwon’s hands were trembling now, he quickly tucked them under the table.

“I don’t know how to fix it.” Myunghun added gently. “But... hyung can stay, I can sit beside you. I can listen. And if you let me... I can remind you every day that ‘you matter’.”

Umma used her final bribes -- a sack of dried radish, a frayed coat, and her wedding ring.

Inseung watched her slide the ring across the table to the old village man, her fingers shaking, her eyes determined. It was the last thing she had from Appa. And now she was giving it away, with a prayer that it would find a good home.

Inseung didn’t speak, “...” if he opened his mouth, he was afraid the truth would come spilling out -- that he didn’t want to go. That he didn’t think he could do it. That he missed Appa so badly it hurt to breathe.

The man didn’t promise anything, he only pointed east.

She bowed to him, gripped Inseung’s hand, and said nothing else.

Under the cloak of night, they gathered their meager belongings: a scarf, a blanket, some frozen food, and a silent notebook -- a stark reminder of lost dreams. Hope, if it could even be called that, if that was even still allowed.

The sky above was dark and starless, a deep black that seemed to press down on them as they walked.

Each step grated underfoot.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Inseung clung to Umma’s coat, legs weak, heart hammering inside his ribs. His palms were damp. His breath fogged the air.

He wanted to be brave... but everything in his body screamed, ‘Run!’ or ‘Hide!’ or ‘Turn back!’. He did none of those things.

Every sound -- the wind, the creak of tree branches, the flutter of their sleeves -- felt like a gun cocking.

His ears rang, his whole body had become a muscle waiting to snap.

When the lights of the border came into view, his knees almost gave out.

He could see the shadows of towers, fences, soldiers!

“Stay close to umma... don’t let go, no matter what.”

She whispered it low, fiercely.

They moved crouched, half-crawling, breathless, in abject terror.

The Tumen River stretched ahead of them, a deceptive sheet of ice, its glittering surface masked a treacherous reality.

They stepped onto it.

Crack!

One foot, one noise.

His whole body froze.

Umma’s hand tightened around his. Her eyes darted to the tree line.

Voices... soldiers!

A flashlight--

“Keep walking.” She instructed.

Each step was a gamble with death. Ice chipped under their soles. Wind bit at their faces.

Crack!

Another, louder.

Then--! Voices, closer now!

The darkness recoiled before the flashlights.

Umma, “Don’t look back.”

But Inseung looked.

He saw boots in the snow. The shape of rifles. The blur of uniforms.

And he ran.

They both ran!

The flashlight caught them.

“Yah! Stop right there!”

Bang!

A gunshot split the night!

Inseung flinched. His foot slipped!

His body slammed hard into the ice, pain shooting up his spine. His breath escaped in a strangled sob.

“Umma--!”

But she grabbed him! Hoisted him by the arm, teeth gritted -- and kept moving.

She dragged him, breath ragged, feet soaked to the knees, body trembling.

Pant.

Pant.

Pant.

They didn’t stop running until the trees swallowed them whole.

Thud!

The music cut. The boy -- Doyoung, he thought someone had called him -- was on the ground.

Gasps rippled across the room, no one moved.

Myunghun stood without thinking.

He weaved through the other trainees, crouched down beside him, and said softly:

“Hey. You okay?”

Doyoung blinked up, stunned -- not by pain... by ‘fear’. His breath was rapid.

“I’m-- I’m fine... I just-- my leg, I... I didn’t trip, it’s not--”

A pause. Doyoung’s hand shook as he pressed it against the floor to sit up.

“I didn’t think it’d... it’s been years since I injured it. I thought I was past that...” Doyoung, more to himself than anyone.

Myunghun, “I get that.”

The room was still watching. Some had already turned away, one stumble erased everything they’d seen.

Myunghun stayed, “Breathe slowly. You’re alright.”

“I’m not alright.” Doyoung, staring at the floor. “I ruined it.”

Myunghun paused. Then, “Maybe. But you also got up.”

Doyoung, “???”

Myunghun offered his hand, “We're strangers right now... but I think we’re both here because something in us refuses to stay broken.”

Doyoung hesitated, then, slowly, took his hand.

As he helped him to his feet, Doyoung gave a breathless, embarrassed laugh. “You always like helping strangers, hyung?”

“No.” Myunghun answered truthfully. “Only the ones who look like they’ve been carrying it too long.”

They crossed into China, just like that. There was no welcome, no celebration, only the biting cold and a heavy silence.

Inseung collapsed behind a tree, chest heaving, his hands scraped and purple.

Huff.

Huff.

Huff.

His whole body ached. His legs were numb. His head was swimming.

He didn’t feel relief... he felt ‘sick’.

Umma knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him.

“We’re safe...” She muttered, rocking him. “We made it, Inseungie. We made it...”

‘Safe’?

Inseung didn’t believe her.

Because his brothers weren’t here...

Because Appa wasn’t here.

Because this wasn’t safety, this was a fight for existence that left deeper scars than any wound.

He looked up at Umma... at the bruises on her wrist, at the cracked skin on her cheeks, at how her lips quivered even when she tried to be strong.

‘This isn’t home...’ He thought. ‘This was just... not dying.’

Nightfall found them huddled beneath a makeshift shelter of tarp and decaying hay within the walls of an abandoned barn. Inseung, wrapped in a blanket, gazed up at the distant moon through a gap in the roof.

He pulled out his notebook, despite the chill that made his hands stiff and clumsy. Instead of the musical notes he usually filled the pages with, he drew simple graves. Then three stick figures. One tall, one medium, one small.

He traced each line over and over until his fingers went numb.

Appa. Myungjoo. Jihun.

He couldn’t protect them. He couldn’t save them.

But he could remember, that had to count for something...

He exhaled shakily.

...right?

Without meaning to, without even realizing it, he sang one line, barely above a whisper.

♫ “H-Hello, wel... welcome home...” ♫

Umma heard him, turning slowly, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. Her smile wasn’t born of ease, but of profound relief. Her son was still alive, a miracle after so long.

“You’re not alone anymore.” Han Yerin said.

Inseung, “...” his chest ached with an emotion he couldn’t name, a warm pressure that surpassed sadness and relief.

Umma sighed, her shoulders shaking with the release of tension. A weak smile played on her lips, the smile of a survivor.

Yerin stepped back, giving them space.

Inseung’s umma wrapped her arms around him, fearing she might lose him if she let go. He sobbed into her chest. She whispered into his hair.

Yerin watched them with reverence.

She saw the grief in the mother’s body. The terror behind her son’s tears. The strength in the way he held on.

They had lost everything.

But they were still here.

The journey across Laos was a blur -- whispering checkpoints, false smiles, quiet footsteps in the dark.

One night, under a tattered blanket, Yerin passed Inseung a phone and old headphones.

“Here.” Her tone kind. “Don’t forget this feeling.”

He looked up.

“Even if you can’t tell the world who you are... your ‘voice’ can.”

The hallway was quiet, too quiet for a dorm that usually buzzed with footsteps, music, or half-muttered jokes behind closed doors.

Myunghun blinked the sleep from his eyes, dragging his feet toward the kitchen...

Click!

...A figure stepped out of the bathroom door.

Hyukhee.

He didn’t see Myunghun, at first. His head was bowed, wiping hastily at his cheeks (not with his sleeves, Hyukhee never used his sleeves) with the back of his hand, desperate to scrub some trace.

Myunghun halted mid-step.

Their gazes met a second later.

Hyukhee winced, barely, he straightened as though nothing had happened. His voice came out rough, a little too casual.

“Bathroom’s open, hyung.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He simply walked past him, steps quick.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Myunghun had seen.

Red-rimmed eyes, raw knuckles, his tightly clenched jaw, as if holding something in.

“...Hyuk-ah.”

Hyukhee stopped, his back still turned.

Myunghun, softly. “Gwaenchanayo?”

“...”

“...”

Then Hyukhee gave a breathy half-laugh (it was empty).

“...I’m not gonna cry on hyung or anything... if that’s what you’re worried about...”

Myunghun stepped closer. His words came out quieter than before.

“I’m not worried. I just don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Hyukhee turned a little, enough for Myunghun to see his profile, the glint of tears that hadn’t dried completely.

Hyukhee, “...It’s nothing, h-hyung...”

Myunghun didn’t argue. He left for a moment, and returned with a small carton of strawberry milk and a pack of shrimp chips from their shared stash.

He quietly placed them on the table beside Hyukhee and pulled out a chair, sitting down across from him.

“You don’t have to talk, but sometimes... this helps.”

Hyukhee stared at the milk for a moment, lips twitching slightly. “...You’re so weird, hyung...” He muttered.

But he didn’t push it away.

He took the milk.

“I don’t care if Jinu-hyung’s a demon! He’s still our brother! Don’t you know that?!”

Myunghun’s breath caught.

Of course... he knew.

The truth sat heavy in his chest, clawing to get out. His lungs burned from the weight of it, but knowing didn’t mean he had answers.

Knowing didn’t mean he hadn’t ‘messed’ up.

He winced, involuntarily. Hyukhee saw it.

“...Of course--”

His voice barely made it out, hoarse with guilt.

“Then what did you do?! Huh?! W-What did you all do?!”

Doyoung tried to step in, “Hyukhee, watch your tone--”

“Shut up!” A snap, sharp and immediate.

He didn’t even glance Doyoung’s way.

Right then, Myunghun felt the air shifting.

Their.

Bond.

Unraveling.

Threads.

Pulling.

Loose.

Doyoung fell silent, shock locked his lips, “...”

Even Eunwon, ever the peacekeeper, flinched, “...Hyuk-ah--”

Hyukhee didn’t look at him either.

His eyes stayed pinned on Myunghun, a storm of fury, grief, and bitter disappointment raging within them, directed with the precision of a blade aimed squarely at his heart.

“Weren’t you supposed to be the most mature one here?! You’re literally the eldest, godammit! You could’ve handled it a lot better, but instead you brushed away Jinu-hyung’s feelings, just like that!”

Myunghun said nothing.

Because... Hyukhee was right.

He had no excuse, no pretty words to deflect the harsh taste of failure on his tongue.

‘Failure’. He’d failed them, as a hyung.

He used to think holding it all together meant staying calm, in an unshakeable demeanor.

What had it ever held together, really?

Maybe that wasn’t strength...

Maybe it was just ‘hiding’.

His legs swayed, something inside him caved.

Then Hyukhee’s words came again, jagged and gutting:

“Admit it, you’re all ‘cowards’. But ‘you’, hyung... you’re the ‘worst’. You act so wise and calm but the moment things get messy, you run and call it ‘leadership’--”

It was like a knife through his ribs, the words didn’t just sting, they ‘opened’ something.

And suddenly, he wasn’t here anymore.

He was ‘Inseung’ again, a child with frostbitten hands, standing beside two shallow graves.

Voices began to rise in his head, out of nowhere, soft, devastating echoes:

‘How could you let this happen, hyung?’

Myung, Myungjoo...?

So young... so disappointed.

Then--!

‘You left us, hyung...’

Jihun! It was cracked, tender and sad.

‘Hyung said we’d try all sorts of food from the world...’

‘Yes, I, I meant to--’

Then a voice he hadn’t heard in years, deep and conclusive.

‘Inseungie...’

“!!!” His heart stopped.

‘You’re the worst... they all ‘needed’ you...’

Appa...

Listing them, one by one.

Myungjoo.

Jihun.

Doyoung.

Eunwon.

Hyukhee.

And especially... Jinu.

‘You call yourself a hyung? And yet you pointed your own weapon at your dongsaeng?’

He gasped! His lungs betraying him.

Tears hit before he could stop them, hot and blinding.

‘No... I-I... I’m sorry...!’

Who was he apologizing to?

Appa?

Jihun?

Hyukhee?

Jinu?

All of them?

None of them?

Did it even matter anymore?!

They were hurt... broken... gone.

And he hadn’t ‘protected’ them!

He clenched his fists as his own voice echoed inside:

‘...I guess part of me always knew... this wouldn’t last...’

And he’d been right, painfully right.

The others moved, and the moment splintered, lost.

Hyukhee, “Hyungs, we have to stop this. We have to stop LILIX and Celine!”

Eunwon, “Of course.”

Doyoung, “Let’s go.”

Myunghun, “...”

He didn’t move, he couldn’t. He just stood there, eyes on the flyer in his hands. The text blurred, useless.

“There’s no hope for that.”

His voice was low, empty, like a secret he didn’t want anyone to hear.

Hyukhee, confused, “What...?”

The flyer slipped from his fingers.

“It’s all over.”

‘I didn’t know how to save them...’

Jinu.

Hyukhee.

Eunwon.

Doyoung.

He lost them too.

It wasn’t the same as losing Appa, or Jihun, or Myungjoo. There was no blood, there was no silence heavy as death.

This time it happened slowly, sand slipping through trembling fingers, grain by grain.

And the worst part... he hadn’t moved to hold on tighter. He’d just let it happen. He’d convinced himself he was keeping the peace. But deep down, he knew...

He’d been avoiding the fire, not extinguishing it.

That was the truth.

He had no plan, no fight left...

All he had was ‘grief’.

He turned around, shoulders slumped under weight no one else could carry.

And walked away.

♫ “Hello, welcome home...” ♫

Flip.

Flip.

Flip.

South Korea, a new chapter.

They arrived with nothing but each other and the past stitched into their skin. It shadowed them relentlessly, refusing to be left behind.

Here, for the first time, they weren’t treated as ‘invisible’. The air smelled different -- of concrete and a wisp of hope, replacing the smell of gunpowder, or frostbitten despair. A world where they didn’t have to whisper when walking.

They were granted citizenship. Fresh papers, clean slates, new names... for safety and healing.

Lee Inseung became ‘Lee Myunghun’, a name formed carefully from the syllables of his younger brothers.

Myung. Hun.

One name for the both of them. A tribute, a secret monument, to carry them with him without ever having to say it aloud.

Umma chose a new name too, that meant ‘light’. He never asked what her old name meant, he didn’t need to. She smiled when she signed the new one, and that was enough.

They didn’t heal right away.

Even here, in a country without border guards, without soldiers watching their every step, Inseung -- Myunghun -- still flinched when someone knocked too loudly. He still jolted awake from dreams where the ice cracked beneath his feet, where Myungjoo cried and no one answered.

And Umma... she still stared too long at empty rooms. Her hands still moved with phantom fear when folding laundry, as if someone would come take it all away. She still cooked enough rice for five, then caught herself, every time.

However, Yerin didn’t leave them behind. She was always careful and quiet, never overstaying her welcome, yet she remained a constant presence, a silent guardian who checked in on birthdays and New Year’s, asking nothing in return.

One day, she asked, mildly, “Would it be okay if I introduced you to someone?”

That ‘someone’ was a trauma counselor.

At first, Myunghun said nothing in those sessions. He’d stare at the floor while Umma tried to be polite, to smile, to say, “We’re fine.” but the therapist saw through it.

It took months.

Eventually, Myunghun spoke.

“I didn’t cry at the funeral,” He mumbled one session, “be, because... there wasn’t one.”

He spoke about the river.

About Myungjoo’s fever.

About Jihun’s laughter.

About how hard it was to eat without guilt.

About how much he hated the sound of silence now.

Sometimes he cried, sometimes he just sat. And on one rare, peaceful afternoon:

“I think... I’m scared to feel happy... if I do, they’ll disappear more.”

The therapist had only nodded. “It’s okay to carry them with you. You don’t have to leave them behind to keep living.”

He clung to the thought, the permission. Slowly, like the first breath after being submerged, the music flowed back, not with a ‘bang!’, but with a delicate note, a gentle hum.

At his new school, someone mentioned a music club. He nearly said no (old habits), but an inner urge changed his mind.

He became a quiet member, a listener more than a player, until one day, he was given a guitar.

His hands trembled the first time he played. The new, perfectly tuned strings felt strangely alien.

‘They work.’ He thought. ‘They shouldn’t, but they do.’

That night, he stayed behind after club hours, plucking strings alone in the corner. His fingertips blistered. He kept going, still, because this time pain wasn’t punishment. It was ‘progress’.

After that, he began sneaking into public libraries just to sit by the piano. Unlike the broken one he’d tapped in his hometown, these keys weren’t chipped. They responded when pressed, they sang back, devoid of the static and hollow clicks of his past. He found pure sound.

He taught himself -- guitar first, then piano, then drums. Every note was a touch of light after years in the dark.

He immersed himself in music theory, filling notebooks (once with somber records) with chords, lyrics, and dreams he now dared to articulate.

He began uploading compositions online, anonymously. Under the pseudonym ‘ISC’ -- for InSeung’s Compositions -- he released songs soaked with raw emotion. The haunting melodies were so captivating, they made people stop scrolling and ‘listen’.

His music didn’t shout, it didn’t beg. It simply existed, aching, and alive.

Producers noticed.

Before he ever stepped on stage, his melodies were dancing beneath rookie idols, climbing charts in hidden corners of the internet. Indie singers added verses. Studios wondered:

“Who is ISC?”

“How can music sound like this and still feel like home?”

When they found out he was just a teenager, still in school, they couldn’t believe it.

But Myunghun never told them his story. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want to be a headline, a ‘Miracle Refugee Artist’, a trauma mascot.

He just wanted to be heard, for the part of him that still sang.

And one day, he wrote a song just for ‘them’...

For Appa, who never crossed the river.

For Myungjoo, who burned with fever.

For Jihun, who smiled through hunger.

Subtle, unassuming, a soft, persistent beat, the pulse of memory. A fragile hope that was almost painful to hold.

“I silently traced your names, and the wind carried them on a gentle breeze...”

He hasn’t released it yet -- it’s his private prayer folded into a melody, a promise he made in the language only he speaks best.

That no matter how far he’s come... he will never forget where he started...

And who he lost along the way.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

The Climb

Pitter-patter.

♫ “I can almost see it -- that dream I’m dreaming but there’s a voice inside my head sayin’, ‘You’ll never reach it.’” ♫

Pitter-patter.

The rain had been steady all day, thin needles stitching the city in gray. Doyoung’s hood was pulled low, but the water still crept down the back of his neck.

♫ “Every step I’m takin’, every move I make feels lost with no direction, my faith is shakin’.” ♫

His sneakers (the pair he used to rehearse in) were soaked through, the cold biting into his toes.

Step.

His pace was deliberate, hampered both by the slick surface and the lingering pain in his leg.

Step.

The fracture had healed enough for him to walk without the brace, yet the stiffness remained -- a reminder with every movement.

♫ “But I, I gotta keep tryin’ -- gotta keep my head held high.” ♫

A reminder that the stage felt farther away than it ever had.

‘Am I still even a dancer if I can’t move like I used to?’

“Stage names.”

Gwima-sunbae declared, as though he was announcing the fate of the world instead of five boys standing in mismatched pullovers and sweatpants in a drafty training hall that smelled faintly of sweat and floor polish.

“Every performer needs one. Every hunter needs one too.”

He started pointing, without preamble. “Lee Myunghun... you’ll be Mystery.”

Myunghun tilted his head, skeptical, arms crossing loosely, “...Because?”

Gwima, “Because no one understands you.”

Myunghun, “...?”

Gwima moved on before he could argue, “Shin Doyoung -- Romance.”

Doyoung raised an eyebrow. That was... not where he thought this was going, “...‘Romance’?”

Gwima, “You give people false hope.”

Doyoung, “What--”

“Kang Eunwon... Abby.”

Eunwon perked up instantly, “Like Abbey Road?”

“No,” Gwima deadpanned, “like abalone, because you’re hard on the outside, soft inside.”

“...That’s actually kinda cute--”

“Han Jinu...” Gwima paused, then scratched his head. “...still Jinu.”

Jinu didn’t even blink. “Good. I like my name.”

Then Eunwon’s hand shot up, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, oh! I get to name Hyuk-ah!”

Hyukhee’s expression turned into an automatic no. “No, you don’t--”

“Baby!” Eunwon announced proudly, throwing his arms up in a manner that implied he’d just cured world hunger.

“What the--?!” Hyukhee spluttered, his voice climbing in outrage. “I’m not-- hyung, don’t you dare--”

“Oh, yes, you are!” Eunwon sing-songed.

Gwima nodded, solemnly. “It’s perfect.”

Hyukhee groaned, “...This is ‘hazing’.”

Doyoung bit back a laugh -- okay, maybe he didn’t. The moment felt warm in a way their training rarely did.

However, Gwima’s tone shifted, the playful smirk vanished, and the air noticeably dropped a few degrees.

“Names are one thing,” He turned toward the far door, “but weapons... weapons are for life. Follow me.”

SAJA BOYS (사자 보이스) ‘Wild with SAJA’ EP. XX
SAJA BOYS
7.4M views • X years ago

The ‘Wild with SAJA’ episode was blowing up online, thanks to the boys’ chaotic, infectious energy.

One moment in particular had viewers cracking up -- their round of the ‘I Am Ground’ game (it was Doyoung’s idea to play, insisting it would help them get used to their stage names -- especially Hyukhee, who clearly wasn’t thrilled with his)!

They gathered in a circle, bouncing slightly in place as the mood lifted.

Jinu, practically vibrating with excitement, called out, “Let’s introduce ourselves first!”

Abby, matching his hyung’s enthusiasm, “Okay! One, two -- one, two, three, four!”

They all chanted in unison, clapping and tapping their thighs in rhythm.

Clap.

Clap.

‘I am ground’, name a player and number of beats in four beats --

Tap.

Tap.

“Aiem geuraundeu, let’s introduce ourselves!”

-- they have to introduce themselves to the beat and then start the game, they’ll play until only one player remains.

Clap!

Tap!

Abby went first, beaming. “Naneun Aebi!”

Baby followed, muttering, “Naneun Beibi...” he caught two of his hyungs, Abby and Jinu, exchanging teasing glances, making him squint his eyes at them.

Mystery chimed in, “Naneun Miseuteori!”

Then Jinu, “Naneun Jinu!”

And finally, Romance, “Naneun Romaenseu!”

Without missing a beat, Romance smirked. “Baby, dul!”

Baby shot him a pointed look but followed. “Baby, Baby! Jinu, set!”

Jinu, now laser-focused, fired back, “Jinu, Jinu, Jinu! Doyoung, dul!”

“Hyung!” Abby burst out laughing.

“Oh, wait--!” Jinu blinked, realizing his mistake.

Mystery sighed, “Aish...”

Romance shook his head, half-scolding, half-laughing. “Yah!”

Jinu quickly threw his hands up, “No, no, that was a practice round! I’ll play serious next time, yeoreobun!”

Romance huffed with a grin. “Yeah, you better.”

Jinu held up a peace sign, “✌︎︎(◔◡◔)”

Abby snickered, “Sure, a ‘practice’ round.”

Baby just made a face that screamed, ‘I don’t buy it.’

Tap. Tap.

They reset, chanting again in perfect rhythm.

Clap. Clap.

“Aiem geuraundeu, let’s start with Jinu!”

Four pairs of eyes locked on him, waiting to see if he’d redeem himself.

Jinu, “Abby, net!”

Abby, “Abby, Abby, Abby, Abby! Mystery, set!”

Mystery, “Mystery, Mystery, Mystery! Romance, dul!”

Romance, “Romance, Romance! Baby, hana!”

Clap. Tap.

The pace picked up, the claps and taps getting faster.

Clap. Tap.

Jinu was the first to get tripped up, “(⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠)”

Clap. Tap.

Abby followed soon after, “ಠಿ⁠ヮ⁠ಠ”

Then Mystery, “(⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠)⁠・⁠・⁠・”

Clap. Tap.

Baby fought hard but ended up second place, “ತ⁠_⁠ʖ⁠ತ”

“Winner!” Romance stood tall, throwing his arms up in victory, “(⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧”

The episode carried on with even more wild, chaotic games. Yet, for many fans, this round of ‘I Am Ground’ was the real highlight.

The hall they entered was nothing like their training space, this felt older, almost sacred.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Footsteps reverberated with deliberate cadence, mirroring a faint heartbeat in the score.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The air was thick with secrets. Racks and stands fill the space, lined with weapons that look too pristine to be ordinary: blades, bows, chains, staves, fans, strange relics whose purposes Doyoung couldn’t even guess. The low light of candle flames trembled, shadows swaying on the stone walls.

“What... is this place?” Myunghun asked.

“The Armory.” Gwima, his voice carried a kind of reverence. “It holds the weapons of those who came before you. You don’t choose them. ‘They’ choose you.”

Eunwon grinned. “Like... magic wands?”

“Like soulmates,” Gwima corrected, “except these will kill demons for you.”

The boys spread out slowly, their initial hesitation palpable. The very atmosphere seemed to observe them, heavy with anticipation.

Doyoung kept his hands in his pockets, watching the others more than the weapons. He couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or stalling.

Jinu’s moment came first.

A whip coiled neatly on the wall shivered, then uncoiled in a sudden ripple, the metal links rattling. At its end, a microphone head gleamed under the wavering light. It leapt from its hook, the cord slithering through the air until the handle slapped neatly into Jinu’s palm.

Doyoung caught the flicker in Jinu’s eyes -- there was a shadow... gone before anyone else noticed. Though, he’d seen enough to guess. The way his grip tightened, like he wasn’t holding a weapon but reclaiming something that used to ‘hurt’ him.

Doyoung wondered if that was how this worked -- if the Armory remembered what had been done to them.

Jinu’s fingers squeezed the handle. His smirk came gradually, measured. “I guess it’s mine.”

Eunwon snorted. “Show-off.”

Eunwon’s turn came without warning.

A folded fan slid from a high shelf and landed at his feet, “???” he picked it up, and the edges shimmered, turning razor-sharp under the light. The fan opened with a whisper that sounded almost as applause -- or maybe Doyoung was imagining it.

For a moment, Eunwon didn’t grin. And that told Doyoung more than any smile could.

Eunwon held it in both hands, his jaw set. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Whatever it meant to him, it was his now. From the way he squared his shoulders, it was going to stay that way.

Myunghun-hyung’s was stranger.

The soft ‘clink!’ of soda-tabs echoed from somewhere in the shadows. One by one, they rolled toward him across the floor. Then they lifted, hovering mid-air, twisting until they locked together into the shape of shuriken.

They caught the candlelight -- silver edges flashing as frost before settling (perfectly balanced) in his hands.

Doyoung had no idea why, but the look on Myunghun’s visage told him it wasn’t ‘random’. He’d never seen that particular mix of sadness and fondness before, the weapon virtually handing him back a piece of his past.

Later, he’d probably ask about it. For now, he just let his hyung hold onto it.

Hyukhee was still searching when a small lacquered box slid forward from the highest shelf, stopping just short of falling. He caught it on instinct.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet, were slender silver needles adorned with delicate warding runes that pulsed subtly under the candlelight.

Hyuk-ah’s lips pressed together.

Doyoung knew that expression -- the kind where someone had been trained for one path their whole life, and then decided to burn the map. The needles were his, but ‘on his terms’.

Hyukhee, “...Seriously? Not even a sword?”

Gwima, simply, “They’ll be faster than a sword.”

Hyukhee’s frown didn’t fade, his fingers lingered on the needles anyway.

Doyoung found himself almost relieved to watch everyone else’s turn first. The Armory felt like it was waiting for him, and he was apprehensive about finding out why.

Then there was Doyoung (he wasn’t the superstitious type. He didn’t think he needed a weapon, unless a microphone and a powerful sound system fit the description). As he scanned the room, an energy tugged at him, gently (insistently), toward one side of the hall.

He had a fleeting feeling of being watched by everyone, but it could have been his mind playing tricks.

His steps slowed near a long, telescoping staff resting across hooks.

Something in his chest went cold.

The last time he’d seen a baton (not this exact kind, but close enough in weight and shape), it hadn’t been ‘glowing’. It had been spinning in practiced hands, arcing down toward him in a narrow side street -- the crack against his leg sharp enough to steal his breath. For a split second, he almost saw it again: the blur of motion, the lightning of pain, and behind it... ‘Jungdae’’s smile.

The image flickered away, replaced by the quiet hum of the Armory.

Every instinct told him to ‘step back’, to pick something else.

Anything else!

And yet, there was a stupid, reckless part of him -- the same one that signed up for this whole thing -- that leaned in instead.

The staff stirred, animated as though breathing, expectant as though waiting.

His throat felt dry, “...” he reached out before he could stop himself.

The staff was cold at first, then warm, nearly like it exhaled against his palm. Metal shifted under his grip...

Click, sshhhkt!

...lengthening at both ends, until it wasn’t a mere ‘staff’ anymore. It was a gleaming double-ended baton, its engraved lines curling into a melody he’d once written and never performed -- a song from before the injury, before the alley, before ‘fear’ stole his stage.

Doyoung blinked, half-waiting for someone to tell him he was imagining it... but no one said a word.

The memory didn’t disappear. The phantom ache in his leg didn’t fade.

However, for the first time he believed he might stand his ground against it.

Eunwon whistled low, though his eyes dwelt a second longer on Doyoung’s mien. “Romance with a big stick... makes sense. Hyung’s gonna twirl it at his enemies or his fans?”

Doyoung smiled faintly, gaze still on the weapon, “...It’s not for romance.”

Gwima stepped forward. “Now,” The weight in his voice unmistakable, “you’re ready.”

“Man, I’m so nervous. You? You good?”

It was one hour until stage...

Ahn Jungdae sat slouched in his chair, one leg bouncing, fingers pulling at the hem of his hooded top. His eyes lingered on Doyoung a beat too long before he said it.

Doyoung was bent over his sneakers, cinching the laces. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jungdae’s laughter was uncharacteristically frail and hesitant, a brittle sound that might splinter. “I can’t breathe in here. Let’s get some air, just a few minutes.”

It wasn’t unusual for them to step out before a performance. Doyoung saw Jungdae as more than just a rival, they had trained together for months. They’d eaten ramen at midnight in dingy convenience stores, killed hours talking about what they’d do if they actually won a competition like this.