#tmgdb

Series Masterlist (this is set after the movie)

The Saja Boys are Seoul’s hottest new idol group and demons in disguise. Their new manager, is just a human… or so they think.

She’s actually the last witch of her bloodline, bound by an ancient oath to protect five powerful beings foretold in prophecy. Managing them would be easier if they weren’t chaotic, suspicious, and weirdly attractive.

They’re hiding what they are.

So is she.

And if anyone finds out, the spotlight might not be the only thing that burns.

✦ Author’s Note: This series is written as a reader-insert — you are the mysterious, magically overqualified manager of the Saja Boys.

When talking about the story in other posts or comments (and on AO3), you are referred to as Areum, as that is the character's name in-universe and where you can find more about the world. But make no mistake — this is still your story.

Started: 6/30/25

Finished:

( Also on Ao3 )

Prologue: Under Glamour, Under Guise

Chapter 1: Witchcraft in the Waiting Room

Chapter 2: Sweat, Spells, and Setlists

Chapter 3: Lights, Glamour, Residue

Chapter 4: Silent Pages, Shifting Shadows

Chapter 5: No Coincidence, Only Intent

Chapter 6: Shadows Between Us

Chapter 7: Unplanned, Unveiled

Chapter 8: Meetings, Missteps, and Misdirection

Chapter 9: Signals, Sparks, and Shrugged-Off Magic

Chapter 10: Closets, Charms, and Carefully-Lit Lies

Chapter 11: Coffee and Counterspells

Chapter 12: Burn Marks and Shifting Lines

Chapter 13: Wards, Warnings, and Witnesses

Chapter 14: Clear Skies, Subtle Lies

Chapter 15:

💬 Tags:

#TMGDB—everything relating to this story

Witchcraft in the Waiting Room

Prologue/Chapter 1/Chapter2

The conference room was every shade of uninspired: beige walls, buzzing lights, and the faint scent of instant ramen lingering like a ghost that never left. The table, scratched and water-stained, was just large enough to seat the five demons pretending to be a rookie idol group.

They were waiting. Restless.

Jinu sat at the head of the table, posture perfect, fake reading glasses perched on his nose. He tapped a pen against the table in a rhythm that matched neither time nor beat.

Abby lounged next to him, arms crossed to subtly flex against the tight sleeves of his shirt. He offered a friendly smile to no one in particular and watched the clock tick.

Mystery leaned back in his chair, the edge of a company memo torn between his teeth. His dark eyes flicked toward the lights overhead, as if trying to understand their existence by glaring at them.

Romance looked painfully at home, reclined like he was posing for a solo teaser poster. One leg crossed. Shirt half unbuttoned.

And Baby? Baby had three open energy drinks in front of him, his foot bouncing like a jackhammer.

They were told their new manager would arrive at 2 p.m.

It was 2:04.

"Maybe they forgot," Jinu muttered.

"Maybe we manage ourselves now," Romance said with a smirk. "Democratic. Sexy."

"Do we really need a manager?" Baby asked, already halfway through his second drink. "We’ve got charisma."

"We have no schedule, no staff, and no clue what we’re doing," Jinu shot back. "We absolutely need a manager."

"What if she’s old?" Baby asked. "Like ancient-old. Or smells like mothballs."

"What if she’s hot?" Romance countered.

"What if she eats us?" Mystery added quietly. It was hard to tell if he was joking.

The door opened.

They fell silent.

The new manager stepped into the room, closing the door behind her without a sound. She carried a clipboard, a black coffee, and an air of unimpressed efficiency.

Her eyes swept over them, measured but not wide. Not startled. She set her drink down calmly, adjusted her blazer, and spoke with the kind of confidence that made even demons listen.

"Good afternoon. I’m your new manager. You must be the Saja Boys."

A beat passed.

Five demons blinked at her.

Romance was the first to recover. He sat up, flashing a slow, practiced smile. "You're not what I expected."

She tilted her head. "Neither are you."

That earned a flicker of interest from Mystery.

Jinu cleared his throat, standing up just enough to bow politely. "Thank you for coming. We’re looking forward to working with you."

"I’m sure you are," she said. Flipping a page on her clipboard. "We’ll be discussing your upcoming showcase schedule shortly. But first, I’d like to set a few ground rules."

The boys sat straighter.

"Number one," she continued, her tone calm but crisp. "No skipping rehearsals. No exceptions. Number two, personal drama stays personal, I don’t want to anything about it on the news. Number three, if you’re going to experiment with... eccentric looks, make sure they’re not flammable."

A pause.

"And number four respect the staff. Even if you think you could do their job better." She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "That goes for me, too."

They were quiet again.

She hadn't said anything strange. Nothing out of place. But something in the way she watched them, steady, calm, and wholly unafraid rubbed against instinct.

Mystery tilted his head slightly. Baby stared at her like she was a math problem he couldn’t solve. Romance looked intrigued. Abby smiled, as always, but this time with more interest than politeness.

And Jinu… Jinu watched her like he was trying to find the string beneath her surface.

But you didn’t give them time to pull at it.

"Now," she said, gathering her things, "you have ten minutes to get dressed for practice. I’ll meet you in the studio."

She turned on her heel and left the room.

They didn’t follow right away.

Not because they were suspicious.

But because something about her energy, tightly coiled, quiet, patient made them feel like they had already been sized up, cataloged, and filed away.

And somehow, that was worse than being underestimated.

(Flashback: One Week Earlier – Your POV)

The city hummed with energy. Seoul always did. But lately, there was a flicker beneath the noise  like static in the ley lines. Something was coming.

You had felt it before you saw it.

The prophecy had been buried in her grimoire, untouched for a century:

"Five fires shall walk the city.Under glamour, under guise.If the last witch sees them first,They will live.If others find them—Burn."

You found them by accident. Or maybe fate.

A rehearsal studio. Music shaking the walls. Bodies moving with more power than choreography should allow.

When she saw them; five boys laughing, sweating, radiating energy like a warning, she knew. Not what they were exactly. But that they were hers to protect.

Not to control.

To watch. To guide.

To save, if it came to that.

(End of Flashback)

They followed her to the studio in silence.

Romance didn’t flirt. Not yet. Not until the elevator dinged and the spell of that first meeting cracked.

"She’s definitely not a rookie manager," he whispered.

"She didn’t flinch," Abby said thoughtfully.

"She didn’t ask questions," Jinu muttered.

"Maybe she’s just chill?" Baby offered.

Mystery didn’t speak.

But when she opened the studio door and waved them in like she had all the time in the world something in him settled.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

Sweat, Spells, and Setlists

Chapter1/Chapter 2/Chapter3

The studio smelled like sweat, spell-dampened glamour, and expensive hair product. The air hummed with the intensity of their rehearsal, a friction of energy as the Saja Boys moved in sync, yet just slightly off-kilter, enough to make her feel the tension between the boys and the world that no longer remembered them.

She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, clipboard balanced on one hip. Her gaze was sharp, catching every movement, every flicker of hesitation in their choreography. She was not impressed.

“Again,” she said, her voice calm but carrying an unspoken weight.

The beat dropped.

The Saja Boys danced with the kind of energy that only demons could summon sharp, powerful, but imperfect. It wasn’t that they were bad dancers. No, they were extraordinary. But the cracks were there, the tiny moments where their power slipped through the glamour that veiled them. Your trained eyes caught it all the hesitation in Jinu’s left foot, Abby’s overpowering rhythm that was too big for the space, the brief flicker of gold behind Mystery’s shadow as he spun too fast, the way Romance flirted with the beat but never quite became part of it.

And then there was Baby—his footwork impeccable, aggressive, like he had something to prove.

They were beautiful. And terrifying. But they were also lost.

Jinu was the easiest to read. He moved with the precision of a soldier, every motion deliberate and controlled, but there was a tension in him. He wasn’t just dancing for the sake of performance. It was like he was fighting for something fighting for survival. There was something about the way he counted the beats in his head, as if trying to stay one step ahead, as if trying to hold everything together without anyone noticing the weight of it all.

You liked him. He reminded you of yourself—always watching, always calculating, always holding things together in silence.

Abby, on the other hand, danced with a kind of grace that shouldn’t belong to someone as large as he was. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm, his gaze connecting with each of the boys in turn, always making sure they were still a team, still in sync, even when the world outside their rehearsals threatened to tear them apart. Abby wasn’t just strong physically; his emotional intelligence was off the charts. He saw everything every crack, every sigh, every unspoken word.

But the truth was, Abby didn’t realize how strong his power was. She had seen it before. She had felt the crackle under his skin when he was angry, when his strength flared out of control. She had seen him almost destroy a room with nothing more than the sheer force of his presence.

Mystery, meanwhile, moved like water fluid, unpredictable, untamed. His body bent the choreography to his will, twisting it into something primal. She thought she caught him glancing at the mirror more than the others—not out of vanity, but confusion. He didn’t seem to recognize himself in the reflection. He didn’t see the demon lurking beneath the surface.

And when the glamour slipped, when his true form shimmered through for just a moment she noticed the flash of the spiral-shaped mark under his collarbone. A demon’s brand. The same kind of mark the boys had been born with, but one that no human was supposed to see.

Romance, as usual, flirted with the mirror, with the choreography, with the beat itself. His every move was a performance—charisma wrapped in flesh, smooth and effortless. He was too good at pretending to be human.

It made you trust him the least.

He noticed everything. His eyes had already clocked her, the way she was watching them more than their footwork. He smiled, a knowing, teasing grin, and she could almost feel him pulling at her, trying to get a reaction. But she held her ground. There was more at play here than the surface, and she wasn’t going to let him distract her from the real danger.

Baby didn’t smile.

His footwork was flawless fast, aggressive, and precise, like a machine. Every move had purpose, every motion calculated for maximum impact. There was no wasted effort, no hesitation. But more than that, there was a stillness about him. The others joked around, laughed between takes, but not Baby. He was all business, his eyes always darting around the room, taking in the smallest details. He was young, yes, but that didn’t mean he was naive.

And that was why you marked him as the most dangerous. Not because of his recklessness, but because of his deliberate control. He was the one who could destroy everything without even trying.

You let them run the dance three more times, making mental notes, tracking their movements, but also watching them closely—watching how their power leaked out when they forgot to hold back, when they let their guard down. You wondered if they knew it was happening. Did they feel it?

Probably not.

That was the problem with glamour. It slipped at the edges.

The boys filed out of the studio sometime after seven, laughing and shoving each other, their hair damp and their clothes wrinkled from hours of rehearsal. They were loud, vibrant, trying to act like normal humans. They joked and teased each other, putting on their best “idol” faces, trying to blend into the world that no longer remembered them.

You handed them their revised schedule and didn’t linger.

“Group photoshoot on Monday,” you said, voice crisp and direct. “Don’t be late.”

Jinu nodded, his gaze lingering on the paper. Abby grinned, stretching his arms above his head. Romance winked at you, the flirtation still lingering in his eyes.

Mystery stared at the fluorescent light like it had insulted him.

Baby didn’t say anything. But he caught your eye for a beat longer than usual, as if something unspoken passed between them.

-----------------------

Your apartment was small, neat, and filled with protective wards. Silver threads crisscrossed the windows, keeping the world outside from prying too closely. The balcony, barely visible from the street, held dried herbs strung like bunting, a scent of magic and nature filling the air. The tea shelf doubled as a potion rack, every bottle and jar carefully labeled, as though the apartment were a place of secrets rather than just a home.

You dropped your keys in the bowl by the door, unbuttoned your blazer, and crossed to the window out of habit.

Then you paused.

Across the narrow street, in the window of a sleek new apartment building, a light flickered on. Then another.

A shadow passed by—a tall, broad figure, familiar yet distant.

Then another.

Then five.

Your fingers tightened around the mug.

So.

They lived across from you. Not exactly opposite, but close enough that you could see their windows if one leaned out a little, just enough to glimpse movement, silhouettes, outlines against the curtains.

They didn’t know.

Couldn’t see you through the protective charms woven into the glass.

But you could see them.

And for now, that was enough.

You though, had known.

Had known from the moment you saw them that they weren’t just any K-pop group. They weren’t just talented boys with too much charisma. You saw them for what they truly were: survivors. And knew what would happen if the wrong people discovered them.

--------------------------

At first, the boys had laughed off the idea of needing a manager.

Abby, as always, was the first to speak up: “We’ve got charisma. We don’t need anyone holding our hands.”

But he didn’t see it. He didn’t see the weight of the world on their shoulders, the constant pressure to fit in when they had been erased from human memory. He didn’t see the darkened eyes watching them from the distance, the people who would see them not as idols, but as demons.

Jinu had been the first to get it. He saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the way they floundered in a world that couldn’t remember their past. He saw that they needed something someone to help keep them grounded in a reality that had forgotten them. And he saw that she was more than just a manager. She was their lifeline.

Mystery hadn’t said much about it. But every time she was in the room, his eyes would flick to her, as though searching for answers in the quiet strength she carried. He didn’t understand her completely, but he recognized that she was the one who kept them from unraveling.

Romance, for all his flirtations and playful demeanor, had moments when he looked at her with something softer in his eyes. He never asked for her help, but he always sought her out when the world around them felt too loud, too overwhelming. She was the one who held their group together, the one who kept the chaos at bay, even if she didn’t fully reveal her own secrets.

Baby, however, was the one who noticed her first. Baby, despite his youthful appearance, could sense things the others couldn’t. He noticed how you never looked at him like a child. Didn’t underestimate him the way others did. You saw him, and in doing so, gave him something the others never could: the feeling of being understood.

The prophecy that foretold five flames—five demon lords walking the Earth—had been true. But what it didn’t tell them was that their existence would disrupt everything. They were demons, but they were alive, walking, and hiding in a world that had no place for them. And even though she had kept them safe for now, the prophecy also spoke of her being part of their future, part of their salvation.

She wasn’t just their manager. She was the key to their survival.

Their connection to her went beyond mere circumstance. It was fate. And even though the boys didn’t realize it, they had been marked by destiny. She had been drawn to them, and they to her.

They needed her more than they knew.

Because without her, they were nothing more than lost demons, forgotten by the world they had tried so hard to fit into. And they would soon realize that the world wasn’t going to let them stay hidden for much longer.

Under Glamour, Under Guise

Prologue/Chapter 1

The world saw five beautiful boys: talented, charming, chaotic in just the right way. A K-pop group with potential, mystery, and fan edits by the hour. But you saw something else.

You saw them before they were famous. Not in the literal sense and no, you hadn’t been stalking their debut clips or lurking on social media. You saw them in fire. In prophecy. In a warning passed down by witches long gone.

"Five fires shall walk the city.

Under glamour, under guise.

If the last witch sees them first,

They will live."

You hadn’t expected it to be so literal.

They called themselves the Saja Boys.

You called them what they were: demons.

Old power in new skin.

And now You were their manager.

They didn’t know what you were. They thought you were just another human, clever, competent, maybe a little intense. You let them believe that. Because if the wrong people learned the truth, you wouldn’t be able to protect them at all.

There were rules: keep them safe. Keep them secret. Keep them from learning too much about her, about the world, about the enemies who would love nothing more than to see demonkind and witchcraft alike burned to ash.

But rules are hard to follow when your clients are five supernatural disasters in expensive eyeliner.

Still, you had a job to do. And an oath to uphold.

And you wouldn’t let anyone—or anything—take them away.

In a world where idols shine on stage and demons walk in designer sneakers, the Saja Boys are just another rising K-pop group with a dark secret, they’re not just idols, they’re literal demons, glamoured and hidden in plain sight.

------------------------

Enter you, a calm, capable manager with sharp eyes, a tighter schedule, and secrets of her own. As the last surviving witch of an ancient bloodline, you were never supposed to get involved.

But a prophecy buried deep in your family’s grimoires spoke of five flames—five demons—who would burn or be burned depending on who found them first.

Now your managing them.

They think she’s just human. She lets them believe it.

Lights, Glamour, Residue

Chapter2/Chapter 3/Chapter4

The studio they were using for the shoot was all sterile lighting and polished chrome, a familiar maze of garment racks and shouting stylists. You had arrived ten minutes early, clipboard in hand, ready to wrangle the chaos.

You wore the usual sharp blazer, black slacks, and no nonsense. Aura crisp as your eyeliner.

It was Monday. Which meant three things:

The Saja Boys were late.

There were at least three major sponsor names riding on this shoot.

You’d had the creeping feeling all weekend that something was going to shift—and soon.

You couldn’t shake the tension, not even under her practiced calm. There was something in the air lately. A shimmer under the skin of the world. Like fate was holding its breath.

Still, when the boys finally arrived, they looked polished, chaotic, and infuriatingly camera-ready.

Mystery was the last to enter.

He walked like he hadn’t been called for, like he was simply appearing because the shadows allowed it. His long coat whispered against the floor, and his bangs hung low over his eyes.

But she felt it immediately: the way his gaze landed on her. Not a direct look—he never quite met her face—but a knowing weight settled in the space between them.

It wasn’t suspicion.

It was something older.

And then the studio lights flickered.

Just once.

A brief, humming dip in power as the air buzzed with something not quite electricity.

No one noticed.

No one but her.

And Mystery.

She watched his head tilt, just slightly. His fingers twitched where they rested on his sleeve. He smelled it—her. Not fully. Not the way a witch might recognize a sigil in blood, but like static before a storm.

It was enough to make him pause mid-step.

She lifted her clipboard, pen tapping once against the schedule.

“Let's go over call order,” she said calmly.

Mystery’s expression didn’t change. But he didn’t look away from her again.

Mid-Shoot

The boys were naturals—despite themselves. Abby flexed too often, Romance posed like he was falling in love with the camera, and Baby had to be told three times to stop sucking on a lollipop between takes.

Jinu pretended to be annoyed, but Areum could tell he was watching everything.

Not just the shoot. Her.

“Manager-nim,” a stylist whispered, stepping close. “Do you have a moment?”

You followed her behind the backdrop and crouched to inspect a monitor cable, fingers brushing the frayed cord. A sharp spark zipped up your palm.

You didn’t flinch.

Instead, with a casual flick of her fingers—subtle, unspoken—a thread of sigil energy repaired the cord in less than a heartbeat. Not visible. Not loud.

But enough.

When you straightened, Mystery was watching from across the set.

His eyes, barely visible under the veil of bangs, gleamed faintly—not with recognition, not yet, but with ancient curiosity. The kind demons didn’t show easily.

You gave him nothing in return.

Not yet.

After the Shoot

The boys trailed out of the studio, some grumbling, some still joking. You lingered to sign the final checklist, organize the release forms, and field a call from a production assistant who didn’t understand why backup clothes wouldn’t arrive on a two-hour notice.

You massaged your temple with one hand while holding the phone with the other, offering clipped, polite explanations that only barely veiled your exhaustion.

By the time you stepped outside, the evening air had cooled, brushing across her cheeks like a warning.

Mystery stood at the edge of the alley.

Not blocking. Not confronting.

Just… standing.

His head tilted.

You raised a brow, still holding the phone, now silent and forgotten.

He said nothing. Just stared for one long moment—like he wanted to ask a question but hadn’t figured out how to phrase it in human terms.

Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows like he’d never been there.

Mystery pov

The others were still talking when he slipped out of the main room. Their voices followed him down the hall—Jinu’s clipped commands, Abby’s even tone, Romance’s smooth deflection, Baby’s sharp observations.

Words didn’t matter. He’d already heard everything he needed.

Things were changing.

He drifted toward the far end of the hall, past the familiar signs of life: protein wrappers outside Abby’s door, flickering light under Romance’s, a trail of candy wrappers near Baby’s. His own room remained untouched, quiet and cold.

But he didn’t go inside.

Instead, he stopped at the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city, his silhouette framed by glass and distant light. Skyscrapers blinked under the thinning night. The streets below were small veins of motion. He rested his forehead against the cool glass and let his eyes half-close.

Across the way, something moved.

A curtain shifting. A light flickering.

The manager's apartment.

He couldn’t see her, not exactly. Not from this distance. But he felt… something. A watching presence. Not hostile. Not afraid.

Just aware.

Too aware.

Humans flinched from him. She never had. Not once.

She looked at him through his bangs. Through silence. Through space.

And that—that—was strange.

Mystery didn’t know what she was. Not yet. But she wasn’t ordinary.

Not when she moved like she’d seen them before.

Not when her silence felt like understanding.

Maybe she was just observant.

Or maybe she was something else.

He closed his eyes.

The glass cooled his skin, but heat curled just under the surface—his demon mark pulsing faintly, like it, too, had noticed something different.

She hadn't said a word to him today.

But he could feel her.

Watching.

Waiting.

And he wondered—not for the first time—who was studying whom.

Shopping Trip-- Your pov

She walked through the busy streets of the supernatural district, her steps deliberate, every glance calculated. The marketplace here wasn’t just a collection of shops—it was a living, breathing testament to the hidden world that ran parallel to human society.

Supernatural creatures—some who passed for ordinary humans, others not so much—moved between the stalls hawking potions, sigils, and enchanted trinkets. The air hummed with an energy that could only be described as magic in its purest form.

She had only been to the district a handful of times since she began working with the Saja Boys. The area was full of charm—literally and figuratively—but she didn’t visit often. The supernatural community was a delicate balance between peacekeepers and enforcers, each shopkeeper knowing far more about the dangers of the world than the boys ever could.

She stopped in front of a modest stall at the corner. The scent of incense filled the air as an elderly woman looked up from behind the counter. Her eyes gleamed with the wisdom of someone who had seen centuries pass. She knew the lady wasn’t just any ordinary herbalist; she was a witch who specialized in protective magic.

“Ah, the witch who watches over the demons,” the woman said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I thought you might come. What is it you need, my dear?”

She tilted her head slightly. “Just some protection. For an apartment. Something subtle, something strong enough to keep certain... visitors at bay.”

The old woman’s gaze sharpened, studying her for a long moment. Then, she reached behind the counter, pulling out a small black pouch that seemed to absorb the light around it.

“This will shield them for now. It won't hide their presence, but it will mask their power. It's a protective charm, crafted specifically for those who don’t belong in the human world.”

She took the pouch, feeling the weight of it in her palm. “This should be enough. How much?”

The old woman waved her hand dismissively. “No charge. I know who you're protecting, and I know the cost of what you've done. You’ll need more than this in time, though. Things are changing, and not in their favor.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

The woman’s voice lowered, barely above a whisper.

“The Saja Boys are marked. They may have helped Huntrix defeat Gwi-Ma, but they are still demons—demons who once nearly destroyed entire spiritual communities with the Honmoon fluctuations and even worse when they broke free of his control. You may keep them hidden from the human world, but their true nature can’t stay concealed forever.”

She felt a tight knot in her chest. The truth. The boys’ glamour had fooled the human world, but it wasn’t enough to hide the truth from those who knew what to look for.

“The spiritual communities haven’t forgotten,” the woman continued, her voice low. “And when they find out who those boys really are—when they realize who you’re really protecting—they won’t stop until they’ve destroyed them. They still believe the Saja Boys look like they did under Gwi-Ma. They think they’re still the same demons. And they will come for them, sooner or later.”

She nodded, hiding the weight of the revelation behind a calm exterior. She paid for the charm and left the stall, but the words haunted her.

The Saja Boys—her boys—weren’t just dealing with human hunters. The supernatural community had been hunting them since their escape from Gwi-Ma’s control, and even though they were still hidden beneath the veil of their glamour, the community’s instincts were honed and sharp.

The Saja Boys had destroyed several spiritual sanctuaries during their escape, and the communities feared their return. Though the Honmoon had been restored by Huntrix after Gwi-Ma’s defeat, the damage had already been done.

The boys’ true demon forms—their power, their nature—was still a secret, but the communities believed they were still the same monsters from before.

The boys might be idols now, performing and living in a world that had forgotten their past, but the supernatural community had not forgotten. And once the glamour slipped or the truth came to light, the boys would be hunted as the very demons they once were.

She could feel her heart tightening in her chest. She knew that the truth was waiting for the boys around the corner, whether they realized it or not.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, you sat on the edge of the bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the room. The faint scent of sage from the protective charm picked up earlier lingered in the air.

The city hum buzzed faintly through the window, but for now, the world felt like it had slowed down.

You took a deep breath and picked up the journal from the nightstand, the worn leather cover smooth beneath your fingertips.

You didn’t write often. It was an old habit, one picked up long before becoming entangled with the Saja Boys. But tonight, it felt like you needed the release.

The pen hovered above the page, the scratch of it filling the silence as you began to write.

I can feel it now—the weight of what’s coming. The boys don’t realize how much danger they’re still in. Not from the humans, but from the demons who remember. The supernatural community believes they look like they did under Gwi-Ma’s control—still dangerous, still a threat. They can’t see their glamour. They don’t see the change.

I went to the marketplace today. Picked up a charm to help protect the apartment. Something subtle but strong enough to mask their power, at least for now. The old woman seemed to know exactly what I was looking for, but she didn’t stop there. She told me the truth—the Saja Boys are marked. They may have helped defeat Gwi-Ma, but the damage they left in their wake is still fresh.

The spiritual communities are still hunting them, and they’ll never stop until they think the boys are truly gone.

I can’t let them know. Not yet. They have enough on their plate. But I feel the pressure of it—the weight of their unspoken questions. Mystery... I saw it in his eyes today. He noticed something in me, something I didn’t want him to see.

I can’t hide forever. But I can’t reveal everything either. Not yet.

I need to keep them safe. I need to keep them distracted, grounded, even as the world closes in on them. But the question remains: How much longer can I hold the truth back from them?

You paused, pen hovering over the page before you placed it down gently. Closing the journal, setting it beside her on the bed, thoughts racing.

Mystery’s gaze earlier had unsettled you more than you'd let on. He was getting too close. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep the secret from them—especially from him.

But for now, all you could do was keep the boys safe. Guard them from both the world they’d left behind and the one they were trying to fit into.

You wasn’t just their manager anymore. You were their protector.

And the truth you carried was a heavy burden to bear.

You turned off the lamp. The room sank into darkness.

But even in the quiet of the apartment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching.

Waiting.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like the one in control.

AN: Areum and Mystery are making quiet eye contact and louder subplots. We’re slipping deeper into the shadows behind the stage lights and yes, this takes place after the movie. But let’s just say… not everything (or everyone) from back then is done making an appearance. Stay tuned.

Signals, Sparks, and Shrugged-Off Magic

Chapter8/Chapter9/Chapter10

Performance Hall — Early Evening Rehearsal

The Saja Boys were halfway through a dress rehearsal when the mic packs started acting possessed.

Romance’s cut out every time he hit a high note. Abby’s buzzed so hard it sounded like bees were trapped in the speakers. Baby, somehow, had picked up someone else’s feed and was now mouthing along to a completely different song.

“How am I supposed to vibe with interference?” he grumbled, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently in time to the wrong beat.

Jinu crouched near the audio rack, staring at the wires like they’d personally offended him. “This… doesn’t look safe. Should that cable be sparking?”

She stood off to the side, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand flipping through the rehearsal schedule with surgical focus. She wasn’t irritated—she was already triaging. Which meant something worse was coming.

The light rigs above them groaned.

“It better not rain inside,” Romance muttered.

She paused mid-step.

She looked up.

And moved.

----------------------

It happened quickly.

A sharp pop cracked through the rafters. One of the massive LED light rigs tilted forward as the clamp holding it gave way. Steel wrenched sideways with a sound like bending bone. The support arm groaned. Tilted.

Romance was directly underneath it.

There were shouts. Abby surged forward. Jinu raised his arms, signaling the techs. Mystery didn’t shout—he just tensed.

But before anyone could do anything—

There was a loud snap from the rigging. A pulse shuddered through the cords. Just before the structure could fall, something yanked hard on the emergency tether—not a clean stop, but enough to redirect its momentum.

The rig lurched sideways and crashed into the floor at an angle. Dust and light haze filled the stage, but no one was hurt.

She stood at the edge of the stage, one hand still on her headset.

“Kill the feed to Grid 3,” she said, voice cold and precise.

Someone in the tech booth scrambled to comply.

It was only after the clatter died down that the boys noticed the glint of something—a thin piece of copper wire and an unfamiliar charm half-melted in the truss mount. Something old. Something embedded.

Romance stared.

You didn’t.

“Replace the clamp before you reset it,” you said evenly. “And check all the mounts. Every single one.”

Nobody questioned you.

----------------------

Backstage buzzed with nervous energy and bottled water.

Romance cradled his elbow, still wide-eyed. Abby paced like he could walk off the stress. Jinu was already scouring an equipment log. Baby sat cross-legged on the floor, uncharacteristically quiet.

“That was insane,” Abby muttered. “It just... redirected. It didn’t fall the way it should have.”

“Stage rigging doesn’t move like that,” Jinu agreed. “Unless someone rigged an override system. But we would’ve seen the wiring.”

“Or maybe someone snuck something into the clamps,” Baby said quietly.

“Like what?” Romance asked.

“I don’t know. A ward or something?”

Abby gave Baby a sidelong look. “You think someone protected the stage without telling the staff?”

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened this month,” Baby said.

They all turned to their manager.

She was calmly entering notes into her tablet.

“Manager-nim,” Abby said carefully, “what did you do?”

You looked up. “I noticed that rig mount yesterday. I filed a maintenance note.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t install the safety cables. I just made sure someone did.”

Romance tilted his head. “But that wire thing. That wasn’t normal tech.”

“If it worked, then it doesn’t need to be normal.”

There was a long pause.

Mystery, still watching from the shadows, finally said, “She’s just built different.”

Romance snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Human reflexes could never.”

“That wasn’t a reflex,” Jinu muttered. “That was... coordination.”

“Or ninja training,” Baby said, chewing slowly.

“Explains the clipboard discipline,” Abby added.

“Or the tea drawer,” Jinu said. “She has a blend for everything. That’s not normal. That’s tactical.”

They nodded.

A highly trained, deeply competent human. Possibly ex-military. Maybe magic-adjacent. But clearly not supernatural.

Definitely not.

----------------------

Later — The Dressing Room

Romance plopped onto the couch, still shaken.

“You know what I keep thinking about?” he asked the ceiling.

“No,” Baby said flatly.

“She didn’t flinch. When it fell. She just moved. Like she’d already seen it happening.”

“That’s because she’s prepared for everything,” Jinu said, still scrolling through stage schematics on his tablet. “She’s methodical.”

“Yeah, well, methodical people usually do flinch. That was... I don’t know. Surgical.”

Abby looked toward the hallway. “She was protecting us. Again.”

Mystery didn’t speak, but his fingers tapped the same rhythm on his sleeve—an old habit from another life.

----------------------

That Night — Your Apartment

You lit one candle. Quiet magic. Old comfort.

The tea steeped on the windowsill. Outside, the faint glow of the Saja dorm reflected back in the glass.

You opened your journal.

Journal Entry: Rehearsal Incident

Clamp sabotage appears accidental. Rigged emergency tether activated. Talisman embedded last night triggered at pressure point. Charm held. Partial discharge only.

No visible magic. No flare.

Mystery watched the fall.

Jinu saw the charm.

Baby almost said something.

Charm pattern will need upgrading. No more passive sigils in open environments.

You tapped the pen against the corner of the page. Then added:

Still lucky. They want to believe I’m just competent. Let them.

Note: Buy replacement charm core and Baby a new bag of spicy chips.

----------------------

Mystery’s Room — Late Night

He sat on his bed, one of your discarded hallway charms in his palm.

It didn’t glow now.

But it had.

Just for a second.

Just enough to feel warm where it shouldn’t.

He turned it slowly between his fingers, the etching faint but deliberate. Not random. Not cheap. Something old was pressed into the shape—something careful. Whatever it was, it hummed with the aftertaste of power. The kind not meant to be seen. The kind that watched back.

Across the street, the apartment window flickered with candlelight.

He didn’t need to see her to know she was awake.

She always stayed up late after something happened. Not visibly shaken. Just... more still than usual. Like she was calculating odds.

He didn’t know what she was.

But she wasn’t just a manager.

She didn’t ask stupid questions when the supernatural bled through the cracks. She didn’t blink at near-death experiences. She read things no one else could read. Moved like someone who had rehearsed disaster.

He told himself she was just experienced. Just unnaturally competent. Just calm.

But the charm in his hand told a different story.

Mystery didn’t speak, didn’t write it down. He didn’t even breathe too loudly.

But he stared out the window and thought:

If she’s hiding something, it’s because it’s something big.

And maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t protecting them from the world.

Maybe she was protecting the world from them.

And herself… from something worse.

AN: The Saja Boys are bonding over shared confusion and a complete lack of magical awareness over here.

Manager-nim? Unbothered. Moisturized. Blocking death in heels.

The boys? “She’s just really good at her job 🥲 definitely not magic.”

Meanwhile, Mystery is in the corner conducting silent arcane forensics with a hallway charm and a thousand-yard stare.

Everything is fine.

No one’s suspicious at all.

Totally normal manager behavior.✨

Shadows Between Us

Chapter5/Chapter6/Chapter7

A Rooftop, Late Evening

The city stretched beneath You, its lights blinking like distant stars in the twilight. It had been a long day of rehearsals and photo ops for the boys, but you had stayed behind—again. There were always things to check, always things to prepare. You couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off, a nagging sense that there was more to everything than met the eye.

Standing alone on the rooftop, the wind tugging at your blazer, the chill of evening settling in. Your thoughts were on the warding rituals performed earlier, the minor charms that were now humming beneath your skin. They should have been enough. But something felt different tonight. It was like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

It’s just nerves. You’ve done this a hundred times, she told herself, but the feeling lingered.

As she adjusted her earpiece, ready to check in on the boys’ next performance schedule, she noticed the faintest shimmer in the air ahead of her. It was subtle—something she would have missed had she not been attuned to the magical frequencies around her. A ripple, barely there, but unmistakably unnatural.

Before she could react, a flicker of black smoke shot toward her, followed by a shriek—a sound unlike anything human. It came from the shadows beneath her feet, twisting and writhing like a creature coming to life.

Your heart raced, instinct kicking in. You reached for the sigils hidden in her jacket, preparing to draw them into place, but the creature’s movement was faster than anticipated. Black claws reached out, slashing through the air in her direction.

You stepped back, magic flaring just in time to create a weak barrier, but the claws scraped across it with a sickening sound, forcing you to stumble.

Not enough. Not enough, she thought, panic creeping into her chest.

She had always been in control—always able to ward off anything that came her way, but tonight, something about this creature was different. Stronger. Darker.

Before she could react further, a flicker of movement by her side caught her attention. The air around her seemed to tighten, a brief rush of cold energy following it. A figure was beside her, too quick to track, and before she could fully comprehend what was happening, the creature was slammed backward, its attack interrupted by a sudden shockwave of power.

The figure stood between her and the creature, blocking its advance. She blinked as the figure shifted, revealing Mystery, his posture poised yet unbothered. The faintest shimmer of energy seemed to ripple from his direction, something that made the creature hesitate. His eyes never left the shadow, but his presence was solid, unshaken by the chaos around them.

He didn’t move much, his gaze steady, focused solely on the creature. You took a step back, hand still on the sigil, but it was clear that Mystery’s subtle presence was more than enough to stop the creature in its tracks.

The shadows recoiled for a moment, then disappeared into the darkness as quickly as they had come. The night settled, the energy that had crackled between them fading as Mystery’s gaze relaxed.

You stood there, momentarily stunned, as he turned toward her. His expression didn’t change, but there was a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, almost detached.

You nodded, taking a breath. "I’m fine. Just… didn’t expect that."

He tilted his head slightly, but didn’t offer much else. There was something in the air between them, a silent understanding. Mystery didn’t need to say anything more—the moment spoke for itself.

“Thanks,” she added, still processing.

He simply nodded once, then took a step back toward the shadows, his figure blending with the night. Before he disappeared completely, he glanced over his shoulder, and for the briefest of moments, their eyes met. No words. Just a quiet connection, and then he was gone.

Backstage – Later

The boys finished their performance successfully, but your thoughts were obviously elsewhere. As they filed back into the dressing room, Abby gave you a questioning look. "You good?" he asked again, his voice softer now, more genuine.

You nodded. “I’m fine. Just need to reinforce a few things tonight.”

Walking over to the staff area, moving past the boys. You didn’t stop to chat, lost in the quiet buzzing of your thoughts. You had felt something earlier, but couldn’t pinpoint it yet.

You caught a glimpse of Romance talking to someone, and while his smile was as effortless as always, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest trace of unease.

Focus. You reminded herself. There’s a bigger picture here.

Later That Night – Your Apartment

She stood at her desk, watching the faint, lingering shadows from the earlier encounter dissipate as her wards settled back into place. The attack had been quick, almost too quick. Who was behind this?

The metal scrap from the rooftop lay on her desk, now burned clean and warded once more. But it had been just one piece—there had to be more. Someone was testing the boys’ defenses.

She opened her journal and quickly jotted down a few notes.

Shadows are closing in. It’s not just about them anymore. Someone is sending things, testing weaknesses. They’ll come after the boys, but they’ll target me first.

She paused, her fingers hovering over the page, tracing a line that wasn’t there. Mystery’s presence was… different. He didn’t seem affected by the creature the way I was.

Another line, added with a quiet, deliberate hand:

Next performance: double the protections. If this escalates, it’ll be worse than a curse.

She closed the journal and turned off the lights, the low hum of the ward in her hand sending a small pulse through her fingers. She lay back, but even as her eyes closed, the sense that something was watching, something waiting, didn’t leave her.

Not tonight.

AN: Okay so… that escalated a little. 😅

This chapter dipped into the shadowy side of things, but don’t worry—you’re still standing (mostly). Mystery stepping in like a silent, dramatic bodyguard? Iconic. Zero commentary. Maximum impact. 10/10 would trust again.

The story’s starting to shift now—more weirdness, more danger, and definitely more "wait, was that normal?" moments ahead.

Clear Skies, Subtle Lies

Chapter13/Chapter14/Chapter15

Outdoor Fan Shoot — Early Afternoon

The skies over Seoul had been clear all morning.

A blessing, according to the shoot director. Perfect conditions—sun-dappled clouds, a mild breeze, the kind of soft light that required minimal editing. No filters, no fuss. Just nature doing the heavy lifting. A rooftop garden had been rented for the occasion, styled in florals and delicate pastels. Paper parasols leaned artfully against benches. A vintage watering can was placed just off-center. Someone had fluffed the hydrangeas.

Everything looked easy.

She didn’t relax.

She never did.

Her clipboard had already been flipped through twice. The call sheet had no typos, the prop checklist was intact, water bottles were distributed evenly, and a small, discreet pouch of glamour stabilizers sat at the bottom of her tote. Backup stabilizers. In case anyone’s charm cracked mid-pose. She wasn’t expecting it. But that wasn’t the point. She never expected a problem. She prepared for it anyway.

Her earpiece crackled faintly—then nothing.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that meant someone somewhere was slacking—or something else was listening.

Beneath the neat layering of her protective wards, she felt it. A subtle shift in the air, like silk catching on a nail. Her wards didn’t buckle. But they rippled—just once. Like something had brushed against them, curious or lost or both.

Something tugged at the edge of her field.

Not strong.

Not focused.

But insistent.

Storm magic.

Wild. Untethered. Probably accidental. She had seen it before—new mages playing with ambient weather without understanding how to shut it down. This wasn’t cast with intent. No direction, no structure. But that made it worse. Magic like that had no anchor. No aim.

And unfocused magic always hit someone.

She moved without urgency, turning slowly as if checking her schedule notes. The click of her pen covered the subtle shift in her expression as her eyes scanned the space.

The rooftop was quiet. Stylists fixing hair. The boys joking softly by the hydrangeas. Nothing overt. But the air shimmered in strange ways near the metal railing. The sound of distant traffic dulled like it had been muffled. And across the rooftop’s edge—just beyond the safety line—a tall antenna leaned into the sky from the building opposite, vibrating faintly with static.

Leyline interference.

Not unusual.

Not safe.

Her gaze narrowed.

This wasn’t a direct attack. There was no hex. No curse signature. It was more like someone had dropped a live wire into a puddle and walked away. Careless. Dangerous. Someone had stirred the sky and left it to unravel on its own.

She reached into her tote, fingers closing around a small glass tin. The lid clicked open with the soft snap of habit. Inside: mirror-dust, finely ground and faintly glowing, like powdered glass under moonlight.

She dipped her fingers inside.

The shimmer clung to her skin. Not bright. Not visible to anyone untrained. But enough.

Enough to bend stray magic away.

To hold the weather at bay.

She exhaled slowly, grounding herself.

She didn’t need a spell circle.

She was the circle.

---------------------

The shoot was just finishing when the temperature dropped.

Not in a slow, creeping way. Not in the way shade might slide over a rooftop or a breeze might curl through flower petals. It dropped like something had cut the sky open and let the chill spill out.

Romance stood near the flower cart, clothed in loose white linen like a Regency ghost caught mid-dramatic exit. His hand draped over a bouquet of baby’s breath and garden roses, held in the least natural way possible—as if it had personally offended his concept of masculinity.

“Hold it softer,” the photographer called.

Romance smirked. “I am holding it softly. This is my softest.”

Behind the potted rosebush, Baby had already finished his shots and was stealthily peeling open a second snack bag. He crouched behind the hydrangeas like an idol in exile, popping honey-almond clusters with the skill of someone who knew exactly where the cameras weren’t.

Jinu stood at the edge of the set, scanning the pose list like it was a war plan. His brow was furrowed, not with worry, but with the exacting concentration of someone trying to predict five outcomes at once and eliminate four.

Mystery leaned against the trellis.

Silent. Half-shadowed. Present in body, distant in thought.

It was Abby who noticed first.

He was lounging near a rack of pastel cardigans, eyes tracking the sky with casual curiosity—until the hair on his arms lifted.

“Hey,” he called, squinting upward. “That cloud looks like it wants to fight.”

She turned so fast her earpiece shifted.

The wind had changed.

Not just direction—intention.

She felt it hit her wards like a shoulder bump in a crowded hallway. Not malicious. But not passive either. Something conjured this. Something without finesse. And now the sky was bending.

The clouds above them didn’t roll—they tilted.

The pressure system snapped sideways in a way no natural storm should. A low rumble followed, not the kind that heralded thunder but the kind that echoed wrong in the bones. Too dry. Too early. Too much.

This wasn’t weather. This was summoning.

She had five seconds.

She dropped the clipboard.

Not carelessly. Not in panic. The motion was fluid, deliberate, like a stone dropped into still water.

She stepped forward, one foot grounding her against the magical disruption, and flicked her fingers once, clean and practiced.

A ripple shimmered along the rooftop perimeter—just for a moment. The crew didn’t notice it. But she did. So did one other.

The edge of her ward flared like stretched glass. She drew her fingers low and curved them upward, pulling the boundary into shape like threading a bubble around the rooftop.

The dome sealed.

The wind hit.

It slammed against the invisible barrier with the force of a car crash—and shattered.

Rain followed, sharp and fast, slicing through the air like silver needles—until it met the ward line. Each drop flattened, skewed, and scattered sideways. The entire rooftop stayed dry.

Completely, unnaturally dry.

The photographer blinked, visibly shaken. “That… passed fast?”

Jinu frowned and looked skyward. “We didn’t get a single drop.”

Romance raised both arms as if conducting a weather symphony. “Maybe I scared the storm off,” he said, grinning.

“No,” Baby said, deadpan, not even pausing in his chewing.

Mystery tilted his head toward you.

Just a little.

She calmly knelt, picked up her clipboard, and dusted off the cover like nothing had happened. One page flipped in the wind, but she caught it before it could fly.

“Clear skies for the next hour,” she said, adjusting a line on her schedule with smooth, even handwriting.

The stylist muttered something about Seoul weather being weird lately and moved on.

The photographer nodded and clapped. “Alright, next setup! Romance with the tulips, Mystery on deck.”

The shoot resumed.

But the energy had shifted.

Not because the storm passed.

Because something else had been held at bay.

---------------------

Later — Post-Shoot Debrief

They gathered beneath one of the parasols that hadn’t blown away.

The rooftop looked picture-perfect again—petals scattered in curated chaos, the props now slightly sun-faded, the air sticky with late afternoon haze. The stylist crew was already packing up the floral arch. A few assistants chased down a rogue makeup sponge that had somehow made it all the way to the neighboring balcony.

The Saja Boys sat in a half-circle, sipping lukewarm sodas and looking sun-dazed, as if the shoot had drained them of both moisture and functioning brain cells.

Romance sprawled with the kind of ease that said he believed the day had gone well because he was there. He stretched his arms over his head, shirt riding up just enough to be strategic, and yawned theatrically.

“So,” he began, voice syrupy-smooth. “Are we gonna talk about how we were dry in a literal monsoon?”

“Microclimate,” Jinu replied immediately, tone clipped like he’d been waiting for this.

Romance rolled his eyes. “Bro, we were the only microclimate on the block.”

“Studio warding?” Jinu offered, less confident now.

“No way,” Abby said, pointing with his soda can. “There were like five real estate signs out front. That building doesn’t even have working elevators.”

“I tripped on a loose tile,” Baby added, licking powdered sugar off his thumb. “Place is haunted. Or bankrupt. Maybe both.”

Romance sat up, now interested. “Okay, but like—no one flinched. Not even her. Wind slaps the ward, rain hits an invisible wall, and she’s just... adjusting her clipboard like it’s Tuesday.”

There was a collective pause.

Baby squinted. “You think she cast something?”

Jinu scoffed. “She’s our manager, not a weather witch.”

Romance leaned forward, voice dropping to mock-dramatic levels. “Main. Character. Energy.”

Abby chuckled. “Unbothered. Powerful. Slightly terrifying.”

“Sounds about right,” Jinu muttered.

“She did have that jar of glittery powder,” Baby said thoughtfully. “Mirror-dust. That’s not in a manager starter pack.”

“Could be from Olive Young,” Jinu argued weakly.

“Jinu” Romance said, utterly serious, “nothing from Olive Young stops rain.”

None of them noticed the slight shift in the breeze. The way the air bent just around their circle, like something still lingered in the leftover edges of your spell.

Mystery hadn’t spoken once.

He sat with his hands folded, gaze angled just slightly away from the group—toward the other end of the rooftop, where you stood near the edge, phone in hand, texting one-handed while tucking her clipboard under her arm.

She wasn’t looking at them.

But she was listening.

He could tell by the way her fingers paused, mid-message. Just long enough to register the conversation.

Then she resumed typing, unbothered. Or pretending to be.

---------------------

That Evening — Your Journal

The scent of lemon balm lingered in the air, fresh from the protective incense she’d burned at the apartment window. Her hair was still faintly scented with ozone. She didn’t bother to change out of her work clothes. She just sat at her desk, kicked off her shoes, and opened her journal.

The page welcomed her like an old habit. Pen already in hand. Words waiting.

Journal Entry — Rooftop Fan Shoot: Weather Incident

Residual storm magic detected mid-afternoon.

Source: likely student-tier conjuration, unsupervised.

Unstable. Not directed.

Drawn through leyline rupture—unanchored pulse near nearby broadcast antenna.

Wind pressure reached threshold. Glamour disruption potential: high.

Deflected using mirror-dust perimeter shell.

No glamour break. No staff exposure. Crew unaware.

Saja Boys—partial suspicion.

Romance: vocal curiosity.

Jinu: dismissive, but watchful.

Baby: inquisitive. Possibly intuitive.

Abby: uncertain. Protective instinct triggered.

Mystery: observant. Too much. Will need distraction.

She tapped her pen once on the edge of the page. Then, deliberately, underlined two phrases they’d used:

“Main character energy.” “Unbothered.”

A smile tugged at her lips.

Small. Sharp. Satisfied.

Maybe just this once, she’d let this myth build itself.

Let them believe she was something dramatic and mysterious. Something powerful but safe—on their side. That belief might keep them out of deeper truths for just a little longer.

She closed the journal softly and reached for her tea.

Outside, thunder rolled again—distant this time. Natural.

She didn’t flinch.

She was ready.

AN: Back to our regularly scheduled program. No weather apps were harmed in the making of this chapter. However, several parasols were emotionally compromised, a bouquet was held in an aggressively unnatural way, and one (1) manager may or may not have outmaneuvered a minor sky-based apocalypse without spilling her tea.

Not saying she controls the weather.

But also not not saying that.