Sitting courtside with Akaashi, you watched every move, every spike, every tense moment with quiet intensity. Your fingers tapped nervously against your knee, your lips barely moving in silent encouragement.

The gym lights cast a harsh glow over the court, but they couldn’t outshine the heat radiating from the crowd. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, excitement, and adrenaline—the unmistakable atmosphere of a high-stakes volleyball match. Fans were on their feet, some screaming, others frozen in disbelief, but Bokuto’s world had already shrunk down to one thing: you.

Bokuto caught your gaze several times during the game, his chest heaving with effort and determination, but your calm presence was the anchor that kept him steady.

Back then, in high school, it was just like this—chaos on the court and calm off it.

The gym was always alive—alive with squeaking shoes, sharp whistles, the rhythmic slap of volleyballs, and Bokuto’s booming voice cutting through it all like a flare. He had a way of making his presence known in every room he stepped into, larger than life and blindingly intense. But what most people didn’t see—what only you really saw—was how hard he worked to hold all that light inside of him.

As Fukurodani’s manager, you stood quietly on the sidelines, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp. You were the one who made sure every training drill ran smoothly, kept track of stats and schedules, filled in the gaps left behind when others overlooked the little things. Water bottles, towels, first aid kits—you made sure the team never had to ask for them. You were reliable. Efficient. Present.

But around Bokuto, something shifted. There was a gravity to him—bright, explosive, erratic—and somehow, instead of being burned by it, you found warmth in its orbit.

He’d bounce over to you between drills, sweat clinging to his neck, and grin wide enough to make your stomach twist. “Did you see that spike?” he’d ask, breathless.

“I did. And you know it was good, so stop fishing for compliments,” you’d reply, pretending not to smile—but you always did. And he always noticed.

At first, your relationship had been built in those in-between moments—water breaks, gym clean-up duty, walks home when the sky turned lilac and gold. You learned how to read him better than anyone else did. When he missed a shot and his shoulders tensed? You’d casually toss him a towel and murmur, “You’ve got another thirty chances. Don’t fold on the first one.”

And when he scored, when he lit up and high-fived the whole team, he always turned to look for you in the corner. His expression softer, quieter. Like he just needed your eyes to find his.

Late practices were your favorite—when everyone had gone home and the world slowed down. He’d collapse on the floor beside you, sweat-soaked and tired, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“You think I’ve got a shot?” he asked once, after a particularly brutal practice. His voice was quiet, a crack in the usual bravado.

You didn’t hesitate. “Of course. You don’t even need to ask that.”

He rolled onto his side to look at you. “I do. Because when you say it, I believe it.”

You hadn’t said anything then. Just offered him the last bite of your convenience store onigiri and smiled. That was enough.

By your third year, your connection was no secret. The team teased, subtly at first—side-glances when he carried your bag, exaggerated coughs when you handed him a towel with too much tenderness. Bokuto would brush it off with a wave of his hand and a grin that reached his ears.

“Let ’em talk,” he whispered to you once, when he’d snuck out to walk you home. “I only care what you think.”

You started dating officially after graduation, when the intensity of entrance exams had passed and you both realized you couldn’t keep pretending your hearts weren’t already tied up in each other. It wasn’t flashy or dramatic—no rooftop confessions, no perfect timing. Just the two of you on a summer evening, sitting side by side on the train after visiting the old gym one last time before leaving for college.

Bokuto had been fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, unusually quiet.

“I don’t want to be apart from you,” he finally blurted.

You looked at him, startled. “Who said anything about being apart?”

“You’re going to university in Tokyo,” he said, frowning. “And I’m heading into full-time training. I just…” His voice dropped. “I don’t want us to drift.”

You reached out and held his hand right there on the train, surrounded by strangers. “Then let’s not.”

You found a tiny one-bedroom apartment just outside the city—a shoebox, really, with off-white walls and a heater that rattled in the winter. The kitchen could barely fit two people, and you had to take turns brushing your teeth. But it was yours. The first home you built together.

There were volleyballs by the front door, your work notes strewn across the kitchen table, and Bokuto’s shampoo always invading your shelf in the bathroom. He liked waking up early to train; you liked staying up late to finish your assignments. You bickered about groceries, cuddled under mismatched blankets, and danced in the living room when things felt too heavy.

You became his anchor—the person who knew how to hold him steady when the crowd’s cheers faded and all that was left was a boy who sometimes still doubted himself.

He would come home after rough practices, dropping his duffel by the door and collapsing on the floor face-down.

“They’re faster than me,” he muttered into the carpet one night. “I can’t keep up.”

You knelt beside him, fingers threading gently into his hair. “You’ve said that before, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“And what happened then?”

“…I worked harder.”

You smiled. “And you’ll do it again.”

He tilted his head up just enough to look at you. “I’d be lost without you, baby.”

You kissed his forehead. “Luckily for you, I plan on sticking around.”

Supporting him wasn’t something you did out of obligation. It was your heartbeat. You loved his fire, but you also loved the quiet after—the way he needed reassurance without asking for it, the way he would hold your pinky when he was anxious, the way he listened when you vented about your day even if he was exhausted from training.

He wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was your best friend. And you were his reason to keep climbing higher.

And now, as you sat courtside at the MSBY Black Jackals vs. Schweiden Adlers game years later, watching him chase a victory in front of a roaring crowd, you weren’t surprised when he didn’t look at the trophy when the final point was scored.

He looked at you.

Because from the first rally to the last, no matter how high he flew—he was always coming back to you.

His legs moved without him thinking, without waiting for permission or logic to catch up. He ran—no, he surged—like something had ignited inside his chest and there was only one direction for the flames to go.

Not towards the trophy.

Not towards the cameras or the crowd or his teammates still caught in the swell of celebration behind him.

He ran straight toward you.

The noise around him was deafening—the roar of the stadium, the blare of victory music, the low rumble of the announcer's voice barely audible over the cheers. But it all faded into white static the moment his eyes found yours in the front row. You were standing now, hands clutched near your mouth, eyes wide—shimmering with emotion, disbelief, pride, something deeper.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. It felt like everything around you had slowed, like time itself knew not to interrupt. You barely registered Akaashi standing next to you, still seated and smirking to himself as he leaned over and muttered under his breath, “He’s really gonna do it.”

But you couldn’t move, couldn’t think—not when Bokuto, sweat-drenched and glowing with the heat of victory, was charging toward you with the same energy he used to throw down match-point spikes. It was the same look he wore when he chased down dreams, but this time, you were the finish line.

When he reached you, it wasn’t graceful. He almost tripped over the barrier separating the court from the stands, nearly knocking you off balance with the sheer momentum of his body. But none of that mattered. His arms caught you like they always did—strong, warm, and full of emotion too big for words.

“Baby!” he half-laughed, half-shouted, voice cracking with joy. His chest was heaving from the run, his forehead damp with sweat, eyes shining as if he was still in the game and the final point hadn’t yet fallen.

You were already moving into his arms before he finished saying it.

The embrace was bone-deep. Fierce. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he lifted you just slightly off the ground, holding you like he’d been waiting years for this exact second. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him like you always had—not out of fear, but out of knowing he was home.

He smelled like victory and salt and that familiar, earthy warmth you’d memorized back in your high school gym. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jersey, clutching it like it was the only thing anchoring you to the moment. And in a way, it was.

All around you, the stadium kept roaring. Cameras began to shift, turning lenses in your direction, catching the image that would circulate online for weeks: not the final point, not the scoreboard—this. Bokuto, eyes closed, forehead pressed to yours, smiling like the world had narrowed down to only one person in the crowd.

The image that would silently echo the line that neither of you needed to say:

“Where’s the trophy? He just comes runnin’ over to me.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still firm around your waist. His grin was still wild, still unfiltered, but there was something softer in his gaze now. Something tender.

You blinked back tears, cupping his face, voice trembling with emotion. “You did it.”

But he shook his head. “We did it.”

Your chest tightened, your breath catching in your throat. Because you knew what he meant. The years—the early mornings, the late-night ramen after bad losses, the job interviews you rescheduled to travel with him to qualifiers, the way you whispered encouragement into his ear when no one else could see the weight on his shoulders.

He saw it all. He never forgot.

The after-party buzzed with the kind of electric joy only hard-won victories could bring.

Laughter echoed off the walls of the event hall, glasses clinked, and the players from MSBY floated from table to table like gods fresh from the battlefield. Bokuto had been in the center of it all—hyped, glowing, still riding the adrenaline of the win. You’d watched him with your chin propped on your hand, a smile tugging at your lips as he retold a play for the fifth time, each version more dramatic than the last.

But you could tell he wasn’t all there.

His eyes kept flicking over to you. Quietly. Softly. As if you were the only steady point in a room full of motion.

Eventually, he slipped away from the crowd and approached you, eyes glinting under the golden lights, his hand reaching down for yours.

“Hey,” he murmured, “come with me for a sec?”

You blinked. “Where?”

He squeezed your fingers. “Just… trust me.”

You always did.

He led you through the hotel corridors and out a discreet side door, his hand warm and solid in yours. The sounds of celebration faded behind you, replaced by the soft hush of the night. Outside, the terrace was lit by hanging fairy lights and wrapped in soft shadows. Beyond it was a quiet, manicured garden, the scent of early spring flowers drifting on the breeze.

Bokuto paused, glancing up at the stars for a breath, then turned to face you fully.

You opened your mouth to speak—to tease, maybe, or ask what this was—but the look on his face stopped you cold.

He was nervous.

Not the giddy, bouncing Bokuto you knew, but something quieter. Deeper. His hands were trembling slightly as he took yours again and drew you in closer.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment all night,” he admitted, his voice soft, steadier now that you were alone. “But every time I looked at you, it hit me all over again. I don’t need the perfect moment. I just need you.”

Your breath caught.

“I’ve been thinking about this since high school,” he went on. “Since those nights when we’d close up the gym together and walk home under streetlights, when you’d tell me I was more than just my mood swings, more than just a powerful spike.” His voice cracked a little. “You’ve been with me through everything, baby. Before anyone knew my name. Before the jersey, before the wins.”

He let out a small laugh, gaze locked with yours. “You saw me—all of me. And you stayed.”

The silence between you was tender, and electric, and brimming with everything that couldn’t be spoken aloud all at once.

“So tonight, I don’t care if we won or lost,” he whispered. “I still would’ve done this. Because I knew the only thing I’ve ever been sure of—even more than my cross spike—is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Then, with one more shaky exhale, he dropped to one knee.

You gasped—hands flying to your mouth, the world narrowing down to just him, kneeling in a garden that now felt like something out of a dream. In his hand was a simple velvet box, trembling slightly as he opened it to reveal a ring that sparkled softly under the fairy lights.

“Will you marry me?”

The tears came before your voice could.

You nodded rapidly, voice breaking. “Yes,” you choked out, the word thick with emotion. “Yes, yes—of course.”

He surged up, slipping the ring onto your finger with shaking hands before pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.

You barely had time to breathe before—

“Wooooo!!”

The terrace doors burst open behind you.

You turned, startled, only for a wave of familiar faces to come rushing out from behind the hedges and doorways where they’d been hiding.

“Finally!” Hinata crowed, fist-pumping into the air. “We were freezing our asses out here!”

Akaashi appeared behind him, arms crossed but a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He wanted us here. Said it wouldn’t be right if we weren’t.”

Konoha and Komi barreled over next, both looking a little misty-eyed despite their teasing smirks.

“You’re stuck with him forever now, huh?” Konoha teased, slinging an arm around Bokuto’s shoulder. “Good luck with that emotional rollercoaster.”

“She’s the only one who’s ever kept him from flatlining mid-game,” Komi joked, wiping discreetly at his eyes. “She deserves the MVP title too.”

Bokuto laughed through a choked breath, cheeks red, still holding you tightly against his side.

The MSBY boys spilled out next—Atsumu whistling loud and obnoxious, Sakusa staying slightly behind but nodding with quiet approval, Meian raising a glass he’d somehow snuck out with.

“Congrats, lovebirds,” Meian said with a grin. “You’re officially team captain of his heart now.”

You covered your face in your hands, overwhelmed and laughing through tears as Bokuto gently pulled them down.

“Hey,” he whispered, his smile crooked and boyish. “You said yes.”

“I did,” you whispered back, eyes shining.

He leaned in, forehead resting against yours, voice barely audible over the sound of your friends cheering behind you.

“I can’t believe I get to keep you forever.”

You smiled.

“You always had me.”

And in that garden, wrapped in fairy lights and the laughter of people who’d known you both from the beginning, Bokuto knew:

This was the real victory.

The morning sunlight came slow and golden through the hotel window.

It filtered through sheer curtains, turning the room a soft, buttery hue—the kind of light that invited you to stay in bed just a little longer. The world outside had quieted, the frenzy of the match and the after-party now distant echoes. What remained was the hush of morning. Breath. Warm skin. The steady rhythm of someone you love sleeping beside you.

Bokuto was on his side, one arm sprawled over your waist, the other tucked beneath his pillow. His hair was flattened in odd directions, still faintly smelling of cologne and sweat and champagne. His mouth was parted slightly, breath soft and even. One bare leg was tangled in the sheets, his hand unconsciously tightening against your hip every few minutes like his body remembered you even in sleep.

The engagement ring still glittered faintly on your finger.

You turned your hand slowly in the light, watching it catch on the delicate band. There was something surreal about seeing it there. Not because it felt out of place—but because it felt so right, so natural, it was as though your hand had always been waiting for it.

A quiet sigh pulled your attention.

Bokuto was stirring.

His lashes fluttered, and after a few blinks, his golden eyes found yours. For a moment, he just looked at you—as if making sure you were really still there. Like maybe he thought he’d dreamed it all. The match. The garden. Your yes.

“Morning,” he rasped, voice rough and low, eyes still heavy with sleep.

You smiled, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “Morning.”

His brows furrowed. “Did we…? Last night…”

“You proposed,” you whispered, smiling softly. “And I said yes.”

He stared for a beat, eyes wide with awe, before he groaned and buried his face against your neck.

“Baby,” he mumbled into your skin. “I’m engaged. To you.”

You laughed gently, curling your fingers into his hair.

“Yeah. You are.”

He pulled back slightly, blinking at you like he still couldn’t believe it, like the realization was settling deeper into his bones with every second. Then, slowly, his hand reached for yours beneath the sheets. He laced your fingers together, bringing them to his lips. His thumb brushed over the ring as he kissed your knuckles, lingering there.

“You’re gonna wake up next to me every day,” he murmured. “Forever.”

“Every day,” you echoed.

“And we’re gonna get a place with a huge couch. Like, huge. So we can lie on top of each other and still have room for snacks.”

You smiled. “Is that your dream for our marriage?”

“That and putting your name in my phone as my wife.” His eyes softened again. “But mostly… just being with you. Like this. Always.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment. You just stared at him—his sleep-ruffled hair, his crinkled eyes, his earnest smile. He was still the same Bokuto who used to chase you around the Fukurodani gym with a towel over his head, pretending to be a ghost. Still the boy who gave you his milk bread after practice when you forgot yours. Still the man who looked at you like you held his whole world in your hands.

And now, he really had given you everything.

You leaned forward and kissed him—slow, sleepy, and full of quiet promise.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

“I’m really glad you ran to me yesterday.”

He smiled, eyes closing as he breathed you in.

“Where else would I go?”

Outside, the city slowly stirred awake—but in that quiet room, with his arms around you and your hand in his, there was nothing else the world could offer that could compare.

Because the greatest win of his life wasn’t last night’s match.

It was waking up to you—every morning, from now until forever.

The hallway swallowed her whole.

Darkness pressed in from every side, broken only by flickering neon lights buzzing overhead, pinks, greens, and blues bleeding through the haze like broken shards of color. The floor trembled faintly beneath her as the crowd above roared in confusion, unaware of the unraveling happening behind the curtain.

Rumi ran.

She didn’t know where her legs were taking her, only that she had to get away. Away from their eyes. From the look on their faces. From her own reflection, etched into her mind like a curse, glowing purple marks that didn’t fade no matter how hard she wished they would.

Tears streamed down her face, hot and endless, blurring everything until even the lights seemed to bleed.

How had it come to this?

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Y/N was supposed to be here. They were supposed to perform the ritual. Quietly, secretly. The crowd would cheer above, oblivious. And by the end of the night, they would’ve changed fate. They would’ve rewritten everything. Saved the world and saved themselves. Together.

But now… Now Zoey and Mira had seen what she was. Her skin had betrayed her. Her stomach churned with nausea and panic as the memory came crashing down, jagged and unforgiving. That moment onstage, the lights flashing, the crowd erupting… and then her two best friends standing backstage, staring at her with wide, horrified eyes.

They weren’t the ones who’d exposed her. The Mira and Zoey who had torn off her jacket with venom in their voices… they hadn’t even been real. Demons. They’d been demons.

But the real Mira and Zoey had seen everything too. And their faces… their faces haunted her more than any demon ever could. Betrayal. Shock. Fear. Like she was a stranger. Like she was dangerous. Like she was no longer one of them.

“I was just trying to fix it,” she whispered to herself as she ran, voice cracking. “I was trying to fix me.” Her breath hitched as more of the memory crashed down, sharper now, clearer. The confrontation backstage, their voices laced with hurt.

“You were hiding this from us? This whole time?” Mira’s voice, betrayed. Like every secret Rumi had buried had just detonated between them.

“No—I had a plan. I was going to erase them. Jinu was supposed to, and Y/N—”

“Jinu?” Zoey had repeated, disbelief hardening into something worse. “You were working with him? With Y/N?”

“No! No—I was using him. To fix all this!—”

“We believed you, Rumi,” Mira had said. "We trusted you. Even if we knew you were hiding something," She scoffed a laugh in disbelief, "And this is what it was this whole time? 

Zoey’s voice had cracked next, soft and full of betrayal. “We trusted you even without all the answers. Even when you couldn’t do the same with us.”

Rumi’s chest caved as she remembered what she’d said, desperate, pleading. “I just wanted to fix all of it. Fix me. So we could all do our duty. So we could be together—”

“How could we be together if we can’t tell your lies from your truths, Rumi?” Zoey had said. Her voice was hard, but her face… her face had looked like her heart had broken in half.

A sob tore through Rumi’s throat as her feet pounded against the metal flooring. She could barely breathe. The pain in her lungs wasn’t just from running, it was the ache of watching her world crumble from the inside. Mira. Zoey. Her girls. Her teammates. Her family.

She remembered the weight of their weapons as they raised them. Not quickly, not eagerly. But hesitantly. Reluctantly. Still… they had pointed them at her. Mira’s moonblade, trembling in her grip. Zoey, voice quivering, barely able to meet her eyes. 

“Zoey, please…” Rumi had whispered.

And Zoey had raised her blades anyway.

That moment had shattered something inside her. How could they look at her like that? After everything? After the battles they’d fought, the nights they’d spent in the apartment laughing until dawn, the trust they’d shared? How could a few glowing marks suddenly turn her into their enemy?

Her breath hitched as she ran down another hall, heart hammering in her chest. She clutched her arms to her chest, trying to smother the marks, the truth, the shame.

“Jinu! Jinu!” she called out, her voice breaking, echoing into the dark. He had to be here. He had to.

They’d made a deal. They were supposed to perform the ritual together. He was supposed to bring Y/N. They were supposed to end this nightmare. Why had he lied? Why wasn’t Y/N here?

Unless… unless something had happened. Unless they locked her up… trapped her somewhere to keep her from coming. Was that it? Had he betrayed them both?

Her chest constricted at the thought. No. No, he couldn’t have. He wouldn’t. But the uncertainty tore her apart.

She rounded a corner of scaffolding, bright lights cutting through the shadows, and then froze. There. Jinu stood under a scaffold light, glowing faintly purple. His demon patterns were visible. Brazen. Like he wasn’t hiding anything anymore.

And standing beside him were Mira and Zoey. But not her friends. She knew immediately. Something in their posture, the slight twitch of their smirks, that they weren’t human. Just the shells of her friends, possessed and twisted. The same demons who had stolen their faces on stage.

“Say you didn’t do this,” Rumi gasped, heart pounding.

Jinu raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The illusions dissolved into smoke. He’d summoned them. He knew.

Rage surged through her. “You bastard!” she shouted, running at him. She shoved him hard. He didn’t even flinch. “How could you do this?!”

His eyes didn’t soften. They didn’t flicker. Only coldness. Exhaustion. “It was all a lie,” he said.

“No—it was real! The ritual, the journal… you transcribed every word with me! You—you helped me believe it could work!”

“I just needed you to trust me,” Jinu said. “That’s all. The ritual was never going to save her.”

“Don’t say that!” Rumi shouted, grabbing his arm. “You don’t know that! You can’t know that!”

“I do.” He turned, eyes like fire. “Because I saw it.”

Her breath caught. “…what?”

“I went into the demon realm. I accessed the echoes of the past. I saw the ritual. Your father… he tried to save her.” Jinu looked at her then. Really looked. And something in his voice cracked. “But it tore her apart. Your mother. The ritual split her into pieces. I saw your father on the ground, clutching nothing but ash.”

Rumi staggered back like he’d hit her.

“She never would have survived it,” Jinu whispered. “And neither would Y/N. You think I would risk that?” he snarled. “You think I would ever gamble with her life?”

“But you said she needed you to find another way—”

“YOU DON’T GET IT!” Jinu roared, and the walls seemed to vibrate with his voice. “This is the only way!”

She flinched. He stepped closer.

“I will do anything to keep her alive. Even if she hates me. Even if I burn the world to do it. Your first mistake, Rumi, was thinking I would ever choose anything over her.”

Rumi’s tears blurred everything again. Her voice came out hoarse. “But she’s not the only thing that matters. You could have chosen her and the world. That’s what she would’ve wanted—”

Jinu didn’t speak.

“You didn’t even tell her, did you?” Rumi whispered, voice shaking. “Did you lock her up? She told me she was coming—she wanted to help—”

“She’s safe,” he said simply.

And that was the truth of it. That was all he cared about. Your safety. Not your choice.

Rumi stared at him. And slowly, it sank in. This was love. Demon love. The kind that consumed. That clutched. That controlled. But also the kind that bled and broke and sacrificed.

“I hope you’re ready to live with her hating you,” she whispered.

Jinu’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “I’m a demon,” Jinu whispered. “Just like you. All we get to do is live with our pain. That’s all we deserve. That’s our inheritance. That’s what we are.”

He started to walk past her. “What your father wanted…” he muttered, “It wasn’t meant for creatures like us. We’re mistakes.” 

And with that, he vanished into the shadows. And Rumi, left behind under the humming lights… collapsed to her knees. She sat there, crumpled on the floor, arms wrapped around herself as if she could hold her pieces together.

“We believed you.”

“We trusted you.”

Their voices echoed like ghosts. Maybe they were right. Maybe she had been pretending this whole time. Maybe she had no right to hope for anything else. She’d lied. Hidden. She was marked… stained since birth. Maybe the proof had always been there, glowing purple underneath her skin like a warning.

She wasn’t a hero. She wasn’t a hunter. She was just a demon pretending not to be.

And now? Now the Honmoon was tearing itself apart, and she couldn’t stop it. She didn’t deserve to.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The broadcast room buzzed with faint static, its monitors flickering softly in the dim overhead light. Outside, the roar of the crowd in the city square below echoed even through the concrete walls. Seoul was alive, unaware that tonight would be its death knell.

Inside, four demons stood waiting.

Seoha leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. He was the calmest of them on the surface, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. His fingers tapped against his bicep, betraying the fact that his mind was far from this room.

Hwimori sat perched on the edge of the table, headphones slung around his neck, gaze distant as he stared at the idle broadcast console. The usual hum in his chest was gone. No music filled his head now… just you. Your cries, your fear. Were you crying? Were you scared of them?

Seungho stood silently by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other curled tightly around the edge of the windowsill as he stared at the distant silhouette of Namsan Tower. A storm brewed behind his blank eyes. His lips were set in a grim line. He hadn’t said a word since they got here.

Haneul paced. He walked slow circles around the room, jaw clenched, unable to sit still. The silence was unbearable. The absence of your presence was unbearable.

“She found out by now,” Hwimori muttered, stopping Haneul at his tracks. His voice cracked like dry earth. “The barrier. She’s seen it. She knows we locked her in.”

The room fell heavier. Haneul lowered his gaze. “…She’s going to hate us.”

Seungho didn’t turn from the window. “She was already halfway there after tonight.”

“Don’t,” Seoha snapped quietly, but the bitterness in Seungho’s voice lingered in the air.

They remembered it clearly. The moment Jinu and Seoha raised their hands earlier that day in unison and the magenta spell locked the front door of the apartment, glowing circles sealing the frame like cursed ivy. Magic woven with protection, and fear, and desperation.

“It’s for her own good,” Jinu had said. His voice had been calm, resolute.

“She’s not gonna see it that way,” Haneul had whispered then, his brows pinched in guilt. “None of this is good.”

Even now, Haneul remembered the ache in his chest as the lock sealed. The way the apartment went still, like it was mourning with them. They’d all stood there, hearts silent, breaths held. They were monsters pretending it was mercy.

As they all had turned to leave the apartment hallway, Hwimori found himself lingering by the door for just a little longer. He pressed a hand against the cold wood, lips trembling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered under his breath. “It’s all for you.”

Then he turned and walked away, the weight of the door burning into his memory.

Back in the broadcast room, the sound of footsteps pulling into the space drew all of their heads up. Jinu had returned. He appeared in a blink of dark light, magic smoke curling around his shoes. His expression was unreadable, eyes lowered, jaw sharp, shirt still ruffled from the confrontation none of them had to ask about.

They exchanged brief glances, nothing needed to be said. They were all in now.

“Ready?” Seoha asked, his voice hollow.

Jinu gave a slow nod. They stepped into place behind the broadcast table, the screen behind them glowing magenta patterns.  The camera light blinked on.

“Hey everybody…” Jinu’s voice came dejected, sad—mask on. “You must all be so sad about the Huntrix breakup. We are too.”

A forced pout. Faux empathy. A line rehearsed.

“So to cheer everyone up,” he said, hands clasping, “we’re going to do a special live performance tonight. Midnight. Namsan Tower. Don’t miss it for the world.”

The camera cut and silence returned. Their masks dropped and no one spoke for a long moment. Then, Seoha sighed, pushing back from the table, his hands rubbing his face as though to wipe away whatever soul he had left.

“That’s it. Broadcast’s out to every station. City square’s already swarming.”

“Stage is rigged,” Seungho added. “Gwi Ma’s essence is already on-site. He’ll be there when the time comes.”

“…There’s no stopping it now,” Hwimori said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“But we already knew that.” Jinu’s tone was steel. Still, none of them moved.

They thought of you. Had you watched the Idol Awards? Had you seen what happened to Huntrix? What they’d done?

Seungho’s jaw tightened. “She’s probably crying.”

“Or screaming,” Haneul added bitterly. “Or throwing something.”

“She’s scared,” Hwimori murmured, eyes down. “I can feel it. She’s confused and angry and sad and—”

“We’re doing this for her,” Seoha said firmly, trying to cut through the weight of their guilt. “We keep telling ourselves that. We have to.”

“She’ll never forgive us,” Haneul said.

“She doesn’t need to,” Seungho muttered. “She just has to live.”

Jinu’s voice broke through the silence again. “I’ll make sure the Namsan performance isn’t live-streamed. She won’t see it. She won’t have to see what we become. What we do.”

They looked at each other, eyes hollow, hands clenched. They were demons. They were monsters. But tonight, they would become something worse. Murderers. Massacres in satin Hanboks.

“I’ll keep her in the dark,” Seoha said. “If I have to break every satellite in the city myself.”

“Then let’s finish this,” Jinu said. They moved to the edge of the room, their silhouettes framed in red light now. The tower loomed in the distance, glowing like the end of the world.

“We’ll burn for her,” Seungho muttered.

“Bleed for her,” said Haneul.

“Lie for her,” whispered Seoha.

“Kill for her,” said Hwimori.

Jinu didn’t speak. But they knew what he would say. 

He would end for you.

And he would take the world with him.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The air around the Headquarters was too still. A place once full of order, peace, and the scent of sacred smoke now felt like it was holding its breath. Trees rustled in slow, stifled motion. The shadows bent unnaturally. The wind carried the smell of something wrong.

Celine stood alone in the moonlit garden, beneath the great Hunter Tree… the heart of it all. The source of their strength. Of their identity. Towering above her, its ancient branches clawed at the black sky like it was begging the heavens to put an end to the horror.

And around it, flickering in a splintered fracture of light, the Honmoon trembled. Magenta light forked across the space, cracking the illusion of peace wide open. Wisps of energy curled like dying smoke through the leaves, twisting the light into something eerie. Haunted.

Celine's cardigan clung uselessly to her frame, doing nothing to stop the cold that crawled up her spine. Her long hair clung to her cheekbones, falling in soft, loose waves — her silhouette calm, but her eyes wide with dread as she stared up.

No. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Her voice caught in her throat as she watched the Honmoon tearing open. “What have they done?” she whispered.

Then…a sound. Soft. A shuffle in the dark behind her. The air shifted instantly. Her hunter instincts snapped to life. She whirled around, sickle drawn with a cry— And froze.

Standing just beyond the soft shimmer of moonlight, stage clothes tattered and soaked with memory, eyes cast to the dirt, demon patterns glowing faintly over every inch of her body… was Rumi. Celine’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers trembled. The sickle slipped.

“Rumi?” she gasped.

But Rumi didn’t meet her eyes. She just stood there, broken, haunted. “I thought I could fix it all…” her voice was rough, hollow. It echoed unnaturally, the edges of a demon voice rippling just beneath her words. “Fix me. But I ran out of time.”

The markings etched down her arms pulsed faintly. Seeing them, hearing her voice like that… Celine's knees nearly buckled. Her sickle clattered to the ground, forgotten.

Rumi stepped forward, eyes still downcast. “They saw,” she whispered. “They know. There’s no denying it now.”

Celine didn’t speak. Her mouth was parted, her hands frozen mid-air, like she was watching something she couldn’t believe.

“This is what I am,” Rumi said, quietly.

“No,” Celine finally managed. “Rumi—no. Don’t say that—”

But Rumi’s voice darkened. “You knew I was a mistake from the very start.”

With a chime of metal, she summoned her sword. Celine’s heart stopped. “Rumi…”

But Rumi didn’t raise it. She dropped to her knees. Holding the blade in both trembling hands, arms outstretched toward Celine like an offering. “Do what you should’ve done a long time ago,” she said. “Before I destroy what I swore to protect.”

Her eyes remained downcast, tears threatening to spill. “Please… do it.”

The voice on that last word wasn’t hers. It was a demon’s. Celine’s mouth quivered. Her eyes filled. “I—”

“...What would your choice be this time, Celine?”

The voice didn’t belong to either of them. It rippled through the air like a curse. Both Rumi and Celine turned, startled. From the edge of the garden’s shadow, a figure emerged.

The Old One.

He stood tall and gaunt, as though shaped from smoke and silence. His robes shimmered like oil under moonlight, swirling with ancient sigils and tattered elegance. His eyes were impossibly black. Voids framed in pale skin, too smooth for age, too old for time. Wisps of gold and decay clung to his form like moss on stone. He smiled as if he knew how this story ended.

Rumi instantly rose to her feet, sword raised, her pulse thundering.

“You—” Celine breathed, voice sharp with panic. Her body tensed, pulling Rumi behind her. “Get away from her.”

"And so," the Old One murmured, eyes gleaming, "the daughter makes the same request as the father."

“What—?” Rumi stiffened. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Celine barked, “Rumi, get away from him! He’s a demon—!”

“I see years after the incident haven’t changed your sentiments,” the Old One said, eyes directed at the older woman, almost amused. He tilted his head toward Celine, mock-pity in his tone. “I wasn’t going to involve myself. But I couldn’t just watch my friend’s daughter commit the same mistake he did.”

Rumi’s blood ran cold. “You… you knew my father?”

Celine's voice rose. “Don’t listen to him, Rumi. He’s a demon. All they do is lie—!”

“Like you?” Rumi suddenly snapped, turning to her. As if the mention of her father had brought back the same ire she held for Celine the past couple of weeks. Her voice shook. “All this time, Celine. You preached about truth. About light. About purity. But you lied to me every single day. About who I was. About who my father was.”

Celine froze, visibly wounded. Rumi's breath trembled as her fury softened into aching clarity. “You knew,” she whispered. “You always knew. You chose to lie.”

She turned back to the Old One. “How do you know my father?”

The demon’s expression gentled. "You have his eyes,” he said softly. “And that god-forsaken hair of his.”

Rumi’s throat tightened. This stranger… this demon… knew things. She felt it.

“So it’s not a shock to me,” he continued, “how ironic this all is, hmm… Celine?”

“Ironic?” Rumi echoed, turning to the older hunter. “What’s he talking about?”

Celine looked ready to shatter. “Rumi, don’t—”

“Why don’t you tell her the truth?” the Old One murmured, low and sharp. “You were there for everything. You partook in it. Let it happen.”

Celine’s hands rose to her head. “No. No, no no no—”

Rumi reached forward and caught her wrist. Her voice broke. “If you ever cared for me at all… please. I need to know the truth.” She tightened her grip. “I know you’ve been keeping things from me. I found the letter. The journal.”

Celine's head snapped up. “What?! You— You were never supposed to find out—”

“Find out what?!” Rumi shouted.

The Old One said nothing. Just watched. Waiting. Celine trembled. Her eyes welled.

“Tell me the truth,” Rumi said. Quieter now. “You owe me that much.”

Celine's hands trembled where they clutched the hem of her cardigan, knuckles bone-white. She looked so much smaller now. Not the sharp, commanding woman Rumi had grown up under, but just a woman cracked open by grief long buried.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Your mother met him on a hunt.”

Rumi’s breath hitched.

“She kept it from us. Snuck out… night after night. We were trained to sense lies, but she was always one step ahead. Always too clever. We didn’t know what she was doing until it was too late.”

Celine swallowed. “She said she had fallen in love with a demon.”

“Daehyun,” Rumi murmured, her voice breaking.

Celine looked up at her, eyes wide in shock — then nodded slowly. “Yes,” she breathed. “Daehyun.” She spat the name out with so much venom, Rumi bristled, her legs nearly giving out.

Celine looked away, ashamed. “I was furious at first. All of us were. How could she? How could she… love something we were taught to destroy?” Her mouth twisted. “It went against everything we believed. Everything we bled for.”

She paused, her voice quieter. “But then… we discovered the soulbond.”

Rumi’s eyes widened.

“It’s rare… so rare among demonkind and humans that it’s only ever spoken of in legend. But I felt it between them. That pull. That… thread. It wasn’t just desire. It wasn’t manipulation. It was fate. Like their souls had been searching for each other across lifetimes. And who were we to tear that apart?”

Rumi clutched her chest. The soulbond… like what she saw with you and the boys.

Celine’s voice softened. “She was my best friend, Rumi. My family. So when she told us she was pregnant…” Her voice cracked. “From that demon...” The disgust returned. She spat the word like it physically hurt her. “…we had no choice but to support her. To protect her.”

Rumi’s eyes shimmered.

“Your father told us of a ritual,” Celine continued. “He said it could solve everything. If the Honmoon was sealed, they’d be separated forever. But this ritual… he said it would anchor them. That it would create a living tether — someone who could serve as a gate, a guardian. A bridge between the human world and the demon realm.”

Rumi’s mind raced. The Tether.

“He wanted to make her into that bridge,” Celine said, eyes glassy. “Your mother.”

“He said it would work. Said we’d all win. The Honmoon wouldn’t have to be strengthened to Gold. She would become it, our duties preserved, and they could still be together. And your mother…” 

Her voice broke completely. “She loved him, Rumi. So much. Enough to believe in a miracle. She begged us. Begged me. She said she trusted him. Said she’d die before losing him. She just wanted to try.”

Celine’s voice trembled. “The night before the ritual, she handed you to me. Swaddled in a silk blanket. Your tiny hands were so warm. She asked me to make a promise.”

Rumi felt her knees shaking. Her heart throbbed in her ears.

Celine was weeping now, hunched in on herself. “She made me swear to protect you. That if anything went wrong, I would raise you. Keep you safe.”

She pressed a trembling hand to her heart. “But the ritual—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It failed.”

Rumi’s stomach twisted violently.

Celine shook her head, eyes shut against the memory. “She was torn apart… in bursts of light. I watched her scream, her body unravel like it was being rewritten by something older than magic. There was light and ash and nothing. Nothing left.”

A sob ripped from her throat. “He lied to us! Tricked us. He killed her.” She looked up, grief sharp in her eyes. “I hated him. For what he took. For the hole he left behind.”

She turned her eyes back to Rumi, hollow now. “And that’s why I never told you. I kept it all from you — the bond, the ritual, the truth. I didn’t want you to carry that pain. I didn’t want you to see what your father really was.”

Rumi was frozen. Her throat burned. Her body felt like it was shattering inward, piece by piece. “I did it to protect you,” Celine whispered. “Because I made her a promise.”

She turned to glare at the Old One. “And he was there. He knew of the plans. Watched it happen.”

“You can’t trust them,” she hissed. “Demons lie. They smile and twist their words and make you believe things you shouldn’t. They don’t love, Rumi. They take.”

Silence. Rumi’s face crumpled. “You’re wrong,” she said softly. She couldn’t believe those words. Not after reading her father’s letter. Not after knowing that all he’d done was for the sake of his family. Her mother. Not after seeing Jinu and the boys with you.

Celine looked at her, startled.

“My father loved my mother.”

Celine’s mouth twitched, and then she snapped. “If he loved her, she wouldn’t be dead.”

Rumi flinched. A silence passed… it was heavy and cold.

Then the Old One let out a small, pitying tsk. “Still not the whole truth, is it, Celine?”

Rumi’s eyes snapped to her. “What’s he talking about?”

Celine froze. Rumi stepped forward. Her voice cracked like glass. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

Celine stared at the Old One with pure loathing, her mouth tight, fists trembling at her sides. The ancient demon simply smiled. Slow, knowing, and cruelly gentle. Like he had been waiting decades to witness this moment unravel.

“Go on, then,” he whispered. “Tell her. Tell her why her… earlier request must’ve felt so familiar to you.”

Celine's face drained of color. Her lips parted, a small breath escaping. “No…” she whispered.

Rumi’s brows furrowed as she turned to her, eyes wide and glimmering with confusion. “My… request?”

It hit her like a slow oncoming wave. The sick twist curling in her gut, the tightening behind her ribs. No. He couldn’t mean what I think he means…

Celine looked at her. And for the first time in Rumi’s life, Celine’s eyes broke. No armor. No duty. Just something ancient and trembling. Rumi stepped forward, voice cracking. “What’s the whole truth? What else are you not telling me?!”

Celine’s mouth opened but no words came. Rumi’s voice rose in anguish, tears now slipping freely down her cheeks because deep inside she knew. She had a feeling what the old demon was talking about. 

“Tell me! Or I’ll assume the worst—”

“I—” Celine turned away, her voice choking. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. “I can’t—”

“Tell me!”

Celine crumpled. “That night…” she whispered, still facing the tree. “The night before the ritual. I held you in my arms. You were so small. Your mother was asleep beside me… and then Daehyun came in.”

She shut her eyes, pain twisting every word. “He said… that if anything happened to her—if she died… to raise and protect you.”

Rumi’s lips quivered. Her whole body was trembling.

“And then…” Celine’s voice cracked, so raw it barely held shape. “He asked me… to kill him.”

Rumi gasped, barely a whisper, “What…?”

Celine turned now. Her face was wet with tears, red and swollen. “Your father… said he couldn’t live a life without her. That if she died, she wouldn’t be reborn. And there’d be no reason for him to stay behind. He told me to kill him if it failed.”

“No,” Rumi breathed. Her knees buckled slightly.

“I didn’t understand him,” Celine cried. “Not really. I didn’t know what it all meant. So I said no. Not until—” 

She turned her face away, voice cracking into a sob. “When it failed… when I saw her… my best friend… rip apart in that burst of light, that scream—” her voice caught, and she clutched at her chest like it still physically hurt. “I watched your father hold what was left of her. Clutch at ash. He was wailing, sobbing. His screams, his grief… he wanted to die.”

Celine’s voice dropped to a trembling hush. “And I… I let rage take over. I thought none of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for him. For that damn ritual. For him—a demon. I hated him. I hated him so much in that moment.”

Rumi shook her head slowly, disbelieving. “No, no, you didn’t…”

“He looked up at me,” Celine whispered. “Kneeling on the ground. Shaking. Empty. He didn’t fight back. The last thing he saw was me. Me. And then—” Celine’s voice shattered.

“I killed him.”

The words landed like thunder cracking through the sky. Rumi collapsed. Her sword fell to the ground with a heavy clang as she dropped to her knees. A sound escaped her—broken, small, too soft for the pain that came with it.

“No,” she whispered, clutching her chest. “No, no, no—”

Celine dropped to her knees too, crawling to her. “Rumi, please—he asked me to. I didn’t want to at first—I couldn’t bear everything he had done. He couldn’t either—he wanted me to—”

“You KILLED him!” Rumi screamed, twisting away from her touch. Her voice was fire and grief, shattering the night air. “You murdered him—!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Celine sobbed, reaching out but not touching. “Not at first…he begged me, Rumi! He wanted it—he couldn’t live in a world without her. He told me it was the only thing I could do for him.”

“I trusted you!” Rumi shrieked, crawling backward, shaking violently. “You were supposed to protect me! You promised her—!”

Celine broke into fresh sobs, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry… I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to grow up with that legacy, with that pain. I was trying—”

“You took him from me!” Rumi screamed. “You took both of them—!” She sobbed so violently she doubled over, gripping her own arms like she could stop herself from falling apart.

The Old One approached then, his steps silent in the dark grass. He knelt beside her, placing a weathered hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm. Solid. Gentle.

“I knew him,” the Old One said quietly. “Daehyun. A stubborn bastard. Noble. Soft-hearted where it mattered.”

Rumi’s eyes met his, tear-streaked and wide.

“We were friends once,” the Old One continued, voice low and aching with time. “He loved your mother beyond reason. Beyond life. And when she was gone, he didn’t wish to be saved. He told me that he couldn’t live in a world without her.”

Rumi hiccupped, trembling. “He… he really loved her?”

“With every cell of his soul.”

She swallowed, her voice shaking. “Then… he chose this.”

He nodded. “It was his choice. And sometimes, love… asks the impossible of us.”

Behind them, Celine still wept. Silent. Ashamed. Small. Rumi turned her head slightly, watching her fall apart in the shadows. Her insides twisted. She didn’t know what she was feeling anymore—grief, fury, confusion, love… hatred.

She was both her mother’s daughter and her father’s legacy. And suddenly, she didn’t know who that made her at all.

Celine’s hands trembled, reaching toward Rumi, almost begging. Her face was streaked with tears, broken by the pain, by the plea behind her eyes. “Rumi… please,” she whispered. “Forgive me.”

Rumi looked down at her, gaze unreadable. A mixture of grief, fury, and something heavier than either. “Well,” Rumi murmured, her voice brittle, hollow, “it’s over now.”

She glanced down at her own arms, at the jagged, glowing patterns snaking across her skin. Her birthright, her curse. “The Honmoon is destroyed… I’m…” Her throat closed. “…me. And it’s over. Like they died for nothing.”

“No, no—Rumi, listen to me.” Celine surged forward, wrapping her cardigan around Rumi’s shoulders like a second skin, like it could somehow erase the marks beneath. Her voice shook with desperation. “We can’t fail. You can’t fail. We can still fix this.”

Rumi didn’t move. She just looked at her with a numb kind of shock, as if unsure whether this was kindness or control.

“We can cover these up. Make everything right again. We can’t let them win,” Celine muttered, her gaze flicking toward the Old One, whose smirk only deepened. She glared at him with venom. “I’ll tell Mira and Zoey it was all a trick. A projection. An illusion cast by Gwi Ma to turn them against you. I’ll fix it. I’ll—"

But the words died in her throat when she saw the look on Rumi’s face. Disbelief. Contempt.

Rumi’s eyes turned to the Old One, unsure, searching. And Celine’s fear grew. “You can’t trust demons, Rumi,” she hissed, stepping between them. “They’ll say anything to get what they want. They lie. That’s all they do—”

“You’ve been lying to me my whole life!” Rumi screamed. “You lied about my father. You lied about who I am! You told me I was just like them—like I was normal!”

“Rumi—please. We can still fix this!”

“Don’t you get it?!” Her voice cracked into a roar. “This is who I am! You tried to erase my father like that would erase me! You thought if you just hid my patterns, it would disappear! But look at me!”

Celine tried to meet her eyes. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything. Not when she looked so much like… him.

“Why can’t you look at me?” Rumi’s voice broke. “Why couldn’t you love me?”

“I do,” Celine said, voice trembling.

“All of me?” Rumi asked, and this time her voice wasn’t human. It was deeper. Echoing. Her demon timbre rolled through the garden like thunder. The ground quaked. The great Hunter Tree behind them groaned, and the Honmoon below, whatever was left of it,  shimmered violently around them, cracks splitting through its core.

Celine flinched. “See?!” she shouted, wild. “This is why we must hide it! Our faults and fears must never be seen! They’re dangerous! It’s the only way to protect the Honmoon—!”

Rumi looked around her. The Honmoon below was tearing. Wisps of it frayed like cloth in wind. Everything they’d ever sworn to protect, fading with each breath she took.

And it dawned on her.

This was the Honmoon? This fragile thing held together by lies and fear? This was what she had bled to protect? This... weak thing that breaks at her faults, at their simple feelings. A thing that depended on their voices, on their unity as Hunters... this thing that depended on perfectionism, hope, and hiding the truth? 

"This..." she said, barely a whisper, "this is what we’ve been strengthening all these years?"

The silence pressed in like a weight.

“If this is the Honmoon I’m supposed to protect,” Rumi said, staring up into the unraveling light, “then I’m glad to see it destroyed.”

Celine staggered. “No—Rumi—please, don’t say that—”

“It’s over now.” Rumi muttered. And then—

“…Is that what you really think?” The Old One’s voice slid through the garden, soft and low.

Both women turned toward him. He looked at Rumi with eyes ancient and wise, his tone almost paternal. “After all your father sacrificed. After your mother gave up everything. Do you really think this is the end?”

Rumi’s chest heaved. Her voice was tight. “But… it failed. The ritual. It cost them everything. How am I supposed to…”

The Old One stepped closer. “I don’t know what Daehyun left in that little journal of his,” he said softly. “But I do know why it failed.”

Rumi and Celine looked at him, breath held.

“The ritual required three voices,” he said. “And one heart. Your mother… she was a hunter, sworn and branded. That left them with only two voices. Not enough to bind. Not enough to hold. Not strong enough to survive.”

“What…?” Rumi’s eyes went wide.

“You can’t make a tether from someone sworn to the Hunt,” he said, glancing toward Celine. “No matter how strong the love.”

Celine’s voice sharpened. “You’re wrong. That’s not how the bond—” But she froze when she saw Rumi’s face. Wide-eyed. Realizing. “…Rumi?” she asked carefully.

Rumi’s lips parted. “So… it can work,” she whispered. “We can succeed.”

The Old One smiled. “You were right.”

Celine turned on him, panicked. “Rumi, what are you saying? Have you found someone—?”

“But they won’t let me go through with it. Jinu… he knows. He knows the risks.”

“So don’t give him a choice,” the Old One said, with a knowing glint in his eye. He stepped closer, just beside her now, voice low, gentle. “You’re your father’s daughter. And he believed in the impossible.” He looked at her with something almost like pride. “So do I.”

Rumi stared up at him. That ache in her chest didn’t fade, but the fear in her eyes dimmed. Just slightly.

“You just need her.” His voice was a whisper. “Convince her. And you can finish what they started.”

“Rumi—no.” Celine stepped forward, voice breaking again. “If you’re thinking what I think you are—don’t. Please. This is madness!”

But her words were smoke. Rumi backed away slowly. She looked at the Old One and gave a small nod. He returned it solemnly. Then her gaze landed on Celine one last time. She looked at the woman who raised her — the woman who protected her, betrayed her, loved her, and lied to her.

Her voice was quiet. Steady. Icy. “I forgive you,” Rumi said, “but I won’t let you decide my fate anymore.”

Magenta light bloomed around her in a swirl of smoke and embers. And then—

She was gone.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You sat curled on the couch in the apartment’s dim light, the television flickering in front of you like it was struggling to fill the silence. You hugged a pillow tightly to your chest, your forehead resting against it, heart pounding too loud to ignore. Your legs were curled under you, knees shaking slightly from nerves you couldn't calm no matter how many deep breaths you took.

Everything had gone so, so wrong.

Your eyes remained fixed on the screen. The news anchor’s voice sounded dejected, not completely detached from the chaos you’d witnessed not long ago.

“Due to the Huntrix public breakup on stage, today's International Idol Awards have been cancelled.”

Cancelled. Cancelled? The words echoed like a scream in a vacuum. Your mind reeled, heart trying to catch up.

“Here are the winners of the International Idol Awards. Artist of the Year: Saja Boys—”

You blinked, disbelieving. Your stomach twisted, cold sinking into your limbs. What? Your eyes stayed glued to the screen as each title rolled in, golden letters and polished press photos playing against soft pop music in the background. 

You pressed the pillow tighter, like it could protect you. They were winning. Every category. Racking up titles like candy. And at what cost?

Your lips parted as the realization dropped deeper into your gut. Was this their plan? Not to do anything at the awards ceremony itself… but to use the awards to amplify their reach? To gather attention, mass celebration, momentum? You thought something would happen tonight, during the ceremony. You’d been bracing for it. But they had waited. They were waiting.

And suddenly… your thoughts spiraled to Huntrix. To Rumi. The images burned behind your eyelids, the stage, the gasps from the crowd, the lights crackling. The demon markings that split across her arms like jagged lightning. You remembered the way she screamed. The raw truth in her voice. And the look on her face when Mira and Zoey turned on her.

Was it real? Was any of it real? Was she really a demon…? And a hunter? Was that even possible? Did the boys know? Did they plan it? Did they use her for this?

You bit your lower lip hard enough to taste blood. The news kept rolling:

“Best New Artist: Saja Boys.”

“Song of the Year: Soda Pop.”

“Worldwide Icon of the Year: Saja Boys—”

The screen glitched. You jolted upright, breath hitching. A flicker. A distortion in the signal. For a second, it buzzed with static. Then cleared. And then… your blood ran cold. There they were. The five of them. Standing against a clean magenta backdrop of stars and shimmer. Hair styled, faces perfect, outfits crisp, skin glowing. Not a single thing out of place.

It was them, but not them. Not the you-woke-up-in-my-arms boys you knew. Not the ones who held you when you cried. This was their mask. Their public face.

And then Jinu stepped forward. “Hey everybody,” he said, voice sad, dejected. Familiar.

You couldn’t breathe. Your heart thudded like a drum in your ears as you watched his faux frown. The sadness in his voice wasn’t real. Not to you. Not when you knew that face too well. Not when you'd seen what it looked like when it was real.

“You must all be so sad about the Huntrix breakup,” he continued. “We are too.”

Liar. It chilled you to the bone. You stared at the screen, pulse racing.

“So to cheer everyone up,” Jinu said with a faint, charming grin, “we’re going to do a special live performance tonight.”

Your breath caught. Somehow, you knew what was coming.

“Midnight. Namsan Tower. Don’t miss it for the world.”

Your entire body went still. There it was. That was the plan. That was the moment. Your limbs were trembling before your brain even fully registered it. You shoved the pillow aside and leapt off the couch, running to the balcony doors. Your hands pressed against the glass, heart hammering. The faint shimmer of the barrier still pulsed there, reacting to your touch like it could sense your desperation.

But through the glass, you could see it. Namsan Tower. Glowing. Tall. Drenched in light like a beacon, visible from nearly every part of the city. The thought hit you like a knife in the chest.

Thousands. Thousands of people would be there. That was where they were going to do it. That was where the massacre would happen. You banged your palm helplessly against the glass. “No… no, no, no—”

Tears stung your eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly as the enormity of it all sank in. The boys. Your boys. Doing this. For you. You stumbled back, pacing the living room in circles, your thoughts spiraling faster than your feet could carry them.

They loved you. They said it. Swore it. But they were still going to go through with this? Was that love? Or something twisted wearing its skin?

You bit your nails, your gaze snapping to the balcony again, where Namsan Tower stared back like an omen. Derpy and the Magpie had perched nearby, watching you with quiet, eerie focus. The tiger’s eyes glinted, concerned, his giant paws tucked under him. The Magpie sat upright, feathers slightly puffed.

“I can’t stop them,” you muttered to the two familiars, voice shaky. “They locked me in. They knew I’d try.” You paced again. “They knew I’d come and beg them not to do this…”

You collapsed back onto the couch, eyes still darting between the tower and the TV screen. Time ticked by. The air felt heavier. Tighter. You curled into yourself, nerves raw.

You picked up your phone. There was no livestream. No broadcast. Just silence.

And then—Crack.

The air shifted and you froze.

The Magpie immediately leapt from its perch, wings outstretched. Derpy growled low and deep, rising, muscles taut and protective. The air in front of you twisted, like invisible glass bending inward, warping.

Crack!

The sound tore through the silence. It shimmered and fractured. You stood, eyes wide, breath frozen. Was it—? Had they—? Thoughts raced into your head. For a moment hope had flickered in your chest. Had they decided not to do it? Were they coming back home? 

A burst of magenta light exploded in the middle of the apartment. And there she was.

Rumi.

Her form materialized from the magic like smoke and ash, glowing faintly in the low light of the apartment. Her demon markings pulsed across her skin like molten gold, sharp and jagged, raw and beautiful. Her expression was grim, focused.

One of her eyes glowed amber. Just like them.

You froze. You hadn’t expected to ever see her like this. Not Rumi. Not the hunter. Not like them. But there she stood, radiating quiet power. A look of determination on her face. She was still in her performance outfit, just as you’d seen her through your phone screen merely hours ago. In her right hand, she held a hand bag. The brown leather a great contrast to her white clothes that glittered under your apartment lights.

Your breath caught in your throat. Why was she here? Why now?

Her gaze swept across the room quickly, scanning everything like she didn’t have time to waste. And then her eyes landed on you. Unblinking.

And she didn’t look away.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Wahhh it was so heartbreaking to write this out! I wanted to expand on the truth and backstory of Rumi's parents and reveal the Ritual with this one! I expanded a bit on the lore of what really happened to them in the scene with Celine. The Old One is back to instigate the truth and push Rumi forward to going through with the plan. I'm sorry for making it as tragic as it was, but I wanted to make sure that the risks of the Ritual were justified- especially given Jinu's decision not to go through with it. (His first priority is you after all). I also wanted to give a valid reason why Celine decided to hide the whole truth from Rumi. Given how dark everything is, it makes sense for her to want to shield Rumi from the truth of what happened. (But still doesn't make it right though!)

I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!

Willa x.

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The night was quiet in the way only alleyways could be. A hush built of neon hums, distant cars, and the muffled clatter of lives being lived behind thin walls. Jinu walked slowly, his steps echoing soft and deliberate against the concrete. He hadn’t spoken a word since Rumi left. He didn’t know how to.

The letter echoed in his head: “You were always the best part of us.” The kind of love Daehyun had written about didn’t feel like the kind demons were allowed to have. It was tender. Raw. Built not on power or pacts but something deeper. Something harder.

Belief.

Jinu had read those words and felt the weight of them like a blade pressed to the chest. He didn’t know Daehyun — but in those lines, he did. That ache, that desperation to rewrite fate for the sake of the one you loved… it was too familiar. Too close to his own marrow.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he reached the end of the alley.

The journal was worse. Or better. He wasn’t sure. The words had danced in and out of translation, the ink warping and glowing beneath his fingers like something alive. Rumi had deciphered the obvious, but the deeper magic… the structure of the ritual, the concept of a tether…  that took someone like him to unravel. Someone old enough to remember the shadows those symbols were born from.

A tether. Not just a seal. A gate. A guardian. A chance for love to rewrite the laws.

The soulbond had to be strong. Stronger than anything forged by blood or command.

Three voices. One heart. That was the part that snagged in his thoughts. 

Then he thought of the others. Jinu’s brows furrowed as he stopped beneath a streetlamp, the pale light catching in his golden eyes. Haneul… he’d say yes. He always would, if it meant saving you. And Hwimori — he’d weep through it, but he'd do it, even if he didn’t fully understand.

But Seungho? Seoha? Jinu could already hear their voices, echoing in his skull.

“You want us to try an ancient ritual that already failed once?”

“What if it doesn’t work again? What if it kills her?”

“What if it kills us?”

He clenched his jaw. They weren’t wrong. If they failed… If they failed, you wouldn’t just die. You’d shatter. Again. Maybe forever this time. And still — wasn’t that already the risk they were taking? Sacrificing strangers to Gwi Ma in hopes of bartering your soul? As if you’d ever forgive them for that.

If you found out there was another way… and that they didn’t take it? Jinu’s breath hitched. That would destroy what little was left of your trust. Of your heart. That would destroy your faith in them. It would be another secret. Another wound you didn’t deserve. And gods, wasn’t he already drowning in those?

His steps slowed. His heart tightened. He saw you again. The you he loved… standing in the center of their living room. Your voice breaking, your hands trembling, pleading with him through the ache. “There has to be another way.”

You had looked at him like he was already lost. And maybe he was.

Because back then, centuries ago, when your body turned cold in his arms, he had begged Gwi Ma to bring you back. Had clawed at the gates of the demon realm until his hands bled with magic and memory. He had sold everything just for a chance to see you smile again. And now… now there was a chance.

He thought back on the journal. If they could do it right this time — with enough preparation, with the bond strong enough, with all three of them in unison… Could it work? Would it be enough?

He wanted to believe it.

He had become a monster for you once. He’d do it again. But if there was a way to save you without becoming that monster… if there was even a sliver of a path that led to you smiling, to you believing in them again— Wouldn’t it be worth it?

Wouldn’t it be worth everything?

Hope curled in his chest like a fledgling flame. He would try. He had to. For you.

And then… the world cracked.

A pulse of heat spiraled down his spine. His demon patterns flared bright and angry against his skin, burning with recognition. The light of the streetlamp bent sideways. The shadows shrank in — whispering, curling, clawing.

He staggered a step back. “Fuck—”

The air thickened like oil. His breath turned to smoke. And then, A voice. Low. Velvet. Inevitable.

“Still playing hero, Jinu?”

His eyes widened — glowing molten gold just before the ground gave way beneath him, yanked from the mortal plane by invisible chains of darkness.

And with a soundless crack, Jinu was gone. The alley vanished. No light. No gravity. Just falling… or maybe being pulled through something colder than time and darker than death.

Jinu landed hard. The stone beneath him pulsed faintly, alive with ancient heat. Shadows pressed in from every side, thick with rot and silence. The air itself tasted like burnt offerings, sweet with decay, sharp with ash.

Jinu groaned, pushing himself up with a hand to his ribs. The moment he stood, he felt it: the eyes. A crowd of demons ringed the space, silent and still, their monstrous forms barely visible beneath the veil of mist and flame. Some bore wings tattered by time. Others dragged tails slick with blood. Some wore no form at all. Just shapes of smoke and bone, curling in on themselves like forgotten nightmares.

But every eye was fixed on him. Not in awe. In fear. They looked at him like he was already damned.

Jinu scoffed and rolled his shoulders. “What’s with the long faces? Everything’s going to plan.” he muttered, his voice echoing too cleanly in the void. He tilted his chin toward the black sky above them, “Look at all these souls, huh?”

And there they were. Dozens, hundreds of souls streaming through the void like shooting stars. Each one shrieking, burning, twisting as they were devoured by the dark. Once, he would have looked at them with indifference. Now… Now they looked too much like the souls you begged him not to take. 

He looked away. A small demon near the edge, eyes wide and glassy, spoke, voice shaking. “Turn around.”

Jinu did.

And the void behind him… ignited. An inferno of impossible size. Pink, violet, magenta, coiling and writhing like a serpent made of starlight and screams. It had no form, no face, just consuming will. The core of the Demon Realm. The origin of all pacts and punishments.

Gwi Ma.

Jinu exhaled through his nose, every muscle in his body going still. Then came the voice. Silk and thunder.

“It’s funny.” The words sliced through the silence. “I thought for a moment… you actually believed you could deceive me.”

A slow, crackling laugh rose from the fire, deep and endless and hollow as a grave. Jinu tried to laugh with him. His voice came out a little too tight. “Yeah… that’s… that’s funny.”

But the laugh faded, and the flames grew. “Because if you truly believed her… if you really thought you could escape me, defy me… then you would watch your precious human soul be torn…”

The flames surged— “…to pieces.”

Jinu had just enough time to gasp before the world around him collapsed. He screamed as something invaded his mind. A hand not physical but impossibly present, ripping open thought, memory, truth.

His eyes flashed. And the vision began.

The wind howled. Branches reached toward the sky like veins made of light. Beneath them stood a woman. Long black braid down her spine, hands raised toward the Hunter’s Tree. The roots of it glowed with ancient, sacred magic. The kind that belonged only to hunters. A tree so old, it breathed the rules of the world.

The woman was trembling. Around her, voices sang. Not in unison, but in haunting, overlapping echoes. The melody was wrong, bending at the edges, barely clinging to harmony.

She whispered a name. And the moment she did, she was consumed by pain. A blinding light burst from her chest as the soulbond activated. It wasn’t controlled. It was wild.

The Tree responded violently, sensing something that didn’t belong — a soul that was sworn to the hunt calling on ancient magic.

She screamed as light split her body apart. Not blood. Light. Her soul fractured like glass beneath a too-heavy weight. Splinters of her flew into the tree, disappearing into bark and root and air. Her scream grew higher, more animal, more human… until it cut off.

Gone. Just like that.

And behind her, kneeling in the dirt… was a demon. Hair violet as a bruised sky. Face contorted in helpless agony. His hands shook as he reached for her, too late.

Daehyun.

He let out a sound no living creature should ever make. The scream of someone whose heart had been ripped from his chest. Jinu felt it all. All of it. As if he had been there. As if it were you under that tree. He collapsed to his knees, breath ragged, tears already spilling down his face.

“If you think that myth was real,” Gwi Ma whispered, “this is the fate that awaits her.”

The flames circled again. And more visions struck.

You.

Collapsing in his arms, blood pooling beneath you. Eyes blank. Lips parted with your last breath.

“Again.”

You. Throat slit in Seoha’s embrace, his trembling hands soaked in your blood.

“Again.”

You. Stabbed through the abdomen by the emperor’s blade, Seungho’s voice hoarse from screaming your name.

“…And again.”

You, burning, drowning, falling, breaking. Dying in every life he ever tried to love you in. Jinu screamed. Tears ripped from his eyes unbidden. He dropped fully, forehead to the ground, shaking like a man shattered.

Not again.

He couldn’t see this again. He couldn’t lose you again. More deaths. More endings. More you. Just gone. His heart thundered against his ribs, too big for his chest.

“Don’t forget our deal, Jinu,” Gwi Ma said softly, “because I can remove her from the cycle.”

Jinu gasped, his lungs refusing to fill.

“Or…”

And suddenly, the pain paused. Memories surfaced like a balm to burning skin. You, curled up beside him on the couch, eyes closed in trust. You, laughing at one of Hwimori’s jokes, sunlight on your cheek. You, in his arms, half-asleep, murmuring his name in the dark.

Your smile. Your voice. Your love. So fragile. So beautiful. So yours.

“…I can give her to you. For all eternity.”

Jinu trembled, still on the floor. His fingers dug into the stone, as if anchoring himself to anything real. He wanted that. He needed that. But then— You screaming beneath the Hunter’s Tree. You breaking. Shattering. Because of him.

“Don’t think you can escape what you are. What you created” Gwi Ma’s voice faded into the fire.

But the image remained. You, screaming in pain. You, smiling in his arms. The two versions of your future playing like twin stars at war in his mind. And somewhere deep inside him, under the grief and guilt and fear… a choice waited.

And a whisper rose: “I can’t let that happen.”

His hands tightened into fists. He wouldn't lose you again.

Not like that.

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The sun spilled weakly through the gauzy curtains, casting a soft gold wash over the Huntrix apartment. Pajamas rustled and the sound of quiet footsteps echoed in the living room as the three girls settled into their usual spots. Zoey curled up on one of the loveseats, Mira sitting on the edge of the coffee table, and Rumi perched at the edge of the couch with her long braid trailing over one shoulder. The empty dishes from breakfast had been cleared. The silence that hung in the room wasn’t heavy, just thoughtful. Expectant.

Rumi smoothed her hands over her knees. “Look, the last few weeks have been... hard,” she began, her voice steady but not defensive. “And I admit I haven’t been at my best. But I know we can win today. We just have to sing the right song.”

She paused, heart thudding against her ribs. They were going to attempt the ritual. The song had to be Golden. Not just because the lyrics resonated or because the melody carried hope—but because the ritual demanded unity, belief, and harmony between their hearts and true voices. Takedown was a war cry. Golden was a promise.

And if they had even a sliver of a chance at completing the tether, of saving Y/N, thousands of people, and ending this without a massacre—it started there.

She opened her mouth again. “And Takedown... it isn’t—”

“It’s okay, Rumi,” Mira cut in gently.

“We agree,” Zoey added, eyes downturned.

“It’s not the song that’s gonna connect all our fans,” Mira said, her eyes locking onto Rumi’s.

“It can’t even connect... us.” Zoey added dejectedly.

The three of them fell into a tender conversation. Not awkward, just vulnerable. They didn’t need to hash it all out again. Not the fights, not the fractures, not the days they’d spent in different corners of their shared space, afraid to say the wrong thing. Somewhere between whispered apologies and long talks on their truths and true feelings, they'd come to understand: Together, they could be their truest selves.

“I’m afraid of losing you guys,” Rumi admitted, her throat tightening slightly after Zoey and Mira had shared their sentiments. “And that’s why we have to finish this. All these fears, it’s the demons talking. But later... we can win this war. We can be free of these fears forever.”

Mira and Zoey exchanged a look. That same shared look they always had when they made a silent decision together. She’s sincere. She’s Rumi. Their sister, their anchor. They could trust her.

“We agree, Rumi,” Zoey said again, this time more softly. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was still something lingering in her gaze. A question. Rumi tensed before she could help it.

“On another note, for things to go smoothly…” Rumi began, trying to steer the conversation forward, “Has Y/N replied to any of your messages?”

Mira and Zoey froze for a second. Their eyes darted to each other again, but this time, not in reassurance. It was hesitation. The weight of what they’d seen last night. The notes, the symbols, the pieces of something much larger than they understood, pressed down like a held breath.

“What?” Rumi asked, narrowing her eyes. “What’s with that look?”

“…Now that we’re being honest,” Mira said slowly, “is there any other reason why you want Y/N to be there?”

Rumi’s breath caught in her throat. “What? What do you mean? If she’s there, it just means the Saja boys won’t—”

“We know, Rumi,” Zoey interrupted gently. “And we agree with that. We trust you.”

There was a beat of silence.

“It’s just…” Zoey looked sheepish. “We were looking for your hairdryer last night. You know, the one with the lightning-speed cold setting? Your hair takes like… years to dry.”

Mira snorted, but didn’t smile.

“And we found something else,” Zoey said, more carefully now.

“We didn’t mean to snoop—” Mira jumped in.

Rumi’s stomach twisted. Her heart began to race.

“But we found your notebook. It must’ve fallen out of the bed. We saw some of the pages. Runes, symbols, ritual diagrams… Y/N’s name. And something about the Honmoon—”

“You guys went through my stuff?” Rumi’s voice came out sharper than she intended.

“It— we didn’t mean to find it!” Zoey said quickly, holding up her hands. “But... you wrote about the Honmoon. A ritual. Rumi, what was that? You can tell us.”

“We know you’ve been keeping some things from us,” Mira added, gentler now. “And we don’t doubt there must be a good reason.”

“You don’t have to tell us everything now…” Zoey hesitated, glancing at the uncertainty in Rumi’s expression. “Look, we trust you. But we just need you to explain that so we understand. Just a little.”

“Whatever you’re doing, or planning, we know it must be for a good cause.” Mira looked to Zoey, both of them silently deciding to stand by their friend.

Rumi closed her eyes for a second. Her mind spun. No. She couldn’t tell them everything. Not about her parents. Not about Jinu. Not about the ritual itself. Not yet.

But she could give them a truth that wouldn’t collapse everything.

“I’ve just been… curious,” she said finally. “About the soulbond. About how it might affect Y/N. And the Honmoon. I’ve never seen a bond like hers before.”

She looked at her hands. “I grew up with Celine. My training started a lot earlier than yours. There were things I read, secrets, old texts… and I guess those notes were me trying to piece things together. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure what any of it meant. It’s all half-deciphered.”

She exhaled slowly. “The reason I want Y/N to be there is because yes, for extra measures. But also… because I was trying to understand something I read once. That someone with a soulbond could become… something like the Honmoon.”

Zoey blinked. “What? Like… a human Honmoon?”

“Something like that. It’s difficult to explain. But… remember when the Honmoon glowed on the train yesterday? When she took my hand?”

They both nodded slowly, eyes widening. “So you think… Y/N could become the Honmoon?” Mira asked.

“Not exactly,” Rumi replied. “I don’t know. But it reacted to her. That’s never happened before. I think she might be able to… change something. And it could be something permanent. As in— no more weakening of the barrier. Something that could seal the demon realm away forever.”

The living room fell quiet again. Zoey looked at Mira, then back at Rumi. Her gaze softened.

“How do you know this? Forever? Like, we wouldn’t need to strengthen the Honmoon every year?” Zoey questioned.

“Something like that,” Rumi nodded, eyes troubled. The weight of it all felt heavy on her shoulders. “Look, I still have to confirm it. And if anything happens, then we seal the Honmoon anyway with our voices. It was just something I wanted to look into…” 

Zoey and Mira softened. They hadn’t realized how much their friend must’ve been carrying. The secrets, the weight of responsibility, the fear of being wrong… or worse, right. For all Rumi’s walls, she had never stopped trying to protect them.

“You don’t have to explain it all now,” Zoey said gently. “We’ve got to go soon anyway. But just tell us what we need to do.”

Rumi looked up, startled. She hadn’t expected them to say yes, or that they’d believe her just like that. That was it? They didn’t demand any more questions? She almost felt guilty that she wasn’t telling them everything.

Almost wondered if she had told them the whole truth, maybe they would understand…

“Y/N needs to be there, right?” Mira asked. “Would this... whatever it is, really be stronger than the Honmoon?”

Rumi hesitated and thought of her father’s journal. The symbols. The words ‘Three voices. One heart.’

“I think it might,” she said softly. “There’s no harm in trying.”

Lie. Everything depended on this. Your life. The life of thousands. Jinu’s and the rest of the boys.

“I just need you guys to sing with me,” Rumi added.

Both Zoey and Mira blinked. “That’s all?” Zoey asked.

Rumi nodded once. “That’s all.”

But in her head, she was already reciting the other pieces. The soul. The sacrifice. The choice. She would take care of the rest. She just needed their voices.

The girls were quiet for a moment. Then, as if making a silent decision again, they nodded. They still got the feeling she wasn’t saying everything. But maybe that was okay. Maybe it wasn’t the time. Maybe trust was more important than the truth right now.

She was their best friend, after all.

“Okay,” Zoey smiled. “Let’s go crush that stage.”

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You woke to the sound of breathing.

Not your own, but deeper, heavier, more beast than human. A warm exhale tickled the strands of hair at the crown of your head. You shifted and felt the drag of fur against your skin, the soft weight of an enormous paw still draped across your waist. Derpy.

He hadn’t moved from his post beside you. Not once.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, lashes stuck together from the dried salt of sleep. The ceiling above was awash in morning light, blurry and pale. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. The ache in your limbs was less physical than it was emotional. Your body weighed down by sorrow, as if grief itself had climbed into bed with you and held you down by the ribs.

From the curtain rod above, a chirp echoed. A melodic little sound that normally would’ve made you smile. The Magpie. It was perched like a guardian at your window, its glossy feathers twitching with the breeze, head tilted as though waiting for you to rise.

“Morning,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice a broken thing. Not even Derpy stirred. You curled into him instead, pressing your face into the soft fur of his chest and let your fingers tangle into the warm fluff there. He gave a low, sleepy grumble, pulling you closer with a sound that felt like safety. His scent, charcoal and cedar, firewood and something ancient, wrapped around you like a memory.

This was the first night in a while where you had actually slept alone without one of the boys beside you. Holding you. You almost hated how wrong it felt to be without them wrapping you in their embrace through the night. You’d almost become dependent on it. Used to it. 

You let yourself stay like that for a few seconds longer. Just a few seconds where you could pretend this was normal. That you weren’t in a guest room because you couldn’t bear to sleep beside your lovers. That today wasn’t the day. That your tears hadn’t soaked this pillowcase the entire night.

But peace, like all beautiful things, was fleeting.

Because today was the Idol Awards.

And with that thought came the sickening dread. Like something clawed up from the pit of your stomach and wrapped itself around your spine. Today… they were going to do it.

Today, your boys, the ones who had memorized the shape of your hands, who cradled you when the night got too heavy, who whispered promises against your skin like prayers… were going to kill for you.

Hundreds. Maybe thousands. A sacrifice. A slaughter.

You flinched at the word. It felt too sharp, too real. How could the same hands that held you like you were glass... break the world in your name? You stared at the ceiling again, trying to breathe around the guilt in your throat. But it didn’t move. It never did.

You’d begged them not to go through with it. You thought they might listen. You thought love might be enough.

Had they found another way?

You wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe that somewhere between all the pain, the planning, and the desperation, they had chosen something better. That they had chosen you, not as an idol or a reason to become monsters, but as a person. A girl who cried when she was overwhelmed. Who burnt pancakes. Who loved them deeply but wasn’t ready to carry this kind of darkness.

But you knew better than to cling to hope like that. Hope was delicate, and you’d learned it always broke when you held it too tightly.

Outside your door, muffled voices floated through the walls. Footsteps. The clink of dishes. A quiet hum of life. And then—

“…Just eat something. You’ll collapse like this. Did you even sleep?”

Seoha. The world stilled. Was he…?

Your throat tightened. He was talking to Hwimori. You sat up slowly, hands trembling, suddenly too aware of the way the silence behind your door felt heavy. Familiar.

Did he stay out there all night again?

The thought gutted you. You imagined him, slumped against the doorframe, knees tucked to his chest, lavender hoodie wrinkled from hours of stillness. Head drooped. Maybe he’d curled up like a cat, just to feel close. Just to wait for you.

Your heart cracked.

Hwimori didn’t need words. He never had. His love came in gestures. In the way he poured you water before bed. In the way he whined when you were sad. In the way he tucked his body close to yours like he was trying to hide you inside his ribs. 

How could you explain this to him? How could you look him in the eye and say: You can't protect me this time. You can't follow me.

You couldn’t. You didn’t know how.

But you had to try. Because if they went through with this today… there would be no turning back.

You reached blindly for your phone, needing something to anchor you. Anything. One new message blinked on the screen. It was from Rumi.

‘Hey, how are you? Just checking in to ask if we'll be seeing you in the Idol Awards today. Please come. We'd love to see you there.’

Your breath hitched. The words weren’t heavy. They weren’t even long. But they carried so much warmth it made your chest ache. After everything, they still wanted you to come. They still thought of you.

You turned your gaze toward the corner of the room, where your bag sat in a forgotten heap. And tucked inside it, like a talisman from a world that used to feel simple, was the invitation.

Technically… you could still go. No one had taken it from you. Your fingers clenched the bedsheets. Should you?

The question stabbed through your brain like a needle.

If you went… you could stop them. Maybe. If you threw yourself in their path. If you stood on that stage and looked them in the eye and said no loud enough, would they finally listen?

But what would it cost? Would they see you as the enemy? Would they snap, break, and tear the world apart with you in it?

And what if you succeeded? What if you did stop them? Would it cost you your life? Would Gwi Ma take you anyway? Would the bond shatter? Would they survive without you?

You closed your eyes, and the memories came like a wave. Jinu brushing the hair from your face with a ghost of a smile. Haneul, pressing your hand to his chest, as if it would calm the storm inside him. Seoha’s whisper-soft voice telling you your name like it was something sacred. Seungho, brushing your lips with his, like a vow he wasn’t allowed to speak. Hwimori… curled up beside you like he never wanted to be apart.

You had never loved anything more in your life. And now you might have to break it.

You pressed your palms into your eyes. Hard. Trying to force the thoughts away. Would you be cruel to take yourself from them forever?

Yes.

But would you be crueler to let them live with blood on their hands? To let them become the monsters the world always feared they would be?

You looked at the invitation again.

You had to go.

If they didn’t listen today, if they locked you away again, you’d sneak out. You’d walk onto that stage. You’d make them hear you. You would not let them burn for you.

Not like this.

Your chest tightened as you picked up your phone again, thumbs trembling over the screen. For a long moment, you just stared at Rumi’s message. Then, slowly, you typed back.

‘Hey, Rumi. Thanks for checking up on me. I haven’t been in the best state of mind since yesterday. But I’ll be there today.’

You hit send. There. It was done.

The decision made your whole body feel heavy, like it had sunk deeper into gravity. But at the same time, something in your chest settled quietly. Like a match being struck in the dark.

You rose to your feet, legs trembling under the weight of it all. Derpy shifted beside you, giving a low growl as if sensing the tension in your chest. The magpie chirped again, more insistently this time. You knelt and buried your face into Derpy’s fur.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Please stay here. Please watch over them.”

Then you scratched the magpie under its chin, your hand shaking as you turned toward the door. Your fingers brushed the lock.

This was your last chance.

Please, you begged in your mind. Please listen to me.

You unlocked the door and stepped out with trembling hands, half-expecting to see him there, Hwimori curled up on the hallway floor like some loyal creature refusing to leave your side. But he was gone. Only silence greeted you.

He must’ve gotten up. Maybe to eat. Maybe because the others had coaxed him to rest. The thought brought a flicker of relief to your chest, even as dread slowly poisoned your veins. The air was heavy, almost still. You padded softly down the hallway, careful not to make a sound. But it was too late.

They felt you.

You didn’t hear them move. You sensed it, the quiet shuffle of a knife being lowered, a breath being caught. Their bond tethered to you still, even if your hearts felt galaxies apart.

You turned the corner into the kitchen. They were all dressed. Already prepared for the Idol Awards, outfits tailored to perfection, hair meticulously styled, skin aglow beneath soft lights. They looked breathtaking. Unreachable. Heavenly and damned all at once.

But to you, they looked like men dressed for a massacre.

Jinu stood with arms crossed, wearing a black loose flanel dusted with midnight glitter, like stars swallowed in shadow. His jaw tightened the moment his eyes met yours. He didn’t speak.

Haneul held a tray in his hands, still plating what looked like congee and sliced pears. His soft magenta hair was slicked back, lips parted like he was just about to call for you.

Mystery had been sitting at the kitchen counter, legs drawn up to the stool. He froze, his entire body turning toward you like a hound sensing heartbreak. He whimpered, soft and low.

Seoha stood by the window, back straight, brows knit. He looked like he hadn’t slept, yet he was flawless. Pale silver shirt hanging loosely over his frame, one hand tightening around the glass of water he never drank.

Seungho was leaning against the wall near the door, half-hidden in the shadow. He had one earbud in, scrolling something on his phone before you entered. Now the phone was forgotten. His dark eyes burned into you.

They looked at you like you were a ghost. Their silence screamed louder than any greeting. The air crackled with emotion, too sharp, too raw.

You saw it in the way Jinu’s fingers dug into his biceps. The way Haneul’s shoulders slumped slightly. The way Mystery blinked too fast, trying to stop tears from forming. Seoha’s knuckles were white on the glass. Seungho’s jaw ticked, like he was clenching something deeper than anger.

You wanted to speak, but for a moment, you couldn’t. They looked so painfully beautiful. The kind of beautiful that ripped you apart. You remembered thinking they looked like angels the first time you saw them. Now, they looked like angels dressed for war.

Haneul swallowed first, voice hushed and soft. “You’re up.” The tray in his hands trembled.

You nodded slightly, the gesture barely perceptible. Your chest throbbed. You wanted to scream. Instead, you looked at the tray.

“I was just about to bring you breakfast,” he added softly.

You looked into his eyes, those eyes that had only ever gazed at you with kindness, and felt your heart break all over again. Even now. Even now they make time to care for me. How could they be so gentle… and still choose to destroy?

“Thanks,” you whispered.

They all flinched. Even your voice hurt them. You felt the bond tighten, a tether pulled taut over fire. Emotions rushed across it like static: their pain, their panic, their overwhelming desire to soothe you, to shield you, even from themselves.

Your eyes drifted to the bags by the door. Audio equipment and suit bags. “You’re really leaving, huh?” Your voice cracked.

No one answered right away. Then, Jinu’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

His voice was hard. Cold. But he wasn’t looking at you. He couldn’t. He couldn’t watch your face crumble in sadness and heartache again.

Your lip trembled. "You don’t have to do this,” you whispered, voice shaking. “You still don’t. There has to be another way.”

Silence.

"I’m begging you,” your voice cracked. “Please. I know you think this is the only path, but you haven’t even tried to think this through with me. Not really. And if you have and you didn’t tell me, then, then how am I supposed to live with that?"

Seoha’s throat bobbed. He couldn’t meet your eyes. Haneul’s fingers tightened around the tray. His knuckles turned white. Hwimori looked like he was about to cry again.

“We’re doing this to protect you,” Seungho said. The first to speak. His tone clipped. Defensive. But even he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

"Protect me?" you echoed. “By killing hundreds? Thousands? You think I want to be protected like that?”

They flinched again.

“You think I can live with that? That I’ll look at you and still see the men I love?”

“You’ll be alive,” Jinu snapped. “That’s all that matters.”

You stepped forward, tears beginning to fall. “No. It’s not. I’d rather die than become the reason you do this.”

That stopped them cold. Haneul stepped forward. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” you barked. “It’s the truth! If I live and all those people die, then I might as well already be dead. Because I’ll never be able to forgive myself. And you’ll never forgive yourselves either.”

“You think we haven’t already accepted that?” Seoha said, voice low and trembling. “We know we’re monsters.”

“You’re not,” you cried. “You don’t have to be.”

“But we will be,” Hwi whispered. “If it means keeping you, I don’t care.”

Those words broke you hearing them from Hwi. They broke something in you. “You love me that much?” your voice cracked. “Enough to destroy everything else? What about you, Haneul? What about your promise to be good?”

Haneul’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I’d rather be damned with you alive than be good and lose you again.”

You stood there, heart in pieces, body barely holding together. But you didn’t walk away. Not yet. You couldn’t. This… this was your last chance. Maybe not with logic. Not with morality. But with love. 

You took a trembling breath, and then you stepped forward. Slowly. Cautiously. Like you were approaching the edge of a cliff, and they were the drop. Please. Please, just see me.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

They did.

“I know you think this is the only way,” your voice shook. “I know you’ve made peace with it. That you’ve convinced yourselves this is for me. But I’m begging you…” Your knees nearly buckled. “I’m begging you,” you repeated, stronger this time. “Don’t go through with this.”

You moved first to Hwimori. He was closest, always closest. You reached out and gently took his hand, holding it with both of yours like he was something fragile, sacred. Your thumbs brushed over them like a prayer.

“Hwi…” your voice wavered. “I know your heart. I feel it every day. You’re loyal, you’re kind… you don’t have to do this to prove that you love me. You already do. I already know.”

He whimpered softly, trying to stay strong, but the moment your hands touched his, his shoulders collapsed inward. His fingers trembled around yours, but he couldn’t let himself crumble. Not yet.

You turned to Haneul. He was standing there, tray still in his hands, unmoving. As if this entire scene had frozen him in place. You reached up and gently set your palm on his chest, over his heart. It pounded beneath your hand like a frightened thing.

“I know you’re the one who keeps the rest of them together,” you whispered. “You’re the voice of reason. You’ve always tried to be good, Haneul. Please, don’t silence that part of you now. Don’t throw it away just to keep me breathing.”

His eyes welled. “Y/N…”

“I need you to be good,” you begged. “Because if you’re not… then who is?”

He looked down, jaw tight, blinking hard.

You turned next to Seoha. His entire body was tensed, arms crossed as if holding himself together was the only way he wouldn’t fall apart.

“Seoha…” your voice turned softer. You uncrossed his arms, gently, one at a time. He let you. Your fingers traced the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. “You think you’re protecting me, but this will ruin you. This will rot something inside you that you’ll never get back. And I love you. I want to love you forever. But I won’t know how to if you come back from this... empty.”

He inhaled sharply. Still… no one said no. Still, they chose silence.

You turned to Seungho next. He hadn’t moved a muscle. As always, unreadable. Cold. But his throat had bobbed, once. And that was enough for you to try.

“You’re pretending this doesn’t hurt,” you said. “But I see it. I feel it. You’re terrified, aren’t you? Not of the blood. But of what I’ll become if you go through with this. If I hate you. If I leave.”

His fingers flexed. But he said nothing.

Finally, you stepped toward Jinu. He hadn’t looked at you this whole time. His jaw was tight. His fists clenched. Like if he dared meet your eyes, the dam would break. You stood directly in front of him. You placed your hands on either side of his face. And when he finally looked at you… gods, it nearly undid you.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you whispered. “I don’t need you to be strong. I need you to choose me. Not like this. Not in blood. Not in screams. Just choose me by staying. By trying.”

His breathing was ragged now.

“I love you,” you whispered. “But I don’t know if I’ll survive watching you become the kind of monster that thinks this is love.”

You leaned your forehead against his. And then, quietly: “Please. Don’t go.”

For a single heartbeat, the bond held still. Then his hands rose. Not to pull you in, but to gently remove yours from his face.

“If I have to carry the weight of every soul in this world to keep you alive,” Jinu said, his voice hoarse but resolute, “then I’ll do it with a smile.”

You blinked. Your hands dropped like stones. Your body stepped back without you even realizing. Like those words pushed you off the edge you were so desperately trying to balance on. You stared at him. And something inside you cracked… slow and agonizing. That shattered you. 

“Fine,” you rasped, stepping back. “Then go. Just go. Burn the world down if it makes you feel better. I hope you win your stupid awards.” You turned on your heel, back toward the guest room, your shoulders trembling.

Seoha called after you. “Wait—wait, Y/N—please, that’s not what we—”

You spun. “What?! That’s not what you meant? Then what do you mean, Seoha? That you love me so much you’d rather be feared than be without me? That your love only knows how to consume?”

“I’d rather be hated and have you alive than worshipped and lose you,” he choked.

Your heart thudded. You stormed back into the guest room, wiping your tears with the heel of your palm. Haneul and Hwimori followed.

“Please—” Hwi started.

“Don’t,” you snapped. “I get it. You’ve made your choice. Now I’ll make mine. Go.”

And that’s when Seoha noticed it. Your bag. Partially packed. The glint of a glossy gold edge sticking out from the zipper. His breath caught. You noticed and you moved to cover it from his view, subtly. But it was too late.

Seoha’s eyes darkened. He leaned in and whispered something to Haneul. Haneul’s eyes widened, then he left, hurried and quiet, to tell the others.

Seoha remained behind, kneeling before you. “You can hate me all you want,” he said. “But we’re doing this for you. Even from yourself.”

You opened your mouth, confused, but then Jinu entered the room. Followed by Seungho. Then Haneul. Then Hwi. They all stood in front of you like shadows. Like a wall.

Jinu’s voice was cold. “You’re staying here.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not leaving this apartment,” Seungho said, eyes flat.

You narrowed your eyes. “You can’t stop me.”

“We can,” Jinu said. Quiet. And that was worse.

You stepped back, heart hammering. “I said I won’t leave, okay? Isn’t that enough?”

They all looked at you like they didn’t believe a word of it.

“Go,” you whispered. “Just go already. You’ve made up your minds.”

The tension in the room knotted like a stormcloud, pressing into your lungs, your spine, your soul. They didn’t want to do this, but they would. Because they believed it would save you.

You sat down on the edge of the bed. Head bowed. Shoulders shaking. You couldn’t bear to look at them. Jinu walked forward. You saw only the hem of his shirt, the faint glint of his belt buckle, the rise and fall of his chest. He knelt. You didn’t look up. You just felt the kiss he pressed to the crown of your head.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice low and breaking. “Even if you hate us for this. Even if we burn. I’d rather burn a thousand times than have to bury you once more.”

He stood, and one by one, reluctantly, they left.

The sound of the front door closing echoed like a tomb sealing shut.

You sat there, alone. Tears sliding down your cheeks in silence. You were left there, crying once again on the bed.

The silence of the apartment pressed in like water flooding your lungs, like time itself had stopped in mourning. The distant click of the door closing behind them echoed endlessly in your head. A requiem. A closing prayer.

They left. They really left.

You curled into yourself, arms wrapped tight around your knees, body trembling in the aftermath. The bond between you and them didn’t dim, but gods, it felt like it frayed. Like a red thread stretched too far and pulled too taut.

Derpy whimpered low beside the bed, nudging your hand with his damp nose. The magpie cooed mournfully from the window ledge. Their presence was warm and heavy beside you, like a weighted blanket on your chest. You reached a shaking hand to stroke Derpy’s fur, brushing the spot between his wide, eerie eyes.

“I tried,” you whispered, voice cracked and broken. “I really tried…”

You looked them in the eye. You begged. You touched their faces with every ounce of trembling hope you had left. And still… they said no.

After everything, their priority was still you. Always you. And maybe that should’ve been comforting. But it wasn’t. Because what comfort is there in a love that burns everything down in your name?

What solace is there in being adored so fiercely it suffocates?

Their love wrapped around you like vines, lush, blooming, and beautiful, but tightening with every step you took away from them. A garden and a cage. You were their heartbeat. Their reason. Their undoing. And now… they were going to become monsters for you. Willingly.

You stopped crying eventually. Only because your body had run out of tears. Still trembling, you rose and padded into the kitchen barefoot. The apartment was pristine. Every surface spotless. Everything in its place.

Except you.

You sat quietly and ate the congee Haneul had made, lukewarm now, but still comforting in a way that hurt. You imagined him in the kitchen that morning, carefully ladling it into the bowl while the others argued. Still thinking of you. Still putting you first, even when the worst part of him knew he might never see you again without blood on his hands.

You forced yourself to finish it in silence. You owed him that much.

You washed your bowl and dried your hands, padding back into your room like a ghost. You took a shower, the heat of the water droplets soothing what mess your face must’ve been at the moment. You got out and got dressed, drying your hair in an attempt to look as presentable as you possibly could after everything.

Your eyes drifted to your bag and there it was. The golden envelope, shining like guilt. Your fingers hovered above the zipper. 

What would happen to them? Huntrix? You knew for sure they wouldn’t go down without a fight.

You pulled the invitation out slowly. Its weight felt heavier than it should’ve. Like it knew it could tip the balance of everything.

Could you do it? Go to the awards? Get in the way? Stop the soul harvest? Could you really face them again, knowing that you might have to choose between them and everyone else? You weren’t a hunter. You weren’t a demon. You weren’t powerful like them or strategic like Rumi or fearless like Zoey and Mira. You were just… you.

And still. You had to try. You had to at least try.

Because if they went through with it and you hadn’t given your all… if you’d just let them go and waited here like a good little doll, then their sins would become yours, too. The guilt would eat you alive.

No. You wouldn’t be complicit in this. You would do everything you could. Because you loved them. Gods, you loved them. But love wasn’t supposed to cost the world. And maybe, just maybe, if you showed up, if you stood there in the middle of it all, it would stop them.

Maybe they wouldn’t be able to do it with you watching. Maybe they'd choose you and the world.

You folded the invitation and tucked it gently into your bag. Your fingers lingered on the zipper, then you turned. Derpy sat by the door, tilting his head at you. The magpie flapped over and landed on your shoulder, pecking once at your hair gently.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice thick. “I shouldn’t go. They asked me to stay. But…” You crouched down to scratch behind Derpy’s ears. “I have to. I’m sorry.”

He let out a low growl, almost like a whimper. You rose and walked slowly to the front door. Hand trembling, you grabbed the knob and turned it.

Nothing.

Your brow furrowed. You tried again. Twisting it harder. Pushing, pulling. Still nothing.

“What…?”

You jiggled it harder. Yanked at it with both hands. Panic rising like bile in your throat. Then suddenly, a soft hum filled the air. A ripple of magenta light pulsed from the door like a drop in water. A shimmering shield spread outward in concentric circles, glowing faintly before fading again. Your heart stopped.

“No,” you whispered. “No, no, no—”

You yanked harder, kicked at the wood, slammed your fists into it. Another ripple. Brighter this time.

“No—!”

You pounded again, tears returning with brutal force. “Let me out! Let me out!”

Your foot struck the base of the door hard, pain shooting up your leg, but the door didn’t budge. The magic didn’t even flicker.

“No, no, no—please—”

You turned and ran to the balcony, flinging open the glass—and stopped. The same magenta shimmer encased the entire perimeter. It sparkled in the sunlight like a dome. Beautiful. Deadly. You slammed your hands against the invisible barrier. 

“Let me go!”

No answer. You screamed again, this time hoarse, guttural. Your knees buckled. You collapsed to the floor, forehead pressed against the cold tiles, chest heaving in broken sobs.

They had trapped you here for your safety. They had locked you in a gilded cage lined with silken blankets, breakfast congee and forehead kisses. But it was still a cage. You felt like a ghost screaming inside a house that had already moved on without you.

“They locked me in,” you sobbed. “They locked me in.”

You remembered the moment Seoha looked at your bag. The gold invitation had stuck out. That was it. That was the moment they knew.

“That’s what he told them,” you choked. “That’s what they saw.”

You pounded weakly on the shield again, fingers raw. “I should’ve been more careful…” You slumped down, pressing your back to the balcony door, head falling back against the glass.

“Why…?” Your voice broke again, barely a whisper. “Why would you do this to me…?”

Your thoughts spiraled. Their faces. Their love. Their obsession. The way Jinu held your face like you were made of stars and secrets. The way Haneul always tried to soothe. The way Hwi trembled when you hurt. The way Seungho tried to hide his pain behind that cruel quiet. The way Seoha said he’d rather be hated and have you alive.

They meant it. They loved you. So much that they caged you. So much that they chose your life over everyone else’s. And you… You were powerless. You were trapped.

You stared out through the shield toward the sky. Somewhere out there, tonight, people would die. People you’d never meet. Lives you’d never know. Because of you. Because they chose you. 

And no matter how tightly you wrapped your arms around yourself, you couldn’t hold that weight.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You had cried yourself raw hours ago. Now there was nothing left. Just a dull ache sitting inside your chest like a storm cloud that refused to rain.

You sat curled into the corner of the couch, knees hugged to your chest, eyes red and puffy, throat dry from silent sobs that had long since stopped clawing their way out. The apartment hadn’t changed. It was still warm, still soft, still falsely kind. But now it felt like a holding cell. A beautiful prison.

Derpy was curled against your legs, his breath steady and heavy like a tired drum. The magpie nuzzled into your shoulder, feathers ruffling as if he could sense the throb in your chest. They didn’t leave you.

But everyone else did.

Your demons… they were gone. Off to burn the world in your name. You didn’t know what time it was anymore. All you knew was that somewhere, right now, the Idol Awards were beginning. Somewhere, the girls were backstage. Somewhere, the boys were hiding in the shadows with blood on their hands and the fate of hundreds of souls hanging in their decision.

You clenched your jaw, fingers twitching against your knees. What were they going to do? Would they really go through with it? Would Huntrix be safe? You stared at your phone lying facedown on the coffee table. And then… slowly… you reached for it.

Your screen lit up with a soft glow that stung your eyes. The thumbnail of the Idol Awards livestream blinked at you like a warning sign. A window into the world you were no longer allowed to touch.

Your thumb hovered over it… and then tapped.

The screen opened. Bright. Loud. Chaotic. Your breath hitched. The stadium was packed wall to wall. A tidal wave of people. Thousands of fans cheering, holding glow sticks in shades of magenta and gold. The stage lights danced, cutting across the sea of movement. Two massive banners stretched across the main screen: Huntrix’s glittering emblem on the left, the Saja Boys' sleek sigil on the right.

Clips from Golden and Soda Pop played on loop, and the announcer’s voice boomed over the crowd: “Tonight, two of the hottest idol groups battle for the number one spot. Who will take home the crown?”

You swallowed thickly. Your heart was pounding, each beat echoing like footsteps in an empty hallway. You didn’t realize until now… you never heard the boys’ Idol Awards song in full. They never played it for you.

Why?

A knot tightened in your stomach. Was the song part of their ritual? What would it sound like?

The announcer’s voice called out again. “Please welcome to the stage… the Saja Boys!”

The screams that erupted from the crowd were deafening. “Saja Boys! Saja Boys!”

You clutched the edge of the couch cushion, your breath snagging. Your chest ached. They were loved. So loved. Thousands chanting their name with joy in their voices, never knowing what kind of monsters they were about to witness. Or maybe never knowing at all.

But the stage remained dark. No one appeared. You sat up straighter, heart stumbling. What was going on? Was this part of the plan? Were they late? Hiding?

“Okay…” the host said, voice faltering. “There’s been… a slight change in schedule.”

Your stomach dropped. No. No, no, no.

“Here to perform their hot new single, Golden, please welcome… Huntrix!”

“What…?” you whispered, eyes widening. Why weren’t the boys on stage? Were they planning to sabotage them? You stared as the lights dimmed. And then… Three figures emerged from the fog. You recognized them instantly. Mira, Rumi, and Zoey. They glowed under the spotlight, breathtaking and fierce. The crowd roared again as they took their positions. The familiar intro of their song, Golden began to play.

“I was a ghost, I was alone…”

Rumi’s voice soared through the air, sweet and powerful, steady as a siren call. Her pitch was pristine, every note wrapped in gold. Their choreography snapped like lightning, sharp, commanding, flawless. They were magnificent. And yet, you watched with bated breath, a tightness crawling up your spine.

Their eyes darted across the crowd as they danced. Scanning. Looking. Were they looking for you? Guilt curled low in your gut. You never messaged them. Never told them you weren’t coming anymore. You just didn’t show. Your throat tightened.

Rumi hit her high note, spinning beneath the spotlight. “We’re going up, up, up—it’s our moment—”

She reached up and grabbed a golden ring descending from above. It lifted her gracefully into the air as she sang, her voice unwavering, her smile radiant. The audience erupted, and you couldn’t help it. After all the pain of the day, you smiled too. Just a little. Just for a second.

But then… as she sank back down and twisted to stand at the edge of the stage, belting that final note of the chorus, the lights cut out.

You froze. Was this part of the routine? A pause. Silence. The crowd murmured, confused. And then— A new beat. Louder. Darker. Sharper. You straightened on the couch. Was this a new song? You hadn’t heard this intro before…

“Takedown, Takedown, Take-down, down, down, down…”

Your stomach twisted. Something in your gut felt uneasy. This didn’t seem right.

“It’s a takedown!”

The stage lights exploded back on. Mira and Zoey now suddenly stood behind Rumi. The choreography changed. It was jagged. Threatening. Aggressive. But Rumi—Rumi looked confused. Her smile faltered.

You leaned forward, heart hammering in your ears. What was happening?

“So sweet, so easy on the eyes,

but hideous on the inside

Whole life spreading lies,

but you can't hide, baby, nice try”

The lyrics hit you like ice water. You blinked. These weren’t just aggressive, they were vicious. You watched as Zoey shoved Rumi. Then Mira. They circled her, threateningly. And then you knew that this… was definitely not part of the performance they planned.

Rumi stumbled slightly, eyes darting around. You could see it. The panic bleeding through her poise. What the hell was going on?

“And I see your real face, and it’s ugly as sin,

Time to put you in your place 'cause you're rotten within”

Your blood ran cold. They were attacking her on stage. Publicly. You watched in horror as Zoey gripped the edge of Rumi’s glittering jacket.

“When your patterns start to show,

It makes the hatrеd wanna grow outta my veins”

She yanked it down. First one sleeve, then the other. You saw it. Just a glimpse. And it was enough to make your heart stop. Violet patterns.

Your hand flew to your mouth as your phone nearly slipped from your fingers. Rumi’s arms, marked in the same magenta and violet etchings you knew too well. She had demon marks.

No. No—no, that wasn’t possible.

"I don't think you're ready for thе takedown, Break you into pieces in a world of pain, 'cause you're all the same”

Rumi was a hunter. She was one of them. Wasn’t she? What the hell were you looking at? She stumbled backward, desperate to cover herself. Her hands trembled. Her face was twisted in anguish. 

“Yeah, it's a takedown A demon with no feelings, don't deserve to live, it's so obvious"

"...I'ma gear up and take you down"

Mira and Zoey whispered something in Rumi’s ear. Rumi shook her head violently, eyes welling. You could barely breathe. You had a strong feeling she didn’t know this would happen. She didn’t want this.

And then it happened. The music twisted and glitched for a second. And Rumi—Rumi screamed.

“NO!!!”

The lights shattered. The audio cut. A scream so raw it pierced the barrier between performance and reality. Glass broke. And then, under a single surviving spotlight, you saw it.

Her body glowing. Her face twisted in fear. The same patterns the boys bore, exactly the same, etched across her skin. Her chest. Her neck. Her cheek. Pulsing violet and magenta.

A demon. Just like them.

You sat there in stunned silence, hand pressed to your lips, frozen in time. Rumi…

What the hell just happened?

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Wahhh guys, the action, the tension! It's building! I'm sorry for the angst, but I wanted to make the reader's emotions as real as possible. Her reactions and decisions. I also wanted to emphasize how limited our options are. How all we can do is beg because let's be real- we're just a girl, not a hunter, not a demon... all we could do at this moment is the best we can muster. Our inherent nature is goodness, and I wanted to tackle this inner conflict of us having to deal with demons who love us so much that they're willing to do evil and bad things in our name. It's not an easy situation at all.

I also wanted to emphasize Huntrix's relationship with one another. Zoey and Mira trust Rumi, and that's what's going to make the big reveal of her being a demon 10x harder. The scene where they accept what she's up to and offer to help - I feel like I needed to write it out this way to make the betrayal sting a bit more and emphasize that in the next chapter. With that all said, thank you for reading as always!

I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!

Willa x.

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itoshi rin – perfect kick accuracy

he was just lightly showing you how to snipe the corner from the edge of the box, assuming you’d take a few tries. 

but you just... do it. one and done. 

the ball barely kisses the post and glides in like a damn highlight reel. 

rin stares. then blinks. once. twice. then slowly turns to you like, you did NOT just do that. 

“… you’ve never done this before?” “nope.” “... what the f–” 

he walks away for a full minute, probably to scream internally or re-strategize his life. 

when he comes back, he mutters, “you got lucky. try it again.” 

you nail it again. 

he’s shaking. trying so hard not to pout. acts unbothered but he refuses to give you his water bottle now. 

will quietly train on his own after to one-up you again. and absolutely side-eyes you for the rest of the week like you’re a threat. 

itoshi sae – counter dribbling

you didn’t even mean to copy him. 

he was demo-ing how he uses the opponent’s momentum to slice past them and you were like “oh cool, like this?” 

LIKE THIS? the man’s been perfecting that move for years. 

you do the same fluid footwork he does in matches and glide right past him. the audacity. 

sae literally grabs your wrist as you pass him and just stares at you. 

“… have you done this before. don’t lie to me.” “no, it just made sense when you did it.” “made sense,” he repeats like it’s a slur. 

the way he silently starts dribbling faster, harder, muttering “unreal” under his breath. 

he’ll never admit he’s proud, but you catch him smiling when he thinks you’re not looking. 

“don’t tell rin about this,” he says. “he’ll cry.” 

nagi seishiro – trapping

nagi was so smug about this one. 

“bet you can’t do what i do,” he yawns. “trapping’s my thing. takes talent, y’know?” 

you casually toss the ball up and perfectly dead-trap it with your foot like you’ve done it a thousand times. 

he actually sits up straight. immediate 90-degree spine activation. he’s never looked more awake. 

“eh? again.” 

you do it again. and better. 

nagi stares at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and also possibly a witch. 

starts following you around like a puppy. “hey, teach me that one. the one you just did. that was cooler than mine.” 

he deadass pouts when you won’t show him your “secret.” he wants to be the prodigy again. 

ends up laying in your lap muttering, “fine… guess you’re nagi seishiro 2.0 now.” 

mikage reo – copying

reo’s whole personality is “i can do everything,” so he lowkey expects you to struggle. 

“watch carefully,” he says all sweet, demonstrating a complex fake-out from one of bachira’s games. 

you copy it. frame by frame. like a trained assassin. 

“... wait.” 

he tries another move. you copy that too. 

“... hold on.” 

he’s 3 moves deep, sweat forming, and you’re still mirroring him like a damn athletic AI. 

“you’re… you’re copying me copying other people. babe this is illegal.” 

he dramatically flops onto the field. “i’m losing my edge. my girlfriend’s more talented than me. is this karma for being rich and hot?” 

you tease him that you might become his rival now. he looks both terrified and aroused. 

“if we end up in the same team, i’m not passing to you. but i am kissing you in the locker room.” 

bachira meguru – elastic dribbling

he’s gleefully weaving the ball side to side with those insane quick cuts, all proud showing you how he does his “monster moves.” 

you bounce on your toes, giggle, then immediately replicate the same zigzag elastic dribble like you’ve been possessed by bachira’s monster. 

he gasps. actually gasps. eyes go wide like saucers. 

“WAIT THAT WAS SO COOL, DO IT AGAIN!!” he shrieks. 

starts jumping around you like an overexcited puppy, squealing every time you do it. 

absolutely sees you as his partner-in-crime now. tries to convince you to start a street football duo. 

will brag to everyone: “did you know my girlfriend can dribble like ME?? we’re a package deal.” 

also suspiciously starts asking if you have your own monster. 

chigiri hyoma – speed

he’s so proud of being the fastest, right? that’s his thing. 

until you tie your hair up, blast off, and leave him eating dust on the track. on the first attempt. 

chigiri literally stops mid-run, hand on his chest, trying not to faint. 

“did you just… did you just outrun me?” 

you grin innocently. “guess i’m a fast learner?” 

he looks personally victimized. will not let you live it down, ever. 

keeps challenging you to rematches all the time, swearing it was a fluke. 

also starts training extra hard because he refuses to be “the second fastest” in this relationship. 

dramatic about it: “if you keep stealing my moves, at least let me marry you so i don’t have to hate you.” 

kaiser michael – kaiser impact

he was basically flexing. 

“watch and learn, schatz,” with that smug grin, showing off his legendary kaiser impact. 

you barely glance, then boom – you replicate that swing speed perfectly, and the ball slices through the air with his same monstrous curve. 

kaiser freezes. smile gone. 

his whole brain blue-screens. “... was that my move?” 

the way he storms over to you, gripping your shoulders. “who taught you that?!” you giggle: “you did?” 

kaiser looks so offended and turned on at the same time. “never do that in front of the cameras. you’re my secret weapon now.” 

will brag about you to everyone. “she stole my move in one try. of course, she’s my girl.” 

shidou ryusei – bicycle kick

shidou is talking all hot and cocky about his perfect air timing, hyping up the difficulty, fully expecting you to choke. 

you launch yourself off the ground with a clean, powerful bicycle kick on your first try, scoring like you’ve done it for years. 

he stands there, mouth open, blinking. “YO, YOU WHAT?!” 

you do a cute victory pose. 

he’s on his knees, bowing down dramatically. “marry me. right now. i’ve never been more in love. come destroy the world with me.” 

from then on, he begs you to do joint crazy kicks together. “hey babe, scissor kick with me in midair. come on. it’ll be sick.” 

100% encourages you to be just as unhinged as him. 

barou shoei – heel flick

barou is condescending as hell at first, like “it’s not for amateurs, don’t bother.” 

you heel flick past him with so much grace it’s almost insulting. almost. 

he stands there, expression blank, trying to process the betrayal. 

“... don’t do it again,” he threatens, but you can see the twitchy spark of respect in his eyes. 

next day, he’s dragging you to private training so only he can see you do it. 

“if anyone else sees you pulling my heel flick, i’ll crush them.” 

extremely possessive but lowkey proud. 

“fine, you can do it. but only because you’re mine.” 

kunigami rensuke – left leg power shot (pre WC)

kunigami’s proud of how much raw force he’s built in his left. he’s explaining technique and muscle memory like a gentle teacher. 

you absolutely blast a shot with the same unstoppable power, nearly tearing a hole in the net. 

kunigami is stunned, wide-eyed, like you just dropped a meteor. 

“that… that was my– huh?” 

he rushes over, grabs your foot, looks at it like it’s a holy relic. “you okay? that was a monster shot…” 

lowkey worships you after. “you’re incredible. i swear i’ve never seen anyone do that first try.” 

also starts overtraining so he can keep up. 

“if my girlfriend’s hitting shots like that, i gotta level up, too.” 

hiori yo – expert ball control

hiori gently explains his strategy like a sweet tutor: “it’s not just about touching the ball. it’s about knowing what you want it to do next, before it even gets there.” 

you nod along and immediately proceed to trap the ball with silky precision, manipulating it like it’s glued to your foot. 

his jaw drops. “wait… wait… no way. first try?!” 

his eyes light up like you’re some soccer goddess sent to bless him. 

“you really get it,” he whispers, like he just fell in love all over again. 

now he’s OBSESSED with training with you. “do you wanna, like, sync our passes? like, become a duo? forever?” 

you tease him that he’s blushing. he absolutely is. 

he starts journaling about you like: day 183, i still can’t believe she controlled the ball like that. is this love or witchcraft? 

yukimiya kenyu – gyro shot

yukimiya’s monologuing all poetic like: “this shot is a thing of beauty. at first glance, it’s chaos, but then, bam, it reveals itself. elegant. deceptive. perfect.” 

he kicks the ball with that dramatic upward spin and explains the exact physics of it with fashion model flair. 

you go, “ooh cool, like this?” and hit your own gyro shot, which curves so dramatically it almost looks like CGI. 

yukimiya gasps. hands on chest. like you just stabbed him with love and betrayal in the same second. 

“... did you just out-gyro me?” 

he kneels. like literally falls to his knees in the grass. “i’ve found my rival. my muse. my nemesis. my girlfriend.” 

he absolutely starts calling you “la muse du football” in a dramatic french accent. 

starts editing your clips into his own highlight reels. 

karasu tabito – feints + spatial control

karasu is explaining how he uses his arms to manipulate distance and direction, fingers all twitchy and precise. 

he shows you how he does those weird deceptive feints that feel like optical illusions. 

and you just... copy it. perfectly. body turns, hand angles, balance shifting – the whole thing. 

karasu stares. HARD. “… do that again.” 

you do. he literally steps back like you’re a threat. 

“you just… read my space. controlled it. stole my vibe.” 

dramatic silence. then he nods, impressed. “okay. fine. you’re hot and terrifying. i respect it.” 

now insists on sparring you every day. “i need to figure you out. who trained you? the government? the illuminati?” 

otoya eita – ninja stealth walk

otoya’s flexing about how nobody can track him when he slips between players: “it’s all about unpredictable patterns. chaos in motion, y’know?” 

you try it, not even thinking too hard, and completely disappear through three defenders like a literal shadow. 

otoya watches you vanish then reappear by the goal. INSTANT HEART EYES. 

“... where’d you go? no seriously where did you GO???” 

he runs over, grabs you by the shoulders. “babe. did you steal my entire technique? i feel robbed. and aroused.” 

now he follows you around like your evil sidekick. 

“next time you ninja walk, i’m going with you. we vanish as a duo now. two snakes, one goal.”