Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Come on… follow my voice.”

He might have considered it—if only his mind weren’t so… blurred. That voice was beautiful. Melodic. Yet at the same time husky, with a tone that felt like it had been forged in the echo of some forgotten cavern. It resonated in the air, as if it had a body of its own, bouncing between the edges of that darkness he barely understood.

He could see it. He could literally see the sound: red and gold threads stretching around him, quivering with every syllable spoken. A voice with color. A voice with shape. It was mesmerizing.

Had that guy ever thought about singing?

The thought came out of nowhere.

Wait… that guy?

And what group was it that he thought he belonged to?

His mind flickered like a poorly tuned radio signal. Disoriented. Fragmented. Images leapt behind his eyelids: flashes, visual echoes of something that might have been… the past? The present? A dream? A hallucination?

A girl appeared.
Lavender hair, long and intricately braided with almost magical precision.

Her face was blurred, but he felt.

He felt pain.
And a desperate longing for something he wasn’t even sure was real.

Who was she?

It didn’t matter.

It was fading. Everything was.

And he…
He didn’t want to feel anything anymore.

“Come on, boy… come.”

The voice called to him. But he hesitated.

There was a cruel comfort in that darkness.

Silence. Absence. Fading away felt almost… liberating.

“This isn’t your end, Jinu. Don’t you want to see Rumi?”

Rumi.

The name exploded in his chest like a cursed spark. A jolt tore through his body: pain, longing, shame, need. A swirling storm of emotions—contradictory, raw, unbearable… but real.

And that was it. Real. The first real thing in what felt like forever.

Her name broke him.
Rebuilt him.
Moved him.

With an almost physical effort, as if swimming against gravity itself, Jinu reached out.

His hand trembled.
Slow.
But steady.

He didn’t know what he would find on the other side.

But he knew exactly what he was leaving behind.

He gasped. Coughed.

Air rushed into his lungs like shards of glass—painful, alien, unexpected.

His body felt carved from stone. He was submerged in a shallow mirror of water, yet couldn’t lift himself. An invisible weight held him down, as if he were glued to the bottom. Before he could even try to struggle, a strong hand grabbed his arm and yanked him upward with a sharp pull.

He broke the surface, sputtering, coughing again.

Blinking rapidly, he tried to make sense of where he was.

This was definitely not the dark void he had come from.

Golden threads still floated in the air—delicate as filaments of light, vibrating here and there, as if the world itself had been stitched back together with magic. The sky was painted in hues of gold and orange, and the piercing sound of cicadas filled the space between the rice fields.

In the still water, the reflection of honey-colored clouds rippled apart with each movement.

“You sure took your sweet time, huh?” said the man who had pulled him out.

Jinu turned, still dizzy, and took in the figure before him.

Long silver hair streaked with black at the tips. Amber eyes—deep, gleaming. Black tattoos coiled along his arms, subtle and pulsing, as though they were breathing.

He radiated power. Not just strength—power of the sort that bent the world to his presence. The air around him seemed to vibrate. Underworld. It was as if even the earth respected him.

And yet…

The man’s black T-shirt had a logo of a dancing pizza printed across the chest. That, paired with his loose pants and flip-flops, undercut any attempt at intimidation.

A middle-aged uncle.

Powerful, sure. Attractive, admittedly. But definitely… an uncle.

Not that Jinu was going to say that out loud. Obviously.

“You’re thinking I’m an uncle, aren’t you?” the man asked, one brow arching with lethal precision.

“N-no. Definitely not,” Jinu blurted out too quickly, his voice hoarse like he hadn’t spoken in a decade.

“Hmm. Heard that before.” The man sighed, resigned, as if being underestimated was his eternal fate. “Come on, get up. Let’s get you out of the water before you turn into an aquatic plant.”

He started guiding him, a firm arm wrapped around Jinu’s back, leading him along the edge of the rice field.

Jinu stumbled forward, each step feeling like he was carrying the sheer weight of existence itself. But there was something else throwing him off balance—the golden threads around him. He could still see them, drifting over the fields, dancing on the water’s surface like magical circuits.

The Honmoon.

The barrier that separated the human world from the demonic one.
Solid. Present. Vibrating.

But if it was still intact… how was he even here? The barrier should have made this impossible.

“I know what you’re thinking—how you’re back here again and all that…” the man said with the calmness of someone delivering the weather forecast.

They were climbing a small slope of packed earth. Jinu stumbled with nearly every step, still drenched, exhausted, and with a mind in tatters. Every muscle ached. Every thought felt like it was made of ground glass.

Still, he had to ask:
“You… are you reading my mind? Because that… that was something only Gwi-Ma could do.”

The name caught in his throat, almost like a familiar poison.

Gwi-Ma.
The demon king. The executioner of voices.

The one who invaded thoughts with twisted memories, memories that bled—forcing Jinu to relive, over and over, why he had been reborn as a demon. Why his soul belonged to him.

Belonged?

But… he had given his soul to—

“To Rumi. I know,” the man replied with a slight nod.

And that’s when Jinu started freaking out. Quietly, but intensely.

Intrusive. This was extremely intrusive. He could barely think without being interrupted.

And who the hell was this guy, anyway?

The memories came crashing back like a punch to the gut:
The show. The plan.
The stage flooded with the energy of the fans.
The betrayal. The end.

Jinu dropped to his knees on the dirt road. The gravel dug into his skin, but he felt no physical pain—only an unbearable cold, radiating from deep within.

The sky burned with shades of orange, slowly surrendering to the deep blue of night. Beside him, an old pickup truck sat parked, looking like it had driven straight out of a rural Korean drama. The air smelled of damp fields and unfulfilled promises.

And Jinu—soaked, barefoot, and disoriented—felt nothing but cold.

“You already died once as a human. You were reborn as a demon,” the man said, draping a thick, dry blanket over him. “But death… doesn’t work the same way for us. It’s not an end. It’s an exchange.”

The blanket wrapped him in a warmth that was almost comforting, and a knot tightened in Jinu’s throat.

“Not even Rumi, and apparently not you either, really knows what happened. And honestly? I blame Gwi-Ma for that. Teaching has never been his strong suit. Ignorance was always his preferred method of rule.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jinu’s voice rose, sharper than he intended, but he was trying not to sound desperate.

Sure, he was grateful not to be in the Eternal Limbo or rotting in some demonic abyss. Yes, technically, being alive again was a bonus. But something inside him screamed that something important—very important—was being kept from him.

“And what do you know about Rumi?” His voice dropped low, guttural.

He felt his fangs extend, claws tearing through the skin of his fingers. His demonic form reacting—not just to rage, but to pain.

A second later, he pitched forward, coughing, nearly blacking out again.

“Whoa! Easy there, kid. Easy.” The man crouched quickly, gripping his shoulders firmly but without force. “I would never hurt Rumi. Never. Not even in a dream.”

The words hit something deep inside him. It was strange—a demon this powerful being… gentle?

“Who are you? How did you bring me back? Do you even know what this means? With the barrier restructured, that kind of crossing requires an absurd level of energy. No one can get through the Honmoon with… with…” His voice trailed off.

Each word seemed to drain what little strength he had left.

“Okay. Quick recap, then. Before we dive into the whole tragic backstory, epic journey, emotional collapse, improbable redemption, and years of rural boredom… let’s save some breath.”

The man pulled a dramatic face and pointed at Jinu.

“Especially since I’m talking to a naked kid in the middle of a Korean country road, and honestly… this is starting to get awkward.”

Jinu blinked. Froze. Looked down at himself.

Yep.
Naked.

No demonic hanbok. Nothing.

“That explains why I’m so cold…” he muttered, trying to figure out why he couldn’t summon clothes. It used to be so easy!

“Because your bond with Hell has been partially severed. And you’re still unstable. But relax, we’ll fix that.”

Jinu just let out a long, defeated sigh.

“All right.” The man stood up as if about to unveil a master strategy. “Name’s Baek Ryujin. I’m a demon. Been exiled in the human world for over thirty years. And…”

He paused.
Cleared his throat.

“…I’m Rumi’s father.”

Jinu’s mind went blank. Complete blue screen.

For a moment, he even forgot about the cold.

“Sorry… what?”

Chapter Text

Of course he had to pass out right at the best part.

Jinu grumbled inwardly, jolting awake as the pickup truck hit yet another one of the endless bumps on the dirt road. No stylish demonic teleportation. No fancy portals with glowing magic circles. Nope. Baek Ryujin preferred to drive.

An old pickup truck.
With creaking gears and everything.

And as if that weren’t bizarre enough, he was humming as he drove. Softly. Distractedly. Like he wasn’t currently transporting a freshly resurrected ex-idol-demon in the throes of an existential crisis.

Then the music on the radio made Jinu freeze.

Huntr/x.

Rumi’s voice flowed through the speakers—smooth, powerful, cutting right through him.

"I was a ghost, I was alone, hah
I was a ghost, I was alone, hah
어두워진, hah, 앞길 속에 (ah)"

A tightness coiled in his chest.

Perfect. As if being emotionally unstable wasn’t enough, now his ex-battle partner-slash-semi-accomplice-maybe-crush was literally singing in the car.

Apparently, demons do have hearts.

Unfortunately. His own was aching like it was trying to sing along.

And Ryujin… well, he had to admit the man had a good voice. Jinu hated himself for noticing, but it was one of those voices you don’t expect—deep, rough, and filled with a raw emotion that sounded like it had been dragged straight out of Hell… in the best way possible, if such a thing existed.

For a few seconds, Jinu was mesmerized.

Then he shook his head to snap out of it—only to slam his skull straight into the window.

Brilliant. Truly subtle, Jinu. Excellent emotional stealth.

It was only then he realized he was sitting in the passenger seat.

He didn’t remember climbing in. Or being placed there.

Red flag?
Absolutely.

“You really are Rumi’s father.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a pure statement, almost a surrender.

The voice… there were similarities. And the eyes. That same intensity that held you in place and burned right through you. The same energy he’d felt on stage, when he’d faced Rumi head-on.

Not that he was attracted to Ryujin.
Of course not.

“I really hope you’re not, because… that would be awkward,” Ryujin replied casually, steering the wheel with one hand. “Especially considering the whole… thing you’ve got going on with my daughter.”

Jinu felt his entire face ignite.

Ah. Right. Mind reading.
He really needed to keep that in mind.

He cleared his throat. Tried to compose himself. Adjusted the blanket still wrapped around his wet, embarrassed body like it was a shield against the crushing weight of shame.

“Well, Baek-nim…” he began, trying to sound dignified and not utterly traumatized, “…aside from the fact that you’re the father of a legendary hunter—which is already an interdimensional emotional collapse all on its own—what really intrigues me is: how are you even here?”

He paused. Drew a deep breath.

“And more than that… how did you bring me back?”

“No need for honorifics with me.”

Ryujin shot him a half-smile, his amber eyes fixed on the sleeping road ahead.

“I thought you might recognize me. You’re old, aren’t you? Joseon Dynasty?”

He didn’t wait for confirmation.

Jinu bit his lip, fighting not to let the memories consume him.

Joseon.
Palaces lit by floating lanterns. The sound of a gayageum drifting through the night. His voice echoing in the royal courts.
And the price.
His mother. His little sister. Left behind by someone who had sold his soul for fame and music—foolishly believing the echo of his own voice would be enough to drown out the regret.

“I’m from before that, actually,” Ryujin continued. “Long before. I’m a pure demon. My soul belongs entirely to the underworld. I was born in Hwangcheon—what you humans call the land of the dead.”

Jinu swallowed hard.

“You’re… a primordial?” he whispered, a chill running down his spine.

Primordials. The ones who had never been human. The true demons. Rare—and the few he’d encountered… hadn’t left good memories.

Gwi-Ma had been the worst of them.

“Yeah. I guess that’s the trendy term these days.” Ryujin shrugged like he was commenting on the weather.

Jinu stared at him, utterly incredulous.

This guy?
This guy in a T-shirt with a dancing pizza on it?
He was a primordial?!

“That explains the power…” Jinu muttered. “You’d need insane power to pull off what you did to me.”

“Damn right.” Ryujin chuckled, completely at ease. “And even then, it wasn’t easy. I’m a little rusty, to be honest.”

Great. An exiled primordial who was also modest. Wonderful.

“But back to the point… you’re young. I’ve never seen you around.” Ryujin shot him a quick glance. “I imagine Gwi-Ma didn’t talk about me much. Especially after I quit being his general.”

Jinu straightened in his seat with a jolt—okay, maybe partially because of a bump in the road, but also because… wait.

“You were his general? That’s why I can feel your presence… in my head. But hold on—” his thoughts raced ahead of his mouth. “If Gwi-Ma fell… doesn’t that mean you’d be next? By hierarchy?”

Ryujin snorted.

“Whoa, hold up. I ditched that bastard a long time ago. Pardon my French. I served under other demon kings for a while, and eventually… I chose exile. Came to the human world.”

Jinu’s throat went dry.

“Other demon kings?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

Ryujin shot him a sidelong glance. His amber eyes glimmered in the dim cab light like live embers.

The road had gone dark now. The open fields were swallowed by night. Nothing but the pickup’s headlights lit that forgotten stretch of the world.

“You didn’t know…?”

Jinu shook his head—slowly, almost hesitantly.
And there was hesitation.

Ryujin seemed… different now.

The demonic tattoos on his arm began to writhe like shadowy serpents, crawling up his muscles and snaking across his face. The atmosphere inside the truck grew dense, heavy—like the very light was being sucked away.

For a second—just one—Jinu thought he was about to be dragged back into the underworld.

But then Ryujin exhaled deeply, like releasing centuries of exhaustion, and everything snapped back to normal.

The cicadas’ hum filled the silence again. The truck bounced over another bump in the road. And Jinu let himself breathe.

“So Gwi-Ma really pulled off his little plan, huh?” Ryujin said with disdain. “Rule through ignorance. Pretty damn effective. Honestly, a lot of human rulers do the same thing.”

Jinu stayed silent, listening carefully.

“And you never met the others because that was the deal.”

“Deal?”

“The levels closest to the barrier belonged to Gwi-Ma. He was in charge of the reborn—the demons created from human souls. He took the ‘fresh ones,’ so to speak. Every soul passed through him before being distributed to the other demonic realms.”

“But… Gwi-Ma was defeated. Rumi, Mira, Zoey… they won. The Honmoon is stronger now.”

The laugh that came from Ryujin was far from reassuring.

It was dry. Bitter. Like he was laughing at a mistake so obvious it hurt.

“You really believe that?” He shot Jinu a sharp look. “Jinu, I pulled you out of the underworld. With the barrier ‘reinforced.’ Do you think that would’ve been possible if it were truly impenetrable?”

A weight settled on Jinu’s chest, heavy and suffocating.

“And the other kings…” Ryujin went on, his voice dropping lower, “…they’re going to want Gwi-Ma’s throne.”

“Take the throne?” Jinu repeated, a real shiver racing down his spine.

“Yeah. It hasn’t happened in centuries. But it was inevitable. Everything in the underworld is cyclical. The fall of one king always draws the others in.”

At that moment, the truck came to a stop.

They were perched atop a hill, surrounded by a bucolic landscape of rolling fields bathed in silver moonlight. Ahead, a traditional two-story Korean house stood on the crest, surrounded by a wide yard with carefully placed stones, a small herb garden, and paper lanterns swaying gently under the eaves.

The curved roof of the hanok glimmered softly in the night, warm and—surprisingly—human.

For an ex-general of the underworld, Jinu had been expecting something between a shadowy castle and a ritual altar.

This was… a country house.

And stranger still?

It felt welcoming.

Focus, Jinu scolded himself. Now’s not the time to judge interior design.

Ryujin stepped out of the pickup with the calmness of someone returning from a casual trip to the market. Jinu followed, pulling the blanket tighter around himself against the cold that was beginning to seep into his bones.

“What did you mean by ‘inevitable’?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

Ryujin stopped, turning to face him.

There was something weary in his smile—something ancient. His silver hair swayed gently in the wind, and his amber eyes—intense, yet heavy with sadness—locked onto Jinu’s.

“War, Jinu Saja. That’s what’s coming. And that’s why I brought you back.”

He paused. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

“With your help… maybe we can bring the other Saja back too.”

Chapter Text

“It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine. It’s… going… to… be… fine.”

Rumi repeated the mantra for what felt like the thousandth time (or maybe just the tenth—who was counting?), as she rearranged the dining table again. Plates, silverware, glasses—everything perfectly aligned, as if symmetry could somehow balance out the emotional chaos swirling inside her.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t working.

But of course she was nervous. Who wouldn’t be? This was the first time Celine would visit her… after everything. After the concert, the battle, the revelation. After Rumi admitted—and accepted—her demonic nature.

Her eyes drifted to her arms.

The demonic markings coiled across her skin in soft shades of violet, glowing faintly under the warm light of the room.

“Maybe I should wear long sleeves…” she muttered.

“What nonsense.”

The voice came with a dramatic sigh and the sound of dragging slippers.

Mira appeared, her long hair shifting between shades of red and orange like dancing flames. She was wearing a black Kuromi T-shirt and dark pink sweatpants—a combination that only she could make look cool.

“You’re not going back into hiding now, are you? Everyone already knows. Don’t waste a perfectly good fashion statement!”

Rumi let out a nervous laugh, glancing at her friend.

“Actually… not everyone. I mean, normal people can’t see them.”

She remembered Bobby, their manager. He hadn’t said a word about the markings. No fans had mentioned anything online. Not a single whisper on TikTok, Instagram, or gossip blogs. A complete digital miracle.

“I think they’re adorable!” Zoey chimed in, practically floating into the room.

Her short dark hair framed her face as she clutched a half-empty bag of snacks, munching loudly. Of course.

Rumi gave her a look—the kind that screamed: Dinner, Zoey. Dinner. Remember?

“Adorable and badass! Like… Yakuza, but the mystical, stylish version. Too bad only we can see them. I bet if the fans knew, it’d become a trend. ‘Mystical tattoos inspired by Huntr/x.’ Can you imagine?”

Mira and Rumi exchanged identical grimaces.

No, thank you.

The last thing they needed was a wave of teenagers getting demonic symbols tattooed all over themselves.

Still… Rumi thought. Not every demon is evil.

She needed to hold on to that.

But the thought alone sent a pang through her chest.

Jinu.

Mira noticed the shift in her friend’s gaze and, ever the queen of distraction, grabbed Rumi’s hand and tugged her toward the kitchen.

“Shall we review the dinner menu? For the fifth time? Because not reviewing food is emotionally unbearable.”

Rumi let herself be pulled along, grateful for something practical—and predictable—to focus on.

“The jajangmyeon just needs to be reheated…”

She moved toward the sleek modern stove, a sharp contrast to her memories of instant noodles and junk food days. She had spent the entire afternoon carefully preparing the dish: thick noodles, rich sauce made from chunjang (that black bean paste that stains everything), diced pork, and vegetables.

It was Celine’s favorite dish.

Maybe it would help.
Maybe it would soothe things.
Maybe it would make her overlook the snack-filled cabinets and the microwave that perpetually smelled like frozen tteokbokki.

But nothing—not the perfectly set table, not the homemade meal—could silence the fear pressing at the edges of Rumi’s chest.

The memory of Celine’s eyes came back with a heavy weight: the quiet disappointment when she first saw Rumi… in her demonic form.

Rumi took a deep breath.

She had to try. To show Celine that… this wasn’t bad. That it wasn’t a mistake. That even with everything—the marks, the secrets, the demon blood—she was still Rumi.

Or rather, the new Rumi.
The one who decided to stop running.

No more hiding
No more hiding
I’ll be shining like I’m born to be
I’ll be shining like I’m born to be

She hummed softly, letting the familiar melody fill the silence and, for just a fleeting moment, calm the storm swirling in her chest. Just for a few seconds.

Because, of course, the peace lasted exactly three… two… one—

“Hey! That’s mine!”

Zoey shrieked, her voice shooting up several octaves as she scrambled to save her bag of snacks.

From whose paws?

A tiger’s.

Blue.

Yes. Blue.

Roughly the size of a sturdy golden retriever, its shimmering fur sparkled under the light, and its huge golden eyes gleamed like twin suns. It chewed on the snack bag with gleeful demonic enthusiasm, its pink tongue and snout dusted with spicy seasoning.

“I’m not sure snacks are appropriate for demonic felines…” Mira commented, arms crossed with a suspicious air of serenity. Not that she was doing anything to stop the scene of chaos unfolding. Of course not.

The tiger, blissfully ignorant of proper etiquette, shoved its face even deeper into the bag. And—as if the universe itself was mocking them—the bag got stuck on its snout.

Disoriented, it began spinning in circles, bumping into the counter, chairs, and narrowly missing the pot of carefully-prepared dinner.

“Hey! Easy there!” Rumi dashed to the rescue, joining Zoey in an improvised emergency operation. Together they tried to grab the flailing feline as it stumbled, purred, and occasionally let out an indignant roar.

After much struggle (and three near-disasters involving airborne kitchen utensils), they managed to free the tiger’s snout from the bag. Rumi exhaled in relief.

“We could just… give him actual pet food, you know. I bought tons of flavors! Beef, fish, all the fish! Even sushi!” Zoey chirped, her eyes sparkling as she stroked the tiger’s head. The creature now lay sprawled on the floor, purring like a very satisfied tractor. “But nooo… he wants my snacks!”

“He’s a demon, Zoey. I’m not sure cat kibble is… ideal.”

Mira spoke up, one hand on her hip, her serious expression clashing dramatically with the fact that a crow had just perched on her shoulder.

Yes. A crow.

With three eyes on each side of its head.
And a miniature traditional Korean hat.
And, apparently, very questionable taste in human food—it was currently pecking at a noodle with the air of royalty.

“Stay away from dinner, Hat Thief!” Rumi tried to sound authoritative. She failed miserably. The crow didn’t even blink. It simply tilted its head and kept munching, looking smug.

“I think we should vote to change that name. ‘Hat Thief’ is way too long,” Zoey said, now lying on the floor beside the blue tiger, her fingers combing through its shimmering fur. “What about something cute? Like… Chappie?”

“I think… the name is the least of our problems.”

Mira brushed the crow off her shoulder with a casual wave, as if she were swatting away an annoying thought—or in this case, a three-eyed demon in a tiny traditional hat.

“What if Celine sees all this?”

She pointed dramatically and accusatorily toward the center of the room.

The “this,” in question, looked like something pulled straight out of a surreal anime: the demon-tiger purring loudly on the rug, and the three-eyed crow pecking at the dinner sides with the air of a highly critical food reviewer.

“You’re right. They’re demons…” Rumi admitted, biting her lower lip.

“But they’re adorable! And well-behaved!” Zoey argued with that irrepressible optimism only she seemed capable of.

Mira shot her a look that could boil water. The classic “adorable where, exactly, girl?” was written all over her arched eyebrow.

Rumi took a deep breath.

“Maybe Celine will accept me.”

The words came out quiet. Hesitant.

“Of course she’ll accept you!” Mira and Zoey exclaimed almost in unison, as if they’d rehearsed the line.

But Rumi didn’t stop there.

“…but I don’t think she could accept them. At least, not right away.”

A tense silence settled over the room. Mira crossed her arms.

“So what do we do, then? Call the demonic pest control hotline? Drop them off at a pet shop and pray no one notices one of them has way too many eyes and the other is clearly not an oversized housecat?”

“Derpy…” Zoey pointed to the blue tiger, now licking its paw with an air of offended dignity. “…doesn’t he have that ability to disappear? Like… poof, shadow portal?”

“Yes! That’s it!” Rumi perked up, throwing her hands into the air. “Derpy. Hat Thief. Please, you two need to… vanish. Just for a little while. Until dinner’s over. Can you do that?”

She wasn’t entirely sure if she had any authority over them.

Ever since the concert, ever since the magical barrier was reinforced and…

Don’t think about that right now.

Ever since then, the two had been popping up in her room out of nowhere, as if they had decided she was their new owner.

But “owner” was a strong word.

They never really obeyed. At best, they tolerated her orders. And even then—with a lot of attitude.

“Please.”

The word came out almost like a plea.

The tiger and the crow exchanged a look.
Yes. They exchanged a look.
As if silently deliberating.

Rumi barely had time to breathe in relief. They were going to listen to her. They had to.

Dinner would go perfectly—no chaos, no extra demons.

Ding dong.

The doorbell rang.

Celine was here.

Chapter Text

“Hey! Celine, what a surprise seeing you here!” Mira said, opening the door just wide enough to slip out and partially close it behind her, like someone trying to hide something—or someone— inside the apartment.

“Surprise? Mira… I was invited to dinner.”

Celine’s words landed with the precision of a master swordswoman, each syllable sharp enough to draw blood.

“Oh! Right! Totally slipped my mind!” Mira exclaimed, pressing a hand to her forehead like she was acting in a school play. The gesture was exaggerated on purpose, punctuated with a nervous little laugh.

Celine arched a single brow with glacial elegance—and without another word, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

She didn’t need to announce her presence. When Celine entered a room, the world seemed to instinctively slow down—as if acknowledging that something bigger, heavier had arrived.

Her long black hair cascaded in waves, artfully tousled—the kind of effortless look that took hours to perfect. Her face, all sharp angles and refined lines, seemed carved by patient hands: slanted, penetrating eyes; flawless brows; lips that rarely curved into a smile—making them all the more precious when they did.

She wore a minimalist white blouse, fluid as silk yet structured at the shoulders, exuding restrained power. Her tailored black trousers followed the contours of her frame with immaculate precision, finished with a slim belt and a metallic buckle. The monochromatic look was anything but plain—elegant, razor-sharp, impossible to ignore.

Celine didn’t look like an ex-demon hunter.

She looked like the CEO of a billion-dollar corporation who, in her spare time, led a secret mystical guild and maybe toppled demonic governments for fun.

In other words: terrifyingly flawless.

“Celine! Hi!” Zoey popped out of the hallway like an animated GIF about to sprinkle glitter everywhere. Her bright smile was a desperate attempt to cut through the thick tension in the air.

“Where’s Rumi?” Celine asked directly, her gaze honing in on the microsecond of hesitation—the guilty exchange of looks between Mira and Zoey.

“Hey! I’m here!” Rumi called out, stepping quickly into the hall.

Celine turned her head in her direction, and for a brief moment, it was impossible to ignore the sight approaching.

Rumi was stunning—as always—but there was something else now. Something different.
Something intense.
Almost… dangerous.

Rumi’s purple hair, tied in a high, voluminous braid, seemed to float on its own, shimmering under the light as if dusted with stardust—and just enough self-awareness to make it almost sentient. The cropped white tank hugged her frame with an almost irritating perfection, showing off her defined shoulders and—the detail Celine couldn’t help but notice—the demonic markings.

They climbed up her arms like living vines, soft shades of lilac and amethyst, pulsing faintly as if they were breathing.

Her high-waisted wide-leg jeans added a rebellious, fashion-forward edge to the look—rips at the knees, hand-stitched glitter, a double-chain belt. And on her feet, white platform boots—the kind that could just as easily belong on a K-pop stage as they could crush the skull of a fleeing demon.

Too stylish to look like she was in danger.
Too dangerous to be just an idol.

Of course, Celine hadn’t come here to evaluate an outfit.
And yet… she couldn’t not notice.

The tattoos—more visible now than the last time they’d met—pulsed with an unnerving naturalness.

Celine felt that old discomfort rise in her chest again, like emotional reflux. A bitter cocktail of fear, shame, and that metallic taste of… disgust. Which was immediately crushed beneath a wave of guilt.

“Did you have a good trip? Was the traffic bad? I hope not. I mean—I hope the trip was good. Not the traffic. Obviously traffic wouldn’t be good.”

Rumi’s words tumbled out, clumsy and rushed, tripping over each other in nervous desperation.

Celine stayed silent for a beat too long.

“I live in Seoul, like you. Even though I’m farther out, it’s not exactly a long trip.”

Her voice was measured, firm. Not quite cold… but the temperature in the room still dropped a few degrees.

“Oh. Right…” Rumi swallowed hard and extended her hand. “I can take your bag for you.”

A simple gesture. An everyday offer. A silent plea for normalcy.

Celine hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then she stepped back—subtle, but unmistakable—as if that touch was a line she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—cross.

“No need. I’ll put it away myself,” she said, slipping the bag off her shoulder with almost military precision.

Rumi tried to mask it, but the impact was written in every microexpression: the slight downturn at the corner of her mouth, the glimmer in her eyes that threatened to spill into tears.

Her heart clenched—and so did Celine’s, though she refused to show it.

“So… let’s eat!” Zoey announced, her cheerfulness a little too practiced.

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Mira added, forcing a smile that was more strained than lighthearted.

“Yes—yes. I’ll heat up the food. And serve.” Rumi hurried off.

The apartment was big. Bigger than any of the old safehouses, secret bases, or makeshift dorms Celine had frequented during her years as a hunter. Even during her time with the Sunlight Sisters, her old band, she’d never come close to something like this.

A penthouse apartment with a panoramic view of Seoul? Not even in her most glamorous days on stage. And yet, here she was: in a home built by the girls of Huntr/x, the direct fruit of their meteoric success.

But the most surprising thing wasn’t the size or the location.

It was the fact that—despite everything—the place felt… cozy.

No cold opulence, no overly polished marble floors or intimidating minimalist décor. This space breathed life.

The walls were adorned with vibrant neon prints, Polaroid photos stuck up with glittery washi tape, and lovingly placed posters of anime and K-dramas. In one corner of the living room, an impressively unstable tower of manga and light novels threatened to collapse at any second—the classic visual promise of “I’ll read them all during break, I swear.”

There were throw pillows with magical creature prints, a diffuser filling the air with a sweet peach scent, and a plush blanket tossed casually over the sofa as if to say: yes, here you’re allowed to be vulnerable.

The kind of home built with friendship, organized chaos, and… maybe the occasional weekend demon fight.

And, of course, traces of the trio’s musical career were scattered throughout. Guitars leaned against the walls, a keyboard sat in the corner, acoustic guitars carefully propped beside makeshift bookshelves. Loose sheets of paper covered in chords, handwritten lyrics, and colorful notes—most likely Zoey’s—littered the space, along with sticker-covered notebooks brimming with song titles, chorus ideas, and potential setlists for their next comeback.

The massive television sat like a throne at the heart of the room. Game controllers and headphones strewn about bore silent witness to countless marathons of K-dramas, variety shows, and over-the-top reaction videos to supernatural performances.

Celine sighed.

She remembered—with a familiar stab of exasperation—how many times she had scolded them for “wasting time” on television when they could have been refining exorcism techniques, studying runes, or training with enchanted weapons.

And now?

The Honmoon barrier had been restored. Stronger than ever, according to rune and leyline experts.

But still… demons existed.

They lingered. On the edges of reality. Sometimes within it.

And sometimes… within people.

Rumi was living proof of that.

Celine sat at the table, her gaze momentarily captured by the panoramic window offering a breathtaking view of Seoul.

The city pulsed with color, and between the buildings and bridges, the golden threads of the magical barrier glimmered—woven into the sky like strands of light, a protective blanket whispering promises of safety.

But the real Celine knew better.
She knew beauty didn’t guarantee strength.
Magic was beautiful. And magic could fail.

“Here it is!” Rumi appeared, carefully balancing a steaming pot in her hands. The familiar aroma of chunjang and hot noodles filled the room like a comforting memory.

Jajangmyeon.

Celine had to smile, if only faintly. It was her favorite dish. And Rumi remembered.

A simple gesture. But brimming with meaning.

And as much as she wanted to keep her posture—firm, controlled—the warmth in that small act slipped past her defenses like no demon’s arrow ever could.

“So then… are you planning to keep singing? Or announce your retirement?” Celine asked, serving herself with the meticulous calm of someone in complete control—or at least someone who faked it exceptionally well.

Across the table, the girls were devouring their dinner like they hadn’t eaten in days—a perfect contrast to the ex-hunter’s almost ceremonial composure.

Being a hunter and an idol had never been just some stylish coincidence.

The girls’ voices—their unique resonance, the magical harmony between them—had been a crucial part of sustaining the Honmoon barrier. Every note carried power. Every performance was, in truth, a containment ritual.

The K-pop group façade had simply been a convenient cover for their true mission: to keep the demon world from spilling into the human plane.

But now… the barrier was stronger than ever.
Stronger than Celine’s generation had ever managed to make it.

Maybe… maybe the music wasn’t needed anymore.

She had barely finished serving herself when the reaction exploded from across the table.

And it came faster—and louder—than Celine expected.

“No way!” Zoey, Mira, and Rumi shouted in unison, so enthusiastically that a few noodles flew out of Zoey’s mouth like spicy little fireworks.

“We’re definitely going to keep singing! We love it too much!” Zoey declared, her eyes sparkling.

“Technically, we’re on vacation… for the first time in years,” Mira added with a knowing smile. “We’ve even been taking shifts at the jjimjilbang, you know?”

A traditional bathhouse. The kind they’d tried to drag Rumi into so many times, only for her to come up with excuse after excuse.

“Yeah… I guess I’m making up for it now,” Rumi laughed, a little sheepish. The memory of nights spent avoiding communal baths felt distant now, replaced by the freedom she was finally allowing herself to feel.

But Celine noticed the detail: Rumi’s laugh carried a pause. Small, but heavy. As if every lilac mark on her visible skin still waited—braced—for judgment.

Celine recognized that. She had once ordered Rumi to hide those marks—as if erasing them had ever been possible.

But now, Rumi didn’t hide them anymore.
And that… hurt more than Celine wanted to admit.

“Well… that’s good,” Celine said, the praise slipping out almost against her will.

The food really was delicious.
Rumi’s jajangmyeon was perfect.

And yet there was still a bitter taste Celine couldn’t swallow.

“You could sing again too, you know,” Rumi said suddenly.

Celine choked so hard Zoey nearly knocked over her glass of water in a panic trying to help.

“Sing?” Celine repeated, catching her breath with effort. “But… why? I’m not a hunter anymore. Though… maybe you never really stop being one.”

“But did you only sing because of the barrier?” Rumi asked quietly, hesitantly. “Only… to fight?”

Celine set her utensils down. Her expression shifted—serious, distant. The silence that followed seemed to drain the light from the room.

“I sang to save humanity,” she said at last. “That’s what it was. Singing was never a hobby for me, Rumi. It was a duty. A mission.”

“We’re not saying singing is just a hobby!” Zoey rushed to interject. “We sing because we feel. Because we love it. Because the fans—”

“Fans don’t matter.”

Celine’s voice cut through the air like ice.

“What matters is the mission. The duty.”

The tension thickened in the room, heavy as smoke, threatening to choke any attempt at levity.

“But now that the barrier’s strong again, intact… and without any demons to worry about—” Zoey started, trying to sound optimistic.

“No demons?” Celine interrupted too quickly. Her voice wasn’t loud, but the look she threw at Rumi—unintentionally—was sharp enough to slice through the silence.

“Evil demons,” Mira corrected firmly, her tone unflinching.

“When you talk like that, Mira,” Celine replied, her calmness far more dangerous than any scream, “you’re suggesting there are good demons. If that’s what you believe… then I’ve failed completely as a mentor.”

She placed her chopsticks down with military precision, dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and began to stand. The movement was controlled but full of purpose—like every second she spent at that table was another mistake. Another offense against everything she believed in.

Ex-hunters. She needed to get used to the term.
Because real hunters didn’t let their convictions get watered down by sentimentality.
They didn’t romanticize ruin.

“Celine… you can’t really think that, not after everything—” Rumi’s voice wavered. Tears were already shining in her eyes. “What do you think I am, then? A monster? Do you really believe demons can’t have redemption? That they don’t deserve a second chance?”

Celine froze.

For a moment, her body faltered—a small, almost imperceptible gesture that betrayed how deeply those words had struck. She turned just enough to face Rumi.

And what she saw was almost unbearable: her girl. Her Rumi. Eyes glassy with tears, heart breaking—all because of her.

“Rumi… letting your guard down like this… believing there’s something good in demons… That’s exactly what your mother did.” Her voice cracked, but anger held her steady. “And look what happened. She’s dead. Her relationship with that demon brought nothing but pain, ruin… destruction.”

The last word dripped like venom.

“So I’m the destruction?”

Rumi’s voice trembled but didn’t back down. Mira and Zoey froze.

“Because I was born from that union, wasn’t I? If that demon was my father… maybe he wasn’t only darkness. Maybe he loved. Maybe he regretted. Maybe—”

“Rumi, stop,” Celine said, her eyes now burning.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. That man—no, that thing—took Ryu Miyeong from us. From me.”

The anger took form.
Literally.

In a flash of energy, a sword of light appeared in her hand. It blazed with an intensity that made the apartment walls tremble, the barrier itself vibrating under the weight of the tension.

For a moment, the girls didn’t just see their mentor.
They saw the warrior.
The legendary hunter.
The storm she had once been.

Celine shut her eyes, drew in a deep breath—once, twice.

And the sword dissolved into sparks of light.

“I need to go.”

Her voice came out raw, worn thin.

And before anyone could stop her, she turned and walked away—leaving behind half-finished plates, broken hearts… and truths that weren’t ready to be spoken.

Coming here had been a mistake.

She thought she was ready to share the greater truth—the real mission beyond the barrier, the exiled demons.

But now she realized.

It still wasn’t time.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” Jinu grumbled for the third time in less than ten minutes, sinking his rubber flip-flops into the damp earth of the garden.

With every step, he felt the cold soil squish between his toes and heard the relentless chorus of cicadas, occasionally interrupted by the whine of hungry mosquitoes. The straw hat perched on his head did a half-decent job of shielding him from the sun, which seemed more interested in melting him alive than gently illuminating the scene.

Here he was: ex-idol, ex-elite demon, now current rural slave. Squatting in the middle of a row of baechu—Chinese cabbage—trying to harvest them without ripping out the entire root system. Mu—radishes, as the locals called them—were next on his list.

“This… this cannot be my life,” he muttered again, tossing another vegetable into the cloth bag Baek Ryujin had handed him earlier, along with a look that said: ‘at least make yourself useful for this.’

He should have been discussing strategies, revising plans, talking about the coming war or the ritual to bring back the old Saja—the members of his legendary demon boy band.

He wanted to see them again. Needed to.

But apparently, the ex-General had other priorities. Like… salad.

“Careful there, demon-boy!” a teasing voice interrupted his martyrdom. “If you yank the plant out like that, the kimchi’s gonna taste like crap.”

Jinu turned his head, already bracing for another provocation.

The owner of the voice had short, fiery red hair that glinted like embers; his golden eyes sparkled like cursed coins. His face was youthful, dangerously handsome, and his smile? Feline.

He wore a modern jacket with fox patterns and earrings so flashy they seemed to hum with mischief. Everything about him screamed ‘I don’t belong here.’ And it wasn’t just because he clashed with the rural scenery.

It was something else.
Something… otherworldly.

“And I don’t see you harvesting anything,” Jinu shot back, jutting his chin toward the other’s very obviously empty bag.

“My mission’s different,” the redhead replied with a sly grin, like he was hoarding secrets that could detonate at any moment. “I’m here to see if you can, I dunno… pick a vegetable without destroying the planet.”

“If I had my powers back, you’d see what real strength looks like…”

“Was that a threat, demon-boy?” The redhead chuckled. “Funny, I thought idols were, you know… softer. The kind of guys who drink chamomile tea and swear by their skincare routines.”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Jinu dragged himself to the next row, where scallions (pa) and leeks swayed gently in the breeze, releasing a fresh aroma that almost made the suffocating heat feel bearable.

With every pull, sweat trickled down his temples. The sun seemed to be having fun roasting his back alive. And just imagining a paparazzi catching this version of him—sweaty, covered in dirt, panting like an old man—made his ego shrivel inside. He was the ultimate anti-idol.

“Well, you know Ryujin used to watch your shows, right?” the redhead continued, as if they were chatting about something trivial. “So I figured I had to watch too… A bunch of guys shaking their hips and smoldering for the camera. No offense. Just… unexpected.”

Jinu was about to snap back. About to wipe that smug smile off the redheaded gumiho’s face.

But then the dizziness hit him like an invisible punch.

And with it came the weight. That deep, gnawing hunger.

How long had it been since he’d fed? A day and a half at most—since his resurrection.

As a demon, he was expected to consume human souls—draining their life force until nothing was left but a whisper, a shadow, something caught between life and oblivion. That’s how he survived. That’s how the hunger stopped.

But Jinu refused.

His fists clenched as sweat dripped down his neck, his shirt clinging to his skin. He had already made too many mistakes. Already killed. Already felt the guilt biting inside him—sharper than any blade.

But now he wanted something different.
To rebuild instead of destroy.

That’s why he had given his soul to Rumi. That’s why he fought against every instinct screaming inside him.

But instinct was treacherous.
And it was winning.

“Well, there goes demon-boy, about to faint again. Idols really are delicate little creatures,” the redhead teased, his voice dripping with mockery.

Hwanwoo.

The supernatural embodiment of sarcasm. And supposedly one of the most powerful nine-tailed foxes in Korea. Honestly, Jinu had expected more.

“Hwanwoo!” a firm voice called out from a distance.

Jinu barely managed to turn his head. His vision blurred, the edges of the world flickering. The dizziness spread like an eclipse.

“Oh hey, brother!” Hwanwoo said, his tone the exact mix of fake innocence and playful defiance that precedes a scolding.

“Saved,” Jinu thought, before his legs wobbled and the world tilted.

The newcomer approached with calm, measured steps. He was taller, more serious.

Long hair in a stormy shade of blue-gray, eyes like liquid silver. He wore a ceremonial hanbok—fine, elegant jeogori, flowing baji, and a durumagi that fluttered lightly despite the oppressive afternoon heat.

It was a formal outfit, far too much for a vegetable field.

And yet, on him… it made sense.

“You were supposed to watch over him. And help with the harvest,” Haerang said, his tone calm but lined with quiet reproach.

“I know, Haerang… but harvesting is just… so boring,” Hwanwoo replied, pouting like a child caught red-handed.

“Honestly,” the older one muttered, kneeling beside Jinu.

Jinu tried to push himself up, but the world spun like a runaway carousel.

“Hunger,” he murmured. The word barely slipped past his cracked lips.

Haerang’s touch was cool and precise. His silver eyes scanned Jinu with a seriousness that made it clear: this wasn’t just physical weakness. It was the hunger. The essential one. The kind that consumed you from within.

“Master Ryujin didn’t send you out here just to harvest ingredients for dinner, Master Jinu,” Haerang said, his tone soft yet unyielding.

“Really? Because he definitely didn’t include sub-items in this ‘mission,’” Jinu muttered, his voice teetering between exhaustion and irritation.

“Well, my idiot brother should’ve explained it. But as you can see…” Haerang shot a piercing glare at Hwanwoo, who was now pretending to whistle as though deeply fascinated by the flight of an imaginary butterfly.

“So… what did he really want me to do out here?” Jinu pressed, fighting against the heat, the fatigue, and the growing desire to just let go.

“Have you heard of Dalbyeol grass?” Haerang asked.

Jinu opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

“No. No idea what the hell that is.”

Hwanwoo let out an obnoxious, cackling laugh, clearly reveling in Jinu’s ignorance, while Haerang sighed so dramatically it could’ve been ripped straight from a historical K-drama.

“Which is why you were supposed to explain,” the elder brother said, snapping his fingers with practiced elegance.

A bluish flame sprang from the ground under Hwanwoo’s feet—spectral and silent. Instead of spreading, it coiled around the redhead in tight, graceful loops.

“Hey! HEY! This is brotherly abuse!” Hwanwoo yelled, hopping like a cat on enchanted coals.

Jinu watched wide-eyed, caught between awe and exhaustion.

There was something mesmerizing about the restrained flame, about this ceremonial magic so different from his own.

He wanted to keep watching, but… his mind warned him he was nearing his limit. Nearing… a reset.

“Here! Eat this!” Haerang ordered, shoving a handful of bluish-silver leaves into Jinu’s mouth without a hint of gentleness.

Jinu tried to protest. First with a muffled sound. Then with a death glare. Finally, with the classic ‘demons don’t eat grass, you idiot’ expression.

But… before he could spit it out, something happened.

Something shifted.

The taste was bitter. Green. A little slimy. But that wasn’t what mattered. It was what came after.

The hunger. That gnawing, soul-tearing hunger that felt like it carved holes into his very being.

It was… fading.

A tremor rippled through his body.

His demonic tattoos—faded and dormant until now—began to pulse along his arms and chest, like they had been shaken awake from a centuries-long slumber.

This wasn’t like consuming a soul—that kind of energy was brutal, scorching, and left scars.

This was different.

Subtle. Gentle. A warm relief, like a blanket draped over him in the dead of winter.

“What… is this…?” he tried to ask, but his voice failed.

The ground vibrated beneath him.

“Oh no…” Hwanwoo murmured distractedly, letting a stray lock of his red hair catch on the ethereal flames as he watched Jinu with wide-eyed fascination.

Waves of demonic energy began seeping out of Jinu like dark smoke, curling through the air with a dangerous sort of elegance.

The soil beneath him trembled faintly, and the leaves in the garden rippled as though stirred by an invisible breeze—one emanating from inside him.

“That’s why you should’ve given him the herb earlier!” Haerang barked, his voice tight with strain.

“How was I supposed to know he was this drained?!” Hwanwoo shot back. “He just seemed… I don’t know, dramatic.”

“He was just revived!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a demon, remember? I’m a fox. Basic information!”

“And yet Master Ryujin entrusted you with the explanation! Honestly!”

Jinu tried to raise his hand. A simple gesture. He just wanted to ask them to stop arguing.

But he couldn’t.

Because in that exact moment, a surge of dark energy erupted from deep within him, tearing free with force.

The world shook.
Literally.

Chapter Text

“I still can’t believe you’re actually doing this. It feels… like a colossal waste of time,” Baby grumbled, his tone oozing boredom, like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Jinu tried to ignore him. Or at least pretended he could. He needed focus—and that was precisely why he had retreated far from Gwi-Ma’s palace.

That grotesque throne, towering over an altar of black flames, pulsed like a monstrous heart at the center of the Underworld. Surrounding it sprawled the chaotic constructions of demonic cities: twisted masses of architecture, bone-and-corrupted-metal towers, serpentine streets that felt more like living labyrinths, whispering promises of madness to any who dared cross them.

Everything there seemed like a warped caricature of the human world—as if demons had tried to replicate the cities of the upper plane, but with corrupted hands and a design where beauty had been replaced by horror.

The result was a decadent parody: bridges that bled violet light, buildings that contorted as if they were breathing, markets where the voices never sounded quite human.

Life didn’t flourish there.
It rotted.
Endlessly.

Here, away from that epicenter of corruption, the scenery changed. Black mountains rose like jagged stone teeth. Dry, gnarled trees formed silent forests where the breeze seemed to whisper curses. Marshes exhaled bluish vapors, ghostly will-o’-the-wisps dancing lazily over their murky surfaces.

There was a strange beauty in this desolation—if you could ignore the stench of sulfur and the cold that seeped straight into your bones.

And honestly? Jinu preferred this to the suffocating presence of the palace.

At least here, without Gwi-Ma’s eyes piercing through him, he could breathe. Or something close to it.

Especially since the Demon King seemed to delight in summoning him to sing. Not because he appreciated Jinu’s voice—but because he knew that every note was a weapon of humiliation.

A cruel reminder of everything Jinu had lost. Of how Gwi-Ma could strip away even the last traces of humanity clinging to him—his music, his will.

And as the years in the Underworld dragged on… even that felt like it was unraveling.

“Seriously, Jinu… what’s so interesting about this?” Baby pressed on, his voice dripping with irony. “You’re just burning through Ma-gi (마기). And after all the trouble we went through to gather souls… for what, exactly?”

“Baby… did anyone force you to follow me?” Jinu shot back, his tone low, almost a whisper cut with strain. “I don’t recall the glorious Gwi-Ma handing down that particular order. Unless, between all your whining about the barrier and the soul shortage, I somehow missed part of his speech.”

Beneath his feet lay a minhwa painting Jinu had smuggled from an incursion into the human world: the elegant brushstrokes of a blue tiger, its bright yellow eyes seeming to pierce straight through to his soul.

The vibrant colors stood in stark contrast to the ashen soil of the Underworld, almost as if they were trying to breathe life back into a place where none existed.

But Jinu wasn’t here to decorate hell with human art.

In Korean tradition, minhwa symbolized luck, prosperity, and protection. And in this moment, Jinu needed all three.

He didn’t just want to mold clothes out of Ma-gi, or mask his demonic markings under some illusory glamour. He wanted more.

He needed to take this volatile energy—this fragment of the original chaos that had shaped the Underworld—and create.
To rebuild.

A nearly heretical act for a demon.

“This… could be forbidden, you know,” Baby taunted.

In his demon form, Baby Saja was the perfect embodiment of that thin line between beauty and lethality.

His deep blue skin, almost like lapis lazuli, seemed to absorb the meager light around them and refract it in ethereal gleams at the edges. His golden, feline eyes burned like twin suns trapped in an eternal night, the pupils dilating and contracting with each flicker of mood.

His silver-green hair floated lazily around his face, as though an invisible breeze existed solely for him. And the gat (갓) perched at a careless angle on his head lent him an air of ritualistic nobility mixed with youthful defiance.

“And since when do you care about what’s forbidden?” Jinu countered, a crooked smile tugging at his pale lips despite the concentration dripping from him in beads of sweat down his neck.

“Hm… fair point.” Baby shrugged, his own grin sharpening into something feline. “I don’t care. But I still think this is a waste. You’re going to be starving after.”

Jinu closed his eyes, shutting out the remark.

The hunger… it always came. Sooner or later.

But if he was going to be consumed, let it be while trying something new.
Something different.
Maybe even something good.

And then, the painting began to darken, as though the paper itself were being corroded by something unseen. The vibrant colors faded into shadow, and with an almost organic sigh, it disintegrated into a blue flame that danced for a heartbeat before vanishing completely.

“Congratulations, Jinu!” Baby clapped slowly, each syllable dripping with sarcasm. “You just invented demon fire. Because obviously, that’s exactly what the Underworld needed: more fire.”

Jinu didn’t answer. He didn’t even register the provocation. He stood frozen, eyes locked on the empty space ahead, feeling something pulse deep inside him.

A strange rhythm. Almost like the Ma-gi—the raw demonic energy—was responding to a call he didn’t fully understand.

And then, right before them, in the exact spot where the minhwa had been, the air seemed to fold in on itself. A perfect circle opened in the fabric of space, flickering in shades of blue and black.

“Jinu!”

Baby stopped clapping. The irony melted away, replaced by a sharp, palpable panic.

“Jinu, cut the energy flow! It’s pulling you in!”

“No… wait… I… I feel like something—”

Jinu could barely speak. His knees buckled, and he would’ve collapsed if Baby hadn’t grabbed his shoulders with surprising strength for someone so delicate in appearance.

“Idiot! You colossal idiot!” Baby shouted, his voice rising into a sharp pitch. “When this blows up in your face, I’m going to be the first to tell everyone! I’ll laugh so hard at your funeral that—”

The words died on his lips.

Because from the portal, a shadow began to emerge.

A bluish-black mass, slowly shaping itself with the density of living smoke.

Something detached from the swirling form and shot out like a streak of lightning.

“A bird…?” Baby murmured, wide-eyed.

But before he could react, a second figure rose from the portal: an enormous feline, its blue-tinged fur shimmering, and its golden eyes glowing like twin suns trapped in liquid amber.

The tiger moved with the silent grace of a predator until its heavy pawsteps brought it right to Jinu.

Baby instinctively tried to pull him back, sure they were about to be shredded.

But instead of attacking, the tiger tilted its massive head and purred.

A deep, almost comforting sound that thrummed through the air like restrained thunder.

It licked Jinu’s hand with a tongue that was rough, warm, alive.

“I… I can’t believe it,” Baby whispered, frozen in place.

As if that weren’t enough, the crow—or what looked like a crow—descended onto Baby’s hat with a heavy flap of its wings.

The young demon swatted at it, only to freeze with a strangled yelp when he noticed the details:

The bird had three eyes on each side of its head, all glowing a searing yellow.

“I… I did it,” Jinu gasped, exhausted, leaning against the tiger to keep from falling. The hunger already burned through him like a cruel reminder of his limits. “I… did it.”

“Oh, congratulations, Jinu!” Baby snapped, waving his arms so dramatically it looked like he was on the brink of a full-blown meltdown. “You’ve created pets! Brilliant! That’s going to be so useful when Gwi-Ma finds out and rips your head off with those disgusting claws of his!”

“You do remember what he always says, don’t you? ‘Only the King gives life in the Underworld. Only the King takes it away.’ Creation and destruction… those are his privileges. His alone! And you… you just spat in the face of all of it!”

Still leaning on the tiger for support, Jinu lifted his face. Sweat trickled down his temple, but there was something different in his gaze—a flicker of defiance.

“At least now we know one thing…” he said, his voice hoarse yet heavy with meaning. “Not everything Gwi-Ma preaches is true. He may think he’s the only one who can shape and destroy life here… but I just proved that’s not entirely the case.”

The tiger purred under his hand, as if to echo and reinforce the demon’s words.

Chapter Text

The barrier beneath his feet pulsed as if it were alive, resonating in sound waves Jinu could almost hear. Bright lines—like the strings of a gayageum, the traditional Korean zither—quivered in golden tones, but some were already streaked with pulsing red stains, as if the Subworld’s own blood was seeping into them. Demon blood.

He knew it was his fault.

The energy spilling from his body like wild black smoke—untamed, raw—was the cause. He had to stop it. He needed to contain it.

But he couldn’t.

The air around him felt heavier, thick with the earthy scent of the garden and the distant buzz of cicadas. The leaves of the pa (scallions) and baechu (Chinese cabbage) trembled from the invisible force radiating off his body. The damp soil beneath his feet began to crack, and even the birds fell silent, as if nature itself had held its breath.

And then, something moved toward him.

Not the gumiho twins, still arguing nervously a few feet away.

It was Baek Ryujin.

The ex-general appeared with a serenity that defied the surrounding chaos. His outfit was almost comical: a T-shirt printed with smiling kittens, baggy shorts, and bare feet. Yet nothing about him felt any less dangerous. His power was palpable, radiating off his skin like heat on a summer day.

His long hair, usually silver, now floated as if brushed by an invisible breeze—tinged with a pale lavender hue that, strangely, reminded Jinu of Rumi. If Rumi were a broad-shouldered man in his fifties with a gaze sharp enough to cut steel. (Thank the gods she’s not, Jinu thought, with a flash of bitter humor.)

Ryujin moved so fast Jinu barely registered before a strong hand grabbed the collar of his shirt.

“Contain it.” Ryujin’s voice rolled out like a soft thunderclap, heavy with authority.

“I… I can’t,” Jinu rasped, demonic tattoos glowing in shades of blue and violet as the energy surged through him, wild and unrestrained.

“Yes, you can.” Ryujin’s piercing gaze seemed to look beyond skin, beyond chaos. “You’ve always understood Ma-gi better than anyone. I know right now it feels like too much—the force of being reborn, the Dalbyeol herb burning in your veins. But you’re still in control. And I’ll help you.”

Then, unexpectedly, Ryujin began to sing.

This wasn’t the casual humming Jinu had heard in the truck—the kind where the general lazily sang old Huntr/x songs in a surprisingly smooth voice.

No.
This was different.

Deeper. Almost a prayer.

An ancient melody coiling through the air, every note vibrating, finding resonance in the demonic energy spiraling around them.

And Jinu felt it.

The Ma-gi responded to the sound. For the first time, it wasn’t a wild river trying to drown him. It was something that could dance with him.

Could music tame chaos? Could it touch the core of a demon?

Maybe, he thought.

After all, that was what the huntresses did with the barrier—they sustained it with the power of their voices. But he had never imagined a demon—Ryujin—could achieve the same effect.

Without thinking, Jinu opened his mouth and joined in.

He didn’t know the words. Didn’t know the melody. But something inside him—instinct, soul, or maybe just a hunger for redemption—guided him.

Their voices intertwined, a deep and soft counterpoint that made the air vibrate.

The energy around him seemed to pause.
To pulse.
To resonate.

And then… to settle.

The barrier responded. Its golden lines shimmered, and the creeping red tones began to fade, replaced by a steadier, warmer glow.

The earth stopped quaking.
The leaves swayed gently again in the natural breeze, not the chaotic force from earlier.

Jinu had never felt anything like it.

Maybe, at the peak with the Saja Boys, he had tasted something similar—the euphoria of singing in perfect harmony with others.

But this was different.
Primal.
More… real.

He closed his eyes and let himself sink into it.

And then a memory flickered—so sharp it almost hurt.

He had felt this ecstasy once before.

Not with the Saja Boys.
With Rumi.

The first time their voices intertwined in a song about freedom… the first time Gwi-Ma’s voice didn’t echo in his mind like a chain.

For a fleeting moment, in that chorus, he had dared to believe:

Maybe there was a way out. Maybe Rumi was the answer. Together, they could break the demon king’s hold.

If only he’d truly believed in that hope…
If only he’d trusted the power she carried. The power they carried together.

The singing stopped. Ryujin’s voice faded like a dying breeze, and finally, the world around them stilled.

The Honmoon barrier shimmered faintly before them, like a golden silk veil threaded with crimson streaks. The red still pulsed faintly in places, but the golden light held firm.

“Demons… shouldn’t be able to do this,” Jinu murmured, his voice hoarse, eyes locked on the barrier’s glowing threads.

“There are many things demons can do, whether you realize it or not,” Ryujin replied with a half-smile, though his tone was too heavy to be called light.

He released Jinu’s collar with a sharp tug, then turned his fury—not on Jinu, but on the gumiho twins, who had finally stopped arguing.

“It was his fault!” Haerang said instantly, pointing an accusing finger at his redheaded brother.

“Hey! That’s absolute betrayal!” Hwanwoo protested, his wide eyes full of theatrical indignation.

“It’s not betrayal. It’s honesty.” Haerang crossed his arms with an air of superiority.

“I was going to explain the Dalbyeol herb!” Hwanwoo retorted, his voice edging on wounded. “I was just waiting for the perfect narrative moment. You know? Tension building, like in any good K-drama.”

“Hwanwoo, THIS isn’t a K-drama!” Haerang snapped, his brow furrowing like every word was a blow. “And when exactly was that perfect moment going to be? When Master Jinu passed out?”

“Again. And what’s so bad about that? He’s fainted so much since Ryujin brought him here that I was starting to get used to it.”

“He was weak!” Haerang shot back, his voice rising an octave.

“If he was hungry, then maybe he could’ve just… I don’t know, hopped the garden fence and paid Ryujin’s neighbors a little visit. Took a bite or two.”

“You’re testing me.”

Jinu’s voice was low, but it carried a lethal weight that silenced both brothers instantly.

The demonic tattoos on his arms glowed in blue and violet hues, crackling faintly like coals about to ignite.

Yes, there were humans nearby. He’d glimpsed them in the neighboring fields, working crops or walking along the dirt road.

Ryujin might live in isolation, but he wasn’t a hermit. There were villagers, farmers, families who occasionally knocked on the ex-general’s door—never suspecting the true identity of that “gentle middle-aged man.”

And Jinu… wasn’t going to touch them.

Wasn’t going to consume their souls.

Not again.

“I suppose he passed your little test, Hwanwoo,” Ryujin said, his voice calm but laced with an icy edge. The kind of tone that made even the air feel heavier.

“W-well…” the younger fox rubbed the back of his neck, trying to look casual but failing miserably. “I guess… yes?”

“But if you’d explained about the herb—” Haerang cut in, his tone almost accusatory, though there was an unmistakable glimmer of childish satisfaction in seeing his brother getting scolded.

“Yes. You could have explained about the herb that suppresses demonic hunger,” Ryujin continued, his gaze sharp and unrelenting as it shifted to Haerang. “But you definitely shouldn’t have forced him to swallow it raw, nearly causing a tear in the barrier. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened? Perhaps less-than-friendly demons might’ve crossed over…”

Now it was Haerang’s turn to pale, a flush creeping up the tips of his pointed ears. For a second, it looked like he might burst into tears—which, of course, made Hwanwoo’s lips curl into a triumphant little smirk.

Jinu watched the scene unfold and almost felt sorry for the younger fox. Almost.
Deep down, though, he liked the older brother more. There was a firmness to Haerang that Jinu respected—even if it could be irritating at times.

“I tested him because, Ryujin, you welcome all sorts of demons fleeing the Subworld with open arms,” Hwanwoo said, trying to recover his composure. “Not all of them are trustworthy. Not all of them care enough about maintaining balance or avoiding attacks on humans. You should know that.”

“I do know,” Ryujin replied, his voice calm yet carrying enough weight to silence any retort. “But next time, leave the judgment to me. You two are guardians, protectors—not judges. Your role in the Circle of Return is to guide. Nothing more.”

The twins nodded simultaneously, shoulders slumping in shame. For a moment, they looked like mischievous children being chastised by a strict father.

But Jinu wasn’t paying attention to their embarrassment.

His mind had snagged on something else: other demons.

Were there more like him? Others who had escaped, deserted Gwi-Ma’s dominion, and found refuge in the human world?

Ryujin was powerful—powerful enough to face hunters and survive, or at least remain hidden.

But the others? Was it really possible for so many demons to exist under the radar?
And what exactly was this Circle of Return?

“Well… the immediate problem’s been resolved,” Ryujin said at last, his expression softening slightly. “Hwanwoo, finish the harvest. We’re expecting guests tonight, and I want a hearty dinner ready.”

“Me?” Hwanwoo jabbed a finger at his own chest, looking thoroughly offended.

“Yes. You.” Ryujin didn’t even glance back, already steering Jinu toward the house.

Jinu couldn’t resist throwing the younger fox a mocking little smirk as he was pulled away.

You said… guests?” Jinu asked, curiosity slipping into his voice.

“Yes. It’s time you meet the members of the Circle of Return… and we start discussing how to find and revive the Saja.”

“And what exactly is this ‘circle’? I assume it’s not just a geometric reference…” Jinu added, his tone balancing between serious and teasing.

Ryujin let out a low, almost musical laugh.

“No. No geometric shapes involved,” he said with a faint smile. “It’s a group of refugees I coordinate. Demonic deserters. Exiled creatures. All those who, like you, are trying to start over—far from the chains of the Subworld.”

Jinu’s eyes widened.

Demons… and other creatures?

This was a revelation he hadn’t been expecting.

Chapter Text

She wanted to believe everything was fine. That she hadn’t failed.

And technically… she hadn’t.

The barrier stood strong—perhaps stronger than it had ever been in the history of the huntresses. The demon king had fallen. And Huntr/x? They had become Korea’s biggest idols, pulling massive crowds and leaving even the sourest critics speechless.

That should be enough, shouldn’t it?
Undeniable proof that she hadn’t failed.

So why did the demonic tattoos still pulse beneath her skin like living scars, constant reminders of where she came from?

Why did the emptiness—silent and suffocating—keep coiling around her soul like a starving serpent?

Why, despite all the victories, did she still feel like… a stranger?

“Damn it…” she muttered, her voice breaking as she angrily wiped away the tear that dared to slip down her cheek.

She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to give in to that sticky sadness. Not after everything.

But part of her couldn’t stop wondering if, deep down, she hadn’t expected a different reaction from Celine.

Years spent hiding her true heritage, years trying to be perfect—human enough to fit into the mold they’d given her. And now that the truth was out—that the adopted daughter wasn’t just a huntress, but also carried the Subworld’s blood—what had Celine done?

She had left her.

Was it foolish to expect anything else? Maybe.

But the raw truth still crushed her chest:
Yes, she had expected more.

She had hoped Celine would see what she—what all of them—had accomplished. That she would understand the victory, the strengthened barrier, the meteoric success as idols… none of it had happened despite who Rumi was.

It had happened because of it.
Because of her heritage.

“Is this… really so wrong?” she whispered, her voice almost dissolving into the shadows of the room.

Her gaze dropped to her arm, where the demonic markings shimmered faintly, like a purple constellation dancing beneath her skin.

The room was steeped in half-light, the curtains drawn tight, shutting out the day beyond. How long had she been there? Hours? A whole day? She couldn’t tell anymore. She only knew she hadn’t left—sinking deeper into her sorrow like someone slowly drowning.

A soft meow broke through her thoughts.

Derpy, the supernatural tiger with bluish fur, padded silently across the room and curled up beside her on the bed.

She remembered the decision she’d made when she first brought him home: no climbing on the bed, no fur everywhere, hygiene and boundaries—right?

But in that moment?

She just wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his warm, velvety coat. Her fingers sank into the shimmering fur as the tiger’s heat surrounded her, as if whispering: It doesn’t matter what you are—I’m here.

And then came another feeling.

Stronger. Heavier.

Longing.

Rumi closed her eyes, trying to push it away… but it was useless. Every part of her ached for Jinu.

She wanted him there. He would understand. He always understood.

With him, she could say things she’d never dared to share with Mira or Zoey. Not because she didn’t trust them—she did. But there was a silent chasm between what Rumi was… and what they were.

Even now, with her secret out, she saw their effort to understand her. But there were limits. Invisible walls no friendship, no matter how deep, could breach.

Jinu would have crossed them.

But Jinu wasn’t here.

Jinu was dead.

And deep down, she knew: this was her fault.

If she’d been stronger… if she had told her friends sooner, instead of hiding behind shame and fear… maybe things would have been different. Maybe Jinu would still be alive. Maybe she would’ve had the chance to tell him what she really felt.

But she didn’t.

And now she never would.

The tears came before she could stop them—hot, insistent, as if each drop was a cruel reminder of everything she’d lost. This time, she didn’t even try to wipe them away. There was no point. She just let herself sink deeper into Derpy’s warm, blue-tinged fur. Her body trembled, the earthy scent of ancient magic mixing with the low rumble of the tiger’s purr.

For a moment—just a moment—she allowed herself to be weak.

“This is pathetic…” she murmured at last, sniffing and pulling her face away from the tiger.

This wasn’t her. It never had been. Rumi was the type to act, to run headlong into her fate. Not to curl up, drowning in her own grief like some tragic K-drama heroine.

But act how? What could she even do now?

Before she could try to answer, Derpy rose suddenly. His feline body stiffened, ears standing up like antennae, and his golden, hypnotic eyes flared wide in sharp alert. The tiger stared at the window—despite the curtains still drawn—as if he could see something beyond the glass.

“What is it?” Rumi asked, her chest tightening with a strange sense of dread.

And then, as if to add to the tension, the three-eyed crow took off with a hoarse caw, circling her head before swooping low, its beak pointing directly at the window.

“Great… just what I needed: supernatural pets losing their minds,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice steady.

But inside… inside something was starting to boil.

Because she felt it too.

At first, she thought it was in her head. Just an illusion. But the pulse in her chest kept growing—too strong to ignore. A deep, invisible thrum vibrating through her body like a drumbeat.

And then came the vibration.

It was subtle, like the plucking of a gayageum—the Korean zither—but the invisible strings weren’t glowing gold as they should have been. No.

They shimmered in red.

A pulsing, living red.
Demonic.

The sound spread like a shadowed melody, echoing beyond the room, beyond the house. It was as if someone, somewhere, had struck the barrier too hard, sending it quivering.

Rumi gasped.

“No… that’s not possible.”

The barrier was stable. Strong. Unbreakable.

There shouldn’t be any demons in the human world. There shouldn’t even be the faintest chance of a sound like this rippling through the mortal plane.

And yet, here she was… feeling the distorted song of the Subworld vibrating through every cell in her body.

Strangely, she didn’t feel fear.
Or anger.

And to her own surprise, she didn’t even feel the instinctive urge to summon her sword and prepare for a hunt.

What she felt was… recognition.

That energy.
She knew it.

“Jinu?” she whispered, not realizing the sound had slipped past her lips.

She couldn’t explain how she knew.
There was no logic to it.
Her rational mind screamed at her, clawing for control: “Jinu Saja is dead. You saw it. You felt it. You cried for him.”

But… her heart refused to believe.

And when the crow let out a rough caw, its three golden eyes spinning toward her, and the bluish-gray tiger meowed, ears flicking forward as if in agreement…

Rumi felt the knot in her chest tighten.

They felt it too.
They recognized it too.

She wasn’t imagining things.
Or was she?

“Rumi?” Mira’s voice—soft but laced with urgency—snapped her out of her thoughts. “Sorry to interrupt, but… I don’t know if you felt—”

“I felt it,” Rumi cut her off, already rising to her feet as if a spark had ignited deep inside her. Her body felt strangely energized.

“Good! Good!” The door flew open, and Zoey burst into the room, her expression teetering between panic and relief, with Mira close behind, her brow furrowed. “I mean, not good in the ‘yay, awesome!’ way, but good in the ‘you felt it too and now we can actually do something about it’ way.”

“But… how is this even possible?” Mira asked, her tone almost disbelieving. “What I felt—it was like the barrier… vibrating… and a demonic energy. But demons shouldn’t be able to cross the barrier. It’s stronger now. Stronger than ever!”

“It doesn’t feel like someone crossed over,” Rumi said, already moving through the room with purpose, grabbing a backpack and stuffing clothes into it. “What I felt… it’s like he’s already here.”

“He?” Mira arched a brow, suspicion lacing her voice.

“Uh… Rumi? What are you doing?” Zoey asked, her voice pitching higher as she noticed her friend lacing up her sneakers in quick, determined movements.

“I know this might sound crazy…” Rumi began, her breathing heavier now, not daring to look directly at her friends. Her eyes were locked on the tiger and the crow, both staring at the window with an almost supernatural intensity. They didn’t waver, as if something—or someone—was calling to them.

“Hello? We’re huntresses, Rumi. ‘Supernatural’ is our default setting. And ‘crazy’ is practically our middle name,” Mira said with a tight half-smile, clearly trying to ease the weight in the room.

“I thought our middle name was ‘fabulous,’” Zoey muttered, attempting a joke. But her tone died when she caught the sharp look Mira shot her way.

“I… I think I know whose energy this is. But I need to be sure,” Rumi said, her voice low but firm enough to make the silence in the room grow heavy. “I can track it—or rather, they can.”

She gestured to Derpy, the blue tiger with amber eyes, now sitting upright with his muscles coiled tight beneath his shimmering fur, and to the three-eyed crow staring at her with an expression that felt almost… conspiratorial.

“Track it?” Mira repeated, arching a brow with the skepticism of someone already halfway to crossing her arms—which she promptly did. “That doesn’t sound suspicious at all. Like… top 10 bad ideas level suspicious.”

“Okay, let’s say we do track the source of this energy… then what?” Zoey asked, tilting her head as if trying to piece together the enigma behind Rumi’s eyes.

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.” Rumi adjusted the strap of her backpack over her shoulder and straightened up, trying to look casual—as if her heart wasn’t pounding like a taiko drum. “Technically, we’re still on vacation. You deserve to rest.”

It was a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The reality was that she felt… relieved. Relieved to have a purpose. A distraction. Something to pull her out of the spiral of disappointment with Celine and the gaping hole Jinu had left inside her.

“Excuse me?!” Mira exclaimed indignantly, as though Rumi had just suggested letting the barrier collapse on purpose. “Of course we’re coming. Hunting demons is what we do! Hunt and… destroy.”

“No!” Rumi’s voice shot out, sharp and loud enough that even the crow gave a startled caw. “No destroying! We’re just… just tracking, okay? No swords, no attacks, no ‘we’re so badass’ stuff.”

“Wow… that was convincing,” Zoey muttered under her breath, but she went quiet when she saw Rumi nervously run her hands through the loose bun in her hair.

“I…” Rumi swallowed hard. “I know this sounds insane, but he’s not a demon… not the bad kind. I mean… he was. But he was also really kind. Okay, there was that whole betrayal thing and total chaos, but he was under Gwi-Ma’s control, so… we can’t exactly say it was his fault, right?” She was gesturing so much it looked like she was on 2x speed. “And there’s that whole thing where demons feel guilt over their past human lives, which is, like… totally understandable and stuff.”

Mira and Zoey exchanged a look.
One of those looks. The kind that silently screamed: What the hell is happening?

“Okay…” Zoey said in a tone far too sweet to be comforting—a terrible sign. “This he, this supposed ‘bad-guy-turned-good-demon’—who exactly are we talking about?”

Rumi hesitated. The words were right there, at the tip of her tongue, but they stuck as if an invisible knot was holding them back. She touched her fingertips together, a nervous habit that betrayed everything.

“Come on, spit it out,” Mira said, her tone carrying the firmness of a wartime leader. “No more secrets, remember? And just so we’re clear, there’s zero chance we’re letting you go alone.”

Rumi took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling like she was carrying the weight of the world.

“I think… that energy I felt… the one that shook the barrier, even if just a little…” her voice nearly broke, “…I think it’s Jinu Saja.”

The silence that followed was so heavy Rumi could’ve sworn she heard the faint hum of the barrier vibrating again in the distance.

Chapter Text

Night deepened over Hanyang—the vibrant capital of the Joseon kingdom, which one day would be known as Seoul—and the silence felt heavier here than anywhere else in the world. A silence thick with secrets, as if the very stones of the streets whispered forbidden tales.

The full moon hung high above, its milky light spilling across the imposing expanse of Gyeongbokgung Palace. The gently curving rooftops—giwa, black ceramic tiles meticulously arranged—gleamed under the silver glow like the wings of sleeping dragons. The roof’s edges, known as eaves, curled into elegant spirals reminiscent of brushstrokes, casting delicate shadows across the courtyards. Paper lanterns—cheongsachorong, with their red frames and trembling candles inside—dotted the open-air corridors of the pavilions, swaying softly in the night breeze and creating a hypnotic interplay of light and shadow.

Farther down, the narrow streets near Sejongno, the great artery that pulsed at the city’s heart, twisted into labyrinths of stone and wood. The ancient stone walls that once embraced the capital still seemed to echo memories of the ritual tolling of Bosingak—the great bell that marked the hours and, at nightfall, announced the curfew. Monumental gates like Namdaemun and Dongdaemun, constructed of colossal wooden beams and tiered rooftops, loomed like silent sentinels, their silhouettes etched against the starlit sky.

In the humbler villages, hanok—traditional Korean houses—stood shoulder to shoulder, forming quiet neighborhoods nearly indistinguishable in the half-light. By day, these houses would reveal their beauty: white clay walls, exposed wooden frames with robust columns, and gently curved roofs designed to bear winter’s snow and channel summer’s breezes. By night, however, they were little more than dark shapes, each entryway lit by a single lantern and the occasional soft domestic sound spilling out. In their inner courtyards (madang), cisterns dripped lazily, and the rounded stones paving the paths reflected the moonlight in damp, uneven glimmers like fractured mirrors.

The air was thick with the scent of damp wood, mud, and the bittersweet aroma of incense wafting from noble households—mingling faintly with the comforting smell of freshly steamed rice rising from distant cauldrons. Crickets sang in a timid chorus, occasionally interrupted by the creak of ox-drawn carts or the distant howl of wind tumbling down from Bukhansan, the dark mountain looming in the north like an eternal sentinel.

Above it all, perched atop the roof of an abandoned hanok, three shadowy figures watched in silence. Dressed in graphite-toned hanboks and wide-brimmed gat hats, they could have easily been mistaken for the night itself—if not for their eyes. Yellow as embers, they glowed in the darkness, feline and unyielding, focused intently on the narrow street below. Around them, energy rippled and shifted, unseen by human eyes.

Unaware of their presence, a young woman hurried through the alleyway, her pounding heart echoing with every rushed step. Her plain hanbok—faded shades of gray and blue—marked her station clearly: a servant, likely fleeing from some forgotten responsibility. But the anxious glance she cast over her shoulder told a different story. She was running from something. Or someone.

And yet, though she didn’t know it, the real danger wasn’t the demon eyes tracking her from above.

“So, what do we do? Do we strike?” asked the tallest of the three, his deep voice like a muffled roll of thunder.

He wasn’t just tall—he was colossal, every movement stretching the fabric of his clothes in ways that felt almost indecent, as if he’d chosen that tight fit on purpose.

Jinu rolled his eyes. Of course it was on purpose. In the underworld, clothing was shaped from Ma-gi, pure demonic energy—anyone could choose whatever fit they wanted. And this musclebound oaf clearly wanted the world to notice every sculpted inch of his abs.

“No.”

Jinu raised his hand—calm, yet laced with authority—stopping the brute before he could leap toward the girl darting through the twisting alleyways below. She looked desperate, her bare feet slapping against the damp stone as she squeezed into a narrow side street.

A dead end. Jinu knew it well. Clearly, the human didn’t. Either she was unfamiliar with this part of the city, or she’d been running too long to think straight.

“Why wait?” the large demon growled, irritation edging his tone.

“Abby. Patience,” cut in the third figure with a lazy smile. “I’m sure our dear Jinu has a brilliant plan cooking in that pretty little head of his.”

He didn’t wait for an invitation—resting his arm across Jinu’s shoulders in a forced gesture of camaraderie. A playful wink followed, one that made Jinu exhale sharply, resisting the urge to shove him off the roof entirely.

“I’m hungry,” Abby muttered, yanking off his wide-brimmed gat in one sharp motion, revealing short hair streaked in vivid pink and red flames. His yellow eyes glowed like smoldering coals, and the demonic tattoos winding across his skin pulsed in deep crimson, betraying his impatience.

“Seriously, what’s the holdup? Why not just end this already?”

“We’ll feed soon enough,” Jinu replied evenly, brushing off the arm draped over him with a firm push. “But why settle for just one soul… when we can take more?”

“Oh, that’s your angle?” Abby arched a brow, still crouched on the roof. His gaze burned with challenge, sparking with a predator’s intensity. “Or are you stalling again because you don’t have the guts to consume a soul, Jinu?”

The words landed like a blade. A direct strike.

Jinu felt his jaw tighten, a fire crawling up his skin. His frown deepened, narrowing his gaze into slits.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… let’s not make this a soap opera, shall we?” the third interrupted, grinning easily as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

He removed his wide-brimmed hat to reveal soft, pastel-pink hair with a fringe that curled into a perfect heart shape—a detail Jinu always found… disconcerting.

And, of course, there was the name. Romance.

Of all the names a demon could choose upon rebirth in the underworld, he went with Romance? Jinu could never decide if it was meant as irony, vanity, or sheer lack of self-awareness.

Though, considering Abby likely picked his name solely to draw attention to his abs…

“Why do I get the feeling you’re judging me with that look, huh?” Abby growled, the glowing tattoos along his arms flaring brighter as he leaned closer, his irritation crackling in the air like static.

Jinu exhaled slowly, lifting his chin, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. Because honestly, dealing with these two was almost as exhausting as keeping control over the gnawing hunger clawing at his insides.

“Look,” Jinu said, his voice low but edged with tension.

At that moment, a group of men appeared, rushing through the narrow alleys below. Their footfalls echoed off the worn stone like the frantic beat of a drum.

Their clothes were little more than rags—grimy, torn scraps that clung to their gaunt frames. In their hands, they gripped rusty sickles, chipped knives… and one of them, bulkier than the rest, carried a curved sword that caught the moonlight with a cold, silver gleam.

Romance let out a low, mocking whistle, his eyes glittering with mischief as he did a quick headcount.

“Ten,” he murmured, voice smooth and taunting. “My money’s on the big guy with the sword. Want to bet he’s the first one to bleed?”

“Tsk.” Abby’s smile curled, predatory, his teeth flashing in the pale light. He licked his lips with all the calm of someone already savoring the taste of chaos.

The men turned a corner—straight into the alley where the girl had taken refuge only minutes earlier.

“Let’s go,” Jinu whispered, his tone firm and barely audible.

He moved. A lithe, silent leap from the rooftop, flowing like dark smoke across tiles and stone walls. Not a single roof tile groaned underfoot. To the humans below, they were invisible—shadows the world refused to see.

“Where’s the little thief?!” the leader of the group barked, his voice tearing through the night like a jagged blade, sharp enough to make even the wind falter.

The curved blade of his sword rested lazily on his shoulder, but the hungry glint in his eyes betrayed the violence simmering beneath.

“When I find you, girl…” he sneered, “…you’ll learn real fast not to play games with real men.”

The menace in his voice had exactly the effect he wanted. From the back of the alley came a sharp, panicked gasp, fragile as the snap of a dry twig.

The men laughed, a coarse, ugly sound. This was what they craved—the scent of fear.

They advanced like starving wolves, their footsteps quickening.

Huddled behind an abandoned cart, the young woman trembled, her shoulders quivering even as she struggled to hold herself together. No tears—not visibly—but perhaps they were there, hidden behind sheer willpower.

“You’re gonna give back what you stole, little rat,” the leader growled, his voice heavy with venom as he approached with slow, deliberate steps.

The girl lifted her face, and to Jinu’s surprise, there was a flicker of determination in her eyes, defiance glinting amid the fear. Clutched tightly to her chest was a small object—a silver hairpin. Simple, but delicate enough to hold value. Jinu noticed it instantly with his trained, clinical gaze.

“This was my mother’s…” she said, her voice trembling but steady, her fingers gripping the hairpin so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

“Not anymore.” The man closed the distance, raising his curved sword so that its edge gleamed inches from her face. “Your idiot father lost it fair and square at the table. That makes it my property now, you filthy little rat.”

The girl staggered a step backward but didn’t release her grip on the hairpin.

“Or maybe…” The man’s smile widened, a grotesque, predatory curve that made Jinu’s stomach twist. “…maybe you can buy it back. You know, there are other ways to settle debts here. Isn’t that right, boys?”

The men’s laughter echoed through the narrow alley, sharp and hungry, like the snarls of starving hyenas. The leader’s eyes slid over the girl’s frail body with a slow, revolting deliberation. She clutched the silver hairpin tighter to her chest, as if the small trinket could shield her from the danger looming over her.

Above them, Jinu curled his hand into a fist so tight that his knuckles cracked audibly. The demonic tattoos beneath his skin pulsed, radiating a restless heat like embers on the verge of igniting. The Ma-gi roared inside him—wild, ravenous—and it was already creeping up his neck, threatening to breach the shadows cast by the brim of his hat.

“Time to strike,” he murmured, his voice low, a dark purr that vibrated with contained violence. He didn’t expect the others to follow. Maybe it was better that way.

But before he could take his first step, a shadow flashed past him in a blur. Abby.

The demon leapt from the rooftop with agile precision, crashing onto one of the men like a living hammer. The impact was so violent the man didn’t even have time to scream before his body crumpled against the stone, the sickening snap of breaking bones echoing through the alley.

“What the—?!” one of the others choked out, his voice tight with panic.

With a theatrical sigh, Romance followed, his expression a mask of bored indifference. One of the thugs swung a rusted scythe at Abby in a desperate lunge, but before the blade could connect, a savage kick sent the man flying down the alley like an overstuffed rice sack.

“Ugh. Such an ugly sound,” Romance commented, shaking his foot as if wiping off dirt was the most pressing matter in the world. “I think I ruined the fun too quickly.”

Abby let out a guttural laugh, animalistic and raw, smearing blood across his cheek with a casual swipe of his hand.
“Ah, it’s been ages since I smelled blood this sweet on a summer night…” He inhaled deeply, savoring the air like a connoisseur swirling a glass of rare wine.

“Disgusting,” Romance shot back, his tone sharp but tinged with amusement.

While the two of them reveled in the chaos, Jinu held still for just a moment—long enough to channel the Ma-gi into his fingers. A thick black smoke seeped up from the ground, dense and tar-like, and within seconds it snaked up the legs of three men, rooting them in place as though invisible tendrils were devouring them whole.

They thrashed and screamed, but the darkness was merciless.

The gang leader, who had been frozen in stunned disbelief until now, finally moved. His wide eyes darted over the three intruders—men far too noble-looking for these filthy streets, yet with ashen skin, tattoos writhing like living serpents beneath their flesh, and eyes glowing yellow, burning like lanterns in the darkness. No. They weren’t human. They couldn’t be.

And then, driven by pure, primal survival instinct, he did the only thing his panicked mind could think of.

He grabbed the girl.

Her body slammed against his with a jolt, and the silver hairpin she had been clutching so desperately slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the ground with a metallic ring. The man yanked her close, raising his curved sword and pressing its cold edge against her neck, the blade biting lightly into her delicate skin.

“STAY BACK!” he screamed, sweat streaming down his temple as his frantic eyes flicked from Jinu to Abby, from Abby to Romance. “DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!”

The girl’s breath came in short, shaky gasps, but her wide eyes stayed locked on Jinu. There was fear there, yes—but also… a strange spark.

Abby growled, baring his teeth like a predator ready to strike.
“This idiot really thinks he can threaten us? Using a fragile human as a shield?”

“We shouldn’t care, right?” Romance added, his voice laced with false sweetness as his gaze drifted slyly to Jinu, deliberate and taunting, as though daring him to react. “Humans are… well, humans. Food.”

And the reaction came.

Jinu raised his arm, his fingers loose for a brief moment before snapping them with a sharp, crisp sound.

The gang leader frowned, momentarily confused by the seemingly harmless gesture.

The confusion didn’t last.

In a blur of red smoke, Jinu vanished from sight—only to reappear directly behind the man, so fast it seemed he had torn through the very air itself. Before the leader could even draw a breath to scream, a precise strike slammed into the back of his neck with brutal force.

The dull thud of impact echoed through the narrow alley as the man’s body crumpled to the ground like a sack of rice, unconscious.

The girl wrenched herself free from the man’s grip, stumbling backward until her knees scraped against the rough stone ground. The hairpin. Her trembling fingers reached for it, clutching it as if it were a talisman against the chaos swirling around her.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if these strange men were truly saviors… or executioners far worse than the gang that had been hunting her.

She turned her head, wide-eyed and breathless. And what she saw made the blood in her veins turn to ice.

One of the men—the tallest, with hair in an impossible blend of crimson and rose—was leaning over one of the gang members. His mouth, slightly parted, drew in delicate white threads that glimmered like living silk as they unraveled from the man’s body. With every strand consumed, the victim’s face drained of color, his cheeks hollowed, his eyes bulged in silent terror. He tried to scream, but the sound withered before it could leave his throat.

And then… nothing.

The body crumbled into dust, carried away on the night wind as if it had never existed.

“Mmm… delicious,” Abby murmured, his tongue tracing his lips stained faintly with a predatory smile of satisfaction.

The girl let out a strangled whimper, pressing the hairpin tightly to her chest as though it could shield her from these human-shaped predators.

“Jinu, aren’t you going to eat?” Romance’s voice drifted down the narrow alley, melodic—too melodic for the grotesque scene unfolding around them. He gestured lazily toward the girl, his yellow eyes glinting like molten gold.

The girl swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm as her gaze locked hesitantly on Jinu. The demon who, somehow, had saved her.

“There’s already enough food for tonight.” Jinu’s voice sliced through the air like a blade—calm, sharp, and absolute. “Gluttony isn’t a virtue, Romance.”

His eyes flicked briefly to the girl—barely a glance, but enough to carry a silent command. A subtle tilt of his head. Go.

And she understood.

She didn’t wait for a second gesture, for explicit words, or for any sign of remorse. She simply turned on her heels and bolted down the alley, her bare feet slapping against the uneven stones, the sound loud in the heavy silence.

No one followed. None of them so much as flinched to stop her.

“That was… stupid.” Abby broke the silence, his deep voice rumbling like a contained thunderstorm. The sound of the girl’s fading footsteps melted into the distant song of a cicada. “Gwi-Ma always says we’re not supposed to leave witnesses. Ever.”

“Oh, but it was so… adorable.” Romance dragged his tongue across his teeth, his expression dripping with mockery, but his eyes—those golden eyes—hid something deeper. “Demons rescuing a helpless little girl. Maybe that shaves a sliver off our sins, hmm? Who’s to say?”

His words dripped with venom and provocation, but Jinu felt the weight beneath them. It wasn’t just sarcasm. It was pain.

“Whatever…” Abby exhaled sharply, a wisp of reddish smoke curling from his nostrils as he grabbed one of the gang members still clinging to life and tossed him at Jinu’s feet with a rough gesture. “Eat, idiot.”

There was no rage in his tone, no mockery. Only resignation.

Jinu stood still for a moment, his gaze locked on the crumpled body. Then he exhaled softly, barely audible.

“…Fine,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

He crouched down, long fingers curling around the man’s shoulder as he leaned in. Jinu’s eyes glimmered in a deep, molten gold as he parted his lips, and a thread of white energy began to unravel from the human’s chest—vibrant and delicate, like ethereal silk.

The air seemed to quiver. Lines of Ma-gi swirled and wove around them, carrying a subtle melody, like the faint strumming of a gayageum drifting from somewhere far away.

As Jinu drew the man’s vital essence, the body began to shrink, its glow fading, skin sinking against protruding bones until all that remained was a husk—fragile, on the verge of crumbling into dust.

Jinu closed his eyes for a moment, the taste of that stolen energy burning across his tongue like bitter, acidic wine.

Chapter Text

There were too many questions simmering in Jinu’s mind. To be fair, the questions had always been there—quiet, persistent, and as irritating as mosquitoes trapped under his skin. But he’d never felt truly comfortable voicing them aloud—especially not in Gwi-Ma’s presence.

Which was a bitter irony, considering the demon king probably already knew half of them anyway. After all, Gwi-Ma had that infuriating habit of “mind reading” and similar tricks. Jinu had to exert ridiculous levels of control over his own thoughts whenever he was near the tyrant, as if every stray idea was a blade pressed to his own throat.

Sometimes he even tried using Ma-gi to build a kind of mental wall—an improvised barrier meant to keep Gwi-Ma from rifling through every corner of his brain. And, to be fair, it worked. Occasionally. But most of the time? The demon king seemed to take perverse delight in tearing down his defenses as easily as blowing out birthday candles.

“Congratulations, idiot. Another spectacular failure.”
Yes. That was exactly the kind of sarcasm Gwi-Ma would throw in his face, and Jinu could practically hear it.

Which was why he could only silently thank the fates that the tyrant was too busy with other schemes to waste time poking at and tormenting a lowly servant like him.

“Relax. I’m not about to start rummaging through your head, Jinu.”
The deep rumble of Ryujiin’s voice yanked him out of his spiraling thoughts. The former general walked a few paces ahead, his steps steady and purposeful as he led them along the gravel path that wound through the pristine vegetable garden of his rural home.
“I mean… okay, I just did it now. But I won’t do it again. Promise.”

Jinu squinted at him, his brows knitting into a scowl of pure discomfort.
“Wait—you what?!” He stopped in his tracks, glaring. “And you say it like that’s normal?”

Ryujiin sighed patiently, the kind of sigh reserved for stubborn children.
“It’s just… your mind and mine seem to resonate in a strange, natural way. Maybe it’s because you’re also skilled at manipulating Ma-gi, like me. Or maybe…” —he paused for effect— “it has something to do with your connection to my daughter.”

Jinu nearly stumbled.
“A connection to your daughter?” he repeated, blinking rapidly. “Wait—you mean… with Rumi? What the hell does that even mean?!”

“I mentioned it before,” Ryujiin said with a casual wave of his hand, as if brushing the entire subject aside. “Well… briefly. About how you gave her your soul and all that.”

“‘And all that’? Like it’s some trivial thing?!”

“YOU—” Jinu almost choked on his own words. “You’re saying that like I lent her an umbrella, not like I literally sacrificed myself to save her!”

Ryujiin cleared his throat, his gaze shifting away, almost… sheepish? Oh no. That was not a good sign.

“Anyway… what you did created a bond. Not exactly what you’re imagining—if you had truly given her your soul, I wouldn’t have been able to bring you back. But still… well…” He coughed, his voice dropping lower. “It’s complicated.”

Jinu felt his heart rate spike.
“‘Complicated’? That’s your polite way of saying, ‘Congratulations, idiot. You’ve stumbled into a cosmic mess.’ Isn’t it?”

Ryujiin raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he said at last. “Just the two of us.”

Oh, that did it. Now Jinu was nervous. Really nervous. The kind of nervous that made his Ma-gi stir uneasily under his skin, the tattoos coiling like restless snakes up his neck.

But Ryujiin, as if he hadn’t just dropped an existential bomb on his head, simply kept walking toward the back door of the house.

“For now, let’s focus on our visitors, okay?”

They stopped in front of a massive door made of dark wood, the scent of earth and fresh greenery clinging to the air around them—a gentle, almost mocking reminder that this place was far too peaceful for demons.

Jinu took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. But as he stepped up to the threshold, he launched a thought in Ryujiin’s direction, sharp and deliberate: “This isn’t over, Ryujiin. You’re going to explain everything.”

And if the amused gleam in the older demon’s eyes was any indication… he’d gotten the message loud and clear.

***

The living room was a delicate balance between past and present — a space where the soul of a traditional Korean hanok met the inviting comforts of modernity. The moment Jinu stepped inside, he felt the gentle warmth of the ondol beneath his feet, the heated flooring typical of old houses, almost like an unspoken invitation to shed the weight of the world and simply sit down. Parts of the floor were covered with thin tatami mats, releasing a faint scent of straw, while a plush, neutral-toned rug dominated the center of the room, practically begging someone to flop down carelessly.

To the left, an entire wall of glass framed in dark wood opened out to the garden. Outside, the courtyard was a serene refuge: a bamboo grove swayed with the night breeze, stone lanterns fitted with hidden LEDs cast a soft glow along the stepping stones, and the air carried the earthy scent of wet soil and freshly brewed tea. During the day, natural light filtered through the hanji paper windows, creating delicate, geometric shadows. At night, the space took on an intimate, almost ethereal aura.

At the center of the room stood a low walnut table with a satin finish — an elegant soban — serving as the stage for the gathering. And around it sat figures… though “people” might not have been the right word.

“Lord Ryujin, what the hell was that?!”

The sharp voice cut through the air, making Jinu freeze mid-step.

A girl with long, jet-black hair streaked with purple highlights strode forward with heavy, purposeful steps. Her wine-red eyes burned with equal parts accusation and… a hint of deference. It was a paradox: the aggressive energy she radiated clashed with the way she seemed to restrain herself in Ryujin’s presence.

She wore a simple tank top and loose black pants, like someone who had just walked out of a kickboxing session. To Jinu, it was impossible not to imagine her landing a flying kick straight to his face if he said the wrong thing.

Yet despite her almost human appearance, there were signs that betrayed her true nature: faint glimpses of demonic tattoos shimmered on her pale skin, glowing in shifting shades of violet as though they were alive. Another one like him. Another who wasn’t supposed to exist in the human world.

“Kaenari,” Ryujin said with a low chuckle, as if the sound alone could dissolve the tension in the room. It didn’t. Not even close. “It’s all under control. Handled.”

“‘Under control’?” she repeated, her voice rising with indignation as her hands moved so fast they were almost a blur. “That disturbance could have rippled across other parts of Korea! Have you considered the chaos if the Hwarang catch wind of it?”

Hwarang?

Kaenari’s gaze swung to Jinu like a blade unsheathed. He felt it — the chill of disapproval, the crushing weight of her glare. But oddly enough… the impact didn’t linger. She broke eye contact almost immediately, a faint flush coloring the tips of her ears.

“Hwarang?” Jinu echoed, his brows furrowing as he turned to Ryujin. “You mean… like the Flower Knights of the old Silla kingdom?”

Ryujin let out a long, drawn-out sigh — the kind that carried all the weight of “not this conversation again.”

“No Hwarang are coming here,” he said, motioning for Jinu to step closer to the table. His voice was so calm it bordered on irritating. “They might sense an anomaly, yes… but they’re not exactly top-tier trackers.”

“They’re not as powerful as the Huntresses either, that’s true…” added another voice, this one lower and warmer.

Jinu’s eyes shifted to an elderly man seated near the far side of the table, his expression so kind he could’ve passed for someone’s doting grandfather asking for help updating his phone. But a closer look revealed the truth: dark demonic tattoos curled up his neck in intricate patterns, shadows that whispered his true nature. That gentle smile couldn’t hide what he was.

“They may not be expert trackers,” the man continued softly, “but they’re exceptional killers.”

Another voice chimed in, this time female — calm and almost melodic, yet laced with a gravity that sent a chill crawling across Jinu’s skin.

“Never underestimate their impact just because they can’t connect to the barrier the way Huntresses can. They hunger for blood… non-human blood, I should say.”

The woman spoke without lifting her gaze from the teacup she held delicately between her fingers. Seated gracefully on a low cushion, her posture was so impeccably straight it exuded both poise and quiet authority. She swirled the tea slowly in a circular motion, the dim light catching in her long, bluish hair — hair that, to Jinu’s growing unease, seemed to… float. As if suspended in invisible water.

Her eyes, a muted pearlescent shade with no visible pupils, drew a shiver down his spine the moment he dared to meet them.

This woman wasn’t a demon.

But she wasn’t human either. There was something ancient, deeply otherworldly radiating from her — a presence so heavy and vast it seemed to ripple through the air. Even Ryujin’s demonic aura paled against it.

“Nari,” Ryujin said softly, inclining his head with quiet respect. She returned the gesture with the faintest of nods, graceful and unreadable.

“Noeul.” Ryujin’s attention shifted to the elderly man sitting across the table, who responded with a serene smile.

“I’m grateful you both came so quickly,” Ryujin added.

“With all due respect, Lord Ryujin, are you really planning to ignore the imminent risk?” Kaenari’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and tight with frustration.

“Kaenari…” Ryujin exhaled, the sound heavy with the weight of someone summoning every ounce of patience he possessed. “We have much to discuss. I may even need a bottle of soju just to survive this meeting.” His eyes narrowed slightly in restrained humor before shifting to Jinu. “We’re overwhelming our guest. Let’s slow down. One thing at a time.”

“Oh! It’s an honor to finally meet the famous Jinu Saja,” Noeul said warmly, his voice deep and soothing, almost paternal as he adjusted his position on the cushion. The gentle smile on his aged face was disarming — so unlike the tension radiating from Kaenari — that for a fleeting moment, Jinu felt slightly less like an intruder. Almost.

“Er… thanks. I think…” Jinu muttered, trying to mask just how lost he felt as he kneeled beside the table, Ryujin settling next to him. “Famous… well, I was.”

“Ah, don’t be so modest.” Kaenari’s tone slid dangerously between sarcasm and nervousness. “The Saja Boys are still pretty famous, you know? Even if everyone keeps saying you’re on… hiatus. That’s what your people told the press, wasn’t it?”

She toyed idly with a strand of her black hair, twirling it around one finger while avoiding his eyes. “Not that I listen to your music or anything. I have better things to do than waste time on… K-pop.”

Noeul cleared his throat gently, his voice as smooth and rich as velvet.

“We’re not talking about idol fame, Kaenari,” he said, his eyes softening as they shifted back to Jinu. “I’m referring to Ryujin’s interest in Master Jinu’s potential… and the role he might play here, within the Circle of Return.”

Kaenari flushed instantly, as if realizing the slip.
“Of course that’s what I meant too!” she shot back, a little too quickly, her voice rising a pitch higher than she probably intended.

“You really think I’d be of any use?” Jinu asked, masking his discomfort with the faintest of smiles — one so small it barely touched his lips. “I mean… there’s nothing special about me.”

He deliberately chose to ignore how Kaenari, sitting right across from him, was still visibly struggling to hide the blush creeping across her cheeks.

“Nothing special?” Nari’s voice cut through the air like the edge of a finely honed blade. Calm and cool, she raised her teacup to her lips and took a slow, deliberate sip, as if her composure alone was enough to disarm him. Then, in that same poised tone, she continued:
“You almost brought down the barrier. You nearly collapsed the boundary between the underworld and the mortal realm, fusing them into a single plane of existence. But sure… nothing special at all.”

Jinu felt his stomach sink like a stone. Okay. Maybe there was a tiny detail he’d been trying very, very hard not to think about.

“Your little stunt came closer to total collapse and submersion of the mortal realm into the underworld than… well, probably since your time, Ryujin,” Nari added, her pearlescent eyes shifting meaningfully toward the ex-general.

Jinu, caught off guard, glanced at Ryujin — just in time to see the man nearly drop his bottle of soju. Haerang, the older of the gumiho twins, snatched it midair with the reflexes of a seasoned server, his expression still carved in stone-cold boredom.

“What I did back then…” Ryujin began, letting out a nervous laugh that sounded anything but natural. “Didn’t come nearly as close to tearing down the barrier as this kid here. And, well… it was a different era. Different dynamics. Different problems.”

He filled a small porcelain cup with soju and knocked it back in one gulp, clearly buying himself a moment to recover.

“And let’s be grateful the barrier didn’t fall. That’s Jinu’s doing too,” Ryujin added, his tone softening slightly.

Jinu hesitated, thoughts spiraling dangerously as a question burned at the edge of his mind.
“You… wouldn’t want the barrier to fall? I mean… most of you here are demons. Without it, you could live in the human realm freely, without restrictions. Wouldn’t that be… an advantage?”

For a moment, the room fell into a silence so heavy it felt almost tangible, thick as fog. Then Noeul shook his head firmly, the ever-present smile on his face fading into a grave stillness.

“Oh, no,” he said, lifting both hands as though warding off a dangerous idea. “To bring the kings of the underworld into this world? To extend their tyranny and perpetuate the cycle of destruction they impose?” His voice deepened, laced with something ancient and unshakable. “I wouldn’t wish that fate even on my worst enemy.”

“I don’t, either.” Nari set her teacup down on the table with a sharp clink and snapped her fingers at Haerang. The older gumiho appeared instantly, as if summoned, carrying another bottle of soju.

“Unlike them, I’m not a creature of the underworld,” she continued, her voice calm yet laced with quiet authority. “I’m a Mul Gwishin — what humans would call a ‘water ghost.’ Like the gumiho twins, I was born of this world.”

Her pale, pearlescent eyes locked onto Jinu’s, and a shiver crawled down his spine.

“In truth, the term human world is far too simplistic. It ignores the existence of others — beings like me — who belong to this plane and have every right to live here. If the underworld ever invaded, it would be catastrophic for us, the mystical creatures already rooted in this realm. I imagine we’d be subjected to the same cruel dominion the demon kings impose in their own territory.”

She paused, her tone hardening just enough to betray a hint of weariness. “And frankly? My life is stressful enough without adding that nightmare to the mix. It’s already exhausting having to keep an eye on the Hwarang…”

“The demons who crossed into this realm did so because they were fleeing the underworld,” Kaenari interjected, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her voice, now calmer but sharper, carried the weight of conviction. “None of them want to see that hell spill over into this world.”

“Right… I get it now.” Jinu nodded slowly, his voice low. “I guess I should feel… sort of relieved my plan failed. That the barrier’s still standing.” He hesitated, then asked, “But… what are these Hwarang you keep mentioning?”

“Oh? You don’t know?” Noeul’s brows shot up, his surprise almost theatrical. “In my day, Gwi-Ma never stopped warning us about them—”

“In your day, dinosaurs still roamed the earth,” Ryujin muttered under his breath, pouring himself another shot of soju with a tired sigh.

“Ha! Says the one who’s even older than me.” Noeul let out a booming laugh and slapped the table good-naturedly, the sound resonating through the room. “Everyone knows the real elder here is you, General Baek Ryujin.”

“The Hwarang…” Kaenari cleared her throat, crossing her arms and adopting a deliberately theatrical tone. “How do I explain this to a clueless newbie? A total noob?”

Jinu narrowed his eyes, his expression sharp and sour.
“Wow, sorry I wasn’t handed a complete manual on your people when I clawed my way back from hell,” he shot back, his voice dry.

Ryujiin smirked faintly and slid a glass of soju toward Jinu with practiced ease. Jinu accepted it, though his eyes stayed wary as he swirled the liquid in the cup. He knew all too well that demons didn’t get drunk easily… if at all.

“I’ll try to keep this brief,” Ryujin said with a long, weary sigh.

“Oh, I’ve noticed you love to ‘keep things brief.’ Translation: you never actually give a full explanation,” Jinu muttered under his breath, his tone just sharp enough to earn a low chuckle from Noeul and even a small laugh from Nari.

“He’s barely back from the dead, and he already knows you so well, Ryujin,” Noeul teased, grinning as he snagged Jinu’s untouched glass of soju. In one smooth motion, he tipped it back and downed it in a single gulp.

“I am great at explaining things!” Ryujin protested, lifting his chin as if he actually believed that.

“Please. Let me explain,” Kaenari interjected firmly, reclaiming the floor with a sharp glance. “You obviously know about the Huntresses, don’t you? Mythical figures, near-divine, charged with singing the sacred songs that keep the barrier strong and banishing high-level demonic entities.”

Jinu nodded slowly, but he couldn’t stop the image of Rumi from flashing in his mind — and with it, a sharp pang in his chest that made his heart stutter.

“Good. Now…” Kaenari continued, her voice edged with the faintest trace of impatience, “the world is vast. And as powerful as the Huntresses are, they can’t be everywhere at once. That’s where the Hwarang come in.”

“They function as an auxiliary force,” she went on, her fingers making air quotes around dangerous with barely disguised disdain. “Their job is to hunt and destroy low- to mid-tier demons and other so-called dangerous creatures. All of it to ensure the human world stays untouched by chaos.”

“Unlike the Huntresses…” Ryujin interjected, leaning forward over the table, his voice dropping into a more serious register, “the Hwarang have no direct connection to the barrier. They don’t influence it because they lack the energetic affinity—and the vocal gift—to sustain the veil that separates the realms. They’re warriors. Strategists. A paramilitary force with full license to kill.”

“The choice of the name Hwarang (화랑) is… at the very least, ironic,” Noeul added, his tone heavy with nostalgia and quiet reproach. “They’ve appropriated the title of an elite group of young aristocratic warriors from the ancient Silla Kingdom, which existed between the 6th and 10th centuries. Back then, they were known as the ‘flowering youth,’ revered for their courage and pivotal role in uniting Korea’s Three Kingdoms. They even had a noble code of ethics…”

“The code of today’s Hwarang boils down to a single law.” Nari’s soft voice cut through the room, though this time it carried a somber weight that sent a chill down Jinu’s spine. “Find what is not human… and destroy it.”

A knot tightened in Jinu’s chest, heavy and cold, refusing to loosen. He had no idea something like this even existed. Gwi-Ma, of course, had never mentioned such a threat to the newer generations of demons—perhaps out of strategy, or maybe pure sadism.

But deep down, Jinu had always suspected. How many demons sent on missions to distant regions had simply never returned? How many had vanished in territories where no Huntresses were stationed? The Huntresses were powerful, yes… but they weren’t omnipresent.

“Well, that answers one question. One less thing on our list,” Ryujin said with a faint smirk, resting his chin casually on one hand. “Now let’s move on to the real issue… how to stop the Underworld’s war from consuming us all.”

“Your plan is insane, with all due respect…” Kaenari murmured, crossing her arms tightly as she fixed the former general with a look that screamed ‘incoming migraine.’

“It’s the only option we have,” Ryujin countered, his brows arching and his voice infused with quiet conviction. “Until now, the Circle has survived by hiding. Sheltering fugitives from the Underworld, offering support to the supernatural beings of this realm… but we don’t have to live in the shadows forever.”

As his words gained momentum, his voice seemed to hum with an almost electric vibration, sending a faint ripple through the air in the room.

“My daughter and this boy Jinu here have already proven that change is possible. I felt it when Rumi defeated Gwi-Ma… using Jinu’s borrowed energy. And you felt it too. Don’t pretend you didn’t!” Ryujin’s sharp gaze swept around the room as he pointed a finger at each of them in turn. “And when I say you, I mean you demons in particular. No offense, Nari.”

“None taken,” Nari replied calmly, swirling her soju in its glass before taking another sip, her pale, pupil-less eyes fixed squarely on Jinu.

“What exactly… did you all feel?” Jinu asked, trying to keep his voice steady though inside he felt like he was being pulled further and further into a labyrinth with no clear exit. It was hard for him to wrap his mind around it—especially since, technically, he had been dead when all of this happened.

A heavy silence settled over the room. Kaenari and Noeul exchanged a brief, loaded glance. Meanwhile, Ryujin seemed almost energized—as if his very aura had caught fire. Strands of his silver hair began to glow faintly lavender, the same hue that sometimes shimmered in Rumi’s locks.

“Beyond the Seven Thrones of the Underworld…” Ryujin began, his voice low but pulsing with a nearly reverent intensity, “…there exists another throne. A throne in this world. A sovereign in this dimension.”

Jinu frowned, his thoughts sluggishly trying to process the revelation, like a bad internet connection buffering piece by piece.

“And when Gwi-Ma invaded… when you, Jinu—with your completely reckless plan—briefly brought down the barrier here in Seoul…” Ryujin pointed directly at him, his eyes blazing. “…when you poured your energy into Rumi and she struck back, defeating him… it was the equivalent of pulling a king off his throne.”

Jinu blinked.
“Okay… wait. What do you mean?”

“This changes everything about the hierarchy of the Underworld. About the laws that govern demonkind itself.” Ryujin’s voice brimmed with fervor now, as if the entire room revolved around the weight of his words. “When a king falls from his throne, the one who defeats him has the right to claim it. To ascend as the new sovereign.”

Jinu blinked again—slower this time, his expression betraying the creeping sense of panic clawing at him.
“You’re saying…”

“Congratulations,” Nari interrupted coolly, her voice smooth as still water but edged with an icy irony. “It seems you and Rumi are now official candidates for the throne of the human realm.”

The silence that followed was so heavy Jinu could hear the rush of blood pounding in his ears. Reaching for the soju glass still sitting in Noeul’s hand, he downed it in one gulp—praying, against every rule of demonic physiology, that the alcohol would somehow numb his senses.

“Perfect…” Jinu muttered, his voice dripping with bone-dry sarcasm. “So now, on top of being an ex-idol, a near-rebel, and formerly dead… I’m also a quasi-king. Just what I needed.”

Chapter Text

“This is completely insane. Like, full-on sirens-blaring, red-lights-spinning, end-of-the-world insane!” Mira exclaimed, practically jogging to keep up with an absurdly stubborn Rumi as she marched down the wide hallway of their apartment. “You’re telling me you’re going after the supposed demon who almost wiped us out a few weeks ago? Hello? Did you forget what he did? And I’m not just talking about stealing our fans—which, by the way, was a super low blow!”

“Definitely low.” Zoey, trailing a few steps behind, nodded gravely… though there was the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’m talking about all the chaos he and those other Saja Boys caused at Honmoon!” Mira’s voice grew louder with every word, like a teacher scolding her most rebellious student. “The veil almost collapsed, Rumi! The demon king literally breached our world!”

“Without an invitation, I might add. Very rude of him,” Zoey chimed in, her tone soft and sarcastic, earning a withering glare from Mira before she launched back into her tirade.

“And yet, you’re still planning to go after him?!” Mira threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “And more importantly, how are you even so sure it’s him? Couldn’t it just be some random demon?”

Rumi stopped dead in her tracks and spun to face her friend. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted as if ready to deliver an amazing, airtight explanation… but nothing came out.

She tried again, but all she managed was a frustrated sound.

“Okay… I don’t know how to explain it,” she finally admitted, her voice quieter now, her gaze distant. “I just… feel it’s him. Like… I don’t know… like there’s this pull. A connection.”

“Oooh, you two are connected?” Zoey cut in, her eyes sparkling like fireworks. “That’s kinda romantic. Soulmates meeting across worlds, you know?”

“NOT romantic!” Mira snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Zoey, did you completely forget everything I just said? And you too, Rumi?”

“I didn’t forget, Mira…” Rumi replied, letting out a heavy sigh and turning her gaze away. “But he helped me too. In the end… it was his soul that gave me the strength to fight back against Gwi-Ma. If it wasn’t for him, maybe we wouldn’t even be here right now.”

“Oh, so that makes him a good guy?” Mira shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Rumi, he’s throwing more red flags than—than those stalker-fans we had last year!”

Zoey shivered at the memory, hugging her arms.
“Okay… fair point. That was creepy.”

“You can’t just fall for every pretty face, Rumi!” Mira pressed, crossing her arms like a mom ready to deliver a lecture. “Seriously, you could date literally anyone you wanted.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Rumi blurted, her voice shooting up several octaves like she’d just stepped on an invisible Lego.

The silence that followed was… almost comical. One of those painfully awkward moments that just needed a cricket chirping in the background to complete the scene.

Mira stared at her, brow furrowed, with that classic “uh-huh, sure… tell me another one” expression. Zoey, on the other hand, was already doubled over, laughing so hard she nearly fell to the floor.

“Gotcha. He’s not your boyfriend… yet,” Zoey teased, her grin wicked enough to set off alarms.

It was like someone had pressed Rumi’s self-destruct button. The flush on her cheeks surged to a volcanic lava-red, and even the demon tattoos on her skin seemed to react—pulsing and twisting as if performing an apocalyptic version of the Macarena.

“N-no! He’s just a friend! JUST that! Nothing more, no boyfriend… not before, not now, not ever!” Rumi stammered, the words tumbling out in a frantic mess. “I mean, he probably doesn’t even feel the same way about me. Actually, what do I even feel? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just pure, wholesome friendship. That’s it. Period. Nothing beyond that. Zero. Zilch!”

“Zilch…” Mira echoed, one brow arched in the universal expression of I-don’t-believe-you.

“Can you tell if the other Saja Boys are with Jinu too?” Zoey asked, her voice dripping with curious mischief. “Think Mystery’s there as well?”

“Zoey!” Mira practically growled, her irritation sharp enough to slice through the air.

“What? I just asked!” Zoey shot back, pouting like a scolded child.

“I… don’t know,” Rumi admitted, biting her lower lip so hard she nearly broke the skin. “All I can feel is the energy that I think belongs to Jinu. And honestly, I shouldn’t even be feeling that… He’s supposed to be dead. I mean, he was dead. Or he should be. I need to find out what’s going on. You understand, right? I can’t just push this aside like it’s some random trivial thing.”

Mira took a long, deep breath and exhaled with a heavy sigh. Her eyes—normally colder than steel—softened just slightly.

“You’re right. This is important.” She nodded slowly, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “If this is real, it could mean demons are capable of being reborn in this world. And if that’s the case… we need to be ready to fight them.”

“No fighting.” Rumi’s voice came out firm but tinged with something almost pleading. “We can’t keep thinking that ‘demon’ automatically equals ‘enemy.’ If Gwi-Ma is gone, then they… they’re free to make their own choices now. Free will.”

As she spoke, Derpy brushed against her legs, the blue tiger curling close like a living reminder that the world wasn’t as simple as “a good demon is a dead demon.”

“They could choose violence of their own free will,” Mira shot back, her voice dripping with skepticism. But when she caught the wounded look Rumi threw her way, the sharpness in her words dulled. Mira bit her lip, hesitating for a moment.

The echo of her own tone felt… disturbingly similar to Celine’s.

She shook her head, as if trying to fling away the unease, and let out a frustrated grunt—something between a growl and a tiny battle cry.

“Alright, fine,” she said at last, exhaling heavily. “We’ll go track down this energy that may or may not belong to your… crush.”

“H-he’s not my crush!” Rumi blurted out, her voice pitched way too high to sound convincing. But she swallowed her embarrassment, forcing herself to focus on what mattered: Mira was relenting.

“But if it’s a trap…” Mira’s eyes narrowed with the deadly seriousness of someone ready for anything. “We end it fast. No diplomacy, no peace-talks, no ‘let’s-share-our-inner-light’ crap. If we have to, we go in fists flying—not tossing roses.”

Rumi raised her hands in mock surrender, snapping a playful salute.
“Got it. Loud and clear, general.”

“ROAD TRIP! Yaaay!” Zoey squealed, bursting with excitement as she scooped Derpy into a suffocating hug—only to drop the poor tiger a second later. The creature froze, stunned, letting out a confused little mewl.

“This is going to be so much fun! We need snacks, a killer playlist, and a list of all the touristy spots in the area,” Zoey rattled off, zipping through the apartment with the energy of a human lightning storm.

“Zoey, this isn’t some school field trip!” Mira tried to protest, but then sighed in defeat. “Fine… but we are bringing cheese puffs. Every decent road trip has cheese puffs. And where’s my Polaroid camera?”

Rumi let out a soft laugh as she watched her friends darting back and forth—half planning a mission, half acting like overexcited kids preparing for summer vacation.

The yellow-eyed raven landed lightly on her shoulder, its sharp talons pressing just enough to make her aware of its presence. It shifted restlessly, all three of its eyes spinning as if glimpsing something far beyond the walls of the apartment.

“We’re going soon…” Rumi murmured, stroking the bird’s sleek black feathers. “I just… I just hope it really is Jinu.”

Rumi could barely hold back a smile. A warm, prickling spark bloomed in her chest—hope. But the feeling didn’t last long. Another thought crashed into her mind like a stone thrown into the still surface of a lake.

What if it really is Jinu?
What the hell was she supposed to do then?

Run into his arms in slow motion with some sappy background music? (Maybe even flower petals floating around them for dramatic effect?)

“Ugh, Rumi! Get a grip!” she muttered to herself, pressing her palms over her face in a desperate gesture.

She needed to think. To plan. To be strategic. A reunion with Jinu wasn’t some K-drama scene where she could just show up however she wanted.

And that’s when it hit her like an emotional sucker punch: she was still in her pajamas.

Yes, those pajamas. The ones with the little train prints that Jinu once teased her about, saying they were “way too childish for a badass demon-slaying hunter.” She could almost hear his voice in her head, making that obnoxious choo-choo-choo sound as he mimicked a train, his trademark smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Fantastic, Rumi, she thought bitterly, pressing her hands harder against her flushed face. You’ve spent over a day locked in your room, wallowing in self-pity over that disaster of a dinner with Celine… and now you’re about to leave like this? Puffy-eyed panda face, still wearing rainbow trains like some sad overgrown toddler?

“Yeah, absolutely not,” she growled, heat crawling up her cheeks.

With a strangled little squeak, Rumi darted back into her room, nearly tripping over her own feet as she frantically debated between “casual world-saving outfit” and “badass look to impress the maybe-still-hot demon she probably wasn’t over yet.”

Meanwhile, the yellow-eyed raven watched her very human chaos with all six eyes spinning lazily in their sockets, radiating pure judgment. Derpy, the blue tiger, let out a sleepy mewl but kept his golden gaze fixed on the distance, toward where he could already feel his master’s presence.

Soon—very soon—they would meet again.
And nothing—absolutely nothing—would be simple after that.

Chapter Text

The village of Seokchon stretched along a dusty dirt road, lined with hanoks—traditional Korean wooden houses with gracefully curved roofs tiled in dark giwa that glimmered under the moonlight. By day, the scenery might have seemed peaceful: sunlight filtering softly through hanji paper windows, gardens sprouting ginseng and green onions in uneven plots, and the warm aroma of steamed rice mingling with the scent of fresh earth.

But now, it was night. And under the pale glow of the full moon, the village seemed suffocated by long, restless shadows.

Japanese soldiers marched down the main road in steady, rhythmic steps, their heavy boots grinding fine dust into the earth. Rifles hung from their shoulders, the cold metal catching glints from oil lanterns dangling on makeshift posts. The insignias of the Empire were emblazoned on their uniforms with arrogant precision, and the sharp cadence of the Japanese language cut through the night in clipped commands, each syllable carrying an edge of harsh authority.

Since the annexation in 1910, the air itself seemed to breathe control: schools shuttered, the Korean language forbidden, Japanese names forced upon the villagers like compulsory masks.

On the edges of the road, warehouses with kanji-painted signs shut early, their doors creaking in protest. Some of the hanoks had been seized by the occupiers, now converted into small barracks and improvised stables. In the rice fields beyond, a fire smoldered under watchful eyes. The villagers didn’t need to ask—they already knew: someone had likely been accused of aiding guerrilla fighters. Another “accident” carefully staged by the Kempeitai, the feared Japanese military police.

The air hung heavy, saturated with the scent of old wood, damp soil, and lingering incense—traces of secret protection rituals still performed despite strict prohibitions. The solitary chirp of a cricket was the only natural sound, constantly drowned out by the metallic clatter of weapons and the oppressive rhythm of boots in unison.

This was a village caught between two worlds: tradition and repression, a culture stifled yet still burning with a stubborn ember of hope. It was fertile ground for secrets, for magic hidden in shadows… and for the quiet struggle for identity in a time when speaking Korean itself was an act of defiance.

“This is complete bullshit.” Abby clicked his tongue, his voice low, almost a growl, as the group made their way down the dirt road. The faint glow of the lanterns slid across his skin, illuminating the crimson patterns of demonic tattoos curling around his arms. He stretched in an exaggerated motion that made the dark hanbok strain against his muscles, the fabric threatening to tear at any moment. Jinu was fairly certain Abby did it on purpose.

“Do we really have to do this?” Abby grumbled, spinning his wide-brimmed hat on his fingers impatiently. “Seriously, we could just turn around, head back to the underworld, and forget this whole mess ever happened. Hit up some sketchy demon bar, down a few gallons of that questionable sludge they call booze, and pretend the mortal world doesn’t exist.”

“We could,” Jinu replied with a calmness so irritating it felt rehearsed. “But we’re not going to. He’s one of us.”

“‘One of us’? Oh, how precious.” Romance cut in with a sly, feline grin, his amber eyes glinting mischievously. “You know, it was adorable of you, Jinu, to give us all that cute little surname ‘Saja.’ I mean… demons don’t even have surnames.”

As if that wasn’t provocation enough, Romance slung an arm over Jinu’s shoulders with forced camaraderie.

“It’s almost like you want us to be a family,” he whispered mockingly.

Jinu rolled his eyes so hard he was sure he saw his own brain. With a sharp elbow jab, he shoved Romance off.

“This is ridiculous,” Baby said, his voice a sigh drenched in boredom. His soft-glowing eyes flickered lazily as he walked. “Demons don’t have families, Romance. The surname was just a tactic—to reinforce that we’re allies.”

“A gang!” Abby corrected, his sudden enthusiasm punching through the gloom. He smacked a fist into his open palm like that alone settled the argument.

“I’d call it more of an association of demons with shared interests and a desperate will to survive Gwi-Ma’s underworld,” Baby countered dryly, eyes rolling in an arc worthy of the heavens.

“No, no. A gang!” Abby insisted again, his tone taking on the petulant edge of someone determined to win the argument through sheer stubbornness.

“Whatever.” Jinu exhaled, feeling his patience slip through his fingers like sand. “This so-called ‘gang’ is missing a member. That’s why we’re here.”

“Is he even really a Saja?” Abby muttered, crossing his bulky arms with theatrical flair. “I mean… he tags along, sure. But he barely says two words! Doesn’t interact, doesn’t pitch in. He’s like some ghost haunting us.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why the name he chose when he was reborn as a demon was ‘Mystery,’” Romance said with a sharp, knowing smile.

“Oh wow. Brilliant deduction, genius,” Baby shot back with a heavy, exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.

“We’re not abandoning him just because he’s not a social butterfly,” Jinu snapped, his voice firm but edged with growing irritation. “And besides… if he keeps wandering into the mortal world alone, he’s going to draw serious trouble.”

“True enough,” Baby muttered with a low, dry laugh. “Gwi-Ma hates it when demons start showing… independence.” There was a hint of irony in his voice. After all, their little group—the Saja—was itself a quiet act of rebellion against the underworld. But Baby wasn’t foolish enough to say that part out loud.

“Anyway… what do you think drew Mystery to this place?” Romance murmured, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat as his sharp golden eyes swept over the village ahead. Lanterns dangled from makeshift posts, casting a flickering amber light over the packed dirt road. With every step, the air seemed to grow heavier, thick with woodsmoke and an undercurrent of tension impossible to ignore.

Most of the houses were shut tight, their hanji paper windows covered with hastily tied curtains. The few villagers still out moved quickly, heads bowed low, as if even glancing at the quartet of demons might invite disaster.

“Figures…” Abby grumbled, shaking his head, his voice dripping venom. “The idiot runs off here while we were breaking our backs on that glorious mission—” he coughed, exaggeratedly—“so graciously ordered by the almighty, unbearably insufferable Gwi-Ma. Maybe we should leave him here. What difference would it make? He didn’t lift a finger in the last mission… just stood there like a useless shadow. One less dead weight to drag around, if you ask me—”

He didn’t finish.

A squad of uniformed men appeared further down the road, marching toward them with synchronized, almost mechanical precision. Their boots thudded against the dirt, the sound amplified by the oppressive night silence. As the lanterns’ glow touched them, more unsettling details emerged:

Rigid olive-green uniforms with gold buttons lined up like metallic teeth. On their shoulders, the Rising Sun insignia gleamed in the light, and at their waists, katana scabbards rested beside Arisaka rifles slung in leather straps. Rounded, polished helmets obscured parts of their faces, but their eyes—narrow, cold, brimming with disdain—were unmistakable.

One of them, clearly the leader, lifted his chin with an air of arrogant authority, his gaze sweeping over the four demons like they were pathetic curiosities.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in clipped Japanese, his voice dripping with boredom and hostility. “And in those clothes… ridiculous. Don’t you know how to wear a proper kimono?”

“I really don’t think I need fashion advice…” Romance drawled in flawless Korean, his voice laced with biting irony as he smoothed out his hanbok with a theatrical flourish.

The imperial soldier, dressed in pristine khaki and heavy boots, blinked in shock at the sound of the forbidden language. His fingers tightened around his rifle, gripping the cold metal like it could lend him borrowed authority.

“That language…” the soldier snarled, his tone dripping with disgust. “Shut your filthy mouth. Speak like a civilized man—speak nihongo! Or would you prefer I rip out that inferior tongue of yours right here and now?”

“Can I hit him already?” Abby asked with the casualness of someone discussing the weather. He cracked his knuckles and tilted his neck until it popped, the sound loud in the tense air. “And maybe snack on his soul after? I could use a bite… wonder if his soul tastes like sushi or a fine sake.”

“What did he say?!” the imperial soldier spat, his eyes flashing with indignation. “That brute dares mock me? I said speak Japanese, you worms!”

Before Abby could take a step, Jinu calmly moved in front of the group, his expression smooth as still water.

“We’re just passing through,” he said in flawless Japanese, his tone polite enough to make the soldiers hesitate for a split second. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. Could you tell us if—”

CRACK.

The slap came fast and hard, splitting the air like a whip. It struck Jinu’s face with such force that his wide-brimmed hat flew off and hit the dirt road, sending up a small puff of dust.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, you bastard!” the soldier roared, his face flushing crimson with rage. “There’s a hierarchy here, boy! Address me properly—use -sama!”

But the bark of authority dissolved in an instant.

As Jinu’s hat hit the ground, his face was laid bare: ash-grey skin, glowing tattoos streaking red and gold beneath the moonlight, and those eyes—eyes like burning embers that stared back with calm, predatory focus.

The soldier staggered back, the rifle trembling in his hands.

“A-akuma…” he stammered, his voice cracking as he uttered the word the Japanese whispered in their legends. “Monster…”

The metallic groan of the rifle under his grip cut through the night as he lifted it shakily, finger twitching on the trigger.

“Yeah… Abby, go ahead. Have your fun,” Jinu said with a half-smile, his voice cool and almost insulting in its composure.

Abby didn’t need to be told twice.

Before the gunshot could even ring out, he was in motion—a blur of muscle and fury. The shot fired, but the bullet never came close. Abby grabbed the barrel of the rifle with one hand and twisted. The metal shrieked in protest, bending like soft clay in his grip. His predator’s grin widened as the soldier choked out a desperate scream.

“What kind of aberration—?!” the man rasped, his eyes blown wide in pure terror.

The other soldiers didn’t hesitate. They surged forward in unison, boots pounding the packed dirt road. Some raised their rifles while others drew gleaming katanas, blades catching the moonlight like cold fire.

“Yamero! Kill them!” shouted an older officer, his voice cracking under the weight of both rage and fear. “Don’t let these Korean vermin mock the Empire!”

Romance moved like a performer stepping onto a stage. Every motion was fluid, almost like a dance, his black hanbok swirling around him in elegant arcs. He slipped past attacks with an infuriating kind of grace, each dodge accompanied by a melodious laugh—dangerously amused, almost playful. But when he struck, he was merciless: the sharp cracks of bones breaking formed a chilling rhythm in the background.

More gunshots tore through the air. Jinu raised a hand lazily, and thick, pulsating black smoke spread around them like a living thing. The bullets froze mid-flight, suspended in the cloud as though time itself had been snared.

“So much for staying discreet…” Baby muttered, leaping to the side just in time to avoid the arc of a katana. With a precise kick, he sent the soldier flying into an abandoned cart with a hollow thud.

“Well, the mission did include collecting more souls,” Jinu said calmly, golden light flickering in his eyes as he twirled his fingers in the air. “I’d say this is working out in our favor.”

The bullets trapped in the swirling smoke began to hum and spin, slowly turning back toward their original owners.

“Arigatou…” Jinu murmured, a cold smile cutting across his face. “For saving us the trouble.”

With a simple snap of his fingers, the bullets flew back—twice as fast. The air ripped apart with a chorus of death and chaos as screams filled the night.

But the chaos didn’t last long. Within minutes, there were no imperial soldiers left to fight—only the heavy silence of night and the metallic tang of blood hanging in the cold air.

Abby stood there, his hands still stained red, ready to sink his teeth into the nearest soul when Jinu’s sharp voice cut through the tension.

“Not yet. No feasting,” he ordered, his tone low and razor-edged.

Abby growled and crossed his arms, his hanbok spattered crimson.
“You’re always the one killing the mood…” he muttered, though he didn’t argue further.

That’s when the sound of doors creaking open broke the stillness.

One by one, the villagers began stepping out of their homes, bare feet pressing into the damp earth.

The oppressive fear that had clung to the air moments before, stoked by the Japanese soldiers… was gone.

No.

In the villagers’ eyes now burned something entirely different.

Relief.

And perhaps… even gratitude.

The eldest of the group—a hunched man with a gray beard—stepped forward cautiously. His hanbok was worn but clean. He bowed deeply, the ceremonial gesture echoed by the other villagers behind him.

“Kamsahamnida…” the old man said, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper. “Thank you… for saving us.”

Jinu blinked, unsure how to respond. Gratitude wasn’t something he was used to—hadn’t been for centuries. And judging by their awkward silence, the other Saja weren’t any better at handling it.

It was Abby who finally broke the tension, flashing a wide grin that was—surprisingly—almost friendly, despite the blood still dripping slowly from his hands.

“Ah, don’t mention it! Really, it was nothing,” he said, waving a hand as if he’d just helped an old man push a cart uphill—instead of massacring an entire patrol minutes earlier.

But the moment of calm didn’t last.

“You… you shouldn’t have done this,” a young man muttered, his voice tight with fear. His wide eyes darted nervously from one demon to the next. “When reinforcements arrive, they’ll blame us… and we’ll pay the price.”

“About that…” Baby interrupted, his tone honeyed yet somehow unsettling. His amber eyes gleamed under the moonlight. “Don’t worry. We’ll dispose of the bodies in a way that no one—and I mean no one—will ever find a trace of them.”

The villagers exchanged uneasy glances, a flicker of relief softening the hunger and terror etched into their faces.

Jinu stepped forward, dark Ma-gi smoke coiling discreetly around his boots. His golden eyes swept across the small crowd.

“You’re… not afraid of how we look,” he noted, his voice low and curious. “You’ve seen someone like us before, haven’t you?”

The old man slowly lifted his gaze, his small eyes narrowing in recognition. Then, with a trembling finger, he pointed toward the far edge of the village.

“He’s there…” the elder murmured. “The man with fire in his eyes. The one who arrived days ago.”

A ripple of energy seemed to shiver through the air around Jinu.

Mystery.

At last, they had found the whereabouts of their lost Saja.

The house was simple—too simple, even by the standards of a village scarred by occupation. The wooden walls were chipped in places, the hanji paper on the sliding doors was torn here and there, and the smell of mold hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of burnt rice porridge. Anyone might have sworn the place was abandoned… if not for the muffled sounds of giggles and soft cries of children coming from inside.

Jinu hesitated at the door, his fingers hovering over the frame as if touching it might trigger a trap. But before he could knock, the door creaked open, revealing a little girl with a gap-toothed smile and hair tied into two crooked buns.

“Oh! Are you Mysti’s oppa?” she asked, her wide eyes sparkling as if Jinu were some kind of celebrity.

“Oppa…?” Jinu frowned, completely lost. But before he could get another word out, the child grabbed his hand with surprising strength and tugged him inside as though he were an old friend.

“I’m the oppa here!” Abby grumbled behind him, crossing his arms with an exaggerated pout.

“Oh… by the flames of the underworld… how many kids are there?” Romance murmured, his golden eyes scanning the room.

The house was packed with little ones—children of all ages, some crawling across the worn floorboards, others playing with scraps of wood and frayed cloth, and a few crying in makeshift corners. The air was thick, uncomfortably warm from so many bodies, and the chaotic energy of youth seemed entirely unaffected by the presence of the demons now standing at the threshold.

And there, in the middle of the small crowd, stood him.

Mystery Saja.

His long platinum hair fell like a curtain, partially hiding his face—but not enough to conceal the blue-gray skin or the tattoos that slithered across his body in near-living patterns.

But what startled Jinu the most wasn’t Mystery’s presence.

It was the fact that he was cradling a baby in his arms with a tenderness that seemed almost unnatural for a demon.

“Well… this is definitely unexpected,” Baby remarked, one eyebrow arched.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jinu demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

Mystery rarely spoke. That was one of the few things Jinu respected about him: his ability to maintain absolute silence. But the scene before him went beyond any definition of normal—even for them.

“The village… has only men,” Mystery said finally, his voice low and rough, as if each word had to be pulled out by force.

“Ah… I noticed that,” Romance said slowly, nodding with an expression of mild curiosity.

And that’s when Jinu’s thoughts began to align. Yes—the villagers who had come out earlier to thank them… most had been men. Perhaps he’d seen one or two elderly women among them, but there hadn’t been a single young woman.

What the hell did that mean?

“I’ve heard…” Baby began, his voice unsettlingly soft, as if he were stepping onto fragile ground. “That many Korean women were taken… turned into ‘comfort women’ by the Japanese.”

Jinu’s eyes widened. A chill shot down his spine. Those children… Mothers torn from their homes, forced into sexual slavery by the invading soldiers. The reality hit him like a crushing weight, and for a moment, even the air seemed heavier, harder to breathe.

“But… what does that have to do with you?” Jinu asked, unable to hold back the question burning in his throat.

Mystery lifted his gaze, the gold of his eyes glowing like embers beneath his disheveled hair.

“I’m strong,” he said simply, rocking the baby in his arms with the quiet patience of a monk. “I can protect them.”

“We’re strong… no one doubts that,” Jinu said, his voice low but firm as he crouched down to meet Mystery at eye level. “But it’s also true… we’re demons. We can’t—we shouldn’t help them. And you can’t keep coming here in secret. If Gwi-Ma finds out…”

“I thought you would understand.”

Mystery’s head tilted slightly, and the long silver strands of his hair slid like a curtain, revealing the glowing yellow of his eyes—burning, unwavering.

Those words hit Jinu like a hard punch to the gut. His throat tightened, and he had to swallow before forcing a reply.

“I do understand…” he said at last, the weight in his voice betraying him more than he wanted. “But if the others find out… if Gwi-Ma finds out…”

“Mystery…” Abby cut in, arms crossed and letting out a heavy sigh. “You know as well as I do that the souls of these children wouldn’t last a second if they were exposed. You know that.” His tone was edged with frustration, but beneath it was something rare—concern. “And you don’t want that for them, do you?”

Mystery shook his head, too fast, almost desperate.

With great reluctance, he stepped away from the children. A few of them began to cry as they watched him leave, their tiny hands reaching out for him in a silent plea.

The sound of their sobs lodged deep in Jinu’s chest, but he forced himself to keep his gaze steady.

It was the right thing to do.

The only path left.

Or at least, that’s what he had to tell himself—because if he didn’t believe it, he might crumble right there.

The village had faded into a blur of faint light against the dark expanse of Korea’s rural hills. The cold night air carried the scent of damp earth and dried blood. Abby walked ahead, hauling an improvised cart with irritating ease—its cargo a grim collection of Japanese soldiers’ bodies, half alive, half dead.

There was something strange about the scene. None of the demons had consumed the souls of those humans in front of the villagers. Not because they lacked the opportunity. Not because they weren’t hungry. But… by choice.

And that, for Jinu, was unsettling. An unexpected deviation from the demonic nature Gwi-Ma so exalted and imposed as absolute law. Yet he couldn’t shake the conflicting sensation growing in his chest—disquieting and oddly comforting at once. The realization that he wasn’t the only one. The only one carrying that silent weight. The only one longing not to fully surrender to the savage instincts the demon king prized so much.

“I was an orphan… like them.”

The low murmur of Mystery’s voice cut through the heavy silence of the road, catching Jinu off guard.

Jinu almost stumbled. Mystery—who had barely spoken a word in the underworld for years—now spoke with a clarity and melancholy that seemed to make the air itself hum between them. And more than that, he had mentioned his human past. An absolute taboo. No demon ever spoke of such things. Never.

“I…” Jinu wet his lips, searching for words that wouldn’t sound hollow. He cast a quick glance at Baby, walking silently at his other side. The youngest merely shrugged, as if to say: there’s nothing to answer.

“I’m sorry,” Jinu said at last, his voice softer than he intended.

Mystery shook his head, his platinum hair sliding like a silken curtain. A small, subtle gesture—it doesn’t matter. But of course it mattered. Jinu knew it did.

“But now you’re a Saja,” Romance said, breaking the tension with a light smack on Mystery’s shoulder, his careless grin clashing with the melancholic weight in the air. “You’re not alone anymore, you know?”

“Yeah! You’re part of the gang now!” Abby added, his voice upbeat despite the effort of pulling the cart. “And around here, we take care of our own—even if they’re as quiet and mysterious as you.”

Jinu allowed himself a faint smile, almost involuntary. Gang. The word echoed in his mind, carrying with it a strange warmth. Almost… intimate. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it seemed less like a mere alliance for survival and more like something he didn’t dare name—something dangerously close to family.

Chapter Text

When Ryujin mentioned there would be more guests for dinner, Jinu hadn’t expected… this.
The place was packed. There were people everywhere—some walking up the gravel path, others jumping out of cars parked haphazardly in the yard, and a few… flying. Yes. Literally flying in.
Demons, mystical creatures, and even humans.
Wait. Humans?

Jinu had to summon every ounce of self-control (okay, maybe only half of it, because he was failing miserably) to keep his eyes from widening as he spotted a group of children darting across the garden. Children with serpentine demonic tattoos writhing faintly beneath their skin—their features still human but marked with the inheritance of the underworld. They played as if the world were a safe place. They laughed, tumbled over themselves, and sprinted between the tables with a lightness Jinu would never have associated with anything tied to demons.

This was supposed to be a simple welcome party for him. But it felt like so much more.

The most surreal part? Everyone was helping each other in such an easy, natural way—demonic beings and humans carrying tables together, supernatural creatures balancing trays and adjusting chairs in the lantern-lit garden. No one seemed coerced. No one seemed on edge.

They looked… happy.

A knot tightened in Jinu’s throat, constricting in a way that felt foreign and unsettling. He tore his gaze from the garden, trying to shake off the strange pang in his chest.

“If the Saja could see this…” he thought, the clarity of it so sharp he could almost smell charcoal smoke and hear their voices.

He could picture Abby and Baby bickering as they set up the grill—Abby grumbling like the world would end if the grate wasn’t perfectly aligned, Baby rolling his eyes and tossing acidic comments just to get on his nerves. Romance, of course, would be at the center of attention, wearing that irritatingly charming feline grin, dazzling everyone (while pretending not to be doing it on purpose).

And then there was Mystery… always on the edge of the circle, leaning slightly against a tree, his posture closed-off as if he wanted nothing to do with anyone—but with those golden eyes quietly tracking every detail. Maybe—just maybe—he’d even let himself be pulled into some silly game by one of the kids, even if he’d pretend the entire time that he didn’t care.

They used to talk about things like this in hushed tones, almost like a forbidden confession. They’d joke about it, whispering with self-indulgent humor, because saying out loud that they wished for a different future felt too foolish… too childish for demons hardened by centuries of darkness.

“That’s why it’s called the Circle of Return, you know?”

Ryujin’s deep voice pulled Jinu out of his reverie. He hadn’t even noticed when the former general had joined him on the porch, both of them now sitting side by side, watching the organized chaos unfolding in the lantern-lit garden.

“What do you mean?” Jinu asked, accepting the cup of soju Ryujin handed him.

Ryujin shrugged, his gaze distant but softened by something almost gentle.

“Return. That’s what it’s about: giving demons the chance to return to what they once were. Before they sold their souls to the underworld… before they were forced into eternal servitude or slavery. It’s about giving them the right to come back. To…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “To be happy. To have a second chance.”

Jinu licked his lips, feeling the warmth of the soju burn his throat even before he took a sip.

“It sounds…” he murmured, his voice quieter than he intended, “it sounds good. Almost too good to be true.”

Ryujin let out a low, nostalgic laugh and took a slow drink from his own cup before continuing.

“I didn’t choose the name, you know? Back then, I wanted something more… dramatic. Like The Renegades or The Outlaws.”

He twisted his lips in a faint grimace.

“But she thought it was tacky. Lacking in linguistic depth, as she put it.”

“She who?” Jinu asked, curiosity flickering in his golden eyes as he poured himself more soju.

Ryujin sighed, his expression softening with a sadness so subtle it was almost imperceptible.

“Ryu Miyeong…” he said, his voice heavy with memories. “Rumi’s mother.”

Jinu silently thanked his demonic reflexes for saving him from making an even bigger scene: the cup nearly slipped from his hand, but he caught it with the other before it could crash to the floor. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he tried to pull himself together.

He turned to Ryujin, expecting to find the former general’s piercing gaze fixed on him — but instead, Ryujin looked contemplative, his eyes locked on the yard where the members of the Circle mingled like an improvised family. He sipped his soju slowly, with a calmness that felt almost… forced.

Jinu hesitated. Words were supposed to be his specialty — he had written most of the Saja Boys’ songs and had been their official spokesperson. He was the one who charmed crowds with carefully crafted speeches and perfect soundbites. And yet now… his mouth seemed determined to betray his reputation.

Before he could stop himself, one of the questions swirling in his mind slipped out:

“Ryu… Rumi’s mother… she was a hunter, wasn’t she?” The question sounded too obvious, almost stupid. He immediately wanted to kick himself.

Ryujin nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Her name and mine sound alike, don’t they?” He let out a low, almost nostalgic laugh. “She used to call me ‘Ryu’… probably just to mess with me. You know, her ‘Ryu’ and the beginning of my name… a silly little wordplay. She love those kinds of games. I mean… she loved them.”

There was a weight in that last word that made the hairs on Jinu’s arms stand on end. He swallowed hard. Maybe it was safer to drink before saying something else equally stupid — so he took a long swig of soju, feeling the liquid burn its way down his throat.

“And… she knew about the Circle?” he asked, even though he already suspected the answer.

“She was one of the founders.”

The statement hit Jinu like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened before he could stop himself.

Ryujin went on, his voice softer now, as if pulling memories from a place buried too deep to be comfortable.

“I mean… there was already something, some attempt at organization. Or rather, disorganization. It was every man for himself. Demons, creatures, even some humans… all with the same desperate longing for something like what we have now. Back then, I wasn’t the type who cared. I didn’t see myself as a leader.” He smiled, but there was no joy in it. “She kind of… pushed me into it.”

Jinu absorbed the words in silence, their weight settling heavily in his chest. He had never met Rumi’s mother, but he had always assumed hunters were raised to hunt demons, not to help them. Rumi was different, of course — half-demon, half-human. Maybe that fracture was what Ryujin had exploited back then… or maybe it was exactly what had drawn him to her in the first place.

But now, seeing Ryujin sitting there with eyes heavy with a pain Jinu didn’t know how to soothe, it felt too cruel to linger on the subject.

He cleared his throat, forcing a lighter tone even though the weight still clung stubbornly to his tongue.

“And what about the Saja…” he began, trying to sound upbeat. He failed miserably, but at least the change of subject was necessary. “You said we could bring them back. But… why?”

“Don’t you want your friends back?” Ryujin asked, a faint smile playing on his lips like he already knew the answer.

Jinu almost let out Baby’s favorite line in that teasing voice: “Demons don’t have friends.” But it would’ve been such a blatant lie that even he would have been annoyed with himself. Because that’s exactly what they were.

“Of course I want them back,” he replied, the words coming out sharper than he intended. “But how could they help? It’s not like I’m trying to delay the glorious moment of dragging them back into this plane again, but—”

“To become a king — or queen — there are certain requirements that must be fulfilled,” Ryujin said, his voice almost professorial. “One’s already been checked off: defeating a king in direct combat. The next step involves more than brute strength. It’s about stability. Making sure the throne holds. And that’s where the generals come in: they support the king, they sustain the reign.”

Jinu nodded slowly, his expression tight. It was impossible not to think of Gwi-Ma’s generals: cruel, arrogant creatures who were — ironically — lazy. They spent their time barking orders, punishing the weak, and feasting on the suffering of others. They never set foot in the human world, of course. That dirty work always fell to demons like Jinu and the other Saja.

“You talk like I’ve already agreed to this insane plan of ‘becoming king,’” Jinu shot back, his fingers tapping impatiently against the glass. “Me and Rumi, I should emphasize. Neither of us has said ‘yes’ to any of this. And if you’re set on pushing this idea forward, you need to talk to her too. I don’t make all the decisions.”

Ryujin grimaced, downing the rest of his soju in one go before letting out a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, I know. I’m… working on it.” He raised his hands in a resigned gesture. “Kind of tricky negotiating with someone who doesn’t even know I exist, don’t you think?”

Touchy subject, Jinu thought. Probably best to steer the conversation elsewhere before it spiraled into yet another uncomfortable topic.

“And about the Saja… how do you plan to bring them back? Actually, how did you even find me?”

“Water. Nari,” Ryujin said with the kind of calm that made it sound like the most obvious answer in the world.

Jinu blinked.

“Water? Nari?” he repeated, suspicious. For a moment, he wondered if the ex-general was already drunk.

Ryujin let out a low chuckle, scratching his head as though searching for the simplest way to explain.

“Water has always had a deep connection with the supernatural in many cultures and beliefs,” he said, his tone growing more serious. “Kaenari could probably explain it better than I can—she’s the nerdy demon here, if we’re being honest—but I’ll try to simplify it.”

He twirled the glass between his fingers, watching the liquid sway in the soft light of the porch.

“Water can act as a channel between worlds, a natural bridge that allows interaction between the mortal plane and the underworld. That’s why springs, rivers, and wells are weak points in the barrier. Nari can sense these fluctuations in energy—she can literally trace the echoes of lost souls. When she detects something, I step in as a catalyst. I use Ma-gi to pull the souls drifting in the limbo—the same limbo where you were—and bring them back.”

Jinu took in every word, his eyes fixed on the ex-general.
“So that’s it… you’re using rivers and lakes like spiritual antennas.”

“Exactly.” Ryujin gave him an approving smile. “But it’s not simple. The process requires an absolutely colossal amount of energy. Reviving demons isn’t like lighting a candle. It’s like igniting an entire sun.”

Jinu nodded silently and knocked back the rest of his soju, the liquid burning slightly as it slid down his throat. A restless heat spread in his chest. Against all odds, he wanted to see it happen. He wanted to witness it with his own eyes.

In the few days since his own resurrection, Jinu had already learned more about the world—and about himself—than in all the years he’d spent wandering the underworld as a shadow of who he used to be. And as strange as it felt, that sensation… it stirred something in him. Something dangerously close to hope.

“Well then, get some rest,” Ryujin said, breaking through his thoughts as he gave Jinu a light pat on the shoulder before rising from the porch with the ease of someone who didn’t carry the weight of seven hellish realms on his back. The ex-general stretched, his silver hair shimmering under the soft light. “And enjoy your party, kid. After all… it is your welcome party.”

Jinu raised a skeptical brow.
“And tomorrow?” he asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

“Tomorrow we start looking for the Saja,” Ryujin said with a faint, infuriatingly calm smile.

“Even though I haven’t said ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to your insane plan to make me king?” Jinu shot back before he could stop himself, his tone sharper than intended.

Ryujin let out a low, easy laugh, the sound so carefree it felt almost out of place in the middle of such a conversation.

“Kid… we’re going to need reinforcements either way,” Ryujin said, his golden eyes narrowing with a seriousness that clashed with the faint smile tugging at his lips. “It doesn’t matter whether you decide to follow my plan or not. The war is coming. And we’re going to need demons who actually know how to fight.”

Jinu opened his mouth to argue, but Ryujin’s next words sliced through the air like a cold blade:

“And if the throne here remains empty… nothing’s stopping the other Seven Kings from claiming it.”

Jinu felt his blood run cold.

“Can you imagine it?” Ryujin went on, his voice still casual, almost amused, though a hidden weight lingered in every syllable. “After taking Gwi-Ma’s throne… what’s to stop them from taking the human realm’s throne too? Two thrones. Two kingdoms. A massacre, guaranteed.”

The words echoed in Jinu’s mind like muffled thunder. Outside, the sound of laughter and music from the Circle still drifted through the night air, but suddenly the party felt… distant. Fragile. Like glass too thin to hold against the image of seven demon kings marching across the human world.

Ryujin raised his empty glass in a lazy farewell gesture.
“Enjoy the evening, kid,” he said, before walking away, his steps far too light for a demon so dangerous.

And then he vanished into the lantern-lit garden, leaving Jinu alone on the porch, clutching his empty glass… and shivering with a chill that not even the soju could burn away.

Chapter Text

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but it was already whispering its arrival. The gray of dawn slowly gave way, brushed with timid shades of orange here and there, while the last stars dwindled in the sky like candles being snuffed out. It was far too early for any human to be awake… and yet, Jinu couldn’t close his eyes.

Sleeping and waking in the human world was still an odd experience for him—almost unnatural. Even during the old missions on Earth, the Saja avoided resting there. It had always been too dangerous: hunters lying in wait, Gwi-Ma’s unpredictable orders… The rule had been simple: complete the job and jump back to the underworld. No roots. No pauses.

Now, everything felt different. Staying here for days on end, feeling the soft weight of a human mattress beneath his body, watching the sunrise through a window… it was a luxury he’d never imagined for himself. Not even during the Saja Boys era—the longest stretch of time he had ever spent in the mortal plane—had he enjoyed this. As much as they were under the glow of human spotlights, they were constantly yanked back into hell, like marionettes in the impatient hands of Gwi-Ma, demanding reports and updates about “the plan.”

But now… there was silence. And a fragile sort of freedom.

He should have been worried, of course—Ryujin had made sure to carve that into his thoughts: an impending war, the absurdity of a vacant throne, the looming threat of the Seven Kings… And yet, Jinu felt something strange bubbling up inside him. A kind of lightness. Maybe even… hope.

With a sigh, he gave up on trying to sleep. It was useless. The anticipation of what was to come—reviving the other Saja—burned in him like glowing embers.

He dressed and made his way downstairs. The house still breathed with the quiet of a post-party hangover: bodies sprawled across couches and rugs, members of the Circle curled up in sleeping bags in the hallways, even makeshift tents dotting the backyard, visible through the windows. These people really knew how to celebrate.

Chuckling softly to himself, Jinu stepped out onto the porch, determined to breathe in the cool morning air. He hadn’t expected to find anyone else awake.

Until he noticed a shadow moving in the garden.

His brows furrowed.

“I don’t believe this…” he muttered under his breath, incredulous.

Between the rows of vegetables, Ryujin moved with the calm precision of someone who wasn’t just awake—he was already working. Is he… planting? At this hour?

“I’m not even sure that bastard sleeps.”

A rough, languid voice echoed behind him, nearly making Jinu jump out of his skin.

He spun on his heels, eyes wide, only to come face-to-face with Noeul.

The elder was still in his pajamas—a dark set far too loose for his thin frame—and his disheveled hair stuck out in rebellious tufts, as if he’d spent the whole night wrestling with a pillow and lost. In his hands, he balanced two steaming mugs of coffee with the kind of ease that felt almost unsettling for someone his age (and his kind).

The smile Noeul gave him was far too calm, almost paternal. For a demon, that should have been a glaring weakness. And yet, here, in this place and in this moment… it felt like a strength.

And, against all odds, Jinu kind of liked it.

“Here.” The old man extended one of the mugs with a gesture so casual it seemed he didn’t even register the weight of the morning. “There’s a bit of Dalbyeol mixed in.”

His voice was low and smooth, carrying a serenity that somehow managed to be both irritating and soothing at the same time.

Jinu took the mug without thinking twice. Bad idea.

The first sip hit like a chemical bomb: earthy, bitter, and thick, the kind of taste that made his whole body flinch. The caffeine helped mask some of the impact, but not enough.

“Ugh…” he muttered, grimacing as he forced it down. “This tastes like… poison.”

“Mhm.” Noeul made a sound that could’ve been a stifled laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement. “The herb isn’t exactly known for its flavor. But it’s excellent for restoring energy… and for quieting that hunger you’ve been pretending you don’t feel.”

That sly little smile on the old man’s lips—it was almost diabolical. The kind of smile from someone who knows exactly what’s going on in your head… and enjoys watching you squirm.

Jinu opened his mouth to protest—

But then he felt it.

First, a gentle warmth spread down his throat, rolling out like embers under his skin. Then, a subtle tingling raced through his limbs before dissolving into a rare sense of fullness. The hunger—that gnawing, ever-present ache deep in his stomach—finally went quiet.

He inhaled slowly, trying to mask his surprise.

Okay. Maybe the taste was worth it.

“And what about him… you said he hasn’t slept?” Jinu asked, nodding toward Ryujin’s silhouette in the garden, crouched low among the vegetables.

“Ah… he’s anxious.” Noeul sighed, bringing the mug to his lips. The sharp scent of Dalbyeol mingled with the earthy aroma of dawn. “You must have noticed by now—Ryujin won’t rest until he believes everyone’s safe. That there won’t be a massacre, or some catastrophic disaster. As long as he thinks there’s still something he can do to stop it… he’ll stay like this. Obsessive.”

Jinu nodded slowly, his eyes locked on the ex-general’s figure. Ryujin looked almost serene there, working the damp soil with his bare hands, and yet it was hard to reconcile that image with everything Jinu knew about him: Rumi’s father. Jinu’s savior. The potential architect of an insane future where the demon throne hung within reach.

There were so many layers to that man Jinu still couldn’t begin to unravel.

“He wasn’t always like this,” Noeul murmured suddenly.

“Huh?” Jinu turned to the elder, brow furrowed.

“When you were reborn in the underworld… I’m guessing you never met General Ryujin.” The weight in Noeul’s voice was heavy, almost melancholic. “Back when he served Gwi-Ma.”

“N-no…” Jinu replied hesitantly. “You knew him then?”

“Oh, yes.” Noeul let out a dry laugh, devoid of any humor. “And let me tell you—he was terrifying. I’d even say Gwi-Ma himself felt relieved when Ryujin left to serve another demon king.”

“Relieved?” Jinu gave a nervous laugh. “Are you telling me Gwi-Ma… was afraid of him?”

“Maybe,” Noeul said, shrugging like it no longer mattered.

Jinu swallowed hard, dragging his gaze back to Ryujin. There he was… watering plants like some humble gardener — wearing a T-shirt with a glittery unicorn slogan.

This has to be a joke.

“He’s changed a lot,” Noeul went on, his eyes distant. “And when he chose to exile himself in the human world, I never imagined he’d step into the role of a leader. Back then, he was more like a wild beast… unchained. Masterless.”

The elder took another slow sip of his coffee and let out a long sigh.
“But a beast who, once it locks onto its prey… never lets go.”

Jinu huffed softly, bringing the mug to his lips to hide the nervous smirk threatening to surface.
“How… reassuring,” he muttered, forcing down another mouthful of that bitter sludge without grimacing.

“Ah, don’t be so tense…” Noeul said gently, his voice laced with an old sadness but softened by a faint smile. “He’s no villain. Not anymore, at least. And for that, we have Ryu to thank. The huntress. Amazing how love can accelerate a man’s transformation… Ryujin was always a rebel. That much isn’t new. But he lacked a cause. Ryu Miyeong gave him one, so to speak.”

Jinu nodded faintly, his gaze drifting as his mind tangled itself in thoughts he wasn’t ready to unravel. His eyes landed on his wrist.

The bracelet was still there.

It was a delicate cord, yet sturdy, woven in deep blues and violets with an elegant, almost intricate pattern. At its center, a knot shaped like a flower — perfectly symmetrical petals arranged in such a refined design it seemed impossible that it had survived the chaos of the underworld.

And yet… there it was.

When Ryujin had brought him back, Jinu had reappeared completely naked (a memory that still made him wince from sheer micro-trauma). But… on his wrist, there had been something he didn’t notice until much later: the bracelet Rumi had given him during the only meeting they’d ever shared.

Not that it was a date. Of course not. It was strategic. Yes. Purely strategic. But… well. Maybe it had been a kind of date. In its own strange way.

It didn’t make sense.

The bracelet shouldn’t have stayed with him. It shouldn’t have crossed the limbo along with his shattered soul. There was no logic to it.

And yet… there it was.

Love.
The word felt far too strange in Jinu’s mind. Too sharp. Too dangerous. But if that feeling had been powerful enough to change someone like Ryujin — the former general feared even by Gwi-Ma — then what would stop it from…

“GOOD MORNING!”

Ryujin’s voice yanked Jinu out of his thoughts, so chipper it almost felt illegal at this hour. The sun hadn’t even fully risen yet, and there he was, grinning like it was four in the afternoon instead of four in the morning.

“Up early, huh?”

“You should get some rest…” Noeul grumbled in the gruff tone of a tired father dealing with an impossible son. “Before you go around resurrecting demons like you’re out shopping for vegetables at the market.”

“I’ve rested enough,” Ryujin shot back with a half-smile — the kind that clearly said, don’t bother arguing, I’ll do whatever I want.

“Be patient with him, Jinu,” Noeul said, giving the younger demon a gentle pat on the shoulder. “He’s stubborn, a bit of a workaholic, sure… but despite everything, he’s got a good heart.”

“Ugh.” Ryujin pulled a theatrical face as he snatched the coffee mug from the elder’s hands. “What are you drinking, old man? That stuff’s making you sentimental. Careful you don’t go senile before your time.”

“Oh, stop it,” Noeul retorted, pretending to be annoyed, but the act dissolved quickly into a warm, low chuckle.

Jinu watched them — the stark contrast between the serene elder and the hyperactive ex-general — and found himself letting out a faint, reluctant smile.

Okay.
Maybe he could try to have a little more patience with Ryujin. Maybe.

But that didn’t mean he was ready to buy into all this talk of thrones, crowns, and kings and queens.

Not yet.

“Couldn’t this energy of Jinu’s be, I don’t know… on a beach somewhere? Maybe at a fancy resort? Or better yet, a spa—you know, the kind with hot stone massages?” Zoey mused with a dramatic sigh, her elbows resting on the side of the convertible as the wind whipped her light brown hair into even more of a mess around her loose bun.

The road ahead snaked lazily through the countryside, pulling them farther and farther from the chaos of Seoul. Towering skyscrapers and honking horns had long faded into memory, replaced by rice paddies, rolling hills, and the occasional tiled roof of a lone hanok peeking through the landscape. The air felt fresher out here, carrying hints of damp earth and wildflowers.

“I’m not so sure Jinu’s following a vacation itinerary, Zoey,” Mira replied with that dry, almost sarcastic calm she had perfected over the years, adjusting her sunglasses higher on her nose. Her red hair—shot through with streaks of deep crimson and burnt orange—danced in the breeze as her hands kept a steady, sure grip on the wheel.

“If it even is Jinu,” Mira added, her tone laced with subtle suspicion as her eyes—hidden now behind dark lenses—flicked briefly toward Rumi in the passenger seat.

Rumi didn’t answer right away. Sitting stiff-backed, her gaze was locked on some indistinct point in the passing scenery outside the window, too fast to focus on. In her lap, the yellow-eyed crow shifted slightly, its thin talons dimpling the fabric of her pants but never breaking the skin. Derpy, the blue tiger, lounged lazily across the backseat beside Zoey, his bushy tail swishing in slow, measured arcs while his half-lidded eyes suggested he was somewhere between alert and dozing.

“Rumi… you okay?” Zoey asked, her voice tinged with genuine concern as she leaned forward slightly. “Don’t tell me it’s a stomachache. I told you not to inhale that spicy seafood salad for breakfast! That’s not something a normal person eats before a road trip!”

“It’s not a stomachache,” Rumi said, her voice low and slightly tense, as though she needed to summon strength just to push her thoughts aside. “I’m fine… I’m just trying to focus on the energy.”

She exhaled slowly and turned slightly to face her friends. Her eyes—normally steady and unreadable—held a flicker of anxiety.

“And yes, it’s very likely Jinu, okay?” she added, a little too quickly, her words tumbling out in a mix of nerves, expectation, and a faint edge of fear.

Mira arched a perfectly shaped brow, her lips curving into a smile so sharp it could cut glass.

“‘Very likely,’ huh?” she said, her tone dripping with dry, razor-edged irony. “That doesn’t sound scientific at all, Rumi. It sounds a lot more like ‘wishful thinking from a girl with a crush.’”

Rumi averted her gaze, heat creeping up her cheeks despite her best efforts to stay composed. Her fingers stroked the soft feathers of the crow in her lap absentmindedly, as if the gentle motion might soothe the storm raging in her mind.

“What if it’s not him? What if it’s a trap, like Mira said?” The thought tightened her jaw, but she swallowed it down before it could slip out. Not now. She had to stay focused… right?

“Well, whether it’s Jinu or not, how long are we gonna keep driving in circles chasing this mysterious energy?” Zoey broke the heavy silence with her usual bubbly enthusiasm, already holding up her phone with Google Maps glowing on the screen. “Maybe we should start figuring out where we’re stopping for lunch!”

“Lunch?” Mira nearly choked, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Zoey, we literally ate like… forty minutes ago.”

“So what?” Zoey shot back, as cheerful as a kid heading to an amusement park. “It’s always good to plan ahead! What if we stumble across some super exotic restaurant?”

“Exotic?” Mira echoed, her tone dripping with dangerous skepticism.

“Yeah! Like… roasted scorpions! Or one of those places where you eat blindfolded, you know? Oh! Or I heard about this restaurant built on top of a haunted sidewalk. It must be an unforgettable experience for your taste buds—and for the ghosts!”

Mira et out a sharp exhale, her jaw tightening as her fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white.

“Zoey… just drop it,” she muttered, trying hard to stay calm. “I’ll find us a decent restaurant myself.”

“Geez, Mira. Such ‘serious aunt’ vibes,” Zoey teased with a fake pout before returning her attention to her phone, scrolling away happily.

In the passenger seat, Rumi couldn’t help but let out a small smile. For a fleeting moment, warmth spread in her chest. Even if this leads to nothing… she thought, watching her friends bicker playfully. I’m here with them. We’re laughing. It almost feels like we’re really on vacation.

But then something shifted.

A shiver raced down Rumi’s spine—an intense, raw wave of energy, almost electric, surging through her body and making every nerve stand on end. It was too familiar. Too hot. Like a call she couldn’t ignore.

“Wait!” she shouted suddenly, her voice so loud Mira slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching against the asphalt.

The car jolted violently, throwing Zoey forward along with Derpy, who let out a disgruntled yowl that sounded almost human.

“Ow! What the hell was that?!” Zoey complained, fixing her messy bun while the blue tiger in the backseat gave her a look that seemed to demand answers too.

“There!” Rumi exclaimed, her finger pointing firmly at a fork in the road ahead. Her heart pounded so fast it felt like it might burst out of her chest. “I can feel the energy. It’s… pulling me… that way. We need to turn!”

“Okay, okay! I get it, Miss Psychic.” Mira grumbled, pressing the gas pedal again with a deep sigh. “But don’t scream like that again or I swear I’ll have a heart attack right here!”

As the car turned onto the secondary road, an old wooden sign appeared by the roadside, its elegant Korean letters worn slightly with age:
“Cheongpyeong Lake – 3 km”

“Ahhh! A lake! Perfect!” Zoey squealed, already shifting into full-on picnic mode. “We could have lunch by the water! Just like those scenes in K-dramas… except with less awkward romance.”

Mira shot her a look of pure sarcasm in the rearview mirror.

“Let’s focus on figuring out this whole ‘mystical-energy-that-may-or-may-not-be-Jinu’ thing first. Then we can think about picnic baskets, okay?”

Rumi, however, barely registered their playful bickering. The pulse of energy within her was growing stronger by the second—almost physical now, like invisible hands pulling her straight toward the lake.

It was undeniable.
It was real.
And it was so… close.

Chapter Text

Better come right, better luck tryin’, gettin’ to our level
'Cause you might die, never the time, tryna start a battle
Bleeding isn’t in my blood, 뼈속부터 달라서
Beating you is what I do, do, do, yeah
Body on body, I’m naughty, not even sorry
And when you pull up, I’ll pull up…

The music from Huntr/x was blasting through the truck’s speakers, filling the cab with pounding bass and vocals dripping with attitude. The sound was so loud the dashboard seemed to vibrate in time with the beat.

Jinu found himself smirking without even realizing it. It wasn’t just because of the song—though, yes, Rumi’s voice always sent an odd little chill down his spine—but also because Ryujin was singing along with ridiculous enthusiasm, like some die-hard, card-carrying fanboy.

It was absurd… and yet strangely endearing.

Then, before he could stop himself, a thought slipped into Jinu’s head—one he absolutely shouldn’t be entertaining: what if Rumi and Ryujin ever sang together? Father and daughter, two voices in perfect harmony. Would the barrier between worlds explode from the sheer power? Or would Rumi bolt the moment she realized her dad was a diehard fan of her band?

Well… come to think of it, Ryujin hadn’t played a single Saja Boys song in the truck since Jinu’s return. Not even once. Not that Jinu was bothered by it. Okay… maybe just a little. But whatever. Let’s ignore that.

The truck barreled down the road like an arrow, the engine purring under Ryujin’s steady grip on the wheel. On the dashboard, the GPS screen showed a big red X stamped over a map of Korea.

“Cheongpyeong Lake…” Jinu murmured under his breath, almost whispering so he wouldn’t interrupt Ryujin’s enthusiastic singing.

“Artificial lake,” Ryujin chimed in suddenly, his voice dropping into that annoyingly professor-like tone. Much to Jinu’s dismay, he stopped singing to launch into one of his impromptu lectures.

“It was created in 1944 when the Cheongpyeong Dam was built to block the Bukhangang River. It’s an easy body of water to locate and… well, just imagine if the energy had manifested in a more awkward spot. Like inside someone’s bathroom. Or worse—a public bathhouse.”

Jinu blinked, alarmed.

“Wait—that can happen?!” he asked, his voice pitching higher than intended. His wide-eyed expression betrayed the spike of panic crawling up his spine.

“You were found in the middle of a rice field, Demon-boy.”

The mocking voice came from Hwanwoo, the eternally-irritating red-haired gumiho lounging in the back seat. He rested his elbows on his knees, his messy hair whipping in the breeze from the open window.

“When it comes to tracking down these lost souls, the only requirement is the presence of a body of water. And that could be anything—a lake, a puddle, a kiddie pool. There’s nothing glamorous about it.”

“Right…” Jinu muttered in agreement, though his mind was already spiraling into absurd scenarios. What if they had to retrieve a Saja from inside an aquarium? Or, worse, from the fountain at a shopping mall?

He sighed, forcing the thought away—but then his eyes latched onto something else.

Ryujin’s shirt.

Okay. That was it. Officially nonsense.

They were about to embark on an extremely important mission: reviving the first Saja, kickstarting a plan involving demon thrones, and prepping for an impending war that could decide the fate of two worlds. And what was the ex-general wearing?

A T-shirt with a sparkly unicorn and bold, glittering letters that read:

“BELIEVE IN MAGIC.”

Jinu blinked slowly, his brain struggling to process the scene.

“What?” Ryujin asked, catching the younger demon’s stare.

“Nothing,” Jinu replied too quickly, darting his gaze back to the windshield.

“What? You got a problem with unicorns?” Ryujin pressed, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smirk.

“No…” Jinu said, trying to sound convincing. “I just… thought it was… bold.”

“Excellent choice of attire!” Hwanwoo chimed in from the back, his tone dripping with exaggerated admiration. It was the kind of comment that made Jinu arch a brow in suspicion. For a split second, he assumed the fox spirit was just brown-nosing the ex-general.

“After all,” Hwanwoo went on, deadly serious, “everyone knows how ferocious unicorns are.”

Jinu chuckled under his breath, assuming it was a joke—naturally.

Except… the smile froze on his face the moment he realized neither Hwanwoo nor the ex-general were laughing.

Both of them were staring at him with unsettling seriousness.

“Wait… you’re serious?” Jinu asked cautiously, his gaze flicking between the two.

“Oh, absolutely.” Ryujin nodded slowly, his face solemn, like he was narrating some ancient tragedy. “You’ve never come across a real unicorn—that’s why you’re laughing. But they are bloodthirsty creatures.”

He paused dramatically, eyes fixed on the horizon as if conjuring long-buried memories.

“We should be grateful there are so few of them left these days. Climate change has practically driven them to the edge of extinction. If we were living in another era, I wouldn’t even have to worry about an invasion from the underworld—unicorns would’ve wiped out every last demon, king, general… everyone.”

Ryujin leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, ominous whisper:

“With their horns infused with magic… they’d impale everything in their path. No mercy. No exceptions.”

A heavy silence settled over the truck. Jinu swallowed hard, a chill running down his spine as he tried to process this completely new—and deeply unsettling—piece of information. Bloodthirsty… unicorns?

And then—

Hwanwoo burst out laughing, a loud, mocking sound that filled the cabin. Ryujin followed suit, his laugh quieter but no less amused.

Jinu blinked, confused. And then it hit him.

Ah. It was a joke. A stupid joke.

Heat crept up his cheeks as he leaned back in his seat, doing his best to reclaim whatever shred of dignity he had left.

“Oh gods, you should’ve seen your face!” Hwanwoo cackled, his laughter so intense that his fox-like eyes watered. “I bet you were already picturing rainbow-colored unicorns flying around and trampling demon generals into the dirt!”

The gumiho reached over to poke Jinu’s cheek, but the young demon reacted faster—he grabbed Hwanwoo’s wrist in a tight grip and shoved it away with a sharp motion.

“And remind me again… why are you even here?” Jinu growled, his tone colder than he intended.

“Reinforcements, of course!” Hwanwoo replied with a feline grin, raising both hands in an exaggerated gesture of innocence. “Who knows what kind of trouble you two are going to run into out there… And no offense, Jinu, but I’m not sure you’re up to the task of keeping Ryujin on track.”

Jinu narrowed his eyes, a faint golden glint flashing in his irises.
“My power’s already back, Hwanwoo,” he said, his voice steady, controlled. “I think I’m a lot more useful than you give me credit for.”

“Really?” Hwanwoo raised a brow, his tone dripping with mockery.

“Really.”

“Maybe Ryujin should pull over so we can put that to the test. What do you say?” the gumiho taunted, leaning forward like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Anytime you want, fox.” Jinu shot back without hesitation, his tone low and sharp as a blade.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Ryujin cut in, his voice carrying that infuriating calm of someone far too used to breaking up fights like this. “No brawling in the truck. We’re almost at the lake.”

He let out a lazy sigh, but there was a flicker of warning in his golden eyes.
“And honestly… I don’t need backup. Nothing happened last time, and nothing’s going to happen now.”

The old truck groaned as Ryujin parked near the lake, the engine giving one last tired sigh before falling silent.

Jinu was the first to step out, the cool breeze brushing against his face as his golden eyes swept across the scene ahead. Cheongpyeong Lake was even more breathtaking in person than in the photos he’d scrolled through on his phone: an expanse of crystalline water reflecting the sky like a liquid mirror, surrounded by lush, towering mountains that looked like natural fortresses. In the distance, the silhouette of an amusement park emerged, its colorful Ferris wheel spinning lazily against the horizon.

Despite the serene beauty, the place was far from isolated. People crowded the shoreline, laughing as they zipped across the water on jet skis, paddled boats, and clung to banana rafts dragged by speedboats. Bursts of music from a distant speaker mixed with the sound of waves and cheerful shrieks echoing across the lake.

“Of course,” Jinu thought with a flash of irony. “Because obviously the perfect spot to revive a demon would be a resort swarming with oblivious humans.”

“We’ll need to find somewhere more secluded,” Ryujin said, as if reading his thoughts. “I don’t want an audience for what we’re about to do.”

They veered off the main road onto a dirt path, following it until they reached a quieter stretch of shoreline shaded by a cluster of pine trees. Here, the breeze carried the crisp scent of freshwater mingled with the earthy aroma of damp leaves.

Ryujin seemed like a different man now. He’d adjusted his appearance with Ma-gi: the ashen undertones of his skin were gone, replaced by a healthy, human warmth. His eyes glimmered with a soft hazel flecked with violet, and his usually luminous silver hair had darkened, tied back in a loose knot at the nape of his neck. To the casual observer, he could pass for human—an absurdly strong, intimidating human, but human nonetheless. Still, if you caught him at just the right angle, in just the right light, you could swear you saw the faint glow of demonic tattoos beneath his skin, like embers slumbering under the surface.

Jinu, too, shifted his appearance with Ma-gi, softening the sharper demon features to appear more human. Even so, he pulled a black mask up over the lower half of his face. The reasoning was simple: he’d already attracted far too much attention in his life as an idol—the last thing he needed now was some fan snapping a photo and posting, “Guess who I just spotted at Cheongpyeong Lake 👀” on Instagram.

Hwanwoo, on the other hand, clearly didn’t know the meaning of the word discreet. The gumiho strolled along in a blindingly bright orange jacket—practically fluorescent—and his fiery red hair caught the sunlight like dancing flames. He was impossible to miss. If demons ever published a handbook on stealth, Hwanwoo would be the first illustration with a massive “DON’T DO THIS” stamped across the page in bold letters.

“Seriously? Do you even understand the concept of staying low-profile?” Jinu muttered, shooting the redhead a sharp look. “Or are you actively trying to be a walking lighthouse?”

“Confidence is the best camouflage,” Hwanwoo replied lazily, flashing a feline grin and a deliberate wink.

Ryujin tossed a backpack to the ground and began handing out rubber boots.
“Put these on. I don’t want to hear either of you whining about cold water.”

Jinu stared at the rubber boots like they were some alien accessory but accepted them without comment. Hwanwoo, of course, made a show of pulling his on with an exaggerated flourish, like he was strutting down a fashion runway.

“So, what’s the plan?” Jinu asked, folding his arms as he watched Ryujin step purposefully toward the water’s edge.

“You two aren’t doing anything,” Ryujin replied flatly, already wading into the lake. The surface rippled around him, small waves radiating outward as though the water recognized his presence. “I’ll use my Ma-gi to track and pull the Saja’s soul back into this plane.”

“And us?” Hwanwoo chimed in, his tone so casual it was almost mocking.

“You’re on guard duty,” Ryujin said without glancing back.

“Aye-aye, General!” Hwanwoo replied with theatrical enthusiasm, snapping his hand to his forehead in a mock salute.

Jinu sighed, feeling the weight of the moment tangled with the ridiculous, chaotic energy of the gumiho.

Reviving a demon in broad daylight, with jet skis and happy tourists nearby. What could possibly go wrong?

Jinu sat at the edge of the lake, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on Ryujin’s silhouette with a mix of anxiety and fascination. The former general had waded a few meters into the water, which now barely reached the tops of his rubber boots.

Around him, Jinu could see the faint lines of the magical barrier—like invisible threads vibrating in the air, reacting to Ryujin’s presence with a subtle tremor, as if plucked by unseen fingers. A shiver ran down his spine.

And then Ryujin began to sing.

His voice was deep, guttural, resonant—but there was a strange harmony to it, one that made the hairs on the back of Jinu’s neck stand on end. The language wasn’t Korean. In fact, it wasn’t any language he recognized. The melody sounded primal, ancient… almost feral.

And beautiful. In a terrifying sort of way.

The sound reverberated in the air like invisible waves, and Jinu swore he could see shapes materializing in the vibrations: symbols, spirals, fragments of light that danced over the water like fireworks made of pure energy. The barrier pulsed. The world itself seemed to hum in response.

“He said that song comes from the underworld,” Hwanwoo murmured beside him, watching the scene with a level of boredom that felt wildly inappropriate. “I think it’s an ancient tongue… from the primordial demons. Or something like that.”

“I… I don’t know this language,” Jinu admitted, his gaze still locked on the mesmerizing display. The song felt alive. It didn’t just fill the air—it seemed to shape it. As if the sound itself was bending reality.

“Well, Ryujin basically said you’re ignorant,” the fox-demon commented casually.

Jinu blinked, whipping his head around to glare at him, outrage written all over his face.
“Hey!”

“I didn’t say stupid. Just… ignorant.” Hwanwoo shrugged. “Apparently your boss wasn’t big on sharing information, huh?”

“He wasn’t my boss. More like… my master. And I was the servant stuck in a contract nobody read properly,” Jinu muttered. “But you’re not wrong. He never taught us anything.”

Jinu gestured toward Ryujin.
“If Gwi-Ma had shown that kind of power… the demons would’ve started a revolution ages ago.”

Hwanwoo nodded, and for once, there was a flicker of rare seriousness in his expression.

But then… something shifted.
A dissonance. A sound that didn’t belong to the melody.

Jinu felt it first—a disturbance in the barrier, like a subtle tear in the fabric of reality. Ryujin felt it too. He stopped singing for a split second and turned slowly, his eyes wide with alarm.

And then the rift opened.

It tore through the air beside them like a blazing cut, unlike any passage between worlds Jinu had ever seen. This one vibrated in scorching shades of red, radiating heat so intense it made the water nearby bubble and hiss. Steam rose in thick waves, like the breath of hell itself, and the air filled with a metallic scent—boiling blood and seared iron.

And from the rift… they emerged.

Demons. But not like the Saja.

They were tall, their skin a dark, smoldering crimson, as if carved from living coal. Their bodies were covered in glowing tattoos, each mark pulsing like embers embedded in flesh. Their eyes—not gold like Jinu’s—but deep, burning red, veins bulging as if weeping molten lava. In their hands, they gripped grotesque war hammers forged from bone and fragments of skulls, the edges lined with jagged slabs of obsidian-black stone. Horns curled from their foreheads like brittle, splintered branches.

“Well, well… what do we have here?” one of them growled, his smile anything but human. “Master Jakdo said we’d find a surprise waiting for us. And look at that… isn’t this the infamous Ryujin, the traitor? The King of Wrath will be delighted to receive your head as a gift.”

King of Wrath?

Jinu shot to his feet in an instant, Ma-gi already swirling in his palms. Around him, a black mist began to coalesce—thick, cold, alive.

But Ryujin couldn’t move. He was locked in the summoning, the ritual still incomplete, the flow of energy around him dangerously unstable. Breaking it now could be catastrophic.

They had to protect him.

“Damn it,” Jinu growled, his golden eyes igniting with light.

The first demon charged, raising his hammer with enough force to splinter a tree in two. He leapt, aiming straight for Ryujin—

And never even got close.

A white blur shot across his field of vision like lightning.

A creature of pure elegance and fury materialized between the demon and Ryujin, its jaws clamping down on the hammer’s handle with razor-sharp fangs.

It was a fox. Enormous. Almost ethereal.

Its fur glimmered like snow under moonlight, and nine sweeping tails swirled around it like ribbons of silver smoke. Each tail thrummed with ancient energy, forming a protective circle around Ryujin. The creature’s eyes burned with a piercing silver-blue glow—calm yet deadly.

Hwanwoo, in his true form. The nine-tailed gumiho.

“Don’t even think about touching him,” the fox growled, its voice reverberating between worlds, too powerful to belong to a mortal throat.

Another demon snarled in response and lunged toward Ryujin.

Jinu didn’t hesitate. He thrust his arm forward, and his black mist spread out like a tidal wave. Shadowy tendrils burst from the ground, coiling around the creature’s ankles and yanking it down with a guttural roar. The air sizzled with demonic energy as the creature twisted its head sharply, its blood-red eyes locking onto Jinu.

“You’ll regret that,” it snarled.

Jinu swallowed hard.

“…Okay. Maybe that wasn’t my smartest move.”

“There’s something wrong. Very wrong,” Mira growled, her brow furrowed as she pushed forward along the narrow trail. Her spear was already summoned, the golden blade humming as though it, too, sensed the tension in the air. “Do you feel that? First this Jinu guy’s energy, and now the barrier cracking? It was supposed to be solid as stone!”

“The barrier should be reinforced to the max…” Zoey echoed, her voice tight with a mix of frustration and panic. Her fingers brushed against the magical threads surrounding them, feeling them tremble like the strings of an out-of-tune instrument. Razor-thin blades formed around her, spinning in the air like deadly petals. “Seriously, this doesn’t feel like a mission anymore. This feels like a disaster. We should be at the beach right now! I should be in a bikini, not packing weapons!”

“Focus, Zoey,” Mira snapped, her eyes locked on the path ahead.

“This energy…” Rumi murmured, her breathing quick and uneven. She was in the lead, sword drawn, the blue glow of the blade pulsing like a heartbeat. “I can feel Jinu… but there’s something else. Do you feel it? It’s… different. Corrosive. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

“I feel it. And I don’t like it,” Mira said, gripping her spear tighter, her knuckles turning white. “It’s like hell itself decided to vomit its essence right here.”

The three of them sprinted along the dirt path, their footsteps muffled under the thick canopy of trees. The air was dense, heavy, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

And then, the lake came into view.

With it… chaos.

The surface of the water boiled, steam rising in suffocating whirlwinds. A searing red fissure split the air — not just a portal, but a wound in reality, its edges crackling like live embers. The energy spilling out of it clawed at the flesh of anyone nearby, burning and choking with invisible talons.

And from it… they had emerged.

Two colossal demons, their skin the color of molten magma, their muscles carved like living stone. Black, twisted horns jutted from their foreheads, and their bodies were etched with glowing demonic tattoos — lines pulsing crimson, as though rivers of lava flowed beneath their skin. In their eyes, nothing but pure, liquid rage — pools of blood and concentrated hate. They wielded monstrous hammers, forged from fused bones and raw metal, serrated teeth embedded in their edges.

But that wasn’t all.

A creature as white as snow stood before one of them — a massive fox with nine tails undulating like spectral serpents, each one thrumming with nearly tangible energy. The light radiating from its fur was soft, yet deadly, and its silver-blue eyes burned with ancient power. The creature’s jaws were clamped tight around the shaft of one demon’s hammer, its fangs biting down with enough force to splinter the metal.

And out on the lake…
A man stood partially submerged, his body wrapped in an aura that sent ripples through the barrier surrounding him. It didn’t feel like a malevolent energy, but it was unstable — as if it could explode at any second.

And then Rumi saw him.

“JINU!”
Her voice ripped through the air, a raw scream echoing across the lake.

Rumi’s heart nearly stopped.

There he was, just a few meters away — Jinu, suspended in midair, his fragile frame dwarfed by the massive demon gripping his neck with a single blackened hand. Faint streaks of dark energy flickered from Jinu’s arm, trying desperately to push back, but the creature’s hold was too strong. The demon grinned, baring fangs as long and sharp as daggers.

“He’s going to die again…”
It was the only thought that blazed through her mind before her body moved on its own.

“Rumi! Wait!” Mira’s voice rang out behind her — but it was already too late.

The huntress charged down the lakeshore, her sword bursting into blue flames. Power crackled so fiercely around her that even the grass beneath her feet ignited, burning in her wake.

Someone shouted his name.
Jinu heard it — the sound slicing through the air like an arrow — but he was a little too busy trying not to die. Specifically, trying not to get strangled by a hand the size of a street sign.

“So it’s you…” the red-skinned demon growled, leaning in until its hot, fetid breath filled Jinu’s lungs. Its eyes blazed like burning coals. “Gwi-Ma’s little pet, huh? The obedient insect…”

The claws tightened around his throat, his skin threatening to split under the pressure.

“My master’s heard of you. He even wanted to meet you, you know? But he’ll be disappointed…” the voice dripped with contempt, almost sing-song. “So weak. So… human. No rage in you. Just guilt. Typical Gwi-Ma trash.”

Jinu clawed for air, his vision already fraying at the edges, flecked with white stars. And yet — as usual — his mouth didn’t seem to understand the concept of danger.

“And you… talk too much,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “Also, your breath? Horrific. Don’t they have toothbrushes in your realm? Or is your king too cheap to spring for dental care?”

Maybe, just maybe, taunting an enraged demon while it’s choking you wasn’t the brightest idea.

The demon snarled.
“WORM—”

But whatever it planned to do next… never happened.

There was a sharp sound — like metal slicing through the air itself — and suddenly the world seemed to slow. Something incandescent flashed before Jinu’s eyes, a line of light so hot and alive it forced him to shut them tight.

The hand gripping his neck was severed in a burst of black blood. Literally. The hand. It had been cut clean off.

Jinu dropped to the ground, gasping, his lungs burning as they struggled to pull in air. The icy lake water soaked the hem of his pants, but he barely felt it. His gaze lifted… and then he saw her.

There she was.

Rumi.

Her lavender-braided hair whipped in the wind, loose strands clinging to her skin, damp with sweat and splattered with demon blood. Golden lines of demonic tattoos shimmered along her arms and neck, thrumming with an energy so potent it seemed to warp the very air around her. The sword in her hand pulsed as though it were alive, hungry for more combat.

Jinu’s heart simply… stopped.

“Rumi…” he whispered, his voice fragile and trembling, as though her name was too sacred to speak aloud.

She turned slowly, her eyes locking on his. For a moment, the world seemed to collapse in on itself, leaving only the two of them—like the chaos and the mutilated demon’s roar were muffled by the frantic pounding of their hearts.

She smiled. A small, almost hesitant smile that made his chest ache with things he couldn’t name.

“Hi…” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that cut through the cold lake air.

Jinu blinked. After everything they’d been through, everything they’d lost… after dying, being dragged back, and facing horrors no one should face… that’s what she managed to say?

“Hi…” he echoed, the word awkward and wholly inadequate. Over 200 years of existence and that’s the best you’ve got to offer.

“So…” he heard himself say in a desperate attempt to fill the silence, “you come here often?”

Do you come here often? Seriously? Jinu groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to punch himself in the face.

Rumi arched an eyebrow—and then… she laughed. A clear, warm sound that made Jinu’s stomach twist and, for a brief moment, made the entire world feel a little less terrible.

“Not usually,” she replied, still laughing, a faint blush blooming on her cheeks. “But being a hunter kind of drags me into places like this. And you? Do you visit lakes infested with murderous demons often?”

This time it was Jinu’s turn to laugh, the sound coming out lighter than he expected.

“Not as often as I’d like,” he quipped, and her eyes sparkled with something—hope… fear… and something else, something he didn’t dare put into words.

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, just staring at each other. Strangely, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like a reprieve. Like, for one precious moment, the weight of the world had been lifted.

And then reality crashed back in.

“RUMI!” Mira’s voice rang out, thick with panic. “STOP DAYDREAMING! THE DEMON!”

The roar behind them was like thunder. The red demon, still with one functional hand, raised its hammer with enough force to smash through a car—or a hunter and a demon alike. The sound of metal slicing through the air made Jinu’s stomach twist.

The moment shattered.
And chaos… came rushing back.

Chapter Text

Hongdae pulsed like a living creature that night.

The streets were drenched in color, sound, and smell — the sweet aroma of fried rice cakes mingled with spilled beer on the sidewalks, the sharp twang of a guitar drifting out of an underground bar competing with the pounding bass from a nearby club. Neon signs flickered red and blue, their glow reflecting off the rain-slick asphalt like liquid light.

This was the kind of place where street artists gathered around freshly painted graffiti, hip-hop dancers broke into impromptu routines for mesmerized crowds, and teenage couples strolled hand in hand, laughing like the world was still a safe place.

And Ryu loved every second of it.

She thrived on the raw energy, the creative chaos, the way each corner seemed to hum with a new melody waiting to be discovered. It was impossible not to get swept up in the electric vibe of the district—especially now, in the fervor of the post-Asian financial crisis and the rise of the first Hallyu Wave, as the Korean government poured resources into the cultural industry, turning young talents into global icons.

And there they were: The Sunlight Sisters, a trio that had started almost as an excuse to hunt demons in crowded streets… and had somehow become a sensation among alternative music fans. Ryu’s body still buzzed from their show hours earlier, the roar of applause echoing in her memory like a second heartbeat pounding in her chest.

But of course, Celine had to ruin the mood.

"Ryu, we really need to focus more on the ‘hunter’ part and less on the ‘rockstar’ thing…” Celine’s calm voice rang in her head like a gentle reprimand.

Ryu rolled her eyes, muttering to herself as she darted down a narrow alleyway, dodging clusters of youths and a couple carrying cotton candy big enough to qualify as a small planet.

Okay, maybe she should have been taking the hunt more seriously. Maybe it wasn’t her brightest idea to chase after a demon straight after a gig—especially with her guitar still slung over her shoulder like some flashy stage prop.

But what could she do? The scent of the underworld still clung to the air, sharp and metallic, like the creature had only just passed through.

And the worst part? She was nervous. Really nervous.

Her fingers clutched the strap of her guitar too tightly, her heart pounding not just from the run but from the creeping certainty that something—or someone—was watching her from the shadows.

God… why couldn’t these things ever happen in a quiet PC bang, with cappuccinos and a decent connection?

She sprinted down the narrow alley, her footsteps echoing off the grime-smeared walls stacked high with sour-smelling garbage bags. The stench blended with the dense, metallic trace of the underworld—the unmistakable signature of a demon.

It was close. She could feel its energy vibrating in the air like the off-key hum of an untuned instrument.

But where?

The alley ended in nothing but dented trash cans, soggy cardboard boxes from the drizzle, and… cockroaches. So many cockroaches. Ryu nearly screamed when one skittered across her boot.

“Ugh! Why does it always have to be cockroaches?” she muttered, jumping back. Yeah, this was definitely not where she wanted to be.

If the demon had any brains, it had probably already climbed to higher ground.

Ryu lifted her gaze.

And then she saw it.

A shadow outlined against the faint glow of a flickering neon sign on the edge of the building. Her eyes narrowed, her heartbeat picking up speed.

“Gotcha,” she murmured to herself, a smile curling her lips.

If she was fast enough, she could still finish this hunt, get back to the dressing room, sign a few autographs, and—if luck was on her side—catch the other bands’ sets.

She launched forward, running up the alley walls in a zigzag, her boots landing with feline grace as she scaled upward in fluid, gravity-defying movements. The threads of Honmoon—the magical fibers of the barrier—danced around her in bluish tones, rippling like waves in response to her energy. Ryu reached out, her fingers grazing the shimmering lines.

Power condensed instantly, answering her call.

Twin short swords materialized in her hands, their blades glinting with a liquid-like glow.

She landed on the rooftop with the silent precision of a predator. The cool night wind stirred her dark braids as she readied herself for the attack.

But what she saw left her utterly speechless.

The demon she had been chasing was… suspended in midair. Literally held by the neck as if it were a plush toy in the grip of an annoyed child.

“What the—?” the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Holding the demon effortlessly in one hand was a tall man with broad shoulders, his very presence seeming to drain the air around him. His hair shimmered silver in the moonlight… or rather, it was shifting. Strands of lavender seeped through like ink bleeding into pale threads, an effect as mesmerizing as it was unsettling.

But the most surreal detail?

The shirt.

A loose t-shirt printed with… dancing cupcakes. Cupcakes. Dancing.

Okay, the shirt definitely ruined his intimidation factor a little. Just a little. Because even so, he was gripping the demon with such ease it looked like he was holding a bag of rice.

“Seriously? Do I ever get a day off?” the man muttered, his deep, resonant voice rumbling like a storm held barely at bay.

The demon gasped, claws flailing helplessly in the air.

“M-Master Ryujin… You have to help me… the hunter—” it choked out, its voice faltering from lack of air.

“You came here on purpose? So I’d save you?” the man cut in, his tone far too calm—far too dangerous. Then he growled. A sound low, guttural, and inhuman.

A chill shot down Ryu’s spine. Humans didn’t make sounds like that.

And then she saw it.

Beneath his pale skin, black demonic tattoos began to writhe, slithering like living serpents. The illusion of humanity cracked apart like shattered glass.

“Oh, shit…” Ryu muttered before she could stop herself.
And instantly cursed for speaking out loud.

The man—the demon—turned his head slowly. His eyes, now glowing a deep, incandescent yellow, locked onto hers.

Ryu froze, her blades poised for attack.

But he… just stared at her for a moment.

Then, with a gesture so casual it bordered on boredom, he tossed the injured demon at her feet.

“Do your job, hunter,” Ryujin said, his deep voice resonating in the air like a command.

And, to complete the surreal scene, he yawned.

Yes. He yawned.

Then he walked to the edge of the building and sat down, as if settling in to watch a private show.

Ryu blinked, stunned, her swords still raised.
What the hell just happened? she thought, torn between attacking him or thanking him for the assist.

The demon crumpled at her feet tried to rise, coughing harshly, its chest heaving in ragged spasms. Its wiry frame trembled under ill-fitting human clothes. A police uniform shirt hung in tatters from its shoulders, and the oversized hip-hop style pants looked like they’d been borrowed from a rebellious teenager. The outfit wasn’t helping it blend in with the crowd—if that had been the plan, it had failed miserably.

“That’s why they call you a traitor…” it growled hoarsely, eyes glowing like embers as they fixed on the so-called Master Ryujin—who seemed far more interested in inspecting his nails than responding to the insult.

Ryu didn’t like being ignored.

Not. At. All.

If anyone was going to be the center of attention here, it was going to be her.

Without hesitation, she lunged with her twin blades. The short swords pulsed with bluish energy, humming as if eager to cut. Ryu slashed in a precise, arcing strike, but despite its pitiful state, the demon managed to dodge at the very last second.

Well… at least he’s quicker than he looks, she thought with a sharp grin.

But his advantage didn’t last long. The demon lunged at her with filthy claws, aiming for her face. She twisted elegantly, feeling the rush of air from his strike brush a single strand of her hair, and used the momentum to counter with a powerful slash.

One blade pierced straight through the creature’s chest. Its body dissolved instantly into a dense cloud of smoke and ash, the stench of sulfur burning her nostrils.

“One down,” she muttered, wiping the blade clean on her pant leg.

But there was still one left.

Slow, steady steps carried her forward. Swords raised. Poised.

And there he was.

Ryujin.

Sitting casually on the edge of the building, his legs swung idly in the empty air like he was at a playground and not on a rooftop after a demon fight.

“There are more demons lurking around, you know,” he said, his deep, calm voice carrying effortlessly, though he didn’t even bother turning to look at her. “I can sense a few two blocks from here.”

“Okay… thanks for the tip, cupcake-boy,” Ryu replied slowly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But there’s a demon standing right in front of me. I think I’ll focus on him first, then worry about the others later.”

That’s when he turned.

Ryu’s throat went dry.

His face looked like it had been carved straight from a dangerous daydream: a sharp, elegant nose, a strong jawline, arched brows that seemed designed to intimidate, and—just to complete the devastating package—golden eyes that glimmered hypnotically, like they could see into the deepest corners of her soul. And his hair… a cascade of silver strands that caught the moonlight and reflected it back with an almost ethereal glow.

“Ryu, for the love of all the hunters, don’t drool over a demon! They’re enemies, not potential hookups!”
Celine’s voice rang in her mind, full of righteous fury and her usual moral superiority.

“If she knew what I’m thinking right now, her eyes would already be rolling out of her skull.”

“You don’t want to fight me, girl,” Ryujin said, his tone as steady as his gaze, laced with an infuriating level of arrogance.

“Correction: you don’t want to fight me, demon.” Ryu shot back, her lips curling into a defiant smirk. “But here we are. So… let’s not drag this out.”

Without waiting for a reply, she charged forward.

And the world blurred.

Before she could even process what was happening, Ryujin moved. He launched himself at her with staggering speed, the air shifting violently around them and sending her dark braids flying.

Ryu barely had time to spin and face him.

“Shit… he’s way too fast!”

She struck again, twin blades slicing through the air like flashes of light. Her attacks were fast, precise—enough to have turned any other demon into dust by now.

But not him.

Ryujin dodged with infuriating ease. His movements were fluid, almost lazy, like he was dancing to a rhythm only he could hear. His body seemed to know exactly where her blades would land, and every effortless dodge came with that damn half-smile of mockery tugging at his lips.

It was… unsettling.

Ryu was used to cutting demons down without breaking a sweat. Most of them were mindless beasts—brute force clawing at the barrier. But the man—the demon—standing before her was not “most.”

And then he countered.

It happened so fast she barely had time to register it. He shoved her back with the weight of his body, and she—a trained hunter, a protector of the fragile barrier between worlds—felt the air get knocked clean out of her lungs as her back slammed against the cold ground. Her guitar clattered away, the strings letting out an off-key twang as it tumbled across the rooftop.

The impact sent sparks crackling as her blades dissolved into blue embers, the magic itself fracturing like shattered glass.

Before she could scramble up, he was already on her.

His large hands closed around her wrists, pinning them above her head with controlled strength—not brutal, but firm enough to make it clear resistance was useless. His weight hovered over her, muscles shifting beneath his loose shirt with each slight movement. Strands of silver hair, now streaked with lavender in the moonlight, fell like a curtain around his face, shadowing those golden eyes that bore into her with an almost unbearable intensity.

For a second, Ryu forgot how to breathe.

“I told you it’d be smarter not to fight me,” he said, voice low and deep, dragging over her skin like velvet—and tinged with just enough sarcasm to make her blood boil.

“Arrogant bastard…” Ryu growled, twisting and trying to kick up at him.

But he was faster.

He released one of her wrists only to catch her leg in a single hand, pinning it down with humiliating ease.

“No dirty tricks, hunter,” he murmured, that infuriating little smirk tugging at his lips.

Heat surged into her cheeks—not just from anger.

The position they were in… Gods! It could have been ripped straight out of some scandalous scene far too compromising for any hunter’s reputation. He was kneeling between her thighs, his body angled over hers, one hand gripping her left wrist while the other held her thigh firmly in place.

No, Ryu! Focus! her mind screamed, but her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear the voice of reason anymore.

With her free hand, she summoned one of her short blades, the shimmering edge stopping just inches from his neck.
“One wrong move and that pretty head of yours is gone,” she hissed, her voice ragged.

He didn’t look the slightest bit scared. On the contrary, his smirk deepened, his golden eyes lazily tracing her face with a dangerous calm.
“Well… I’ve fought other hunters before. They’re usually quite fierce.” His voice was like silk, though there was a blade hidden in the softness.

“Fierce… and deadly,” Ryu shot back, forcing her breath into something steady.

“Oh? Really?” He raised an eyebrow, his mouth now dangerously close to hers.

“Really.” She pressed the blade harder against his skin, the blue glow flickering in his golden gaze.

Why the hell am I talking to him?

She should be slicing his throat open right now. And yet, the air felt heavier—like some invisible force was pulling them closer together.

“Well… I suppose you hunters need to compensate for your lack of vocal talent with sword skills,” Ryujin said, his smile curling into a teasing challenge.

The words made Ryu freeze.
“Wait… what?”

“Your musical talent.” He repeated it with maddening ease.

“We do have talent!” she barked, indignation flaring in her voice. “What do you even know about it? You probably haven’t heard a single song from—”

“The Sunlight Sisters?” he cut her off smoothly, as if dropping a deep, dark secret. That smile of his widened in a way that made her stomach twist. “Oh yes… I’ve heard you. You’re… promising. But hardly on par with High-Five of Teenagers, Fin.K.L, BIGBANG, Girls’ Generation… and of course, Super Junior.”

Ryu blinked.
Once.
Twice.

A demon. A demon who knows K-pop.

“Impossible…” she muttered.

She forced herself to refocus. Kill the demon. That was supposed to be everything. Mission. Duty. The greater good.

But her damned brain clung to one entirely irrelevant detail.

“And why would you say that?” she snapped, her voice higher-pitched than she wanted. “You have seen we’re climbing the music charts, right? Our shows sell out in days! So…” She lifted her chin, trying to sound confident, ignoring the fact that he was still absurdly close.

Ryujin arched an eyebrow.
“You seem like you’re… trying too hard,” he said, each word like an elegant dagger. “As if you’re actresses in a play. You do have a lovely voice, I’ll give you that. I’d even say yours, Ryu Miyeong, is… acceptable.”

“Wow,” Ryu shot back, her voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. “Thanks for the glowing review, Mister Demon Music Critic. So I have ‘some talent,’ huh?”

“You’re welcome.” He tilted his head, that dangerous smirk of his widening. “Maybe a little. But a good voice doesn’t make you real singers. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean you’re taking this group as seriously as you claim to.”

The blade in Ryu’s hand still shimmered faintly, but she realized her grip wasn’t as tight anymore. It felt heavier somehow, like her body had forgotten what it was supposed to do.

“I am taking it seriously!” she burst out before her brain could stop her. “You have no idea how much I—”

“Doesn’t look like it.” He cut her off with that same maddening calm. “You barely spend time with your fans. Everything about you feels… safe. Like you’re content to linger in the ‘good enough’ zone instead of fighting to be the best. You want media attention? Fine. It makes the hunter gig easier. But you don’t want to be real stars. You don’t want to be immortal in the memory of the world.”

His words were like claws, gripping something deep in her chest. Heat surged up her face—rage, shame, and an ache she didn’t want to name. Her eyes stung, and a tight, treacherous lump began forming in her throat.

Was he right?
Maybe.

Celine had always said the mission came first. That the music, the shows, the fans—they were all distractions. But Ryu loved the stage. She loved the music. Every note, every chord, every cheer from the crowd. And now this demon—with those molten gold eyes and a smirk that seemed to read her soul—was dragging up insecurities even Celine had never touched?

“You talk like you know anything,” she hissed, trying to claw back some control.

“I do know.” His voice was so calm it made her want to punch him. Or kiss him. Or both. “I like music.”

And then, suddenly, he stepped away.

The heat of his body vanished, leaving her skin cold… and something even worse twisting deep in her gut.

Disappointment.

She nearly wanted to kick herself for it.

Ryujin extended a hand toward her, palm open in a gesture so casual it seemed impossible to reconcile with the same man who, just seconds earlier, had overpowered her with such effortless precision.

This is your chance, Ryu, screamed a voice inside her head. Cut his hand off. Use the blade. End this now!

But instead… she took it.

His fingers closed around hers with surprising strength, pulling her up as if she weighed nothing at all. His palm was warm—achingly warm—against the chill of the night air, and a shiver ran down her spine when she realized just how close he was again.

Ryu’s heart pounded, beating in a frantic rhythm like a rock drummer gone rogue.

And then… he let go.

The absence of his touch was so sudden it almost hurt. Ryujin stepped back, hands slipping into his pockets, and strolled over to the edge of the building. He sat down with maddening ease, legs dangling like some bored teenager killing time.

“Well… I’d suggest you go hunt some other demons,” Ryujin said, his deep voice carrying that almost-lazy tone—laced with just enough challenge to make Ryu’s blood boil. “There are a few lurking two streets over. Those, you’d probably manage to take down.”

That’s what she should do. That was the logical choice. Celine and Sora, the other hunters in her trio, were probably already waiting for her to back them up. Ryu had a mission. She had an entire world to protect.

So why, for the love of all that was sacred, was she taking a step closer to him?

She moved to the edge of the rooftop, the tips of her boots scraping the concrete, and finally saw what had captured his attention.

Below them, in the courtyard of a small concert hall, a stage glowed softly in the dark. Paper lanterns swayed gently in the night breeze as musicians in flowing hanbok tuned traditional instruments: gayageum, janggu, daegeum. The delicate, mournful strains of gugak drifted up to them, steeped in history and longing.

And then the singer’s voice rose.

“Arirang, arirang, arariyo…”

Ryu’s breath caught. Arirang. Of course she knew it. Every Korean did. It was an old folk song, heavy with memories of hardship and homesickness.

But what made her freeze wasn’t the music below.

It was him.

Ryujin was humming along, voice low and unguarded, so soft it barely carried, yet so perfectly in tune and laced with an emotion that made her heart stutter.

There he was—a demon who could have torn apart anyone on this block—humming with a nostalgia so heartbreakingly human it felt impossible.

And why, oh why, did his voice have to be so absurdly beautiful?

Without realizing it, Ryu began to sing too. Softly, almost timidly, just letting her voice follow the melody that seemed to hover between the two of them.

He turned his head slowly, surprised. For a moment, their eyes met—gold against dark—and Ryu was certain that the barrier between them—not just the magical one, but all the others—wavered.

But he didn’t stop singing.
And she… she couldn’t stop either.

Their voices intertwined in a strange, almost intimate way. As if they were alone at the top of the world. As if the air itself had stilled to listen.

How long did it last? Ryu didn’t know. It could have been a minute or an eternity. She only realized it was over when she finally drew a deep breath, and the weight of reality came crashing back.

The barrier. Gods… the barrier! It vibrated around them, the magical lines resonating like perfectly tuned strings—a harmony that felt comforting and dangerous all at once.

Ryujin was watching her in silence, his golden eyes half-lidded. One hand rubbed his neck, and for the first time since she’d met him, there wasn’t a mocking smile on his lips.

She should go. Now was the time. Stand up. Walk away. Pretend none of this ever happened.

But of course, she had to be stupid enough to open her mouth.

“You know my name…” she began, her voice sounding fragile even though she tried to make it firm. “But I don’t know yours.”

He raised an eyebrow, the sharp gleam returning to his gaze.

“You hunters think demons even have names? I thought you all saw us as nothing but monsters…” he said coolly, his tone like a blade meant to push her away.

But she didn’t flinch. She held her ground, her eyes locked on his.

Ryujin let out a long, frustrated sigh, running a hand through his silver hair (which, Ryu noticed with a heat rising embarrassingly to her cheeks, looked dangerously good messy like that).

“Baek Ryujin,” he said finally.

A faint blush crept up his cheeks, and Ryu had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling like an idiot.
She failed miserably.

“Ryujin…” she repeated, testing the name on her lips as if it were a spell. “Huh, it’s kind of similar to mine, isn’t it? The Ryu part. Maybe I should call you Ryu too? Like… Ryu the Second, and I’d be Ryu the First? What do you think?”

He stared at her for a moment—too long, his face unreadable.
And then he let out a low laugh.

A warm, deep laugh that made something inside Ryu tremble in a way that felt far too dangerous.

“You’re absolutely insane,” he said, shaking his head.

“Insane?” Ryu shot back, blushing all the way to her ears. But his laugh was contagious, and soon she was laughing too—both of them laughing together as if there wasn’t an abyss between them, as if one wasn’t a demon and the other a hunter sworn to kill him.

Chapter Text

“This has to be a trap!” Mira growled, spinning her spear with such force that the air around it seemed to sizzle. The movement was almost as dramatic as the fury blazing in her eyes. “I don’t care what it looks like—I know it’s a damn trap!”

“Uh… Mira?” Zoey raised her hand timidly, like a student about to interrupt a very scary teacher. “Sorry to ruin your badass moment, but… if it’s a trap, shouldn’t they be attacking us instead of, I don’t know, fighting each other?”

Mira froze mid-spin, turning her head so slowly it was almost theatrical. Her narrowed gaze fixed on her friend like a predator sizing up prey. The silence that followed stretched on for what felt like forever. Zoey held Mira’s stare with an innocent expression, but her nervous little smile screamed I might’ve just poked the dragon.

“Zoey…” Mira said at last, her voice deceptively calm in a way that screamed danger. “You know that gut feeling when you realize you really, really should’ve kept your mouth shut? Yeah… welcome to it.”

“Okay, but technically, I’m just pointing out the obvious!” Zoey shot back. “Like, they’re literally fighting each other. This doesn’t scream ‘elaborate murder trap’—this screams ‘dysfunctional family reunion with unresolved issues.’”

Mira’s mouth opened, ready to unleash a retort as sharp as the tip of her spear. She just needed a second—maybe two—to come up with the perfect verbal strike… but of course, the universe had other plans.

The barrier ahead vibrated violently with a crack loud enough to make the ground tremble beneath their boots. Red lines slashed through the air like pulsating veins, and then it appeared.

Another one of those colossal demons.

Its twisted horns scraped the edges of the rift as it emerged, its crimson skin glowing like molten lava. Tattoos—no, brands—snaked across its body in fiery patterns, pulsing like living flames. It let out a guttural roar, the sheer heat of its presence making the air around them shimmer like a mirage.

“Oh great… another one of the big guys. Because obviously we didn’t already have enough problems.” Zoey muttered, flicking her fingers. Razor-sharp blades materialized around her hand, spinning in perfect, dangerous arcs like a deadly halo.

Mira’s grip on her spear tightened until her knuckles turned white. Her eyes darted to Rumi, who was a little too quiet, a little too still.

Please, Mira thought desperately, for all that is holy—and for every K-pop song I’ve ever streamed—don’t let Rumi drop her guard just because she’s reunited with her demon crush.

But of course, it was already too late to ask for miracles.

The sound of metal footsteps clanging against the water rang out like a warning bell. Mira felt adrenaline spike in her veins, burning like liquid fire.

“ENOUGH!” she shouted, her voice cracking through the air like thunder. “If they’re not going to attack us, then we’ll strike first!”

With a roar, Mira surged forward, her spear slicing a brilliant arc through the air as sparks of blue energy erupted around her. The wind whipped her hair wildly as she hurled herself at the new enemy with the fury of a raging storm.

Zoey took a deep breath, her eyes flashing with resolve.
“Oh gods… here we go.”

And with an elegant leap, she darted after her friend, her blades humming like a swarm of furious wasps orbiting her hands.

The hammer came crashing down with brutal force, so powerful the ground beneath Rumi’s feet sank, and the stones around her cracked like fragile glass. The deafening impact reverberated through the air, shaking even the nearby trees.

But she didn’t give in.

With a sharp grunt, Rumi held her sword in a defensive stance, the pink-and-blue glow of her blade clashing against the molten red of the hammer. Sparks burst at the point of impact, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had frozen, watching this collision of raw power.

Jinu, standing just a few feet away, had to admit: the demon’s strike was terrifying… but the strength of a hunter? It was just as impressive. Maybe even more so.

And he wasn’t the only one surprised.
The red demon blinked in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape as if he couldn’t comprehend how a seemingly delicate girl had stopped his attack.

“What… what are you?” he snarled, his eyes blazing with fury and confusion.

Rumi didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Every muscle in her body was taut, fighting to keep from being crushed under the weight of the hammer still pressing against her blade. Her arms trembled, but her brown eyes burned with an almost otherworldly determination.

“A little help… here,” she gasped through clenched teeth, her gaze snapping to Jinu’s in a silent command.

Oh.
Yeah, maybe this wasn’t the ideal time for him to just… stand there watching.

“Right,” Jinu muttered to himself, summoning his Ma-Gi. A vortex of dark energy flared around him, crackling as he searched for a weapon that might throw the red giant off balance.

The problem? His choice of weapon was… unconventional, to say the least.

In one smooth motion, Jinu summoned the demon’s own severed hand and hurled it like a projectile straight at the creature’s face.

A punch… with its own fist.

The impact was so unexpected the demon staggered back with a guttural roar—whether from pain or sheer indignation, it wasn’t clear.

“Rumi! Now!” Jinu shouted.

But she was already moving, her body a blur of motion before the words even left his lips.

With a fierce yet graceful leap, Rumi launched herself into the air, her body spinning like a deadly dance. Her lavender braid traced an elegant arc as her sword sparked, slicing through the air. The blade cut cleanly through the demon’s chest in a perfect strike. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, the creature’s body disintegrated into ash and embers, like the dying glow of a campfire snuffed out by the wind.

Jinu couldn’t stop the breath of awe that escaped him.

She landed lightly in front of him, her chest heaving, cheeks flushed from the effort. On her lips was a small, triumphant smile that sent a strange knot twisting in his stomach.

“You… you punched him with his own hand,” Rumi said, raising a brow and trying to keep her tone serious. But her eyes shimmered with something between disbelief and amusement. “That was…”

“Brilliant?” Jinu offered with a smug little grin.

“I was going to say disgusting,” she countered, letting out a soft laugh. “But… fine, I’ll give you points for creativity.”

They stood there, unmoving, their ragged breaths mingling in the cold air. And once again, that heavy silence settled between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… charged. Like something was about to happen, something neither of them dared to name.

Jinu lifted a hand to his neck, rubbing it nervously. Rumi, in turn, twirled a strand of her lavender hair around her finger, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting his again.

“You really are alive?” she asked finally, her voice soft but edged with a fragile tremor. “I mean… it’s kind of obvious, but… all this time? You’ve been alive?”

There was more in her words—an undercurrent of pain, maybe even a flicker of hurt. As if what she really wanted to ask was: Why didn’t you come looking for me?

Jinu drew a deep breath, his chest tight.

“I’m… alive. If that’s even the right word,” he said hoarsely, his voice almost hesitant. “Ryujin said I never really died. But I… I don’t fully understand it myself. All I know is I was brought back to this plane just a few days ago.”

Rumi’s eyes softened, as though a storm inside her had quieted for just a moment. There was something in her gaze—a mix of relief, restrained anger, and a vulnerability so raw it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. For a moment, it seemed like she wanted to say something—shout, laugh, maybe even cry. But the only sound that left her lips was a long sigh, heavy with everything she couldn’t put into words.

“Well… I’m glad you’re alive,” she said finally, her voice low and weighted in a way that made his pulse stutter. “But… who’s Ryujin?”

The question cut through Jinu like a cold blade across his throat.
Ah. This was the moment he had dreaded the most.

How was he supposed to explain this? Just blurt it out? “Oh, you know that demonic side of you you’ve probably spent your whole life trying to understand? Yeah… congratulations, Rumi. The one responsible is Ryujin, former general of the underworld and—surprise!—he also happens to be your father.”

Yeah. Perfect way to kill the vibe and probably get a sword to the middle of his forehead.

But there was no time. None at all.

As if the universe itself had grown tired of his hesitation, an explosion ripped through the air beside them.

Hwanwoo—or rather, his colossal nine-tailed fox form—was hurled toward them with brutal force, his enormous white-furred body slicing through the air like a living arrow.

“Rumi, move!” Jinu shouted, grabbing her arm and yanking her aside at the last second.

The fox slammed into the ground with a deafening crash, cracking the edge of the lake and sending up a cloud of dust mixed with water and blood. The impact shook the earth beneath their feet.

“Hwanwoo!” Jinu gasped, his heart pounding wildly.

The creature pushed itself up with effort, its breathing heavy and uneven, blue eyes sparking with an almost inhuman power. Blood—or something thick and dark resembling it—dripped from the corner of its mouth.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” the fox growled, spitting the crimson liquid onto the ground. His voice was deep and thunderous, reverberating like a storm rolling across heavy clouds. “Go… Or rather—” his glowing eyes narrowed as they landed on Rumi standing at Jinu’s side, “you both go help Ryujin! He can’t stop the summoning! He’s vulnerable!”

“Got it!” Jinu shouted back, already moving forward.

“Summoning?” Rumi’s voice was steady, but there was a clear tension in the way her fingers tightened around her sword. Her honey-brown eyes flashed with uncertainty. “Summoning what? More demons?”

The hesitation in her gaze was so stark, Jinu felt his stomach twist.

“You… you summoned these red demons?” she pressed, her words sharp, tinged with fear and mistrust.

“Have you completely lost your mind?!” Hwanwoo roared before Jinu could even get a word out. His voice thundered through the air, shaking the ground and sending ripples across the lake’s surface. “Do we look like the kind of lunatics who’d summon a pack of monstrosities just to get our asses handed to us?!”

All nine of his tails lashed through the air in agitation, each word dripping with fury and sarcasm.

“Seriously… what kind of idiot would pull a stunt like that?”

Rumi took a deep breath, and Jinu saw a flicker of tension ease from her shoulders—just a little.

“Then what are you summoning?” she demanded, her honey-brown eyes locking onto Jinu like blades ready to slice him in half.

He froze for a moment, his throat dry. How could he explain without sounding like the villain in this story? How could he make her believe they weren’t the ones causing all this chaos?

“I…” he began, his voice lower than he intended. “I’m not sure ‘summoning’ is even the right word. We’re… bringing someone back to this plane.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes, her entire body tensing again like a coiled spring.

“Bringing what, exactly?”

Jinu inhaled deeply, knowing there was no room left for half-truths.

“A demon,” he said at last, forcing his voice steady. “But not… not one of those—” he gestured toward the red monstrosities tearing through the distance, “not those chili-pepper brutes. This is different. It’s one of mine. One of the Saja.”

He could practically see the gears turning in Rumi’s mind, her expression flickering between suspicion and something else—something that made Jinu’s chest tighten painfully.

Her fingers tightened on her sword’s hilt, knuckles going white. One wrong word, he knew, and she wouldn’t hesitate to drive that blade straight through him.

“So tell me, Jinu…” Her voice was calm—too calm—but every syllable carried the weight of a finely honed blade, ready to strike. “Are you really the good guys in this story… or do you just look like them?”

He opened his mouth to answer. He wanted to say yes—wanted to give her the kind of firm, unshakable yes that would leave no room for doubt.

But the words caught in his throat.

Because he remembered.

He remembered the last time they stood like this. The moment she trusted him… and the betrayal that came after.

It didn’t matter that he’d given up his own power for her in the end. That he’d lost everything and been torn apart because of it. None of it erased the fact that he had hurt her.

How could she ever trust him again?

The silence between them thickened, heavy enough to make the air feel like lead pressing down on his lungs.

And then, of course, the damn fox had to open his mouth.

“Are you two seriously going to stand there and have this little heart-to-heart right now?” Hwanwoo growled, his colossal nine-tailed fox form shimmering, the silver flames of his tails lashing the air. “Do you really think this is the time for it?”

“Hwanwoo…” Jinu began, his voice low, irritation threading through his words. He wanted to snap at the gumiho, wanted to tell him to stay out of it. Just one more second. Just one more moment alone with her…

But there was no time.
The demon that had been fighting Hwanwoo suddenly charged straight at them. Its crimson feet tore through the ground, each step pounding like a war drum.

And then it screamed.

A guttural, piercing sound—so absurdly out of place in the chaos that Jinu almost lost it.

“That war cry was… cringe,” he muttered under his breath, lips twitching in amusement even as Ma-Gi pulsed like wildfire through his veins.

The air around Jinu warped, shadows rising like living tendrils. He thrust his hand forward, releasing a dense wave of energy that coiled and cracked, surging ahead like a tide of raw, dark power.

At the same moment, Rumi moved.

Her body became a streak of lavender and silver as she leapt, her blade arcing in a flawless swing. The light from her sword caught the barrier’s shimmering lines, and for a heartbeat, the world slowed down—there was only her, suspended in midair, her braided hair trailing behind like a banner, her honey-brown eyes locked on the enemy with a determination so fierce it made Jinu’s chest tighten painfully.

Ashes.
Like the charred remains of a barbecue when the meat’s been left on the grill too long. That’s all Mira could think about as the crimson demon disintegrated before her, its remains drifting through the air like dying embers.

Her chest heaved, lungs burning with every ragged breath. Every muscle screamed in protest.

These things were different. So different from the demons she’d faced before. Stronger. Smarter. More… infuriatingly persistent.

And that gnawing feeling that this was all a trap? It only grew with every passing second.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Rumi fighting alongside Jinu, their movements perfectly in sync, like a duo that had trained together for years. But that didn’t mean anything. Rumi had been fooled before, hadn’t she? She trusted too easily.

Maybe it was time to call for backup.

Celine.
The thought of her name brought a heavy knot to Mira’s stomach. Their mentor’s last message had been clear: “If you need me, call. Don’t hesitate.” That, even after the disaster that had been their last dinner together…

Mira’s fingers brushed her phone in her pocket. It would only take one second to send the alert.

One second.

But one second was exactly what she didn’t have.

Because another demon erupted from the rift with a roar that made the air itself tremble. Its hammer—massive, grotesque—was already descending, promising to split the earth in two.

Zoey was busy with her own opponent.

And then came her voice, sharp as a thunderclap:

“MIRA!”

That’s when Celine’s lesson slammed into Mira’s mind:
“Never drop your guard.”

And damn it, she had dropped it. All because of that stupid phone.

The world seemed to slow. She saw the hammer coming down.
But not just the hammer.

There was someone there.

For a heartbeat, Mira thought it was Rumi. Maybe her friend had lunged in to save her in a flash of brilliance.

But…

Rumi wasn’t built like that.
She definitely didn’t have broad shoulders, chiseled arms, or abs that looked like they’d been carved from marble by some overly enthusiastic deity.

And Rumi certainly wouldn’t deliver a punch so devastating it sent a crimson demon hurtling backward like a ragdoll.

The stranger fell to his knees in front of her, chest heaving, each breath like a rumbling storm barely contained. Strands of pink and crimson hair—damp and clinging to his forehead—gave him a wild, feral look. And those tattoos… demonic markings crawled across his skin like living flames, pulsing with energy so intense it made the hairs on the back of Mira’s neck stand on end.

But none of that was what made her brain short-circuit.

It was the fact that he…
was completely naked.

Mira blinked.
Once.
Twice.

And the impact didn’t come from the demon’s hammer.
It came from the sheer shock.
Her mind felt like it was melting, her heart hammering against her ribs as she tried—and failed—to drag her eyes away from that sinfully divine body.

“Abby…?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Yes.
It was him.

The demon she never thought she’d see again.
Naked, marked in glowing tattoos, kneeling before her like something straight out of a dream… or a dangerously seductive nightmare.

And the worst part?

His eyes.
Golden. Intense.
Locked on her.

Chapter Text

She had to do something. Anything. Other than… just standing there. Staring.
And the worst part? She wasn’t even staring where she should be.

No. Her eyes were dangerously fixed on the sculpted ridges of his chest, trailing down as if they had a mind of their own—past the abs, each muscle carved with the precision of a masterpiece. And, to her horror, they kept going lower.

“No, Mira! This is inappropriate. Highly inappropriate. This is not acceptable behavior for a hunter. Or an idol! For anyone!”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, as if that could erase what she’d seen.

“Eyes, for the love of everything holy, stop drifting into the danger zone.”

But it was impossible. His body was a battlefield for her morals. And, heavens help her, she was losing badly.

She forced herself to focus. Not on the nakedness. Not on the ridiculous definition of his muscles.

On the situation.

Danger. She was in danger.

And maybe even more so because the demon—Abby (yes, she hadn’t forgotten his name)—was right there, only inches away, kneeling in front of her.

A demon. A creature that could attack her. An enemy she had destroyed before.

“Focus, Mira.”

She whispered the words to herself, fingers tightening on the shaft of her spear until her knuckles turned white.

“And when I say focus, I mean on the attack… not on the abs. And absolutely not on what’s below them.”

She braced herself to strike, to eliminate the threat before it was too late.

But then… he collapsed.

Literally.

His massive body hit the ground with a dull thud. The sound made Mira’s heart jump—not from fear, but from sheer surprise.

This wasn’t the kind of fight she’d been expecting.

“Hey!” The word slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her fingertips hovering in the air before finally pressing lightly against his shoulder—hesitant, as if she were afraid of getting shocked.

His skin was cold. Alarmingly cold.
“Did he… die? Again?”

Technically, that should’ve been a good thing. One less demon to worry about.

But then why did her stomach sink like a stone? Why was her heart pounding with a strange urgency? And, more importantly… why the hell did she care?

“Rumi’s obsession with these demon crushes must be rubbing off on me…” she muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes at Abby’s still body. “Not that I have a crush. Obviously not. Demons are treacherous. Untrustworthy.”

But she wasn’t hypocritical enough to deny they were also… dangerously attractive.

Right. She had to admit that to herself.

“Another one of Gwi-Ma’s brats…” the guttural voice ripped her out of her thoughts.

The red demon Abby had punched earlier was standing again, its grotesquely dislocated jaw hanging at an unnatural angle. Mira’s stomach churned as it spoke anyway, each word oozing out in a wet, horrible sound.

“Didn’t expect him to be strong enough to hurt me.” The creature’s words were laced with thick, dark blood dripping from the corner of its mouth. “Maybe he should join Jakdo’s court…”

And then, with a nauseating crack that echoed in the air, it shoved its jaw back into place with a single, sickening snap.

“The King of Wrath would appreciate servants like him…”

“Court? King? There’s another king besides Gwi-Ma?!”

Mira’s mind was racing a mile a minute, like a machine on the verge of overheating. She could almost hear the sound of gears turning and steam hissing out of her ears. But this wasn’t the time to focus on that. Not now.

Almost on instinct, she pushed herself to her feet — and, to her own surprise, stepped in front of Abby’s unconscious body.

“What the hell am I doing?” she hissed under her breath, her jaw tight.

She wasn’t actually trying to protect him… right? He just happened to be lying there at her feet, and she — very strategically, of course — was simply taking position in front of him to better launch her attack. Pure convenience.

Because she, a hunter, would never protect a demon. Never.

Even if… okay, maybe that demon had just saved her life.

But that was a detail. And details were irrelevant.

“Ah… so you’re the pathetic human I’m supposed to crush.”

The red demon’s guttural voice cut through her thoughts like a blade.

He spun the hammer’s handle between his fingers, crimson eyes blazing like living embers. When he smiled, the effect was downright nightmarish—sharp fangs protruding from his mouth, dripping with dark saliva, while his black horns pulsed with an ominous red glow, growing brighter and brighter.

Mira swallowed hard.

The weight of the situation crashed down on her like a stone wall.

Could she actually defeat him?

Her body was at its limit. Every muscle screamed in protest, burning from exhaustion. She had already fought off several of those red demons, each one more relentless and resilient than the last. But… how many had she taken down? Three? Four? She had lost count.

And did she even have enough strength left for one more?

Her gaze flicked toward Zoey. Her friend was further away, locked in her own deadly battle—and Mira couldn’t ignore the tremor in Zoey’s stance, the way sweat dripped down her face, or how her usual playful grin—her trademark—had been replaced by a grimace of raw pain.

No. They wouldn’t last much longer.

Where was Rumi?

They needed to regroup. They needed a plan—some way to get out of this alive.

But then, another thought sliced through her mind, sharper and colder than any blade: And what about the breach in the barrier?

If they fled now, what would happen to the world? How many more demons would slip through? How many human lives would be lost?

And what about their own?

Mira’s heart pounded so violently it felt like it would rip straight out of her chest. She needed time to think. Just one second. But there was no time.

The demon lunged forward.

The hammer came down with brutal force, and Mira raised her spear, bracing for the impact. The collision sent a shockwave through her arms, vibrating down to her bones. She felt the metal of her weapon shudder—and crack. A chill raced down her spine.

Her strength was waning. The magic that had been reinforcing her weapon was beginning to falter.

“I’ll rip your head off and bring it as a trophy to the underworld!” the demon roared, then let out a laugh so deep and guttural it seemed to make the air itself tremble. “The other Kings will love this…”

Mira gritted her teeth, a growl rumbling in her chest. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run.

But she couldn’t.

“I have to hold on. Just one more minute.”

The words stuck in her throat. She wanted to scream at the monster, to curse him to hell—but she was so drained that even swearing felt impossible.

All she could do was stand her ground.

“Just one more second. Just one more chance. Just… one…”

For a moment—a single, miserable lapse of seconds—Mira saw her parents’ faces.

Not Zoey. Not Rumi. Not even Celine, the one she truly considered her family.

No.

It was her mother’s cold, superior gaze. Her father’s thinly veiled disdain. As if even here, at the brink of death, their voices whispered in her mind:
“We always knew you’d fail.”

Hunter? Idol? All the effort, all the victories… meaningless. In the end, she was nothing more than a weak girl. Alone.

The crushing weight of the demon’s hammer bore down on Mira’s spear, nearly driving her to the ground. The metal cracked, the enchanted fibers hummed with an agonized shriek, and her knees threatened to buckle.

And then… the weight vanished.

Just like that.

Mira’s eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat.

“What…?”

A heartbeat later, she understood.

The red demon had been hurled backward like a puppet with its strings cut, its body shattering in midair with a sickening crunch. A fist occupied the space where its skull had been moments before—a single devastating punch that reduced the demon’s entire face to fractured shards, crumbling like brittle ceramic.

It wasn’t pretty. Not in the slightest.

And then she saw him.

The man—or no, the demon—with long lavender hair, loose and billowing in the wind as if the very air bent to his presence. His skin was etched with living tattoos, black and gold lines that slithered like serpents across sculpted muscle. And his eyes—burning, molten gold—blazed like embers set in a face far too dangerous to belong to anything human.

And the shirt.

Oh, hell. That damned shirt—covered in dancing unicorns.

For a second, Mira was sure her brain had short-circuited.

“This… this can’t be real. I must be hallucinating.”

But the vision didn’t fade.

The demon-man—this impossible being—wasn’t done.

With a low, guttural growl, he surged forward. His hand plunged through the red demon’s abdomen with disturbing ease, flesh and bone dissolving into glowing ash and sparks.

Mira could only watch, slack-jawed, her heartbeat hammering in her throat like a war drum.

And he wasn’t stopping there.

Before Zoey could even scream, the demon lunged at her.

But the lavender-haired man was faster.

In one fluid motion, he twisted his body and delivered a devastating kick to the creature’s face, sending it exploding into a black cloud of ash and the stench of sulfur.

Not pretty. But… absurdly effective.

In mere seconds, this unknown demon had wiped out two enemies—monsters the huntresses had been struggling with all their strength to contain.

And then he spoke.

His voice was deep, commanding—so saturated with authority that the ground itself seemed to vibrate beneath Mira’s feet.

“The rift!” he bellowed, his tone more a command than a plea. “You need to close it now! Use your voices! If you don’t, more demons of Wrath will cross through!”

Mira blinked. Once. Twice. It took her brain a full second to process what she’d just heard.

“Wait. Did he… just give me an order?”

The shock ignited into fury.

She tightened her grip on the spear until her knuckles turned white, her gaze sparking like she could reduce the lavender-haired man to dust through sheer rage alone.

“Excuse me, and who the hell do you think you are? Our boss?!” she snarled, her voice trembling between anger and fear.

“He’s right…” Zoey cut in, panting as she ran up beside Mira, her spinning blades circling her fingers like razor-sharp petals. “I mean, we can’t just keep killing these things forever…”

As if to prove her point, another of the horned red demons emerged from the rift.

It didn’t even make it to its first step.

The lavender-haired man—his expression calm to the point of being infuriating—grabbed the creature’s head in one hand and crushed its skull like an overripe fruit. The sickening crack echoed, and the demon dissolved into smoke and ash, leaving behind the nauseating scent of charred flesh.

Zoey let out a soft, impressed whistle.

“Okay… Maybe he can keep killing demons for a little while longer.” she muttered with a crooked smile.

“Abby!” someone shouted before Mira could offer her own opinion on the situation.

Another demon was approaching—but it wasn’t red.

It was Jinu, sprinting toward his fallen companion. And he wasn’t alone. Rumi, panting, was close behind him, her sword still shimmering with bluish light. As if that weren’t surreal enough, a massive white fox strode alongside them, its nine tails flickering like tongues of smoke.

“What happened?” Jinu dropped to his knees beside Abby, cradling the demon’s body carefully. Abby’s skin was pale—almost translucent—and his breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps.

Mira watched the scene, her thoughts spiraling in chaos. What do I do? Attack? Respond? Start singing to close the rift? Or can I just… pause my entire life, grab an iced tea, and then decide calmly?

“He never should’ve charged in like a madman to protect the little huntress over there…” growled the white-furred fox, its deep, cutting voice laced with judgment.

“Hey!” Mira snapped, bristling at the “little huntress” comment.

The fox ignored her entirely.

“He was just revived! He doesn’t even have a shred of demonic energy left! You remember, Jinu… You were the same. Collapsing all the time, with those overdramatic fainting poses.”

“Hwanwoo! It wasn’t like that!” Jinu flushed slightly, shooting the fox an irritated glare.

“One thing at a time…” Rumi said, trying to keep her tone steady, though her quick breaths betrayed her exhaustion. Even so, her voice carried that innate authority that made Mira instinctively want to obey without a second thought. “We need—”

“To sing!”

Her voice overlapped perfectly with the man in the unicorn shirt’s, their words melding into a near-harmonious note.

And then something strange happened.

The barrier surrounding them vibrated. A deep, resonant hum filled the air—almost like a feline purr.

The barrier… is purring? Mira thought in shock.

Rumi turned toward the man at that exact moment, catching him mid-motion as he smashed two red demons together with such brutal force that their heads collided and burst into ash and smoke.

Their eyes locked.

And for an instant, the entire world seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of them in that suspended space.

Jinu swallowed hard, clearly sensing the tension. Hwanwoo, the fox, fell silent. Zoey bit her lower lip as if trying to hold back a nervous laugh. And Mira… well, Mira couldn’t shake the feeling that something huge was happening here—something bigger than the demons crossing through the rift.

“I… like your shirt,” Rumi said, her voice hesitant but carrying an odd warmth.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. And, to everyone’s shock, he cleared his throat and looked away, as if he had no idea how to handle the compliment.

WHAT?!

Mira almost dropped her spear.

The guy who crushes demon skulls with one hand is… embarrassed?!

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he said, regaining his serious tone—but there was a faint, nearly imperceptible flush coloring his sharp cheekbones. “You need to sing. Do your job as huntresses!”

“We were going to do that, okay?!” Rumi shot back, and this time she was the one blushing. Mira felt a flicker of empathy. Maybe it was a little awkward taking orders from someone so… intimidating.

And then, they began to sing.

Takedown, takedown
Takedown, takedown
Takedown, down, down, down (HUNTR/X girls to the world)
Takedown, down, down, down (HUNTR/X girls to the world)
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 words flowed from their lips in perfect sync, and the Honmoon answered in kind.

The barrier lit up in shimmering shades of gold and blue, humming with a near-electric energy. In response, the rift began to contract, its jagged edges pulling inward as though stitched together by invisible threads of light.

One last demon reached out, its clawed hand stretching desperately toward them… but the rift snapped shut with a sharp, final crack.

And then—silence.

The chaos faded.

For a moment, no one moved.

“So… what do we do now?” Zoey asked, letting out a nervous laugh.

Chapter Text

The bluish tiger let out a deep purr, like a celestial engine switched into full-on comfort mode. Jinu’s eyes welled with tears the moment he buried his face in the creature’s soft fur, curling into it like a child reunited with their favorite blanket after years apart.

“Derpy… you're really alive?” he said, voice cracking, even though the question was purely rhetorical. The answer was right there, pulsing beneath his fingers. The tiger was rounder now, fluffier—probably even more spoiled, too.

“I really thought you were gone… When I, well, ‘died.’ Or almost died. Still not sure, honestly.” He rested his forehead against Derpy’s, feeling the creature’s warm, comforting presence. “I thought that since we’re connected, you’d vanish too. And… that would’ve been unfair. You paying for what I did. Another mistake of mine.”

That’s when something cawed and landed squarely on his head.

“Ah! That goes for you too, you pompous featherball.” Jinu chuckled and held out his hand. The many-eyed crow—still wearing that tiny traditional Korean hat like some royal Joseon advisor—hopped onto his palm with all the dignity in the world. It cawed again. Probably in judgment.

A single tear slid down Jinu’s cheek. He wiped it away quickly, like he was afraid someone might see.

But someone did.

“I took care of them,” Rumi said, a soft blush blooming on her cheeks as she knelt beside him. “I mean… they kind of materialized in my room after… well, after everything. I couldn’t bring myself to send them away.”

Of course she didn’t share the most emotional part. Didn’t mention how her shattered heart had started piecing itself back together the moment she saw those creatures—because it meant maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t lost Jinu entirely.

“Thank you…” Jinu smiled, gently. The kind of smile that seemed to warm the very air around them. “For looking after them. I… I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“It was nothing.” Rumi looked away, the blush rising all the way to the tips of her ears. “Well… it was something, actually. Because they basically didn’t listen to me at all, and they ate all the snacks and sweets in the apartment. I don’t even know if that stuff is bad for them. Like… can demons be lactose intolerant? Or sensitive to processed fats? Or even gluten? And I tried to set up a litter box for Derpy, but he never used it! And… and now I’m rambling. Again. Shut up, Rumi.”

Jinu laughed—a low, warm chuckle. His heart felt light in a way he hadn’t remembered being possible.

They stayed like that for a while, side by side, their hands stroking the soft fur of the celestial tiger, who purred louder with every touch. Then, as if orchestrated by fate—or maybe by some deity with a soft spot for romantic clichés—their hands brushed.

Just the tips of their fingers.

But it was enough.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m gonna puke.” Hwanwoo’s deadpan voice sliced through the moment like a bucket of ice-cold water. “Could you two not start making out in front of my kimbap, please?”

“What?!” Jinu jerked his hand back, his face flushing scarlet. Rumi pulled away too, lifting a hand to her hair and fiddling with her lavender braid like she could hide her embarrassment through emergency hairstyling maneuvers. “We were just… talking!”

“Uh-huh. Sure you were,” Hwanwoo replied with a mouth full, chewing on a kimbap stuffed with beef, egg, and cheese like his life depended on it.

Now in human form, the fox demon sported short, tousled red hair, like he’d just rolled out of bed—or gotten into a fistfight with a bunch of buff, horned demons. His neon-orange jacket and a T-shirt printed with… reindeer? Yes, reindeer. And it wasn’t even close to Christmas—rounded out his vibe of controlled chaos. The half-smile on his lips only sealed the deal.

“You two were so cute…” Zoey said from her seat beside him at the long wooden table. She gave the fox-boy a playful nudge on the shoulder and shamelessly stole a piece of kimbap from his plate. “You seriously have the worst timing in the entire universe, you know that?”

Hwanwoo shrugged, as if to say, “Not my fault if they’re idiots.”

It was only then that Jinu finally took in their surroundings: a kimbap jip (김밥 집), a small, cozy restaurant tucked away near the calm lake — now shimmering with the golden hues of late afternoon. The wooden floor gleamed with worn varnish, and the covered porch offered a perfect view of the glassy water. Inside, the sweet elderly couple who ran the place watched an old drama on the tiny kitchen TV, while their younger grandkids sat nearby, completely ignoring everyone, eyes glued to their phones.

Privacy: achieved. And at that moment, that was exactly what they all needed.

The light breeze carried the scent of rice, seaweed, and serenity. A momentary peace. That kind of quiet that comes before a new catastrophe — or the chorus of the next song.

“Just so you know, Rumi didn’t take care of Derpy and the Hat Thief all by herself. We helped too, okay?” Mira grumbled, poking at her kimbap with chopsticks like she was trying to punish it.

“Then… I owe all of you.” Jinu stood and gave a small, respectful bow, sincerity in every word and gesture.

Zoey let out a small giggle, her cheeks slightly pink at the unexpected gesture. Mira only rolled her eyes like she wasn’t impressed at all — though the hidden smile tugging at her lips said otherwise. As for Rumi, her heart did an awkward little flip.

“Seriously? Did I actually wake up… or am I still trapped in some weird afterlife dream?” Abby muttered, propping his elbow on the table with a dramatic sigh. “Like, where are the flying corn dogs? My dreams always have corn dogs. You know, hot dogs wrapped in cornbread batter, stuffed with melted cheese, with wings — soaring across the sky. And I’m chasing them, hunting them down, biting into ‘em… A true celestial safari. But here? Nada. No floating corn dogs. So yeah, guess this must be real life.”

The comment came with a vague hand wave, like he was still half-expecting a flying sausage skewer to drift by in the clouds. Abby — now back to (almost) life — sported tousled hair in shades of pink and red, his sun-kissed skin barely contained by a way-too-tight borrowed T-shirt from Ryujin (featuring a capybara lounging in a hot spring, for some inexplicable cosmic reason), paired with blue shorts barely hanging in there. Sandals. Defined chest. Dramatic presence.

His post-battle fainting episode had been treated with a generous mug of Dalbyeol herb tea — a bitter concoction that tasted like expired medicine mixed with damp leaves. Abby drank it like it was the first liquid he’d had in centuries.

“No corn dogs, indeed…” Jinu remarked, sitting across from him with a crooked smile. “That confirms it: you’re in the real world. According to your flawless logic.”

Abby narrowed his eyes, staring at Jinu like he questioned the sanity of everyone at the table — including his own.

“Okay, seriously. Can someone explain why we’re, like, casually sitting here with hunters? Eating? Chatting? And why am I here? I thought I died. Actually, I thought that grumpy-looking girl over there killed me!”

Mira choked on her kimbap, cheeks flushing all the way to her ears.

“Hey! First of all, I do not look grumpy. Second, my name is Mira. M-I-R-A. Simple, short, to the point. Don’t forget it.”

“Oh? Mira?” Abby raised the cup to his lips, grimaced immediately at the bitter aftertaste. “I could’ve sworn it was Bira... or Lira... or something.”

“MIRA!” she yelled, her voice so sharp it made Jinu’s crow flap its wings in silent protest.

“Ah, right, Mira…” Abby blinked, flashing a smile so annoyingly charming it only made things worse. “How could I forget? The girl who was totally drooling over my muscles…”

“WHAT?! I WAS NOT DROOLING OVER ANYTHING! That’s slander! Defamation!” Her voice shot up so high the glasses on the table literally rattled.

That’s when a new voice cut through the chaos:

“I leave for two minutes and you’re already trying to kill each other again?” Ryujin approached the table balancing a tray stacked with more plates of kimbap, looking for all the world like the world’s most impatient waiter.

Now back in his “human” appearance — natural hair color, tattoos and golden eyes properly concealed — he still didn’t blend in. He was far too handsome for that. Too dangerous to ever seem normal. And yet, here he was, serving food like he wasn’t a former hell general with secrets too big for any plate to hold.

An awkward silence hovered for a few seconds as he set the fresh dishes on the table — and then... the feeding frenzy began.

Zoey, Hwanwoo, and Rumi dove into the rice rolls like zombie apocalypse survivors stumbling upon an all-you-can-eat buffet. Mira tried to keep some semblance of dignity, but the irresistible smell of seaweed and assorted fillings eventually broke her will.

“So many calories lost... during battle,” Rumi muttered, as if trying to justify stuffing an entire kimbap into her mouth in under two seconds.

Jinu looked at her, somewhere between amused and captivated. And of course, she noticed. And of course, she choked a little.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“I should thank you all for your help,” Ryujin said, his deep voice controlled, like someone stepping carefully through an emotional minefield. Jinu noticed he avoided looking directly at the hunters — but his eyes darted, almost involuntarily, toward Rumi.

“I didn’t expect one of the Underworld Kings to intervene, sending his servants,” he continued, tension woven through every word. “Much less... so soon.”

“Underworld Kings?!” Zoey cut in, her mouth still half full of kimbap. “You say that like... there’s more than one?”

She gave a nervous chuckle, hoping it was just a figure of speech. Maybe some kind of demonic joke.

But Ryujin didn’t laugh. He stared at her with a seriousness that made her blood run cold. Zoey swallowed the rest of her food like she was giving up on any hope of comfort.

“Hold on,” Rumi straightened in her seat, eyes locked on Ryujin. “Wasn’t Gwi-Ma the only one?”

“Those red demons…” Mira murmured, still examining her hands like she expected them to reveal some hidden truth. “They said something about... Jakdo.”

Ryujin exhaled slowly, running his fingers through his long, dark hair.

“Jakdo. The King of Wrath. Also known as the Crimson Fist… or the Hammer of Hell.” He paused, letting the weight of the names settle in the air. “It’s no coincidence his underlings wield hammers. It’s symbolic. And, of course, practical. There are seven kings in total. Each one embodies a human emotion — or more precisely, a primordial negative emotion. They use those emotions as criteria to claim the human souls that become demons within their domains.”

Jinu leaned back in his chair, absorbing every word with the expression of someone who had just opened a chest full of uncomfortable truths.

“I explained this briefly to Jinu before,” Ryujin continued. “Gwi-Ma was — or is — one of the kings. But he was... different. He resided near the Barrier, between the human world and the Underworld. His main role was to collect and process captured human souls. He’d send them off to the other domains to be consumed. Most demons are born there, under his oversight. But some... some are reborn directly into the other kingdoms. Rare. And usually dangerous.”

“What the hell is this?” Abby muttered, snatching a kimbap before Mira could reach it. He chewed slowly, eyes fixed on Ryujin. “I’ve never heard any of this. No divisions, no kings. Nothing.”

“Well, Abby,” Jinu said, his voice laced with irony. “Gwi-Ma wasn’t exactly a fan of transparency. Keeping his servants ignorant was apparently part of his grand strategy.”

The hunters fell silent. Even Zoey — who always had a snappy comment ready — stopped chewing and stared at Jinu as if he’d just revealed the sky was made of jelly.

“So… if Jakdo represents Wrath…” Jinu turned to Ryujin, hesitant. “What did Gwi-Ma represent?”

The silence that fell over the table was as heavy as concrete.

Ryujin answered without looking at anyone directly:

“Guilt.” The word hung in the air like a sentence. “He was known as the Overlord of Lament. His demons were marked by unresolved guilt. He fed on it. Used it as punishment, as fuel… as a chain.”

Jinu and Abby exchanged a look filled with old, bitter memories. No explanation was needed. It made too much sense. It hurt too much.

Of course Gwi-Ma was the king of guilt.

Who else could he have been?

“But… is any of this actually true?” Mira crossed her arms, her tone somewhere between skeptical and annoyed. “Because so far, we only have your word. And let’s be honest, you guys don’t exactly scream ‘reliable sources.’ What kind of magic was that, anyway? It’s a little too convenient that these demons show up just when you, big guy, were doing… whatever that was!”

“Mira…” Zoey tried to step in, her voice more diplomatic — maybe out of sheer survival instinct. Let’s face it, Ryujin had just crushed red demons like soda cans. Poking that level of power seemed… unwise. Like bothering a hive of bees with a cotton swab.

“We have the right to know!” Mira pushed on, staring Ryujin down. “There are way too many gaps in this story. You brought Jinu back. Then Abby. And now this whole thing about seven hell kings? Sorry, but that doesn’t exactly inspire trust.”

“She’s right,” Rumi finally said, her eyes steady on Ryujin. “You fought those demons, yes. But that doesn’t absolve you of responsibility. There are still too many unanswered questions.”

Ryujin held Rumi’s gaze for a moment before tilting his head slightly to the side and asking, in a voice laced with quiet calculation:

“And how did you get here so quickly?” The question caught Rumi off guard. “You showed up the exact moment the rift opened. Doesn’t feel like coincidence. I doubt you just ‘sensed’ the barrier’s instability. You were close by… maybe tracking something?”

"I..." Rumi stammered, instinctively glancing at Jinu, who was watching her with a puzzled expression. "I asked the question first!"

"Ah... I see." Ryujin gave a lopsided smile — but there was something more behind it. A hint of provocation. His gaze shifted from Jinu to Rumi. "You felt his energy, didn’t you? You tracked him. The bond between you two... it’s strong. And one-sided, it seems. Jinu can’t sense you, but you can sense him."

"What? A bond?" Jinu blinked, surprised. He turned to Rumi, who at that moment looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

"I... well... I did feel his energy, yeah." She gestured wildly, as if that might help her find the right words. "But that’s never happened before! I mean, I’m a hunter — I can sense fluctuations in the barrier, that’s normal. But sensing specific demonic energy? That never… until Jinu."

She took a deep breath, trying to get her thoughts in order — not that it helped, because now all eyes were on her.

"But it’s not just him. I can feel Abby too… and you," she added, pointing at Ryujin. "Not the same way I feel Jinu, but… different. Like a magnetic field that pulls… or pushes."

She wanted to dig a hole and bury herself in it. Saying all that in front of Jinu? Admitting she’d basically tracked him like an emotional GPS?

So not sexy.

"It’s not uncommon," Ryujin replied, a subtle glint in his eyes. "Especially among demons. Feeling each other’s energy is part of what we are. And you… well, you’re starting to embrace your underworld heritage."

Rumi froze.

Heritage.

The word echoed in her mind like a bell toll. As if the world had paused for a moment. Celine, with her wary and almost fearful gaze, had never explained much about Rumi’s demonic side. Sure, Zoey and Mira accepted her — but how far did that acceptance go? And now... this?

"I don’t feel any of that," Jinu muttered, sounding a bit left out.

"You’re not a primordial demon, Jinu," Hwanwoo said offhandedly, sipping his soda. "That’s first-generation stuff. Not recycled soul vibes."

"But I’m not a primordial demon either!" Rumi protested, her heart racing. "I’m just… just… a hybrid!"

"But you’re the daughter of one." Ryujin’s voice was soft, almost... gentle.

Silence.

Zoey and Mira’s eyes widened. Jinu swallowed hard. Abby furrowed his brow, trying to catch up. Hwanwoo just nibbled on his kimbap like he was watching a really good soap opera.

Rumi straightened in her seat, eyes practically sparking with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"You speak like you know a lot about me! How do you know all this? Don’t tell me… do you know my father?"

And that was the moment when the feared, elegant, and very bossy Ryujin choked.

Literally.

He started coughing uncontrollably, as if the air itself had staged a rebellion.

"I… I’m going to the bathroom!" he blurted, springing to his feet like a bomb was about to go off. "Demons do that too, okay? Basic bodily functions. Just… gonna go pee. Yep. That’s it."

And off he went. Fast.

Leaving everyone — including his own pride — behind, while the entire group sat there, jaws dropped.

Chapter Text

"Alright, can we at least agree that this whole thing is insanely weird?" Mira declared, throwing her arms in the air like she was expecting some cosmic jury to validate her outrage. She was pacing in circles next to her convertible, while Rumi leaned against the door and Zoey melted into the back seat, legs up like a bored teenager.

"This whole ‘Underworld Kings’ thing?" Mira went on, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How have we never heard of it before? Celine would’ve told us… right?"

"I don’t know," Rumi murmured, hugging her arms tightly around her body, as if the mere mention of her mentor—and adoptive mother—had made the wind colder. "I mean, she’s the one who told me to hide the fact that I’m a hybrid. All that chaos that happened... maybe it wouldn’t have blown up the way it did if that secret hadn’t been, you know, such a secret."

"That’s true," Zoey chimed in, raising one finger lazily from where she was still sprawled across the back seat. There was a bit more spark in her voice now. "I mean, you can’t deny the evidence, right? Those red demons? We’ve never fought anything like that. Celine never mentioned other types of demons either!"

Mira finally stopped pacing. She let out a frustrated sigh and crossed her arms.

"Fine. Point taken. But that still doesn’t make them"—she jerked her chin toward the group of demons across the parking lot—"suddenly trustworthy."

Jinu and Abby were sitting at a picnic table by the lake, flanked by a massive tiger and a rather ominous crow. Ryujin was rummaging around in the back of his pickup truck, accompanied by the redheaded boy who seemed to be his personal assistant. The sky was darkening slowly, deep blues bleeding into the purples of the oncoming night.

"They were attacked by those red demons too," Zoey countered. "And they protected us."

"Or pretended to protect us," Mira shot back, her eyebrow arched like a loaded weapon. "They’ve tricked us before. Don’t you remember?"

She didn’t say they tricked you outright, but the pointed look she gave Rumi made it perfectly clear.

"I agree," Rumi said quietly, lowering her gaze and running her fingers through her hair like she was trying to comb through her thoughts. "It’s all confusing. And it’s my fault you’re involved in this mess. I’m the one who sensed Jinu’s energy..."

Her gaze drifted to him — involuntarily — and wow, he really was more attractive when he looked serious. He was deep in conversation with Abby, eyes intense, expression focused... and then, as if he felt her watching, Jinu turned slightly and smiled. A small wave — barely there, almost shy.

Rumi looked away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

FOCUS, RUMI. FOCUS!

"And now there’s another Saja who’s been revived," she said, trying to regain her train of thought with at least a shred of dignity. "And then there’s Ryujin. He knows something about my father… I’m sure of it."

"And he’s insanely powerful," Mira added, her voice edged with unease, rubbing her arms as though to shake off a chill. "We’ve never encountered a demon like him. I don’t think even Gwi-Ma was on his level, right?"

"And he’s kinda cool," Zoey mumbled with a mischievous grin.

Mira shot her a glare sharp enough to slice through steel.

"What? He is!" Zoey defended herself, hands raised. "I mean, he did pay for our dinner. And we ate a lot, I might add. Plus, hello? He saved our lives! Even if this is all some elaborate plot to sacrifice us in a dark ritual… he’s taking his sweet time with it, don’t you think?"

Mira let out a groan and turned her back. Rumi couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped her — but her eyes still lingered on him.

Ryujin.

There was something about him that pulled at her — not in the same way Jinu did, whose connection felt raw and emotional, but something... different. Instinctive. Almost physical.

It was like his energy vibrated on a frequency she recognized without knowing how.

Great. Why isn’t there a manual on how demon stuff works? Because this — feeling two supernatural guys at once — should definitely come with a tutorial.

"And let’s not forget one very suspicious detail," Mira interjected, pointing as if delivering a closing argument in court. "He ran to the bathroom mid-conversation. And he was gone for like, thirty minutes! No one takes that long to pee!"

"Mira, for the love of everything unholy, can we respect other people’s bodily functions?" Zoey shot back, her sarcasm dripping like honey. "What if he went in for number one and got promoted to number two? Ever think of that? Maybe he had stomach cramps, maybe he was constipated — who knows! What are you now, a toilet inspector?"

Rumi bit her lip to suppress a laugh. She failed. Miserably. Even Mira cracked a reluctant smile, despite trying to hold on to her outrage.

"Demonic diarrhea or not, it was sketchy!" Mira insisted, narrowing her eyes. "And right when we brought up the big question."
She threw a meaningful look at Rumi.

"Yeah. About my father," Rumi said firmly, though her heart was already racing. "I noticed. He completely dodged the question. And he hasn’t explained why he’s reviving the Saja either. And these so-called kings of the underworld... why now? Why are they only just now sending their minions here? What exactly is going on?"

"Personally, I’m not complaining about more Saja-boys being revived..." Zoey murmured, her eyes gleaming mischievously.

"You should be!" Mira snapped, turning to her with hands on her hips. "What happens when they start attacking humans to drain their energy and go on a killing spree? Still gonna think it’s cute?"

"Well, Abby just drank that weird tea and seemed totally fine afterward, right? Didn’t attack anyone or anything!" Zoey countered with a smug smile. "Maybe the secret is hydration."

Mira rolled her eyes — but couldn’t quite argue against that with confidence.

"Just another mystery on our ever-growing list of ‘Things That Make Zero Sense.’" Rumi sighed, resting a hand on her hip with the determined posture of someone about to walk straight into trouble — again. Her two friends watched her with hesitant eyes.

"Going back to Seoul, to our apartment, pretending none of this is happening… that’s not going to solve anything."

She glanced toward the demon group — Ryujin was talking with the redheaded boy, while Jinu now strolled along the lake’s edge, a crow perched calmly on his shoulder. Night was truly falling now, and something hung in the air — an ancient tension, like the world itself was holding its breath.

"I say we go with them. This so-called ‘journey’ to revive the Saja… fine. Let’s tag along. And let’s get some answers."

"‘Get’ as in how, exactly?" Mira asked sweetly, clapping one fist into her palm in a way that was both charming and terrifying. "Torture? Dirty tricks? A good punch to the face?"

"Idols don’t do that, Mira!" Zoey cried, as if defending the sacred honor of an entire generation of popstars. Mira just rolled her eyes with dramatic flair.

Rumi raised her eyebrows, doing her best not to laugh.

"No torture. No punching. No kicking," she said with a half-smile. "The plan is to follow. Watch. Ask the right questions at the right time. And above all… keep an eye on them. They’re still demons. Our priority is making sure humans stay safe and the barrier stays intact. For now, they don’t seem like a threat to either… but if something changes, we need to be close enough to stop it."

All three nodded. A plan. One of those plans that only sounded reasonable until the first blast of dark magic hit — but still, it was something.

And honestly?
For Rumi, going with Ryujin and Jinu wasn’t just strategy.

It was necessity.

“What the hell kind of mess is this? Demon king? Throne? War?” Abby muttered, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Jinu stood by the edge of the lake, a crow perched calmly on his shoulder. Slowly, he turned to face Abby, who remained seated at the picnic table, idly stroking Derpy — the giant tiger who now snored softly like an oversized, spoiled housecat.

“In short... that’s exactly what’s happening. Or at least, that’s what Ryujin’s told me so far,” Jinu replied as he walked over and took a seat beside his friend, eyes fixed on the mirror-like surface of the water. “Not that he’s particularly good at explaining. The guy talks a lot, says very little... and loves giving orders. Oh — and vanishing whenever things get tense.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Abby said, raising a brow. “But this whole thing about you being... what, some kind of king? And the lavender-haired girl’s a queen too? So when’s the wedding, huh? And why didn’t I get an invite?”

He smirked, earning a playful shove from Jinu — who was, notably, slightly red-faced. Slightly embarrassed. Completely lost.

“She doesn’t even know about it yet, Abby. About Ryujin’s ‘master plan.’ Which honestly feels like a jacked-up, modern fanfic version of Game of Thrones.”

“So... no wedding yet? Alright, I’ll settle for the unresolved sexual tension, then. You two do that thing, you know — the intense stares, the charged silence... There’s enough electricity between you to power a small city. And yes, even I noticed. That says a lot.”

Jinu huffed and shoved him harder this time — not that it had much effect on the literal wall of muscle sitting beside him.

“This isn’t going to work...” Jinu muttered. “I already lied to her, Abby. She doesn’t trust me. And romance? With me? Not happening. I’m not that guy.”

“But you said this was your second chance, remember?” Abby cut in, his voice more serious now. “So if it is a second chance, Jinu... maybe stop running and, I don’t know — actually take it. With both hands.”

Jinu fell silent, eyes avoiding the spot behind him where Rumi stood with her friends — demon hunters and judges of character, all three. He had waved like an idiot when he caught her watching him. A tiny, pointless wave. Like a high schooler crushing on the cheer captain.

And there was still that weird thing — the way she could feel him. Sense him. Locate him, somehow. Was that a good thing? A bad one? He wasn’t sure yet. All he knew was that it shook him.

“Ryujin wants to bring back the rest of the Saja,” he said at last. “He thinks they could serve as generals in the coming war, that they should serve the king or queen... I don’t even know if you want that. Abby, I’m sorry if—”

Abby smacked him on the shoulder. Lightly. For Abby, anyway. For Jinu, it was like being punched by a troll.

“Works for me. Speaking just for myself, of course.”
Abby gave a lopsided smile, which faded quickly as he gazed out toward the horizon.
“I’ve never told you this — and honestly, we’ve always avoided talking about the past — but I served in an army once.”

Jinu turned to him, curiosity flickering across his face.

“I fought under the Joseon Dynasty. Second Manchu invasion. I was a low-ranking soldier, son of peasants. No name, no voice. But full of ambition. I wanted to rise, to lead, to stop being a dog obeying the stupid commands of arrogant nobles. And then came the contract with Gwi-Ma.”

He took a deep breath. There was bitterness in it. Maybe guilt too.

“I wanted power. I wanted to command. I wanted to lead men to victory. I wanted to be seen. What an idiot, right?”

Jinu nodded. Because he understood. Maybe more than he cared to admit.

“So... being your general? That’s no burden to me. Unlike the others.” Abby looked straight at him, eyes shadowed by old memories.
“You were always a leader, Jinu. Back in the Underworld. When you brought us together. When you gave us surnames. When you reminded us that we were more than monsters. More than what Gwi-Ma took from us.”

Jinu flushed, looking away.

“I didn’t do all that,” he mumbled, clearly uncomfortable.

Abby bumped his shoulder against Jinu’s — hard enough to nearly knock him off the bench.

“And still humble. Great trait for a king. And trust me, I’ve known problematic kings. And I don’t just mean Gwi-Ma.” He grinned.
“I’ll follow you, Jinu. Wherever this leads. Even if, sometimes, I really want to punch you just to see if it knocks some confidence into your thick skull.”

The pressure in Jinu’s chest eased a little. Abby’s loyalty had always been there — unwavering. But hearing it spoken aloud... somehow made the chaos around him feel a little more bearable.

There was just one detail.

He still hadn’t accepted this whole “king” thing. The throne. The war.

Maybe he should tell Abby that.

Maybe... later.

“How’s the house?” Ryujin asked while rummaging through the back of the pickup truck, as if searching for something important. Hwanwoo seriously doubted that he was. It seemed more like a flimsy excuse to avoid confronting the emotional disaster that had been his so-called “strategic retreat” to the bathroom—or more accurately, away from Rumi.

Hwanwoo closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on a distant point—or rather, on someone—before responding.

“Haerang says everything’s under control. Most of the guests from Jinu’s epic welcome-back party have left. A few decided to stay... Apparently, since you mentioned bringing back more demons, they think we should throw a party for each one.”

He chose not to mention his brother’s grumbling about the obscene number of times he’d had to clean the bathroom, or the fact that dish soap and toilet paper were now officially on the endangered species list. He doubted Ryujin had much interest in domestic drama.

The former general let out a muffled chuckle.

“The Circle of Return has always loved a good party...” he murmured. “But I don’t think this is exactly party time.”

Hwanwoo sighed. Oh no. Here it came: the slow, inevitable spiral into apocalyptic pessimism.

“Is Nari still there?” Ryujin asked suddenly, already shifting into full strategist mode. “Tell Haerang to send the coordinates for the other Saja. We’ll need to move fast.”

The fox demon rolled his eyes, dramatically.

“Yes, sir. But just for the record: I am not your cellphone. And before you go off collecting supernatural idols to form some kind of demonic K-pop group, how about focusing on something slightly more urgent?”

Ryujin glanced up, halting his desperate digging through the back of the truck.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Hwanwoo, everything is urgent right now. Demon kings invading. Dimensional barrier on the verge of collapse. Possible end of the world as we know it...”

“Yes, yes, I’ve seen this movie. The ending usually sucks,” Hwanwoo replied dryly, crossing his arms. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking... about your daughter.”

Silence.

Ryujin stopped. Completely froze, like someone had hit the pause button on the cosmic remote controlling his entire existence.

“This is personal,” he murmured, avoiding Hwanwoo’s gaze.

“And I get that. I really do. But do you honestly think you can lead an interdimensional war while pretending that this emotional wound doesn’t exist?”

“It won’t... It won’t interfere with the mission,” he replied, though his own hesitation gave him away. “I’ll talk to her. I’m just... waiting for the right moment.”

“You really believe that ‘right moment’ is going to magically show up, Ryujin? It’s been years. She has every right to be hurt. But you still have a chance to do something about it. Take it, before she disappears for good.”

Hwanwoo rarely spoke with such intensity. But there was something different in his voice now—something raw, something deeply personal. And Ryujin noticed.

“She’s lucky, you know? To have a father like you. Still around. Even if you don’t think you’re enough,” the younger man said, his gaze sharp. “My brother and I... we weren’t that lucky. Our mom, a Gumiho, died young. And our human father? The man could barely cook rice, let alone handle two teenage boys who literally burst into flames when they were angry. Or turned into foxes and occasionally got picked up by animal control. In the end, I kind of get why he left.”

He laughed—but it was a bitter laugh, hollow and sharp.

“If it weren’t for the Circle... and for you... we’d have been hunted by the Hwarang. Just like my mother.”

“Hwanwoo...” Ryujin stepped closer, reaching out—realizing too late that the boy was trembling beneath the thick layer of sarcasm he wore like armor. He always forgot how young Hwanwoo and Haerang really were. How much they’d lost. How alone they felt.

After all, they hadn’t met another Gumiho besides each other.

Maybe the others were in hiding, terrified of human hunters. Or maybe... maybe they were already gone.

And that thought hurt more than Ryujin cared to admit.

Hwanwoo pulled away from his touch.

“Rumi’s lucky,” he repeated, eyes fixed on a point no one else could see. “But what she needs isn’t a silent guardian watching from the shadows. She needs a father. And you still have a chance to be that. Don’t waste it.”

With his hands deep in the pockets of his bright orange coat, Hwanwoo turned and walked away, leaving Ryujin standing there—surrounded by wind and words that echoed louder than any scream.

He exhaled, feeling the weight settle heavier on his shoulders. Sometimes, he wished Ryu were still around. She’d always been better at this kind of thing. Relationships. Emotions. Conflicts that couldn’t be solved with blades or spells.

But then there was the promise.

That damned promise he made to Celine.

And yet, after Gwi-Ma’s attack... after watching Rumi not only accept—but embrace—her true nature...

Maybe that promise no longer made sense.

Maybe... it was time to break it.

Chapter Text

“Oh! I’m so thrilled you finally called me for something fun — a vacation! For real!” Bobby, Huntr/x’s manager, was practically bouncing through the speakerphone with so much enthusiasm it almost buzzed through the air. “I mean, no shade if you girls just wanted to veg out on the couch watching Netflix or something. You deserve it. Golden is still topping the charts, by the way! But wow, you’re finally using my special talents... hotel booking! VIP-secured hotels, obviously. I always protect my girls’ privacy. Now… just one little question: why so many rooms, huh? Can I ask that? There’s only three of you…”

Rumi took a deep breath, brushing a strand of lavender hair behind her ear as she tried to come up with a response that sounded… less suspicious than the truth.

Calling Bobby the night before, requesting a hotel with a private wing and an abnormal number of rooms, had probably triggered at least four mental red flags. And knowing Bobby, he was already writing his own fanfics in his head.

“Well…” she started, twisting her hair tighter around her fingers, as if that might help her neurons conjure a halfway-convincing lie.

“Hey, no judgment if you’re bringing friends, okay?” Bobby added, voice dripping with not-so-subtle curiosity. “Just be careful with the paparazzi, Rumi. You know how fans can be. Not everyone reacts well when idols are seen getting... too close to guys. There’s still that ridiculous notion that being an idol is like taking a vow of chastity.”

He laughed, but she didn’t. Because, well, that was exactly the problem. The extra rooms were for guys. Supernatural guys, sure. But guys nonetheless. And to make it even worse, two of them were members of the Saja Boys. Which made everything sound ten times more scandalous to the outside world.

“My contract doesn’t forbid me from... dating. I can have a boyfriend if I want. My fans would understand,” she said, trying to sound casual.

She failed. Miserably.

Great. Now it sounded like she actually had a boyfriend. Which would only make Bobby more curious.
Well done, Rumi. Mission failed — with flair.

The truth? She’d never really been into that sort of thing. Dating, flirting, romantic drama. Years of a laser-focused career had left no room for distractions. And on top of that, she had a mission — she was a Hunter.
Even with Zoey and Mira pushing — hard — for her to go out, have fun, maybe kiss someone cute just for the thrill of it... that had never been her vibe.

Until... well. Until a certain demon waltzed into her life and turned everything upside down.

“Look, personally, I don’t see anything wrong with it,” Bobby said, with that unmistakable tone that meant he was smiling on the other end of the line. He had always been one of the biggest supporters of the “Rumi takes a break and unwinds” movement. To him, it also meant: “Bobby takes a break and unwinds.”
“But still, be careful with the paparazzi, okay? And, uh… in case this person exists — not that I’m saying they do, of course — we’re gonna need to have a talk later about image management, strategic rebranding, the usual PR stuff...”

“There’s no one, Bobby. And thank you for the booking — the hotel is wonderful. Bye now!” she replied quickly, before he could spiral into full-blown gossip mode, and hung up with a sigh as heavy as the entire private wing he had reserved for them.

Yep. Now Bobby was definitely even more curious.

But technically, she hadn’t lied. There wasn’t anyone. Nothing official. Nothing solid. Just a tiny... infatuation.
One that probably wasn’t mutual.
And even if it was — which she seriously doubted — there was no room for distractions.
There were questions to be answered. New demons on the radar. Kings of the Underworld. She needed to stay focused.

Rumi walked down the hotel corridors toward the leisure area. The place was massive — clearly above four-star quality — with sleek modern decor, tinted glass windows, ornamental plants worthy of a royal palace, and presidential-level soundproofing. Bobby had really outdone himself getting an entire wing just for them. Which, honestly, made sense.
They weren’t just globally famous K-pop idols. The group also included demons, a supernatural fox spirit, and a worrying tendency to attract otherworldly chaos.

“What a mess...” she muttered, stepping into the lounge area — just in time to instinctively dodge a ping-pong ball that nearly hit her in the face.

Good thing she was a trained Hunter with reflexes far beyond human.
The ball zipped past her nose by mere centimeters, bounced off the wall, and dropped to the floor as if nothing had happened.

“Yeah! Point for me!” Rumi heard Abby cheer from across the lounge, throwing his arms up like he’d just won a world championship.

He was wearing a floral shirt that had clearly made the fatal mistake of underestimating the sheer size of the muscles it was meant to cover — the buttons were one sneeze away from mutiny. White shorts and fuzzy slipper-sandals completed his “demonic tropical vacation” look.

“Don’t celebrate just yet, pretty boy! That only means we’re tied,” Mira shot back, wearing the expression Rumi knew all too well: arched brows, narrowed eyes, and the deadly focus of a war goddess. She had on a black crop top that read Bad Girl Club, loose gray sweatpants, and of course, she was barefoot. The ping-pong paddle in her hand looked more like an extension of her soul than a piece of sports equipment.

“Well, technically… it’s just a preview of my inevitable victory,” Abby said, flashing one of those half-smirks that were half-charming, fully annoying.

“As if!” Mira growled, grabbing an extra ball and launching it with enough force to knock over small nations. Abby, of course, returned it with ease. Naturally.

Rumi tried to follow the match, her head swinging side to side like an overexcited tennis spectator, but gave up quickly. The ball was a blur — impossible to track. They were obviously cheating, using their supernatural reflexes to turn a friendly game into a mythic-level showdown.

Thank the gods — and Bobby — for booking that entire wing just for them. Explaining to regular guests why two twenty-somethings were playing ping-pong with Olympic-level intensity would’ve been... complicated.

“Who are you betting on, Rumi?” asked Zoey from the nearby couch. She was holding a bubble tea, legs tucked under her oversized hoodie, her baby tee decorated with cartoon kittens — the perfect finishing touch to her brand of adorable chaos.

“She’s obviously gonna bet on her bestie,” said someone else before Rumi could even open her mouth.

Because Zoey wasn’t alone. Sitting next to her, also sipping bubble tea with the carefree energy of someone who didn’t care how much of a fashion crime he was committing in public, was Hwanwoo. Orange shirt. Neon green pants. Neon green pants. Rumi felt her retinas cry for mercy.

“What a shame,” he added, sipping through his straw with a teasing grin, “because your friend is clearly about to lose.”

“She is not going to lose!” Zoey retorted, jabbing her nail into the fox spirit’s arm. He didn’t even flinch.

“Oh no?” he said, pointing casually toward the match, which by now had reached shonen anime levels of intensity. “Just watch.”

The ball spun so fast it let out a faint whistle as it cut through the air. Mira struck it back with supernatural force, the impact echoing like a sharp, powerful snap. Abby laughed. That kind of dangerous laugh.

Rumi bit her lower lip, nerves creeping in.

She knew Mira — how fiercely competitive she was. The kind who didn’t take defeat lightly. But Hwanwoo... he seemed way too confident.

Then Abby made a wide move. Maybe a little too wide. Or maybe it was intentional. Who could tell?

The fact was, the floral shirt couldn’t take the pressure. With a dramatic pop, two buttons flew off like tiny missiles, exposing part of a sculpted chest worthy of a French cologne commercial.

Rumi barely had time to react before hearing a long, not-so-subtle sigh of admiration beside her. Zoey.

And then came a sound from Mira — a strange, high-pitched noise, something between genuine surprise and dear gods, I’ve just been blessed with a sinful celestial vision.

Abby smiled.

Of course he did.

Because maybe — just maybe — that had been his secret weapon all along.

And it worked.

Mira, visibly shaken by the full HD 4K view of Abby’s demonic abs, faltered for just a millisecond. Just enough to lower her guard. Abby seized the opportunity, sending the ball spinning back with precision. It bounced once on the table and shot off before Mira could even move.

“Three sets to two,” Hwanwoo announced without even lifting his eyes from his bubble tea, voice muffled by Abby’s victorious whoop and Mira’s furious growl.

“That was unfair!” Mira complained, stomping over to Abby with a scowl, clearly ready to file a formal protest. She raised her index finger, aiming to poke that indecently sculpted chest in the name of justice... but managed only a single touch before blushing like a teenager in a school drama.

“Hey, not my fault you got distracted,” Abby said with a sideways smirk — and of course, flexed on purpose. Mira blinked. Twice. The chest moved. She nearly drooled.

That bare chest should be considered a public health hazard. An act of indecency against the moral order of South Korea, she thought, shaking her head like she was trying to exorcise the literal demon of lust from her system.

“I wasn’t distracted! I just... stumbled. That’s all. Miscalculated,” she retorted, visibly flustered.

“Sure, Mira. Keep living in denial,” he replied with that smug confidence that really deserved a gentle shove down a staircase.

“I demand a rematch!” she declared, stomping her foot.

“As you wish. But this time, a different game...” he said, glancing around in search of a new arena. He was just about to point toward the row of Street Fighter arcade machines when Mira grabbed his hand.

“You picked the last one. Now it’s my turn.” She flashed a victorious, feline smile.

“Oh, you think that’ll give you an edge?” he teased, one brow raised in mockery. “Sweet delusion.”

“We’ll see, hotshot. You haven’t seen all of my skills yet,” she whispered, her voice laced with challenge.

Abby hesitated for just a second. A faint blush crept across his cheeks.

But before he could fire back with another snarky comment, Mira was already dragging him by the hand toward the glowing Dance Dance Revolution machine in the corner.

The next battle would be fought on the dance floor.

And yes — she was still holding his hand. And no — neither of them looked like they were in any rush to let go.

“Aww, I lost...” Zoey pouted dramatically, but the disappointment lasted about three seconds before transforming into pure excitement. “Wait! I wanna play too! No fair, you two hogging all the competition!”

She dropped her bubble tea on the coffee table — right next to a forgotten can of soda — and skipped off after the duo heading toward the machine.

“Come on, Rumi!” she called out, not even glancing back.

Rumi smiled... but shook her head no.

While the others got swept up in the thrill of the competition, she felt something odd — an absence, a subtle shift in the surrounding energy. Two members of their group were very clearly... missing.

“Where’s Jinu?” she asked, glancing toward Hwanwoo, who was still sipping his tea with near-theatrical slowness. Honestly, it felt intentional. And knowing him, it probably was.

“Don’t you have that special little ability to track him down?” the fox demon replied with a sly half-smile, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Maybe so, but it's still more polite to ask than to... I don’t know, go around sniffing like a dog! Not that I ever did that. Or would. I do not go around sniffing Jinu!" she blurted out, waving her hands as if trying to erase the words from the air. A full-on social catastrophe in progress.

Hwanwoo let out a dry, amused chuckle — the kind that tasted like pure chaos.

“Pretty sure demon-boy’s at the noraebang. This hotel’s got a private karaoke room. Real fancy, real flashy, all that luxury nonsense,” he said, stretching with the lazy indifference of a spoiled cat. “And if you’re wondering about Ryujin too — he went to the sauna. Says the steam helps him relax. The heat. Must be a demon thing. You guys seem to like that.”

Rumi frowned when he gestured casually toward her.

He had included her in the demon category. Not as an insult — but like it was... natural. Familiar. Like she was part of the team.

She should have been offended. Honestly. But...

She wasn’t.

“I didn’t ask about Mr. Ryujin,” she grumbled, trying to scrape together some dignity.

“I noticed. But I shared anyway. Because your real concern was painfully obvious. Spoiler: it starts with ‘Ji’ and ends with ‘nu.’” He flashed another one of those smug smiles — the kind that made it feel like he could read her mind, which should definitely be illegal.

She blushed. Full-body, soul-level blushed. Ridiculous.

“Hwanwoo!” Zoey shouted from across the room, standing in front of the dance machine. “Hurry up! It's gonna be a tag battle — me and Mira against you and Abby!”

The fox demon let out a dramatic sigh — the kind that screamed I’m way too cool for this — but Rumi caught it.

He smiled. Just a little. Barely noticeable. But it was there.

Then he turned and walked off with that lazy, confident stride of his, heading straight for the Dance Dance Revolution machine.

Rumi stayed there for a moment, caught between mild frustration and self-annoyance. Maybe it was time to head back to her room. Breathe. Put on a face mask and pretend emotions weren’t a thing.

But by the time she noticed, she was already walking down the hallway...

Toward the karaoke room.

Damn it. She was so predictable.

Chapter Text

The karaoke room wasn’t far from the rec area — close enough that Rumi could still hear the muffled pulse of electronic music, tangled with the shouts and laughter of her friends.
Zoey was probably already dancing like a whirlwind.
Abby, striking a pose.
And Hwanwoo... well, being insufferably himself.

It was the perfect moment to turn around and rejoin them.

But instead, Rumi took a deep breath, raised her hand, and knocked on the door. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

The silence inside should have made her retreat.
But something — stronger than common sense (perhaps stubbornness, or worse, her heart) — made her turn the handle and step inside.

And immediately, she was hit by a wave of sound — a dance beat so powerful it nearly knocked her backward.

“Don’t want you, need you / Yeah, I need you to fill me up
Masigo masyeo bwado / Seonge chaji ana…”

But it wasn’t just the music.
It was the scene.

Jinu stood in the center of the dimly lit room, a whirlwind of chaos wrapped in perfectly styled hair.
Pink T-shirt over an open plaid shirt, loose jeans, barefoot.
One foot on the center table. The other on the floor, tapping to the rhythm.
On the curved black sofa, the screen scrolled karaoke lyrics at a speed that dared you to keep up.

And he was singing. With emotion. With presence.
With that voice she knew too well — the one she had once loved, envied, and yes, briefly hated too.

She smiled. She couldn’t help it. The smile just... happened.

Because for one fleeting moment, something light bloomed in her chest. Something that said: He’s still here. He’s still singing.
And that — even if they were musical rivals, even if they were borderline magical arch-nemeses (a demon and a hunter, let’s not forget) — still felt precious.

Even if it was that song. That cursed, annoyingly catchy TikTok hit.

“Rumi?”
He nearly fell off the table when he saw her. Literally.

“No! Keep going, please!” she blurted out, hands up like she’d just walked in on someone in the shower instead of a private concert.

Jinu smirked. That half-smile of his — part irony, part effortless charm (or maybe very intentional charm, who knew).
He grabbed the second microphone and tossed it her way. Rumi caught it on instinct.

Bad idea.

“What? Oh no. Jinu, don’t.”

“Come on, sing with me. Don’t tell me you don’t know the lyrics. Soda Pop is viral. It’s everywhere. Everyone knows it.”

She pouted. Of course she knew the song. It stuck in your head like a curse.

And before she could convince herself to bolt, she raised the mic to her lips and sang:

"You're all I can think of
Every drop I drink up
You're my soda pop
My little soda pop..."

Jinu jumped in with the harmony. And suddenly, they were singing together.

But more than that — they were connecting. It was as if that invisible stage inside the karaoke room had summoned something within her — that old spark of being in sync, like when she sang with Zoey and Mira. Only different.
Stronger.

More intimate.

They danced — without even planning to. Jinu raised an eyebrow when he noticed she knew the choreography.

“What? It’s not that hard,” she muttered, blushing down to her soul.

He laughed.

They sang. They danced. They laughed between verses like the world wasn’t teetering on the edge of magical and emotional chaos.

Then, Rumi made an impulsive request — she wanted to sing one of her group’s songs.One of the ones that held a piece of her soul.

Jinu hesitated. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say no.

But he didn’t.

And when the backing track for Golden started playing — and he joined in by the first few lines — she was… stunned. Not just because he knew the song. But because he felt it. Genuinely.

"Waited so long to break these walls down
To wake up and feel like me
Put these patterns all in the past now
And finally live like the girl they all see"

"No more hiding, I'll be shining
Like I'm born to be
'Cause we are hunters, voices strong
And I know I believe"

Rumi felt it. Every word. Every note.

There was weight in his voice — not a polished, performative kind of emotion, but something raw, almost uncomfortable.
Real. Familiar.

She knew exactly what that was.Because she’d felt the same thing when she wrote that song with the girls. It was about no longer pretending. About refusing to shrink yourself. About being who you truly are — even if the world insisted otherwise.

Did… Jinu feel that too?

Of course, his story was different. He’d once served Gwi-Ma, sold his soul, walked away from his own family to seal a cursed pact. There was shame there. Fear. Invisible scars he hid too well — except when he sang.

And then he looked at her. Not in passing. Not by accident.

Directly.

And that was when Rumi forgot to breathe. Maybe even to exist — because it felt exactly like that: like the floor had vanished into smoke and time had frozen for a perfect three seconds.

He was beautiful.

And not in the "school crush" way. Not like a k-pop idol on stage. He was the dangerous kind of beautiful — the kind that turned your stomach to molten lava and wiped your mind completely blank.

Oh no.

This wasn’t just a crush.
Or a fleeting infatuation.

She let the microphone slip from her hand. A burst of static filled the room like a slap to the face.

"Ah! Sorry!" she blurted out, scrambling to pick it up, as if she could bury her embarrassment along with the mic.

“It’s fine,” Jinu said, chuckling softly through a mix of fatigue and amusement. Then he collapsed onto the couch with a long, satisfied sigh. “It’s been a while since I last sang. Not since Ryujin brought me back.”

Back from the dead, basically, Rumi thought. Cool. Totally normal.

She silently thanked the dim lighting for hiding just how red her face was. Maybe he’d think it was just from all the intense singing. Or the dancing. Or from dropping the mic like a complete amateur.

And not because she was completely, ridiculously, undeniably smitten.

“Your voice… it’s still really good,” she said without thinking — and her own voice cracked. Perfect.

But she meant it.

“Want some water?” Jinu offered, already flashing that effortlessly kind smile. “There’s a mini fridge here.”

Before she could even answer, he was already up, slipping into “hell prince meets polite boy next door” mode as he headed toward a side door.

Rumi stood there, watching him disappear, and of course — her mind spiraled.

Get a grip, Rumi. You should be using this moment to ask him why the hell he helped bring back the other Saja Boys. And the Demon Kings. And that Ryujin person. Remember the mission? Investigate? Ask intelligent questions?

She huffed, crossing her arms.

Who was she kidding? She hadn’t gone after Jinu just because of the mission. Of course not.

Sighing under the weight of her emotional hypocrisy, she averted her eyes — and that’s when she noticed the coffee table. Scattered across it were a mess of crumpled papers, filled with handwritten lyrics — some scratched out, others with notes scribbled in the margins.

She hesitated for half a second. But curiosity won. She picked up one of the pages. It was a song. A draft.

And as Rumi read the first line…

…it felt like the world stopped spinning.

"I told you I was fine…
But I wasn't, not even close
I smiled like the truth was mine
But lies dissolve when they get too close
You reached for me with open grace
I turned away, couldn’t face that place
I was afraid you’d really see
All the fear that lived in me"

The words felt alive. And aching. And beautiful. The kind of beautiful that tightens your chest and stings your eyes, even when you’ve sworn you wouldn’t cry.

Jinu was writing new songs. Even after everything. Rumi pressed her lips together, trying to hold back a smile. Of course he was. That was so him. So unapologetically, inherently him. Being a demon hadn’t stripped away what he loved most. The music was still there — and so was the pain. And maybe, just maybe… a bit of hope, too.

She kept reading, fully drawn in:

"I carved a mask with frozen light
Said 'I’m okay' just out of fright
And now I’m sitting all alone
Whispering sorry into the stone
But I lied… not to run or hide
I was scared… of the pain inside
If I could turn back time tonight
I’d hold your hand, I’d make it right
One more chance to dance in your light
I’d give it all, no need to fight
I lost myself in circumstance
Just give me… a second chance
You were the calm in every storm
And I was afraid to feel so warm
You believed, while I built walls
Too scared to rise, I chose to fall
Now your name echoes in the dark
A quiet burn, a fading spark
I see your smile when I sleep
A love too wide, a wound too deep"

When she finished reading, she kept her eyes on the page longer than she cared to admit.

Every line hit like a velvet-wrapped punch. Each verse throbbed with the weight of an unspoken truth, begging to be heard in the silence between two heartbeats.

And they all whispered the same thing: Jinu was hurting. And sorry. And maybe… just maybe… he still felt something. For someone.

Rumi swallowed hard.

Because in that frozen moment, she wasn’t sure if she was reading a song… or the raw confession of a heart in ruins.

But was it… meant for her?

“Oh… no…” A voice behind her broke the silence — hesitant, almost fragile.

Reality snapped back into place.

Jinu.

She looked up and found him standing in the doorway, one hand holding a half-opened bottle of water, the other clenched at his side. His eyes were a storm: guilt, embarrassment, maybe even fear.
A tangle of emotions written across a face far too beautiful to be carrying that kind of vulnerability.

This was all Abby’s fault. With his whole “believe in second chances” talk and that classic “maybe you should try being honest about your feelings, just once in your life.” Great advice, Abby. Truly. Stellar.

Jinu had absolutely no intention of confessing anything to Rumi. All of that — the overflowing pile of emotions disguised as lyrics — was just a way to vent. A pressure release.
Music was the only thing he could still do that didn’t involve death, pain, or regret.

Maybe he should’ve hidden it. Or burned it. Or drowned it in ketchup and mayo and swallowed it whole without choking.

“This... uh... it’s just...” he began, raising a hand to his head in a gesture of sheer despair — and, of course, forgetting he was still holding an open bottle of water.

A cascade poured down his face, shoulder, and chest, soaking his shirt in seconds.

“Oh, come on! Of course,” he groaned, gritting his teeth. “Because I clearly wasn’t looking pathetic enough already…”

And that’s when he heard it. A laugh. Soft. Almost stifled.

Rumi.

Great. Perfect. Now, on top of being dramatic and pitiful, he was also officially funny. The crowned mascot of embarrassment.

“Wait...” she said, reaching for a box of tissues on the counter.

“No, really. I’m fine.”

“I’m helping.”

“Rumi, seriously, it’s not—”

“Jinu, stop being stubborn and shut up, okay?”

Before he could argue, he was already sitting on the couch. Rumi knelt in front of him, perched on the coffee table, and began gently patting his face dry with a tissue.

The silence that followed was heavy. Not empty — but full of unsaid things.
It hung in the air like enchanted dust, shimmering with everything neither of them dared name.

He had to say something.

“How much... did you read?” he murmured, still too afraid to meet her eyes.

He could feel the soft pressure of the tissue against his skin. Careful. Delicate. Almost reverent. But... there was a slight tremble.

Was she trembling?

Maybe from disgust. Or discomfort. Or maybe... maybe she was trying to pretend it hadn’t meant anything. That it didn’t matter.

And how could he blame her?

He was a demon. Literally. And even though she was half-demon, half-human... there were probably limits to what someone like her could truly accept.

Not to mention he had lied. To her. Deceived her. Betrayed her trust.

So why… why was she still here? Drying his face. With trembling hands.

“Rumi…” he murmured, turning slightly toward her — and saw her up close. A few strands of hair had escaped her braid, clinging to her skin, either from the heat of the room or the dancing earlier. She looked disheveled. Alive. Devastatingly beautiful.

He gathered his courage and reached for her hand — gently. A silent question wrapped in a single touch.

“Oh…” she whispered, startled.

Jinu braced for the slap. Mentally, he was already accepting the impact. But it didn’t come.

“You still have it?” she asked.

“What?”

Then he saw it. Her eyes had drifted to his wrist. The bracelet.
That one — woven in purples and blues — the one she’d given him on their very first date. A silly, sweet, completely unforgettable gift. And somehow, impossibly… it was still with him. Even through the void between life and death. Even after everything.

Jinu touched it with his fingers, almost in disbelief.

“I never could bring myself to get rid of it…” he said, staring at the bracelet on his wrist like it held centuries of memories.

“Not that I wanted to! I mean, I like it… a lot. Even if it’s not exactly my style. Not that it’s ugly or anything — it’s cute! I like it. I think I already said that. Gods… what am I even saying?” he muttered, burying his face in his free hand, clearly regretting every word tumbling from his mouth.

Rumi laughed — and it wasn’t mocking. Not at all. It was soft. Warm. Almost… conspiratorial.

When he looked up again, she was smiling in a way that could make any lost soul want to find their way right there, at the heart of that smile. Her cheeks were flushed, and a loose strand of hair had fallen gently over her eyes.

“I loved the poem,” she said, her voice low but steady.

Jinu blinked, as if he hadn’t heard her right.

“Seriously?” He leaned forward slightly, incredulous — trying to gauge how much she truly meant it.

She nodded, her eyes glowing with something he couldn’t quite name — tenderness, desire, or maybe… forgiveness. Maybe all three.

“You don’t have to feel so guilty about everything that happened…” she said. “Honestly? I don’t even think about it that much.”

“But you should,” he said — voice low, barely more than a confession. “I hurt you, Rumi. I saw it. Even under Gwi-Ma’s influence… even when he was in control… I should’ve fought harder. For you. For us.”

Jinu hesitated. Then, still holding her hand — the one that wore the bracelet she had given him so long ago — he raised his other hand and gently brushed away the strand of hair covering part of her face.

Rumi didn’t pull away.

On the contrary, her lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile. And then… she started to sing. Her voice was gentle, barely more than a whisper, but each note carried weight:

Why does it feel right every time I let you in?
Why does it feel like I can tell you anything?
All the secrets that keep me in chains, and
All the damage that might make me dangerous…

Jinu felt something shift inside his chest — something he didn’t even realize he’d still been carrying.
He joined her, his rougher voice blending into hers like they were made for this harmony:

You got a dark side, guess you're not the only one
What if we both tried fighting what we're running from?
We can't fix it if we never face it…
What if we find a way to escape it?

The song wrapped around them — but it was more than melody. It was a spell.
A vow rewritten, note by note, between two hearts still cracked but beating in sync.

And then… there was no more music. Only silence. Warm. Full.

When had their faces drawn so close? He didn’t know.
All he knew was that her nose brushed his, her breath tickled his lips, and the entire world had shrunk down to just this: her, him, and a tension so fragile it might ignite at the slightest touch.

Who moved first?
It wasn’t him.
It was her.

With a sudden, determined motion, Rumi grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him toward her. Their lips met with restrained urgency — a fire that started soft but quickly spread like wildfire, searing every cell in their bodies.
The kiss was everything Jinu had feared — and everything he had secretly longed for: sweet and intense, hesitant and overwhelming, like a first step into the unknown.

His hands found her waist, pulling her closer with instinctive desperation, as if afraid the moment would vanish.
Her fingers tangled in his hair. Their bodies aligned, and the world pulsed around them.

The barrier — the Honmoon — began to hum. Faint at first, then stronger.
As if echoing the rhythm of their connection. As if, for one brief heartbeat, the universe aligned itself with the cadence of two souls rediscovering each other.

They didn’t notice.

Because all that existed was the kiss.

A kiss that healed.
A kiss that burned.
A kiss that spoke every truth they still hadn’t dared to say out loud.

Chapter Text

She pulled away for just a second — a single, miserable second — to breathe.
Air. Seriously? Why did the human body even need that? Who decided oxygen was more important than keeping on kissing Jinu? Clearly someone who had never experienced this.

She almost gave in to the urge to kiss him again, but then a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

Their foreheads were still pressed together, both of them breathless. His eyes were glowing — not just golden, but lit from within, like magic and emotion had melted into one. Dark demonic markings coiled in hypnotic spirals along the exposed skin of his neck, reaching down to the edge of his chest — visible now, thanks to the shirt still damp from the spilled water. It was an utterly, sinfully beautiful sight, and Rumi felt her stomach twist.

"What?" she asked, frowning, already bracing herself for the old, familiar sting of embarrassment. That gnawing fear of having done something stupid.

"Nothing… it’s just…" Jinu bit his lip, looking away with a lopsided, slightly dazed smile.

And there it was. Her insecurity roared back instantly. Had she come on too strong? Misread everything? Maybe he—

"It’s just… all of this feels unreal. Like… a dream," he murmured, voice low, as if admitting something too fragile to speak aloud.

Every trace of doubt in her vanished in that instant.

Rumi cupped his face with both hands — firm, yet gentle.

"This is definitely not a dream," she said, eyes locked with his. "And I definitely couldn’t handle waking up and finding out you’d disappeared. Again."

Her voice faltered at the end. Because even though he was there, and the magical barrier had been restored, and her friends were safe, and the world was (mostly) saved — recent revelations about the Demon Kings of the Underworld notwithstanding —
the emptiness still whispered. Some scars couldn’t be erased by victories alone.
Some needed time.
Others… love.

"I’m so sorry, Rumi…" Jinu said, leaning in to brush her lips with his in the softest kiss — a whispered apology given mouth-to-mouth.

But it wasn’t enough.

So she pulled him back in.

This time, the kiss was deeper. Slower. Hotter. A wordless invitation, and Jinu answered like he’d been waiting for it his whole life. His hands slid around her waist with a reverence that bordered on indecent, and their lips found each other like they were made for that purpose alone.

Lips. Tongues. Breathless murmurs. Teeth daring each other to cross a line.

The karaoke music playing in the background had blurred into irrelevance. They were on the couch — or had started there, at least.
Because at some point, without even noticing when, Rumi had ended up in his lap.
And it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

The heat between them was like magic — pulsing, uncontrollable, and dangerously addictive.

“You have to promise me,” she said suddenly, pulling back just enough to breathe, even though she hated every second of distance.

Jinu let out a soft growl, like a beast annoyed that his favorite moment had been interrupted.

“What?” he asked, brows furrowed, his gaze far too hungry to register any rational request.

“That next time we’re in the middle of a battle,” she began, her fingers still tangled in the collar of his shirt, “you won’t throw yourself in front of me like some heroic idiot in golden armor, trying to protect me and end up destroying yourself in the process. You’ll stay alive. And with me. Promise me, Jinu.”

His brows arched, and the smile slowly faded from his face. His gaze shifted away from hers.

Wrong move. That was not what she wanted to see.

“Jinu!” she demanded, pinching his cheek hard enough to make him wince with a genuinely offended, “Ow!”

“Rumi… you’re asking me for something I’m not sure I can promise,” he said, still with his cheek caught between her fingers. “I just… I can’t stand there and watch someone I care about suffer. Not again. You can be mad at me all you want, but I don’t regret what I did. If that’s what it took to keep you alive… I’d do it all over again.”

And right then, Rumi’s heart jumped so hard she thought she might faint. Or throw up. Or combust. Or kiss him again until she forgot her own name.

She went with the last option.

“You’re such a damn idiot…” she said, unable to keep from smiling, even though she’d meant to sound more upset. And instead of listing all the ways he was unbearably infuriating, impossibly stubborn, ridiculously sweet, and completely impossible not to love…
She just kissed him again.

Long. Slow.
Laced with desire, tenderness, and a trace of desperation.
As if she were trying to convince the universe that this moment needed to last forever.

But the universe — being the jerk it so often was — had other plans.

And they came knocking.

Literally.

Loud, impatient bangs echoed through the room, followed by a chorus of shrill voices in varying degrees of panic and irritation.

"Something weird is going on!"
It was Mira. Freaking out. Classic Mira.

"The barrier’s vibrating! Like… vibrating in a really weird way!"
Zoey, her voice hitting that pitch that usually meant the apocalypse was imminent.

"And what’s wrong with that? Are we being attacked by demons again? Because honestly, everything feels way too peaceful. Sounds more like a lame excuse to bail mid-competition... because someone’s losing."
Abby. Of course.

"We are not losing!" Mira snapped back, doing absolutely nothing to calm the situation. "Ever heard of a tie?! Does your demonic brain not process the concept of a draw?!"

"Guys, focus!" Zoey cut in. "The point is—Rumi’s still in there... and the barrier’s shaking like a freaking drum at a spiritual rave. That is not normal!"

"Jinu’s in there with her too, y’know," Fox added casually from the sidelines, half out of the loop, half enjoying the drama. "Just saying."

Silence. Ignored.

"Move, Abby! We’re going in! We’ve gotta protect our friend!"

"Yeah! Vibrating Barrier Squad—attack!"

Yeah. Rumi should’ve been paying attention to all that.
But she wasn’t.

She only realized things were getting out of hand when a single, extremely critical question popped into her head:

When exactly did I take off Jinu’s flannel shirt…?

And, um… why was the pink T-shirt underneath clinging to his body, soaked with sweat and leftover water, outlining a chest sculpted enough to make actual gods weep?

Oh heavens… focus, Rumi. FOCUS!

Too late.
The door burst open.

Jinu needed a few precious seconds to process what had just happened.

Yes, he was... distracted. Very much so, to be perfectly honest. The kind of distraction that strikes when you've spent years without kissing anyone—and suddenly find yourself entangled with the very girl you're hopelessly in love with. The girl you hurt, lost, found again, protected... and who now happened to be sitting in your lap, in a karaoke room, with her arms wrapped around you.

So yes, his brain had momentarily checked out.

But it came racing back the instant two armed huntresses burst into the room, fully prepared to flay demons—and, apparently, end his recently resurrected life.

Mira and Zoey stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, weapons drawn, their faces flushed such an alarming shade of red that ketchup would seem pale by comparison.

“Um… what exactly were you doing?” Mira finally managed to ask, her voice wobbling somewhere between suspicion and scandal.

Zoey opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again… and gave up. Silence.

“Pretty obvious what they were doing,” Abby said flatly, with the kind of mocking nonchalance that guaranteed eternal blackmail material. “Good for them, actually.”

To seal the moment, she even had the nerve to give them a sarcastic thumbs-up.

Jinu blinked. Looked around. And suddenly saw the scene as if he were a spectator at the wreckage of his own choices:

Rumi perched on his lap, her legs tangled with his, their bodies pressed close. Her jacket discarded in some forgotten corner. Her cropped shirt slipping off one shoulder, leaving bare skin exposed. Her braid mostly undone, with silky strands cascading like ribbons around her flushed face.

She looked beautiful.

Beautiful and... thoroughly flustered.

And he, well, probably wasn’t faring much better—shirtless save for the clingy pink undershirt, still breathless, his neck marked by undeniable signs of affection, and his hair tousled in a way that suggested volumes no words ever could.

He almost got lost in the sight of her all over again.

Almost.

But no—focus.

With a swift, slightly panicked movement, Jinu snatched his flannel shirt off the floor and draped it over Rumi’s shoulders, in a vain attempt to salvage what little dignity remained from their gloriously inconvenient interruption.

“Well, we were just… talking. Singing karaoke. You know—normal stuff. Super normal. Absolutely rated G for General Audiences,” Jinu blurted out, way too fast, wearing that stiff, guilty smile that screamed I’m totally hiding a body in the closet. Or in this case, a kiss. (Or several.) On the couch.

“And she needed to be on your lap for that?” Abby raised an eyebrow, because of course someone had to toss that conversational grenade right back into the room.

Jinu clenched his jaw. Excellent input, Abby. So helpful.

“W-well…” Zoey finally found her voice, stammering like someone trying to walk back a tweet that went viral for the wrong reasons. “It’s not, like, that surprising, is it? Rumi’s kinda been drooling over Jinu since… well, before all this started.”

“Zoey!” Rumi hissed, leaping off Jinu’s lap with approximately zero dignity. Her face was bright red, her braid a mess, her cropped shirt hastily tugged back into place, and now topped off with Jinu’s (still damp) flannel. And still, despite the overwhelming urge to crawl under the couch—or the floorboards—she couldn’t stop that ridiculous little smile tugging at her lips.

Just a smidge. Just a whisper of happy.

The rest was pure, unfiltered mortification.

“She’s not lying,” Mira sighed, rubbing her forehead. “It’s fine. I guess I always knew this would happen eventually. But that’s not why we knocked.”

“You didn’t knock. You broke down the door, actually,” Hwanwoo reminded them, pointing at the now-splintered wood. “That’s definitely going on the hotel’s checkout bill.”

The silence that followed was excruciating.

But not eternal.

“Anyway,” Mira continued, her tone back to business, “the point is, the barrier started vibrating. In a way we’ve never seen before. So we thought the worst.”

“But it wasn’t, like, a ‘don’t-open-a-portal-to-hell’ kind of vibration,” Zoey added, making a circular motion with her hands and a sound that was part purr, part 2001 dial-up modem. “It was more like… Aaaaahuhhh. You know?”

They didn’t. No one did.

Jinu and Rumi exchanged a glance. That kind of silent look that said: Wait, the barrier did what? Because, to be fair… they’d been a little busy not paying attention to the state of the magical perimeter.

“This can happen,” said a new voice—deep, grave, and cutting through the room like a blade.

Everyone turned at once.

Framed in the doorway stood a tall, commanding figure silhouetted against the hallway light, wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe that, somehow, only made him look more intimidating.

Ryujin.

The temperature in the room dropped by at least two degrees, despite the almost-visible steam rising off him—not just from literal heat (the man looked like he'd stepped straight out of a volcanic sauna), but from the magical aura pulsing around him. It was thick, charged, the kind of energy that made the spiritual realm itself hold its breath.

The hunters gulped.

Abby and the Fox exchanged a meaningful look.

And Jinu? Jinu spiraled into silent panic. The kind that climbs up your spine and hits the emergency auto-destruct switch on all your internal organs.

Ryujin looked at him first. That golden gaze—piercing, intense. Like a threat neatly wrapped in the illusion of composure.

Then he looked at Rumi.

And Rumi... well, Rumi felt it in her bones. The kind of shame that floods you when you're caught raiding the cookie jar—by Celine, no less. Guilt, mortification, and a whisper of but it wasn’t even that bad, I swear. As if he’d watched the kiss. All of it.

“This can happen?” Rumi echoed, because apparently, everyone else had forgotten how to form sentences.

Jinu swallowed hard. His throat was drier than the Taklamakan Desert during a heat wave.

Ryujin crossed his arms. Then uncrossed them with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a growl. And when he ran a hand through his silver hair—now streaked with lavender—everyone in the room knew he was pissed. In Ryujin's personal warning system, lavender hair was the equivalent of blaring red sirens and an emergency evacuation order.

“Demons affect the barrier. So do hunters,” he said, in a tone so calm it was almost terrifying. “And when the two... interact, it amplifies.”

That pause on interact dripped with a level of passive-aggressive diplomacy that would’ve made an ambassador sweat.

“I don’t fully understand the physics or the magic behind it,” he admitted, “but I recognize the effects. From personal experience. When a demon and a hunter get involved, the barrier reacts. Energy transfer. Mystical connection. Empathic interference. Call it what you like. But things… happen.”

Silence.

“You were supposed to learn that during training, by the way,” he finished, his gaze sweeping over the hunters as if awaiting a report card filled with failing grades.

The girls exchanged confused looks—clearly, that part of the manual hadn’t made it into the reading list.

Meanwhile, Rumi... was still frowning. Thoughtful. And Jinu felt a chill trickle down his spine, because he could practically see the gears turning in her head.

“When a demon and a hunter get involved.”
“From personal experience.”

Oh no.
She was connecting the dots.

“Well then,” Ryujin said, his voice deceptively smooth, “I’m glad to see you both so... enthusiastic.”
The way he said enthusiastic was less sincere praise and more the verbal equivalent of a silk-gloved slap.

“It means you're fully recovered. Fit for duty again. And since you're both in such excellent physical condition”—his eyes lingered, ever so slightly, on Jinu and Rumi—“we’ll proceed tonight with the revival of another Saja.”

“Tonight?” Zoey echoed, with the exact intonation of someone who just remembered this was a job and not a summer retreat.

Ryujin raised one eyebrow. Just one. But it was enough to make Zoey bite her lower lip and shrink a little in place, visibly regretting she’d dared to speak. Ryujin had that gift—the uncanny ability to make people reconsider their life choices with a single, measured look. The kind of man who could silence a diplomatic summit with a yawn.

“Yes, tonight,” he confirmed. “The location we’re heading to... it’s best to approach under the cover of darkness. Fewer humans around. Or at least fewer innocent ones. Either way, we don’t want to attract attention.”

“You say that like we’re actually going with you on this little demon errand,” Mira shot back, arms crossed, the very picture of someone who had never taken orders from anyone—least of all a towering demon in a pink bathrobe.

“I know you want to keep an eye on us. And I know you want answers,” Ryujin said, his voice slicing through the tension like a velvet-wrapped blade. “The best way to get both is to come along. And besides… if demons from another monarch decide to strike—if a rift opens—it’s better if you’re there to face it.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy.

The hunters exchanged glances. No one could argue with the logic.
Especially not Mira, who glanced sideways at Rumi, silently asking for a tiebreaker.

Rumi nodded. Slowly, but resolutely.

“Perfect,” Ryujin said, like he’d known all along what her answer would be.
“Since we’re such a large group, we’ll split into teams. That way, we optimize the process.”

Mira was about to speak. The words “you don’t get to boss us around” were practically lining up on her tongue, ready for takeoff.

But then—

“I agree,” Rumi said.

And for a second, it felt like the world tilted just a little.

Ryujin turned to her, visibly surprised. Everyone else did too.

“We’ll split into teams,” Rumi continued, arms crossed, her voice calm.
Too calm. The kind of calm that made people nervous.

“And my team will be me, Jinu... and you, Ryujin. Sound good?”

Jinu froze.

His head snapped toward her, slowly. She had that look on her face—the one that was sharp and steady and terrifyingly confident.
The look that always meant: I’m going to challenge fate and win.

Which would have been amazing, inspirational even...
If fate in this case didn’t happen to be a primordial demon, a former general of the Underworld, absurdly powerful—

Oh, and one more tiny detail: Her father.

Even if she didn’t know that. Yet.

Jinu swallowed hard. And that’s when he noticed Ryujin’s hair was shifting again—
From its usual silvery-gray to a deep, vivid lavender.

Lavender was a terrible sign. Almost as bad as ethereal-threatening black.

Being alone with Ryujin right now was the last thing Jinu wanted.
Scratch that—he didn’t want it ever.

“Rumi...” he began, his voice faltering.

“Perfect,” Ryujin cut in, still staring straight at her.A sliver of a smile formed—cold, razor-sharp.

“Get ready.”

He said it to Rumi. And the way he said get ready sounded a lot less like a suggestion... and a lot more like a challenge.

Jinu had the creeping suspicion that the vibrating barrier might not even be the worst part of tonight. Not by a long shot.

Chapter Text

"Nervous" was probably too kind a word for what Jinu was feeling. An emotional meltdown of apocalyptic proportions seemed far more accurate—the kind that came with trembling, cold sweats, and, without a doubt, a case of gastritis later. Maybe even two.

He was sitting in the back seat of Ryujin’s old pickup truck. The air inside felt heavier than the atmosphere right before a storm. The radio, which usually blasted Huntr/x songs Jinu claimed to despise—but somehow knew all the lyrics to and even hummed along—was off. The silence was so thick it made him want to scream just to make sure sound still existed.

Ryujin drove like he was dueling the steering wheel. Jaw clenched, eyes locked on the road, and the faintest lavender glow—yes, lavender—flickered at the ends of his hair. Never had a pastel shade looked so threatening.

In the passenger seat, Rumi sat with her arms crossed, body angled slightly toward the window, though she kept sneaking sideways glances—long ones—at Ryujin. Jinu wasn’t sure if she was trying to gauge the mood of the other demon or silently timing how long it would take before he exploded.

But… not everything was an emotional apocalypse. Because amidst all that stormy tension, there was a small gift from the heavens (or hell, depending): Rumi’s outfit.

She was wearing a black leather set—fitted jacket and curve-hugging pants—that highlighted her figure in ways that should’ve been criminal. Absolutely illegal across all dimensions. Jinu had to press a hand to his mouth to stop himself from literally drooling.

And then—of course, because the universe loved humiliating him—he noticed her brown eyes watching him through the rearview mirror. That half-smile again. Half shy, half teasing. The kind of smile that said I know exactly what you’re thinking… and maybe I’m thinking it too.

His heart stuttered. His breath hitched. And then a familiar pressure started building low in his stomach.

He was getting turned on.

In the truck.

While her dad was driving.

"Seriously?" Ryujin growled, eyes never leaving the road.

It was, in fact, a growl. The kind that made birds change flight paths and toddlers burst into tears without knowing why.

Jinu swallowed hard. He thought he was being subtle. Really, he did. But then he remembered a tiny but important detail: Ryujin could still, occasionally, read minds. Even if he tried not to.

Spoiler: He clearly wasn’t trying hard enough.

"I noticed," Ryujin said, voice dry like scorched paper.

"Privacy is such a beautiful word, you know? I think we should use it more. Like... really practice it," Jinu muttered, blushing like an overripe tomato left too long in the sun—and already regretting opening his mouth.

“You think I’m doing this on purpose?” Ryujin snapped, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel with enough force to crush titanium.

Jinu didn’t think that. Honestly, he suspected Ryujin was... confused. Or maybe just completely out of his depth when it came to dealing with the fact that his grown daughter was... getting involved with someone. Physically. With all the capital letters that implied.

And, of course, at the top of his brilliant solutions list: read her boyfriend’s mind.

Wait. Boyfriend? Were they that now? No one had said anything official. There’d been no dramatic “will you be mine” moment. But... there were touches. And kisses. And... other stuff. Very well-executed, passionate, deeply connected stuff.

“Jinu,” Ryujin growled again, more sharply this time.

“What?!” Jinu blurted, near panic, his face glowing in a shade best described as nuclear crimson. “Look, Ryujin, if you want me to stop, that’s fine. But it's my brain! I can’t exactly control every thought. And maybe some of them are... not ideal from your perspective. But I swear, I have zero intention of hurting her. I know I’ve done it before, but the circumstances were different and I—”

“What are you two talking about?” Rumi cut in, her gaze bouncing between Jinu and Ryujin with the kind of intensity that could detonate a car using pure mental pressure. “Is this about me?”

The silence between the two men was loud enough to count as confirmation.

Rumi folded her arms, her glare now more lethal than any trained hunter’s.

“Because I’m right here. And honestly? I don’t appreciate being excluded from a conversation that is clearly about me.”

Jinu wanted to slide under the seat and disappear. Ryujin gave a gruff noise that might have been a sigh.

“We could start a new conversation...” Ryujin offered, eyes still fixed on the road.

“Oh no, I’d much rather stick with this one,” Rumi replied, voice sugar-sweet with a razor-sharp edge. “I find it fascinating how irritated you look.”

“That’s your imagination. I’m not irritated. I have no reason to be,” Ryujin said, with the icy calm of a man holding back a volcano with duct tape.

“Hmm. I disagree. Looks like irritation to me. Serious irritation.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Right. Because there’s no reason at all for you to be upset about my life. I mean, we only met... what, yesterday? And there’s absolutely no reason you should care about my decisions, right?”

Each word hit like a precision-guided missile. Jinu could feel the tension in the air thickening like a thundercloud. And from the way Ryujin flinched ever so slightly, that last line had struck a nerve.

“D-definitely,” Ryujin muttered, pausing awkwardly. “You’re an adult. Capable. You don’t need my approval.”

Dear gods, why am I here? Jinu thought, seriously considering whether jumping out of the truck would be less painful than staying in it. He could’ve been in the other car. The convertible. With the normal people. But no—Rumi had put him here.

“Exactly.” Rumi smiled, smugly satisfied. “So you wouldn’t mind if Jinu slept in my room tonight.”

“WHAT?!” Jinu and Ryujin shouted at the same time, perfectly and desperately in sync.

The truck swerved. Tires screeched. The vehicle fishtailed for a moment. Jinu, who wasn’t wearing a seatbelt (because of course he wasn’t), nearly flew into the front seat.

“So…” Rumi adjusted her braid, which had come loose over her shoulder, and looked directly at Ryujin—who was still trying to regain control of the wheel. “...you don’t mind, right?”

Ryujin inhaled deeply. His words came out as if each syllable weighed a thousand pounds.

“You’re an adult. I... shouldn’t tell you what to do. Even if you just reunited with Jinu a few hours ago. Even if you share a bond—” he cleared his throat, “—an emotional and magical bond that may or may not destabilize the barrier. Still, relationships should evolve gradually. Especially between a demon and a hunter.”

It sounded like it had been crafted by a very efficient diplomat under extreme duress.

“Are you speaking from experience?” Rumi didn’t budge an inch.

Ryujin finally looked at her, one perfectly arched, devilishly expressive eyebrow raised.

“Speaking from experience?”

“You said it yourself.” Rumi twirled her hand in the air, casual in gesture but with a gaze sharp as a dagger. “When you mentioned how a relationship between a demon and a hunter affects the barrier. The way you said it... it felt personal. So, Ryujin—what exactly did you mean by that?”

Ryujin ran a hand through his hair. The lavender hue—always a telltale sign of his mood—was starting to fade, giving way to a steely silver. The demonic tattoos along his neck rippled like they were trying to hide.

“Did I say that?” he muttered, trying—and failing—to sound indifferent.

“Yup.” Rumi nodded firmly. “And it would be great if you could answer a direct question without dodging it with another. That habit of yours is incredibly annoying.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” Ryujin let out a short, bitter laugh. But he fell silent when faced with the deadly glare Rumi shot his way.

Then he sighed—a heavy sigh, the kind that carries the weight of memories and promises left unfulfilled.

“You’re stubborn,” he grumbled under his breath. “Definitely didn’t get that from your mother. She was determined... but not stubborn. There’s a difference.”

Silence.

Rumi’s eyes widened. Jinu swallowed hard.

“So... you really did know my mother,” Rumi whispered.

A thick silence settled over the truck’s cabin, as if even the air itself was waiting for answers.

Rumi kept her eyes fixed on Ryujin, a flicker of challenge and hope dancing in her gaze. The former general, however, stared straight ahead at the dark road—as if somehow, the endless stretch of asphalt and night might offer him a way out.

“You have to tell her...” Jinu thought, almost shouting it with his mind.
“She deserves to know.”

And as if Ryujin had heard—or read—his thoughts, he cast a glance toward the young man that said something between “shut up” and “you’ll regret this.”

“I knew her,” he finally said, voice low, as if dredged up from a painful place deep inside him.

Rumi held his gaze, like a warrior who refuses to lower her sword after the first blow. She knew this wasn’t the end.

“How did you meet her? What was she really like?”

Ryujin shifted his eyes from the road to meet hers for the briefest moment.

“Didn’t Celine tell you anything?”

“You know Celine too?” Rumi arched an eyebrow, then shook her head. “Of course you do... But what I know about my mother comes from old music videos, interviews, her songs... That idol-diva image. The perfect hunter. But I never knew what she was like off-camera. I never knew who she was with you. Or how... I was born.”

Ryujin inhaled deeply, as if he had to draw the courage straight from the core of the earth. The air inside the truck seemed to warm, his magic simmering just beneath the surface.

“She was extraordinary. Funny. Visionary. She was never afraid of me, even knowing what I was.” His voice softened. “I always thought your mother was incredibly strong. But her strength didn’t come from battles or spells... It came from kindness. From the courage to face the unknown. From the way she looked at the world—and at me—with hope.”

Rumi nodded, eyes glistening. Tears were there, held back, waiting for permission to fall.

“You talk about her like you still... love her,” she ventured.

“I loved her,” Ryujin corrected, his voice trembling. “And in some ways... I don’t think I ever stopped.”

Jinu wanted to disappear. Completely. He really shouldn’t have been there for that moment of reconciliation, revelation, and... tragic parental romance.

“So why did you let her die?” Rumi shot, like a poisoned arrow. “If she meant that much to you... why didn’t you save my mother?”

The impact was immediate. Ryujin flinched in his seat, his silver hair rapidly shifting back to lavender—a color Rumi now recognized as emotional instability.

“I didn’t let her die!” he growled, and the truck trembled slightly. “I tried to protect her. If I could’ve, I would’ve taken her place. I would’ve done anything... anything. Who told you that?”

But Rumi didn’t answer. Instead, she asked the question that had been buried in her for years.

“Then why did you abandon me... father?”

The silence that followed sounded like a heart breaking in real time.

Jinu squeezed Rumi’s hand—the only gesture he could manage in the face of such pain. She gripped back with equal strength, as if holding on to him was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Ryujin looked adrift. The lavender hue vanished from his hair. His golden eyes flicked toward Jinu for a moment—searching for... support? Courage? A lifeline?

But Jinu merely nodded toward Rumi.

The answer was right there.

“I never abandoned you,” Ryujin finally said. “I know that’s how it must feel, and I get it. But I was always nearby. I saw you get top marks—except in math.” He tried to smile, but it faltered. “I watched your school play. You were a tree, remember? But you couldn’t stay still when the prince was attacked by a monster. You stepped in... and stole the scene. The director was furious.”

Rumi gasped, stunned.

“I know how hard you worked in your music classes. I know you wanted a cat, but Celine never allowed it. I watched your debut. I followed the rise of Hunter/X. I listened to every song. Watched every performance.”

“...That sounds like stalking,” Rumi muttered, trying to hold back her tears.

“I am a stalker,” Ryujin said with a humorless laugh. “The worst kind—the absent father watching from the shadows. I wasn’t physically there, but I never stopped watching over you.”

Jinu felt a knot tightening in his throat. The confession was raw. Harsh. Real.

“When Gwi-Ma attacked, I was already there. At the arena. Ready to intervene. But Celine had forbidden me.”

“Forbidden you?” Rumi frowned.

“I made her a promise. One that—now, looking back—might’ve been a mistake.”

“Don’t you dare...” Rumi growled—literally. The tattoos on her skin began to glow, pulsing with fury. Her eyes shifted, turning golden.

“Don’t let the rage take over...” Ryujin warned, already seeing the dark smoke start to coil from his daughter’s body. Ma-Gi. Raw, unrestrained power.

“How can I not?!” she screamed. “My entire life was a lie! I hid. I hated myself. I thought I was a mistake! A freak! And now you show up saying you were always nearby? That you loved me from afar?! That... that doesn’t erase the pain!”

The truck shuddered. The magical barrier vibrated—erratically. Dangerously.

“Rumi!” Jinu called out, but she didn’t seem to hear him.

Then Ryujin stepped forward and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders—not with force, but with presence. Grounding. Steadying.

“Rumi. Your life wasn’t a lie. It was made of victories. Of resilience. You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever known. And even if I wasn’t the father you deserved... I see you. Now. And I am proud of everything you are. Your mother—wherever she is—would be proud too. So proud.”

The words broke him.
But they also broke something inside her.
The glowing tattoos faded. Her eyes returned to their warm brown. The dark smoke dissolved into the air.

Rumi took a shaky breath.

“How am I supposed to believe all of this... is real?”

“There’s no way to be sure,” Ryujin finally replied, his voice low, as if every word had to be pulled from somewhere deep and painful. “You don’t know me. Not the way I know you...But I hope—and maybe it’s asking too much—that with whatever time we still have, you’ll allow me that chance. Let me stay. Let me... make things right.”

Rumi looked up, and for a brief moment, her face was a storm ready to break into calm. Without a word, she stepped forward and embraced him.

It was a real hug. Strong. Warm. Solid.

And Ryujin—who froze at first, because gods above, he had faced six-meter demons and infernal thrones, but never his daughter at the edge of forgiveness—finally gave in. His arms wrapped around Rumi with a steadiness that bordered on reverence.

Jinu, watching from the back seat, had a lump in his throat.
Even he had to admit: it was cute.

Cute-level "this deserves a photo". And he really tried. He pulled out his phone. Aimed.

But without even turning around, Ryujin stretched a hand back and—poof—the phone was intercepted mid-air. A silent, elegant, and unmistakably authoritative move that translated to: "Take that photo and I’ll kill you—with style."

Jinu backed off immediately.

Rumi, on the other hand, laughed. A soft, sweet laugh—almost childlike.

She pulled back just enough to look her father in the eyes.

“But just so we’re clear... I wasn’t joking earlier,” she said with a teasing half-smile. “Eventually, Jinu will sleep in my room.”

Ryujin’s reaction was so fast, Jinu could practically feel the growl rising in his throat.

Which was precisely when Jinu went into full-blown panic mode.

“Okay, wow, look at the time, huh?” he said way too fast, way too tense. “We should be getting close to the rendezvous point! They’ve probably been waiting... for hours! I can drive if you want, Ryujin! No problem! I love driving! Driving is great!”

“No.” Ryujin’s voice cut through the air, sharp and final—like a ceremonial blade.

He cast a sidelong glance at Rumi, then at Jinu—who instantly swallowed hard, as if judged by a tribunal of ancient demonic ancestors.

“I’ll drive.”

And so he did—without another word, his fingers gripping the wheel as if every twist in the road needed to be tamed with ancient fury.

In the back seat, Jinu let out a long, theatrical sigh, already bracing himself emotionally for what promised to be the most uncomfortable ride of his life.

And, of course, Rumi had the audacity to let out a laugh.

Soft.
Provocative.
Delightfully criminal.

Jinu glared at her through the rearview mirror, eyes narrowed.

She saw it—and raised an eyebrow in return.

“That was fun,” her look seemed to say.

And honestly? Despite everything, it had been kind of fun. A dash of trauma, maybe a sprinkle of drama... But overall? Yeah—fun.

“Where have you been?!” Mira practically leapt off the sidewalk the moment the old pickup truck pulled onto the deserted street. “It’s like you took the longest shortcut in history! I was starting to worry!”

The vehicle came to a stop with a metallic groan.
Night draped over the scene like a thick blanket, muffling the sounds and making the silence of the streets feel even more unsettling. They were in an old commercial district—low buildings with a mix of traditional facades and boxy concrete structures from the 1970s, their faded signage all but invisible. Most of the shops were already closed.
Aside from the faint glow of a lone vending machine and the flickering hum of a dying streetlight, the place looked like a ghost town.

“I told you they were fine,” Abby muttered.

“You did. But that doesn’t mean much. That’s just your opinion… and let’s be honest, it’s not exactly statistically reliable,” Mira shot back, giving the demon a pointed look. He was wearing a black tank top. Yes—a tank top. At that hour of the night. In borderline I’m-going-to-freeze-to-death weather.

Internally, of course, she appreciated the view.
Out loud? Never.

“Ouch, babe… that hurts,” he said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart like she’d just stabbed him with emotional betrayal.

“And we felt the barrier vibrate,” Zoey said, hesitant, looking toward Rumi as the truck door swung open. “It was... different. Like something happened.”

“Oh, something definitely happened,” Hwanwoo said, arms crossed, leaning against a concrete ledge. “A plot twist in the melodrama. Classic K-drama move. Not a fan, by the way.”

“What are you babbling about, you nosy fox?” Mira growled—then froze when she saw Rumi step out of the car.

She was... smiling. And her eyes were red. Slightly puffy. The kind of look you get after crying your soul out—and then laughing straight after. A soft smile. Absentminded. Almost peaceful.

Mira and Zoey exchanged alarmed glances.

Ryujin followed. The ex-demonic general looked, incredibly, less stiff than usual—which, for Ryujin, meant borderline zen.
Jinu came out last, his relief so palpable he looked like he might kiss the pavement just to celebrate not being in that car anymore.

“What happened...?” Mira began, but Ryujin cut her off with a sharp gesture.

“Later,” his voice was crisp and commanding. “We don’t have much time. You’ll get answers, but first, we need to make use of what little night we have left. The next Saja is close. Its essence—or soul, if you prefer—is trapped in a body of water nearby.”

Only then did Jinu really take in their surroundings. Ryujin was nodding toward a structure up ahead.

It was a one-story house, old and worn, with darkened wood and a curved ceramic-tile roof riddled with cracks. The kind of place that belonged in a folktale more than in the present day.
Beside the entrance, a small wooden door hung on rusted iron hinges. Paper lanterns swayed lazily in the warm night breeze, and above them, a faded wooden sign bore the characters 목욕 — mok-yok. Bathhouse.

More specifically: a hanok-jjimjilbang.
Ancestral version. Completely abandoned.

With its dusty windows and the oppressive silence around it, the place looked like it had been plucked straight out of a Korean horror film.
The kind of place where you expect to find an ancient spirit... or something infinitely worse.

Jinu felt a chill creep down his spine.

“Creepy...” he muttered. “This cannot be a good sign.”

Chapter Text

The lantern light sliced through the bathhouse’s shadows, revealing fragments of a place that felt suspended in time. Every step made the floorboards groan in protest, as if the building itself disapproved of their presence.

The entry hall still bore the remnants of a long-forgotten ritual: an elevated, worn, and slightly tilted floor that yielded under their weight like an ancient sigh. The wooden walls, blackened by humidity, bore patches of moss in the corners, exhaling the damp scent of wet timber mingled with that of ancient herbs—so long dead they seemed to have forgotten their own names.

A wooden folding screen—once covered in translucent paper—now displayed only yellowed scraps, trembling in the breeze seeping through invisible cracks. Empty coat hooks lined the walls, like silent sentinels guarding memories of clothes hung there decades ago.

In the corner, a cracked, crooked bamboo basket sat collecting dust and dry leaves, as if they had drifted there in some long-forgotten geological era.

“This is…” Jinu began, his voice low, almost reverent.

“Fantastic!” Zoey finished, practically bouncing ahead of the group like a child in a macabre amusement park. “Seriously—full-on ghost-hunting show vibes. All we need are those night-vision cameras and a bunch of little gadgets that go beep beep.”

“Definitely not the kind of paranormal experience I wanted today,” Rumi said with a half-smile. The lantern light cut across her face, casting dramatic shadows along her cheeks.

“And Zoey, those things don’t even exist,” Mira shot back—the kind of person who definitely doesn’t watch questionable documentaries at three in the morning.

“Says who?” Hwanwoo cut in, sounding personally offended. His eyes caught the lantern light like a cat’s in the dark. He was the only one without a flashlight, yet moved as if he could see everything perfectly. “Are you some kind of expert on the subject?”

Jinu noticed the fox’s tone was sharper than usual—just a shade more defensive. Like the topic was brushing against a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

“Well, I’m a hunter,” Mira replied, lifting an eyebrow in that classic superiority gesture. “Supernatural stuff is, like, our bread and butter. Fighting demons. Maintaining the barrier. Hello? I think I’d remember if I’d ever fought some tragic-backstory ghost with a curse attached to its ankle.”

“Technically, we’ve dealt with spirits before,” Zoey said thoughtfully, as if working through a tricky math problem in her head. “I mean... with souls that were eaten by demons. We saved a few, destroyed the demons responsible...”

She paused, glancing cautiously at Jinu.
“No offense, of course.”

Jinu answered with a tight smile—the kind meant to say ‘it’s fine, I understand’ while silently screaming ‘that actually stings way more than I’d like to admit.’

Used to it. But used to what, exactly?
Oh, you know. Being automatically lumped in with soul-devouring demons. Being seen as a potential threat. Being, at the end of the day, the kind of creature hunters like them were trained to destroy without hesitation.
A very specific kind of ‘it’. And a deeply depressing one, at that.

“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Mira pressed, crossing her arms.

“Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it isn’t real,” Hwanwoo said, touching his own chest with an almost wounded expression. “And for the record, I’m not a demon. I’m a supernatural being from the same plane as you. I bet you’ve never even met another of my kind... have you? Especially when you were out there ‘singing and wandering.’”

“Well... no,” Mira admitted, albeit reluctantly. “And please, don’t call what we do ‘singing and wandering’ like we’re on vacation. It’s our mission as hunters—we sing to maintain the barrier, and we wander because the barrier doesn’t just stay here... it wraps around the entire world.”

“Sure...” the fox cut in with a crooked smile. “But it sounds like your so-called ‘mission’ has left you a little closed off to what’s really happening around you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mira’s brow furrowed, her voice edged with irritation.

“It means... spirits? Ghosts? They’re real?” Zoey butted in, eyes sparkling with genuine excitement—like someone had just announced Stranger Things was coming back... as a musical.

The fox gave one of them a look of pure irritation, the other a look of sheer disbelief. Jinu knew that expression all too well—he felt the exact same way around them sometimes.

“Yes,” Hwanwoo replied flatly. “Ghosts. Supernatural entities born from human souls. They exist—and nothing’s stopping a few of them from choosing this abandoned bathhouse as home.”

The hunters exchanged looks that wavered between surprise, unease, and... maybe a touch of fear.

That was when a heavy hand landed on Mira’s shoulder, accompanied by a deep, drawn-out groan.

The hunter let out a scream so sharp it made Jinu’s eardrum protest. Rumi spun instantly, sword conjured in her hand. Zoey, meanwhile, was already lifting her phone—most likely to record the ghost on video (and later post it with dramatic filters and ominous background music).

But when the lantern beams lit up the scene, the “ghost” turned out to be none other than Abby—grinning, with the light shining upward on his face in a way that, admittedly, did make him look a little sinister. Moments later, he burst out laughing.

“That was hilarious!” he said, nearly in tears from laughing so hard. “The mighty, fearless hunters... screaming in terror...”

“Hey, I wasn’t scared! And I did not scream!” Rumi protested, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. She had, in fact, been ready to strike down whatever entity appeared—whether it was Casper or Sadako.

“Neither did I,” Zoey grumbled, clearly displeased that Abby wasn’t a ghost after all.

“And I... I was just—” Mira began, but her voice faltered. “I was just... warming up my vocal cords. That’s right. In case we need to sing to close a tear in the barrier!”

“Uh-huh... sure,” Abby, Jinu, and even the fox said in unison. The perfectly synchronized chorus of disbelief was so effective that Mira flushed even deeper, now wearing the expression of someone thinking, ‘Just bury me already, but do it with dignity.’

“Indeed, warming up your vocal cords might be wise, given the situation we could be facing,” Ryujin said as he stepped into the hall, posture like that of a stern professor about to scold a rowdy class. “What isn’t wise is wasting time fooling around.”

“No one’s fooling around,” Rumi replied—the only one with enough nerve to talk back to him.

Ryujin raised an eyebrow but decided against dragging the argument further. He simply shook his head, the kind of gesture that said the discussion would be revisited later.

“What Hwanwoo said is true,” Ryujin continued. “The world isn’t made up solely of humans and demons. There are countless supernatural creatures, each with their own traits—and their own right to exist.”

He glanced at the fox, who smirked and nodded, clearly pleased with the acknowledgment.

“And for the record, it’s a spirit that’s guiding us to the other Saja. Her name is Nari. She’s a Mul Gwishin—a ghost born from drowned souls whose bodies were never found.”

Rumi nudged Jinu with her elbow, as if to ask, Is this for real, or is my dad just making things up now?

He answered with a brief, serious nod. He remembered Nari. How could he forget? Skin so pale it was almost translucent, dark-blue hair drifting as though still submerged... and eyes without pupils. Even as a demon, Jinu felt an involuntary chill whenever he thought of her.

“Oh, that’s amazing!” Zoey exclaimed, visibly excited. “When do we get to meet this Nari? Do you think she’d let me take a selfie with her?”

Ryujin let out a long, heavy sigh—the kind that carried centuries of tested patience.

“Perhaps when all the Saja are revived, we can rest and talk about everything. But until then—focus.”

Hunters, demons, and fox all nodded—some with more enthusiasm than others.

“We’ll split up,” Ryujin announced.

“Ugh, that’s never a good idea,” Zoey muttered. “It’s literally rule number one in horror movies: next thing you know, someone trips over their own foot and dies first.”

Ryujin shot her a sidelong look—the classic I don’t have time to deal with this right now—before continuing:

“I don’t need a crowd to bring the Saja back. And this bathhouse isn’t exactly a labyrinth.” His tone was firm. “Rumi and Jinu are with me. The rest of you stay on guard—just in case what happened at the lake happens again.”

Mira looked like she was about to protest—possibly with a ‘who put you in charge?’ ready on her tongue. But Rumi gave a small, discreet shake of her head. She didn’t care about her father taking the lead in that moment.

Which, honestly, only made Mira more confused. She probably still wanted to know what had happened in the truck, but... now wasn’t the time for gossip.

“All right, let’s go,” Rumi said, turning to Ryujin. “Let’s finish this and get back to the hotel. Maybe we’ll even have time for a decent dinner.”

They followed the corridor that led to the bathing area. The floor was stone, built to withstand moisture, while the darkened wooden walls bore the marks of time—and of steam, which must have been a constant presence there for decades.

Rumi passed a rack lined with buckets and basins, each coated in a thick layer of dust. A silent reminder that this place had been abandoned far too long.

She walked behind Jinu and Ryujin. Her father. Father. The word still felt strange in her mind, like it was searching for a corner to settle into without causing chaos. Until just a few days ago, Rumi had barely entertained the possibility that one of her parents could still be alive. She’d sort of… gotten used to the idea of being an orphan.

Well—“gotten used to” was a generous way to put it. In reality, it was more like a constant weight—loneliness, not fitting in, that sort of thing. And now, still processing the fact that her adoptive mother, Celine, had spent Rumi’s entire life trying to hide her demonic nature, and more recently had distanced herself because Rumi refused to hide who she really was... well, finding her father in the middle of all this chaos might actually be the good part of the whole mess. Maybe.

Or maybe it just made everything even more tangled and painfully complicated.

Two feelings clashed inside her now.

One was anger—with a generous helping of frustration. Why had Celine gone so far to hide Ryujin’s existence? If he had been dangerous, someone capable of hurting her, fine. That would make sense. But… that wasn’t what Rumi saw in him. Okay, she hadn’t known him for long, and maybe she hadn’t yet discovered his true nature, but something in her intuition—the same instinct that had made her trust Jinu—told her she could believe in him. That he was trustworthy. That he was… a father.

It was while thinking this that she looked over and saw Jinu nearly slip on a damp patch on the floor.

They were already in the bathing area. There were several pools—one lay completely dry, its bottom lined with deep cracks; others still held water, dark and far from inviting. The stone furnace, which had once breathed steam and embers, now slept beneath a layer of soot. Bronze ladles were scattered across the floor, and low stools—used for washing before entering the baths—lay overturned, as if someone had fled in a hurry long ago.

Rumi reacted quickly, catching her boyfriend before he could hit the floor face-first.

Boyfriend. That’s what they were now, right? Boyfriend and girlfriend?

An involuntary smile tugged at her lips.

“I’m fine. I’m fine!” Jinu said, regaining his composure like someone trying to salvage the dignity that had slipped along with him. “Thanks...”

She gave a faint smile back, but her hands didn’t leave his—even though he was already standing. Neither seemed in a hurry to let go first.

“You two…” Ryujin cleared his throat in front of them, and the critical (and impatient, to be honest) look he gave was enough to make them step apart. A little reluctantly. But not too much.

“You’ll have plenty of time for your little romance… but not now.” His tone was firm. Maybe a bit too authoritative.

Rumi arched an eyebrow. Was he always like this?

Still… the other feeling growing inside her—alongside the anger—was a strange kind of happiness. Yes, happiness. For having found her father. Even if, technically, he was still a complete stranger.

A paradox? Absolutely.

But the anger was still there, pulsing beneath the surface. The frustration, too. Enough that, without thinking, Rumi pulled her phone from her pocket and began typing a message to Celine. She needed to talk to her adoptive mother. Needed answers. Needed to yell. Maybe all of that at once.

She hit send.

Silence.

Of course. No signal.

With a sigh, she shoved the phone back into her pocket with a mutter. Maybe not now. But soon.

She would talk to Celine.

“Come here.”

Ryujin’s firm voice pulled Rumi out of her irritated spiral of thoughts about her phone and Celine. She looked up—and froze for a moment.

To her surprise—and mild disgust—the older demon was standing inside an old bath, barefoot, with the stagnant water covering his feet and ankles. Water so dark it could easily hide decades of grime… and maybe other things she’d rather not imagine.

“Uh… no, I think we’re fine right here,” Jinu said, making no effort to hide his lack of enthusiasm at the idea of stepping into that pre-apocalyptic soup.

Ryujin stared at him. The kind of look that said: You can come willingly… or you can be dragged. Jinu swallowed hard.

“And why exactly are we doing this?” Rumi asked, giving voice to what Jinu probably didn’t want to say out loud.

“What happened at the lake made me realize something important,” Ryujin replied seriously. “What if, another time, I’m attacked and incapacitated? Who will bring the Saja back? We always need a plan B. That means others must know how to do it.”

“It?” Jinu raised an eyebrow. “You mean… the Ma-gi you use?”

There was no criticism in his voice. On the contrary—Rumi caught a spark of excitement there, as if Jinu were about to receive a gift he’d always wanted. So much so that, seconds later, he was already pulling off his shoes and socks without a single complaint about the less-than-inviting water.

“Exactly.” Ryujin nodded with a faint smile. “I know Gwi-Ma didn’t teach you much. The Ma-gi you know…”

“I learned on my own,” Jinu cut in. “Most of it was trial and error… and, as Baby used to say, a lot of stubbornness and a complete lack of self-preservation.”

Ryujin let out a low chuckle.
“Maybe so. But you’re exceptional. Without formal training, you’ve managed to advance quite far in Ma-gi.”

Rumi noticed the faint blush rising on Jinu’s cheeks. And yes, it was cute. Very cute.

“But… you still have a lot to learn. And you especially, Rumi.”

She blinked, surprised to be included.

“Me? But I don’t even know how to… Ma-gi? Whatever it is you two do…” she said, pointing to herself, visibly nervous.

“You’re part demon, Rumi,” Ryujin stated, his voice steady. “And yes, you can use Ma-gi. I don’t know if you realized it in the truck, but you were releasing volatile chaos energy—the same energy that created the underworld. We call it Ma-gi. And you were producing it.”

Her eyes widened. She looked to Jinu for confirmation and got a silent nod.

“Ma-gi is fundamental for every demon,” Ryujin continued. “Produce it, control it, use it. Not knowing how can cause more harm than good. You’re already late in learning. But you’ll see Ma-gi isn’t so different from hunter magic… An interesting coincidence, don’t you think? Hunter magic and demon magic being… in some ways… alike.”

That last part sounded more like he was thinking aloud than speaking directly to them.

“So you’re going to train us? Teach us Ma-gi?” Jinu asked—and there was something in his tone. A hint of suspicion, maybe.

“I was already planning to…” Ryujin replied. “But I thought I could wait until we’d gathered all the Saja. The attack at the lake changed my schedule. I need to start your training sooner. Especially with you two.”

Jinu frowned. Rumi found it strange as well. Why the two of them specifically? There was more to it—she could feel it.

“Shall we start the first lesson? Or do you plan to spend the night in this abandoned bathhouse?”

Rumi let out a frustrated sigh but began unlacing her boots. Jinu was already in the bath and, without hesitation, offered her his hand. She took it, returning a quick smile—the kind that said, Okay, maybe this won’t be so bad… yet.

And so, the first lesson began…

Chapter Text

“Say… Ah!”
Jinu repeated the sound, frustrated.

“AH!”

“Ah,” Ryujin corrected, merciless.

“AH!” Jinu insisted, the vein in his temple about to pop.

“No! The ending has to be softer.” Ryujin sighed, as though explaining the obvious. “You have to let the air escape, like a final breath.”

“But I am letting the air escape!” Jinu shot back, indignant.

“Not enough. If that’s what you call ‘escape,’ then we’re in serious trouble.” The critique was blunt—classic Ryujin. They had been stuck for minutes in this torture session called “pronouncing the phonemes of the underworld’s language.” The great irony: Jinu had been a demon for decades, but had never received formal education. Gwi-Ma clearly hadn’t included phonetics lessons in the infernal upbringing package.

“This is impossible!” Jinu muttered, folding his arms.

“Stop whining.” Ryujin turned to his daughter. “Rumi, say ‘Ah.’”

“Ah!” she answered immediately, a mischievous half-smile tugging at her lips.

“See? Perfect!” Ryujin’s pride was so obvious it bordered on blatant favoritism.

Jinu tried again. “Ah.” But it came out so frustrated it sounded more like a growl.

Rumi laughed. Bold. And, of course, that only worsened his mood.

The bath they stood in—stagnant, murky, and definitely unhygienic—didn’t help. Perfect setting to learn ancient magic, no doubt. Jinu had the distinct impression that even his bare feet submerged in the water were being judged.

“There it is! That’s the ‘Ah’ I want!” Ryujin exclaimed, satisfied, as if he had just witnessed a miracle.

Jinu shot him a murderous glare.

“Fine. Okay. Ahhh…” he repeated, exaggerating his frustration. And to his surprise, it seemed to work. Maybe that was the secret Ryujin had been chasing all along: mixing existential despair with sheer impatience.

“Excellent.” Ryujin nodded. “The key to Ma-gi isn’t only willpower. It also involves vibration. Harmony. The voice.”

Rumi’s eyes widened as she absorbed every word. She was clearly noticing the similarities to her own hunter training—especially the way singing was used to strengthen the barrier.

But Jinu… Jinu was thinking about something else.

As much as he appreciated the ex-general’s crash course, he was certain there was a hidden reason behind all of this. Ryujin still hadn’t told Rumi about the throne. About the bond tying the two of them—him and her—to the power that loomed over the human realm.

No. But Jinu’s intuition screamed that this training wasn’t just about sounds and phonemes. It was, somehow, connected to the throne.

And that led to another question hammering in Jinu’s mind: should he tell Rumi everything that was happening?

About how Gwi-Ma’s destruction—brought about by her, but amplified by his energy—had triggered a chain reaction in the underworld?
About how several kings were now fighting for the throne left vacant?
Or even about the activation of a throne in the human realm—a throne that, at the moment, had no king or queen?

Not to mention the real reason behind the resurrection of the Saja, according to Ryujin...

And speaking of Saja...

“Well,” Ryujin broke the silence, turning his attention back to the murky water lapping at his feet, “we’ll need to improve your pronunciation in the demon tongue. But now that you’ve had a little introduction, you’ll understand better what I’m about to do.”

Jinu fixed his eyes on the dark surface too. It was hard to believe that something so shallow could contain… the soul of a Saja.

“How does that even work, exactly?” Rumi asked, frowning. “I mean… bringing back a demon who was technically… dead. Does that mean all the ones we’ve destroyed so far could just be revived?”

Ryujin nodded calmly.

“I explained this to Jinu before. A human soul, once reborn in the underworld, never truly undergoes a ‘second death.’ When destroyed, a demon doesn’t cease to exist. Its soul returns to the underworld and remains in suspension until it materializes again into a body. So, there is no such thing as permanent death for demons. Only… temporary destruction.”

Rumi’s eyes widened.
“So… yes. The demons we’ve destroyed so far could come back.”

“Even Gwi-Ma?” Jinu couldn’t help himself. The question slipped out before he could stop it. And the heavy silence that followed only confirmed that maybe… it had been a very bad idea.

“A primordial demon like him…” Ryujin hesitated. “Well, in that case, the rules are different. Gwi-Ma wasn’t born from a revived human soul. He was born in the underworld itself. Just like me. So if he were ever to return… it would depend solely on Yeomna Daewang, the Great King Yeomna.”

“Another demon king?” Jinu asked, though the answer was already heavy on his mind.

“Not just any king.” Ryujin’s expression darkened. There was a palpable unease in his features, and even his voice dropped, almost to a whisper. It was as if uttering the name itself was dangerous. “He is the supreme ruler of the underworld. All the other kings are merely his subordinates.”

“And we’ll have to fight him?” Rumi asked—because, of course, someone had to say out loud the terrifying thought hanging in the air.

“No.” Ryujin shook his head quickly, too quickly, betraying his nerves. “I don’t believe that will happen. The Great King Yeomna doesn’t meddle in the disputes of the other kings. He rarely leaves the heart of the underworld. And even if he did… no one would stand a chance against him. No one.”

The silence that followed was dense, almost physical.

Jinu felt a chill crawl down his spine. Great. Now they had an unbeatable enemy who probably wouldn’t show up. Comforting.

“But…” Ryujin cleared his throat, trying to recover his solemnity. “Let’s focus on what lies ahead. Filthy water… and the soul of the Saja we need to bring back.”

“So you’re saying you need water to bring a demon’s soul back into this plane? Like… the water works as a kind of spiritual conductor or something?” Zoey asked, resting her chin on her hands as she sat on one of the stools in the women’s section of the bathhouse.

Rumi, Ryujin, and Jinu were on the other side, in the men’s section.

“Great. Another fear unlocked.” Mira crossed her arms, casting a wary look at a damp puddle glistening ominously beside her. “Now I’ll never be able to bathe in peace again.”

“And what are you going to do? Go medieval and avoid water for the rest of your life? Your fans are going to love that aesthetic, just saying,” Abby teased with a smirk.

Mira shot him her famous “death glare”—which, to her frustration, seemed to have absolutely no effect on that particular demon.

“Not all water is compatible,” Hwanwoo explained, running his fingers through his red hair. “Certain special conditions are needed for a soul to cross over. It’s hard to summarize. Nari could explain better… she’s a water-bound spirit, after all. She can sense when souls are present in it—even demonic ones. That’s how we know a Saja is here.”

Zoey nodded, serious. A little too serious.

“Okay, got it. But… if you said not all water works… like, could this happen with a glass of water? Or—” she lowered her voice dramatically—“in toilet water? Because that would be so humiliating, you know, finding out you’re peeing on someone’s soul.”

“Zoey!” Mira practically exploded, her face flushing red.

Abby burst out laughing this time, and even the fox let slip a smile—quick, small, almost imperceptible, but still a smile. The moment he realized it, however, he immediately smoothed his features back into seriousness, as if nothing had happened.

“The body of water has to be large enough to contain the soul’s form,” Hwanwoo went on, gesturing with his hands like a teacher who knew no one was really paying attention. “Depth doesn’t matter as much as length and width. So, if we’re talking about beings with human proportions, a glass of water… or a toilet—” he made sure to stress the word with disdain “—obviously wouldn’t be sufficient.”

Zoey looked as if she were about to jot the information down in some imaginary notebook. Mira, on the other hand, grew even more tense, her eyes glued to every puddle around her as if they might leap at her any second.

And no one—absolutely no one—noticed, at least not right away, the nearly translucent hand beginning to emerge from the shadows behind them.

Long, skeletal fingers dragged themselves across the wet floor, moving silently, as if feeling their way forward… straight toward the heel of one of the hunters.

It was beautiful.
Not the cute or delicate kind of beautiful, but the kind that was terrifying precisely because it was so powerful.

Rumi couldn’t decide what struck her more: the sound itself or the fact that it was coming from Ryujin. Her father. (Still feels strange to say—thanks for asking.)

The song spilled from his throat rough, dense, almost mineral. As though it had been born from the depths of the earth, carrying the weight of millennia and a sorrow that words could never explain. There was something ancestral in that voice—something that sliced through the air like a blade, yet trembled with the fragile softness of silk tearing in slow motion.

Ryujin sang with his hands submerged in the murky bathwater. Rumi couldn’t bring herself to think about the unsanitary-disgust side of it; her mind simply had no space for such details. It was too busy being swallowed by the melody.

And by the barrier.

She had always been told that demonic energy stained the barrier, corrupted it, was impure by definition. That it had to be fought, destroyed. But here, right before her eyes, the barrier wasn’t breaking. It wasn’t weakening. On the contrary—it was responding to the song.

Wave after wave of vibration rippled through the unseen space, striking against ethereal strings—like the Honmoon was a colossal gayageum, a cosmic zither with infinite cords wrapping around the world. And the strings did not snap. They did not fracture. They vibrated. They answered.

No cracks. No rifts. No collapse.

Her training had never mentioned this. Not once—not even as a ridiculous theory—had it suggested that a demon’s song could sustain the barrier.

This was pure blasphemy. Celine would never have allowed even the thought of it—much less the practice.

And yet… When Jinu and the other Saja had begun singing weeks ago, the barrier had also started behaving differently. Maybe that had already been the first sign.

But Ryujin wasn’t breaking anything.He was… connecting.

So maybe not all demonic energy was destructive. Maybe there was a kind of infernal power that wasn’t synonymous with chaos.

That thought—heretical, dangerous, and strangely comforting—swept through Rumi like a warm gust of air.

She looked at her own arms. The tattooed markings across her pale skin—symbols of a heritage she had always tried to hide—now seemed… less shameful. Less like a mistake. And more like part of something greater.

Ryujin’s song wasn’t just sound.It was a language.

He had only taught them the phonemes—the basics—but not the meaning. And still, something inside her understood. Felt it.

Rumi found herself singing softly. Without thinking. She just… let it flow.

And beside her, Jinu joined in almost immediately. Of course he did.

That was when everything changed.

The world seemed to vanish.
There was no filthy bath, no mold-stained walls, no crushing weight of expectations. Only three voices—theirs—woven together in a song too ancient to have an origin and too powerful to be ignored.

The barrier glowed.
Gold and crimson fused in a harmonic pulse, like the beating of a heart made of light. It was reacting to them. It seemed to be singing back.

Rumi couldn’t find words. “Wonderful” felt shallow. “Impressive,” utterly insufficient.

It was as if, for the first time, she wasn’t singing against something… but with something. And then, something emerged from the water. Pulled up by Ryujin’s steady hands, the body broke the surface like an ancient secret rising to light.

For a moment, Rumi almost asked, “What is that?”—as though she had completely forgotten why they were there. Oh. Right. They were in the middle of a giant, grimy bath, reviving a Saja. And now they were, quite literally, dragging a demon back to life.

His skin was grayish, traced with intricate tattoos that coiled along his arms and shoulders. They glimmered faintly, almost imperceptible—like dying embers beneath damp skin.

A Saja. Ryujin had done it.

Jinu moved instantly, rushing to the ex-general’s side to help haul the body from the water. Together, they dragged him out carefully.

And just like it had been with Abby at the lake… he was naked. Completely.

Rumi snapped her gaze away in an instant, her face burning with embarrassment. She didn’t want to look, obviously. Except, well… eventually, she’d have to face reality, wouldn’t she?

The Saja coughed. Gasped. His breathing sounded as though he were relearning it from scratch.

“Hey, it’s okay… you’re okay,” Jinu said in a voice so gentle, so tender, that Rumi’s heart clenched without her permission.

The pain of knowing that this being—this person—had once been destroyed by them, even if in battle, struck her more personally than she would have liked. Especially seeing how much he clearly meant to Jinu.

“Jinu…” The Saja’s voice came out rough, raspy, and weak, as though dragged from the depths of his own body.

The sound alone was enough for Rumi to gather the courage to look. The Saja still leaned heavily on Jinu, his shoulders trembling under the weight of his return. There was something almost fragile in that image, and at the same time… dangerous.

Ryujin stood at a short distance, silent. Watching intently—respectful, but alert. As if he understood that this moment didn’t belong to him… and yet knew he’d have to step in if things spun out of control.

“Hey… Mystery,” Jinu replied with a small smile. “Welcome back.”

The young man’s eyes opened with difficulty.
“What happened? I… I shouldn’t be here.” His voice was nearly a whisper, like his words were being pulled from another plane.

Rumi, desperate to seem useful (and not desperate to avoid staring at a completely naked Saja), went to the bag propped in the corner—the one they had brought for exactly this occasion. She pulled out dry clothes and walked back, careful not to look directly at the newly revived figure.

By the time she reached him, part of his face was visible. No longer hidden by the familiar platinum fringe that usually veiled his eyes. And what Rumi saw left her breathless.

Mystery looked impossibly young. Young in a way that confused the senses—somewhere between angelic and dangerous. Fine, symmetrical features marked by an ethereal beauty. A face you would remember for days after seeing it for only a few seconds.

Ah… so that’s why Zoey sighed over him like a heroine in a badly subtitled K-drama.

But it was the eyes that paralyzed her. Gold. Intense. With a demonic gleam impossible to ignore. They locked onto Rumi as if they could pierce straight through her skin and uncover everything she was trying to hide.

“What is she doing here?” he growled, still trembling, leaning against Jinu for support.

“Easy,” Jinu answered quickly, before the tension could explode. “She’s on our side.”

Mystery shot his friend a sidelong glance, clearly processing the information. He didn’t seem to accept it right away—but he didn’t argue either. He only nodded once. A contained gesture, carrying a very specific kind of silence: the kind that holds more questions than answers.

In truth, those few seconds were already more than Rumi had ever heard from him. Mystery had always been the quietest among the Saja. The most absent. The most… unreachable.

She thought about apologizing. Because it felt like she should—even if she didn’t quite know why.

But then, a scream cut through the air like a blade.

Mira.

Rumi turned instinctively.

What was happening? She hadn’t felt the barrier break… So then… what?

Chapter Text

What, exactly, am I doing here?

That was the thought running through Ryu Miyeong’s mind as she sipped her—well, maybe it was already her third—afternoon coffee. Something she really needed to cut back on. Too much coffee never ended well. (Anxiety, jitters, paranoia… in other words, Tuesday.)

She was sitting alone in a small corner café, watching the building across the street with the focus of a full-time stalker.

The two-story structure, with its exposed brick façade, looked simple, a little worn, but well kept. On the ground floor, a narrow glass door framed in dark wood bore a metal sign etched in silver characters: 바둑 교실 — Baduk Classroom.

On the glass, taped from the inside, there was a yellowed, hand-painted poster in bold brushstrokes:
Lessons for young players and beginners — enrollment open!

Honestly, it looked like just another quiet place to teach Baduk—the traditional Korean board game with black and white stones and rules complicated enough to give you a headache about territory control. Ryu vaguely remembered trying to play back in school.

Trying… and failing. Miserably. Celine had always been better at it. (Of course she had.)

Was she there to sign up for lessons?

Well… technically, no. But given her not-at-all subtle disguise—mask over her nose and mouth, oversized sunglasses, and a beanie practically screaming “suspicious person trying not to look suspicious”—maybe pretending she was wouldn’t be the worst idea.

Yes, I’m just an idol trying to improve my logic and concentration skills. Totally normal.

Then the door opened, and an elderly man stepped out, followed by a group of smiling children.

“Good afternoon, don’t forget to review what we practiced today,” he said, his voice gentle and patient.

The children waved cheerfully and ran into their parents’ arms. The adults bowed in thanks to the old man, reverent. It was an absurdly ordinary scene. Almost comforting.

If Ryu hadn’t seen—with her own eyes—the demonic tattoos beneath the wrinkled skin of that “grandpa.”

Yes. That kindly, polite, seemingly harmless old man… was a demon.

And that was why she was there. Because, as a hunter, it was technically her job to eliminate creatures like him.

Technically.

But ever since she had stumbled upon him—by sheer accident—she hadn’t been able to do it. And she wasn’t even sure why.

She started watching him.
Every day, she came back to the same café, sat in the same chair, and… waited. Looking for signs that something was off. Disappearances, unexplained deaths, humans falling mysteriously ill. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The old man taught Baduk to children, teenagers, adults—even other seniors. He had easy access to plenty of potential victims. If he wanted, he could drain the life out of every one of them. But no one ever staggered out of that building. No one left in a coffin. Not even looking… tired.

And that was what drove her crazy.

Because demons needed to feed. That was Demonology 101. She had learned it from Celine, from the other hunters, from the old books and scrolls that spelled out their rules. Demons consumed vitality, emotions, souls. That was their nature.

But this one… seemed more interested in teaching board-game strategy than devouring the next generation.

That was why she hadn’t told anyone yet. Not even the other hunters in her group—the secret idol group tasked with protecting the human world from demonic invasion while maintaining the barrier (with songs and blades, obviously).

Ryu didn’t want to raise the alarm. She was afraid that if she said something, the others would show up ready to kill. And maybe… maybe this demon deserved investigation before execution.
Maybe he was… different.

Like another demon she knew.

Baek Ryujin.
The mysterious (and absurdly good-looking) demon she kept running into from time to time.

Celine would lose her mind if she ever found out. Obviously.

“I can’t just sit here and watch forever!” Ryu muttered to herself, tugging her mask down long enough to take a bite of her muffin. Her fifth muffin. That’s right. Fifth. She had officially consumed more sugar than coffee—which was an achievement, considering how much caffeine was already in her bloodstream.
(Note to self: stop this combo before developing a permanent eyelid twitch.)

She needed to act. She was a hunter, after all.

Sure, hunting required patience, observation, strategy… but this had crossed the line into gourmet procrastination. And let’s be real—undercover muffin surveillance didn’t exactly count as serious fieldwork.

Determined, she stood, adjusted her beanie, and pulled her mask back over her face—now dusted with chocolate crumbs. She walked to the counter, where the barista gave her a look that was equal parts pity and judgment.

Ryu could practically hear her thoughts:
“There goes the stalker of the Baduk school.”

She paid, mumbled an awkward thank-you, and stepped outside, crossing the street with her heart pounding—not only from the caffeine overdose.

The shop looked modest, almost invisible to anyone rushing past: two floors, exposed brick façade, one of those discreet entrances that practically begged not to be noticed. But beside the glass door was a square window that offered a glimpse inside. Low shelves, jars of Baduk stones, a table with the board neatly set up—everything so meticulously arranged it looked less like a game and more like an altar.

Outside: traffic, car horns, cell phones, concrete.
Inside: silence. Order. A world refusing to be swallowed by the frenzy of the present. An anachronistic sanctuary where time itself seemed to move slower.

She walked in.

And almost regretted it instantly. Her right hand was already twitching, ready to summon her weapon if it came to that. Always alert. Always prepared.

“Hello? Anybody home?” she called out, her voice louder than she intended.

A figure appeared from the back door: a short old man, hair white as freshly fallen snow, face mapped with wrinkles, small eyes sharp and attentive. He wore loose, comfortable clothes in shades of gray and white, the kind of outfit chosen entirely for comfort rather than fashion.

Ryu almost relaxed. Almost.

“Ah, good afternoon!” he greeted warmly, his smile gentle. “Have you come to enroll?”

“I… uh… well…” she stammered, utterly unprepared for actual interaction. “Maybe. I mean, I’m not exactly good at it.”

“No one’s good at anything in the beginning, young lady,” he replied with the patient wisdom of someone who had taught countless people to lose gracefully. “Not even me, despite decades of playing. But it’s that constant pursuit of improvement—of understanding our own limits—that makes Baduk so fascinating.”

Ryu nodded before she even realized she was doing it.

“Yeah… well, in that case, I’m full of limits,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“I don’t believe that.” He shook his head, moving to a small side table that doubled as a counter. He picked up an enrollment form with such calm that a shiver ran down her spine.

The form. His smile. That serenity. For a moment, it all felt like she was just another girl signing up for Baduk lessons. Not someone possibly about to kill this sweet old man for being a demon. (Minor detail, right?)

“After all, hunters need strategy and logical thinking,” he remarked, still with that warm tone. “Baduk could even be an excellent supplement to your training.”

Ryu froze.

“What…?”

But it was too late. She had already taken the form. Already looked him in the eye. And when she glanced at the old man again, the demonic tattoos beneath his wrinkled skin were clearer than ever in the fading afternoon light.

He knew. Of course he knew.

“I was wondering when you’d finally work up the courage to come talk to me,” he said calmly, without the slightest trace of hostility. “I’ll admit, I was intrigued by how long it took.”

No fear. No threat. Just… curiosity.

Ryu opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“I… I…”
(Okay, where’s the manual for dealing with polite, charismatic demons? Celine, help.)

“My name is Noeul,” he introduced himself with a courteous nod. “And you are?”

Demons rarely introduced themselves to her. Then again… she had never asked for their names either. Encounters usually leaned more toward “immediate obliteration” than “exchange of pleasantries.”

“Ryu…” she blurted before her brain had time to process. Maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe this whole thing was about to turn into a cosmic-level disaster disguised as small talk. She glanced at the enrollment form in her hands, then back at the deceptively harmless old demon standing before her.

“You must have a lot of questions,” he said gently, as if discussing the weather. “I imagine that’s why you’ve been watching me so closely. And also why you didn’t try to kill me right away, isn’t it?”

Ryu nodded. Then shook her head. Then nodded again—like a broken bobblehead.
(Congratulations, Miyeong. Emotional camouflage level: terrified chicken in a china shop.)

“I… just… Well, you’re not killing anyone, right?” she asked, immediately flushing. Subtle, Miyeong. Really subtle.

Noeul sighed. A sigh so heavy it seemed to drag centuries with it. Ryu instantly felt guilty. Yes, he was a demon—but a grandpa demon with monk-like patience.

“I am a demon, young hunter. I have killed and harmed humans. I served Gwi-Ma, carried out his orders. That was what he demanded of us. But… not anymore.”

“Not anymore?” Ryu’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that answer. And she definitely hadn’t expected the faint, resigned smile that came with his next words:

“I quit, so to speak.”

He chuckled, like it was the kind of harmless joke you tell after afternoon tea.

“Y-you can do that?” Ryu blinked, dazed. “I mean… you can just hand in your resignation and run off to the human world?”

Her mind immediately jumped to another demon—mysterious, and annoyingly beautiful—who had a habit of showing up at random concerts around the city. Baek Ryujin. He, too, seemed to have… defected. And reinvented himself as an art critic. A very irritating art critic.

“Well…” Noeul began to reply, but the front door burst open with a thunderous crash.

“Noeul! I came for more Dalbyeol!” The deep voice echoed through the room, reverberating like thunder in a cavern. A voice she knew far too well.

Ryu turned slowly, already feeling the heat rising in her cheeks.

And there he was, standing in the doorway with the kind of dramatic timing only action movies could dream of: Ryujin.

He was wearing a T-shirt with dancing puppies—ruffles and all. The fabric did nothing to hide the muscles he clearly wasn’t showing off on purpose. His dark hair was tied back in a loose ponytail (human disguise activated, the demonic silver well hidden), ripped jeans at the knees, and… sandals. That’s right. Sandals.

On anyone else, the outfit would’ve looked ridiculous. On him? Damn it. It was almost offensively attractive.

Ryujin looked at her. She looked at him.

And then… his hair began to shift color. A faint lavender hue bled into the ends.
Not a good sign.

“What are you doing here?” he growled, his voice low and cutting. As if she had trespassed on his privacy, his world, his… whatever this was.

“Good afternoon to you too,” Ryu shot back, her sweetness venomous, proud that her voice stayed steady even though her legs felt like jelly and her heart was pounding like she’d downed seven double espressos.

“Politeness is the least you could manage, especially living among humans, don’t you think?”

“I’m polite when necessary,” he replied, blunt.

“And this situation isn’t?” She raised an eyebrow, lowering her mask slowly, almost challengingly.

“Since when does a demon owe politeness to their executioner?” he retorted, his words sharp. “I don’t recall you saying ‘please’ or ‘excuse me’ before ripping another demon’s arm off in battle…”

Ouch. Subtle trauma poke. But Ryu just drew in a deep breath.

“I am being polite right now, aren’t I?” she countered, casting a meaningful glance at Noeul, who was watching everything with a faintly amused smile tugging at his lips. Great. Demon Grandpa was entertained. Perfect.

“What’s this?” Ryujin completely ignored the theatrics and, with all the audacity in the world, snatched the enrollment form straight from Ryu’s hands.

“Signing up for Baduk lessons?” he read, blinking. “Well… that you definitely need.”

“Excuse me?! Are you implying something, Ryujin?” Ryu shot back, lunging to snatch the paper back. But he—tall, muscular, and impossibly infuriating—held it just out of reach, like some childish game.

Ryu’s blood boiled.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, jumping to grab the form.

“And you’re predictable,” he replied with a smirk she wanted—honestly—to punch right off his face. With both fists.

“So, you two know each other.” Noeul’s tone wasn’t a question but a statement. And Ryu realized it immediately.

“She tried to destroy me, can you believe it?” Ryujin said, as if recalling a funny anecdote and not an actual attempt on his existence.

“And I still can, you know?” Ryu shot back, her cheeks so hot they could’ve fueled a small campfire. If someone decided to cook up a risotto of emotional turmoil right there, she had the heat covered.

“Sure, sure.” Ryujin solemnly ignored the threat, which only made Ryu’s blood boil harder. Because yes, technically she still hadn’t managed to defeat him. But yet was the keyword here. It was a work in progress. A process. With stages. Coming soon™.

(And it didn’t help that Ryujin was ridiculously strong… and insultingly attractive. Like, how was she supposed to focus in a fight when he smiled like that? Unfair. Unacceptable. Criminal.)

“Dalbyeol. I want the herb,” Ryujin said, turning to the old man with all the subtlety of a loan shark collecting debt. And Ryu immediately hated the way Noeul seemed to… shrink a little at his tone.

Her frown deepened.

“Seriously? You can’t even be polite when you should be? Could you at least, I don’t know, say please? You just barged in here like a storm and started demanding things! Would it kill you to be a tiny bit less… rabid dog?”

Ryujin rolled his eyes with a sigh that clearly said, save me, why am I stuck with her? before answering, with zero remorse in his tone:
“Please, Mister Noeul, just hand over the herb so I can leave and stop listening to these irritating complaints…”

Noeul blinked, surprised—maybe by the fact that Ryujin had actually managed to articulate the word please without combusting.

Ryu, on the other hand, was deeply offended by the lazy performance.

“That wasn’t polite. That was just… passive-aggressive with extra layers of rudeness.”

The old man chuckled quietly, amused—which only made Ryujin growl in response. And then came Ryu’s sharp elbow, landing squarely in his ribs.

“The herb’s in my apartment,” Noeul said smoothly, as if nothing had happened. “Why don’t you both come with me? I was just about to make tea. Perhaps it’ll help clear up some of young Ryu’s questions.”

“Questions, huh?” Ryujin shot her a sideways look, and she pretended her heart hadn’t just done a triple backflip.

“Well, she is always full of questions… and sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Excuse me?” Ryu spun toward him, eyes narrowed. “How about saving those venomous comments for when I’m not around?”

“And where would the fun be in that?” he dared to smile—the kind of smile that made her tongue tie up and her brain completely forget how to form intelligent comebacks.

Noeul cleared his throat. Discreetly, but just enough to shatter the electric tension hanging in the air.

And, surprisingly, Ryu wasn’t the only one blushing. Ryujin averted his gaze too, as if something on the wall had suddenly become deeply fascinating.

“Let’s just get to your apartment, old man…” Ryujin muttered, like he was being dragged to tea with annoying relatives.

And so Ryu followed the two of them—the enigmatic demon and the kind demon grandpa—with her heart racing and her head overflowing with questions. And maybe… just maybe… a cup of tea would hold more answers than all those weeks of silent surveillance ever had.

Chapter Text

Normal.

That was the first word that crossed Ryu’s mind the moment she stepped into Noeul’s apartment.

The place was… surprisingly ordinary. The open-plan kitchen blended seamlessly with the living room, forming a compact yet cozy space. A black two-seater sofa (visibly comfortable, though a bit worn) occupied the center of the room, facing a small television—so small it looked like it was there more for aesthetic obligation than actual use. Beside the sofa, a coffee table was overloaded with leather-bound books, notebooks bristling with colorful tabs, and—yes, she double-checked—an actual scrapbook.

But what truly stood out were the plants. They were everywhere: in pots on the shelves, hanging from ceiling hooks, lined up in corners like a miniature indoor forest. The balcony was practically an improvised greenhouse, humid air heavy with the scent of soil, pots arranged with almost obsessive care. Exotic species, glossy leaves, flowers that seemed to pulse with a subtle energy—maybe magical. Or maybe just ridiculously well cared for.

Everything was tidy, clean, pleasant. And… unexpected.

“Disappointed?” Ryujin’s voice cut through the silence at her side. “Were you expecting a torture chamber? Human bones scattered around? A cozy little corner for blood rituals? Or maybe a snug nook for satanic cult meetings?”

Ryu nearly jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. She had been so focused on scanning the room—staying on guard—that she had completely forgotten about the most dangerous thing in it: Ryujin himself.

“I—I wasn’t thinking that!” she stammered, blush creeping up her neck until her cheeks burned as if she’d just swallowed an entire chili pepper.

(She was totally thinking that.)

But honestly, could anyone blame her? Up until now, nearly every demon she’d faced had a talent for being maximally dysfunctional. She’d once seen one try to open a car with a credit card—not by swiping it, but by jamming it between the door, like some wannabe thief from an old movie. Another had once watered his plants with coffee. Strong coffee. With sugar.

At this point, it was just statistics: demon + human home = guaranteed weirdness.

“You shouldn’t judge her so harshly, Ryujin.” Noeul intervened with a gentle smile as he poured hot water over a mix of leaves, releasing a soothing aroma. “Distrust is a survival tool. And… well, reasonable, considering all the things we demons have done.”

His tone was light, but there was a quiet weight behind it. As if his words carried memories—ancient, and far from pleasant.

Ryu bit her lower lip. She felt… bad. A subtle but persistent sting of guilt scratching at her insides.

“Anyway… I’m sorry,” she said, her voice coming out softer than she’d intended.

Noeul only shook his head, as if trying to wave away her guilt with a gentle gesture. Spoiler: it didn’t work. Because she was worried. Not just about having judged the demon grandpa before even knowing him (which, to be fair, was basically her job as a hunter), but because… something inside her was shifting.

She—Ryu Miyeong, professional hunter, avenger of the light, destroyer of dark forces, and occasional idol—was starting to toy with the absurd, borderline heretical idea that some demons might actually be… civilized. Human, even. Decent.

If Celine ever found out, she’d have a meltdown. One of those dramatic ones, complete with a fiery speech and maybe even a PowerPoint full of statistical charts on demonic destruction.

“You really shouldn’t let your guard down like this, Noeul,” Ryujin said, pulling out a chair with the casual entitlement of someone who lived there (he most certainly didn’t) and dropping into it with the lazy grace of an oversized cat who had way too many opinions. “If she found you, it means her hunter friends won’t be far behind. And when they show up, they’ll turn this apartment into ashes. Maybe it’s time you thought about moving, old man.”

“No!” Ryu cut in, her voice shooting up an octave higher than intended. “I mean… I didn’t tell anyone about him!”

Ryujin raised an eyebrow. That look—half are you serious right now? and half I expected better from you—made her stomach flip. It was the perfect combination of judgment and sarcasm, and she hated how her brain short-circuited every time he pulled it.

And then came the unspoken question in his eyes: Why not?
And the worst part? She didn’t even know the answer herself.

Because he seemed harmless? Because she wanted to observe him longer? Because some part of her didn’t want the old man to vanish without explanation?
Yes. No. Maybe. All of the above.

“Miss Miyeong has been watching me for several days now,” Noeul said calmly, as if discussing the weather instead of a hunter debating whether or not to kill him. “I imagine if she were planning to call reinforcements, she would’ve already done so.”

He moved closer to the table, carrying a beautifully decorated teapot (찻주전자 — chatjujeonja) and ceramic teacups (찻잔 — chatjan) glazed in a soft green, catching the fading afternoon light with a glassy sheen.

“Don’t tell me…” Ryujin muttered, still watching Ryu like she was a nine-hundred-piece puzzle and he had zero patience to finish the bottom-right corner.

And then came the blush. The infamous sunburn-red, tomato-on-fire blush. She wanted to scream at her own skin: Seriously?! What is your problem?!

“I just… he didn’t seem dangerous, okay?” she said, trying to sound firm but coming off more like someone defending the adoption of a stray cat that was probably a leopard in disguise. “So I decided to… watch him.”

With as much dignity as she could muster, Ryu pulled out a chair and sat at the table—directly across from Ryujin. A strategic mistake, obviously, because now she could feel his gaze on her. Not just a gaze. He was practically dissecting her soul with those golden eyes, the corner of his mouth always threatening to curl into a sarcastic remark.

And, to her utter humiliation, her heart sped up.
Traitor, she thought.

“In any case, I’m sincerely touched by your concern for my well-being, General Ryujin,” Noeul said with a polite smile, pouring the tea. He started with Ryu, and she silently thanked him for diverting the conversation to literally anything that wasn’t her complete inability to behave like a competent hunter in the presence of demons.

“Wait… General?!” Ryu’s eyes widened, whipping toward Ryujin like he had just revealed himself as the crown prince in some supernatural drama. Which, given his track record, wouldn’t even be the wildest twist.

She had never pictured demons having military hierarchies. Sure, Gwi-Ma had been called a king, so it made sense there might be courts and ranks… but she’d never heard of demons going around with titles like duke, count, lieutenant, or—least of all—general.

But Ryujin? Yeah, it kind of fit. He had that vibe—the kind of person who barked orders in the middle of chaos and expected instant obedience.

“Ex-,” Ryujin growled, sharp and clipped, putting so much weight on the word it was practically a verbal guillotine. To her shock, he blushed. Blushed. A faint, rose-colored flush across his demon cheeks. Which was—infuriatingly—adorable, in Ryu’s opinion.

“I haven’t been a general in a long time, Noeul. You should remember that.”

“Oh, I do.” Noeul smiled as he set Ryujin’s cup before him. “But someone like you is… hard to forget. Especially back when I served Gwi-Ma myself.”

“Yeah.” Ryujin muttered, ignoring the cup in front of him as though tea were beneath his notice. “But we’re not here for nostalgia. I’m here for the Dalbyeol.”

“I know, I know…” Noeul sighed, not even remotely offended by Ryujin’s curt tone. Just… resigned. Like someone who’d dealt with him too many times to be rattled by grumbling.

Ryu, on the other hand, was practically bouncing out of her chair.

“Okay, but… what exactly is this Dalbyeol you keep talking about?” Curiosity burned through her like fire, and she was not surviving another three seconds without an explanation.

Ryujin just looked at her. That look. The one that screamed, It’s obvious, girl. Then he rolled his eyes like he’d lost faith in humanity—again. Ryu pouted instinctively, arms crossed, her face saying, Go ahead, don’t answer me, I dare you.

“Well…” Noeul began, reclaiming his wise-professor aura, “…I’m sure you noticed, during your surveillance, the absence of certain… signs. Signs usually associated with demonic presence.”

“Yes…” Ryu said slowly, brow furrowing. “I didn’t see any human victims. No disappearances. Not even anyone suspiciously sick, which should’ve been impossible. I mean, as much as you seem like a decent guy… demon hunger is real. You’re basically like vampires. (Not the sparkly, melodramatic YA romance kind—the actual soul-devouring kind.)”

“Exactly.” Noeul nodded, his expression shifting as though he were about to launch into a lecture on demon biology. “But you see, that hunger doesn’t come from flesh itself, as you know. It comes from energy. Vitality. And… that energy can be drawn from other sources, if one is creative.”

“Creative as in… other kinds of souls, not human?” Ryu ventured, one brow arched. “Please tell me you’re not feeding on puppies or kittens. Because in that case, honestly, I’d have to kill you.”

She paused dramatically, then added with a smirk:
“Now… if it’s cockroaches or mosquitoes, I wouldn’t complain. Actually, I’d hand you a list.”

“Close,” Noeul said with a smile. “You see, the base of the human food chain is built on photosynthetic organisms. Plants that convert sunlight into chemical energy. That energy moves up the trophic levels—plant to herbivore, to carnivore, and so on.”

“It’s starting to sound like a biology lecture…” Ryu muttered, blinking slowly as she tried to piece together what any of this had to do with hungry demons.

“Because it is, in part,” Noeul continued, calm as ever. “The energy that sustains us can also be drawn from those primary sources. Dalbyeol is a very particular plant—rare, and uniquely adapted to our demonic metabolism. It doesn’t just store life energy in its purest form, it converts it into something compatible with our magical structures. It is… an ethical substitution, so to speak.”

“You’re telling me there’s such a thing as… demonic vegetarianism?” Ryu blinked. “That’s real?”

Ryujin let out a low grunt, and she had the distinct impression he was disguising a laugh.

“If it means not devouring human souls, yes, it’s real. And the old man here happens to be one of the few who managed to keep the cultivation stable in this realm.”

Ryu’s gaze darted from Noeul to the teapot, then to the planters and the makeshift greenhouse on the balcony. For the first time, she realized the fragrance in the air wasn’t just ordinary herbs.

There was something else. Warm. Alive. Vibrant.
Energy.

She leaned back in her chair, stunned.

“If that’s true… this changes everything!” she exclaimed, jumping up so fast she nearly knocked the chair over. Her eyes shone, bright with excitement. “Demons don’t need to be hunted anymore! We don’t have to keep waging this eternal war, with bloody battles, dramatic decapitations, all that!”

She looked between Ryujin and Noeul, eyebrows raised, arms crossed. Neither of them seemed remotely thrilled by her sudden epiphany.

“It doesn’t change much, hunter,” Ryujin said dryly, dousing her enthusiasm like a bucket of cold water. “Not every demon has chosen to follow this so-called alternative diet.”

“What do you mean? Why not?!” Ryu practically whined, her whole body curling in frustration. The idea that anyone would still choose to consume human souls felt… absurd.

“The herb tastes awful,” Ryujin declared with the solemnity of someone announcing the end of the world.

“So what if it tastes like… like cow dung mixed with worms!” she shot back—blushing instantly at her own choice of words, but refusing to stop. “I mean, seriously, who cares about taste? What matters is not destroying human lives!”

“Not everyone sees it that way,” Noeul murmured with a weary sigh. “For many demons, especially the oldest ones, it would be considered humiliation. Eating a plant… it’s like betraying our nature. Reducing ourselves to prey. Becoming herbivores. Surrendering the honor of predators. Many even see it as embracing weakness. It’s no accident the herb used to be called ‘fodder of the weak.’”

“And then there’s ignorance,” Ryujin added, his tone dripping with disdain. “Most of the underworld kings would rather keep the plant’s existence secret. Avoid ‘philosophical debates,’ you know how it goes. Truth is, it’s practically extinct down there. Noeul only managed to bring a few cuttings when he fled to the human world.”

Ryu sat back down slowly, her mind spinning as she tried to take it all in.

“Wow…” she whispered, eyes fixed on the steaming teacup before her. “That’s… a lot.”

“Careful, Ryu,” Ryujin commented, calmly lifting his cup to his lips. “You’re going to fry your brain.”

“Shut up…” she muttered, pressing her fingers to her temples, which now pulsed with the heat of a thousand chaotic thoughts. It felt like her brain was running at 200% capacity, and still failing to process it all.

Even if not every demon embraced this so-called “alternative diet,” the simple fact that an option existed already changed everything.

It was… revolutionary.

She stayed quiet, thoughtful, staring at the untouched tea in front of her. Every so often, she stole glances—at least she thought they were discreet—at Noeul and Ryujin. The old demon had stepped out onto the balcony, gathering leaves from a low, lush-green plant with an exotic look—definitely not something you’d find in an ordinary flower shop. He placed them carefully into a small paper bag—probably Ryujin’s order.

Meanwhile, Ryujin leaned back, eyes half-closed, sipping tea like he was in some luxury spa. But he wasn’t looking at her. And, of course, that only made her look at him even more.

“Do others come here?” she blurted out suddenly, shattering the silence.

Ryujin frowned.
“What do you mean?”

“Other demons. Do they… come looking for this herb too? Wanting to avoid humans? Are there more like you, Noeul?” she pressed, her gaze fixed on the old demon.

Noeul looked ready to answer, but Ryujin cut in with all the subtlety of thunder.
“Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake—I’m not setting up an ambush, if that’s what you’re thinking!” she snapped, frustrated.

“Sure…” His tone was neutral, but his eyes? Pure judgment. And that, of course, infuriated her.

“If I wanted to hurt Noeul, I already would’ve, okay?! No offense,” she added quickly, glancing at the old man, who only smiled with his usual calm.

“You think I like killing demons?!” she fired back, surprising even herself with the question.

Silence followed. She drew a deep breath, trying—failing—to steady her voice.
“I do it because… I have to. Not because I want to. If there’s an alternative—if there’s even the smallest chance of coexistence, of peace—I want to believe in that.”

Her voice shrank with every word, as if weighed down by her own fragile hope.

“Peace?” Ryujin repeated, and the word was so heavy it seemed to fill the room.

Suddenly, he rose from the table, fast enough to make the teacup rattle. Ryu shot to her feet as well, heart pounding, but she didn’t back down.

“Between humans and demons? That’s impossible.”

“Why?!” she demanded, her eyes locked onto his.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, the change came—silent, devastating.

Ryujin’s skin shifted to a metallic gray. Demonic tattoos rippled under it like serpents writhing beneath the surface. Claws unsheathed, sharp as blades. His golden eyes flared with raw, unearthly light, and his hair—once tied back in a loose, careless knot—fell free, strands blazing with a violent purple glow, like spectral flames rising around his head.

The very air in the apartment thickened.
The walls felt closer, heavier. The fading daylight outside dimmed, as though the world itself had recoiled in fear.

“You fear us,” he growled, his voice reverberating like muffled thunder. “You feel disgust. And not just because of our hunger. I’ve seen how humans treat what’s different. You hate what you don’t understand. You don’t expect a monster to be your neighbor. To buy bread at the bakery. To teach children how to play Baduk.”

Ryu swallowed hard. The magical pressure around her pressed down like an invisible storm, crushing, suffocating.

And still… she didn’t look away.

“Maybe there are humans like that,” Ryu said, her voice steadier than she expected. “I can’t deny it. But you must’ve seen humans who don’t hate. Who do try to understand. Who aren’t afraid… who aren’t disgusted. Humans who can be friends. Or even… more than that. Maybe.”

Her cheeks flared so red it felt like her very soul had decided to throw pink confetti all over a serious interdimensional-coexistence debate.

Ryujin’s gaze softened. Just a fraction—but enough for her to notice. A tiny shift. A single point of inflection.

“Don’t lump everyone together, Ryujin,” she pressed on. “If not all demons are soul-devouring monsters, then not all humans are going to try to kill a demon just for existing.”

The tension in the air remained, but it no longer had the razor’s edge. It was heavier now, more thoughtful. And less… lethal.

“She makes a good point,” Noeul said, appearing beside Ryujin with the paper bag in hand.

Ryujin eyed the package like it contained dynamite. Then he looked back at Ryu, his golden eyes dissecting every microexpression. Finally, with a sharp exhale, he snatched the bag in a gesture that screamed reluctant defeat.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice laced with a barely concealed tone of surrender. To Ryu, it sounded suspiciously like a small, stubborn… victory.

“And now what?” Ryujin added, sarcasm dripping. “Do we start a club for runaway vegetarian demons? What a pathetic idea.”

“Well… I wasn’t actually suggesting anything,” Ryu stammered, blushing even harder. “But… since you mentioned it…”

“I didn’t mention anything!”

“Maybe we should create one! An association! A support group! A safe haven for deserter demons. I’ve already got the name: the Circle of Return!” Her eyes shone, lit up.

“What?!” Ryujin grimaced, as if he’d just tasted something sour.

“Circle of Return?” Noeul repeated, this time in wonder. His eyes gleamed like the phrase had given him meaning. The contrast with Ryujin’s look of sheer disbelief was almost comical.

Ryu smiled at the old demon.
“Yes. Because many of you were human once, weren’t you? And some of you just… want to go back. Want to end the cycle of pain, of hatred. You want peace. A second chance.”

Her eyes softened as they rested on Noeul, full of quiet hope.

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the demonic tattoos still visible against wrinkled skin. His fingers brushed one of the marks slowly, as if reading a painful memory carved into his flesh.

“A second chance…” he murmured, as though he’d never dared say it aloud before.

“This is madness… it’ll never work,” Ryujin growled, storming toward the door, his shoulders tight and his aura simmering like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

Ryu hesitated for a moment, then turned to Noeul and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll come back so we can talk more about this. Thank you for the tea, really.” She offered a genuine smile.

And he returned it—with that calm, timeless smile of someone who had watched centuries pass, and still managed to be surprised by kindness.

When Ryu stepped out, the door had already slammed shut. Ryujin was storming down the stairs like a walking thundercloud. She rushed after him, her heart racing with a cocktail of frustration, adrenaline… and something else she absolutely refused to name.

“Ryujin! Wait!” she called, breathless.

“What now?” He barely turned, just enough to throw a glance over his shoulder. “Have you finally lost it? Shouldn’t you be off doing… I don’t know, hunter things? Or idol things? Don’t you have some cutesy little rehearsal to get to?”

“Why are you so angry about this?!” she shot back, trying to ignore the cheap jab. He always did that—weaponized sarcasm like it was armor.

“Because this is a terrible idea, Ryu!” he snapped, stopping dead in the middle of the stairwell and whirling around, his expression loaded with something she couldn’t quite name.

“What, exactly? Trying to solve conflicts peacefully? That’s the bad idea here?” She charged down a few more steps, cheeks blazing with indignation. Why did he always make her words sound like nonsense? Why was he—the snarky demon in dancing-dog T-shirts—so against the very concept of peace?

“Giving hope is the problem!” he exploded, his voice reverberating with something deeper than anger. Something closer to pain.

She froze. That… hit harder than she expected.

“Most deserters have already lived through hell. Literally. They were enslaved under Gwi-Ma and the other demon kings. Centuries of war, torture, silence. If you give them hope—and then it collapses—how do they pick themselves up again? Have you thought about that?”

Ryu’s chest tightened, like she’d just taken a punch straight to the ribs. She hadn’t. She hadn’t thought of it that way. She only ever saw the light at the end of the tunnel—not the wreckage if the light turned out to be a mirage.

She stepped forward—except the universe (or, more likely, the treacherous stairs) had other plans. Her foot slipped. Gravity yawned beneath her, the world tilting—

Impact.

But not with the ground.

She slammed straight into Ryujin’s chest, firm, hot, and muscular like a very grumpy wall. He caught her instinctively, strong arms pulling her upright with a practiced ease that felt… disturbingly natural.

“Heaven’s sake, how are you a hunter when you’re this clumsy?” he muttered, his low, husky voice rumbling above her head, sending her stomach into a triple somersault.

Stop pounding like that, she wanted to tell her traitorous heart. But of course, it didn’t listen—still racing as if trying to sprint out of her chest.

“I-I… I…” She tried to step back, just enough to look up. And there they were. His eyes. Golden. Intense. Beautiful.

And she knew she was doomed.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” Ryujin murmured, voice low, loaded with something between frustration and desire.

Ryu barely had time to breathe before the world slowed, and his hand lifted—hesitant, then certain—to brush aside a dark strand of hair that had stuck to her flushed cheek.

Her breath caught.

“You… you don’t have to do anything, you know?” she whispered, nervous, her voice trembling and uneven. “I mean, it’s not like I… expect you to… you know, do something with me…”

But her body was saying something else entirely.

She didn’t step back. Didn’t even flinch. In fact, she leaned toward him, as if her gravitational axis had shifted—Ryujin suddenly becoming the center of her universe.

That seemed to catch him off guard.

" Wait… " he said, his voice low, rough. "And yet you still look at me like that? Stay this close… touch me like that? So it’s intentional, then? What are you doing to me…?"

Ryu felt her body tilt even nearer. The distance between them was gone now. Nothing but heat. Nothing but him.

" What am I doing to you…? "she whispered, her gaze locked on his like she could dig out the answer from molten gold. "Do I annoy you?"

"That too…" he answered with a husky smile, dangerously wicked and devastatingly delicious, reverberating against her skin like thunder trapped in a storm.

She pressed into his arms—solid, warm, safe—and rose to her toes, as though trying to reach the heavens and finding them right there.

"But what you really do to me…" Ryujin went on, his face so close now his lips brushed hers with every syllable — is leave me utterly undone.

And then, there were no more words.

Ryu might have said something. Might have hesitated. But her mouth, reckless and impatient, decided for her. She brushed her lips against his in a kiss that started light—courage wrapped in softness, a tentative invitation.

But Ryujin was not tentative.

He answered with a primal growl, pulling her firmly by the waist, crushing their bodies together as if refusing any distance between them. His other hand swept up her back, mapping every inch as if to claim it. His lips met hers with urgency—colliding, searing, devouring.

The kiss erupted, fierce and consuming. It deepened like a storm long chained finally breaking free—two souls ravenous for each other, realizing it too late and all at once.

And the world around them… trembled.

Literally.

The barrier pulsed. The walls seemed to shiver with resonance. As if the very magic of the place recognized the collision of two opposites who, for one perfect instant, chose to meet instead of destroy each other.

They heard nothing else. Saw nothing else.
They only felt.

Chapter Text

Incompetency.
That was the first word that crossed Rumi’s mind as she mentally replayed every mistake they had made. Several.

First off, why had no one checked the perimeter before starting the damn ritual? That was demon-hunting 101! She’d learned that back when she was a kid, gripping a toy sword while listening to Celine’s endless lectures.

And the worst part? Zoey had been right. Splitting up was stupid. Splitting up was exactly what the enemy wanted. It meant lowering their guard. It was the kind of mistake that invited nightmares. And Rumi refused to be the weak link in the chain.

With guilt bubbling in her stomach, fury burning in her chest, and a bitter dread crawling down her spine, she stepped into the adjoining hall, sword already materialized, blade gleaming, shoulders tense. Ready to cut down whatever waited there.

Ryujin was at her side. He didn’t need to say a word. The way his hair had shifted into a blazing violet hue said enough: he was expecting the worst too. His fists were clenched, golden eyes blazing. Ready to kill.

Jinu appeared behind them, still supporting Mystery, who managed to stay on his feet with visible effort.

But what they found… was something else.
Something bizarre.

Mira was practically climbing Abby like a terrified cat scrambling up a lamppost. Her eyes were wide, her trembling finger pointed at something on the floor as she babbled incoherently. Abby, shielding Mira with her left arm like a human barricade, had her right hand cocked back, ready to punch anything that twitched the wrong way. Her expression said it all: point me at the target, and I’ll smash it—gladly.

It looked dangerous.

And then… there was Zoey.

Phone in hand, she was filming with all the enthusiasm of someone starring in her own supernatural reality show.

“This is amazing! Like, full-on The Conjuring level—but Korean edition! Honestly, I feel like a modern Lorraine Warren. With style. Obviously.”

Rumi blinked. Once, twice.

And then she noticed Hwanwoo standing between her and whatever was on the floor. He’d positioned himself like a living shield—watchful eyes, protective stance—a silent but significant gesture. He was protecting her.

“Hwanwoo… what are you—” she began, but was cut off by a ragged groan from Mystery. Barely able to stay upright, he still managed to lift a hand and point.

Jinu followed the direction of his finger and… saw it.

Something—someone—was crawling across the floor.

It was a woman. Or something wearing the shape of one. Young, dressed in a white mourning hanbok, the fabric heavy and dripping as if she had just climbed out of a frozen lake. Her skin was far too pale, almost translucent, and her long, wet black hair hung over her face like a curtain. She dragged herself forward in jerky, angular movements, as though every bone had been broken, as though her body bent under some invisible weight. And the way her thin, trembling fingers stretched toward Mira’s ankles was… disturbing.

A cold shiver climbed Rumi’s spine, though she refused to show fear.

“Lower that sword, hunter,” Hwanwoo said, his voice surprisingly serious, stripped of its usual sarcasm.

She hesitated. She had never heard him speak like that. And it froze her more than the ghostly presence itself.

“But… what is that?” Rumi asked, forcing her voice steady even as the crawling figure advanced, as if eyes beneath that curtain of hair could still see her perfectly.

Ryujin let out a weary sigh, his energy shifting. His hair gradually bled back into its usual silver-black, the fiery glow fading.

“It’s a 화장실 귀신 (Hwajangsil Gwishin),” he said, his expression a mix of fatigue and familiarity.

Rumi’s eyes widened.
“A… bathroom ghost?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Literally.”

“I thought that was just an urban legend! Like Korea’s own Hanako-san…!”

“I told you there was more to this world than hunters and demons,” Hwanwoo said, sounding just a bit too smug for someone facing a crawling, sinister apparition. “And it’s hardly surprising to find a Hwajangsil Gwishin in a bathhouse this old…”

“He’s right,” Ryujin added, his voice calm, almost instructive, as he gently lowered Rumi’s hand. She let him. Her sword dissolved into glittering particles in the air.

Even though her body was tense, there was something mesmerizing about the sight—the spectral figure crawling closer, like something ripped straight out of a Korean horror film… except this was very real. Not CGI. Not some eccentric YouTuber’s prank.

“Bathrooms have always been places drenched in superstition,” Ryujin continued, as if they were sipping tea rather than watching a ghost crawl across the floor. “They’re considered liminal spaces—caught between the pure and the impure, the sacred and the profane. That makes them spiritually vulnerable. Gateways, if you will.”

He paused, his expression darkening. “And, well… a lot of bathrooms are tied to trauma: abuse, murder, suicide. Spirits that die that way often end up trapped in those places.”

As he spoke, the ghost crept closer. Her pale, elongated hands dragged across the ceramic tiles. Her dripping hair left a dark trail behind her. There was something heartbreakingly sad about her… and yet, utterly terrifying.

Rumi instinctively stepped back, putting her father between them. Ryujin crouched, as though examining a lost stray in the street.

“What do we do? Exorcism? Call a shaman?” Mira’s voice pitched higher than usual, clinging even tighter to Abby’s arm.

“Or… I don’t know, maybe I should just punch her? Like, would my fist even land? Or would it go straight through?” Abby tilted his head slightly, a spark of curiosity glinting in his eyes. “Just to test.”

“Abby!” Zoey scolded, though her phone was still filming, her eyes alight with excitement. “Don’t be rude to the ghost! She clearly has a tragic backstory, the kind that deserves its own supernatural K-drama. And punching someone in that context? Totally bad manners. Besides, everyone knows you can’t just fight ghosts—unless we go full Ghostbusters and get proton packs with cool lasers. Which, sadly, we don’t.”

Rumi was about to ask something too, but then the ghost moved unexpectedly—her icy fingers brushing against Ryujin’s ankle.

“Aaah!” Mira shrieked.

“OHHH,” Zoey gasped, starstruck.

Rumi didn’t scream. But she went rigid, so tense that if someone touched her, she might shatter.

Ryujin, of course, didn’t flinch.

“Baek Ryujin…” the ghost’s voice echoed, as if rising from the depths of a well filled with water. Trembling. Soaked. “Are you… Baek Ryujin?”

He met her gaze calmly. The sharp gleam of his golden eyes softened, becoming almost… human.

“Yes. That’s me,” he said gently.

At his side, the fox spirit finally stirred, stepping closer to study the apparition as if trying to decipher her as well.

The ghost woman lifted her face. Wet strands of black hair slid aside, revealing pale, symmetrical features. Almost beautiful—if not for the eyes. Red, like diluted rubies. Deep. Inhuman. And sorrowful. So sorrowful it was impossible not to feel a pang in the chest.

Rumi felt the chill return, though it wasn’t fear this time. It was something else… empathy.

“I want to seek refuge in the Circle of Return,” the ghost declared, her voice still sounding submerged, as if every word had to fight its way out of a dark, bottomless lake.

“I don’t see any problem with that. What’s your name?” Ryujin asked, his tone unexpectedly gentle.

“My name is Seolhwa (설화),” she whispered, her voice bubbling slow and tremulous, as though it had drifted across a silent lake just to reach their ears.

“How did you hear about the Circle?” Hwanwoo interjected, his voice firmer than usual, though it still carried a trace of softness.

Rumi narrowed her eyes, utterly lost. Circle? Since when was there a Circle? She shot Jinu a desperate please save me look, and he only muttered a quiet “I’ll explain later,” which was not remotely reassuring.

“Other ghosts told me… spirits from this bathhouse… and from others too… Water spirits who sometimes visited us on damp days,” Seolhwa answered, her tone hesitant, as if expecting to be reprimanded simply for existing.

“Other ghosts? Here?!” Mira’s eyes went wide as she swallowed hard, her head snapping from side to side as if expecting phantoms to start waltzing around the bathhouse.

“There were others…” Seolhwa whispered so faintly that Rumi had to lean forward—nearly tripping over her own breath—to catch it.

“There were?” Hwanwoo repeated, his voice lower, heavier. He exchanged a loaded glance with Ryujin, who remained calm, as though he already knew the answer.

“This place is going to be demolished. They want to build a commercial complex soon,” the ghost explained, each word heavier than the last. “We only wanted to protect our home… We tried scaring off the owners, driving away the workers… I warned the others we were drawing too much attention. That we should stay hidden. But no one listened.”

“A mistake, without doubt,” Hwanwoo muttered, before falling silent at Ryujin’s subtle hand gesture, asking for quiet.

“They came, then,” Ryujin said—not as a question, but as a statement.

Seolhwa only nodded. Her wet hair hung like mournful curtains around her face. She trembled, as if holding back a grief that had survived lifetimes.

“Who came?” Zoey asked, with the same urgency Rumi felt.

“Hwarang,” Hwanwoo replied, his tone laced with both fear and anger. The name dropped into the room like a stone hitting water.

“What is that?” Rumi demanded, looking from one to the other, desperate for someone to finally include her in the conversation.

But Ryujin didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out and gently brushed back Seolhwa’s wet hair, with a tenderness Rumi would never have believed he was capable of.

“They were all destroyed… only I remain,” Seolhwa continued, her voice drowning in a sorrow so heavy it was almost tangible. “The water spirits had told us about a safe place… a refuge… but no one believed them. They said fleeing was cowardice. That we had to protect our home. And then they came. And… now I am alone. Please. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Rumi’s jaw dropped as she watched the ghost curl into Ryujin’s lap like a lost child. Her drenched hanbok soaked through his clothes, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Hwanwoo, do we have a safe house of the Circle nearby? Any associate in the region?” Ryujin asked, his voice still low, as if afraid that anything louder might shatter the trembling soul in his arms.

The fox spirit nodded slowly, closing his eyes.

Rumi had seen that before. He was connecting. Reaching out to someone, or something. It was strange, unsettling even, especially when he chuckled or pulled faces as though he were actually holding a conversation.

“Yes, I believe so. I’ll confirm with my brother and ask for the address,” Hwanwoo replied.

“Wait a second!” Rumi burst out, her mind racing a mile a minute. “Ryujin, what’s going on? What is this Circle? Why does it seem like everyone knows about it except me, Zoey, and Mira? And what exactly are the Hwarang?”

She crossed her arms, bracing herself to squeeze the truth out of them the way you squeeze juice out of an orange at an uncomfortably tense breakfast.

Another mystery. As if she weren’t already buried under a thousand others—between demon kings, the very casual detail of having resurrected a Saja, and still having more to bring back… without knowing why. Because her father still hadn’t taken a single moment to properly explain anything.

“Don’t tell her,” Hwanwoo said flatly, earning a glare from Rumi so sharp it could have cut him to ribbons if he were made of paper.

“Hwanwoo… don’t be so paranoid,” Ryujin countered, met with an eye roll so dramatic it nearly deserved its own applause.

The ex-general then turned back to his daughter, still cradling the soaked spirit in his arms with surprising tenderness.

“The Circle of Return is something your mother and I created,” he said, as if sharing a precious secret.

“My mother?” Rumi blinked, her surprise raw and palpable.

“Yes,” he confirmed with a calm nod. “A refuge. For demons who escaped the underworld. For entities and spirits who have no place—neither there, nor here. A temporary home… or a permanent one. A place to begin again.”

Rumi fell silent, the weight of the revelation hitting her like a slap of reality. Her mother. That legendary, almost mythical hunter she had grown up hearing about. And now… this? A secret sanctuary for beings she had always been told to exterminate on sight?

Admiration began to flicker in her chest, a timid flame. But right alongside it came doubt—because that’s always what happens when you discover your life has missing pages. Did Celine know about this? Because if her mother had co-founded this so-called Circle, there was no way the woman who had shaped her entire existence—queen of combat manuals and suffocating discipline—was unaware. And yet… they had been trained to hate anything remotely demonic. To cut, to purify, to destroy. Even the inheritance that ran in Rumi’s own blood.

God… how many lies can one life contain?

“Wait a second…” Jinu cut in, yanking Rumi abruptly from her spiraling thoughts. He was holding Mystery with more steadiness now, his brow furrowed in sharp alertness.

“How long has it been since the Hwarang attack?” he asked, his voice sharper than before.

Seolhwa hesitated, her red eyes glistening.
“One day…” she murmured, as though the weight of speaking the truth made it less real.

“One day?!” Hwanwoo’s eyes widened, his voice rising. “Ryujin, that’s bad. If it was that recent, there’s a good chance the Hwarang are still around. They don’t just leave afterward—they linger, watching, making sure the job is finished.”

“Hwarang?” Zoey broke in, finally voicing the confusion Rumi had been choking on. “You still haven’t explained what they are.”

“Hunters.” The answer came from Ryujin, his stride already quickening—a clear signal they needed to get out of there fast.

“Wait, like… us?” Mira hurried after him, her fear rapidly giving way to vigilance.

“Not like you,” Hwanwoo snapped over his shoulder, impatience edging his tone. “You’re idols—you sing, smile for the camera, and occasionally save the world while wearing eyeliner.”

He stopped, turned, and added with a smile that held no warmth:
“They’re your dark mirror. No glitter, no music. Just the killing part… multiplied by a thousand.”

Chapter Text

Rumi followed the group with mounting unease, each step echoing against the damp walls of the decrepit bathhouse. The place seemed to whisper around her—every drip from the ceiling, every creak of the wood sounded like an accusation. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
One word wouldn’t leave her mind: Hwarang.

Hunters. Not like her and the others. Not with songs, or invisible threads sustaining the Barrier. But exterminators. And not just of demons.

Rumi’s chest tightened. Surely they should have known about this. Training, manuals, missions… yet Celine had never mentioned a word.

“I always thought we were the only ones,” Zoey said, walking beside her. Her voice carried more seriousness than usual, and hearing it out loud gave Rumi a strange mix of comfort and dread.

“I mean, if you think about it, it’s basically impossible to wipe out every demon in the world with just… us.” Zoey raised three fingers, as if it were obvious. “Like, come on. Look at the size of the planet. Now look at the size of our little group. Basic math.”

Despite the tension, Rumi almost smiled. Zoey had that gift: turning collective anxiety into a joke.

“I agree,” Mira said after a pause, her brow furrowed. “I’ve always carried the weight of knowing we’d never truly… destroy all demons. But I convinced myself that keeping the Barrier strong was enough. That as long as it held, we were protecting the world.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “But if this is true… about the Hwarang… Celine should have told us.”

The mention of their mentor’s name made the air heavier.

“Celine, lately, seems to be more of an expert at hiding secrets than answering questions,” Rumi muttered, her voice sharper than she intended. But there was no taking it back once the words slipped.

The two other hunters exchanged quick, uneasy glances. Neither of them denied it.

“Let me help.” Abby spoke without waiting for Jinu’s approval. He simply pulled Mystery toward him, slinging the demon’s arm over his broad, muscular shoulders, and lifted him as if he were nothing more than a sack of flour. Or a rag doll. Which, given Abby’s strength, might as well have been true.

“I’m glad you’re here, Mystery!” he began chattering without pause, dragging the still-silent young man along. “You’re going to like the human world. I mean, it’s not like we haven’t been here before, when Gwi-Ma sent us on missions… but now it’s different. Now we have the Circle. You kind of got a preview, but it’s another thing entirely to actually live here. To stay without an expiration date, without having to crawl back to hell… without needing to consume human souls.”

He paused dramatically.
“Even if the alternative is kind of disgusting. That tea…”

“Not consuming human souls?” Mystery interrupted. His voice was still hoarse, but it carried a weight now—an edge. From beneath his platinum fringe, his golden iris burned with sudden intensity.

Jinu noticed. The exhaustion was gone. Mystery was fully awake.

“Exactly,” Jinu said, steady and firm. “We don’t have to anymore. Not with the tea Ryujin brought us.”

“Is that true?” Mystery pressed, a little too fast for the flat, almost apathetic tone he usually wore. “There’s really an alternative?”

Abby and Jinu exchanged a heavy, silent look.

“Yes,” Jinu answered without hesitation. “It’s always existed. But apparently, Gwi-Ma wasn’t a fan of menus with options.”

Mystery’s body went rigid. He lowered his eyes.
“All that we did…” he murmured, but didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

Jinu knew exactly what he meant. The drained souls. The stolen vitality. The screams. How many humans had perished to feed the Saja? How much pain had they inflicted, believing they had no choice? And to learn now that there had always been a choice… that was cruelty of the deepest kind.

Rage ignited inside Jinu. But not at Mystery. Not at any of the Saja.
Guilt? No. That crown belonged to Gwi-Ma. He was the king of guilt—and he could keep it. They were not eternal slaves. Not anymore.

Jinu clenched his fists, drawing a deep breath.
“We have a second chance, Mystery.” His voice was low, but laced with resolve. “Think about that. Not about what’s already happened. We’ll make amends for our mistakes.”

The group exited through the front door of the bathhouse. Ryujin led the way, carrying Seolhwa in his arms as though she were something precious—despite being drenched and trembling—with Hwanwoo at his side. The cold night air wrapped around them like an uncomfortable embrace: heavy, dark, cut only by the ghostly glow of a few poorly placed streetlights. One of them flickered annoyingly, like a warning of danger yet to come.

“I spoke with my brother,” Hwanwoo began, his eyes gleaming in the dark. “There is a member of the Circle here, and you’ll be surprised to learn that she—”

A sentence died in the air.

A projectile tore through the night’s silence, swift and precise, aimed straight at the fox’s throat.

Ryujin reacted before anyone could blink. He caught the arrow mid-flight with one hand—without even loosening his hold on the trembling ghost clinging to him.

It was an arrow.

Rumi recognized the energy thrumming through it instantly. That vibration. That resonance. The same as the weapons conjured from the Honmoon.

With a sharp crack, Ryujin snapped it in two. The released energy scattered into the air—only to reveal its origin. The power traced back to the source.

Across the street stood a young man holding a Korean gak-gung (각궁/角弓). The bow, crafted from water-buffalo horn and wood, gleamed with a jade-like sheen under the pale night light. The archer looked like he had stepped out of an ancient painting: long, straight hair tied high with a ribbon, noble features, almost aristocratic, and a black-and-red uniform that fused the elegance of traditional hanbok with modern combat reinforcement. Only the thin, round-framed glasses on his face disrupted the aura of a legendary warrior.

When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost teacher-like:

“According to teaching number twelve of the Sacred Book of the Warriors of Balance, the Hwarang, you have violated the clause of peace by permitting the proliferation of supernatural entities within human dwellings. Furthermore, by teaching number nine, dimensional outsiders—demons—must not cross the barrier nor corrupt the human realm.”

And yet, while he recited like a priest delivering a sermon, he conjured another arrow onto his bowstring.

This time, Hwanwoo moved first. His body shifted, jaws lengthening into fox fangs as he bit the projectile out of the air. Behind him, multiple tails flared open like a burning fan, flooding the street with their glow.

“Seok, seriously… do you have to quote the manual every damn time?” came another voice—hoarse, dripping with sarcasm.

The foxfire revealed their second foe: a massive man, his body carved with scars, head shaved clean to make his face look even harsher. His half-lidded eyes gave the impression of permanent rage. Faint geomantic tattoos glowed on his neck and arms, waiting to ignite.

“Just destroy them already,” he spat. “As if these feral things would understand a sermon.”

“Han Dae-hyun,” replied the archer—Seok—without so much as glancing at him. “The manual is clear. The crime must be declared before the execution. Such is the law that governs the acts of the Hwarang.”

Dae-hyun rolled his eyes and made a hand gesture that clearly meant blah, blah, blah.

“Savages?” Hwanwoo snarled, his flaming tails flickering. “You’re the ones who massacred the ghosts of this bathhouse without even listening to their stories. Without giving them a chance to find another place. And you dare call us savages?”

“Calm down, Hwanwoo.” Ryujin’s voice cut in—soft, but heavy with a weight Rumi recognized. He was far too calm. Calm enough to be frightening. His hair, once black, was already beginning to bleed into a glowing shade of violet. A warning sign.

Then a third voice echoed from above.

“And they talk?” It was female, sarcastic, each syllable drawn out like a knife. “Funny. I always thought all they did was moan, cry… maybe whisper mercy or please, don’t. Those pathetic lines they copy from humans to make us hesitate.”

Rumi swallowed hard and turned.

On the roof of the bathhouse, the third figure appeared like a shadow carved against the night sky. A slender woman, pale-skinned, with jet-black hair cut into a sharp bob framing a face as cold as it was beautiful. Her eyes, lined in black, were like two narrow slits of darkness. Her uniform was functional and urban, reinforced with leather and steel. Curved blades spun effortlessly between her fingers, catching the glow of Hwanwoo’s fiery tails like fangs ready to strike.

“Well, technically the manuals allow for a request of audit before sentencing,” Seok said, lowering his bow just slightly, his expression almost uncertain. “But the request has to come from a human, not a creature.”

“Seok Min-jae!” the girl on the roof practically snarled, her voice as sharp as the blades she spun. “Don’t you dare give these monsters a chance at… what? Salvation? After all the destruction they’ve caused? Don’t be a fool!”

Rumi noticed. Jinu noticed too. The archer flushed—just a little, but enough to make him seem human despite his flawless, methodical demeanor.

“Destruction?” Ryujin broke the silence. His voice was low, but so sharp it slid through the air like a perfectly honed blade. “And what exactly are you accusing them of destroying? What could the ghosts of a bathhouse possibly have done that was so terrible? The only ‘destruction’ here came from time, from mold, from human neglect.”

He stepped forward, his gaze locking on the huntress. Every word dripped with icy irony.

“You should know—or maybe you don’t, depending on how pathetic your training has been—that a Hwajangsil Gwishin is tied to the place of her death. She guards it. Protects it. Preserves it. She doesn’t destroy.”

The girl narrowed her eyes, bristling under his stare.

“I don’t have to answer to you, demon!” she spat, leaping from the roof with feline agility, her ssangdo—twin blades—shining with ethereal blue light in her hands.

She lunged forward, but didn’t finish the strike. A wall of dark smoke erupted in front of her, forcing her aside. The impact sent her rolling across the ground, sparks of blue scraping against the floor.

Jinu. He had conjured his Ma-Gi.

Rumi’s chest tightened as she realized just how much that move had left the girl both bewildered— and furious.

“Yoon Ha-eun! Are you okay?!” Dae-hyun shouted, swinging his broad sword over his head with enough force to cut the air. He moved toward her — to help or to shield.

“I’m fine.” Ha-eun spat, pushing herself upright, each syllable threaded with anger. “I just didn’t expect that. Normally, demons run. They don’t fight back.”

“Then it’ll just make killing them more fun.” Han Dae-hyun smiled — the kind of smile that made Rumi want to be sick.

Seok, however, didn’t smile. He watched solemnly, an arrow still nocked to his bow but not released.

“No one’s going to kill anyone!” Rumi’s voice sliced through the tension, louder than she’d intended. Her sword materialized in her hand in a flare of light.

She wasn’t alone. Zoey and Mira stepped forward to flank her, their weapons glowing in the dark as if answering her boldness.

That, now, caught the Hwarang’s attention.

“What is this?” Dae-hyun snarled, his eyes flashing.

“They’re the Barrier’s chosen hunters,” Seok replied, adjusting his round glasses with a precise movement. “The ones who keep the balance with the power of song and—”

“Okay, okay, Seok Min-jae, we get it!” Ha-eun cut him off with an impatient wave, dismissing him like a fly. “Everyone knows who they are. The famous little divas. The Barrier’s princesses.”

The venom in her tone made Zoey’s jaw drop in indignation, but Rumi grabbed her arm before she could launch a reply that would only make things worse.

“What are the princesses doing here?” Ha-eun pressed, her eyes as sharp as her blades. “On the enemy’s side?”

“Treachery?” Han Dae-hyun snarled through clenched teeth — more a growl than a word.

“Treachery?” Rumi echoed, her voice rising without her control. How could she betray anything she’d never known existed? These hunters, these codes, these manuals that apparently everyone but her had been taught — Celine had never mentioned any of it. How dare they accuse her of treason?

Anger flared before she realized it. The demonic tattoos under her skin began to pulse with a faint light, slipping free of the shadows and the fox’s unnatural glow. They could no longer be hidden.

“A… half-breed?” Min-jae murmured, surprised, his glasses sliding down his narrow nose.

“Impure blood,” Dae-hyun spat, venomous.

“How could they allow this one to be chosen as a hunter?” Ha-eun lifted her twin blades, her eyes sparking with hatred. “What was Celine thinking? Did she ever tell the elders? That thing should have been killed at birth!”

Rumi swallowed hard, her throat burning, but forced her voice out, voice trembling nonetheless.

“I am a hunter.”

“No, darling.” Ha-eun smiled, the honeyed cadence of her words making them even crueller. “You’re a thing. A mistake. Half monster. Not a hunter. Don’t worry — I’ll fix that. I’ll eliminate you and prove to the elders they should have picked better princesses to sing for the Barrier. Actually… it should have been me.”

Rumi felt blood boil in her veins; she was ready to answer. But there was no time.

The Hwarang attacked.

Chapter Text

Fury.

That was what burned inside Rumi, searing beneath her skin like living fire. But fury over what, exactly? For never having known the truth about herself. For the heritage that had been hidden. For all the years she had concealed herself from everyone— even from herself. For finally accepting who she was, only to discover there were still more buried secrets. Secrets that shattered what little she thought she understood: being a hunter, maintaining the Barrier, fighting demons. Everything seemed to be collapsing.

And now they dared to call her a traitor.

Worse: to say she should never have been born.

The words ripped open old wounds, insecurities she had sworn were long buried. Maybe Celine had been wrong to train her. Maybe they were right, and she truly was a mistake.

It was in that avalanche of thoughts that Rumi almost didn’t see Ha-eun’s blade slicing toward her. Twin knives tore through the air with lethal speed, aimed straight for her throat.

But they never reached her.

A gray hand, covered in pulsing demonic tattoos, intercepted the strike with impossible strength.

“My daughter is not a mistake. Not a thing. And certainly not a monster.”

Ryujin’s voice thundered, low and resonant, heavy with power. His once-black hair had already transformed into a blazing violet, loose and wild as if the very air trembled around him. Energy—Ma-Gi—poured from his body in searing waves, warping the space around him like heat rising from stone. His golden eyes blazed, sharp as blades catching the sun.

He still held Seolhwa cradled in one arm, but with the other he crushed Ha-eun’s conjured blade so forcefully that cracks split through the very metal forged from the Barrier itself.

“She is more of a hunter than you will ever be.”

Ha-eun’s breath caught. The hatred on her face faltered, giving way to panic.

“Yoon!” Han Dae-hyun roared, his conjured blade already raised high, gleaming in hues of blue and green like liquid fire. He charged forward, fast as a thunderbolt about to strike Ryujin.

Before the blow could land, a wave of Ma-Gi burst outward from the ex-general, slamming into Dae-hyun with brutal force. The warrior was thrown back, tumbling across the ground as his sword scraped against the asphalt, sparking in protest.

On the other side, Seok Min-jae had already summoned arrows of pure energy. But before they could cut through the air, a writhing mass of black smoke surged forward, devouring the projectiles like shadows swallowing light.

It was Jinu.

He stepped ahead, incandescent tattoos flickering across his ashen skin, his golden eyes blazing. His demonic form had fully emerged now, fury etched into every line of his being.

“Ryujin is right. Rumi is not a mistake.” His voice thundered, raw and seething. “She is extraordinary. As a person. As a hunter. And you dare call her a traitor? You—who know nothing about her? Where were you when Gwi-Ma broke through the Barrier?”

Jinu took another step forward, each word spit out like fire.

“She fought. She bled. She destroyed a demon king to save this world. She sacrifices herself every single day. You know nothing.”

Rumi stood frozen, speechless. The fury that had consumed her moments earlier gave way to something else—something warm and overwhelming rising in her chest like a blaze that didn’t burn but soothed: relief. Belonging. Love.

And then—like a cymbal crash cutting through the storm—another voice shattered the moment.

“Wait. Hold up. Daughter?!” Zoey practically screamed, her eyes bulging. “Like… actual daughter? As in DNA-level, father-and-daughter daughter?!”

“Ohhh… that explains a lot.” Mira muttered, arms crossed, sounding like she had just solved a puzzle everyone else should’ve noticed ages ago.

“DAUGHTER?!” Zoey squawked again, a parrot in full meltdown, nearly bouncing in place from the sheer excitement. “Guys, HE’S your dad? Ryujin? That Ryujin? Rumi, this is… this is bigger than any K-drama plot twist we’ve ever binged on streaming!”

Rumi swallowed hard, her face burning as if she had just run a marathon beneath the desert sun. A nervous laugh slipped past her lips, betraying the storm inside her.

Right. Maybe… just maybe… she should have told her friends about this little revelation earlier. But in her defense, she had only found out a few hours ago. Totally fresh. Still processing. A chaos under construction. And yet, somehow… essential. As if with every passing second, the bond with Ryujin became more inevitable.

Before she could sort her thoughts, Rumi saw Ryujin fling Ha-eun aside like dead weight. Dae-hyun caught her midair, but the force of impact knocked them both to the ground.

More arrows sliced through the air—swift, precise—but Jinu intercepted most with a wall of shadowy energy, while Hwanwoo, in fox form, snapped others out of the sky with fiery jaws. The night vibrated with crackling energy and the blaze of the fox’s burning tails.

“Here.” A firm voice pulled Rumi’s attention. Abby.

She turned just in time to see him already in full demon form—ashen skin etched with glowing violet tattoos that pulsed like living sigils under the flickering light. The surreal contrast made his pink hair seem almost luminescent. Abby deposited the still-weakened Mystery into Zoey’s arms.

Zoey nearly toppled backward under the weight, squeaking something along the lines of “Lord help me” while babbling an endless stream of nonsense—half the words too jumbled for anyone to decipher.

Meanwhile, Abby cracked his knuckles, the sharp sound echoing like a harbinger of disaster. His muscles coiled so tightly that his shirt looked ready to beg for mercy.

“I’m ready to beat these bastards into the ground,” he said, flashing that broad, reckless grin only Abby could pull off before a fight.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Mira added, spinning her spear with fluid grace. The weapon left a shimmering trail through the air as it turned.

Rumi felt it deep in her bones: this was a bad idea. The kind you can spot a mile away, like flashing neon signs screaming danger, turn back now. But before she could even open her mouth, Abby and Mira were already charging forward—plowing through Jinu’s Ma-Gi mist as though it were nothing but smoke—and heading straight for the Hwarang.

Mira lunged at Ha-eun with trained precision, the blade of her spear slicing the air in sharp, disciplined arcs. The enemy hunter’s twin daggers clashed against the steel, the metallic ring echoing through the empty street. But Mira didn’t rely solely on her weapon—she spun her body, using the momentum to deliver a swift kick that forced Ha-eun to leap back in a nimble retreat, irritation etched across her face.

Abby, on the other hand, was pure chaos. He fought Dae-hyun barehanded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Every strike of the sword was countered with a punch or blocked by his forearm, hardened with Ma-Gi. Sparks exploded on impact—blade against fist. Rumi couldn’t fathom how it was even possible, but there was Abby, grinning as he went head-to-head with a sword.

Seok Min-jae, meanwhile, seemed momentarily caught off guard, unable to pick a target amid the storm of battle. His hesitation didn’t last long. Hwanwoo charged at him in fox form, tails blazing like living torches. The Hwarang’s bow vanished, replaced by a Geom—a straight Korean sword, strikingly similar to Rumi’s. Its jade glow clashed against Hwanwoo’s claws, the impact sending shockwaves that made the very air vibrate.

Rumi stood frozen, her heart racing. The fight unfolded before her like a brutal dance, and yet… she couldn’t move. The dilemma shackled her: they weren’t demons. They were human. Trained, powerful, yes—but human nonetheless. And her duty had always been to protect humans, not harm them. But at the same time… she couldn’t turn her back on her own. Nor could she deny the truth burning in her skin: daughter of a demon.

A faint, trembling sob pulled her back. Seolhwa. Rumi turned to her father—Ryujin was on his knees, one arm firmly around the shivering ghost curled against him, her black hair plastered to a face gone pale with fear. The contrast was brutal: violence erupting all around, while he held her with a gentleness that seemed almost impossible.

“Violence shouldn’t be the answer.” The raspy voice carried low but heavy. Mystery.

Zoey, still struggling to support his weight, nearly crumpled with emotion. “Oh my God, he spoke… oh my God, he’s so handsome… oh my God, I’m going to faint…” she muttered in a lovestruck daze, words spilling like an incoherent mantra.

Rumi’s gaze locked on him, her heartbeat quickening. He was right. Maybe there was another way. A way to end this without turning everyone into enemies they could never reconcile with.

“Jinu.” Her voice was steady, commanding.

He shot her a quick glance, understanding without the need for explanation. Still, he hesitated.
“Are you sure? They’re not just going to let us walk away…”

His gaze flicked to Ryujin, as if searching for the ex-general’s approval.

“We must choose our battles,” Ryujin replied, his tone almost instructional, like a teacher addressing a pupil rather than his own daughter.

Jinu rolled his eyes, but comprehension settled in.

“Then let’s end this,” Rumi said, raising her conjured blade — but not to strike. “And when I say end, I don’t mean eliminate. I mean… finish.”

Ryujin rose to his feet, still cradling Seolhwa in one arm, and extended his free hand. Jinu mirrored the gesture.

“Perfect time for you to practice the chant, Jinu,” Ryujin added, no longer bothering to hide the edge of a demanding master in his voice.

Jinu flushed but nodded. He drew in a deep breath and began. His voice rang out, steady yet cautious, shaping the syllables Ryujin had taught him only hours before. Soon, Ryujin’s deeper, rasping timbre joined in, weaving with Jinu’s chant.

The air shuddered. Ma-Gi stirred in response, as though the world itself held its breath before the rising power.

Dark energy spilled across the ground like rivers of living smoke, curling upward in heavy tendrils that bound the Hwarang in place. The mist clung to their arms and legs like shackles forged of shadow, its density suffocating.

Abby was already stepping forward, fists clenched, a dangerous grin stretching across his face. He looked ready to start pounding them into the pavement, but froze when Rumi lifted her hand in a sharp command.

“That’s enough.” Her voice rang firm, though her heart thundered in her chest. “This fight is over. We’re leaving.”

Mira brushed damp bangs from her forehead, raising a brow. “You’re sure about this, Rumi?”

“Traitors!” Dae-hyun bellowed, veins bulging as he struggled against the smoky restraints. “You disgrace the hunter’s lineage! You side with demons! With monsters! You’ve betrayed the very Barrier!”

Abby gave him a none-too-gentle kick in the ribs, drawing a howl of pain.

Rumi’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel.

Abby raised his hands, mock-innocent.
“I tripped. Swear.”

Rumi drew in a deep breath, then turned to face the three hunters bound in the haze.
“I’m not here to tell you how to think. But I know what my mission is. And it’s to protect the Barrier. To protect this world. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. With them.”

“Impossible.” Min-jae, the archer, muttered, his expression grave behind the crooked frames of his glasses. “Every bit of logic says otherwise. We were trained since childhood to believe that, to protect this plane, everything from the other side must be destroyed: demons, spirits, entities. Impure beings. Agents of chaos. To ally with them is… a paradox.”

“And who said we want to destroy this world, idiot?” Hwanwoo had already shifted back into human form, his messy red hair catching the dim light, his eyes sparking with defiance. “I was born here. I grew up here. This is my home. Why would I want to tear it down? Do you seriously think every demon dreams of chaos and eternal fire like some cliché B-movie villain? Grow up.”

Min-jae opened his mouth, but for a moment, nothing came out. Then, almost against his own will, the words stumbled forward:
“I… I never thought about it that way.” His voice was softer now, hesitant. “But… the manuals are clear: demons are born of chaos, and wherever chaos sets foot, it leaves nothing but ruin. That’s what the texts say. That’s what they drilled into us. But…” He frowned, his mind spinning, torn apart by contradictions. “Humans create chaos too, don’t they? Wars. Pollution. They hunt their own kind. So if we’re going to follow logic to the letter… maybe we’re just as impure as those we swore to destroy. Maybe worse.”

He took a deep breath, finishing with reluctant honesty:
“And what if… what if we’ve been wrong from the start? What if the scriptures I’ve treated as law aren’t absolute truths… but just old interpretations, too rigid to fit reality? Of course, I’d have to file a formal petition for re-evaluation with the Elders, but…” He gave a nervous, bitter laugh. “I doubt they’d ever allow anyone to question their own dogma.”

Silence settled again, broken only by the ragged breathing of fighters on both sides.

Hwanwoo blinked at him, surprised by the sudden philosophical turn. For the fox, it only confirmed one thing: that human was, without a doubt, a little insane.

But Ha-eun allowed no room for reflection. Her voice sliced through the night like a blade.
“Then kill me, priestess of the Barrier.” She spat the words like venom, her eyes blazing with hatred fixed on Rumi. “You and your spoiled little friends—princesses who twirl around on stages to keep the Barrier alive. You know nothing of this world! We, the Hwarang, bear the weight of the true fight while you prance around in the spotlight. Show your courage, half-breed. Prove you have the guts of a real hunter. Kill me.”

Silence fell once more. Rumi lifted her sword, the blade glowing under the flickering light of the streetlamps. Ha-eun raised her chin, awaiting the strike.

But it never came.

Rumi simply closed her hand, and the sword dissolved into light, returning to the Barrier.
“Let’s go.” Her voice was firm as she turned her back.

The group began to move, leaving the three Hwarang trapped in Jinu’s Ma-Gi, writhing against the inescapable bonds.
“Traitors!” Dae-hyun roared. “You’re nothing but a fraud!”

“That shadow gum… how long does it last?” Zoey asked, still half-dragging, half-cradling Mystery like some rare raffle prize, her voice caught between breathless and melodramatic.

“Long enough for us to vanish.” Jinu’s reply was curt, but a faint smirk lingered on his lips.

Rumi nodded. For now, the battle was over. But deep down, she knew the truth: this wasn’t the end. It was only the first clash. And the Hwarang would return.

Chapter Text

She had felt this way before—after a particularly long concert followed by a demon hunt, all in the same day. The kind of exhaustion that couldn’t be cured with sleep, only with layers upon layers of pillows, fluffy blankets, and an unholy amount of carbs and sugar.
And, of course, a random show playing on TV just to fill the silence while she slipped into what Zoey liked to call a food-coma transcendence.

Ironically, she hadn’t even sung this time. And she’d barely fought. Yet somehow, she was exhausted.
Maybe it was the avalanche of revelations from the last twenty-four hours.

First, the minor detail that she apparently had a father now—who just happened to be a legendary demon. Then, the Hwarang: human hunters specialized in slaughtering anything supernatural (great for her anxiety). Add to that the Ma-Gi training and… the kiss with Jinu.

Ah, the kiss.
She almost sighed just thinking about it.

Then came the mental alarm siren: Was that even a real kiss? Like, official? Or just a “moment of adrenaline and karaoke duet” thing that doesn’t mean anything?
Rumi decided she didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to process that right now. Her internal CPU was already overheating at 110%.

So there she was—sitting at the hotel’s enormous breakfast table, in a secluded wing with a view of a garden so beautiful it looked painted. Morning air drifted through the window, and the scent of hot food wrapped around her like comfort incarnate.

She faced a philosophical crisis: eat or sleep? Her stomach growled loudly enough to make the decision for her.

With a sigh, Rumi served herself some Bugeoguk—a dried pollock soup with tofu and vegetables, famously known for “bringing the dead back to life.” A Korean hangover elixir that, in her case, might just cure emotional fatigue too.

God, she needed this.

Across the table, Abby pounded his fist against the wooden surface with so much enthusiasm that the coffee rippled in its cups.
“Drink, drink, drink!” he chanted like a cheerleader on espresso.

Mystery eyed him suspiciously, holding the cup Ryujin had prepared personally—a tea of uncertain color and deeply questionable aroma, looking more like an alchemist’s potion than a beverage.
“Do I… really have to drink this?” Mystery asked, his tone making it clear he was hoping for a no.

“Drink,” Abby repeated, slamming his hand again, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Jinu, sitting beside them, just nodded encouragingly—apparently the final push Mystery needed.

With the solemn air of someone accepting his fate, Mystery downed the tea in one gulp. The result was instant. He shuddered, grimaced in a way that absolutely deserved to be recorded, and let out a guttural noise somewhere between “ugh” and “argh.”

But what happened next made Rumi sit bolt upright.
His skin, once pale and almost translucent, began to regain color. The shadows under his eyes faded, and the faint demonic markings beneath his skin glowed lilac for a heartbeat before disappearing entirely.

“Wow…” Mystery muttered, his tone flat as ever—but Rumi could hear the unspoken “holy hell, it actually worked” beneath the monotony.

Abby clapped his hands together, beaming like a proud scientist witnessing a breakthrough experiment.
“I knew it! No one can resist Ryujin’s tea. It’s like… infernal Red Bull.”

Rumi let out a tired laugh, still stirring her soup with the spoon.

“I’m just curious about that tea you guys drink…” Zoey leaned forward over the table, eyes glinting like a cat about to pounce. “What does it taste like? Bitter? Spicy? Radioactive?”

Her hand was already reaching for Mystery’s cup, which he calmly pushed away—once, twice, three times—without breaking his deadpan stare. Zoey followed each motion like a radar, pouting with theatrical despair every time she failed. Unsurprisingly, it had zero effect on the newly revived Saja.

“I think it’s a demon-exclusive beverage,” Jinu said diplomatically, though his lips twitched in amusement.

“Exclusive and… clearly traumatic,” Mira added between bites of her Korean breakfast sandwich. The toast cracked audibly when she spoke, and the smell of egg and melted cheese was so good it almost felt offensive. “Judging by your faces, it’s like one of those cures that heals and tortures you at the same time.”

“Afraid your delicate princess taste buds couldn’t handle it?” Abby teased, propping his chin on his hands and arching a brow.

“I do not have princess taste buds!” Mira shot back, genuinely offended. “I’ve downed the strongest sojus in Korea without flinching!”

“Sure, sure…” Abby drawled, sliding the cup to the edge of the table as if offering it—only to pull it back when she reached for it.

Mira leaned too far—and almost fell straight into his lap. Abby’s gaze dropped, and that slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
Then, just to make things worse, he tilted the cup to his lips and drank it—all of it—without breaking eye contact.

When he finished, he ran his tongue slowly over his lips.
“Hm. Bitter, but… interesting.”

Mira’s face went so red that Rumi swore she saw steam rising from her ears.

“Give me that tea now, Jinu!” she demanded, spinning toward the other demon.

Jinu raised his hands, half-laughing, half-anxious. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea. I have no clue what Dalbyeol herb does to humans. You should probably ask Ryujin first—before you start floating or turning into mist.”

“Speaking of him…” Abby said casually, stealing half of Mira’s sandwich with criminal-level speed. “Where’s the almighty demon now?”

“Something to do with the ghost,” Hwanwoo replied between bites of kimbap. The Gumiho, incidentally, was dressed so loudly it was almost a hate crime against color theory—neon green shirt, orange pants, and a fox-shaped pendant dangling from his neck.

“The ghost?” Mira repeated, swallowing hard, suddenly alert.

“Ah!” Zoey practically jumped in her seat, eyes sparkling. “Our special guest! Where is she staying? Do you think I can talk to her?”

Her enthusiasm was so pure that no one had the heart to interrupt.

“It’s just that I have so many questions, you know?” Zoey continued, resting her chin in her hands, eyes glowing with curiosity. “Like… why do all ghosts have long hair covering their faces? Is that, like, an afterlife rule? A dress code for the underworld? Because honestly, they could switch it up — short hair, bangs, maybe a cute bob cut… imagine a fashionable ghost!”

Mystery, who had been quietly minding his own business, stared at her for a long moment — long enough to seem like he was judging the sanity of humankind — then turned his gaze back forward in absolute silence.

“She won’t stay with us for long,” Hwanwoo began, his mouth full and crumbs threatening to escape. “As a Hwajangsil Gwishin, she needs to stay bound to a bathroom. It’s… instinctual. Usually the same bathroom where she died. But if that’s not possible, she picks another one, any one. That bond keeps her spiritual energy stable. The longer she’s away from a bathroom, the weaker she gets.”

Rumi tried to pretend that ‘bathroom-dependent ghost’ was a normal topic of conversation — and failed miserably.

“She’d better not bind herself to the bathroom in my suite…” Mira muttered, low but loud enough for everyone to hear.

Rumi noticed — with mild amusement — that Mira had, perhaps subconsciously, dragged her chair a few inches closer to Abby.

“Oh, she can use mine!” Zoey offered brightly, practically raising her hand like she was volunteering in class. “I’d love to have someone to talk to while I shower. Usually, I just talk to myself, but having someone answer back would be great!” She gestured animatedly, as if her argument made perfect sense.

Hwanwoo stopped chewing mid-bite.
Mystery, across the table, simply closed his eyes and sighed — which, coming from him, was the equivalent of a silent facepalm.

“She can’t bind to any of the bathrooms here,” Rumi cut in quickly, before the Gumiho could comment. “She needs somewhere discreet, far from humans. This is a hotel — people coming and going all the time. It’s only a matter of time before someone notices… and those hunters”—the word Hwarang seemed to weigh in the air—“track her down.”

The fox spirit froze mid-chew, eyes widening slightly as he looked at her. Rumi stiffened, thinking for a moment she’d said something wrong.

Then Hwanwoo swallowed, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and grinned — a wide, toothy grin.
“Exactly!” he declared, clapping his still-greasy hands together. “Very good, Rumi! That’s exactly the point!”

Rumi blinked, startled by the sudden praise — and, admittedly, a little proud of having nailed the supernatural logic for once without help.

“Ryujin is contacting our local contact,” Hwanwoo went on, leaning across the table like he was about to reveal a state secret. “Or rather — her. It’s a woman. She’s coming to pick up our ghost and take her to a more… appropriate bathroom.”

“An appropriate bathroom,” Zoey repeated thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand. “Like… an abandoned spa? A haunted hot spring?”

Zoey’s question about where the ghost would stay was answered almost immediately when the breakfast hall doors swung open.

Ryujin entered first—impeccable as always, though this time wearing a shirt patterned with adorable bunnies. The Hwajangsil Gwishin was still draped around his neck like a melancholic scarf.

At least she wasn’t crying anymore, but Rumi noticed, with a pang in her chest, that the ghost’s translucent body seemed even fainter—almost dissolving at the edges. A sure sign she was weakening.
And yes, she was worried about a ghost. Not that weird, right? Seolhwa just wanted to keep on “living”—or whatever the post-life version of that was. Every being, alive or not, deserved peace.

“They’ve arrived,” Ryujin announced with the calmness of someone who knew his words would trigger confusion. “I asked the hotel staff to prepare extra plates and—”

“They?” Hwanwoo cut in, frowning. “I thought only one person was coming…”

Before Ryujin could respond, the door burst open with theatrical flair.

“Hello, my darlings!”

The woman who swept in looked as if she’d just walked off the set of a high-budget romantic K-drama—radiant smile, electrifying energy, and an aura teetering between charisma and controlled chaos.

Rumi blinked, slightly dazed.
The newcomer had long dark-brown hair streaked with subtle violet highlights that shimmered under the light. Her deep brown eyes were expressive—and dangerously curious.
She wore a dark-toned dress layered with a fabric patterned in pale bats. Odd… and yet somehow strangely charming.

Her gaze swept across the table, and Rumi had the distinct impression of being scanned and cataloged. But instead of pausing for introductions, the woman strode confidently across the room—straight toward Hwanwoo, who clearly sensed the incoming disaster and tried, very subtly, to make an escape.

Too late.

“My dear!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the Gumiho in a suffocating hug. “How are you? Where’s your brother? I need to talk to you both about my latest story! Did you read the draft I sent? I even added reference sketches! I need your feedback—especially on the spicier parts.”

“Hae-rin…” Hwanwoo practically whimpered, struggling to free himself from her crushing embrace. His tone was pure despair. “I really don’t want to comment on… those kinds of scenes.”

“But darling, how else will I know if it’s realistic?” Hae-rin insisted, resting her chin in one hand and studying him like a rare specimen under a microscope. “The intimate moment between a Gumiho and his human lover has very specific nuances! See, I wasn’t thinking of a full transformation—like, a giant lovesick fox? Heaven forbid! That would be anatomically and narratively catastrophic.” She gestured dramatically, completely oblivious to everyone’s growing discomfort. “But a partial transformation—the tails, the eyes, the heat—does that affect the… performance? Tell me about your personal experience. It’s purely for research!”

The silence that followed was almost physical.
Rumi watched as Hwanwoo opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to form a single sound.

The legendary Gumiho had officially crashed.

“Yes, Hwanwoo,” Jinu murmured, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Please enlighten us on these anatomical details. Purely academic curiosity.”

“I second that,” Abby added, snapping his fingers. “Always wanted to know—do the tails catch fire when you’re, you know…”

He made a suggestive gesture with his finger that turned Rumi and Zoey into twin tomatoes on the spot.

Mira, however, burst out laughing—right as she took a sip of coffee. The liquid shot out of her nose and dripped down the cup.

“Unnecessary,” Mystery muttered without lifting his eyes from his plate.

“Totally,” Zoey agreed, trying to hide her face, red to the tips of her ears.

The fox demon gave a low growl, shooting a death glare at Jinu and Abby—who answered with unrepentant snickers.

Ryujin cleared his throat, and the entire room fell quiet.

“This is Seo Hae-rin,” he announced with the serenity of someone well acquainted with chaos. “An important collaborator of the Circle of Return—and, apparently, the owner of a nearby country house.”

“My creative retreat!” Hae-rin cut in, hand to her chest, positively glowing. “It’s where I write. And what luck to be in the area this week! I’ve found my favorite supernatural darlings and, now, the perfect new roommate for my house: a ghost to haunt my bathroom!” She cast a fond look at Seolhwa, still hovering beside Ryujin. “I do hope you like gothic décor, sweetheart. I recently remodeled with a tasteful vampiric theme—purely artistic inspiration, of course.”

She said it as casually as inviting someone to brunch.

Seolhwa blinked and even managed a shy smile, which surprised Rumi.

“Is she… actually human?” Rumi murmured, uncertain.

“Hae-rin? Seo Hae-rin?” Zoey’s eyes went wide as the pieces clicked. “Wait—you’re the screenwriter and author? The one behind My Sweet Favorite Demon, and also The Scorching Kiss of My Vampire Lover, On Vacation with My Werewolf, and… Honeymoon in the Enchanted Realm!” She turned crimson. “That last one is… um… intense.”

“Oh! She’s the author of the books you hide under your bed?” Mira said offhandedly, and Zoey nearly choked.

“I remember those dramas,” Rumi added, brow furrowing. “You basically forced us to binge them, remember?”

“Ah! Knowing demon hunters watch my work—what an honor!” Hae-rin bounced on her toes. “And to think Ryujin told me you’d be here! I confess, I expected something… tenser. I thought hunters didn’t care for people who were, shall we say, atypical.”

“We’re not like the Hwarang,” Rumi said, steady. Zoey and Mira nodded in unison.

“Thank all the gods for that, darlings!” Hae-rin clapped. “I would not survive a meeting with that crowd.”

“I wouldn’t be dancing and laughing if I were you.”

The new voice sliced through the room like a blade.

Rumi turned—and momentarily forgot how to breathe.

The woman who appeared at Ryujin’s side looked carved from shadow: tall, brown-skinned, with long black hair glossed in violet, and wine-dark eyes. Athletic gear hugged a powerful frame. Demonic tattoos climbed her arms and throat before fading into human skin. She radiated danger and elegance in equal measure.

“Kaenari.” Ryujin’s tone was low—almost a reprimand—but heavy enough to silence half the table.

“Let me get this straight.” Her voice was cool, precise, sharp as steel. “You brought hunters into the Circle of Return. Hunters, Ryujin. People trained to track and kill us. And now they know about the group. Even if one of them is your daughter, that doesn’t reduce the risk.” She crossed her arms, wine-colored eyes sparking. “And to top it off, you engaged the Hwarang and provoked agents of another demon king. Brilliant. Part of your grand plan, is it? Putting everyone at risk for an ideal? With all due respect, you need to reconsider this… venture. Or better yet, revise the plan with strategies that are actually achievable—like I’ve advised from the beginning.”

Rumi stood before she even realized what she was doing.
She might not fully grasp her father’s plan, but one thing was certain: she wasn’t about to let that woman speak to him like that.

“Maybe all that did happen,” she said firmly, feeling the pulse in her temples. “But we won. We survived. Plans change, Kaenari. What matters is that we’re still alive—and ready to keep going.”

The silence that followed was almost tangible.
Ryujin looked away from his daughter, a faint, proud smile curving his lips—the kind of restrained expression that only deepened Rumi’s confusion.

Kaenari, on the other hand, arched an eyebrow, her gaze sharp as a blade.
“Ready to keep going?” she repeated, her tone both sarcastic and intrigued. “What a fine leader you are. Unlike Lord Ryujin, who at least can read his surroundings and allies clearly. No wonder he invited me to this meeting.”

“Excuse me?” Rumi crossed her arms, her patience evaporating like smoke.

Kaenari tilted her head slightly, her wine-red eyes narrowing. “You haven’t even noticed that Lord Jinu is injured, have you?”

Rumi froze. Her gaze darted to Jinu, and her stomach twisted into a knot.
He hadn’t said much during breakfast, but… he’d seemed fine. Right?

Jinu looked away, forcing a tired smile—the kind that screamed I don’t want anyone to worry.
“It’s just a scratch,” he said lightly, too calm to be convincing. “I’m sure the tea will fix it.”

“Not when the wound was made by Hwarang weapons,” Ryujin interjected, his expression darkening. “Those blades were forged with enchanted metals. Injuries like that can’t be healed with Ma-Gi or tea.”

“You’re hurt?!” Rumi’s voice rose a half-octave, caught between anger and concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jinu lifted his hands in surrender.
“You were exhausted, Rumi. You had too much to process already. And it’s not serious—a stray arrow, barely grazed my shoulder. More surprise than injury.”

He hadn’t even finished when Kaenari was suddenly beside him, moving fast and efficient.
“Let me check it,” she said calmly, almost professionally. “This kind of wound is my specialty.”

Before Jinu could protest, she was already holding his arm, inspecting it with clinical precision. Rumi felt something rise in her chest and rush to her face—and it definitely wasn’t a fever.

“Oh! This reminds me of a book I wrote!” Hae-rin exclaimed suddenly, eyes sparkling. “My Supernatural Nurse! Have you read it? It might even become a drama this year! It’s about a hapless young man who keeps getting hurt until he meets a demon nurse from the underworld. She treats him and, naturally, love blossoms between bandages and… hmm… certain more intimate scenes where she has to undre—”

“Hae-rin.” Ryujin’s cough cut through the air like a thunderclap. “Perhaps not the best time.”

“Why not?” she replied, genuinely puzzled. “It’s about healing, emotion, touch, vulnerability—universal themes!”

Rumi merely huffed and crossed her arms, her gaze locked on Kaenari—who was now standing far too close to Jinu.

And as the demon woman examined his wound with the calm precision of someone who’d practiced for centuries, Rumi felt something unfamiliar stir inside her:
a slow, throbbing discomfort—subtle, yet impossible to ignore.

A kind of jealousy she didn’t even want to admit existed.