Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The girls burst through the steam fogged doorway, boots slipping on the steam covered tiles of the bath house.

Half naked men yelped and scrambled for towels, scattering like startled pigeons.

Rumi wrinkled her nose.
“The men’s? Urghhh…” she groaned.

But standing across the steamy chamber, calm as if they had been expecting the intrusion, were the Saja Boys. They didn’t flinch. They didn’t scatter. They were waiting.

Jinu leaned against Abby, towel slung lazily over one shoulder, smirking like he owned the place.
“Oh wow,” he drawled, voice smooth and mocking. “Did you really follow us in here?”

Abby flipped her damp hair, arching a brow.
“I knew they would. That one’s always looking at me.” he nodded toward Zoey.

“W-what?!” Zoey’s face flushed as red as the heat lamps.
“No we’re not!” Zoey and Mira splitter.

Both girls caught themselves, exchanged a glance, then groaned in unison.

Rumi stepped forward, boots splashing through shallow water, sword materializing in her grip with a shimmer of light. Her eyes locked on Jinu’s.
“Did you really think we’d just let you steal our fans? If you want them, you’ll have to fight us for them!”

Zoey squared her shoulders beside her, fists tightening with sparks of energy.
“Yeah! Keep your slimy hands off our Honmoon!”

The Saja Boys laughed, low, cruel, practiced in harmony.

Jinu’s grin widened.
“Oh, we’re not here to fight.”

He gestured lazily toward the baths. The steaming water rippled… then broke open. Black, slick-skinned demons began clawing their way out, eyes glowing like embers under the steam. Their claws scraped against tile, dripping sludge into the pristine bathwater.

Jinu crouched, casual and intimate, laying a hand on one demon’s shoulder.
“Take out the hunters,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “And you can gorge on as many souls as you want.”

The demons hissed in unison, their voices echoing off the tile like a broken choir.

Straightening, Jinu gave the girls a mock salute.
“Have fun.”

Then, without another word, he darted into the back corridors, steam swirling in his wake.

“Jinu!” Rumi shouted, heart hammering, and without hesitation she sprinted after him.

The clash of steel and claws erupted behind her as Mira, and Zoey engaged the demons. Steam turned scarlet as the creatures slashed and lunged.

But Rumi didn’t stop. Her boots splashed down twisting halls, chasing the boy who had stolen their fans and wounded their pride.

When she finally cornered him in the quieter, darker rear chambers of the bathhouse, the fight was short but sharp. Rumi struck fast, but her sleeve tore when Jinu scratched her, revealing faint demon markings along her arm.

Jinu froze mid-strike, eyes widening.
"A hunter with demon markings?”

The shock was enough to make Rumi falter. Her grip loosened, her thoughts stuttered. He saw. He knows.

That single distraction was all Jinu needed. With a brutal shove and a flash of shadow, he sent her crashing against and then through, the tiled wall. Pain blossomed, darkness closing over her vision.

As she slumped, barely conscious, Jinu’s smirk returned.
He snapped his fingers a sigil flaring to life. Shadows coiled like ropes, wrapping around Rumi’s limp form.

“Sorry darling, I cant leave you here.” His voice echoed his smirk.
With a flash of dark light, both Jinu and Rumi vanished. Leaving only the echo of battle ringing through the bathhouse.

------

The last echoes of the teleport faded, leaving only the hiss of demons and the clash of steel.

Mira’s Glaive rang as claws raked across it, the impact rattling up her arm. She grit her teeth, shoving the creature back.
“Where’s Rumi?!” she shouted, panic sharpening her voice.

Zoey spun her staff in a flash of sparks, knocking two demons into the water. “She went after Jinu! She hasn’t come back!”

Before Mira could answer, the ceiling above groaned. A shadow leapt from the rafters, landing in a crouch between them and the demons. Steam curled, parting just enough to reveal hope in physical form.

Rumi.

Her blade shimmered into existence, Honmoon light glinting off the tile. Without hesitation, she surged forward, cutting clean through the nearest demon. Black ichor sprayed, sizzling where it hit the hot stone.

“I’m here,” she said, tone clipped, commanding. “Let’s finish this.”

Relief swept through the girls like a second wind.
“Finally!” Zoey barked, blasting a demon off its feet with a throw of her knives.
“Don’t run off like that again,” Mira muttered, slicing a demon in half with her Glave.

The three fell into formation, rhythm clicking back into place as if nothing had broken it. Blades clashed, voices rose, and one by one the demons dissolved into smoke and ash.

But something was different.

Rumi fought with an edge that didn’t belong. Her strikes landed heavier, without the grace they were used to. When she cut down a demon, there was no hesitation, no pause between movements, only a relentless momentum forward.

Mira chalked it up to anger after chasing Jinu. She was angry to.
Zoey didn’t question it at all, too grateful for the help.

When the last demon shrieked and burst apart, the steam finally began to thin. Silence settled over the bathhouse, broken only by the drip of water and their ragged breathing.

Zoey leaned on her staff, sweat plastering her hair to her face. “That’s the last of them.”

Mira wiped ichor from her shield with the corner of a towel, shaking her head. “Jinu’s games are getting old fast.”

Rumi lowered the Honmoon sword, eyes glinting unnaturally in the dim light. She smiled. Sharp, cold.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let him get away with it next time.”

The words should have been reassuring.
But in the quiet, they rang strange.

"Hey! This is the men’s room! Get out of here!”

An old man, wrapped in little more than a towel, flapped his arms at them like an angry crane.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Mira and Zoey yelped in chorus, bowing deeply as the three scrambled toward the exit.

They burst out into the night, still laughing nervously, and launched themselves up onto the tiled rooftops. Steam clung to their hair as they bounded across the city skyline, leaping from roof to roof until the bathhouse was far behind them.

“Ughhh, water demons,” Mira muttered, “Always dripping, like they can’t take a fight seriously without sliming up the whole floor.”

Zoey wrinkled her nose. “The blood, the water, the smell... Its gross! I swear I’ll be smelling bathwater for a week.”

By the time they reached the Huntrix penthouse, their boots were heavy, their shoulders slumped. They collapsed onto the couches in a tangle of limbs, breathing hard.

For a long moment, silence. Then Mira frowned.
“Rumi? You’ve barely said a word.”

Zoey leaned forward, studying her friend. “Yeah… you okay?”

Rumi sat stiffly, hands folded in her lap. Her gaze flicked up, expression shadowed.
“Tonight was just… a very close call.”

Zoey’s sharp eyes caught the tremor in her arms. Hands tense and shaking slightly.
“Rumi...” she started gently.

“I’m going to bed,” Rumi cut in, standing abruptly. But halfway to the room, she froze at the window. Beyond the glass, the Honmoon stretched across the night sky, its once-stable blue lines flickering, breaking into streaks of faint pink.

Her voice softened, almost reverent.
“I’ve never seen the Honmoon this bad before.”

Mira and Zoey joined her, gazes following hers out the window.

“Look at all those weak spots…” Rumi murmured.

“Gwi-Ma must know we’re so close to sealing it for good,” Zoey said, jaw tight.

“So he sends a demon boyband?” Mira deadpanned.

Rumi’s lip curled. “Well… it’s working.”

Zoey puffed her cheeks, stubborn brightness in her tone. “Don’t worry. I’m sure ‘Soda Pop’ is just a fad. Those boys will be old news by next week, you’ll see!”

Before Rumi could answer, the sound of a door slamming carried through the penthouse.

The girls jerked upright, scrambling to tug sleeves over bruises and pull cushions over cuts.

“Girls?” Bobby’s voice came as he stepped into view.

“Hi Bobby!” Mira and Zoey chirped in unison, a little too loud.

Bobby’s shoulders slumped as he waved his phone. “It’s a lot more serious than I thought. The Saja Boys have gone completely viral after that variety show! They even have their own fandom now!”

He scrolled furiously, shoving the screen at them. Videos of teens, parents, even toddlers all moving their shoulders to the same hypnotic rhythm.

“Zoey!” Rumi barked at the exact same moment Mira snapped, “Bobby! Control those shoulders!”

“I- it is kind of catchy,” Zoey admitted, pouting.

“You’re right, Zoey, they’re amazing! But they suck,” Bobby groaned, jamming his phone into his pocket. He stepped toward the window, staring out at the city skyline. “I’ve been tied to my phone for hours. I just need to look away…”

The girls followed his gaze. From their perspective, the city glowed like it was on fire, neon pulsing, Honmoon cracks searing pink across the night.

Bobby whispered to himself, “Relax. It’s just social media numbers. Not the end of the world.”

No one answered. The silence carried heavy.

Finally, Rumi turned, eyes sharp. “This is a battle for the fans. We need to steal their hearts and minds. And what’s the biggest battlefield of them all?”

"The Idol Awards.” Mira and Zoey’s exhaustion vanished like mist.

“Yes! We have to crush them on that stage!” Rumi snarled. “We need to be better than we’ve ever been before- end the Saja Boys for good!”

She jabbed a finger at Zoey. “Zoey, we’ll need a new song!”

Zoey’s eyes lit like fireworks. “I have twenty-three notebooks full of demon insults ready to go!”

“Mira, choreography?”

“Yup. Making them hotter.”

“Back-up dancers are ready!” Bobby shouted, typing furiously again.

Rumi’s grin widened. “We’ll write a brand-new song. A diss track. One that exposes the Saja Boys.”

Zoey pumped her fists. “We’ll send those disgusting demons back where they belong!”

“Yeah!” Mira shouted back.

“Yeah!” Zoey shouted louder.

“YEAH!” Mira bellowed.

The two glared at each other, faces twisting into the silliest, most exaggerated rage expressions they could muster, bouncing shouts of “YEAH!” louder and louder.

Finally, both turned toward Rumi.

She crouched low, flexed, and screamed at the top of her lungs:
“YEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!”

Their laughter echoed through the penthouse as they scattered to their rooms.

And once the noise faded, “Rumi” sank down on the edge of Rumi’s bed, eyes tracing the walls.

Wallpaper, dark and jagged, covered in harsh patterns. A mirror, cracked and shoved back into its frame. Lamps and décor, sharp edges everywhere.

Ruin’s smile sharpened. Maybe her sister wasn’t doing as well as everyone thought.

She rose, shadows curling at her heels. Black dust shimmered around her, and with a blink, she was gone.

The Saja Boys’ hideout closed in around her.

Chapter Text

The black dust coiled back into shape, depositing Ruin into the Saja Boys’ hideout.

Already, the five of them were kneeling: Jinu at the front, Abby and Baby flanking him, Romance and Mystery lowering their heads just behind. Their half-lit chamber was a strange reflection of their stage presence. Mirrors warped, neon lights flickering, shadows pressing in from every corner.

“Where is she, Jinu?” Ruin’s voice cut through the silence.

Jinu didn’t lift his head. He only extended an arm, pointing to a door set in the back wall.

Ruin’s heels clicked across the floor as she passed them. She paused for the briefest moment beside Jinu, just long enough for him to catch the faint curl of her smile, before slipping into the room beyond.

Inside, the hunter lay where she had been thrown, still dressed in her torn hunting leathers. Rumi’s breaths were shallow, loose strands of hair plastered to her damp forehead.

Jinu’s voice followed her in, softer now. “We exchanged… kind words. I tried to show empathy. About her marks.” He leaned against the doorframe, lips quirking faintly. “I don’t know how successful I was. But… she thinks we’re not totally evil, if that helps you any.”

Ruin’s eyes glittered. She crouched, brushing her fingertips along the markings that trailed Rumi’s arm.
“That helps me plenty,” she murmured. Her smile widened, predatory. “Her suffering will be so beautiful.”

Jinu swallowed, throat tight. For once, he had nothing to say.

“I’ll deliver her back to her tower,” Ruin said, straightening with fluid ease. “Gwi-Ma will hear of your success.”

Without ceremony, she hauled Rumi’s limp form over her shoulder, her touch rough and possessive. Black mist rose to envelop them both.

The hideout dissolved around her.

---

In the Huntrix penthouse, silence greeted her return. Ruin worked quickly, slipping Rumi out of her battle-stained leathers, draping her instead in a swirl of pastel pajamas. Pink and loud, a tornado of cheerful colors against her stillness.

She sat at Rumi’s desk, pen scratching with calculated precision. Her hand moved in perfect imitation of her sister’s script, the strokes sharp but fluid, just enough to deceive a casual glance.

On the page she wrote:

Diss track. Idol Awards.

Beneath it, a darker scrawl:

Demons deserve to die!

She circled the words in red, gouging deep until the ink threatened to tear the paper, then scratched through them again and again, leaving the words only half-buried. Legible. Damning.

She set the pen down.

Ruin lingered just long enough to study her sister’s unconscious face.

Then the black mist rose again, swallowing her whole once more.

---

"Several seeds have been planted father. I think you might delight in them. Jinu planted ideas of, worthiness, in her head, as though his soul may be salvagable. That not all demon kind are evil." Shes smiling, savage, and bitter, and excited. "Posing as her, I had the Huntrix start a song specifically for the Saja Boys, a diss track that insults demons. Rather hilarious, if you think about who will have to sing it. A half demon. Oh father I do so wish to see that performance. I wish to see her fall to her knees in Shame, her hands are not big enough to cover the marks, I can just picture-"

"Focus daughter of mine. Do not get pulled in so easily." Gwi-mas face shifted in the ooze covered ground. Purple and flaming and brilliant.

"Of course, father, I will do better..." Gwi-ma waited, for the other thing he could see in her mind. "But father....When can we get Celine? I wish... endless violence upon the woman. She chose her, she chose Rumi, over me! I... I want to be her consequences father, I need it! I want-"

"When the honmoon falls, you may feast upon her, but not until then."

"Yes father." She knelt, bowed her head to the ground as the ooze sank into the earth.

...

The quiet unsettled her. She misses the screams of underlings in her ears, she missed the reverant cheering of her fellow demons. She missed her father's flames burning in her ears...

The earth was awful but... delicious. The humans torment was a delicacy. Their fear, their pain, their hope!... None would be as delicious as the meal she expected to come.

Celine. I hope your regret is as potent as your self righteousness.

---

Rumi stirred, blinking into the soft glow of morning. Her head throbbed, dull at first, then sharp, pulsing like a second heartbeat behind her eyes.

She groaned, pressing her palms against her temples. The last thing she remembered was…

Steam. A tiled wall. Jinu’s hand.

His voice, low, almost gentle... “A hunter with demon markings?”
The flash of horror in his eyes. The way it twisted into something softer.

Then darkness.

And yet… she remembered more, didn’t she? Waking up in a place she didn’t know. Jinu kneeling beside her, voice calm, almost protective. “I won’t let them see. I’m not that cruel.”
He had been… kind. Or at least he pretended to be.

But after that... Blank. Only a hollow ache where her memory should have been.

She sat up abruptly, realizing she was no longer in her hunting leathers. Instead, she was wrapped in her pink pajamas, the ones she’d left crumpled at the foot of her bed the previous morning.

Her breath quickened. “What... how…?”

On the desk, a folded slip of paper caught her eye.

Rumi staggered to her feet, still clutching her head, and crossed the room. The note was scrawled in her own handwriting. She recognized the shape of every letter. Her own loops, her own careless slants.

Diss track. Idol Awards.

Her chest tightened.

Demons deserve to die!

Circled. Red pen gouged the words into the paper. And though it had been scratched out, slashed until the pen nearly tore through, the phrase remained legible. Accusing.

Her hands shook. She didn’t remember writing this. She didn’t remember talking to Mira and Zoey about a diss track...

But the page was hers.

Her script. Her emphasis. Her pen.

A wave of nausea hit her as she sank down on the edge of her bed, note crumpled in her hand.

What was happening to her?

Her head throbbed harder, memories flickering like broken glass. Jinu’s face, the feel of his hand brushing her arm, the way his voice had sounded like it could almost be trusted.

Could it be true? Could a demon be kind? Could she...

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the questions only rang louder.

---

He saved me.
He saw the marks, and he didn’t mind them. He… protected me.

A knock at the door snapped Rumi out of her spiraling thoughts.

“Rumi? You okay in there? You’ve slept in kinda late and…” Mira’s voice.

Rumi shoved the note into her trashcan on the way to the door.

Mira stood there, arms crossed, expression as sharp as her glaive. “Oh good, you’re awake. Bobby made pancakes. They’re on the table.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and stalked off down the hall.

Still dazed, Rumi drifted into the kitchen. She could hardly taste the sweetness on her tongue. Her mind was a storm of marks, consequences, and Jinu’s strange kindness.

“Rumi?” Bobby’s hand settled on her shoulder. He was studying her carefully, too carefully. “You okay? Your eyes are... Do you have a concussion?”

Her chest squeezed tight. Suddenly she was backpedaling, words tumbling out.
“No, no, must be a trick of the light! I’m fine.”

Bobby frowned, clearly unconvinced, but he let it go and stepped away.

The moment he did, Zoey appeared in front of her, flashlight already in hand. Bright beams stabbed at Rumi’s eyes.
“Rumi, are you sure you’re okay? How did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us last night?”

“I…” Rumi’s voice caught. “I don’t… I don’t remember how we got home from the bathhouse.”

“What? But you seemed fine!”

“One of the demon boys… he threw me through a wall. Then I- I woke up in my bed.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t tell us you were hurt?! Next time, you have to tell us!”

Mira stepped in, pulling the elastic from Rumi’s messy braid and carding her fingers gently through her hair. Her face darkened.
“You’ve got serious bruising back here. And some blood, right at the base of your skull.” She glanced at Zoey, then back to Rumi. “Should we… get this looked at?”

“No,” Rumi said quickly. “Hunter perks. I’ll be fine by the end of the day.” She forced a laugh. “Maybe no backflips today, though…”

The words died on her tongue as she remembered the note. Her pulse skipped.
“I… I wrote myself a note. Diss track. Idol Awards. Did I- did I bring that up last night? Is that… something we’re still doing?”

Zoey lit up like a firecracker. “Yes! I’ve already gone through most of my twenty-three journals of demon insults. I’ll have a rough draft ready by tonight!”

Rumi’s heart stuttered. Twenty-three journals. Twenty-three whole journals of insults. Each one could have been written with me in mind.

She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Soon the three girls were camped out on the floor, cushions and notebooks spread around them like battle plans. Mira tapping out rhythms, Zoey scribbling furiously, Bobby bouncing between them with encouragement.

Four hours later the coffee table was buried in notebooks, loose papers, and half-empty mugs. Mira slapped a beat on the couch arm, while Zoey stood in the middle of the room, sang.

“Demons deserve to die, don’t ask us why,
Crawl back to the pit where the shadows lie!” Zoey rapped, bouncing on her toes.

Mira clapped. “Yes! That one slaps!”

“Better than your ‘flies on your crown’ thing,” Zoey teased, wagging a finger.

Mira rolled her eyes. “Hey, it was atmospheric.”

“Atmospheric doesn’t win awards!” Zoey shot back, scribbling furiously. She glanced at her notes, then threw another out.
“Ash to ash, slime to slime,
Your reign of terror ends this time!”

“That’s fire,” Mira admitted with a grin.

“Okay, okay, how about. Chains and shadows, teeth and lies, you’ll choke on smoke when your empire dies.”

Mira stopped drumming. “…Kinda wordy?”

Zoey’s pen froze. “…Yeah, you’re right.” She scratched it out with a dramatic X.

They spit lines back and forth. Zoey tossing rhyme after rhyme, Mira rating them with a thumbs-up, thumbs-down, or an exaggerated gag noise. Rumi sat curled in one corner of the couch, half-smiling when something landed, half-sinking into the couch when some landed particularly close.

Finally, Zoey slammed her notebook shut and whooped. “Yes! I’ve got it. I have what I need.” She hugged her pile of scribbles to her chest. “Don’t wait up! I’m going to refine this masterpiece!” And with a dramatic pose, she vanished into her room.

Mira stretched her arms overhead. “Good. While she fights with lyrics, I’m reviewing choreography for Golden. If we hinge everything on a diss track, we'll get left behind.” She shot Rumi a look, like she was studying her, then slipped away down the hall.

The penthouse fell quiet.

Bobby leaned forward in his chair, studying Rumi. Her eyes were downcast, her shoulders tight, like she’d shrunk into herself the moment the noise stopped.

“Hey,” he said softly, holding out a glass of water and a little blister pack. “Painkiller. Your head’s still pounding, right?”

Rumi blinked at him, then accepted both with a whisper of thanks.

“I can put on a baking show,” Bobby offered. “Something calm, like the one with the old lady who makes bread look like animals. And… we could order takeout. Noodles, soup, whatever you want.”

Rumi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her lips tugged into a small, tired smile. “Bobby… I just want you to know you’re my favorite person ever. That sounds like everything I need in life.”

Bobby smiled back, easy and warm, and reached for the remote.

Chapter Text

“Rumi, have you been picking at your wound?”

The voice pulled her out of a heavy, dreamless sleep. She blinked her eyes open, the world swimming sluggishly into focus. Mira hovered over her, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

“No? I don’t think so, why?”

She reached back automatically, fingertips brushing the bandaged spot at the back of her head. Instead of clean linen, her hand came away damp. Dried and fresh blood smudging her skin.

Her stomach dropped. “I haven’t been touching it, I swear.”

“You should have healed by now.” Mira’s expression tightened. “we're calling Celine. Maybe the demons have some kind of poison we don’t know about.”

Rumi’s blood ran cold at the name. “Do we have to? Celine-”

“Celine is a lot,” Mira interrupted firmly, “but she’s more experienced than us. If anyone knows what to do, it’ll be her.” She snatched Rumi’s phone off the nightstand and tossed it into her lap. “She listens better when it’s you. Call her.”

Rumi groaned, dragging a hand down her face, but obeyed. She slipped into her bedroom, pacing tight circles before finally pressing the call.

“Rumi.” Celine’s voice answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Celine. Um, me and the girls might need your help with something? Would you be able to catch a flight out sometime? I… I have a wound that isn’t healing, and Mira’s worried it’s poison.”

There was no hesitation. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

The line went dead.

Rumi stared at her phone. That was maybe the fastest Celine had ever agreed to anything. Usually, there were lectures first, long pauses, cutting questions.

She exhaled slowly, unease prickling her skin. Maybe Celine was just… relieved they were finally asking for help... Does she not trust us to finish our duty?

Movement on her balcony caught her eye.

When she slid the door open, a crow hopped along the railing. She studied it for a moment. Its feathers along its neck were strange... It squawked, and suddenly it had three golden eyes.

Her sword manifested in her hand in a crack of blue light.

And then the tiger appeared.

Orange fire burned in its eyes. It padded forward with deliberate grace, only to knock over a potted plant. It paused. Tried to set it upright with a paw. Failed. Tried again. Failed worse.

Despite herself, Rumi’s lips twitched. With a sigh, she stepped forward, nudged the plant out of its way.

The beast looked up at her, and smiled. Fangs gleamed. Its tongue lolled, and an envelope slid wetly off onto the floor.

For one long, surreal moment, Rumi wondered how in the world her life had turned into this.

She stooped, plucked the envelope open. The handwriting was infuriatingly stylish.

“Let’s meet.” - Jinu.

“Meet him?” the crow cawed, hopping along the railing. Its voice grated like a mocking echo. “Meet him? He’s nuts!”

Before she could respond, the tiger dissolved into liquid shadow, dripping between the balcony tiles until nothing was left but a shimmer.

Rumi dragged a hand down her face. “…uuurg. Fine.”

She leaned over the railing just in time to catch sight of the tiger again, now strolling lazily along the rooftop across the street.

Guess I should catch up.

She scribbled a quick note for the girls.
'Gone for a walk. Back in an hour or two.'
And pinned it to her door. Then, with one fluid motion, she vaulted off the balcony, caught the ledge of the neighboring roof, and took off.

The chase stretched across the city. Rooftop to rooftop, the tiger always one step ahead, never running, just stalking forward like it knew she’d follow. The crow circled overhead, cackling whenever she stumbled on a loose tile or fumbled a jump.

Finally, she found him.

Jinu was sprawled across the roof tiles like he owned the city, head tipped back against the tiger’s flank. The crow sat smugly in his lap, preening its wings. He whistled a light and happy tune, eyes closed as if nothing in the world could bother him.

When the tune faded, Rumi made herself known.
“Mind introducing me to your friends, Jinu?”

His eyes snapped open, lazy and sharp all at once. He got to his feet in one smooth motion, circling her like a lion appraising a rival.
“I’m a little surprised you made it here at all, you know. Head wound and all.” His gaze flicked to her scalp. “Still bleeding?”

“Urgg, yes, apparently.” She pressed her palm lightly against her head. “Don’t suppose you poisoned me with something? It’s supposed to have healed by now. Mira and Zoey are circling me like mother hens.”

She shook her head, and wobbled, dizziness nearly pitching her sideways. Her arms snapped out to steady herself.

“Dizzy too, huh? Figures.” He reached into his jacket and tossed her a small bottle.

She caught it, eyebrows knitting. “Zinc and potassium?”

“Yeah. Good for concussions.” He cocked his head at her, then grinned. “And I’m taking you for hotpot. If you’re still bleeding, you need iron.”

Before she could protest, he hopped down into an alleyway, melting into the shadows for a moment. With a muttered curse, she followed.

The tiger led them through narrow streets until the city gave way to quiet corners. Around one bend sat a squat, unassuming restaurant. The paint on the sign was faded, but the air inside was rich with garlic, broth, and charred meat.

Jinu was already at the counter, rattling off an order. The chef waved him away like an annoying regular, and Jinu dropped into a table by the open window.

Rumi slipped into the seat across from him before she realized what she was doing. “Why are we here?” she blurted.

He shrugged. “You need someone in your corner.”

Her jaw tightened. “I have Mira and Zoey. And Celine.”

Jinu scoffed, leaning back. “So they know about your marks, then?”

Her silence, the faint flinch, was answer enough.
“Yeah. Thought so.”

The chef arrived with plates balanced across both arms. Rumi blinked at the spread in front of her. A pile of red meats, broccoli, kale, even a golden fried salmon filet steaming atop rice. On his second trip, he brought a mountain of fruit. Orange wedges, strawberries, a heap of blueberries.

Rumi shot Jinu a sharp look.

“What?” Jinu feigned innocence. “Steak’s iron. Fruit helps your body absorb iron. Salmon’s brain repair. Kale and broccoli are… everything else.”

“…You’re a nerd,” she muttered.

He snorted. “It’s called taking care of your body. Especially after you get the snot kicked out of you.” He wasn't entirely wrong there.

For a while, the only sound was chopsticks clinking and broth bubbling. Then Rumi spoke quietly, eyes still on her food.
“What happened after the bathhouse? I remember… you throwing me through the wall. Then talking. And then…” She trailed off. “Mira and Zoey swear I went home with them, but I don’t remember it. At all.”

Jinu shrugged, dipping a slice of beef into the broth. “Our chat wasn’t that long. A couple minutes, max. Pretty standard for concussions, you know, memory gaps, fuzzy edges.”

Rumi groaned and shoved a boiled broccoli into her mouth.

Still, she ate with ravenous hunger. Steak vanished. The salmon disappeared in a blink. By the time the enoki mushrooms hit the table, she was already halfway through the fruit. Her appetite slowed only after a second refill of broth.

The warmth seeped into her bones, heavy and comforting. Against her will, she found herself thinking, I’m definitely bringing the girls here next time.

Then she glanced at her watch. Her heart jumped. “Crap! I said I’d be back by now.”

She scrambled to her feet, tossing a few bills onto the table. At the doorway, she hesitated, half-turned.
“And Jinu? …Thanks.”

He only smirked, whistling the same tune from before as if to wave her off.

Rumi found herself humming it too as she ran the rooftops home. She only stumbled once before reaching home.

The moment Rumi slipped back into her room, the door slammed open.

“You’re late!” Zoey barked, jabbing an accusatory finger at the crumpled note Rumi had left.

“Yeah, by...” Rumi checked her watch, “...ten minutes.”

“Where’d you go? Appointment? Hot date?” Mira leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her face unreadable but her eyes sharp.

“…I wanted to try hotpot,” Rumi said cautiously. Then her voice brightened. “Oh! But I found this little hole-in-the-wall place I have to take you two to. They’ve got the best homemade broth and ramen noodles! Its. so. good.”

Mira’s expression cracked, half relief that it wasn’t about a boy, half irritation that she hadn’t been invited.

“That’s where you went tonight?” she said flatly. “To get food?”

“Well… yeah.” Rumi shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. “I wasn’t feeling too hot, and the internet says nutrition and calories are important for healing.”

“…I want hotpot…” Zoey muttered, pouting like a child denied candy.

Rumi softened, smiling. “Want to go tomorrow?”

Two heads snapped up at once.
“Heck yes!” Mira and Zoey shouted together.

Zoey immediately wilted, guilt pulling at her shoulders. “Buuut I really need to finish that song for the Idol Awards. We only have a few days left, and we still need to memorize the choreo once it’s done…”

A collective groan filled the room.

“And Celine will be here tomorrow!” Bobby called from the other room. “Her plane lands at eleven."

“Bobby!” Zoey hollered back. “We’re going for hotpot breakfast! Wanna come with us?”

“Sorry, girls, I’m booked up tomorrow morning!” Bobby answered, voice muffled but cheerful. “But have fun!”

Rumi flopped back onto her bed, still a bit dizzy, but despite her pounding head she found herself smiling faintly. The girls were already squabbling about ingredients and soup bases.

----

Rumi blinked awake to soft morning light filtering through her curtains. Her head still throbbed faintly, but less than yesterday. A shadow crossed her vision, and when she focused, Mira was sitting on the edge of her bed with that familiar clinical stare.

“Hold still,” Mira murmured. She brushed Rumi’s hair back carefully, checking the bandaging. After a moment, she peeled the dressing away and frowned.

“Well?” Rumi asked, voice hoarse.

“It’s better. A lot better,” Mira admitted, tilting her head for another angle. “But it still looks raw. Don’t pick at it.”

“I’m not picking at it!” Rumi protested.

Mira raised one eyebrow. “Good. Keep it that way.”

Before Rumi could retort, Zoey bounded in like she’d been listening at the door. “Hotpot breakfast time?”

Rumi sat up too quickly, wobbling, but Mira caught her arm. “You’re not ditching us today. I’ve been dreaming about broth all night.”

“Fine, fine.” Rumi smiled despite herself.

---

The little shop was quiet in the morning, steam clouding the windows and carrying the rich smell of simmering stock into the street. They took a corner table by the wall, each with their own bubbling pot.

Rumi inhaled deeply. “Smells like heaven.”

“Smells like garlic,” Mira corrected, though she was already filling her pot with mushrooms and beef slices.

Zoey practically sang as she dumped noodles into her pot. “Do you guys understand how long it’s been since we ate like this? No Bobby reheats, no late night snacks out of a bag, no microwave ramen, but actual food?”

“Hey,” Rumi laughed, “Bobby’s reheats kept us alive during the tour.”

“Barely,” Zoey said through a mouthful of enoki.

Mira rolled her eyes but reached across the table to nudge Rumi’s leafy plate closer. “Eat more greens. You still look pale.”

“Yes, mother,” Rumi teased, but she obediently scooped kale into her pot.

For a while, the three of them ate in peace. The only sound was the bubbling broth, clinking chopsticks, and Zoey humming tunes between bites. Rumi found herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t in weeks. Just her, her friends, and some damn good soup.

When their pots were nearly empty, Rumi leaned back in her chair, full and content. “Okay. Definitely worth sneaking out last night.”

Zoey groaned happily, clutching her stomach. “Tomorrow again?”

Mira gave her a withering look. “…We’ll see.”

But Rumi caught the twitch of a smile on Mira’s lips.

Chapter Text

Rumi’s leg bounced against the couch cushions, faster and faster, Mira and Zoey had sunk into the couch on either side of her, sprawled out in oversized sweatshirts and baggy sweatpants, all comfort and ease. Rumi, by contrast, sat stiff and restless in long sleeves and leggings, fabric clinging close, a second skin, as though hiding that her real skin was marred with purple imperfections.

She hadn’t stopped checking the clock.

The sharp knock at the door nearly sent her out of her seat. Before she could react, Mira and Zoey were already on their feet, bowing low as the door opened.

Celine entered with her usual manner. Boots sharp on the floor, coat swishing around her legs. Her presence was heavy, filling the room with authority before she even spoke.

Rumi pushed herself up too quickly, her balance failing her. She tipped sideways, only to feel a firm hand steadying her. Celine caught her, grip like steel.

“Sit,” Celine barked, her tone making it less a suggestion, and more a command.

Rumi obeyed, shrinking back onto the couch as Celine casually tosses her coat onto the back of a chair. Then kneels down beside her. The older woman peeled back her hair, cool fingers brushing the wound. Rumi winced, jaw tight.

“…Looks good,” Celine said finally. “No signs of poison. Just a slow recovery. Typical of a non-hunter’s healing rate.”

Relief washed over Rumi, but it was short lived.

“You should know better than to get a wound like this in the first place,” Celine said flatly, eyes narrowing.

Rumi froze, shame prickling through her chest. But before she could stammer an excuse, Mira’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“She didn’t do this on purpose,” Mira snapped. “You don’t need to talk to her like she’s some reckless child.”

Celine’s head snapped toward her. “I’m her mentor. I taught her better than this.”

“And she’s human,” Mira shot back, tone steady but sharp. “Humans make mistakes. Even hunters. Even her.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Rumi sat caught between them, her hands twisted in her lap, heart racing. Celine’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer before she finally straightened and stepped back.

“It’s just a concussion,” she said briskly. “She’ll be fine in a few days. In the meantime, I’ll be staying here. Nothing gets to her while she’s recovering.”

Mira crossed her arms but didn’t argue further.

The rest of the day dragged in a haze of tension. Celine’s presence loomed in every corner of the penthouse, her quiet scrutiny like a shadow. Rumi, Zoey, and Mira huddled in the living room with notebooks and speakers, testing choreography steps, scribbling lyrics, and hammering out rhythms.

The energy should have been lively. But every time Rumi tried to throw herself into it, the words of their song caught on her throat.

Demons are filth. Demons deserve to die. They aren’t human. They aren’t worthy of love.

Each new line pressed against her chest like a stone. Each chorus dug claws into her ribs. The shame pooled beneath her skin, crawling hot and sharp where the marks lay hidden. She could feel them shifting, growing, almost pulsing with every hateful lyric that left her lips.

She forced herself to smile when Zoey suggested changes. She clapped along when Mira nailed a difficult spin. But the longer they worked, the heavier it got. By the end of rehearsal, Rumi’s head ached, not from the concussion, but from the song itself.

She slipped away to her room, clutching her sides. The marks burned under her skin like they were laughing at her.

You’re singing about us. You’re singing about yourself.

She wasn’t sure she had the strength to drown that voice.

---

Rumi emerged from her room, a fresh shirt clinging tight to her arms and collarbone. Her face was calm, carefully smoothed over, though her heart was still pounding from the five minutes she’d just spent pressing her palms into her marks, forcing herself to breathe, forcing herself to be fine.

She slipped back into the living room to find Mira at the makeshift center stage, voice sharp and confident as she spat out her newest lines.

“So sweet, so easy on the eyes,
but hideous on the inside.
Whole life spreadin’ lies,
but you can’t hide, baby, nice try!”

Zoey whooped, bouncing across the floor as she tried out steps beside Mira, the two of them mirroring each other’s footwork.

And then-

“What are you making?”

Celine’s voice cut through the air like a blade. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as she watched them. The hunters froze mid-beat.

“Oh!” Zoey blurted, still panting. “Well, if we expose the Saja Boys as demons- "

“You think hatred and sabotage will help unite people?” Celine interrupted, flat and sharp.

Zoey shrank a little, shoulders hunching.

“The Honmoon is built from unity, from connection. Its strength is humanity’s strength. I have taught you this before.” Celine’s gaze swept over all three of them, hard enough to pin them in place. “And the Honmoon is already on the verge of collapse. You’d see it crack further just to throw mud at your rivals?”

The words hung in the air. Mira clenched her fists. Zoey bit her lip. Rumi’s stomach twisted, the shame crawling back up her spine.

“Singing this…” Zoey’s voice came out small, “would hurt the Honmoon?”

“The Honmoon takes the shape of what the fans believe,” Celine said, each word clipped. “It is fed by them. And by you. Hunters bleed into it as much as audiences do. Every song, every performance leaves its mark. This,” she flicked her fingers at Zoey's notebook, “Would poison it.”

Silence. None of them dared look at each other.

Finally, Celine delivered her judgment.
“You may record it. But you will not perform it. Not at the Idol Awards, not anywhere. Not until the Honmoon is sealed.”

Her hand rose and leveled directly at Rumi.
“And you. Me and you need to talk.”

Rumi stiffened, throat dry.

“Take it easy on her!” Zoey called, voice cracking, protective. “She wasn’t in the best mindset when she pitched the song.”

But Celine was already moving, Rumi following on her heels.

--

Celine shut the door behind them with a slam that made Rumi flinch. She didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“You’ve been covering yourself head-to-toe since I arrived. Show me.”

It wasn’t a question.

Rumi froze, hands curling at her sides. “Celine-"

“Don’t waste my time.”

Slowly, painfully, Rumi peeled off her sweater, then tugged at the leggings clinging to her skin. The air felt raw against her bare arms and legs.

Celine’s sharp inhale cut through the silence. The marks weren’t faint etchings anymore. They had spread, curling like purple veins across her ribs, and just touching her throat, darkening her collarbone.

“Saints above, Rumi.” Celine’s voice was low, furious. “Do you have any idea what this means? They’re interfering with your voice, aren’t they? That's why you canceled the Golden release performance.

Rumi’s head bowed. “…Yea. When I try to hit the higher notes it... just...”

Celine’s lip curled. “And you thought singing a festering pity hymn about how unworthy demons are would help you? Self-loathing drips out of every single one of those lyrics. You may as well tattoo FAILURE across your forehead.”

Rumi winced. “…I don’t even remember pitching the song. I have no memories from that night after I got the concussion.”

“A very convenient excuse.” Celine stepped closer, eyes like daggers. “You think hunters have the luxury of doubt? You think Mira or Zoey can waste their strength babysitting you while you wallow?”

Rumi’s fists clenched, nails biting her palms. “That’s not what-”

“Your marks only grow when your confidence is shaken.” Celine cut her off, tone merciless. “You feed them every time you question yourself. You want to stop them? Then stop acting like a child. Trust that you, Mira, and Zoey will seal the honmoon, and you will. Keep doubting, and you’ll drown those two girls with you.”

Rumi’s throat tightened. Desperate to keep a sob down.

Celine finally stepped back, disgust written plain across her face. "Get dressed. And pray to every god you know that I don’t have to bury you because they saw your marks.”

Rumi was left alone in the room. Trying to ignore the nausea working its way up her throat, as she climbed back into her clothing.

A few long moments pass.

The door creaked open.

Zoey stepped in, already mid-sentence, “Hey, I came to-” Her voice stopped cold when she saw Rumi.

Fully dressed, sweater sleeves clutched tight in her fists, Rumi trembled. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears, every breath shaky and uneven. A hiccup rattled out of her chest as she tried, and failed, to swallow it down.

Zoey’s face softened instantly. She crossed the room in three strides and pulled Rumi into her arms, tucking her head against her chest.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” she murmured, one hand sliding up and down Rumi’s back in steady circles. Her tone was gentle, the kind she used specifically for Rumi, reserved for when the wounds in her armour started to bleed. “You’re safe. Just breathe. Don’t hold it in, okay?”

Rumi’s fists clenched in Zoey’s hoodie, desperate anchors against the trembling. Her shoulders hitched, a muffled sound breaking free against Zoey’s chest.

“Let it out, Ru,” Zoey whispered, pressing her cheek to the top of Rumi’s head. “I don’t care what she said. You’re not alone. You’re never alone.”

She kept rubbing her back, voice a constant low murmur. Steady and warm.

---

When Rumi and Zoey finally emerged from the room, Mira and Celine were already standing in the living room, locked in a silent standoff. Mira’s arms crossed tight over her chest, Celine’s gaze sharp enough to cut steel.

“Good news, girls,” Celine said without looking away from Mira. Her voice was all venomous cheer. “Mira here has just volunteered you three into a training session.”

The horror on all three girls’ faces was instant and visible. Zoey groaned aloud, Mira stiffened, and Rumi’s stomach dropped like a stone.

---

Many miles later, the three girls were still pounding along the track, their breaths coming ragged. Sweat plastered Zoey’s bangs to her forehead, Mira’s shoulders glistened, and Rumi felt her legs shaking beneath her. She leaned toward the others, whispering between gasps, “I feel like a fraud.”

Celine’s voice cracked across the track like a whip. She stood at the edge of the field, arms folded, not a hair out of place.

“Fraud? No, frauds are convincing. You’re worse, you’re an open wound. You think doubt makes you deep? It just makes you weak. Trust yourself to keep running, or stay down and rot.”

Rumi’s chest clenched, heat flooding her face. Stung, she pushed forward, lengthening her stride in defiance.

“Do you have rocks where your brain should be?” Celine barked. “You don’t win anything by running off alone. Stick with your team, or I’ll start training them to fight without you.”

Zoey flinched when Celine’s gaze snapped to her.

“And you, Zoey, quit dragging your feet. Your team doesn’t need you holding them back. They need you present, not trailing three steps behind.”

Zoey’s jaw tightened, and she forced her pace up until her lungs screamed.

Finally, Celine raised her hand, signaling them to leave the track. “Enough. Now weapons.”

The girls staggered to the center field, reaching for their practice gear. Mira rolled her shoulders, hefting her weapon with grim determination. She swung it down in a wide arc, before redirecting it to another nearby dummy, trying to bury her fatigue under force.

Celine’s voice cut across the field. “Mira, pathetic. You rely too much on brute strength. Did I not teach you to use your weapon’s momentum? You won’t always have the luxury of time, or the stamina, to redirect mid-swing. Keep fighting like that, and you’ll break yourself before you break your enemy.”

From the sidelines, Bobby waved a towel like a coach at a school race. “You’re doing great, girls!” he shouted.

Celine’s head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Bobby, your coddling makes them weak. Did you enjoy Rumi getting a concussion? No? Then get out before you cause another one.”

Bobby’s face fell, but he slunk back, muttering, “I was just trying to help…”

Bobby was halfway to the door, shoulders slumped.

“Hey!” Zoey snapped, marching off the track with fire in her eyes. “You don’t get to talk to him like that. Bobby’s the best manager ever, no one else could juggle all our schedules, keep the press off our backs, and still show up at the sidelines as our number one fan!”

“Yeah,” Mira added, storming up the steps, “He’s not just our manager, he’s our friend. Our mascot. Our anchor. We’d do anything for him.”

Rumi pulled a towel from the wall as she passed closer to Celine, wiping sweat from her brow. She was exhausted, but her voice was steady. “You can tear us apart all you want, Celine. That’s your teaching style, fine. But Bobby didn't sign up for this, don't drag him into it. He’s not weak, and he’s not making us weak. He’s the reason we’re still standing half the time.”

The three of them closed ranks in front of Bobby like a shield wall, glaring their mentor down.

Zoey crossed her arms with a huff. “So if you think we’re gonna let you bully him, you had better be damned sure about it, because that’s not happening. We will defend him from anything. Even from you."

Bobby blinked, stunned, he clutched his hands together. A watery smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the girls stood firm around him.

A moment passed, the tension thick in the air, before Celine’s sharp expression softened into a sly smile.

“There we go!” she said, voice laced with grudging amusement. “Finally, you three are working together. I was hoping for a bit more defending each other, but I’m glad you can still unite over something.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking her gaze toward the track. “Cooldown mile, then clean yourselves up. We’re done for today.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and strode from the training facility.

Mira let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her shoulders slumping. “She's finally... Gone?”

Zoey murmured in agreement, “I’ll never understand how she gets under our skin like that.”

Rumi grumbled "I think its her super power..."

Bobby, blinking in awe, muttered, “You girls… I don’t know whether to cheer or to cry.”

Zoey smirked, nudging Rumi and Mira. “A little of both, I’d say. Let’s go, cooldown mile, before she conveniently forgets we're done.”

Rumi takes a moment to press a kiss to Bobby's forehead, before running after them.

--

The girls had split up to clean themselves up after the grueling training session. Rumi had taken a hot shower, letting the warm water wash away the sweat, the grime, and the lingering tension in her shoulders. When she emerged, she was the first to finish, her hair still damp, wearing fresh, loose clothing that covered every inch of her body as usual.

Celine was already in the kitchen, the scent of something savory and divine drifting down the hall. Without looking up, she said, “Your injury is still affecting your head.” It wasn’t a question.

“Uhm… yes,” Rumi admitted, hating to reveal weakness, but she couldn’t hide anything from the woman.

Celine turned a spoon in a pot, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll be joining you tonight hunting demons. There are far too many wandering the city, and I cannot risk another injury if you aren’t at full capacity.”

“Oh! That smells delightful!” Zoey’s voice echoed from down the hall. “Hurry up, Mira!”

Celine rolled her eyes and placed four steaming dishes on the counter. “We’re eating at the table like civilized beings.”

The girls barely contained themselves. They snatched plates, grabbed cutlery, and dashed for the table like starved monsters finally returning to their lair.

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey devoured the food hungrily, the flavors exploding against their exhausted senses. Celine sat across from them, eating at a more deliberate pace.

“I’ve discussed this with Rumi,” Celine said, pushing a forkful toward her mouth. “I’ll be joining you on a demon hunting excursion tonight. There are far too many demons wandering the streets, and with Rumi not at perfection, I will not risk anything.” She paused, chewing deliberately. “But let me be clear. I am not coming out of retirement. I will only step in if assistance is required. Do. Not. Make me intervene. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, Celine. You won’t have to fight,” Zoey squeaked. Mira and Rumi nodded along, still chewing.

Rumi smirked despite herself. “I might not be thinking entirely clearly, but my instincts can get me through if any plans fail. Pretty sure we trained with concussions half the time.”

“Mmm,” Mira agreed, “Pretty sure I spent more time falling out of trees than actually training with my glaive those first few months.”

“I liked tree fighting! That was the easiest part!” Zoey said indignantly.

“You had throwing knives! My glaive kept getting caught in the branches!” Mira leaned forward in mock rage.

Rumi rubbed her eyes, grimacing. “I think I’m getting trauma flashbacks.”

“Didn’t your hair-” Zoey started.

“YES!” Rumi snapped.

Mira smirked. “No, but your braid-”

“My scalp hurts just thinking about it. Please stop reminding me!” Rumi stuffed the last bite of her food into her mouth, putting an end to the conversation.

Celine chuckled into her cup. “If it makes you feel any better, Rumi, your mother had the same issues with her hair in training. I can’t tell you how many times I had to grab it during sparring before she started twisting it into a crown style for training sessions.”

The girls laughed, the tension from the morning slowly melting away.

Chapter Text

Hours passed in the dead quiet of the city. Nothing. Not a demon, not a pedestrian, not even a breeze. The streets below lay frozen in eerie stillness, lamps buzzing faintly like they were the only signs of life left.

Rumi had long since given up on scanning the alleys. She was curled with Zoey’s notebook balanced on her knees, scrawling half-formed lyrics and doodles, humming songs to herself.

Zoey herself had resorted to juggling knives, then checking her nails, then styling her hair in increasingly elaborate styles.

Mira was the only one still vigilant, perched on the ledge beside Celine, legs dangling as she scanned the streets.

“Celine…” Mira whispered, impatience creeping into her tone. “This is so boring. Why’d you bring us here? This place is dead.”

Celine didn’t answer at first. She stood, walking the length of the roof’s edge, her gaze sweeping the empty streets below. Her thumb pressed against her lip as she thought. “This is… strange. There should be plenty of demon activity here. The honmoon is basically non-existent in this district. They should be crawling all over the place…”

Concern tightened her features. The silence wasn’t natural.

And then she froze.

Her head turned slowly, so slowly, toward the sound behind her. Rumi’s humming. A tune that carved ice through Celine’s veins. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

Mira noticed immediately and stood, hand twitching toward her glaive. “Celine?” she asked nervously.

But Celine didn’t answer. She was already moving, creeping closer across the roof toward Rumi.

Rumi didn’t even notice until the weight of three stares settled on her. She blinked, trailing off mid-hum, pen hovering uselessly over the notebook. “W-what’s up?”

Celine loomed above her. Her voice was sharp enough to cut. “Where did you learn that song?”

Rumi blinked again, lost. “…What song?” She slowly closed the notebook and carefully handed it back to Zoey.

“You were humming something just now,” Celine pressed, standing over her with a stance that screamed both threat and fear. “Where did you hear it?”

Rumi shrank back under her mentor’s shadow, words fumbling. “It’s just… something I heard someone whistling yesterday, I think.”

Celine studied her face with the focus of a hawk, every twitch, every hesitation. Rumi barely dared to breathe.

“Why is a song so important?” Mira finally asked, her voice quiet, cautious.

Celine’s eyes snapped to her, fierce. “Because everyone who knows that song, save myself, is dead.” The word “dead” was nearly a snarl, heavy with dread. She turned back to Rumi, seized her by the collar, and hauled her up onto her feet. “Tell me again, Rumi. Where did you hear it?”

Rumi’s heart thundered. “The… the hotpot place I went to yesterday,” she stammered, throat dry. “Someone outside was whistling it. I didn’t see them.”

“You didn’t see them?” Celine’s voice was low, dangerous.

“No,” Rumi squeaked, her voice cracking.

Silence fell heavy between them, the air itself taut like a drawn bowstring.

Finally, Celine released her, shoving her back a step. “Fine. If you hear it again, you find out who it is.” Her gaze swept across all three girls, hard and unyielding. “That goes for all of you. Nothing good comes from that song.”

----

Celine’s eyes swept over them, catching every nervous twitch, every glance, the way their hands squeezed their weapons too tight. Prey waiting for the first strike.

“These girls need to move,” she muttered under her breath, then raised her voice. “I don’t trust this. We’re shifting zones. Zoey, get up there and scout.” She jabbed a finger toward the taller building across the street. “Rumi, with her. Mira, you and I hold here. No one goes anywhere alone until we’re back at the penthouse.”

The command snapped them into motion. Within minutes Zoey and Rumi returned, breathless, reporting an area nearby thick with demon activity. It was exactly what they needed.

And soon, chaos swallowed them whole.

Demons poured from alleys, windows, rooftops, an endless swarm that clawed and snapped from every angle. Their blades cut through them, each kill spraying ichor across them and the ruined streets. Even Celine was forced into the fray, not because the girls faltered, but because there were simply too many.

Rumi lagged. Her rhythm stuttered, every swing of her sword dragging behind the others. The swarm sensed it. Prey lagging at the edge of the herd.

Then it happened.

A massive demon burst from the throng, jagged arms splitting the air as it snatched Rumi by the ankle mid leap. She barely had time to scream before it hurled her down the street.

The world tilted and spun as she crashed into the ground, lungs crushed, ears ringing. The only thing she managed was to push her back against a wall, blade raised. Slash, slash, slash, slaughtering anything that lunged too close. Demon after demon was cut down in a frenzy.

“Shit,” her thoughts stumbled, jagged and panicked. “Zoey!" I'm supposed to watch her back, shes in danger if I-

“Rumi!” a voice rang out, Zoey’s voice. “Over here!”

Rumi didn’t hesitate. She vaulted up the side of a crumbling facade, boots scrambling for grip before she launched toward the sound.

But what waited wasn’t Zoey.

A demon shambled into view, mouth opening far too wide. Zoey’s voice spilled from it, warped and perfect, “Rumi, help!” Its lips sagged into a drooping mockery of her smile, ooze dripping from its eyes. It had even knotted its hair into clumsy twin-tails, a grotesque parody of the girl she knew.

From the shadows of another alley came Mira’s voice. “Rumi, we could use your help over here!”

Her blood ran cold.

They were everywhere, mimicking voices, faces, twisting her friends into bait. She spun in circles, disoriented, demons coating the walls and pavement until she couldn’t even see where she’d come from.

Heart hammering, she ducked into an alley. The narrow space gave her cover, an overhang above to block aerial strikes, three walls to guard her back. Only one way in. A kill box.

Good.

Her breathing evened. Her knuckles tightened. And then she let go.

Sword flashing, Rumi lost herself to the fight. Thought fell away, drowned by the rhythm of the Honmoon and the shrieking monsters, the shrieking of her friends. There was only combat. The clash, the blood, the scream of her blade carving through flesh.

----

Their formation collapsed the moment the giant demon tore through, its massive bulk scattering their rhythm like dry leaves in a storm.

“Back!” Mira shouted, forcing Zoey against her shoulder, their weapons cutting in opposite arcs just to keep breathing room.

Celine’s kusarigama whistled through the air, chain snapping around necks, blade carving through bodies. But even she was pressed. The chain needed space, wide sweeps, distance, and the press of bodies left her snarling in frustration as she yanked her weapon back, the hooked blade ripping free of flesh with a spray of black ichor.

“We need to find Rumi!” Celine barked, voice carrying above the cacophony.

A faint call answered through the swarm. “I’m doing fine! Just keep fighting! Stay where you are! I’ll find you!”

Zoey’s heart twisted. At least that was a response.

Minutes passed, longer than they had any right to in a battle. Sweat stung eyes, lungs burned, blades ached in their hands. And then-.

“Rumi!” Zoey cried, spotting a figure staggering from the fog of smoke and demon blood.

But Mira’s stomach dropped. The braid was wrong. The sway of the body was wrong. And the eyes, oozing, dripping black sludge down hollow cheeks.

“Mimics!” Celine roared, snapping her chain out to take its head. “That’s not Rumi! Get high, find her! I’ll handle these!” She bared her teeth, anchoring her stance as the chain whirled like a storm around her.

“Throw!” Zoey yelled, already sprinting.

Mira braced, planted her glaive, and when Zoey stepped into her grip, hurled her skyward. Zoey twisted in the air, daggers flashing, landing hard against a wall before scrambling upward. Mira leapt after, glaive haft bracing against stone as she vaulted up.

The battlefield shifted as they gained the rooftops. From above, the chaos showed its true form. Rivers of demons surging, and among them…

“Over there!” Mira pointed, heart pounding. A mass of demons were storming down one street in particular, their frenzy too focused to be random.

Celine’s voice cut up from the ground. “Go find her!" She was drenched in ichor, chain carving wide swaths through the horde.

Zoey met Mira’s eyes, and they didn’t even need to speak.

“Celine! We found her! Let’s go!” Mira shouted down.

They dropped from the rooftop into the thick of it, blades cleaving through lesser demons like tissue. Neither girl slowed, their fury carving a direct path toward the swarm that had claimed Rumi.

A glance back showed Celine, slower, deliberate, and unstoppable, forcing her way through the street. Her kusarigama painting arcs of death. Delayed, but closing.

-----

Zoey and Mira hacked their way down the street, blood flying in wide arcs. When they finally broke into the narrow alleyway, Zoey leaned forward, squinting through the haze of smoke and gore.

“It’s her,” she confirmed, voice fierce with relief.

But Rumi was nearly unrecognizable. She was drenched in demon ichor from head to toe, the thick black liquid coating her hair, her arms, her chest. Her blade dripped, her stance braced, every muscle vibrating with tension. Her eyes, red rimmed and smeared with gore, were nearly blind.

She slashed at anything that twitched, anything that shifted in the corner of her vision. She couldn’t spare the half-second it would take to clear her face. The black haze clung like oil, burning, stinging.

“Rumi! There you are!” Zoey called, darting forward and raising her knives high. “You can come out now, I’d appreciate another sword at my back!”

Rumi froze, chest heaving. The words sounded right, but she’d heard them before, dripping from mimic mouths.

“If you get a moment,” Mira’s voice thundered through the din, her glaive carving a wide arc, “wipe your face off so you can come help us!”

Something about the strain in her voice. The effort, the weight of real exertion, broke through Rumi’s fog.

She stumbled back to buy herself time, free hand frantically clawing at her face, smearing the ichor across her cheek until at last she could see.

And there they were. Her two favorite people, blades flashing, standing guard at the mouth of her alley. Mira, glaive whirling. Zoey, quick and vicious. Two brilliant torches in the night.

For the first time since being flung across the battlefield, Rumi’s chest unknotted.

“You two…” her throat cracked, voice raw, “…have never looked so beautiful.”

With a wild grin, she lunged from her hole in the wall, sword raised high, and fell into step at their side.

Back to back to back, the three of them formed a wall the demons could not break.

Perhaps realizing their line could not be broken, the demons began to scatter. The swarm fractured, fleeing into alleys, into shadows. Their broken bodies dissolving into steaming ooze, which sizzled as it soaked into the cracks of the earth, before disputing into violet swirles.

Minutes later, silence reigned. Not a single demon in sight. Only four hunters, dripping in gore and black sludge, standing victorious in the wreckage of a city street.

"Dibs the shower first!" Zoey cries, as she sprints towards the huntrix tower.

Mira runs with her, clearly eager to get clean as well. Rumi staying back to walk with Celine.

Chapter Text

Rumi padded out of the bathroom, towel on her head, pajamas soft and rumpled. Mira and Zoey were already sprawled across the couch in their own sleepwear, arguing in sluggish voices about who’d taken down more demons.

“I’m telling you,” Mira huffed, head rolling against the back of the couch, “I got at least 250. Minimum.”

Zoey snorted, tossing her hair dramatically. “250? Please. I was cutting them down three at a time. I had, like… 320. Easy.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re just jealous.”

Rumi blinked at them, the shower steam still clinging to her. “You two sound like old women fighting over sewing needles.”

Both girls sat up in unison to glare at her.

“Rumi!” Zoey pointed accusingly. “Settle this. How many did you get?”

Without missing a beat, Rumi lifted her chin. “321.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped. Mira made an incredulous sound in her throat.

“Liar!” they both barked together.

“Swear on my sword,” Rumi said with a perfectly straight face, then sauntered over and dropped herself heavily between them, limbs sprawling.

“You do not get to swoop in and beat us by one kill,” Zoey muttered, folding her arms.

“Exactly one kill?” Mira narrowed her eyes. “Suspicious.”

Rumi just smirked, wrapping an arm over Mira’s shoulders and letting her other hand drift lazily through Zoey’s hair. “Believe what you want. Numbers don’t lie.”

“They do when you say them,” Zoey shot back, though her eyelids were already drooping with exhaustion. Its not often Rumi offers physical affection, and her nails scraping gently on her scalp felt... so good.

Mira leaned her head against Rumi’s shoulder with a put-upon sigh. “Next time, I’m keeping count out loud. Then you can’t cheat.”

Celine sat in the armchair, posture too straight, trying to hide the exhaustion weighing down her limbs. Her white shirt clung damp at the collar, strands of still-wet hair brushing her cheek. She was staring at nothing, the weariness in her eyes breaking through the steel of her usual composure. The woman sighs heavily, and gets to her feet.

Rumi's gaze follows her toward the kitchen, where Celine starts looking silently through cupboards.

“This is taking too long,” Rumi muttered.

Both girls glanced at her. She cleared her throat-

And in Zoey’s exact voice, she barked,
“Rumi, you’re taking too long, hurry up!”

The room went still.

From the bathroom, the sound of running water cut off. A familier shout of acknowledgement calls back.

Zoey stiffened, then gently pulled her head away from the hand in her hair. She stood without a word. Mira jolted, realization hitting, and tore herself out of the thing’s grip like it burned her.

“Turn your face, towards the sun…” the creature crooned softly, but it wasn’t Rumi’s voice anymore. It was Celine’s, gentle, echoing. “…let the shadows fall behind you.”

Its head tilted as the voice lowered into a whisper. “Don’t look back, just carry on. So the shadows will never find you.”

Then, movement.

Celine exploded from behind the couch, chain-blade crackling with light. She and the mimic collided, toppling over the cushions. Mira and Zoey scrambled back as the vision flickered, splitting into two Celines locked in a vicious grapple.

One kicked free and rolled to her feet, weapon glowing, stance sharp and ready. The other rose slow, languid, black claws curling from her fingers. A smirk split her face, fangs glinting.

“You will not be hurting my girls.” Celine’s voice was sharp as glass, protective fury radiating from her every word.

The mimic’s grin widened. “Oh, Celine… I’m not here for them.” The voice dripped false sweetness. “I’m here for you.”

Celine didn’t waver. “Then say your piece.”

The demon blurred, form shrinking, smoothing. In the space of a heartbeat it wore her younger face, wrinkle-free, hair untouched by gray.

“Heaven and Hell both know what you’ve done,” it whispered, voice syrupy. “And when you die, you’ll make a perfect demon.”

The air snapped cold as the vision shifted again. Now it was a child standing there. A young Rumi.

She whistled. Just a fragment of that cursed tune.

Black mist coiled around her ankles, rising fast. Her shape gone in moments.

Chapter Text

A moment passed after the encounter. The silence deafening.

“Celine, what the fuck.” Mira was clutching her glaive so tightly her knuckles had gone white, her glare sharp enough to cut.

Zoey’s hand was at her own temple, fingers brushing her hairline as if checking for some lingering mark the demon might have left behind.

“I… it-it’s... Shes-” Celine’s words faltered, uncharacteristically tangled.

“Did I miss something?” Rumi’s voice made all three jump. She padded out from the hall, towel still wrapped around her hair, but stopped dead when weapons snapped up and pointed in her direction.

Her eyes widened. “W-whats up?”

“Rumi,” Celine said flatly, the command cutting through the tension. “Summon your sword. Now.”

Rumi froze, eyes darting first to Zoey, then Mira, searching their faces for confirmation. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her hand. The glowing blue blade shimmered into being at her side.

A collective exhale filled the room. Weapons lowered.

Rumi’s voice was tight with confusion. “What happened?”

“Apparently,” Mira bit out, never taking her eyes off Celine, “Celine has a mimic demon nemesis. One that can copy any of us. And she was just about to explain what the hell is going on.”

“And that song…” Zoey’s voice was sharp, brittle with unease. “Was it using it to taunt you?”

Rumi moved first, tugging Zoey and Mira with her until all three of them sat on the couch together, pressed close.

Celine’s eyes lingered on them a long moment before she finally spoke. “The song… you sing it for hunter apprentices when they’re dying. To ease them. To honor their passing.”

Zoey’s brows knitted together. “Then why would a demon know it?”

Celine’s jaw clenched. She rubbed her temples like the weight of the answer physically hurt her. “Because sometimes… sometimes an apprentice fears death more than anything. And in that moment of desperation, Gwi-ma might offer them a way out. A deal. And if that happened…”

Rumi’s breath caught. “Wait. I thought it was just us. Was there… someone before us? Someone you trained?”

Celine’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Just one. She didn’t last long.” Her back turned to them, posture tight, as she began pacing. “I should have done more. Kept her safe. But I-” Her words broke. Her face was raw with grief. Guilt bleeding like a wound.

“So what?” Mira’s tone was sharp, but her eyes flickered with unease. “Your little trainee dies on your watch, gets turned into a demon, and now she’s back for revenge?”

“Yes.” The word was flat. Heavy.

Zoey’s gaze was distant, locked on nothing. “Humans can… become demons?” Her voice cracked on the word. “So all this time... We’ve been killing people?”

Rumi flinched. Jinu’s face flashed unbidden in her memory. His words echoed in her head.

Her voice came out small, but firm. “Jinu said he used to be human. I thought he was lying. But… what if he wasn’t?”

Zoey’s head snapped toward her. “When did you talk to Jinu?”

“The bathhouse,” Rumi admitted. Her hand crept up to her neck. “I said something stupid, something about humans always winning. He told me he was born human. I called him a liar. He just… didn’t argue. He let it go.”

Silence settled like lead. Mira’s eyes flicked from Rumi, to Celine, to Zoey, reading the exhaustion etched into all their faces.

She checked her phone. 3:00 a.m.

“I’m going to bed.” She rose without waiting for a reply, stalking toward her room. Zoey followed without a word, dragging her feet.

Rumi lingered, hesitant. Then she walked up to Celine and, without asking, wrapped her arms around her. “It’s okay. Mistakes happen. It’s not your fault.”

Celine stiffened, a whimper catching in her throat before she exhaled and gently pushed Rumi toward her room. Her voice was quiet, frayed. “It is my fault. My actions are my own. You shouldn’t have to bear them. This fight should never have been yours.”

Rumi swallowed hard, but nodded. Backing away, escaping to her room.

---

Rumi blinked awake, slow and heavy, only to realize she wasn’t alone.

Celine was perched at the end of her bed, posture straight despite the shadows under her eyes.

“Good morning?” Rumi rasped, still bleary.

“Good morning,” Celine echoed, voice calm but firm. “It’s nearly eleven. How are your marks?” She gestured vaguely toward Rumi’s throat. “We haven’t tested your voice in a few days.”

Oh.

Rumi groaned, dragging herself upright. She padded over to the mirror, the crack along its top edge still resembling the jagged line of a mountain ridge. For a moment, she braced herself. Then, with a steady breath, she tugged down the collar of her turtleneck pajamas.

Her eyes widened. “Less than they were a few days ago…”

“Not working on Takedown has helped, hasn’t it.”

“Yes…” Rumi hesitated, the admission heavy on her tongue. “Thank you. For getting me out of singing it.”

“It wasn’t entirely for you,” Celine said bluntly, standing as though the matter were already closed. “But you’re welcome. I’m surprised the others didn’t notice your reluctance. You weren’t quiet in your displeasure.”

Rumi’s lips twitched into something between a grimace and a smile.

“Get dressed,” Celine added, already heading for the door. “You three need to practice Golden a few times before you get on stage.”

When the door clicked shut, Rumi sighed, dragging herself into her dance clothes. The weight of fatigue clung to her bones, but routine was routine.

By the time she shuffled into the kitchen, Mira and Zoey were already slouched at the table, both of them looking equally wrung-out. But the smell of breakfast and the steam curling from mugs of coffee gave the scene a small mercy.

Rumi sank into a chair, eyeing the spread. “Well… at least one of us is functioning.”

Zoey groaned into her mug. Mira just gestured at the coffee pot like it was sacred.

---

Hours later, they were downstairs, in their rehearsal studio. Coffee cups lined the counter, sweat darkened the backs of shirts, and the faint echo of the Golden track looped for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Step, turn, swing, down. No, no, not like that,” Mira groaned, collapsing briefly onto the floor before forcing herself back up again. “I swear I had it last time.”

“You did have it last time,” Zoey snapped, her bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat. “It’s me messing it up. Every damn time.” She stomped the beat into the floor, frustration biting into each step.

Rumi leaned heavily on her knees, lungs burning, hair sticking damp to the sides of her face. “Its fine. We’re close. Again.”

Her voice cracked slightly, the strain showing.

Celine, arms folded from where she stood in the corner, didn’t miss it. “Close doesn’t win anything,” she said flatly. “And a cracked note will cut through an audience. Again.”

The music started over. Their bodies moved, almost on instinct now, but it wasn’t clean. The exhaustion dragged at their limbs, made timing sloppy, made smiles falter.

By the end of the chorus, Zoey doubled over, gasping. “I can’t... keep... going.”

“Yes, you can,” Rumi shot back, grabbing her wrist and yanking her upright again. “We all can. One more time.”

Zoey groaned but fell into place. Mira gritted her teeth.

The song reset.

And once again, they pushed themselves through the choreography, muscles screaming, determination welding their tired bodies together into something almost seamless.

When it ended, silence hung in the room.

Then, at last, Celine nodded once. “Better. Not good enough yet. But better.”

Zoey collapsed backward onto the floor with a dramatic groan. “I hate you so much right now.”

“I dont need you to like me.” Celine said, already heading toward the elevator.

Rumi, still standing, looked at the other two. Chest heaving, sweat dripping down her neck. But despite her exhaustion, there was the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

"That woman scares the shit out of me." Bobby says off to the side, "But I can't say her methods don't work..." He gently hands each girl a cold bottle of water.

"Bobby!" Zoey cries, "These backflips I'm doing are in your honor!" Shes laying flat on her back.

"Are you doing backflips?" Mira teases.

"You mean you can't see them? Because it sure does feel like im doing them..."

Chapter Text

The girls were slouched in the living room, still worn out from hours of practice, when Bobby came stumbling in. He was balancing a ridiculous tower of envelopes and packages that looked like it could topple at any second.

“Mail call!” he announced proudly. “Mostly for you three. Celine, you got a parking ticket.”

“Burn it,” Celine said flatly, not even looking up from her tablet.

Bobby dumped the pile onto the coffee table. Letters spilled everywhere, and one box bounced directly into Rumi’s lap.

“Ooh, let’s see what the fans have sent!” Zoey said, her exhaustion vanishing in an instant.

“Probably socks,” Mira muttered, deadpan. “People always send socks.”

“I like socks,” Rumi said cheerfully, already tearing into the box.

The first thing she pulled out wasn’t socks but a letter written in wobbly crayon. She read it softly under her breath before holding it against her chest with a gasp.

“It says my voice makes her want to be a singer,” Rumi whispered, eyes shining. “Her name’s Aki. She’s seven.”

Her entire expression melted, and she hugged the letter as though it were made of gold. “I’m keeping this one forever.”

---

Zoey was halfway through her own stack when she suddenly froze. “Wait, hold on, this one says they loved my drum solo during the last performance.”

Mira’s lips twitched. “You don’t play drums.”

“I know!” Zoey exploded, waving the letter around. “I work so hard on these lyrics, and this idiot thinks I’m banging on drums? Do I look like a drummer to you?!”

Mira tugged open a small box next and frowned. Inside was a tangled mess of neon-colored friendship bracelets. She pulled the brightest red one free, holding it like it might bite her.

“I’m not wearing this,” she declared. “I have a reputation.”

Rumi leaned over, smirking. “What reputation? Tripping over your own glaive?”

Zoey was already knotting the yellow bracelet around her wrist. “It’s cute! You two are just ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” Mira sputtered. “I-” She cut herself off, sighing through her nose. “You know what? Fine. But if I get photographed in this, I’m blaming you!"

The girls promptly ganged up on Bobby and shoved the blue bracelet onto his wrist. His face lit up with pure delight.

“Family photo time!” he crowed, whipping out his phone.

Mira sulked with her neon red band, Zoey flashed hers proudly, Rumi posed with her bright pink. And in the background, Celine stood stiff-armed and scowling, her green bracelet clashing violently with her pressed white shirt.

The camera clicked. Bobby checked the photo and grinned like he’d just won the lottery. “You all look adorable. New poster material right here.”

Celine groaned.

---

That night, the penthouse filled with the faint scent of herbs and smoke as Celine moved from corner to corner. She murmured low words under her breath, spreading powders, drawing invisible lines of warding. By the time she finished, the air felt heavier, as though the building itself were holding its breath.

“Nothing gets through this,” she declared, wiping ash from her hands. “Demons can't come here.

---

An hour later, she finds the blue tiger on her balcony...

How had it slipped through Celine’s barriers?

Well... The tiger was... Different... A spirit maybe? Not a demon... Even if it works for a demon.

She broke the seal. The letter wasn’t Jinu’s handwriting, though the invitation was plain enough. It was signed simply, A friend.

At the bottom, hastily scrawled in Jinu’s unmistakable hand, "She won’t stop asking about you. She’s mostly harmless."

Rumi chewed her lip. She couldn’t. Celine had set a strict curfew for safety, and breaking it wasn’t worth the risk.

So she wrote a short reply, "I would, but Celine set a curfew. Sorry." She put it into the Tigers mouth. And let it jump away.

---

Minutes later, a noise behind her made her turn.

Her heart lurched.

There, sitting on the railing with casual ease, was herself. Back pressed to the wall, one leg resting across the ledge, the other dangling dangerously over the city.

It was uncanny. Too uncanny.

“You’re the mimic that’s been haunting us?” Rumi asked, her voice small, hesitant.

“Correction,” the double said lightly. “I’m the mimic that’s haunting Celine.”

Rumi’s throat tightened. “Why are you here?”

“Straight to the hard-hitting questions, huh?” The double grinned, tilting her head. “I can see her in you. That fear. Hi. My name’s Ruin.” She gestured toward herself with a flourish.

“Nice to meet you, Ruin,” Rumi muttered, teeth gritted. “I’m Rumi. Can’t you be yourself for this conversation?” She gestured at the familiar face staring back at her.

Ruin winced dramatically. “Sorry. Just like you, I’ve not been myself for… oh, a very long time.” She tugged playfully at the sleeves she wore, the same as Rumi’s.

Rumi stiffened. Her hand twitched, ready to summon her sword, but instead she looked around nervously, checking the shadows, the windows. Then, with a breath, she shrugged out of her vest. Showing the demon marks across her skin.

Ruin’s smirk widened. “Huh. I’m proud of you.” She snapped her fingers.

And the disguise fell away.

Now, an emaciated woman perched on the railing. Lilac hair like straw was pulled into a fraying braid. Her cheeks were hollow, ribs pressing against paper-thin skin. She still looked too much like Rumi, but broken, wrong.

“Ah, how freeing,” Ruin sighed, her head lolling playfully to the side. “To be just yourself.”

Rumi stared, mouth ajar. “You… don’t have demon marks?”

“Slow to catch on, huh? That’s alright. Let’s work through it.” Ruin leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Celine performed a kut, yes? Keeps demons out. But you’re still here. So it can’t banish half demons.”

Rumi’s breath caught. “You’re a half demon.”

“Got it in one.”

“But Celine said you died. She sang the song while you were dying. To help you pass on.”

“She would say something like that.” Bitterness sharpened Ruin’s words. “The truth is worse.” She stood, stretching her spindly frame, stepping closer until she and Rumi stood eye to eye. “See, there was no reason to form a new hunting team while Celine, Mi-yeong, and Yura were alive. Then Yura died in an accident. Mi-yeong, well… childbirth took her. Suddenly it was all on Celine to rebuild. Conveniently, she had you! Her best friend’s daughter. Still with me?”

Rumi frowned. “Yeah…”

“So when did she have time to train me, hm? I’m not much older than you. A toddler when you were. Did she train a second group alongside you? Or was she just waiting for you all along? Your mother’s spitting image. Of course you’d be her number one pick. Plus, she wouldn't have liked a second half demon in that little group of yours. I mean, she barely likes the one she has."

Rumi snapped, anger flaring. “Why are you here, Ruin?!”

The demon only arched a brow, amused. “Relax. I’m here for a friendly chat. Why, got something else on your mind? Boys, maybe? I hear you’re close to Jinu, that sneaky bastard.” She tapped her chin. “Did you know he bribed the Idol Awards judges? When Saja makes it to the finals, they’ll perform first. I wonder why he’d do that…”

Rumi’s blood went cold. “What?”

“Ah.” Ruin grinned, sharklike. “Said too much. My bad.” She rubbed her fingers together in the universal sign for money.

Rumi swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing much. Something sweet, maybe? Daddy dearest hates when I eat human food. Bad for the figure, you understand.” She patted her bony stomach. “But fruit? Fruit I can get away with. How about it?”

---

Rumi walked into the kitchen, tugging her pajama sleeves down like armor, not expecting to see Celine leaning against the counter with her arms folded.

“I, uh,” Rumi blurted, pulling open the fridge with more force than necessary. “Just wanted a snack.”

Celine’s eyes narrowed, silent, tracking every movement as Rumi rummaged. Her pulse was thundering in her ears when her hand landed on a fruit basket tucked at the back. She grabbed the first thing on top. Round and heavy. And shut the fridge fast.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Celine said at last, voice edged with suspicion.

Rumi nodded too quickly, mumbled something like “Got it,” and hurried back to her room. She shut the door behind her and pressed her back against it, heart hammering.

Only then did she look down at what she held. A pomegranate.

She blew out a shaky breath. Good enough.

“Here,” she muttered, shoving the fruit toward the emaciated figure lounging across her balcony railing. “Your bribe.”

Ruin raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a crooked grin. “A pomegranate? For a demon? How symbolic of you.” Her claws slipped easily into the rind, splitting the fruit in two. She tilted back her head and drank the juice, crimson staining her mouth. “So. What do you need, Princess? I am your humble servant.”

Rumi crossed her arms. “Your loyalty is bought just like that?”

Ruin laughed, low and sharp. “No. But I don’t really like the smarmy bitch... Sorry, Jinu.” She spat his name like a curse. “And frankly? I think you need something. And I think helping you with that something could help me get what I want.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes. “And what do you want?”

“Revenge,” Ruin said simply, tilting her head with mock sweetness. “On Celine. Ringing any bells? I want her to be at the Idol Awards. And I think you want the chance to perform before those Saja boys.”

Rumi hesitated. The idea was tempting..
To tempting. “…Fine. I’ll bring Celine to the Idol Awards if you find a way for us to perform first.” Her suspicion flared again. “But I want to know why you hate Celine so much.”

Ruin’s grin soured, her voice dipping bitter. “Rumi, Rumi, Rumi… I’m a half-breed. She’s a hunter. She sought to kill me the moment she spotted the marks I was born with.”

Rumi shook her head, stunned. “But… you aren’t a full demon. You lived?”

For a moment, Ruin was quiet, like she was weighing something. Then she gave a mirthless hum. “When you’re duty-bound to commit infanticide, you try to find a way you can live with yourself after. Celine sang that song as she wandered into a forest. Where she left me to die. Credit to her though, she cried the whole time.”

Rumi felt the breath leave her lungs. “What?”

Ruin gestured to her frail, starved body. “I look like this because, as an infant, I begged someone, anyone, to save me from starvation. Your body tends to reflect what you begged for in life. It reflects what boons Gwi-ma gives you. Mine? I will never starve to death.” Her jaw clenched, swallowing hard. “That’s the boon he gave me.”

Rumi couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Blaming Celine is my problem, not yours,” Ruin said after a long silence, almost cheerful again. “You should leave it alone. I mean… one day that may be your duty too. Hunter.”

Her grin flashed one last time. “Anyways, I’m sure I’ll see you again. Good night. Sweet dreams.”

Then she leaned backward, falling from the balcony into the darkness below.

Rumi checked her phone, only 11:30? Was she getting a full night's sleep tonight?

Chapter Text

“I made a deal with Rumi! I made a deal with Rumi!”

Jinu froze mid-step. That excitement never meant anything good. Slowly, he turned toward her. “…What have you done?”

Ruin practically sparkled with delight, clapping her thin hands together like a child with a secret. “Weeell,” she drawled, “I want Celine to be at the Idol Awards, so her soul can be driven into the underworld when you guys sing. And all Rumi wanted was to sing before you boys!”

Jinu’s stomach dropped. “What if they seal the honmoon, you idiot!”

“They won’t!” Ruin laughed, light and sharp, as if the possibility amused her. She leaned forward, eyes fever-bright. “Because while Rumi is on stage singing Golden, we distract the other two! Rumi gets embarrassed that her team abandoned her, and then!” she clasped her hands to her chest with a dreamy sigh, “We play this fantastically dark little song I had them make for me.”

Her voice went breathy, almost reverent, like she was savoring the very thought. “Mmm, I can taste it already. But don’t worry, darling. I can handle that part. You just focus on yours.”

Jinu’s throat tightened. He couldn’t look away. Ruin didn’t wear her true form often, but in the dim light she looked like Rumi, just thinner, gaunter, her purple hair faded more toward ash. That crooked smile was a giveaway.

-----

Rumi was sitting cross-legged on her bed, hair still damp from her mornig shower, when the soft tap-tap at her window made her flinch. Her eyes darted to the balcony, half-expecting to see Ruin perched there again.

Instead, the blue tiger crouched in the shadows, a letter clutched delicately in its jaws.

Her chest loosened just a fraction. She opened the window, took the scroll, and the tiger bounded away without a sound.

She frowned at the messy scrawl.

"Someone was very excited about a deal they made with you. You should know her deals rarely pan out the way you would expect. Its not to late to back out. Please be careful."

Her breath caught. Ruin told Jinu about the deal?

But... They couldnt risk not going first. They needed to seal the honmoon, before the Saja boy's performance.

---

“Again!” Celine’s voice snapped across the studio, sharp as a whip. “Back into your spots. Now.”

Rumi groaned, dragging her feet toward the suspended swing in the center of the stage setup. “Why did we think this was a good idea?” she muttered, fiddling with the ropes. “Seriously, a swing? Who thought, ‘Hey, let’s dangle Rumi in front of thousands of people for two whole minutes’?”

Zoey, leaning against the mirrored wall with a water bottle in hand, smirked. “Because it looks amazing, and it gets you closer to the fans. The closer they feel, the stronger the honmoon, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know…” Rumi flopped onto the swing with a sulky huff. “But it’s literally just me. Out there. Alone. For two entire minutes. Meanwhile, you two are hiding backstage, probably catching your breath while I dangle like an idiot.”

Mira snorted, adjusting her ponytail. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like we’re taking a nap back there.”

“It feels like it!” Rumi shot back, gripping the bars of the swing tight. “Everyone’s staring at me while you two vanish into the void!”

Celines voice cuts through the argument. “Rumi. It is too late to change the choreography. You know this.”

Rumi puffed out her cheeks, ready to protest anyway. “Yea, I know, but-”

“No buts.” Celine’s eyes narrowed, the kind of look that made even Mira straighten up. “We are performing tomorrow. You can argue about stage time after. Until then... Back. Into. Your. Spot.”

Zoey choked on her water from trying not to laugh. Mira rolled her eyes and muttered, “Drill sergeant.”

But Rumi sighed, shoved herself in front of the girls, glared at the swing for a moment before bringing her arms up.

Her eyes met Bobby's, he held the same position as her, ready to start as well.
Well... at least she knew someone was dancing with her.