Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

JINU DOESN’T REMEMBER ANYTHING AFTER DYING—or did he die? He remembers the burning pain, vividly, agonizingly, as he looked into Rumi’s glossy, tear-filled eyes. She had been crying for him. Crying. He tried to say something, something along the lines of her helping him find his soul. Yes, that was it. He had lied to her so many times before, twisted truths to suit his selfish needs. But in that moment, for the first time in centuries, he had spoken the truth. The real truth.

And then… pain.

A burning, searing agony unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as though he had plunged headfirst into molten lava, yet somehow, it wasn’t just heat. It was cold too. A freezing, biting cold that gnawed at him from the inside out. The contradiction tore him apart, leaving him suspended between extremes. Was this what death felt like? Was this the price of redemption? Or was it punishment?

He couldn’t feel his body. No fingers, no toes. Nothing. Just the sensation of shivering uncontrollably, though he wasn’t sure he even had skin to shiver in. Cold and heat battled within him, tearing through his very essence. He wanted to scream, to cry out, but he had no mouth, no voice. There was only the pain.

This, he thought dimly, must be the worst kind of punishment. Worse than anything Gwi-Ma had ever inflicted on him. Even as a demon, Jinu had always been untouchable, someone above the lesser demons. No one dared lay a hand on him. Even 400 years ago, when he had greedily abandoned his family for food, wealth, and fame, he had never experienced anything like this.

But now… now it was as if his very being was being ripped apart, atom by atom. Was this Gwi-Ma’s doing? A final act of revenge for Jinu’s betrayal? For saving Rumi? Jinu didn’t know. He only knew the pain, vast and endless, consuming everything. How long had he been here? Hours? Days? Years? Time didn’t seem to exist in this place.

Had it worked? he wondered desperately. Had he succeeded in giving Rumi his soul? If so, why was he still here? Why hadn’t he simply disappeared like he always thought he would? Why was he trapped in this endless torment?

Silence.

The silence was worse than the pain. It pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating, amplifying the emptiness inside him. He thought of the other demons—the Saja boys. Were they here too? Were they also trapped in this strange, hellish limbo? Or had they returned to Gwi-Ma, their master, to kneel at his feet once more? Were they suffering as he was? Jinu couldn’t tell. He couldn’t sense them. He couldn’t see them.

Come to think of it, he couldn’t see anything at all.

Was it purposeful? Was this darkness part of his punishment? Or had he lost his eyes, another form of retribution? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he had eyes to lose. He wasn’t sure he had a body at all. He felt… hollow. Like he was nothing more than a wisp of wind, a fragment of existence left to drift through the void. No hands, no feet, no mouth, no eyes. What was he, then?

A soul, perhaps. Just a soul.

A soul doomed to exist in pain, a fitting punishment for the most vile being to walk the earth for 400 years. Yes. That seemed fair, Jinu thought bitterly. If nothing else, he could admit that. He deserved this. After all the wrong he’d done, all the lives he’d ruined, all the betrayals he’d committed, this was only right.

Still… there was no voice. Not Gwi-Ma’s, not anyone else’s. The absence of Gwi-Ma was strange. The demon lord had always loved to mock him, to drag him down whenever he dared to feel even a shred of happiness. But now there was nothing. Just silence.

And Rumi.

His thoughts kept circling back to her. Rumi, who had been raised to hate demons, yet somehow understood him better than anyone ever had. Rumi, who had trusted him, even after everything. Rumi, who had cried for him.

The pain flared again, radiating from what he thought might be his chest. It spread upward, curling around his neck like a noose. It hurt, but it was… different now. Softer, almost. As if the pain itself was trying not to harm him. It made no sense. Was this really punishment? Or was it something else? Was this the afterlife? Jinu didn’t know. He’d been a demon for so long he hadn’t thought much about what came next. He’d always assumed he would either cease to exist or spend eternity under Gwi-Ma’s thumb.

But this? This was something else entirely.

And yet, despite the strangeness of it, Jinu couldn’t help but think about all the mistakes he’d made. All the things he could have done differently. He’d had 400 years. Four centuries. And what had he done with them? Nothing. He’d hurt people. Betrayed the one person who had trusted him. He’d finally gained Rumi’s trust, only to throw it away. If he could kick himself, he would have.

Time passed—or maybe it didn’t. Jinu couldn’t tell. Here, time felt like both minutes and millennia. Everything blurred together in this endless void of pain and silence. He tried to think of what he should do next, but what was left for him to do? Wallow in his self-pity? Ruminate on his mistakes? He’d done that before, countless times. It hadn’t changed anything then, and it wouldn’t change anything now.

So he went quiet.

The silence stretched on, endless and oppressive.

It was silent.

It was lonely.

There was nothing.

There was no one.

Until—

“Aha! I beat you!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I so did, Rumi!”

“Ugh! It’s just—this stupid sword is acting weird!”

“Blah blah blah, just accept that I beat you,”

“Ugh, whatever Zoey,”

There was a voice.

A familiar voice.

It washed over him like a distant melody carried on the wind, gentle yet piercing in its clarity. Jinu froze—or at least, he thought he did. He had no body, no limbs, no form to still, but the voice made him feel as though he had stopped completely. Was it… Rumi? Could it really be her?

His thoughts spiraled, a mixture of hope and doubt clouding his mind. Where was she? How could he hear her? Was she truly here, or was this just another cruel trick of his imagination? It wouldn’t be the first time. How many times had he dreamed of her, conjured her voice in this endless void to soothe his loneliness? After all, it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t accidentally imagine Rumi close by.

Rumi? Rumi, is that really you?

Jinu tried to call out, to speak her name, but it was as if his throat was wrapped in a tangle of sharp, thorny vines. They constricted tightly, biting into him with excruciating force. The pain was unbearable, spreading like wildfire through whatever essence he had left. If he had a voice, he would have screamed. If he had a body, he would have writhed. But he had neither.

And yet, he didn’t care. He could hear her. He could hear Rumi!

Her name became a mantra in his mind: Rumi. Rumi. Rumi. You’re here. You’re here. The thought repeated endlessly, his entire existence narrowing to the sound of her voice. It was like a lifeline in the darkness, pulling him back from the abyss. He clung to it desperately.

At first, it came in soft, fleeting wisps. Her voice drifted through the void like fragments of a dream, faint and fragmented. He could make out bits of her conversations, snippets of words exchanged with others. Was she speaking to Zoey and Mina? Or was that Mira? Jinu struggled to keep track. Time felt strange here, slippery and incomprehensible. It was as if it was rushing past him while he remained frozen, stuck in a liminal space where everything changed but him.

Sometimes, he thought he could hear her singing. The sound was so vivid, so real, that for a moment, he almost believed he was back in the mortal world. The cheers of her countless fans echoed faintly behind her voice, the roar of an adoring crowd blending with the melody she carried. He couldn’t see her, but he felt her presence as if she were performing just for him.

And then, there were other times. Times when her voice was closer, more personal. He could hear her talking with her friends, laughing as they teased each other. Once, he caught the sound of them discussing plans to visit a bathhouse. Jinu’s thoughts stumbled awkwardly at that, his imagination running wild despite himself. He couldn’t see them—of course, he couldn’t—but the idea alone sent a faint warmth through him, as though he could blush even without a body. Embarrassed, he tried to tune them out, focusing instead on the sound of Rumi’s laughter.

He didn’t understand what was happening. Was this real? Was he truly hearing her? Or was it some cruel illusion crafted by his mind to torment him? He didn’t know. But every time she sang, the pain in his being faded, if only for a moment. Her voice wrapped around him like a balm, soothing the ache that never seemed to leave him. For those fleeting moments, he felt free—weightless. The heavy pull on his shoulders, the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin, vanished entirely.

Her voice felt like healing.

If this was the afterlife, it couldn’t be punishment, could it? No. This was something else.

It had to be.

Which meant… he hadn’t died after all. He must have survived, somehow tethered to Rumi even after being consumed by Gwi-Ma’s fire. But if that was true, where was he? What was he? He couldn’t see her, couldn’t touch her, but it felt like he was always near her, as if he lingered just out of reach.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

He wanted to see her. Just once. Just for a second.

Rumi… Rumi… Rumi. I want to see you.

The thought was a quiet plea, echoing in the emptiness of his mind. He felt helpless, trapped in this limbo where all he could do was listen. It was bittersweet—he could hear her, yes, but he craved more. He wanted to see her smile, to watch her laugh, to be close enough to feel the warmth of her presence.

Her voice came again, clear and soft. This time, she seemed to be alone. There was no Mira or Zoey beside her, no background noise of lively chatter or boisterous laughter. It was just her.

“Jinu,”

Somehow, hearing her voice call out to him sent a jolt through what was left of his nonexistent body. It was sudden, sharp, and disorienting, like the crack of lightning in a storm. Did he hear that right? Was Rumi… calling for him?

For all the times he had listened, tuned in to her voice from this strange void, she had never once spoken his name. Never once mentioned him. She had moved on, forgotten him—just as she should have. It was painful, but Jinu didn’t blame her. How could he? If anything, he wished he could forget himself too.

He was nothing but a vile creature, wasn’t he? A wretched being who had hurt and deceived others, destined to die alone and unloved in this world. That was what he deserved.

I’m here, Rumi.

He tried to say it, tried to let her know he was listening, that he was still with her somehow. But the words stayed locked in his thoughts, never reaching the surface. The same cruel thorns wrapped tightly around his throat, silencing him before the words could take shape. The pain that followed was familiar now, radiating through his being like fire and ice, but he barely noticed it anymore.

Because Rumi’s voice was there.

The sound of her calling his name swept the pain away, replaced by something warm and comforting. It was like stepping into the sunlight after being trapped in the cold for centuries. Like the soft embrace of a hug—one of those rare, precious hugs his mother and sister used to give him. Back when he was still human. Back when he was still Jinu, the boy who dreamed of something more, before greed and hunger had twisted him into something monstrous.

But no. He couldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t afford to sink into those memories. This wasn’t about him—not anymore.

Rumi was here. Rumi was calling for him.

And she sounded… lonely.

Her voice carried a weight, a quiet ache that Jinu recognized all too well. She wasn’t with her friends this time—no Zoey, no Mira, no endless chatter or laughter to cushion her words. It was just her. And though he couldn’t see her, he could feel the emptiness in her tone, the quiet longing that seeped into every word.

She needed someone to talk to.

He wanted to respond, to say something, anything that might comfort her. But his voice, his presence, all of him was trapped in this limbo.

“Are you there?”

“Sometimes, I feel like you’re still here,”

I’m here, Rumi. I’ve always been here.

Jinu’s thoughts came softly, tenderly, as he relished the sound of her voice. It was like a balm to his fractured soul, soothing the endless ache that had consumed him for what felt like an eternity. Her voice was light, yet it carried a weight that wrapped around him, filling the void inside. Every word, every note, made him feel something he hadn’t felt in centuries: warmth.

Not the painful, searing heat that had burned through his being since he’d ended up in this strange limbo, but something gentler. A quiet, comforting warmth that spread through him like sunlight breaking through the cracks of a storm.

When he heard her voice, he felt… complete.

As if she were the missing piece he had been searching for all these years, without even knowing it.

Rumi… Rumi, I’m here.

He thought it again, his silent words carrying all the longing he couldn’t express aloud. This time, it wasn’t just a plea to be heard. It was a wish. A desperate, aching wish to be by her side. To sit next to her, to comfort her, to tell her that she shouldn’t waste a single thought on someone like him.

She deserved better.

Rumi, you’re amazing, he thought, his chest tightening with emotions he couldn’t name. You’re an incredible idol, a strong hunter, and someone I truly look up to. Even now, I admire your strength, your beliefs, your unwavering will.

She was headstrong in a way that left him in awe. Even after the world—her friends discovered the truth about her—that she was half-demon, marked by Gwi-Ma—she didn’t falter. She didn’t crumble. Instead, she stood tall, fighting harder, showing the world what it meant to have a soul.

She had taught him that.

Before Rumi, Jinu didn’t understand what having a soul meant. He had spent centuries as a demon, hollow and lost, chasing empty desires that only fed his greed. But Rumi… she was a living example of what it meant to truly live. To resist, to endure, to shine, even when the darkness threatened to consume her.

Oh, Rumi…

She deserved so much more than this world had given her. She deserved a life where she never had to be ashamed of who she was. A life where she didn’t have to hide her true self.

Jinu found himself wondering what she had been like as a child. Had she been scared of the marks she bore? The marks Gwi-Ma had cursed her with? Had she hidden them from her friends, afraid of what they might think?

The thought pierced him like a blade.

If only he had been there.

If only he could have been by her side from the beginning. He wouldn’t have wasted a second. He would have wrapped her in his arms, swaddled her in warmth, and told her the truth:

You’re perfect, Rumi. Just as you are.

He would have told her that her marks, her scars—none of it mattered. They were a part of her, yes, but they didn’t define her. She was so much more than that. She was brilliant, strong, compassionate, and beautiful in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe.

You’re beautiful, Rumi.

The thought hung in his mind, lingering like a prayer.

But instead of saying it, instead of holding her and letting her know how much she mattered, all he could do was think it into the void. He was still here, trapped in his silence, a mere shadow clinging to her light.

“Jinu, where are you?”

It was her voice again—somehow. The sound of it lingered, soft yet insistent, like a thread pulling Jinu back from the void. He felt elated that Rumi wanted to see him, yet guilt gnawed at the edges of that joy. How selfish could he be? To want her to grieve for him, to waste her precious time on a soul as damned as his? And yet… he couldn’t deny it. A part of him wanted her to remember him, to hold on to him, even if it meant sorrow. He hated himself for it, but he was happy—happy that Rumi still remembered him, still chose to remember him.

Back then, when he still walked the earth, he never cared about being remembered after death. Why should he? There had been no one left to remember him. His mother was gone. His sister was gone. The two people he’d loved most in the world had been ripped away, leaving him hollow. What did it matter if he was forgotten? What did it matter if he burned in eternal damnation? There was no one left to mourn him. No one left to care.

But then Rumi came.

Rumi, with her quiet strength and her stubborn heart. She made him want to be remembered. She made him want to leave something behind, even if it was just a whisper of his existence. And now, as he drifted in this liminal space, he wondered if she could still feel him. If she still thought about him. Did the tiger and the bird still linger as well? Or had they been pulled under, forced to follow Gwi-Ma once more into the endless dark? The thought twisted something deep inside his chest, a sharp ache he wasn’t prepared for. They were just animals—mere creatures—but they had been his companions for centuries, silent witnesses to his cursed existence. They had understood him in ways no one else could. He hoped, somehow, that they were still in the human realm, free from the shadows that had consumed him.

He had never even given them names. He told himself that names would lead to attachment, and attachment was a weakness he couldn’t afford. A pitiful excuse, really. He could almost hear his own bitter laugh echo in the void. Well, look where that brilliant plan got you, Jinu. Round of applause. Truly, a masterclass in self-preservation.

Attachment was a human thing, and Jinu… Jinu hadn’t been human for centuries. He had shed that part of himself long ago, discarded it like a snake sheds its skin. And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder: had he ever truly been human? Did he even deserve to call himself one now? He doubted it. He doubted he deserved anything at all. Perhaps that was why his soul clung so desperately to Rumi—because it had nowhere else to go. No afterlife would take him. No paradise would open its gates for a creature like him.

He would never be reincarnated, like the spirits who had earned their peace. He had done too much, too much darkness, too much wrong. He had no right to hope for something so profound, so beautiful. And yet, even in his despair, a small, stubborn part of him couldn’t let go. A part of him still wanted to believe there was something more—something beyond this endless void.

Something worth remembering.

“Jinu… If you can hear me, come back, come back to me.”

Jinu felt a strange jolt ripple through his body, a sensation so foreign it almost didn’t feel like his own. It was as though invisible hands wrapped possessively around him, threading through his nerves, commanding him to obey. Not a suggestion, not a plea, but an undeniable command that pulled at something deep inside him. Like a marionette, his body responded without question, compelled to move, to follow her voice.

What Rumi said had not been a mere request. It had been something far more potent. A command.

And commands were something Jinu had always been good at following—especially Gwi-Ma’s orders. He had never once faltered, never broken a rule, never ignored a directive. If his body now told him to heed Rumi’s call, then he must.

A peculiar sensation overtook him—a rippling, like the surface of water disturbed in slow motion. He was floating, weightless, yet submerged. His body didn’t quite exist anymore, or perhaps it did, but distant, unreachable. He tried to move, but it felt like swimming through syrupy stillness. In his mind, he treaded water, struggling to reach Rumi, who was waiting for him somewhere just out of reach.

And then there was the mantra.

Rumi. Rumi. Rumi.

The name echoed obsessively, endlessly, as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat, the only tether to his existence. He couldn’t let go of it, couldn’t think of anything else. The world narrowed to that single thought.

Rumi. Rumi. Rumi.

And suddenly—

A loud crash, like a body colliding with wood.

Light.

Dizziness.

Confusion.

Nausea.

Pain erupted in waves, sharp and unrelenting, tearing through his senses. He gasped, but the air felt foreign, jagged in his throat. His chest convulsed violently, trying to suck in oxygen as if he had been drowning moments before, and now his body was desperate to compensate.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. His body, once weightless and suspended in strange, rippling sensations, now felt crumpled, broken, and agonizingly solid. Limbs—were those his?—twisted awkwardly beneath him. His chest heaved, struggling to remember how to breathe.

And the cold.

The surface beneath him was freezing, biting into his skin like ice, grounding him in this new and disorienting reality.

“Oh my god!”

The words pierced through the haze, a familiar voice cutting through the static in his mind. Jinu let out a guttural moan—an involuntary sound, raw and instinctual.

Wait. He could make sounds now? He could speak? For so long, everything he wanted to say had been trapped in his mind, unreachable. And now—

“Uh, tell me I’m not dreaming, guys,” another voice chimed in, low and incredulous. “There is a demon on our coffee table. Who, by the way, just trashed all our food.”

The words barely registered, but the tone was unmistakable—one of Rumi’s friends. He tried to move, to react, but his body refused to cooperate. His muscles twitched weakly, unfamiliar and uncoordinated, like a newborn animal testing its limbs for the first time.

Fingers. He had fingers. And toes. And a head, he thought. Yes, a head. Slowly, painstakingly, he tried again, only to feel hands grasp his shoulders.

“Jinu?”

That voice—it was her.

Rumi.

Her tone was softer now, tinged with something he couldn’t quite place: concern? Relief?

He forced his eyes open, though the light stabbed at them mercilessly. The world swam into focus, blurry and overwhelming at first, until he could finally make out shapes.

Bright lights.

And three faces.

Three girls were staring at him.

Rumi’s face stood out, luminous and commanding even in his disoriented state, as though she were the center of gravity holding him together.

He blinked, his vision sharpening slightly. The other two girls hovered nearby, their expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. Glowing weapons in hand, prepared in action as if he's about to do something heinous, like attack them. Though somehow, he wants to laugh at that, he can barely breath properly after all how can he even fight two hunters?

“Rumi...” he croaked, his voice raspy and unfamiliar to his own ears.

She didn’t reply immediately, but the way her eyes locked onto his told him what he needed to know.

He had come to her.

And now, he was here.

Chapter Text

JINU WAS BACK IN THE HUMAN WORLD, and everything felt strange. Was he really back in his body? Or was this just some trick of the mind? It was hard to tell. He had returned to Rumi once more, draped in a white and blue hanbok that shimmered with an iridescent light, uncannily reminiscent of Rumi’s own demon marks. The fabric seemed to glow every time he moved—or, more accurately, stumbled. His limbs felt heavy, foreign. Even his thoughts lagged, sluggishly trying to process the reality that he once again had feet, hands, a head. He was no longer a floating, disembodied presence. He was corporeal, and it was overwhelming.

“Jinu?” Rumi’s voice called him back. She stood by the door, uncertainty written all over her face—nervous, shy, worried. Her brows furrowed as Jinu blinked at her, coming back to the present. Right. He was inside Rumi’s room; the others were out in the living room, discussing the fact that he was alive again—and still a demon. He pushed up the sleeve of his hanbok, inspecting his wrist. The demon marks were still etched into his skin, glowing in harmony with Rumi’s.

Was he… even still a demon? He felt different. Under Gwi-Ma’s control, he’d known nothing but heaviness, a constant weight pressing down on his shoulders, a sinister presence shadowing his every move. But now, none of that remained. It was as if he’d broken free.

“Jinu,” Rumi called again, drawing him back from his thoughts. He hadn’t even realized he’d wandered away, now gazing out through the glass doors onto the balcony, the night sky glittering with stars.

He turned, finding her closer now. The door was closed behind her, her hands folded behind her back. She offered him a tentative smile, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “You were gone for a moment there,” she said softly.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice lower and rougher—stripped of the blessing Gwi-Ma had once bestowed. The realization stung: he probably couldn’t sing beside Rumi anymore. But the relief that Gwi-Ma no longer had any hold over him was even greater.

Rumi’s smile trembled, tears welling in her eyes before she laughed shakily. “You came back,” she whispered. She stepped closer, searching his eyes. They weren’t the warm brown of his human form, nor the glowing yellow of his demon self. Instead, they were something in between—softer, his pupils round like a cat’s, tracking her every movement. That look made Rumi’s cheeks flush with warmth.

“I did… I don’t know how, but I’m here,” Jinu replied, glancing down at his hands. His nails were still sharp. He was still a demon, but somehow… different. “I heard it,” he added quietly.

“Heard what?” Rumi asked, tilting her head.

“Your call,” he whispered. His eyes glowed softly, and for the first time since his return, he seemed happy.

Hours later, Jinu was finally allowed to leave Rumi’s room, wandering the apartment like a ghost. His hanbok kept snagging on every potted plant in sight, but he hardly seemed to notice, more lost than Rumi had expected. She’d thought he’d be talkative, eager to make up for lost time. She’d expected him to pester her, tease Zoey or Mira, fill the silence with his playful banter. But instead he just… drifted, looking around like someone who’d forgotten why he was there.

“I expected more action,” Zoey muttered to Rumi, both of them watching Jinu as he circled the living room. He kept glancing at Rumi, then away, as if unsure he was allowed to look at her for long.

Eventually, Mira got fed up and snapped, “Sit the fuck down before I break your kneecaps.” Rumi and Zoey burst out laughing, their giggles echoing around the apartment, but Jinu simply obeyed, sitting down as if Mira’s words were a royal decree. 

Rumi bit her lip, studying him. He was so subdued—so changed.

Meanwhile, Zoey and Mira busied themselves in the kitchen, trying to repair the meal they’d made earlier—before Jinu’s dramatic reappearance had resulted in the coffee table’s untimely demise. Bobby would have questions, no doubt, about the sorry state of their furniture, and about the mysterious new occupant in their apartment. But then, Rumi thought, it wasn’t as if Bobby wasn’t used to the girls breaking things by now.

Rumi’s attention drifted back to Jinu. He was watching her, a small, serene smile on his face, and her heart ached. What had happened to him while he was gone? For everyone else, it had been almost a year. For Rumi, it felt like centuries. She missed him—she could finally admit that now.

“Hey,” he finally said, blinking at her as she settled next to him on the couch.

“Hey yourself. Have you finally settled down?” Rumi asked, her eyes sparkling. Jinu flushed, ducking his head.

“I suppose. Nice place,” he said, grinning—a flash of fangs showing. That was more like the Jinu she remembered. Relief flooded her; maybe he just needed time to adjust.

Still, there was a question burning in her mind. “How are you here?” she asked softly.

Jinu frowned, thinking. “I… I don’t know either. It’s strange. I’ve been hearing your voice for a long time now. I don’t know how, but you called for me to come back… and I did.” He shrugged, as if that explained everything.

She called for him? All those times she’d whispered into the darkness, thinking she was alone—he’d heard her? The realization sent heat rushing to her cheeks. Jinu glanced away, still taking in the apartment. In his glowing hanbok, with his hair perfectly in place, he looked like some displaced royal—while she sat beside him in baggy pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. She felt woefully underdressed.

“Are you staying? Or are you going back?” she asked finally.

“Leaving? You called for me,” Jinu said, confusion creasing his brow.

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay. You’re free now, aren’t you?” she replied, gesturing at him.

He looked down at himself, then nodded. “That’s right, but… I have no house. Where will I stay?”

Oh. Rumi rubbed her face. She’d completely forgotten—he literally lived in hell before.

JINU STILL ISN’T SURE IF EVERYTHING IS JUST A DREAM. Even when he was human, he wasn’t much of a dreamer—pragmatic to a fault, always focused on survival. Still, he’d had his quiet fantasies: a warm home, laughter with his mother and sister, enough food to fill their bellies, enough money to see his little sister dressed in something new, something pretty. Back then, before the shadows of greed crept in, those gentle hopes had been his only escape.

Now, in this strange new reality, he finds himself lost on the balcony of Rumi’s apartment, suspended high above the city streets. The world below bustles with life—cars snaking through the early morning, people moving like little pieces in a game he doesn’t quite know how to play. The air is crisp here, so high up, and the city seems impossibly vast compared to the oppressive heat of Gwi-Ma’s domain.

He’s here. Really here. He can see Rumi’s face in the soft dawn light, hear her voice unfiltered by magic or memory, feel the gentle brush of her presence beside him. He used to imagine these moments—sitting close enough to reach out, to take her hand, to look into her eyes without the weight of guilt or fear. Now that he’s living the fantasy, he feels adrift, uncertain, as if something vital is missing. A dull ache gnaws at him, a confusion he can’t name.

Is it because he’s grown so accustomed to Gwi-Ma’s suffocating presence? Those whispers of failure that stained every step he took, that constant reminder that he would never be enough? Or is it something else—something quieter, more insidious? Perhaps it’s kindness that throws him off balance. He never learned how to accept it, not really. 

Rumi’s forgiveness unsettles him, an unearned gift he doesn’t know what to do with. After everything he’s done—betrayal, sacrifice, the ultimate price paid for a sliver of redemption—he still walks the earth. Not dead, but not truly alive. Not demon, not human. Something in between, a shadow in the morning light.

He wonders, not for the first time, if Rumi truly wants him here. It’s only been a day since his return. Zoey, with all her brash warnings and half hearted threats that doesn’t mean much, offered him her room without complaint, retreating to share Mira’s for the time being. 

He almost wanted to tell them that demons don’t really need sleep—he hasn’t slept in centuries—but it felt wrong to refuse their hospitality. It’s only a few hours since their first real meeting, without the danger of Gwi-Ma looming, without weapons drawn. Mira and Zoey seem to trust Rumi’s judgment, even if their acceptance is hesitant and awkward.

He hopes their friendship has grown strong in his absence; hopes, perhaps selfishly, that they are what keeps Rumi anchored. She needs people who love her, who trust her, who believe in her. 

Jinu wants to be one of those people. He wants to be worthy of that trust.

With Gwi-Ma’s grip finally broken, Jinu finds himself drifting, stripped of purpose. Maybe, he thinks, the reason he’s still here—still breathing, still changing—is because of Rumi. Maybe his real purpose is to follow her, to protect her. 

There are so many things he doesn’t understand: why his demon mark glows faintly now, why his fangs have dulled, why his skin bears a healthy hue instead of that sickly purple. He looks almost human. He looks like her—a half-blood, not quite demon, not quite man. Is this transformation Rumi’s doing? Is it something about her, or something about him?

He doesn’t know. All he knows is that the world feels impossibly big—and yet, somehow, he feels small within it.

“You’re up early. Come have breakfast with us,” Rumi says, stepping onto the balcony. Her voice is gentle, and she leans on the railing beside him, arms folded, eyes soft.

Jinu glances down at the city before turning to her. “It’s… nice here,” he murmurs, unsure if the word is enough to capture the fullness in his chest.

Rumi smiles, tilting her head. “I like to come out here when I need to think. When I talk to you, I come here, too.” The last words are almost a whisper, carried away by the wind. Jinu looks at her, searching her face for something—reassurance, perhaps.

“Rumi—” he starts, but the words catch. How can he tell her how much he’s missed her? How many times he’d listened to her voice, wishing he could reach through the veil and comfort her? How even now, after so little time together, she feels achingly familiar, like someone he’s known in every lifetime.

“Ah! Anyway, I’m glad you’re here,” Rumi says, cutting through the tension with a playful grin. She holds out her fist for a bump, and Jinu, unamused but resigned, finally returns the gesture. She laughs and ducks back inside, calling over her shoulder, “Come on! Let’s eat breakfast. Stop brooding!”

Jinu sighs, but a small smile tugs at his lips as he follows her inside, his hanbok fluttering in the morning breeze.

“Oh look who’s awake—demon boy,” Mira deadpans, arching an eyebrow as Rumi shoots her a warning look.

Rumi pulls out a chair for Jinu with a pointed glare at her friends— Be nice, the look says, or else. Jinu sits.

“So, Rumi’s boyfriend—” Zoey began, her grin verging on wicked.

“Zoey!” Rumi shrieked, nearly flipping her plate toward Mira, who only smirked, unfazed. Jinu sat quietly, his gaze flicking from face to face, watching the chaos unfold with the wariness of someone unused to such warmth.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Rumi insisted, cheeks coloring as she glared at Zoey.

“Cap,” Mira chimed in, deadpan, just as Zoey said, “Doubtful.”

They exchanged a knowing look, their eyes sparkling with mischief—two conspirators who shared a secret language. Rumi rolled her eyes and flipped them off, her irritation only fueling their laughter. She stood abruptly, swatting at them until they threw up their hands in surrender, though their grins didn’t fade.

For the first time since his return from hell, Jinu felt truly out of place. He watched them—this little makeshift family, so alive, so easy with each other—and felt like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He could mimic their smiles, even their laughter, but deep down he knew he didn’t belong. In hell, there had been no question of belonging; he was a demon among demons, his sins worn openly. Here, among these remarkable girls, he was a shadow lurking at the edge of a warm circle of firelight.

Later, Jinu found himself changed out of his hanbok and into a mismatched hoodie and pajamas borrowed from Mira. The pants were short—so short that his ankles stuck out awkwardly, the cuffs riding up every time he shifted. He didn’t comment, simply accepted the discomfort as his due. He sat cross-legged in front of the TV, flipping through news channels, eyes scanning for any mention of the Saja Boys, of other demons. Had any survived? Had any managed to escape?

He remembered the way Mira and Zoey had fought—their weapons flashing, their movements precise, deadly. He’d seen them kill. But demons didn’t die, not really. They just returned to hell. So why was there nothing? No news, no mention, nothing at all to suggest that the supernatural even brushed against the human world.

It frustrated him, this erasure. Was it the Honmoon’s doing? That legendary “mist” that kept humans blind, that warped reality so thoroughly that people simply didn’t see the truth standing before them? He’d heard stories: humans believing demons were just eccentric people in strange clothes, or dismissing obvious supernaturals as tricks of the light. The Honmoon’s power grew with disbelief, he remembered. A world hidden in plain sight.

“Yo, what are you doing—kissing the TV?” Mira’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He blinked, startled to find himself mere inches from the screen. Mira stood behind him, hair bundled in a white towel, a robe cinched around her waist. Her tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp, measuring. She was watching him, Jinu realized, looking for any excuse to act. The tension in her posture said she still didn’t trust him, not fully.

Jinu felt his shoulders hunch, the old weight settling over him. He turned away from the news, switching the channel to a bright, mindless cartoon. He shrank in on himself, unwilling—or unable—to meet her gaze. The room felt colder, the warmth from breakfast already fading.

His mind spiraled. He was back at the beginning—a man unsure of his place, uncertain of his wants, his needs, his hates, or his loves. A man without purpose. What was a man supposed to do when he no longer had a reason to exist?

“Hey, Jinu. Want to come with us?” Rumi’s voice cut through his reverie, sharp and gentle all at once. He snapped his head up, instinctively, like a dog answering its master’s call. For a moment, he just stared at her, lost in the simple kindness of her presence. Then he nodded, once.

“Great. But go change out of those pajamas, will you?” Rumi grinned, eyeing the too-short pants and the fuzzy cat slippers Zoey had forced on him—they looked suspiciously like Tiger. “I think Mira has some pants that might fit, though you might have to settle for sandals. Shoes are… another story,” she added, her grin widening as Jinu glanced down at the slippers.

He didn’t waste time. Both Rumi and Zoey had already changed, and Mira was waiting in her room, rifling through a pile of clothes. “Man, nothing fits you unless you want to wear a skirt,” Mira said, holding up a pink skirt and wagging her eyebrows.

Jinu’s eye twitched. If he was going out in a skirt, he might as well stick with the pajamas. Mira, sensing his discomfort, didn’t let up. “Or how about this one?” she teased, holding out a flowy, floral number. “It’s breezy under there—very freeing.”

Jinu sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he flashed a sharp, fanged smile, hoping she’d get the message: Let’s get this over with.

NOTHING CHANGED MUCH WHEN HE WAS GONE. The world spun on, the city’s pulse never faltering. Food is still the same, not that he’d really enjoyed it even when he’d been busy plotting the world’s end and all. But, in the grand scheme, nothing seems to change. The streets are still bustling with life—neon signs flickering against the dusk, the scent of street food mingling with summer’s humidity.

Mira wore a cap pulled low over her brow, her hair tucked behind her ears with military precision. Zoey sported a green bucket hat, the brim flopping with every exaggerated gesture she made. Rumi moved in her usual shroud: a battered black hoodie, drawn up over her head, shadows obscuring her grin. And Jinu? Jinu was still wearing the ill-fitting hoodie and pajama bottoms, both several inches too short. 

Mira hadn’t been able to lend him anything that fit—her stuff was all too small, even the “oversized” options. Though he felt like she was just playing with him and wanted to embarrass him by pretending she had no clothes that could fit him.

Karma , Jinu thought, must have a wicked sense of humor. After teasing Rumi about her infamous “choo choo pants,” here he was, a walking fashion disaster. Rumi wouldn’t let him forget it, either—she kept grinning at him every time he stood nearby, her eyes glimmering beneath her hood.

“I like your cat pants,” Rumi whispered, leaning in so close her breath tickled his ear. Jinu tries his best not to shiver at the sudden closeness and the warm breath.

Zoey and Mira were locked in a heated argument over which keychain to buy for Rumi—neither noticed the exchange.

Jinu shot back, “I think your choo choo pants are better,” and Rumi’s grin widened, toothy and victorious. She shoved her hands deep in her hoodie pockets and elbowed him, a silent thank-you wrapped in playful violence.

“Hey, I know I already said this... but like, I’m glad you’re back. Can’t believe you had to be all dramatic about it though,” she giggled, and Jinu snorted, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

He did have a penchant for drama, he supposed. “Don’t go soft on me now, Rumi,” he replied, but the words came out softer than he intended. Rumi only grinned wider, basking in the rare moment.

Suddenly, Zoey spun back toward them, her eyes bright with a new idea. “Guys, guys! What if we go and get him some clothes?!” she said, clasping her hands together as if she were unveiling the cure for all his problems.

Rumi’s eyes lit up, and she turned to Jinu. 

“Me?” He asks, confused.

“Duh, who else? No way you’re wearing that every day, dude! That’s, like, unhygienic,” Zoey said, as if she’d forgotten Jinu wasn’t exactly human. He was, after all, a literal demon. Bathing and body odor weren’t exactly concerns for his kind. If anything, he usually smelled faintly of smoke and brimstone—though after so long away from the underworld, even that had faded.

“Eh, sure,” Jinu shrugged, resigned. Zoey pumped her fist in the air, exclaiming “Yes!” so exuberantly even Jinu started to second-guess his decision.

Later, Mira returned, holding up a purple phone keychain shaped like a tiny cat. 

“Should we get him one of these? Or ooh! Ooh! How about this?” Zoey chimed in, waving a loud-patterned shirt in Jinu’s direction.

He sank into a random plush chair at the side of the shop, watching the chaos unfold. The girls darted between racks, arguing over colors, dragging armfuls of clothes toward him. They didn’t ask his opinion, and he stopped offering it after the third shirt landed in the basket at his feet. He looked like the life had been sucked out of his body, slouched against the wall with undisguised boredom.

Was this what hunters did all day? Shop, eat, argue over accessories? Maybe this was their secret training regimen: “Understanding Fashion Style 101.” It would explain how they were always prepared, always so impeccably dressed even on demon hunts. Jinu shuddered to imagine the size of their closet back at the apartment...

As the pile of clothes grew, Jinu finally spoke up, weakly: “This is a lot. I don’t have the money to pay for this.”

It wasn’t the money that worried him, really—it was the thought of all those clothes, most of which he’d never wear.

“Hey man, this is on us,” Zoey said, pointing at him with a lopsided grin. “Besides, you’re wearing Mira’s clothes and my slippers. I really like those slippers,” she whined, as Mira patted her on the back in consolation.

Jinu thought about offering the slippers back—wasn’t like he wasn’t used to going barefoot—but kept quiet as they paid for the mountain of clothes. The receipt unspooled from the register like a roll of parchment, impossibly long, a tangible sign of his new reality.

Rumi found the whole thing hilarious, of course.

Jinu didn’t.

Why would he need so many clothes, anyway?

Later, before the sun had even begun to set, they found themselves back in the apartment. The golden hour glow filtered in through the windows, painting everything with a gentle, honeyed light. Zoey bounced into the room, her arms laden with shopping bags. “Man, I knew taking a break was a good idea,” she exclaimed, setting the bags down with a flourish on the dining table. She hopped up and down, her excitement contagious, while Jinu watched her with a quiet, curious gaze.

Break? He wondered, a little lost. Why are we on break? His thoughts tangled as he observed the others—Zoey, Rumi, and Mira—settling onto the sofa. Mira, ever the responsible one, reminded them sternly to take a bath before they even thought of collapsing on the couch. At her words, chaos broke loose: all three scrambled for the bathroom, Rumi vaulting off the sofa in a mad dash, shrieking with laughter.

Jinu shook his head, a faint snort escaping him. The sound of their footsteps and laughter echoed through the apartment, a warm background hum. He lingered a moment, then gathered the new clothes they’d bought for him—clothes he never expected to own. 

He carried them to Zoey’s room—technically his for now, until he figured out where to go, what to do, how to live. He didn’t even have a job yet. The thought weighed on him, a sigh stirring in his chest as he sat on the bed. Demons were supposed to be slothful, but this was something else—an exhaustion that went deeper than sleep.

Outside, the laughter grew louder, punctuated by shrieks and the splash of water. They must be fighting over who gets the bathroom first, he mused, a small, genuine snicker escaping him. For once, he wasn’t joining in. Instead, he let himself fall back into the soft, crisp sheets—freshly laundered, cool against his skin. He let his body sink in, savoring the sensation. This was what he liked best: quiet, comfort, stillness.

He closed his eyes, letting the sounds of laughter and running water wash over him. Rumi’s voice, high and bright, rose above the rest and brought a smile to his lips. It was almost like music—a tune he’d never realized he missed so much. This was what he’d lost by betraying her all those years ago. He could have had so much more, understood her better, gotten closer if only he’d fought a little harder against Gwi-Ma.

He sighed, lost in regret—when suddenly something soft and heavy landed on his face. He yelped, opening his eyes to find himself nose-to-nose with a pair of yellow, slitted eyes.

“Tiger?” he blurted, sitting up so fast the bed creaked. There, right beside him, was the familiar striped beast, chuffing happily. Perched atop Tiger’s head was Bird, who let out a loud, indignant caw. “Oh my—You guys are alive!” Jinu exclaimed, disbelief and relief flooding him as he threw his arms around Tiger’s neck, scratching behind his ear—Tiger’s favorite spot.

Tiger’s back leg thumped on the floor, tail swishing with delight, as Bird flapped to the headboard with a ruffle of feathers. Jinu laughed, the sound light and real. “Ah, I’m glad you guys aren’t trapped there,” he murmured, scratching Tiger again as the big cat nudged his nose into Jinu’s hoodie, leaving a smear of snot behind.

“Ugh, that’s—” Jinu groaned, trying to wipe it off, but Tiger only purred louder.

A voice sounded from the doorway. “You know, we gave him a name.” Jinu’s head snapped up. Rumi leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a grin playing on her lips. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and she wore a sleeveless shirt, her demon marks—those beautiful, shifting bands of blue and pink—glowing softly on her skin. They shimmered like the aurora, mesmerizing Jinu, whose face grew warm under her gaze.

Rumi tilted her head, teasing, “Yoohoo, are you there? You disappear inside your head a lot. Is that new, or have I just never noticed before?”

She crossed the room in a few easy steps, settling beside Jinu and reaching to pet Tiger, who promptly rested his massive head on her lap. Jinu chuckled, awkward but honest. “I’ve always been a thoughtful guy,” he said, smirking.

“You don’t say,” Rumi shot back, one eyebrow raised, but her tone was teasing, not harsh.

For a moment, silence settled between them. Rumi stroked Tiger’s fur, her fingers gentle. “So,” Jinu ventured, “his name?”

“Derpy,” Rumi replied without hesitation.

Jinu snorted. “Derpy? Out of all the names. Derpy?”

Rumi glared at him, but there was laughter in her eyes. “It’s adorable!” she insisted.

He raised both hands in mock surrender, a grin stretching across his face. Strangely, the heaviness in his chest had faded, replaced by something light and bright. “Well, I can’t argue with that. I just thought you might get more creative, that’s all.”

“You can’t just say that!” she protested. “Look, he actually responds to ‘Derpy!’” As if on cue, Tiger—er, Derpy—looked up at her with big, adoring eyes, tail thumping.

Jinu stifled a laugh, biting his lip. “How about the bird?” he asked, nodding to the black-feathered companion watching them from the headboard.

“The bird?” Rumi chuckled, glancing up. “He doesn’t respond to any names. I tried.”

Bird cawed again, quieter this time, as if in agreement. Jinu extended his hand, waiting until Bird hopped onto his wrist. He carefully set the bird atop Derpy’s head, where he settled without fuss.

“He seems perfectly fine with just being called Bird,” Jinu said softly.

Rumi watched him, her gaze strangely intent, warm. “That’s good,” she murmured. “He’s picky, but one day I’ll find a name he likes.”

The light from the window caught Rumi’s face, illuminating her features, making her demon marks glow. To Jinu, she looked almost ethereal—like a goddess, not a demon. For a moment, he felt unworthy to sit beside her, to share even this small piece of peace and laughter.

She reached out, taking his hand in hers. Her smile was gentle.

“Jinu, I’m glad you’re here,” Rumi said softly. This time, there was no teasing lilt, no playful nudge or fist bump. Just her hand in his, gripping tight as if she feared he might vanish again.

“Me too,” Jinu murmured, his voice low. “I should thank you… You really saved me.” As he spoke, his eyes shifted—turning from their usual slit pupils to warm, human brown, the kind he knew Rumi preferred. She frowned slightly, noticing the change as he gazed at her.

“You don’t need to hide here, Jinu,” she said gently. Her hand rose to his cheek, tracing down his jaw in a lingering touch. Jinu flushed, his cheeks burning as his eyes flickered back to their demon slits. Embarrassed, he averted his gaze. Rumi just smiled, leaning back to unwrap the towel from her hair. Her hair tumbled down, soft and a little wild, and she began to rub it dry with the towel.

He watched her, entranced. She looked different—softer, somehow more real, and impossibly beautiful with her hair down.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Jinu cleared his throat. “I… have something to ask,” he said.

Rumi looked over, humming in curiosity. “What is it?”

“I heard from Zoey that you guys were on a break. Is something wrong?” There was no disguising the worry in his voice. He’d never heard anything about this, not even when he used to listen in on Rumi from afar.

Rumi’s eyes widened in surprise, then she glanced away, a blush coloring her cheeks. She scratched at the back of her head, grinning sheepishly. “Ah—this is embarrassing…” she laughed, rubbing her cheek.

Jinu’s frown deepened. “What is it? You’re making me nervous.”

Rumi giggled, her laughter light and infectious. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just… I could barely perform without thinking about you. Stupid, right? Every time I tried to sing on stage, you’d pop into my head and I’d get distracted. I guess that’s why we’re on break. I just… couldn’t let go of the thought of you,” she finished, her blush deepening as she shrugged.

Jinu stared at her, stunned. She… thought of him that much? His heart thudded wildly in his chest. If he’d been standing, he might have collapsed in shock. How could Rumi say that so easily, when he could barely force the words out? He tried, but his throat closed up, strangling the confession before it could escape.

“Rumi—” he tried, but his voice cracked.

She thumped him lightly on the shoulder, jolting him out of his stupor. “You’re a dear friend, you know that? I can’t believe you just showed up again after sacrificing yourself like that!”

Oh. Oh . Ah… Friend. The word echoed, a little hollow, in his chest.

“Y-yeah,” he managed, rubbing his shoulder and forcing an awkward grin. Beside him, Derpy whined, sensing Jinu’s discomfort. Bird blinked at him from the headboard, eyes sharp and almost judgmental, as if silently calling him an idiot for hoping Rumi felt what he did.

Don’t look at me like that , Jinu thought, shooting them both a glare. He was not a child in need of sympathy.

I do not need pity, a voice inside his head hissed, but it sounded small even to him.

Suddenly, loud footsteps thundered in the hallway. Zoey burst in, her hair still dripping, a wide grin on her face. “Rumi! Let’s train! This time, I swear I’ll win!” she declared, bouncing with energy. Bird squawked and flapped away from the commotion as Zoey flung herself at Derpy. “Derpy!” she cried, hugging the tiger around the neck. Derpy gave a confused, happy warble, rubbing his face against her.

Rumi rolled her eyes, but there was a fond smile on her lips. “For the last time, Zoey, you did not beat me—I just had problems with my sword!” she grumbled, but Zoey had already grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet.

“Sorry, Jinu, but I’m stealing your girlfriend for a bit!” Zoey teased, waggling her eyebrows.

“For the last time, I am not his girlfriend!” Rumi yelled, but her cheeks were pink.

Jinu stood, smoothing his hair. “I’ll come too. I want to watch,” he said. Both Zoey and Rumi turned to stare at him. For a moment, he worried he’d said something wrong—maybe it was suspicious for a demon to take an interest in their training?

But then Rumi smiled, the tension easing. “Sure,” she said warmly.

As they started for the door, Mira, lounging on the sofa, chimed in with a smirk, “Came to watch your girlfriend, huh?” Jinu huffed, but Mira hopped over the back of the couch to join them. “If everyone’s heading to the training area, count me in,” she said, looping her arm around Rumi’s shoulders.

“Yeah, Mira just wants to see me kick Zoey’s butt,” Rumi teased, nudging her friend.

Zoey pumped her fist, bouncing on her toes. “Dream on! I’m totally winning today!” With that, the four of them—plus a big blue tiger and a watchful Bird—headed out together, laughter and anticipation crackling in the air.

Jinu followed a step behind, his heart still tangled up in everything unspoken.

THEY REALLY ARE RICH TO HAVE THEIR OWN TRAINING GROUNDS. Well, it wasn’t exactly a training ground—more like an enormous practice studio, the sort where idols rehearsed their intricate dance routines for hours on end. But that was only the surface. Anyone who looked closely could see the subtle scratches on the floor, the reinforced mirrors, the faint scent of magic in the air that made his skin tingle. 

It smelled like danger, especially for a demon like him.

This was much more than a place to practice choreography. It was a cleverly disguised training room, a sanctuary where they could wield their weapons and hone their combat skills away from prying eyes.

“This is... wow,” Jinu whispered to himself, his gaze sweeping over the high ceilings, the glossy floors, the racks of equipment that lined the far wall. He barely registered the feeling of Derpy’s large, fluffy head nudging his hand, bringing him back to the present.

“Cool, right?” Rumi grinned, her eyes sparkling with pride.

“Eh, could be better,” Jinu shrugged, trying to play it cool. He barely dodged Rumi’s playful punch to his shoulder, grinning as he danced away from her reach.

“Hey, hey! I was just kidding,” he protested, unable to hide the small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

He watched as Zoey summoned her blades with a snap of her wrists, the weapons appearing in her hands as if conjured from thin air. She moved with practiced precision—sharp, fast, deadly. Her body was a blur of motion: agile, flexible, graceful as a dancer, yet with the lethal intent of a seasoned fighter. Every swing and parry was poetry in motion, her form rippling like water, twisting and flowing with the rhythm of the room.

Beside him, Rumi stretched, her hair tumbling freely down her back. She lowered herself to the floor, long legs extending, her shirt riding up to reveal the intricate demon marks that curled across her stomach. The vivid patterns seemed to shimmer faintly in the fluorescent light, and Jinu felt his cheeks flush hot. He tore his gaze away, shifting awkwardly, only to find Mira watching him with a knowing squint.

She’d caught him staring. Jinu swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He edged away from Rumi, pretending to study his reflection in the mirror, acutely aware of every awkward movement.

He didn’t even notice Mira step up beside him until he turned. “Oh jeez!” Jinu yelped, nearly stumbling backward into the mirror.

“You’re making googly eyes,” Mira accused, her tone dry, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“I wasn’t! I was just—talking to her. It would be disrespectful not to look at—her,” he stammered, his voice losing all bravado as Rumi stood up again, looking effortlessly radiant.

Mira only shook her head, muttering, “Idiots,” just loud enough for Jinu to hear. He chose to ignore it, focusing instead on steadying his breath.

“So, with weapons or just hand to hand?” Rumi called, cracking her knuckles, her gaze challenging. Zoey grinned, blades glinting.

“With weapons!” Zoey declared, resummoning her blades with a flourish. Rumi’s own sword materialized in her grip, a wicked smile on her lips.

“Don’t regret saying that—I’ll make sure to beat your butt,” Rumi teased, stepping forward with a swagger.

But as she glanced at her sword, a flicker of doubt crossed her face. The blade looked different— heavy and hard to hold. It hadn’t always been so unwieldy. Sometimes, it felt as if the weapon itself resisted her, a battle of wills in every swing. That was part of why she’d taken a break. Her hunter powers had been acting up, her connection to her weapon unpredictable. Sometimes, a simple swipe would unleash a powerful beam of light, like the one she’d used against Gwi-Ma.

It had been effective, but dangerous—she’d almost harmed Zoey and Mira in the chaos. Even Bobby had insisted she rest. An idol couldn’t afford distractions, much less a hunter with unpredictable, dangerous weapons.

“Ready or not!” sang Zoey, breaking the tension as she lunged at Rumi. With a deft motion, Rumi deflected the first thrown blade, their weapons clashing in a shower of sparks. The sound echoed through the room—not harsh or grating, but harmonious, like the first notes of a symphony. They circled each other, blades singing, movements weaving a deadly duet.

“Take this!” Zoey crowed, launching two blades at once. Rumi met the attack head-on, gliding across the slick floor, her sword at the ready. Zoey’s grin widened, anticipation in her eyes, but suddenly Rumi’s sword trembled in her hands, the hilt vibrating with a strange, pulsing energy.

She faltered, confusion flickering in her eyes, but pressed on. Their spar continued—until the sword’s glow shifted, cycling rapidly through pink, yellow, blue, and back again, as if the weapon itself were alive and agitated.

Rumi stopped, staring at the blade as it shook violently, nearly wrenching itself from her grasp. Zoey halted too, concern crossing her face.

“What’s wrong, Rumi?” she asked, but before Rumi could answer, the sword tore itself from her hands, flying across the room and embedding itself deep in the floor with a resounding thud.

“What the—!” Zoey yelped, jerking her foot back just in time. Rumi lunged forward, trying to pull the sword free, but it wouldn’t budge.

What’s going on with her sword—?

“Rumi? Rumi!” Mira’s urgent voice echoed across the room. Rumi spun around, momentarily forgetting the stubborn sword.

Jinu was sprawled across the floor, Mira crouched at his side, and Derpy frantically licking his face as if trying to rouse him. For a heartbeat, Jinu’s form seemed to flicker, his outline shimmering like a faulty hologram. Alarm shot through Rumi, the strange energy humming in the air.

She dashed to Mira’s side, Zoey close behind, the forgotten sword still quivering in the floor, its glow pulsing with every heart-pounding second.

Derpy let out a trembling whine as Rumi pushed him aside, urgently shifting Jinu onto his back. “What happened?” she demanded, panic threading her voice. Jinu, once so lively, now lay limp and gasping. 

His chest hitched with ragged breaths, each one sounding weaker than the last. Sweat slicked his skin, but when Rumi’s trembling hand brushed his forehead, he felt both feverishly hot and chillingly cold. He shivered violently, eyes squeezed shut, lips pale and parted in a silent cry.

Helpless, Rumi glanced at Mira, her eyes wide and desperate. “What’s going on?” she pleaded, voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, a strange glow bloomed across Jinu’s body. His demon marks—now shimmered and pulsed in hues that matched Rumi’s own: electric blue, soft pink, and brilliant yellow. The sword embedded in the ground nearby began to tremble, then lifted itself, hovering in midair, radiating those same colors.

Rumi’s breath caught in her throat, a strangled sound escaping her lips as Jinu’s body began to rise, his limp form drawn inexorably toward the floating sword. His arms hung slack, head lolling back, as if an invisible force had seized him.

“What’s going on?” Zoey shouted, panic slicing through her usual bravado. Derpy, who had never made such a sound before, let out a guttural roar that echoed across the room, the sound bounced around the walls. His fur bristled, every muscle quivering with the urge to fight or flee. His wide eyes flickered between terror and rage, unable to understand what was happening to his beloved owner.

Even Bird, usually so composed, took to the air, cawing and shrieking with frantic intensity. Mira and Zoey, hands shaking, summoned their weapons—energies flickering to life in their grasp as they positioned themselves defensively.

Rumi stared, frozen, as her sword gleamed with that same unearthly light, resonating with Jinu and the floating blade. The air vibrated with a strange, electric tension.

Then—

A blinding flash.

A deafening metallic clang as a large sword crashed to the ground, sending up sparks and a jangling echo that hung in the air.

Jinu was gone.

“W-What?” Rumi’s voice cracked as she stumbled forward, falling to her knees beside the fallen sword. She frantically scanned the clearing, heart pounding in her ears. Where—where was Jinu? Her hands shook as she reached out for the sword, as if it might still be warm from his touch, or hold some clue to where he had vanished.

All around her, the world seemed to hold its breath.

THE SWORD HAD TAKEN JINU. That was all Rumi could think as she stared at her sword, now lying quietly atop the new coffee table Bobby had delivered earlier that day. The room was silent, except for the soft hum of the fridge and the quiet, uneven rhythm of her own breath. After what had happened last night, Rumi’s composure had crumbled—she’d burst into tears the moment the adrenaline faded, the memory of Jinu’s disappearance replaying ceaselessly in her mind.

Jinu, gone—taken, perhaps, by Gwi-Ma once more. The fear gnawed at her. Mira had tried to comfort her with a strange theory, insisting that maybe Jinu hadn’t been taken at all. Maybe, in the chaos, he had fused with the sword. Mira had remembered Rumi telling her once, in a moment of vulnerability, that Jinu had given her his soul, merging with the blade and granting her that uncanny surge of strength she’d used to cleave Gwi-Ma in half.

Rumi had half-expected, desperately hoped, that Jinu would return to her—step out of the sword as he had before. She’d refused to release the blade the whole night, leaving it on her bed, lying awake and waiting for some sign: a flicker of movement, a whisper in the dark. But nothing happened.

She almost told Mira that Gwi-Ma must have taken him again, that the demon must have—

Rumi groaned, pressing her palms into her tired face. She hadn’t slept at all. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jinu dissolving, his features fading as if erased by a cruel hand. Was he really merged with her sword? It made sense, in a way—this morning, she’d noticed the sword’s appearance had changed again. Now it glowed with a soft, ethereal light: pink, edged with gold, as beautiful and mysterious as a sunrise.

“Jinu, are you there?” she whispered, cradling the sword as if it were something fragile and precious. It felt heavier than ever, as if she were carrying the whole world in her arms.

“Jinu,” she repeated, voice trembling, hoping—praying—that Mira was right, that Jinu could somehow hear her.

The door to Mira’s room creaked, and Mira emerged from her room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Hey, any updates on the demon boy?” she called, voice light but her gaze searching. Rumi lowered the sword, setting it gently on the coffee table once more and shaking her head.

“None,” she managed, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ve been waiting since last night… He hasn’t come out yet. What if Gwi-Ma took him?” Tears threatened again, her chest tightening. Mira sighed, coming over to sit beside her and wrapping an arm around Rumi's shoulders.

“Hey, trust me. I doubt Gwi-Ma got his filthy paws on your boyfriend—” Mira paused when Rumi shot her a glare, then grinned, undeterred. “Besides, look at your sword. It’s just like before, when he gave you his soul. That can’t be a coincidence.”

Rumi frowned, staring at the blade. The colors shifted in the morning light, alive with some secret energy. She wanted to believe Mira—she truly did—but the uncertainty gnawed at her.

“I don’t want to believe it… That he’s there, inside my sword—” Her words felt strange, foreign, as if she were trying to speak a language she’d only just learned.

“Hey, it’s better than him being sent back to hell,” Mira replied softly. “You literally saw your sword float in the air, taking Jinu. It’s most likely merged with him.” She tried to sound reassuring, but Rumi could hear the uncertainty hidden beneath her words.

“What if we just imagined him?” Rumi asked suddenly, her face going pale as the thought took root. “What if he was never really here?”

“That would be impossible—” Mira began, but Rumi was already on her feet, moving fast. She rushed to her room, flinging open her closet door, sending a cascade of clothes spilling to the floor as she desperately searched for Jinu’s hanbok. The memory of him wearing it felt so real, so tangible—she needed proof. “Where is it?” she muttered through clenched teeth, tossing aside shirts and jackets, her hands shaking.

Mira followed, worry creasing her brow. “Hey—”

Rumi slammed the closet door shut, heart hammering. They couldn’t have imagined him. That was impossible. She had seen him. Mira had seen him. Even Zoey had seen him too. She could have not imagined it all right? It was impossible.

Rumi slid to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest, the ache in her heart growing heavier with every breath. “I–ugh,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands. Mira knelt beside her, her presence warm and steady.

“Hey, he’s not gone. I told you—I feel it in my gut. He’s just… there.” Mira placed her hand gently over Rumi’s, squeezing it. Rumi swallowed hard, nodding, trying to find comfort in Mira’s certainty.

“If you say so. I trust you, Mira,” she said quietly. The ache in her chest didn’t ease, but she clung to Mira’s words like a lifeline. Just when she’d gotten Jinu back, he’d vanished once more.

“You better trust me,” Mira said, standing and offering Rumi her hand. Rumi took it, letting Mira pull her to her feet. “Now, stop sulking and sighing, okay? I hate seeing you like this—especially over that guy,” Mira added, her tone light and teasing, though her eyes were still full of concern.

Rumi sighed, a weary chuckle slipping out. “He’s not just some guy, Mira. He’s Jinu—and… well, he saved me. He’s a dear friend of mine,” she said, her voice soft but full of conviction.

Mira arched an eyebrow, smirking. “A friend, huh?” she mused, not bothering to hide the teasing in her voice.

Later, while Rumi busied herself in her room, Mira found her gaze drawn to the sword on the coffee table. The blade’s pink and gold glow seemed to pulse faintly, almost alive. Mira approached, arms folded and her expression skeptical.

“Hey, Jinu. Wake the hell up,” she said, voice low but firm. The sword pulsed, ever so slightly. Mira narrowed her eyes, suspicion mixing with annoyance. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’d rather not see Rumi getting all worried for nothing just because you decided to be dramatic.” She clicked her tongue, frustration bubbling up at the lack of response.

The sword remained silent. No voice, no movement, just that soft light. Mira frowned, but forced herself to look away. Well, being a sword probably means you don’t have a mouth to talk with… she thought ruefully.

Rumi emerged from her room, looking like she hadn’t slept in days. Shadows clung beneath her eyes, and her hair was a mess. Mira bit her lip, stifling another sigh.

“Anything?” Rumi asked, sinking onto the sofa with a tired groan. She reached for the sword, laying it across her lap, her fingers brushing the blade. Instantly, the demon mark on her hand shimmered and glowed in sync with the sword.

“Nothing,” Mira admitted, shaking her head. “But… you could try talking to him again. I know it sounds weird, talking to a sword, but—well, we’ve seen weirder.”

Rumi nodded, thoughtful. “Jinu once told me I was the one who called him. That he followed me. I never really understood what he meant…” She trailed off, eyes distant. “Maybe all those months he was gone, he was inside the sword.”

“Then try calling for him,” Mira urged, her tone gentle but insistent.

Rumi hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Do you really think it’ll work?”

Mira grinned, nudging her with her elbow. “It worked the first time, didn’t it? He trashed the coffee table and ruined our dinner.”

Rumi snorted, rolling her eyes despite herself. Still, she looked down at the sword, determination slowly replacing her doubt.

“Jinu? Are you there?” she called softly. The sword pulsed again, faint but unmistakable. Rumi’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Mira. “Did you see that? Do you think—?”

Mira nodded, excitement growing on her face. “Definitely. It did the same thing earlier when I tried talking to… him? It? Whatever.”

Rumi turned back to the sword, her grip tightening. This time, she spoke with more certainty. “Jinu, will you come back?” she asked, voice trembling.

Nothing. The sword’s light dimmed, still and silent.

She bit her lip, remembering Jinu’s words: You called me, and I followed. Not asked, called .

Maybe…

Rumi drew in a shaky breath, closing her eyes. “Jinu, come back. Come back to me,” she whispered, so softly that Mira could barely hear.

The sword reacted instantly. Its warmth surged, hot but not burning, the glow intensifying until the hilt began to tremble in her hands. Rumi gasped and let go, the sword rising from her lap, floating into the air as if possessed.

A blinding white light filled the room, forcing both Mira and Rumi to shield their eyes. The air shimmered, the silhouette of a flowing hanbok materializing in the center of the room. As the light faded, a familiar figure took shape—white and blue hanbok, a mop of dark hair, and in his hand, Rumi’s glowing sword. It's glow was weak, pulsing in slow beats, as if it's power were sucked out-as if incomplete. As if it couldn't work properly because it is now missing an important component (Jinu).

Jinu blinked, disoriented, swaying on his feet as if the ground itself was unsteady. His vision spun, limbs heavy and uncoordinated as if he had forgotten he had limbs once more. Strangely, he feels incredibly tired. Oh, what would he sell to get a good shut eye-

Rumi’s relief crashed over her like a wave. “Jinu! Oh god, you’re back!” she cried, nearly leaping from the sofa to throw her arms around him. Jinu stumbled, momentarily overwhelmed by the hug, his mind scrambling to catch up. What the ever-living hell just happened? he wondered, dazed. Where even am I? And why is Rumi hugging me like her life depends on it?

“Uh, Rumi?” Mira said, trying to suppress a grin. Rumi blushed, stepping back quickly but unable to stop smiling.

Jinu looked down, finally noticing the glowing sword still gripped in his hand. “What just happened?” he asked, bewildered.

Rumi just beamed, her joy impossible to hide. Mira, meanwhile, smirked, crossing her arms as she studied Jinu with a mixture of relief and suspicion.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, sword boy,” she teased, but her eyes were warm.

Chapter Text

JINU FEELS LIKE HE SHOULD BE SURPRISED, BUT HE ISN’T. For someone who had lived through centuries, seen the rise and fall of empires, and watched humanity wage war against itself in endless cycles, surprise had long ago become a rarity. He had witnessed the depths of human greed, the crushing weight of poverty, the suffocating grip of despair, and the inevitability of death. He had even experienced the chaos of the underworld—the growing legions of demons in hell, their hunger for power spreading like wildfire.

So, why now? Why, after everything he had endured, did he feel so hollow? Perhaps it was the sheer absurdity of his current predicament.

“That’s so cool, isn’t it? Jinu is literally like Rumi’s sword. It’s just like that anime!” Zoey’s voice, bright and bubbly as always, pierced through his foggy thoughts. Her eyes glittered with excitement as she gestured animatedly, clearly oblivious to Jinu’s dazed state.

Derpy  was splayed across Jinu’s lap, his slobber soaking into the pristine white hanbok Jinu wore. The massive beast whined pitifully whenever Jinu’s hand paused in its absent-minded petting.

“Soul Eater?” Mira interjected, her tone more measured but tinged with amusement.

“Yes! That one!” Zoey clapped her hands in delight, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. “It’s so cool! I wish I had a weapon that could turn into a person. Imagine all the conversations we could have!”

“I can imagine it,” Rumi replied dryly, rubbing the space between her brows as if to stave off an oncoming headache. Her gaze flicked to Jinu, who sat slumped on the sofa. His eyelids drooped, his energy clearly drained from the ordeal of being summoned back into the living world.

Jinu sighed inwardly, letting their chatter fade into background noise. He was too exhausted to care. The events leading up to this moment were a swirling blur in his mind—a kaleidoscope of darkness, hot and cold sensations washing over him, and the faint sound of Rumi's voice. Her cries had pierced the void, cutting through the numbness.

And then, he was here.

Somehow, his soul had fused with Rumi’s sword. He wasn’t just bound to it— he was part of it . Jinu, a demon forged from centuries of sin and regret, now served as an extension of Rumi. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Once, he had been Gwi-Ma’s weapon, a tool of destruction in the hands of a cruel master. Now, he was Rumi’s.

But between the two... he preferred this.

“Hey.”

Rumi’s voice pulled him back to the present. He blinked his eyes open, realizing he had closed them without meaning to. Mira and Zoey were gone. The room was quieter now, save for the low hum of the morning sunlight filtering through the large windows.

Did he... fall asleep?

“How are you feeling?” Rumi’s voice was soft, her concern evident as she leaned closer. Her warm hand pressed against his neck, then his forehead. “You’re cold. I think being called back from the sword took more out of you than we realized.”

“I’m fine,” Jinu murmured, his voice hoarse. He tried to sit up, but his limbs felt sluggish and unfamiliar, as if they didn’t quite belong to him. Derpy reluctantly moved off his lap, letting out a low whine as Jinu struggled to his feet.

Rumi reached out instinctively to steady him, her fingers brushing his arm. The contact made him flush, though he quickly masked it with a grumble. “I can do it. Don’t worry. Just... getting used to my limbs again.”

It was an odd sensation—like his sense of balance had been flipped upside down. He stumbled slightly, his equilibrium skewed, but eventually managed to stand.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” Rumi’s voice was laced with worry, her brow furrowed as she watched him carefully.

Jinu forced a lopsided grin, the sharp point of one fang peeking out. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just... wow. I’m a sword now. Does that mean you can call me a sword demon ?”

Rumi snorted at his attempt at humor, shaking her head as she led him toward his room. Derpy padded along beside them, his large head nudging Jinu’s hand for attention.

“Sword demon, huh? Sounds kind of cool,” Rumi admitted, her tone lighter now, though her eyes lingered on him with lingering concern.

Jinu sighed in relief as he sank onto his bed, the mattress soft and welcoming beneath him. Derpy, however, had other plans. The massive tiger leapt onto the bed with an enthusiastic thud, nearly sending Jinu toppling off the edge.

“Derpy!” Jinu yelped, glaring at the tiger, who simply wagged his tail, unapologetic.

Rumi laughed, catching Jinu’s arm to steady him. “You really do love being dramatic, don’t you?”

“What can I say? It’s part of my charm,” Jinu quipped, though his voice lacked its usual energy. He leaned back against the pillows, his hair splayed out around him in dark waves.

Looking at him now, Rumi thought he resembled a sleeping prince from one of those old fairy tales—a tragic figure cursed to slumber until awakened by true love.

The thought made her heart clench.

“Thank god you weren’t really gone,” she said quietly, her laughter fading. Her gaze turned distant, her fists clenching in her lap. “I was scared, you know? When Gwi-Ma broke free... I thought...”

She trailed off, biting her lip as if to hold back the rest of her words.

Jinu frowned. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly over hers before retreating. “Are you worried?” he asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

Gwi-Ma wasn’t just any demon. He was the demon. The worst of the worst. Even Jinu, with all his sins, paled in comparison. He had been Gwi-Ma’s weapon once, a pawn in his schemes. He knew all too well the depths of his former master’s cruelty.

“No,” Rumi said firmly, though her voice wavered. “The Honmoon sealed him back in hell. He can’t escape. But if he does...”

Her fists clenched tighter, her determination blazing in her eyes. “If he does, I won’t fail again. I’ll stop him. No matter what.”

Jinu watched her in awe, his gaze lingering longer than it should have. He didn’t even realize how intently he was staring until Derpy nudged him, perhaps silently warning him to stop before she noticed. Snorting softly to himself, he closed his eyes and leaned back.

“Don’t get too cocky, hunter,” he muttered, his voice carrying a weariness that had settled over him for centuries. His words slurred slightly, the exhaustion creeping in despite his best efforts to resist. “Gwi-Ma is no easy demon to beat.” The pull of the void was stronger tonight, tugging at him with an insistence he hadn’t felt in years.

“I’m not,” came a faint reply, the voice soft and steady, almost teasing. It was followed by a quiet chuckle—a sound that warmed the air around him. Then, he felt it: a warm hand gently pressing against the top of his head, fingers threading through his hair with a tenderness that caught him off guard. His breath hitched. Was he dreaming?

He couldn’t be sure. After all, for the past four hundred years, he hadn’t dared to sleep. Yet now, for the first time in centuries, he felt the weight of his eyelids grow unbearable. And finally, he succumbed. He slept.

Strangely, his sleep was peaceful—a tranquility he had never known. As a demon, he had long considered it a blessing to have lost the ability to sleep. Even in the waking hours, the weight of his guilt and shame gnawed at him. The memories of abandoning his mother and sister haunted him like a specter, and he couldn’t imagine what horrors his mind might conjure if he gave it free rein in the darkness of slumber. 

Sleep, he had always believed, would only amplify the torment.

For years, he had feared the dark—not the absence of light itself, but the endless void it represented, the way it forced him to confront himself. To admit, even in silence, that he was his own worst enemy. How ironic, he thought, that a demon—creature of the night—should fear the darkness.

But now, for the first time, the void did not swallow him whole. It cradled him. And for a few fleeting hours, he was free.

When he awoke, the sensation was strange, almost disorienting. His body felt heavy, his eyes still reluctant to open fully. He blinked a few times, fighting the urge to drift back into that unfamiliar serenity. His hand instinctively reached out to where Rumi had been sitting, but the space was cold. She was gone.

Disappointment tugged at his chest, but he pushed it aside. Derpy, too, had left, and the door to his room was shut tightly. For a moment, he simply sat there, staring at it. Then, with a groan, he forced himself to his feet. Thankfully, the dizzying sense of imbalance he had felt earlier was gone. His legs were steady beneath him once more.

“Thank god,” he muttered under his breath.

The apartment was unnervingly quiet. Had they left? The thought unsettled him as he wandered through the space, his hanbok catching on nearly every piece of furniture he passed. Each snag elicited a frustrated groan. He probably should have changed back into his regular clothes, but—wait. Where were his clothes?

A sudden realization hit him. “Oh no…” he whispered, his eyes widening. His clothes—the ones he had been wearing before he turned back into the sword—were gone. Did he lose them? What about the slippers Zoey had lent him?

“Oh god,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. Mira was going to kill him. And Zoey? She’d probably never let him live it down.

Before he could spiral further into his self-imposed panic, the sound of the front door opening broke through his thoughts. He froze, pressing himself against the wall instinctively. A small, stout man entered, his arms laden with paper bags that blocked his view of the room.

“Girls! I’m here!” the man called out, his voice cheerful as he carried the bags into the kitchen. He didn’t seem to notice Jinu standing stiffly by the wall, hoping his hanbok might somehow render him invisible.

Jinu’s eyes narrowed as he watched the man unload the bags onto the counter. Chips, cans of soda, and various other junk food spilled out—none of which looked remotely healthy. Who was this guy? He seemed familiar, but Jinu couldn’t quite place him.

Should he attack? Was this man a thief? But what kind of thief brings snacks? Jinu hesitated, his mind racing. If he acted rashly, he might hurt a human—and Rumi definitely wouldn’t approve of that. So, he remained rooted in place, watching the man like a statue as he moved around the kitchen.

Finally, the man turned—and screamed.

“What the heck?!” he shouted, nearly dropping his phone as he pointed at Jinu.

Jinu flinched at the volume of the scream but quickly recovered, his own voice rising defensively. “Who are you?”

The man’s eyes darted around nervously, his hand clutching his phone as though preparing to call for help. “Who am I? Who are you ?” he shot back, edging toward the door.

For a moment, Jinu was paralyzed. What was he supposed to do now? No one had prepared him for this. Why had Rumi left him alone?

“Hello?” The man’s voice cut through his panic. “My name is Bobby—”

“Bobby?” Jinu interrupted, his brow furrowing. The name clicked. Rumi had mentioned him before. He was their manager. Relief washed over Jinu as he scrambled to remember the cover story Rumi had given him. 

Right . He was supposed to be Zoey’s cousin. From America.

“I—I’m Zoey’s sibling,” Jinu tries his best not to stammer. He’s usually amazing at lying—his tongue quick, his expressions unreadable—but strangely, it feels like his tongue has knotted itself, betraying him. A strange cocktail of emotions churns in his chest: embarrassment and shame. Two emotions he thought were foreign to him, feelings he had buried long ago. Maybe turning half into Rumi’s sword had brought back parts of himself he thought were lost—pieces he wasn’t sure he wanted.

Bobby gives him a long, calculating look, his sharp eyes narrowing as he slowly lowers the phone in his hand. “You look familiar—” Bobby says, his gaze scrutinizing Jinu’s face as if searching for a memory just out of reach. There’s a long pause, the kind that makes Jinu want to squirm.

Finally, Bobby sets his phone on the counter and steps closer, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. A normal person wouldn’t just stop mid-dial, not when they thought they were dealing with a potential intruder. But Jinu has come to the conclusion that people in this world are a little... well, dumb. Maybe that’s why they almost managed to win the last time. Not that it matters now. Jinu’s just glad they didn’t.

“Have I met you before?” Bobby asks, tilting his head.

“No, I’m Zoey’s cousin. Jin—Juni,” Jinu croaks, his voice faltering as he coughs into his fist in a poor attempt to cover his nerves. Bobby raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press, instead giving Jinu a once-over before leaning back.

“Oh, I can definitely see the resemblance. Also, you came in a hanbok. Respect, man. I love people who appreciate tradition,” Bobby says with a grin, finger guns blazing as he strolls back toward the counter.

Jinu exhales shakily, almost collapsing in on himself. Who knew this guy would buy his story so easily?

“So, uh, Juni. Do you know where the girls went? They didn’t tell me where they were headed today—same as yesterday,” Bobby sighs, rolling his eyes.

Jinu takes a delicate step back toward his room, hoping to retreat before this conversation spirals any further. But Bobby turns to him again, grinning. “Hey, want to help me surprise the girls?”

“Buh—surprise?” Jinu stammers, his mind scrambling for a way out.

“Yup! They’ve been working so hard lately. Come on, you’re Zoey’s cousin, right? You must be worried about her. That’s why you came by, huh?” Bobby says, already pulling out bowls, spatulas, and a whisk from the kitchen drawers.

Jinu watches him warily, unsure of how to respond. He isn’t sure what this man is planning, but whatever it is, he wants no part of it.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Jinu replies awkwardly, his voice tight. Bobby doesn’t seem to notice—or care—as he grabs eggs from the fridge and starts bustling around the kitchen with the confidence of someone who clearly knows his way around.

Jinu stands frozen, uselessly watching Bobby dance around the kitchen, humming to himself. He moves like he owns the place, which, to be fair, he probably does. As the hunters’ manager, Bobby likely knows the apartment inside out. Meanwhile, Jinu has only been here a few days, still awkwardly navigating the space while snagging his hanbok on furniture edges.

Bobby glances over his shoulder and notices Jinu standing idle. “Here,” he says, handing Jinu a bowl and a whisk, “how about you try mixing the eggs?”

Jinu hesitates but eventually takes the bowl. Well, it’s just mixing eggs. How hard can it be?

Turns out, not too hard. Jinu manages to whisk the eggs without incident, feeling a small, fleeting sense of accomplishment. But then Bobby hands him another bowl, this time filled with flour and milk.

“Mix these together,” Bobby instructs cheerfully.

Jinu frowns slightly but obeys. How difficult could mixing flour and milk possibly be?

The answer comes swiftly and disastrously. One misstep—a slip of his hand—and the bowl tips, sending flour and milk cascading onto the counter, the tiles, and most tragically, the lower hem of his hanbok. The stark white liquid splatters everywhere, a glaring mess against the pristine kitchen.

“Oh boy,” Bobby says, his voice laced with amusement. “Well, at least the apartment’s white... and your hanbok too.”

Jinu freezes, staring at the mess with wide eyes. His hands clutch the now-empty bowl, trembling slightly. He feels a wave of something unfamiliar wash over him—a deep, gnawing guilt that twists his expression into something dark and unreadable.

Bobby notices. “Hey, it’s no big deal! Happens to everyone,” he says with a reassuring grin, grabbing a towel to clean up the spill.

But Jinu doesn’t respond. All his knowledge, all his power as part-demon, and he can’t even mix flour and milk? The thought claws at his mind, leaving him feeling strangely... small. For the first time in a long time, Jinu feels useless.

“Here, I’ll just grab a mop,” Bobby said, snapping his fingers as he disappeared to fetch one—wherever they kept it.

Jinu groaned softly to himself, glancing down at the mess on the floor and the splattered fabric of his hanbok. Maybe he should just change clothes to avoid making things worse. Before he could act on the thought, Bobby returned, mop in hand, grinning like he’d just saved the day.

“Alright, Bobby is here to rescue the situation!”

He set to work cleaning the floor with practiced ease, even going so far as to crouch down and carefully wipe the milk and flour off Jinu’s hanbok with a soft cloth. Jinu blinked in surprise, unsure how to react. Bobby worked with such care, rinsing the fabric with water and hanging it neatly over the side of a chair to dry.

“See? Nothing to stress over. It’s just spilled flour and milk. Happens all the time. Besides, I’ve got plenty more,” Bobby said, gesturing toward the milk carton and the paper bag of flour on the counter as if to prove his point.

Jinu averted his gaze, a strange pang blooming in his chest. He felt uncomfortably small, like a child again. Bobby’s actions reminded him of his mother—a memory he rarely allowed himself to revisit. He thought back to a time long before his sister was born, when he’d been little and clumsy, always eager to help his mother with her chores.

Once, he’d accompanied her to the river to wash clothes. He’d insisted on helping, only to lose his grip on one of the garments. The current had snatched it away before he could react, and he’d stood frozen, paralyzed with guilt and fear. Instead of scolding him, his mother had chased after the cloth, her dress soaked by the time she retrieved it.

“Oh, Jinu,” she had said with a warm smile, cupping his tear-streaked cheek. “Don’t worry, it was just a mistake. The current was strong. Next time, hold the sides tightly, okay?”

Her words echoed in his mind now as Bobby offered a similar suggestion.

“Try holding the bowl at the sides so you won’t accidentally tip it over,” Bobby said, his tone patient.

Jinu nodded silently, gripping the bowl carefully this time and mixing the contents more slowly. The motion felt strange, almost meditative.

“So... Zoey’s cousin, huh?” Bobby said, breaking the silence. “Didn’t know she had one. Last time I checked, all she had were sisters. Girl siblings, you know? But—eh, maybe I got that wrong.” He shrugged, his tone casual, though there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

Jinu cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. “She does... have guy siblings,” he said, his voice steady but clipped.

“Hmm,” Bobby murmured, rubbing his chin. “Well, for as long as I’ve known the girls, they’ve never mentioned you. Not once.”

There was a subtle edge to Bobby’s voice that made Jinu cringe inwardly. He could sense the unspoken questions lingering just beneath the surface.

Is Bobby about to get personal? Jinu thought helplessly. God, he’s a demon, not a therapist!

“Well, not that I’m mad or anything,” Bobby continued, waving a hand dismissively. “But sometimes I feel like the girls are keeping secrets from me, you know?”

He sighed, wiping his hands on a dishrag as Jinu handed him the now well-mixed bowl.

“That must be... hard,” Jinu replied awkwardly, unsure of what else to say.

“Not really,” Bobby said with a shrug. “I’m just their manager, after all. I’m not their dad or their uncle or anything. It’s not like I’m entitled to know every detail about their lives.”

He moved to the oven, preheating it before turning back to Jinu. For a moment, the room fell silent except for the quiet hum of the oven and the faint clatter of utensils.

Jinu studied Bobby carefully. He seemed so casual, so at ease, but there was something in his tone—a hint of self-doubt, maybe even loneliness.

I guess everyone has their own little demons, Jinu thought.

Bobby hummed softly as he worked, shaping the cookie dough into small hearts and stars. His movements were light, almost cheerful, but Jinu couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on beneath the surface.

“I, uh... jeez, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you,” Bobby said suddenly, glancing up at Jinu with a sheepish smile. “You just got here, and here I am, rambling about stuff that doesn’t even matter. You must be tired and all.”

“It’s fine,” Jinu replied, surprising himself. He didn’t move to leave, didn’t retreat back to his room like he thought he would.

Somehow, he understood Bobby in that moment. There was something undeniably human about wanting to know more about the people you cared about. It was a need Jinu had tried to bury in himself for so long.

He wondered briefly if he should tell Rumi about their manager’s quiet struggle. Self-doubt was a vicious thing. Jinu knew that all too well. It had gnawed at him once, long ago, until it had devoured everything. It was just as cruel, just as consuming, as guilt.

Jinu watched as Bobby carefully placed the cookie shapes onto a tray, covering them with a sheet of plastic wrap. His hands moved with practiced ease, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

LATER, THE GIRLS CAME BACK HOME . It turned out they had sent Rumi to the spa to calm down after she had refused to leave Jinu’s side for almost an entire day. Jinu wasn’t sure if he should feel guilty, happy, or thankful. Somehow, he felt all of those emotions at once, tangled together in a knot he couldn’t untie.

“This cookie is so good!” Zoey’s voice echoed from the kitchen, her words immediately followed by Bobby’s exasperated tone. “Zoey, stop eating all of them!”

“Stop hoarding the cookies, Zoey,” Mira muttered as she emerged from her room, dragging her feet toward the kitchen.

Jinu tuned them out, his gaze fixed on the large windows as the bustling city beyond glimmered with life. The view was hypnotic, a chaotic symphony of lights and motion. It should have calmed him, but the emotions swirling inside him refused to settle.

“Cookies?” Rumi’s voice broke through his thoughts. He turned, surprised to see her standing before him holding a small plate with a single cookie.

“Thanks,” Jinu said, accepting it with a small smile.

“You helped Bobby bake?” she asked, settling beside him on the couch.

“Not really,” Jinu admitted, grinning sheepishly. “I just mixed a few bowls here and there.”

“Hey, maybe next time we bake, we can turn you into our slave,” Rumi teased with a mischievous smirk.

Jinu rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Rumi.” His tone was dismissive, but they both knew he didn’t mean it. If Rumi ever needed anything from him, he’d never deny her.

“You know,” Rumi started, leaning closer with a sly grin, “you told me I have no creativity whatsoever when it comes to naming. But Bobby mentioned your name is Juni ?”

Jinu groaned, letting his forehead thud against the cool glass of the window. “Please, it was completely impromptu. You didn’t tell me he’d come by!”

A faint blush crept up his cheeks, much to Rumi’s amusement. She nudged him with her elbow, her laugh light and warm. Jinu, embarrassed, took a bite of the cookie to distract himself. It was good—so good, in fact, that he paused to savor it. He realized it had been far too long since he’d indulged in food. He’d almost forgotten how much joy it could bring.

“You know Bobby,” Rumi said, her voice softer now. “He likes to come by. Ever since we took a break, he’s been checking on us a lot.”

“He cares about you guys,” Jinu said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That he does,” Rumi agreed, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “And we love him for it, you know.”

Jinu hummed in response, his mind drifting to Bobby’s earlier doubts. He’d always been a watcher, a passive observer to the chaos around him. He’d seen Gwi-Ma’s wrath and the madness that followed when things didn’t go as planned. But now, he wondered if he could be more than just a spectator.

“You know, you should tell him that,” Jinu said, his tone casual but sincere. “Your manager’s pretty cool, I guess.”

Rumi raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Is that you sounding like you care?” She poked his side, and Jinu let out a surprised laugh, quickly moving away from her.

“Stop that,” he said, trying to evade her.

“Just admit it!” she taunted, poking him again.

“Stop it!”

The playful scuffle ended with Jinu retreating to the sofa, surrounding himself with a fortress of pillows. He looked ridiculous, like a child hiding from the world.

“Hey, I was just kidding,” Rumi said, her voice softening as she leaned against the pillow fort. “I’ll never tickle you again.”

“A demon, bested by tickles,” she whispered, poking her head through a gap in the pillows.

Jinu flushed, his cheeks burning as he pushed her away. “I am not bested by tickles. Your nails are pointy. It hurts.”

Rumi examined her nails with a thoughtful hum. “Excuses, excuses,” she said, hopping off the pile of pillows and heading toward the kitchen where the others were.

Jinu sighed, peeking out from his makeshift fortress before finally dismantling it. He rubbed his sides where Rumi had touched him, the sensation lingering like a faint pulse of heat. It was probably nothing, he told himself. Just a reaction. After all, he was a part of Rumi’s sword. Maybe it was some lingering connection between them.

But even as he tried to dismiss it, his thoughts betrayed him. He couldn’t stop replaying that embarrassing moment from the day before—Rumi calling him her “dearest friend.”

Dearest friend, my ass, Jinu thought irritably, his eye twitching. You were ogling over me the first time you saw me.

A part of him wondered if he’d lost his edge, the cool aura he’d worked so hard to cultivate. Maybe this was what Rumi wanted—to see him flustered, to tear down the persona he’d so carefully constructed. She had a way of making him feel like himself, in ways no one else ever had.

But did she prefer this version of him? Or was it all just a game to her?

Jinu sighed again, heavier this time, as the weight of his emotions pressed down on him. For 400 years, he’d never felt anything like this. Not even as a human had he experienced emotions so raw and confusing. The thought of her hurt his heart, and yet, he didn’t want it to stop.

It didn’t matter, though. Being beside Rumi was enough for him. He didn’t need more. He didn’t deserve more. Touching her, loving her—it would be like corrupting something pure, something perfect. He would never forgive himself for that.

He closed his eyes, his chest aching with the weight of unspoken feelings. Rumi was the most beautiful person in his world. She always had been. And if staying by her side was all he could do, then so be it.

Being in her presence was enough.

It had to be.

Later that evening, the living room came alive with laughter, music, and the smell of something delicious wafting in from the kitchen. Bobby had whipped up one of his signature homemade dinners, dancing and singing with the girls as the speaker thumped cheerful beats against the walls. Even Mira, usually reserved, was singing her heart out, clutching a large wooden spoon like a microphone. She twirled around the room with Zoey and Rumi, their voices blending into a chaotic but joyful harmony. The wooden floor creaked beneath their feet as they spun and hopped, hair flying wildly, laughter punctuating every off-key note.

At the dining table, Jinu sat quietly, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the polished wood. A small but genuine smile tugged at his lips as he nodded his head to the beat. This must be one of their new songs—upbeat, vibrant, and brimming with energy. Rumi’s voice soared as she belted out a high note, the sound sharp and clear, cutting through the air like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Go, Rumi!” Bobby cheered, his pink apron bouncing around his waist as he swayed his hips dramatically, one hand gripping a spatula and the other stirring something sizzling in a pan.

Jinu’s grin widened slightly, the corners of his mouth softening. Rumi’s voice washed over him like a balm, soothing an ache he hadn’t realized was there. It was the same feeling he’d had back when he was bound to her sword—her voice, a strange and inexplicable power, healing him in ways he couldn’t quite put into words. He leaned back slightly in his chair, letting the moment sink in, the warmth of her song mingling with the tantalizing aroma of curry.

The singing eventually tapered off as Bobby clapped his hands and set the table. With a flourish, he placed five plates down, each one an artistic masterpiece. He had shaped the rice into perfect hearts, nestled in a pool of rich, golden curry dotted with chunks of tender potatoes and bright orange carrots. “Dinner is served!” Bobby announced proudly, wiping his hands on his apron before stepping aside to admire his work.

Jinu stared at his plate, his mouth already watering. The heart-shaped rice should’ve made him cringe—it was too cutesy, too sentimental—but right now, he didn’t care. Food was food, and after centuries of going without, he planned to savor every bite. Without waiting for the others, Jinu picked up his spoon and dug in. The taste was divine—warm, savory, and comforting in a way that seemed to wrap around his soul.

“Thank you for the food, Bobby!” the girls chimed in unison, their voices bright and cheerful as they clasped their hands together. Jinu, already three bites in, glanced up awkwardly, suddenly aware of their eyes on him. He swallowed quickly, his cheeks puffing slightly like a chipmunk caught mid-snack.

“Uh, thanks for the food—Bobby,” he muttered sheepishly before returning his focus to the plate, shoveling in another mouthful. The girls giggled at his awkwardness, and even Bobby chuckled as he sat down beside Mira, unlatching his apron and folding it neatly on his lap.

“No problem, girls—and guys, I guess,” Bobby said, flashing a grin as he reached for his own plate. “I’m just glad you all like it.”

Zoey, a few bites in, gasped dramatically. “Bobby, this is so good. I need seconds already!” she cried, fanning her face as if overwhelmed by the flavor. Mira, seated beside her, patted her back with an amused smile.

“Aww, thanks, Zoey,” Bobby said, his cheeks tinged pink. He took a bite of his food, humming in satisfaction. “You’re right—it is good,” he added with a self-satisfied nod.

Rumi, still savoring her first bite, pointed her spoon at Bobby. “Honestly, Bobby, you could be a chef if you weren’t our manager.”

Bobby shook his head, laughing. “Come on, girls. I’m happy being your manager. No way I’d trade this for another job.” He crossed his arms in an exaggerated motion of refusal, earning a collective “Awww!” from the trio, their mouths full but their emotions unrestrained.

Across the table, Jinu continued to eat in silence, his focus entirely on his plate. Bobby’s gaze drifted toward him, eyebrow raised. “Jeez, you look hungry. When’s the last time you ate?” he asked lightly, a teasing smile on his lips.

Jinu paused, looking up. “Four hundred years ago.”

A beat of silence followed.

“What?” Bobby blinked, confused.

“He means earlier,” Zoey cut in quickly, her grin strained as she nudged Jinu under the table. At the same time, Rumi stomped on his foot, causing Jinu’s knee to jerk upward and hit the underside of the table with a loud thud . Plates and spoons clattered, and everyone froze for a moment.

Jinu shot Rumi an offended glare, clutching his shin. Mira sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can we not start a scene during dinner?”

Bobby, oblivious to the tension, only laughed. “Well, whatever the case, I don’t mind feeding you guys more often. It’s fun cooking for all of you,” he said, his grin as bright as ever. “Besides, it’s not like the stuff you usually eat is unhealthy, but a homemade meal now and then doesn’t hurt.”

“Aww, Bobby!” the girls cried again, their voices wobbling as if on the verge of tears.

Jinu, meanwhile, shoveled another spoonful into his mouth, pretending not to notice the emotional display. Deep down, though, he felt a flicker of gratitude. Maybe he didn’t contribute much tonight—aside from accidentally letting a centuries-old secret slip—but he could admit, reluctantly, that moments like these made him feel… almost human again.

He stuffed another bite into his mouth, mentally giving himself a high five for surviving the chaos.

JINU FINALLY CAVED AND CHANGED HIS CLOTHES. It wasn’t like he had planned it; there just hadn’t been much time to unpack the clothes the girls had bought for him. But after rummaging through the bag, he managed to find an oversized hoodie, a pair of loose pants, two pairs of shoes, and some fluffy slippers shaped like ducks. He wasted no time throwing on the hoodie and pants, his movements quick and almost mechanical—anything to avoid catching Rumi’s attention.

Unfortunately for him, her radar was as sharp as ever.

“Jinu! You haven’t even taken a bath yet since you got back. Gross!” she declared, scrunching her nose in exaggerated disgust.

“A bath? I don’t need a bath. I’m a demon, Rumi,” Jinu countered, his tone dripping with indifference.

Rumi wasn’t having it. With the precision of someone who had clearly done this before, she shoved a towel, a bathrobe, a bar of soap, and shampoo into his arms and started steering him toward the large bathroom.

“That’s disgusting, dude. Take a bath,” she said firmly, her face set like stone. Before he could argue further, she pushed him inside, slamming the door shut behind him with a decisive click .

Jinu groaned, his shoulders slumping as he stared at the closed door. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath.

Resigned, he moved toward the silver hangers, hanging the towel and robe neatly. His eyes wandered across the bathroom—sleek, modern, and annoyingly pristine. The bathtub sat in the center, gleaming under the light, with a sleek showerhead suspended above it.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the tub.

Alright, fine. It’s not embarrassing to admit this, he thought to himself, but it’s been a while since I’ve had a proper bath.

By “a while,” he meant centuries. Literally. He hadn’t changed out of his black hanbok since the day he became a demon. It wasn’t like demons sweated, and dirt didn’t cling to him the same way it did to humans. Still, he had to admit—this situation was starting to catch up with him.

Instead of using the shower, Jinu opted for the bathtub. He turned the tap on, crouching by the tub as he watched the water rise. He dipped a finger in out of curiosity.

Warm.

That surprised him. He’d half-expected sharp, icy cold water, the way river baths used to be. He vividly remembered those days—how biting the chill had been, how his body had eventually grown used to the freezing temperatures.

He sat there on the floor for a while, humming softly as he watched the water rise higher and higher. When it reached a decent level, Jinu leaned forward to turn off the tap. No need to waste water—especially considering he’d probably spill half of it once he stepped in anyway.

Stripping off his clothes, he left them in a neat pile on the sink. He figured they’d do for after the bath. Slowly, he eased himself into the warm water, shivering slightly as his cold skin adjusted to the heat.

“...Wow,” he murmured, sinking deeper.

Turns out, baths were nice . Really nice. He let out a contented sigh, leaning back against the tub and allowing himself to relax. The warm water enveloped him like a cocoon, soothing muscles he hadn’t even realized were tense.

After a moment, he plunged his head underwater, wetting his hair thoroughly before resurfacing with a satisfied gasp. He grabbed the shampoo, lathering it into his scalp, his nails gently raking through his hair as he worked up a thick foam.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he took his time. He scrubbed his arms, his legs, his torso—every inch of his skin until it practically gleamed. And when he was done, he played with the leftover soap bubbles, blowing them into the air or stacking them in clumsy towers on the water’s surface.

He might’ve stayed there forever if not for the loud knock that shattered his peace.

“Yo, dude! Are you planning to sleep in there or what? I need to use the bathroom!” Mira’s voice called from the other side of the door.

Jinu groaned, sinking back under the water for one last moment of defiance.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pulling the plug to drain the tub. He quickly wiped down the sides to clear away any leftover soap before stepping out. Grabbing the towel, he dried himself off, slipping back into his clothes and giving his hair a quick rub.

When he opened the door, Mira was standing there with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently.

“What took you so long?” she asked, brushing past him to claim the bathroom.

“I was taking a bath,” Jinu replied flatly, watching as the door slammed shut behind her.

He rolled his eyes and made his way back to the living room.

The room was dark, the TV casting a faint glow across the space. Rumi was sprawled on the couch, lazily flipping through channels. She looked up when she spotted him.

“Oh hey, had fun?” she asked, a knowing grin spreading across her face.

Jinu snorted and plopped down on the couch, resting his head against the back.

“Let me guess,” Rumi said, her grin widening. “That was your first bath in, what, 400 years?”

Jinu shrugged, crossing his arms. “Unless getting dipped in lava counts as a bath, sure.”

Rumi winced, sitting up a little straighter. “Seriously?”

“Well, not me, but I’ve seen a few demons get thrown into lava,” he admitted with a grimace, rubbing the back of his neck.

Rumi hummed, swinging one leg over the back of the couch. “A lava bath, huh? Sounds... sick.”

“Not so sick if you’re the one getting burned,” Jinu retorted, flashing her a wicked grin.

Rumi paled slightly, leaning forward. “Wait... Demons can’t handle heat?” she asked, her voice genuinely curious.

“Well, of course not,” Jinu replied nonchalantly, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “If you don’t know by now, that’s how Gwi-Ma usually punishes demons who fail to collect souls. One hundred years in the lava pit before he bothers to pull you out.”

He said it so casually, like he was just commenting on the weather, but the weight of his words hit Rumi like a truck.

“One hundred years?!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief.

Jinu shrugged, his tone still disturbingly indifferent. “Yeah. It’s not that bad for most of us. One hundred years isn’t a lot when you’re immortal.”

Rumi stared at him, her brow furrowing. She’d heard plenty of stories about Gwi-Ma’s cruelty—his unforgiving punishments and volatile nature—but this? This was something else. She couldn’t imagine the torment of spending a century submerged in molten lava.

“Not that bad?” she echoed, her voice soft but incredulous.

Jinu’s false bravado faltered. His shoulders slumped slightly, and for the first time, his eyes darted away from hers. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost like he was trying to convince himself. “One hundred years isn’t a lot... not for someone like me.”

Rumi frowned, watching him carefully. He looked so worn, his usual cocky demeanor chipped away. For all his jokes and snark, there was something deeply hollow about him in that moment.

“One hundred years seems like a lot to me…” she murmured, her voice gentler now.

She reached for the pillow that sat between them and placed it aside, scooting closer to him. Jinu didn’t react at first, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the darkened room.

“Hey,” Rumi began, trying to inject some cheer back into her voice, “since you’re here and we’re still on break, how about we do some stuff you’ve never done before?”

Jinu blinked, finally looking at her. “Stuff I haven’t done?” he repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah. You know, fun things!” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Have you ever been to the human world before… you know, before the whole ‘taking over the world’ thing?”

Jinu exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “Not really. There’s nothing for me to do here. I spent most of my life in hell.”

Rumi’s grin returned, wide and mischievous. “Well, perfect. How about we have some fun then?”

Jinu raised an eyebrow at her, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “Fun?”

“Yeah, fun!” she said enthusiastically.

Jinu made a face, his mouth quirking into a skeptical grin. “You sound like Zoey.”

Before he could say more, Rumi punched him lightly on the shoulder, her grin matching his. “There you go! You’re already fitting in, aren’t you?”

Jinu snorted, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. I don’t need to have fun. I’m 400 years old—”

“Stop right there, old man,” Rumi interrupted, raising a finger at him. “You’re here now, not stuck under there. Why not use it to your advantage and do everything you’ve ever wanted to do?”

Jinu paused, her words hanging in the air. “Everything I want…” he echoed, his voice tinged with weariness.

What did he even want? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about that. For centuries, his life had been dictated by Gwi-Ma’s whims—orders barked out, punishments dealt indiscriminately, and fleeting moments of chaos to break the monotony. Jinu had stopped imagining a life beyond that a long time ago.

And now? Now he wasn’t sure he even knew how to want something.

His jaw tightened slightly as fragmented memories surfaced—of Gwi-Ma’s searing whispers in his ear, of watching fellow demons dragged away in chains, of nights spent staring blankly at the endless darkness of his existence. Maybe his mind had done him a favor by blurring the worst of it, erasing the edges of those memories until they felt distant, unreal.

“Jinu?” Rumi’s voice cut through his thoughts, soft and hesitant.

He glanced at her, shoulders sagging. “I don’t really know,” he admitted finally. “It’s been a long time since I wanted… anything.”

Rumi frowned but didn’t press him further. Instead, she leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms as she hummed thoughtfully. The silence stretched between them for a moment before she suddenly perked up.

“How about fishes?”

Jinu blinked, utterly baffled. “Fishes?”

“Yeah, fishes!” Rumi said, grinning. “You know… an aquarium! We can go look at fishes and stuff.”

Jinu stared at her, his expression deadpan. “And stuff? Rumi, you’re not exactly great at selling this idea.”

Rumi laughed, shoving him lightly. “Shut it, Jinu! I’m trying to help here, you know.”

Jinu couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of him unexpectedly. It felt strange—but good. He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, still chuckling. “Fine. An aquarium it is. But if I don’t like it, I’m going home.”

“Trust me, you’ll like it,” Rumi said confidently. “I know one, let’s go there tomorrow. Just me and you,”

“Right away?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“Blegh. Fine,” Jinu said with exaggerated reluctance, though the small smile on his face betrayed his amusement.

“Perfect! Tomorrow it is,” Rumi declared, her grin practically lighting up the room.

Jinu leaned back against the couch, feeling an odd sense of warmth settle in his chest.

THERE WERE SO MANY CLOTHES . A mountain of them—hoodies, jackets, shirts, and pants—piled on the bed, each one screaming a different style. The girls had gone all out shopping for him, and now Jinu was overwhelmed. What was he supposed to wear to the aquarium date? No, not a date. Definitely not a date.

Jinu corrected himself sharply, his inner voice laced with frustration. This wasn’t a date. It was just… Rumi’s idea of fun. Her way of helping him enjoy life. That’s all. She was just being the good friend she always was.

And just like that, his mood plummeted.

He had been smiling moments ago, excited by the thought of spending a day with Rumi. But now, that excitement soured into bitterness. She was doing this out of the kindness of her heart, wasn’t she? If it weren’t him, if it were someone else, she’d still do the same thing.

Friend. Friend.

The word clawed at him, gnawed at his thoughts. Was he really okay with being just friends? Could he accept that? His chest felt heavier with every second he lingered on the thought.

He remembered the rooftop. That night.

The stars had been scattered across the sky, the moon a spotlight just for them. They had sung together—his voice raw and vulnerable, hers free and full of life. Their voices had blended like they were made to harmonize. It was a moment that had felt more than friendship. And yet… “just friends”? Seriously?

A knock at the door startled him, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Ello, swordy boy,” Zoey’s voice sang as her head peeked into the room. She grinned, her usual confident smirk plastered across her face.

“Not my name,” Jinu muttered, throwing another hoodie onto the bed. The pile was growing dangerously close to toppling over.

Zoey stepped into the room without hesitation, making her way to the vanity table. She flicked on the lights and began sorting through the mess of makeup scattered across the surface. Likely Derpy’s doing. The tiger had a habit of knocking things over in its relentless pursuit of sticking to Jinu.

“Hey, do you mind? I’m trying to change here,” Jinu said, exasperated.

Zoey glanced at him through the mirror, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “I think you need some help.”

“With what?” Jinu asked, already regretting it.

“Fashion,” Zoey replied with a smirk, crossing her arms.

Jinu frowned. “I have a fashion sense, you know. I’ve studied this modern era. I can handle this.” He gestured vaguely at the heap of clothes.

Zoey’s smirk widened. “Sure, you’ve got a fashion sense. But you don’t have a style, do you? Back then, you had that whole ‘fuckboy’ vibe going on. But now? Yeah, that doesn’t fit you anymore.”

“I—what?” Jinu’s voice cracked, his confusion evident.

Zoey chuckled and walked over to the wardrobe, where her once-organized collection of clothes had been replaced by Jinu’s new haul. She rifled through the options with practiced ease.

“You’re trying to impress Rumi, right?” she said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Jinu froze. His brain short-circuited. The ripped jeans in his hands slipped to the floor.

“Impress her? Uh—no! No, I’m not!” he stammered, his face flushing deep red. “I’m just, uh… trying to, you know… blend in. With human style. That’s all. Why would you even say I’m trying to impress her?”

Zoey didn’t even look at him. She was too busy pulling out a pair of soft brown slacks, a crisp white dress shirt, and a pastel yellow sweater. “Okay, Jinu, whatever you say,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

She turned and handed him the clothes with a knowing look. “Just wear this. Go for the soft boy look. Trust me, it’ll work. Rumi likes guys who aren’t afraid to show their softer side.” Zoey shot him finger guns and winked as she sauntered out of the room.

Jinu stared at the clothes in his hands, his mind spinning. How did Zoey know? Did she really know?

A squawk pulled his attention to the magpie perched on top of the closet. The bird’s beady eyes seemed to judge him. Jinu swore it was calling him an idiot again.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m in over my head,” he muttered.

The magpie squawked again.

Jinu sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

With one last glance at the pastel sweater in his hands, he resigned himself to Zoey’s advice.

Later, he stepped out of his room, feeling oddly out of place in the outfit he had chosen. It was hard to admit, but he had grown used to the other style—the one he had worn for years. That look had been a major selling point for the fans: a boy band with pretty faces and perfectly sculpted bodies that they flaunted without hesitation. It was part of why the Saja Boys had skyrocketed to fame so quickly, becoming a sensation almost overnight.

In the living room, Rumi was sprawled on the couch, dressed casually in a black hoodie, ripped jeans, and a tennis cap. She looked effortlessly put together, the kind of look that screamed “I didn’t try, but I nailed it anyway.”

“Seriously?” Jinu’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the cap perched on her head.

“What?” Rumi grinned, completely unbothered. “It’s enough cover, but not too much, ya know?” She winked, her playful smirk daring him to say more.

Jinu rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. Did he seriously overdress? Compared to Rumi’s laid-back outfit, he felt like he was headed to a red carpet event. She looked like she was dressed for a casual jog, not a trip to the aquarium.

“You look good,” Rumi said suddenly, tilting her head and studying him. There was no teasing in her voice, just sincerity.

Jinu huffed, brushing off her compliment. “Should’ve just worn pajamas then,” he grumbled, earning a sharp elbow to his ribs.

“Hey, come on,” Rumi said, her tone light but reassuring. “I don’t want your fun ruined just because people might notice me. Let’s go—it’s a short walk to the aquarium. Let’s just hope there aren’t too many people there.” She grinned, optimism radiating from her as she opened the door.

Jinu nodded but didn’t reply. He followed her out, still feeling a little self-conscious.

Unfortunately, Rumi’s optimism jinxed them. The aquarium was packed. Families, couples, and groups of friends swarmed the entrance, taking pictures and chatting loudly. The crowd was a sea of motion under the dim, glowing lights of the exhibits.

“This is what you call ‘not too many people’?” Jinu muttered as they stepped inside.

Rumi just grinned, unfazed. “Hey, we can’t always have the world to ourselves. Besides, I kinda like it—look, a turtle!” She grabbed his arm and pointed excitedly at a tank where a large turtle swam lazily in front of the glass.

The turtle paused for a moment, its eyes locking with Rumi’s in an almost eerie way before it swam off.

Jinu let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “That’s a really big turtle,” he mumbled, trying to downplay the moment.

Rumi laughed, her voice bright and infectious. “Are you seriously scared of turtles?”

“I’m not scared!” he shot back, but his eyes stayed fixed on the turtle as it swam overhead, briefly blocking the light from above.

Rumi giggled, grabbing his hand and pulling him further into the tunnel walkway. Her hand was warm against his cold fingers, and he flushed at the unexpected contact. She didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she just didn’t care. She chatted animatedly about the fish swimming around them, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the aquarium as Jinu listened silently.

When they reached the Jellyfish Gallery, the crowd had dispersed. Most people had gone to the dolphin show, leaving the two of them alone in the softly glowing room. The jellyfish drifted lazily in their tanks, their translucent bodies pulsing with light as they shifted between blue, pink, and purple hues.

“Look, they’re changing colors,” Jinu said, his voice tinged with surprise. He stepped closer to the tank, his eyes following the jellyfish as if they were casting a spell.

“They are,” Rumi said softly, watching him instead of the jellyfish. A small smile tugged at her lips as she clasped her hands behind her back. Jinu’s face was unguarded, his usual cool demeanor replaced by genuine awe. The glow of the tank reflected in his eyes, making them shine with childlike wonder.

Rumi stepped closer, standing beside him as he finally took a step back. “What do you think?” she asked.

“It’s nice,” he said simply, but she gave him a look that told him she wasn’t buying it.

“Okay, I like it,” he admitted, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

Rumi snorted, bending slightly as she laughed. “That’s good, then. It’s nice to see you happy. I think you deserve it, after… well, 400 years of hell. I can’t even imagine it.”

Jinu’s expression darkened slightly, and he looked away. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? You went through your own kind of hell too.”

Rumi’s smile softened. “Yes, but I came to accept it. Mira, Zoey… they accepted me for who I am. And you—if it weren’t for you, I would’ve never become this.” She gestured to herself, her voice steady but filled with meaning.

Jinu’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You do know it was me who told those demons to turn into Mira and Zoey, right? I’m the reason you were forced to reveal yourself.”

Rumi was quiet for a moment, her gaze steady. “Yeah, I know,” she whispered. “You did all of those,”

Jinu’s shoulders slumped, and he stared down at the floor, guilt weighing heavy on his features.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Rumi said gently, placing a hand on his. “I needed that push. I needed to fall to understand what it was like to be there—to be hopeless. It was a test of strength. I was angry, yes, but if it hadn’t happened, I might’ve kept hiding forever.”

Her hand rested over his, warm and steady. Jinu didn’t pull away. He looked up at her, his expression unreadable, as Rumi gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

She smiled, her eyes filled with something he couldn’t quite name. Trust? Forgiveness? 

Slowly, Jinu turned back to Rumi, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “I don’t understand how you can’t just… hate me…” he muttered, his voice barely more than a breath. He truly didn’t. Rumi was an enigma—what should have been hatred had somehow become understanding, even care.

Rumi tilted her head, her expression softening. “What is there to hate for?” she replied, her tone calm, almost playful. 

There was something on her wrist—a strange band of fabric, or perhaps a bracelet—peeking out from beneath her sleeve. Jinu’s gaze lingered on it. Noticing, Rumi followed his eyes, then pushed her sleeve higher. Demon marks, painted in subtle lines across her skin, shimmered faintly. And there, dangling beside them, was a familiar Norigae bracelet.

“You kept it?” Jinu’s eyes widened, voice trembling as he reached out, almost unconsciously, to touch the little charm.

Rumi grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Of course I did. When you disappeared, Derpy found me. The bracelet was hanging from his teeth, It was as if he knew,” she explained, her laughter a gentle chime in the quiet. Jinu turned the bracelet gently around her wrist, his fingertips tracing her demon marks. Under his touch, the marks began to glow—a soft, pulsating blue and pink, as if responding to him alone.

“Woah, that never happened before,” Rumi breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. Jinu’s hand lingered, sliding up her forearm, watching the color ripple and pulse beneath his fingers. The marks seemed alive, like a heartbeat, echoing his own. Warmth unfurled deep within his chest—a warmth he hadn’t felt in so long, as if the world, for once, was letting him belong. For a moment, the shadows of Gwi-Ma vanished; he was no longer anyone’s possession.

He was Rumi’s.

“Jinu?” Rumi’s voice was small, a pink blush dusting her cheeks. Jinu startled, realizing he’d been touching her without asking, lost in the moment.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, his face going red.

Rumi just laughed, brushing his apology away with a wave of her hand. “It’s fine,” she said, slipping her fingers around his elbow. With an easy strength, she pulled him closer, spinning them both in a slow circle. “When you touched my mark, it felt like I was whole,” she confided, her voice shimmering with sincerity. Around them, the jellyfish tank glowed, the colors shifting from vibrant pink to deep, soothing blue, mirroring the mood between them.

Jinu made a confused, half-protesting sound as Rumi spun him again, her hair fanning out behind her like a comet’s tail. “Dude, have some fun. Stop being so serious!” she teased, laughter bubbling from her lips. Jinu snorted despite himself, letting her lead. The jellyfish, as if sensing the joy in the air, spun and danced behind the glass, their tendrils trailing like ribbons on the current.

They moved together, first in the slow, uncertain steps of a waltz, then as Rumi began to hum a tune—a melody so familiar it made Jinu’s breath catch. He blinked in surprise. “You remember that song?”

Rumi rolled her eyes, still grinning. “Are you serious? That was a turning point in my life.”

And then she sang, her voice soft but sure.

“We could be free, free…”

Jinu felt his cheeks flush, eyes dropping to the glowing marks on her arm. The memory of singing to Gwi-Ma flashed before him, but this was different—his voice belonged to him now.

“It’s easy when I’m with you,” he sang quietly, voice rough, a little croaky from disuse. “No one sees me the way you do…” It wasn’t the smooth, controlled voice Gwi-Ma had forced on him, but something real, something his. Something for Rumi.

Rumi’s smile lit up her face, her eyes reflecting the swirling colors of the jellyfish tank. “I can finally hear your real voice,” she said, giggling softly, almost in awe. Jinu laughed, awkward and self-conscious.

“It’s bad, I know,” he mumbled, glancing away.

But Rumi grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “No, it wasn’t. It’s perfect,” she whispered. “You told me not to hide… Maybe you shouldn’t, either.”

No more hiding. The words echoed in Jinu’s mind. He stared into Rumi’s eyes, heart fluttering, pulse hammering. No more hiding… He leaned in, just a fraction, drawn to her as if by gravity. Rumi blinked, tilting her head in confusion, her lips parting in surprise.

I could kiss her, tell her I like her … Jinu thought.

No—like wasn’t enough. Love, like— he wanted something deeper . She was a god, and he, a mere peasant. She deserved worship; he would be her believer. Her only believer.

Suddenly, a shout broke through the moment:

“Daddy! Look, Je—Fish!”

“It’s jellyfish, honey.”

“Je-Fish!”

Jinu jerked back, the spell broken. Rumi let his hand slip from hers as a family entered the gallery, two small children pressing their faces to the glass in awe. Jinu’s breath came shaky, his hands trembling with adrenaline.

Rumi looked at him, eyes crinkling with mischief. “Wanna bounce?”

Jinu just stared, then managed a small, genuine smile.

“Okay,” he said.

He tries to push down the disappointment.

Chapter Text

SO TAKE MY HAND, IT’S OPEN… Jinu’s eyes fluttered open, Rumi’s voice lingering in the air like a soothing balm over a bruise. Her soft singing seemed to wrap around him, gentle and reassuring, but as his consciousness sharpened, the melody faded, leaving only the faint hum of the morning. Above him, the ceiling greeted his gaze—plain, unmoving, and strangely comforting. He could hear the cacophony of cars below, their engines blending into a dull roar that sounded like a building traffic jam. The city was alive, restless as ever.

Blinking sluggishly, he turned to his side, and the morning sunlight pooled across his face and body. The golden rays warmed his skin, forcing him to squint and blink several times before he sat up with a low groan. His limbs felt heavy, lethargy clinging to him like a second skin.

Last night came back to him in fragmented flashes. He’d fallen asleep the moment he and Rumi returned home. After their trip to the aquarium—the two of them had wandered into the night market. Rumi, ever the enabler of his newfound indulgences, had bought him every enticing snack he so much as glanced at. 

It was a sensory overload, a feast for his tongue and soul alike. For him, it was as if his taste buds had been introduced to heaven. Sweet, savory, tangy—each bite was an explosion of flavor he hadn’t known he craved. No wonder he’d crashed the moment they got back. Full, exhausted, and surprisingly content, he’d barely made it to bed before sleep claimed him.

He stretched, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. As his feet hit the floor, they landed on something warm and furry. Startled, he glanced down to see Derpy, the enormous blue tiger, sprawled lazily at his bedside. The tiger raised his head, golden eyes half-lidded, and let out a soft purr.

“Hey, since when did you sneak in here?” Jinu murmured, his voice still rough and low from sleep. He reached down, rubbing the tiger’s head affectionately. Derpy responded by leaning into the touch, his purring deepening into a contented rumble. “I thought Rumi was your favorite,” Jinu teased, scratching under Derpy’s chin. The tiger tilted his head in bliss, a sound like a growling engine vibrating from his massive chest.

Jinu chuckled, stepping carefully over the lounging feline. For a moment, he stared down at himself and groaned. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes—the same ones he’d wandered the night market in—and, to his dismay, even his shoes. “Seriously?” he muttered, shaking his head. It seemed his body had taken such a liking to sleep that it couldn’t bother with details like undressing.

The bed he’d collapsed into was soft—softer than anything he’d ever known. It was a far cry from the jagged rocks of hell, where he’d spent what felt like an eternity. The thought made him pause. Demons don’t sleep , he’d once believed. But maybe they didn’t sleep because they lacked the comfort to do so. Hell wasn’t exactly a place designed for rest. It was dark, sweltering, and reeked of burnt flesh and sulfur. That stench clung to everything—skin, hair, clothes—an unrelenting reminder of suffering.

At first, it had been unbearable. The oppressive heat, the acrid smell—it stung his eyes and burned his throat. He could barely function, let alone think. But Jinu had learned to endure. He’d had no choice. Hell was teeming with demons—many of them far more monstrous than he could ever hope to be. Unlike him, they were born from the darkness, creatures forged in its depths with instincts to match. They thrived in the chaos, while Jinu had been forced to claw his way through it. It was a language he tried to understand, and he did.

He’d learned to harden himself. To survive, he’d had to bury his humanity under layers of callousness. It was his own fault he’d ended up there, after all. He’d let Gwi-Ma take him, and in doing so, he’d sealed his fate. Hell wasn’t just a punishment for his sins; it was just like a reflection of the grave he’d dug for himself.

“Good morning. You’re up late,” Zoey said, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. Her hair was loose, sticking out in different directions like she’d tumbled out of bed moments before. Jinu found her perched at the counter, cradling a mug between her hands, steam curling from its contents. She looked like she had only just woken up too. He gave her an unamused look, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes as he turned away and yawned, his shoulders slumping with fatigue.

Behind him, soft, padded footsteps echoed across the floor. He glanced back to see Derpy, the tiger, trailing at his heels like an oversized shadow, his tufted tail swishing rhythmically.

“Deeeerpy!” Zoey cooed, stretching out a hand toward the tiger. Derpy leaned his massive head into her palm, nuzzling against her fingers with a low, satisfied rumble before padding after Jinu, his self-appointed charge. Jinu shuffled toward the sink, filled a glass with water, and downed it in one go, sighing at the simple but oddly refreshing relief. Who knew water could taste this good? He thought, setting the glass down to refill it. Maybe he’d been underestimating it all his life.

“How did the date go?” Zoey asked suddenly, her grin widening as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “You guys came home really late. I’m curious.”

Jinu paused mid-sip, his brow twitching. “For the last time, it wasn’t a date,” he said with a sigh, setting the glass down. Zoey let out a giggle, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

“Stop denying it~” she teased, drawing out the last word like a song. “You and Rumi went to the aquarium gallery. Of course it’s a date. Did you two at least kiss?”

Jinu froze, his eyes snapping to hers, his face heating up as a wave of embarrassment and shame rushed through him. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hide the reaction. He almost had kissed Rumi—he’d been so close. But thank god he’d stopped himself. If he hadn’t, who knew what she would’ve done? Send him back to hell? Stab him in the gut? Honestly, he wouldn’t put it past her.

“I would never do that,” he muttered, the words coming out more defensive than he intended. He turned away, pretending to focus on refilling his glass. “She might punch me or something.”

Zoey’s laughter bubbled up again, light and carefree. Her grin was mischievous, a little too knowing. “Stop being so dramatic,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re such a pessimist. Is this what demons are like? Sad? Melancholic? Depressed?” It was a tease, but there was a sharpness to her tone that made Jinu pause.

A dry, hollow laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” he said, his voice low and bitter.

The shift in his tone made Zoey falter. Her smile faded, and for a moment, the playful air between them turned heavy. She bit her lip, glancing down at her mug. “I… sorry. That was out of line,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t tease you so much. I don’t really know you that well.”

Jinu winced at her words, guilt prickling at him. “No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s on me. I shouldn’t have said that. You were just joking.” He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “But… yeah. You’re not wrong about demons. They’re all sad. Melancholic. Depressed. You hit the nail on the head.”

Zoey looked up at him, her expression softening. She gave him a small, almost timid smile. “Still, I’m sorry,” she said. She slid off the counter, setting her mug down with a soft clink. The room fell quiet, save for the faint, rhythmic chuffing noises from Derpy, who had sprawled out on the floor, his tail lazily thumping against the tiles.

Jinu rubbed the back of his neck, searching for something to break the awkward silence. “Uh… where’s Rumi?” he asked, his voice coming out more hesitant than he intended.

Zoey’s expression brightened again, the tension melting away. “Oh, her and Mira went out with Bobby today,” she said.

Jinu nodded, unsure how to respond. He wanted to ask what they were doing, but something about the way Zoey looked at him made him think they weren’t quite on the level of small talk yet. “Right,” he said instead. “Okay. Well… I’ll just be in my—uh, your room now.” He turned to leave, but Zoey’s hand shot out, grabbing his elbow.

“Wait,” she said, her tone light and playful again. “How about we hang out? I should get to know Rumi’s…” She paused, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Close friend.”

Jinu flushed, his ears burning as he avoided her gaze. “Get to know each other?” he echoed, narrowing his eyes at her.

Zoey grinned, sliding beside him and nudging him with her elbow. “Yeah! I mean, we both wake up late. Come on, my late-waker buddy.”

Jinu took a step back, regarding her warily. Out of all the hunters, Zoey was… eccentric, to say the least. He wasn’t entirely sure if he should accept her invitation. But then again, it wasn’t like he could say no. Not when he was living under her roof, sleeping in her room, and essentially indebted to all three of them. If any of the girls asked him to do something, he didn’t really have the luxury of refusing.

“Hey buddy, no pressure or anything,” Zoey said with a shrug, stepping back with her usual carefree grin. Jinu shot her a small glare. No pressure? That sounded like pressure.

“Whatever,” he muttered, shrugging in defeat. “Sure, I guess.”

Zoey’s eyes lit up as she pumped her fist in the air, a victorious gesture that made Jinu instantly regret his decision. “Hell yeah! A day with a demon! Celine is totally gonna go crazy when she hears about this.”

The name caught Jinu’s attention. He straightened slightly, his brows furrowing. “Celine?” he asked, his tone curious.

Zoey, now preoccupied with rinsing out her mug, barely glanced at him. “What?” she said absentmindedly, her hands moving efficiently as she cleaned. Derpy purred from where he stood beside her, rubbing his massive head against her thigh.

“I mean,” Jinu clarified, crossing his arms, “who’s Celine?”

“Oh!” Zoey exclaimed, as if realizing something obvious. She grabbed a towel and began to dry her mug, her voice bright.

“Well, she was the last hunter before us. And, uh… she’s basically the one who raised Rumi after her mom, ya know…” Zoey paused, making a quick slashing motion across her neck with her hand, her tone turning slightly awkward.

Jinu blinked, startled by the casual delivery. All this time, he hadn’t known much about Rumi’s past—not that he’d ever bothered to ask. But now, hearing this, he felt a strange pang of curiosity… and something else, something heavier. He wondered if this Celine person knew about Rumi being half-demon.

“Does she—” he started, but his voice trailed off.

“Oh yeah, totally,” Zoey said before he could finish, her tone shifting to one of mild exasperation. “That’s why Rumi’s got this weird complex about hiding her demon marks. Celine made her do it.” Zoey sighed, shaking her head as if the memory annoyed her.

Jinu’s lips pressed into a thin line. So someone had told Rumi to hide—to be ashamed of who she was. Who she truly was. He wasn’t sure if he should feel angry at Celine or simply resigned. She was a hunter, after all. Killing demons was their purpose. But still… to treat Rumi like something to hide? That was cruel in a way that struck a nerve.

Zoey seemed to notice his change in expression. “You shouldn’t worry about it too much,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “Her and Rumi… well, their relationship was already rocky before any of that stuff came up. They used to talk a lot back then—mostly Celine checking in on us—but lately, she hasn’t been around much. Rumi and her still talk sometimes, but you know…” Zoey trailed off with a shrug, wincing faintly.

“Ah,” Jinu murmured, his voice low. “I see… it must be hard for her.”

Zoey glanced at him over her shoulder as she skipped toward Mira’s room, her usual energy returning. “Oh, pshh! Rumi’s a strong girl. If anything, she’s way stronger now than she’s ever been.” She spun around to face him, walking backward with a smirk. “Anyway, go get ready! No need to dress all fancy—save that for Rumicakes.” She winked at him before disappearing into the room, shutting the door in his face with a dramatic flair.

Jinu stared at the closed door for a long moment, his thoughts swirling. Slowly, he turned and looked down at the floor, his mind heavy with reflection.

There was so much he didn’t know about Rumi—so much he hadn’t bothered to learn. And now that he was here, now that he had made the decision to stay by her side… he wanted to know more. To understand her. To be closer. Maybe it was for the best that he hadn’t kissed her. It only proved one thing: his love, his devotion, was incomplete. How could he truly worship her when he didn’t even know the full story of who she was?

A gentle nudge against his hand startled him out of his thoughts. He flinched, looking down to see Derpy staring up at him with wide, imploring eyes. The tiger let out a soft whine, his tail swishing behind him like a dog’s.

“What’s wrong?” Jinu asked, his voice softening. He reached down to rub behind Derpy’s ears, his fingers sinking into the tiger’s thick fur. Derpy purred loudly, leaning into the touch, his tail wagging with even more enthusiasm.

Jinu couldn’t help but smile. “Alright, alright,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll go get ready.”

As he headed toward the bathroom, he took a deep breath, steeling himself. He wasn’t sure what Zoey had planned for the day, but he had a feeling it was going to be… something. He’d need to prepare himself, mentally and emotionally.

JINU DIDN’T MIND LISTENING TO ZOEY TALK.

At first, anyway.

He wasn’t surprised that Zoey was the type of person who could talk endlessly, filling every pause with her voice, leaving no room for him to reply most of the time. Right now, the two of them were walking side by side along the street. Zoey, dressed in her own version of incognito mode—a hoodie pulled low over her face and sunglasses perched on her nose—looked casual but conspicuous in her efforts not to be noticed. It would, after all, be a scandal if Zoey, a member of HUNTR/X, was spotted strolling through town with a man.

Especially someone like Jinu.

“So, what do you think?” Zoey asked, turning to him with expectant eyes.

Jinu blinked, realizing he had tuned her out somewhere between her recounting of idol group drama and an anecdote about her cat. He had started focusing on the scenery instead—storefronts, passing cars, and the faint hum of city life. Zoey’s voice had become background noise, like a radio turned too low to hear.

“What do I think?” he echoed, stalling.

Her pout deepened, and her sunglasses slid down her nose slightly, revealing narrowed eyes. “You weren’t listening, were you?” she accused.

Jinu snickered, rolling his eyes in response. “What gave it away?”

Zoey shook his shoulder, her small hands shaking him with surprising determination. “Dude! How dare you! And here I thought you were better than Mira!”

Jinu let out an awkward laugh, raising his hands defensively. “In my defense, you’ve been word-vomiting every random thought in your head. I think you were talking about some other idol group earlier? Or something?”

“That was before ! I’m talking about something important now!” she huffed, glaring at him.

“Alright, alright,” he said, shrugging with a grin. “Tell me again, I guess.”

But instead of indulging him, Zoey shoved his shoulder in mock frustration. The force barely moved him, but the gesture made her point. “No way! You’re just gonna zone out again. Jeez, you’re just like Mira.”

Zoey’s pout deepened as they continued walking, her mood not lifting even when they reached the park. “What are we doing here?” Jinu asked, stepping onto the grass. The ground beneath his shoes was soft, the air crisp and fresh. Around them, people laughed, children darted about with colorful kites, and couples spread picnic blankets on the ground.

The hum of life was vibrant here, almost overwhelming.

“To touch grass, of course,” Zoey said, crossing her arms with a smug grin.

“To… touch grass?” Jinu repeated, his brow furrowing. “Is this one of your generational memes again?”

Zoey stared at him, wide-eyed, before bursting into laughter. She doubled over, clutching her sides, her laughter ringing out like a bell. Jinu watched her, utterly perplexed, his confusion only making her laugh harder.

“No, no,” she managed between gasps. “I swear this is serious—therapy for you.”

“Therapy?” Jinu’s voice dropped into a growl, embarrassment prickling at his skin. “Zoey, I don’t need therapy.”

“Hey,” she said, still grinning, “I bet hell doesn’t have grass. You should at least try rolling around in it. Who knows? You might enjoy it.”

Jinu shot her a glare that could have frozen the sun. “Whatever, Zoey. I’m leaving.”

He stomped off, but Zoey’s laughter followed him like a shadow. She jogged to catch up, her voice bright and teasing. “Come on, Jinu! The park is beautiful. Can’t you appreciate beauty for once?”

“I’d rather not,” he muttered, his tone half-hearted. He regretted following Zoey out here—he could have spent the entire day in bed, sleeping. That would have been far more productive.

“Hey, no hard feelings,” Zoey said, her teasing tone softening. She fell into step beside him, her arms swinging freely. “I just want you to appreciate the human world. You’re going to be staying here for a long time, you know?”

Jinu sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You’re right.” He paused, glancing around. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s find a spot to sit and… watch people like creeps.”

Zoey’s eyes lit up, her grin returning. “That’s the spirit!”

They found a spot under an old tree with sprawling branches. Jinu leaned back against the trunk, crossing his legs beneath him, while Zoey settled beside him. The park buzzed with life: families laughing, children chasing one another, couples sitting close on picnic blankets. The breeze carried the scent of grass and flowers, and for a moment, Jinu almost— almost —relaxed.

Zoey hummed softly beside him, a tune he vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. For once, she wasn’t talking. She just sat there, watching the world with a small, contented smile.

Jinu’s mind wandered. He still struggled to navigate this modern world. Phones, laptops, televisions—he understood their existence but hadn’t quite mastered using them. He could, of course. He was a fast learner. Two days, maybe three, and he’d have it all figured out. If he didn’t get distracted, that is.

“So,” Zoey said suddenly, breaking the silence. “How’s the human world treating you? You know, without all the apocalyptic stuff.”

Jinu turned to her, unimpressed. “Really?”

Zoey grinned, unrepentant. “I’m serious! You’ve been here for a while now. What do you think?”

He sighed, leaning his head back against the tree. “It’s… okay.”

Zoey nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, put some effort into it.”

Jinu shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. Why did he even agree to come out here?

Oh right. Because he owed them.

“Fine,” he said, closing his eyes. “It’s fine . Happy?”

Zoey laughed, leaning back beside him. “That’s good enough for now.” 

Jinu finally sat up straighter, his back protesting slightly. “It’s better than hell, there. Are you happy?” he asked, his tone clipped but not unkind.

Zoey grinned, a flash of teeth before she nodded. “Very,” she replied simply, before looking away again. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, not really, but it was unexpected. Jinu had expected her to chatter on about nonsensical things—topics he didn’t understand, or memes he never bothered to learn. But instead, she was quiet, as if she too was savoring the peace they rarely got.

After a long pause, Zoey broke the silence. Her voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “You know, Rumi was the one who told me to bring you out here,” she said, her words barely louder than the rustling leaves around them.

Jinu blinked, surprised. He turned to her, eyebrows raised, but Zoey didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, a soft grin tugging at her lips.

“It wasn’t my idea, actually,” she continued, her tone casual but her eyes distant. “In fact, I didn’t even want to come outside with you alone. I thought... I don’t know, something weird might happen. Like you’d finally show your true colors or... I don’t know, attack me or something, since no one else was around.”

Jinu winced, her words hitting harder than he expected. His shoulders stiffened, and he looked away. No way he’d ever do that. Not that any of the girls knew, but he’d rather bite his own foot off than risk angering any of them—especially if it meant being taken away from Rumi.

“I hope I didn’t disappoint,” Jinu replied dryly, his voice flat.

Zoey turned to him with a bright grin. “You know? You’re just like Mira. You guys would definitely be cool together.”

Jinu snorted, looking away to hide the faint flush on his face. “No thanks. She’d probably slash my head off with her Gok-Do.”

Zoey burst out laughing, her voice ringing through the quiet park as she threw her head back. “No way! Rumi would be sad, and Mira hates it when Rumi’s sad. Use that to your advantage, demon boy!”

Jinu rolled his eyes but found himself smiling despite himself. “Not my name,” he muttered, though his tone had softened.

He didn’t want to admit the strange warmth blooming in his chest. Zoey had a way of reminding him of his sister—playful, unrelenting, and oddly comforting. But he didn’t want to compare them; they were different people, after all. Still, the thought lingered as they fell into an easy silence again.

Later, as they walked back into town, Jinu’s arms were burdened with an increasing number of shopping bags. Zoey darted in and out of shops like a child, enchanted by every glittering object, snack, or trinket she spotted.

“Did you really just bring me along to carry your stuff?” Jinu asked, sighing as he shifted the weight of the bags.

Zoey spun around, skipping a step as she grinned at him. “Of course not! But since you’ve got a strong body, might as well put it to use, right?”

Jinu rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. It wasn’t like he hated it. At least he had something to do.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a small clinic tucked between two larger shops. Jinu squinted at the sign hanging above the door, frowning. Something about this place felt familiar. His heart skipped a beat as he realized—this was the place where he’d first met Rumi. He could still vividly remember how she’d fallen, expecting him to help her up. He’d been too stunned at the time, but now... now, he wouldn’t think twice.

“What are we doing here? Are you sick?” Jinu asked, his brow furrowing as he glanced at Zoey.

She turned to him with a sheepish grin. “Nope. Just need some stuff for my voice. Ehe~,” she said, winking dramatically.

Jinu raised a brow but followed her inside. The clinic was small and quiet, the air thick with the faint smell of disinfectant. The walls were lined with framed pictures of smiling people posing with a man in a white coat—the doctor, Jinu assumed.

Zoey plopped down on one of the chairs and patted the spot next to her. “Sit,” she whispered, her tone almost conspiratorial.

Jinu sat down but gave her a suspicious look. “What are we doing here?” he asked again.

Zoey blushed, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “Look, don’t tell Mira or Rumi, okay? But I wanted to buy one of his tonics for my voice,” she admitted, pouting slightly.

Jinu stared at her, confused. “Your voice? What’s wrong with it? I think it’s fine,” he said slowly, unsure of how to respond.

“Ugh, that’s what they all say!” Zoey groaned, throwing her hands up in frustration. “But I want to prepare my voice for our comeback!” Her determination was palpable as she clenched her fists dramatically.

Jinu leaned back in his chair, letting out a small “okay” under his breath.

As Zoey rocked excitedly in her seat, Jinu’s gaze wandered around the clinic. He found himself narrowing his eyes at the doctor in the pictures. Something about this place felt... off. Scammy, even. He couldn’t prove it, of course, but his instincts were rarely wrong.

He glanced at Zoey, who was practically bouncing with excitement, and sighed. She noticed his expression and laughed.

“What?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Nothing,” Jinu muttered, leaning back in his chair.

Quickly, Zoey snatched a magazine from the side table and thrust it into Jinu’s hands. “Stop fidgeting and just read this. He’ll be here soon,” she said, her tone sharp but laced with nervous anticipation.

Jinu accepted the magazine with a sigh, flipping it open to a random page. His eyes skimmed over the glossy contents without interest. “Do you come here often?” he asked, his tone flat. He wasn’t particularly curious; he just wanted to gauge how deep Zoey was into whatever scam this so-called doctor was running.

“Oh, me? Yeah," Zoey replied, her voice taking on a defensive edge. "I think it’s working. I mean, I can’t belt high notes like Rumi, but recently I’ve been practicing.” She cleared her throat and let out a piercing high-pitched note that made Jinu recoil, his shoulders jerking up as if bracing for impact.

The sound was so sharp it felt like it might shatter the glass door—if not for the timely entrance of a man in a white coat with large, circular glasses perched on his nose.

“Dr. Han! Hello!” Zoey nearly bolted from her seat, her excitement palpable. She extended her hand eagerly, and the man—Dr. Han—shook it with a smile so slick it practically screamed scammer .

Jinu shrank behind his magazine, narrowing his eyes as he watched the exchange.

“Ms. Zoey, I’m glad to see you again,” Dr. Han greeted her warmly, his voice smooth and professional. “Is your voice still troubling you?”

Zoey hesitated as she returned to her seat, her hand reaching up to rub the back of her neck. “Well… I’m just thinking it’s not enough, you know? I’ve already used most of the tonics you gave me last week, and I was wondering if I could get more?” She grinned sheepishly, her tone almost apologetic.

Jinu’s brow arched sharply. He didn’t mean to speak, but the words spilled out before he could stop himself. “Zoey, are you sure about this?”

She froze, her grin faltering, while Dr. Han’s smile widened ever so slightly, the victorious glint in his eye unmistakable.

Jinu continued, his voice dripping with disdain. “Not that I care, but watching you get scammed like this is just… painful. A tonic to fix your voice? Seriously? You might as well pray to Gwi-Ma if you want miracles to happen faster.”

Zoey shot him a glare, but his words lingered. Her voice wasn’t even bad to begin with. Jinu had heard her sing before; her vocals were strong and clear. What could possibly make her so desperate for improvement?

Dr. Han turned his attention to Jinu, his expression curious, as if he’d only just noticed the young man’s presence. Adjusting his glasses, he raised a brow in polite interest.

“And who might this be?” Dr. Han asked, his tone light and conversational.

Zoey forced a laugh, her hand shooting out to pat Jinu’s arm in an attempt to diffuse the tension. “Oh, that’s my cousin—he’s visiting from America,” she said hurriedly. “He’s not used to… well, places like this. Don’t mind him.”

Jinu lowered his magazine just enough to glare at the doctor, his eyes narrowing into slits. Dr. Han smiled politely but took a cautious step closer.

“Ah, your cousin? It’s an honor to meet you, Mr…?” Dr. Han extended a hand toward Jinu, who made no move to reciprocate.

“Not interested,” Jinu said bluntly, his tone cold. “Especially if you’re going to try to scam me too.”

Dr. Han blinked, his composure momentarily shaken. Zoey’s face turned bright red as she scrambled to intervene, laughing nervously. “He didn’t mean that!” she exclaimed, her hand darting out to shove Jinu’s face back behind the magazine. “He’s just… skeptical! Don’t mind him, Dr. Han!”

Jinu pushed her hand away, annoyed, and Zoey flopped back into her seat with a frustrated huff. Dr. Han chuckled softly, waving a hand to dismiss the tension.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Zoey,” he said smoothly. “I understand some people find it hard to believe in the efficacy of my tonics. But as you know, they truly work, don’t they?”

He turned to Zoey, whose expression softened as she nodded eagerly. “Yes, absolutely! They’ve really helped me,” she said, her tone earnest.

Jinu gave her an incredulous look, his expression practically screaming, Are you seriously falling for this? He turned his attention back to Dr. Han, his lips curling into a sneer.

“Just because you can take advantage of people doesn’t mean you should ,” Jinu said, his voice low and dangerous. “Especially when she doesn’t even need your tonics to sound amazing.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Zoey stared at Jinu, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, while Dr. Han’s polite smile remained frozen.

“Jinu!” Zoey almost shrieked, her voice rising in a pitch of disbelief. If she’d been wearing a wig, it might have flown off from sheer surprise.

“Oh, Mr. Zoey’s cousin, do not fret.” Dr. Han’s voice carried a strange, almost mocking calmness. “My tonic does indeed work… though I can see you must be the cynical type.”

Adjusting his glasses with a deliberate motion, Dr. Han tilted his head and stared intently at Jinu. The intensity of his gaze made Jinu recoil slightly, his face twisting into a complicated mix of confusion and disgust. The doctor, undeterred, leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as if he were studying a peculiar specimen under a microscope.

“Yes, yes. I can see what kind of person you are,” Dr. Han murmured, the corner of his lips curling into an almost predatory smile. “A person full of guilt. So much anger, hate, and madness. Not towards others, no, but directed inward—at yourself. Tell me, can I ask? Are you perhaps… depressed? ”

The words hit Jinu like a slap. A dam of emotion broke loose before he could stop himself.

“Don’t talk to me like you know me!” Jinu growled, shoving the man away with enough force to make him stumble. He shot to his feet, fists clenched, his breathing erratic.

“Jinu, what the hell?!” Zoey scrambled to her feet, her startled yell ringing in the room.

“I didn’t ask you to psychoanalyze me, doctor ,” Jinu snarled, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes narrowed into slits, demon marks on his skin starting to pulse with an eerie glow. The tips of his fingers darkened to a deep crimson as his nails elongated into sharp, claw-like points.

Dr. Han, still adjusting his balance, raised his hands in mock surrender. “Oh, don’t take it so personally. Many people these days suffer from the same struggles. If you’d like, I could refer you to a close friend of mine—she’s an excellent therapist. She’ll hear you out.”

Jinu didn’t remember swinging his fist, but he did. The impact reverberated through the room, loud and sickening.

The scene after the commotion was far less dramatic but infinitely more uncomfortable. Both Zoey and Jinu walked out of the clinic in tense silence. The door slammed behind them, and with it, Zoey’s opportunity to ever return.

“Zoey, look, I’m sorry, okay?” Jinu blurted as he hurried after her. His tone was frantic, tinged with guilt.

Zoey, however, was having none of it. She stomped down the street, her face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and fury.

“Zoey, hey! Will you just stop and let me explain?” Jinu reached out, trying to grab her elbow, but she shrugged him off with a sharp movement.

She suddenly stopped, whirling around to face him. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?!” she snapped, her voice trembling with rage. “You punched an innocent man! Be glad he didn’t call the police on us! Do you even know what would’ve happened if someone found out that one of the HUNTR/X members was involved in a fight?!”

Jinu froze, stunned by the outburst. His demon marks receded slightly as guilt flickered across his face.

Zoey’s chest heaved, her breaths shaky as unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “You don’t get it, do you?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Zoey, I… I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” Jinu muttered weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. “He started saying all this crap like he knew me, like he knew everything I’ve been through. It pissed me off. I just… I lost control.”

Zoey let out a bitter laugh, crossing her arms defensively. “Control? You don’t even know the meaning of the word. God, I can’t believe I let you out of the apartment. I must be the stupidest person alive. And Rumi—Rumi’s even stupider for thinking you wouldn’t act out just because you’re her sword!”

Jinu bristled at that, his fists clenching at his sides. “Hey, don’t call her stupid. If you’re mad at me, then just be mad at me! Leave her out of this.”

Zoey’s eyes burned with fury as she took a step closer, her finger jabbing towards his chest. “And you think I don’t know he’s a scam? Do you think I’m that naïve?” she finally snapped, her voice rising.

Jinu blinked, stepping back in shock. Zoey rarely raised her voice like this. She was loud, sure—brash, eccentric, and unapologetically herself. But anger like this? It caught him off guard.

“I knew he was a scam, Jinu,” Zoey continued, her voice softer now but no less weighted with emotion. “I just… I hoped that maybe, just maybe, whatever he was giving would help me. Help my voice.” Her arms dropped to her sides as she turned away, her posture slumping slightly. “I’ve always felt like my voice isn’t enough. I’m good at writing songs, at words , but never at singing. I just thought… maybe he could fix that.”

Jinu stared at her, his chest tightening. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t good with words, never had been.

“Zoey…” he started, but his voice faltered.

She didn’t wait for him to finish. Turning on her heel, she began walking away again, her steps quick and purposeful.

Jinu sighed, running a hand through his hair before jogging after her. “Zoey, I really am sorry,” he called out, his tone softer now. “I shouldn’t have interfered. I just…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

Why did he do that, anyway? It wasn’t like he cared about Zoey the way he cared about Rumi. She was just Rumi’s bandmate—a friend at best, an acquaintance at worst. So why did it matter so much to him? Why would he go out of his way to do something so… personal? Was it because he had finally admitted to himself that Zoey reminded him too much of his sister? That sharp, unspoken resemblance clawed at his chest, even though he tried to push it aside.

"What? Do you really want to embarrass me?" Zoey snapped, her voice barely above a whisper, but the bitterness in it was unmistakable. She frowned, her gaze darting away as if avoiding his eyes might shield her from her own vulnerability. Letting out a shaky sigh, she looked… disappointed. Not just in him—but maybe in herself. It was as if she didn’t want to admit what had been gnawing at her mind and heart, as if voicing it would make it all too real.

Jinu stood there, watching her, his chest tightening as his heart beat faster. She looked like she was teetering on the edge of something fragile—one step closer to breaking down completely or crying her heart out. The sight of her like this pained him in a way he hadn’t expected. 

It was painfully familiar, like déjà vu. It reminded him so vividly of his sister—her trembling voice, her tear-streaked cheeks, the way she tried to hold herself together even when she was falling apart. He hated seeing his sister cry. And now, Zoey was doing both—crying and looking utterly broken.

“Look,” he began hesitantly, his voice awkward and uncertain. “You have a good voice. You don’t need medicine or… or whatever you drink to make it sound better. Just… believe in yourself.”

The words tumbled out clumsily, and he winced at how awkward they sounded. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all he could think to say.

Zoey stared at the ground for a moment, her face unreadable, before her eyes widened in slight surprise. Slowly, she raised her head to look at him, her expression softening as if his words had struck a chord she hadn’t expected. Jinu shifted nervously, fidgeting on his feet, swaying side to side under the weight of her gaze.

“Did you really mean that?” she asked, her voice weak and trembling, like she was afraid of the answer.

Jinu turned to her, forcing a small, awkward smile. “Y-Yeah,” he stammered.

Silence fell between them again, the air heavy but not as suffocating as before.

“How about we go home now?” Jinu finally said, stepping closer to her cautiously.

Zoey sniffled, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. Her voice was quieter now, steadier. “Yeah,” she murmured, nodding. “Let’s.”

And just like that, they began to walk, side by side, neither speaking.

BOTH JINU AND ZOEY WERE SILENT WHEN THEY RETURNED HOME . The apartment was unusually quiet, the only sounds coming from the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft tapping of Mira and Rumi’s fingers on their phones as they lounged in the living room. 

The mood shifted the moment the front door opened—Zoey entered first, her posture rigid, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she strode past the others and went straight for the room she shared with Mira, closing the door behind her with a loud, decisive thud.

The noise made Mira and Rumi look up, confusion flickering between them. Jinu followed in after Zoey, keeping his eyes downcast as he quietly shut the main door. The bags Zoey had bought earlier now seemed heavier as he set them down in the kitchen counter, as if he were unloading not just her shopping but the weight of whatever had happened outside.

Mira stood up first, suspicion written all over her face as she squared her shoulders. Rumi followed, more perplexed than concerned. “What did you do?” Mira demanded, her tone sharp as she jabbed an accusatory finger toward Jinu. He flinched, instinctively stepping back.

“I didn’t do anything,” he protested, side-stepping her finger. Rumi gently pushed Mira’s hand down, letting out a weary sigh. “Stop jumping to conclusions, Mira. Maybe Zoey just had a bad day,” she suggested, shooting Mira a look.

Jinu frowned, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Not really,” he admitted after a pause, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess you could say I was part of it.”

Mira shot Rumi a smug ‘I told you so’ look before turning her glare back on Jinu. “So what did you do? You know I won’t go easy on you, even if you’re, like, Rumi’s demon sword or whatever.” Rumi rolled her eyes and poked Mira in the side, giving her a warning glare.

“What? I’m just stating facts. He’s a demon,” Mira grumbled.

“I am too, remember?” Rumi interjected dryly.

“Part demon,” Jinu and Mira said in unison, exchanging a rare moment of agreement as Rumi sighed, tossing her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“So what really happened?” Rumi pressed, her voice softer now. Jinu hesitated, shifting uncomfortably.

“She went to this clinic. She wanted to get some tonics for her voice,” he explained.

“Tonic?” Mira echoed, her brow furrowing. “For her voice? Is her throat hurting, Is she alright?” Rumi’s concern was genuine, her eyes narrowing with worry.

Jinu shook his head. “No, not exactly. She thinks her voice isn’t good enough—like, not perfect. She thought… a tonic could help. But the guy at the clinic was a scammer, I could smell it a mile away. You know how it is. Long story short… things got heated. You should probably ask Zoey for the details.” He sighed, slouching against the kitchen counter, all the tension draining from his body. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the couch, eat something, and let the world fade away for a while.

Mira narrowed her eyes at him, still suspicious, but she turned and made her way toward the bedroom. Rumi lingered, concern etched on her face as she gently placed a hand on Jinu’s shoulder.

“I punched the doctor,” Jinu finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rumi’s eyes widened. “You punched who?” she asked, startled.

Jinu’s cheeks colored as he stood up straighter, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. “The doctor. He said some things I didn’t like… I lost my temper and punched him. Zoey got mad at me, too, and then… yeah, that’s what happened. She’s probably furious with me. I get it.” He shrugged, trying to sound indifferent, but his voice betrayed a trace of regret.

Being scammed sucked. Watching Zoey—any of them, really, but especially Rumi—fall for a scam was even worse.

Rumi surprised him by reaching up on her tiptoes and ruffling his hair. Jinu flinched, not expecting the gesture, but Rumi only grinned. “You did good. I should thank you,” she said, her eyes crinkling with warmth.

Flustered, Jinu backed away, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to appear engrossed in the kitchen counter. “Let me guess—the doctor’s name was Dr. Han?” Rumi asked.

Jinu blinked. “How’d you know?”

Rumi chuckled. “Zoey brought me there once, too.”

She snickered at the memory as Jinu pushed one of Zoey’s shopping bags in her direction—a white one, probably filled with yet another outfit or accessory that Zoey bought before everything went sideways.

“You should tell her she has a nice voice,” Jinu muttered, awkwardly. “She should stop trying to be perfect all the time.”

Rumi’s grin widened. “Was that… actual concern?”

“No,” Jinu said quickly, though his tone was half-hearted. “I just don’t want to live with mentally unstable people. Especially hunters,” he added, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Rumi laughed, leaning against the counter as she wiped a tear from her eye. “Okay, whatever you say, Jinu.”

Jinu huffed, turning away, but he couldn’t help glancing back at Rumi’s smiling face. For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Really—thank you, Jinu,” Rumi said, her voice sincere. “I know some of us are… well, we’ve all got our own problems, outside of hunter business and idol life. I’m just glad you’re looking out for us. Even if you pretend not to care.”

She hadn’t said “looking over Zoey”—she’d said “us,” as if Jinu actually cared about the whole group. And… well, if he was being honest, maybe he did. Okay, more than a little. He cared a lot about Rumi, and that meant, by extension, caring about what she cared about. If her friends were sad, she’d be sad too. Jinu liked to pretend he was only doing all this for Rumi’s sake, not for himself. 

It was easier that way, pretending he was just her sword, nothing more.

“Yeah, okay…” he muttered, looking away, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

Rumi giggled, the sound bright and almost musical—something about it always made Jinu feel lighter, even if he’d never admit it out loud. “You know I trust you, right?” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You could’ve just taken the guy’s soul, but you didn’t. Instead, you went with the good old-fashioned way.” She grinned at him, and Jinu couldn’t help but snort.

She was right. The urge to claw that man’s soul from his chest had been strong—so strong he could almost taste it—but he hadn’t. He’d settled for his fists instead, letting his anger out in a punch rather than something far, far worse. And honestly, he’d only done that because it made him furious to see someone try to con a girl as self-conscious as Zoey, someone who already felt her voice didn’t measure up to the other two hunters.

“Yeah…” Jinu replied, rubbing the back of his neck, still a little sheepish.

“Lighten up, my multi-purpose sword,” Rumi teased, elbowing him playfully.

Jinu forced a laugh, his lips curling into a reluctant smile as he rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Rumi,” he said, and for once, the words didn’t sound so hollow.

Chapter Text

WHEN JINU SLEEPS, HE SEES HIS MOTHER.

It wasn’t just a dream—it was a memory. A memory of her laugh, soft and fleeting, as she watched him stumble over his own feet, tripping in his clumsy attempts to make her smile. She rarely laughed, though. More often, she frowned—a weight heavier than her years etched on her brow. Jinu didn’t understand it back then. How could he? He’d been a child, too young to grasp the gravity of their poverty, too innocent to care. To him, the world had been simple: he was happy as long as he was with her, helping her sell whatever they could scrape together.

But as the years passed, the lines on her face deepened. He remembered how their food dwindled, how the meals grew smaller, until eventually, she stopped eating altogether. She would brush it off with a weak smile, telling Jinu and his sister to finish everything on their plates. “I’m not hungry,” she’d lie. He knew better now. She was starving herself so they wouldn’t have to.

Jinu missed her. He missed her touch, the way her hands would stroke his hair, calming him. He missed her voice. He missed her laugh. But the cruel passage of time had stolen those memories from him, leaving only fragments behind. And wasn’t that just the most pitiful thing in the world? That her son—her own flesh and blood—could forget her?

What kind of son forgets his mother?

A useless son.

The words whispered in his mind, sharp as glass.

Useless son.

Useless.

What a useless son you are.

You deserve to die.

You deserve that poison.

Die. Die. Die. Die.

Jinu woke with a start, his breath caught in his throat. Sticky warmth spread across his face—Derpy was licking him, the tiger’s rough tongue dragging through his hair. Jinu let out a choked cry, his body trembling uncontrollably as he turned away. The darkness of the room pressed in on him, the only light spilling in from the pale moon outside the window.

He clawed at the duvet, desperate to escape its suffocating weight. Derpy whimpered, pawing at the side of the bed. The sound was soft, almost pleading, but Jinu couldn’t hear it over the rush of his own panicked breaths.

I can’t breathe. I can’t—

His hands flew to his throat, clutching at it as if he expected to find it slashed open, blood pouring out. He scrambled out of bed, his legs giving way beneath him, and crashed to the cold floor with a painful thud. The room spun as he pressed his forehead against the ground, sweat dripping from his brow in heavy droplets.

His body convulsed, wracked with fear and memories he couldn’t suppress. He could feel it—could still feel it—how he’d died. How he’d been sent to hell.

“Oh God…” he whispered, voice cracking as he struggled to ground himself.

Derpy padded around the bed and sat beside him, nudging Jinu’s trembling form with his nose. The tiger whined softly, his concern palpable. But Jinu couldn’t move, couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts and memories tearing through his mind. His nails dug into his neck, leaving crescent-shaped indents in his skin. The pain was distant, drowned out by the chaos in his head.

“I died,” Jinu mumbled, trembling violently, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “I died, I—I was sent to hell…”

Derpy let out another whine, his large body shifting closer. He rubbed his face against Jinu’s head, a comforting warmth against the cold, hard floor.

It took Jinu longer than he cared to admit to gather himself. His hands eventually fell away from his throat, leaving faint red marks behind. He sat up slowly, his body still shaking as Derpy pressed against his side. The tiger’s purrs rumbled low and steady, anchoring him.

“Derpy?” Jinu murmured, his voice hoarse. He reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it on the tiger’s head. Derpy whined again, his tail flicking anxiously.

“I’m sorry,” Jinu said, his voice cracking. “You know how bad I get.”

Derpy purred louder, leaning into Jinu’s touch. His warmth was a balm against Jinu’s frayed nerves, a reminder that he wasn’t alone.

The red glow of the digital clock on the nightstand caught Jinu’s eye. 3:00 AM. The floor beneath him was cold, the chill seeping through his thin pants. He shivered, his breath still unsteady, but the worst of the panic had passed. Slowly, painfully, he climbed back into bed.

Derpy followed, taking up half the mattress with his large body. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. Jinu let out a soft chuckle as the tiger settled beside him, his tail brushing against Jinu’s legs.

Under the dim moonlight, the demon marks on Jinu’s body glowed faintly, shifting in hues of blue, pink, and yellow. They reminded him of Rumi. Her touch. Her warmth. The memories made his chest ache, but they also brought a strange sense of comfort.

Derpy’s purrs grew louder as he rubbed his face against Jinu’s cheek. Jinu smiled faintly, his hand moving to stroke the tiger’s fur.

“You’ve done so much for me, Derpy,” he whispered.

He thought back to the first time he’d found the tiger in hell. Derpy had been a cub, barely old enough to walk, standing beside the lifeless body of a larger blue tiger—his mother. Demons had killed her, and Derpy had been left alone, growling and whimpering in equal measure. Jinu didn’t remember what compelled him to reach out, but he did.

He remembered sitting on his favorite stone, the little cub cradled in his arms. Derpy had cried for his mother, and Jinu had cried with him.

And from that moment on, Derpy never left Jinu’s side. The tiger was as much a companion as he was a protector. But their solitude was soon disrupted by Bird—a magpie with gleaming black-and-white feathers that seemed to shimmer even under hell's dim, oppressive light. 

Perched on the withered, skeletal trees scattered across the infernal landscape, Bird would watch them incessantly, its sharp eyes glinting with something unnervingly intelligent. It squawked every time Jinu glanced at it, as if mocking his attempts to intimidate it with a growl. Jinu had initially thought the bird belonged to someone else—a spy sent to probe the cracks in his fragile defenses, searching for weaknesses that could lead to his destruction. After all, it wouldn’t have been the first time a demon tried.

But Bird proved to be different. One day, it boldly swooped down and perched itself atop Derpy’s massive head. The tiger, surprisingly, didn’t so much as flinch, his amber eyes blinking lazily as if this was the most natural thing in the world. It was then Jinu realized Bird wasn’t a threat, but something else entirely. A strange ally, perhaps. Or maybe just another oddity in his already bizarre existence.

Jinu let out a sigh, his breath rustling through Derpy’s fur. The tiger responded with a gentle paw to his face, as if to comfort him. Jinu huffed, pushing the massive paw aside. "You’re impossible," he muttered. He lay there for a moment longer, staring at the blank white ceiling, sleep now a distant memory. 

Not that he needed it, being what he was. But he had grown to enjoy the ritual of it—closing his eyes, letting his body relax, pretending for a few hours that he was just like everyone else. The nightmares, though—those he could do without. He rubbed his face. “Thanks for waking me up, Derpy. You always know what to do.”

The tiger purred as Jinu sat up, stretching until his shoulders popped. Derpy lifted his head, watching him with a curious tilt, his tail thumping softly against the bed. Jinu swung his legs over the edge of the bed, scanning the floor for his slippers. They were nowhere in sight. 

He crouched down and reached under the bed, grumbling to himself. “Of course, you had to shove them under here,” he said, shooting Derpy a mock glare. The tiger merely blinked, unbothered. Jinu finally found one and slipped it on, muttering, “There it is.”

The digital clock on his bedside table glowed a harsh red: 3:26 AM. He groaned quietly. What now? Watch the sunrise and wait for the others to wake up? And then what? His mind wandered to yesterday’s fight with Zoey, the words still fresh, still sharp. Should he apologize? He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t that Zoey didn’t deserve one—of course she did—but had he actually done something wrong? The thought frustrated him. Feelings, emotions—he hated them. Life had been so much simpler when it was just kill or be killed.

He carefully cracked open his door, peeking out into the apartment. The living room was dark, the shadows long and still. Mira and Rumi’s bedroom doors were shut tight, and the faint hum of the fridge and air conditioner filled the quiet. Padding softly into the hallway, he felt Derpy’s warm presence at his side. The tiger followed him, his tail brushing against Jinu’s leg as he purred, rubbing his massive head against Jinu’s hip. For a moment, Jinu felt a flicker of relief. At least no one was awake to see him skulking around.

“What are you doing up?”

Jinu nearly jumped out of his skin, his heart leaping into his throat. He whirled around to find Rumi perched on the kitchen counter, a mug cradled in her hands. The kitchen was cloaked in darkness save for her eyes, which pierced through the gloom with an eerie clarity.

“Gods, Rumi!” he hissed, clutching his chest.

She broke into a fit of laughter, her voice light and teasing. “You’re a demon, but you’re such a scaredy-cat!”

Jinu shot her a glare as he stalked toward her. “You need to stop doing that.”

“Never,” she said, grinning. “Anyway, why are you up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Jinu grumbled, leaning against the counter. “I don’t even need to sleep. I just do it because it’s… fun.” He fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt, avoiding her gaze.

Rumi hummed, swirling her mug. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess. Drinking warm milk helps. Usually.” She tilted the mug toward him, showing the white liquid inside.

Jinu nodded absently, then pushed himself up onto the counter to sit beside her. One of his slippers fell to the floor with a soft thud, and Rumi giggled, her eyes crinkling with amusement. Jinu rolled his eyes, but before he could retrieve it, Derpy trotted over, picked the slipper up in his mouth, and placed it back at Jinu’s feet with impeccable care.

“Did you teach him to do that?” Rumi asked, her voice tinged with wonder.

“Nope,” Jinu said, scratching Derpy behind the ears. “He just does it. He’s smarter than he looks.”

Rumi smiled softly. “I can see that.”

For a moment, the two of them sat in companionable silence, the faint sounds of the city filtering through the apartment. Cars honked in the distance, and Jinu’s gaze drifted to the large window in the living room. The faint glow of Seoul’s never-ending nightlife painted the glass in shades of orange and white.

“Seoul never sleeps,” Rumi murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It really doesn’t,” Jinu agreed, his tone distant.

“Not used to the noise?” she asked, her smile turning sly.

Jinu shook his head. “No, it’s… better here. In hell, all you hear are screams. Crying, wailing—it’s constant. Just… endless suffering.” His voice faltered, and he rubbed his face, as if scrubbing away the memories.

Rumi’s expression softened. “You’re never going back there,” she said firmly, her voice filled with quiet determination.

Jinu blinked, startled by the conviction in her tone.

Rumi flushed, waving her hand as if to dismiss her own words. “I mean—you’re already fitting in here. A week in, and you’re doing great.” She smiled, placing her hand on his shoulder—a simple gesture, but one that sent a warmth spreading through Jinu’s chest.

Her touch was light but grounding, and for a moment, he felt his resolve strengthen. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was fitting in, after all.

Derpy yawned loudly from beneath their feet, his massive body curled into a tight ball, his tail twitching as he dreamed. Jinu chuckled softly, his gaze flicking to Rumi. She was sipping her milk again, her eyes half-lidded with a contented sort of sleepiness.

Fitting in, huh? Only Rumi could say that with such confidence. A small, tentative smile tugged at Jinu’s lips. Maybe—just maybe—he could believe her.

“You never answered my question yet,” Rumi finally broke the silence, her voice quiet but insistent, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

Jinu sighed deeply, leaning onto his elbows, his fingers cradling his tired cheek. “Just… had a dream, that’s all,” he muttered, his voice gravelly, thick with bitterness. His throat felt raw, as if he had swallowed shards of glass, and the words tasted foul as they left his mouth. It wasn’t just a dream—it was a memory, one of the darkest corners of his existence. A moment of shame that clung to him like an unforgiving shadow.

It wasn’t just about abandoning his mother and sister. No, this was something else. Something far worse. Something vile. He had let Gwi-Ma win. He had taken the poison, gulped it down like a coward, and sent himself tumbling straight into hell.

For a moment, the room seemed to dissolve around him. The hum of the fridge fell away. The gentle whir of the air conditioner disappeared. Even Rumi’s breathing became distant. All he could feel was the phantom burn of the poison in his throat, the metallic tang of blood spilling onto his tongue. He remembered collapsing to the floor, convulsing, clawing toward a door that never felt further away.

It was the coward’s way out. Desperation had consumed him, devoured his resolve until all that was left was guilt, anger, and madness. He had been so angry at himself, so disgusted with his failure, that he wanted an escape. And he had taken the easiest, most damning exit.

His hand drifted unconsciously to his throat, as if the memory of that moment still lingered there. The bitterness. The sharp, choking pain. He blinked rapidly, his vision swimming.

Then, as if sensing his torment, Derpy—his ever-loyal companion—rose to his feet and rubbed his soft face against Jinu’s leg. At the same time, Rumi placed a gentle hand on his elbow. The dual gestures grounded him, pulling him back to the present. He exhaled shakily, the tension in his chest loosening ever so slightly.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me,” Rumi said softly, her voice like a balm. Her eyes were gentle, empathetic, and patient. She looked so beautiful in that moment, her hair unbound and cascading down to her waist, no longer tied in her usual braids. It framed her face like a halo, making her look ethereal—otherworldly. Like a goddess descended to earth.

Jinu swallowed hard. He wanted, so desperately, to worship her. To be her one and only believer. He would have kissed the ground she walked on if it meant she would cast her gaze upon him for just a moment longer.

“Thanks,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. His hand dropped to pet Derpy, who let out a contented warble and licked his fingers. Rumi gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before pulling away, and the absence of her touch left him cold. He wanted to chase after that warmth, but he held himself back, forcing himself to sit straighter.

He watched as Rumi took another sip of her milk, her expression contemplative.

“Hey,” she said after a moment, her voice breaking the silence again.

Jinu hummed softly, letting her know he was listening.

“Do you want to try that trick again?” she asked, her tone light but tinged with something deeper.

Jinu tilted his head curiously. “What trick?”

“Your sword trick,” she clarified, glancing at him with a small, nervous smile.

Jinu blinked. Her request caught him off guard. Turning into her sword again? He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but why was she bringing it up now? It wasn’t as though she needed to fight anymore. She had long since dismantled the old Honmoon and rebuilt it into something stronger, something unshakeable.

“Uhm. Okay… but why?” he asked, his brows furrowing.

Rumi let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “I just… Well, do you remember when you saved me?” she asked hesitantly.

Jinu nodded, his throat tightening at the memory.

“When you gave me your soul… it was like you gave me a power boost. You saved me from Gwi-Ma. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Jinu retorted quickly, frowning. “Even without me, you would have saved everyone.”

Rumi raised her head, her expression serious. “You know that’s not true, Jinu. We all helped each other, yes, but I wouldn’t have survived without you. What I’m trying to say is…” She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I want to feel it again.”

Jinu’s frown deepened. “Feel what again?”

“Being complete,” Rumi whispered, her words fragile but steady. “It was like… your soul was meant to be held in my hands.”

If that wasn’t a love confession, Jinu didn’t know what was. Heat rushed to his face, and he struggled to process her words. How could she say something like that so casually? How could she be so brazen? He looked away, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable,” Rumi added quickly, her worry evident. “I just… I’ve been thinking about it a lot. After you came back, the sword started getting heavier and heavier. And now that I know it was you in there, I can’t stop wondering… Did it make you uncomfortable that I was the one handling you?”

Jinu turned to her sharply, his voice louder than he intended. “No!”

Rumi flinched slightly, her eyes wide, and Jinu immediately softened, glancing toward Mira’s closed door. “Sorry,” he muttered, his face flushing. “I just… No, I didn’t mind. In fact, I was glad it was you.”

Rumi’s expression softened, and Jinu continued, his voice quieter now. “It’s just… I don’t remember much from when I was inside the sword. It was like I didn’t have a body. Like I was asleep? It’s hard to explain. But it felt more like I was a burden to you than anything else. I couldn’t match your frequency. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

Rumi nodded slowly, her brows knitting together as she tried to make sense of his words. Then, a spark of determination lit up her eyes.

“Then let’s match our frequencies,” she said, her voice brimming with excitement. “It can’t be that hard, right? We already sang together in harmony once.”

Jinu hesitated. He wanted to tell her that the voice she remembered—the one that had harmonized with hers—was given to him by Gwi-Ma. But instead, he smiled faintly and nodded. “Okay. As long as it’s you, I’m okay with it.”

He hoped she would understand the deeper meaning behind his words, but if she did, she didn’t show it. Instead, she grinned brightly, her enthusiasm infectious.

“Let’s call this Mission: Soul Eater!” she declared, raising their joined hands triumphantly into the air.

Jinu couldn’t help but smile at her exuberance. 

JINU DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO MATCH RUMI’S FREQUENCY . Not after the night she told him about her plan. He had tried—desperately—singing alone in his room, only for his voice to crack and croak from years of disuse. How could he possibly match Rumi if he couldn’t even sing? Maybe this was why he always felt more like a burden in his sword form than an asset. He couldn’t sing. He couldn’t harmonize. What should he do now?

Morning had already come, and Rumi had gone out for her usual jog, leaving him to his thoughts. She’d mentioned something about crafting a training regime for the two of them, so they could figure out how to work together. Weapon and Meister. Whatever that meant. Jinu figured he should probably watch whatever anime Rumi kept referencing. Maybe that would help him get a better grasp of what she was talking about—maybe even help him figure out how to match her wavelength.

So now here he was, face-down on the living room floor, the TV in front of him playing Soul Eater . He lay on his chest, completely absorbed in the bright colors and chaotic energy of the show. His chin rested on folded arms, shoulders hunched.

“What the hell are you doing, dude? Wait—is that Soul Eater ?”

Jinu turned his head slightly to see Mira emerging from the bathroom. She was wrapped in a white bathrobe, her damp hair dripping water onto the floor as she padded barefoot into the room.

He didn’t bother tearing his gaze from the show. Instead, he lazily waved a hand in acknowledgment, muttering, “I need to understand the references you three keep making.” His voice was gruff, distracted, as if the words were an afterthought.

Mira snickered, plopping down onto the sofa behind him. “Dude, you’re such an old man, I swear. You don’t need to watch it to understand the references. It’s literally just people turning into weapons.”

Jinu grumbled something incoherent into the rug. He wanted to slam his face into the ground out of sheer frustration. Why was everything so simple for everyone else but him?

“Besides,” Mira added, smirking, “why are you so interested? You thinking about turning back into a sword again? I thought you liked it here, being in the human world and stuff.” Her grin widened like she already knew the answer—like she knew it wasn’t about him, but about Rumi.

Jinu stiffened, his face heating slightly. “I just—none of your business,” he deadpanned.

Mira’s grin turned sharp, predatory, like she had caught the scent of something juicy. Jinu shot her a tired glare before turning his attention back to the TV. But before he could resume the episode, the screen flickered and went dark. He blinked, confused, before turning to Mira, his annoyance evident in the sharpness of his gaze.

“Why did you turn it off? I was watching that!” His tone was low, teetering on a growl. He didn’t even care how childish he sounded. He had been enjoying himself, dammit.

Mira leaned back on the sofa, her grin never faltering. “You’re not a kid. Besides, you can watch it later. It’s not like you were doing something important.”

Jinu scoffed, his irritation bubbling closer to the surface. “That was important,” he muttered petulantly, glaring at her as if it would make her turn the screen back on. He was too annoyed to even feel embarrassed at his own tone.

Mira just laughed, clearly amused by his reaction. “You’re such a kid sometimes, you know that?” she teased, her smirk widening.

Jinu sat up, brushing the dust off his chest with exaggerated motions before shooting her a scowl. “What do you want , Mira? Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Hey, am I not allowed to be curious about what our resident demon-slash-sword-boy is doing?” she asked, her tone light and teasing.

Jinu’s eye twitched at the nickname, his jaw tightening. “That should be none of your business,” he muttered, crossing his arms and turning away from her as if to physically block her presence out of his mind.

But Mira didn’t take the hint. Instead, she pulled out her phone and started watching something—loudly. The obnoxious music grated on Jinu’s nerves, causing him to slump forward in defeat. He let out a low growl, his annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. She loved to irritate him, didn’t she?

Jinu clenched his fists, resisting the urge to lash out like a child. He hated how easily she got under his skin, but what frustrated him even more was that deep down, she wasn’t entirely wrong. He did want to work with Rumi. He did want to be useful. But how could he, when he couldn’t even figure out how to match her wavelength?

“Ugh, what do you want?” Jinu finally relented, his voice laced with irritation as he turned toward Mira, who lowered her phone with a deliberate slowness.

“Tell me what you’re up to,” she demanded, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she leaned in closer. Jinu instinctively shuffled back, a nervous look flashing across his face.

“Why should I? What are you going to do?” he shot back, attempting to mask his unease with defiance.

Mira raised a single, unimpressed brow, her expression practically dripping with disdain. Without a word, she waved the TV remote in front of his face like a dangling carrot.

“You’ll lose your TV privileges,” she said simply, her tone cool but laced with an edge of mischief.

Jinu’s eyes widened in horror, the threat landing like a blow. He instantly dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in a dramatic plea. “Wait, no!” he exclaimed, his voice pitching higher. “Not the TV! I have nothing else to do here! You can’t do that!”

Mira’s lips curled into a smirk as she twirled the remote mockingly in her hand, watching as Jinu’s wide eyes followed it like a starving fish eyeing bait. He reached out with clawed hands, desperately trying to snatch it, but she easily pulled it away, keeping it just out of reach.

“Oh, I absolutely can,” she teased, her grin growing wider. “I also own this place, remember? You, on the other hand, are just a freeloader.” She punctuated her words by pointing the remote directly at him like it was a weapon.

Jinu let out a groan, slumping dejectedly onto the floor. “This is abuse,” he muttered, flopping over like a defeated rag doll. “You can’t just take the remote away.”

“Ohoho, I can,” Mira replied, her smirk turning downright devilish.

“I’ll tell Rumi,” Jinu shot back, his tone petulant.

Mira’s smirk only deepened, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “And what? You think she’ll take your side? What’s she going to do? Tell me off because you’re a pathetic guy obsessed with watching TV? Dude, get a life.”

Jinu gasped, his hand flying to his chest as if she’d physically struck him. “Excuse me? Is this how you treat your elders?” he shrieked, his voice breaking with indignation.

Mira only grinned wider, leaning back with a laugh. “Finally owning up to the fact that you’re really old?”

Jinu groaned again, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he sat back on his haunches. Mira, clearly enjoying herself, let out an exaggerated, evil laugh and waved the remote over her head like a trophy.

“Who would’ve thought,” she mused with mock wonder, “that the great leader of the Saja Boys could be so easily defeated by a remote control?”

“Fine!” Jinu snapped, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m just trying to figure out how the Weapon and Master—Meister, whatever you call it—works.” His voice trailed off as he confessed, his gaze darting to the side as if hoping she wouldn’t press further.

Mira lowered the remote slightly, squinting at him with suspicion. “Why’s that? You planning something? Taking over the world? Breaking the Honmoon?” she demanded, shoving the remote dangerously close to his face.

Jinu flinched, leaning back with a scowl. “Of course not! I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he grumbled. “It’s Rumi who wants it. She… she wants the both of us to train together.”

He hesitated, his expression softening into something uncomfortably vulnerable. “She said it’s hard to use her sword. And I think it’s because our frequencies aren’t aligned. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for her to fight with her weapon. It’s like… like a tug of war for her.” His voice grew quieter, tinged with guilt. “It’s my fault. She probably misses holding her weapon, which is why she wants me to turn back into her sword.”

Mira leaned back slightly, her expression shifting from suspicion to something softer—almost thoughtful. “That’s… sweeter than I expected,” she muttered, her tone begrudging. Then, with a teasing smirk, she added, “Jeez, lover boy. That shouldn’t be hard for you. You’re smitten with her, after all.”

She tossed the remote at him, and he caught it reflexively, though his face turned pale as he clutched it.

Mira’s smirk faltered. “Why? What’s wrong?” she asked, her sharp eyes narrowing as she picked up on his sudden shift in demeanor.

“I think… if I want our frequencies to align, I’ll have to… sing,” Jinu admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mira blinked, tilting her head. “Okay? And? How is that a problem? You can sing,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

Jinu’s face twisted in panic, and he rubbed his throat anxiously. “I… I can’t sing. My voice is different now—different from the one Gwi-Ma gave me,” he muttered, his words tumbling out awkwardly.

“Right…” Mira exhaled, leaning back against the sofa. “Okay, that’s totally not a problem at all. How about practice? Vocal lessons? That shouldn’t be hard, right?” she suggested, trying to sound encouraging.

Jinu rubbed his throat again, his fingers lingering as if trying to soothe an ache that wasn’t physical. Vocal lessons? As if he had a voice to practice with.

What he hadn’t told anyone—not Mira, not Rumi, not even himself, really—was that his old vocal cords had been completely destroyed before he’d died. Before he’d turned into a demon.

In a desperate, reckless attempt to escape his miserable, pitiful life, he’d poisoned himself, hoping to silence Gwi-Ma’s voice forever. But it hadn’t worked. Instead, it had destroyed his vocal cords, leaving his voice broken and ragged. That damage hadn’t disappeared when he became a demon.

Now, he couldn’t raise his voice if he wanted to. And singing? Singing was impossible.

“I can’t do vocal lessons,” Jinu mumbled, his voice low. “I just… sound bad, okay?” It was a half-truth—a white lie. He wasn’t lying, exactly. But he couldn’t admit the full extent of his shame.

If he told them—if he told her —Rumi would hate him. She’d be disgusted. And why wouldn’t she be? Who tries to kill themselves after causing the problem in the first place?

He glanced at Mira, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. There was something in her eyes—something like understanding, mixed with a faint trace of pity.

“Well… jeez, I don’t know how to help you.” Mira scratched her head, her brow furrowed in thought. Beside her, Jinu sighed heavily, shaking his head in frustration.

“You don’t need to,” he said, his tone resigned. “I’ll figure something out. Eventually. Or… I don’t know.” He shrugged, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on his shoulders as he stood to his feet. Instead of pacing or leaving, he sat down beside Mira, leaning back with a tired sigh that seemed to echo the exhaustion in his chest.

Mira tilted her head, studying him with mild curiosity. “Does this mean you can’t seriously sing anything ?”

He let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I can sing a bit, but only lower harmonies. I used to harmonize with Rumi perfectly—”

He stopped abruptly when Mira shot him a skeptical look, one eyebrow arched so high it practically screamed disbelief. “You and her sang together?”

Jinu winced at her tone, rubbing the back of his neck as a flush crept up his cheeks. “It was just one time, I swear,” he mumbled, his voice quieter now.

Mira wasn’t buying it. She gave him one of her trademark raised-brow stares, the kind that could peel the truth off anyone if she held it long enough. Then she snorted and rolled her eyes, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe she was even entertaining the idea. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him.

Jinu shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Mira, meanwhile, crossed her arms, her expression softening just a fraction. “Well, the best thing you can do is tell Rumi.”

“Tell her what?” Jinu narrowed his eyes slightly, unsure where she was going with this.

“If you can still sing, obviously,” Mira said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Just talk to her.”

Jinu blinked at her. Wow, she’s really bad at this, he thought to himself, biting back the urge to laugh. It wasn’t like he was doing much better, but at least he wasn’t pretending to be a problem-solving expert. Still, something in her confidence—or maybe just her stubbornness—made him pause.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he sighed eventually.

“Or,” Mira continued, leaning forward slightly, “you could write a song specifically for this thing. That way, you get to decide who sings which part.”

Jinu’s brow furrowed.

“Look,” Mira said, gesturing vaguely with her hands, “Rumi’s always been the voice behind HUNTR/X, and I’m guessing you’ve noticed the inconsistencies in our lines over time.”

He nodded slowly. Of course, he’d noticed. Most of the lines were handed to Rumi, almost by default.

“It’s because, out of the three of us, Rumi’s voice has always been the most stable. She’s like the glue that holds everything together, you know? Her voice makes everything sound amazing. I think it’ll work for the both of you if you try.”

Mira paused, letting her words sink in before adding, “Didn’t you write most of the songs Saja Boys sang?”

Jinu let out a short, awkward laugh, scratching the space between his brows. “Yeah, that was me,” he muttered.

“Exactly!” Mira said, her voice taking on a rare note of enthusiasm. “If you could write for them, you can do it for this. I’m sure Rumi will understand if you just talk to her.”

Jinu frowned, his gaze dropping to his hands. His fingers flexed slightly, as though trying to grasp something intangible. “Alright,” he said after a moment, his voice low, thoughtful. “Since you said so… I’ll give it a shot.”

“Thanks, Mira.”

She snorted, leaning back with a smug grin. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said, her tone teasing. “Let’s see if you can actually be a good weapon for your Meister.”

There’s the Soul Eater reference again. Jinu rolled his eyes at that, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

FROM THAT MOMENT ON, Jinu spent his days tangled in the chaos of writing lyrics—scribbling, crossing out, and rewriting until frustration drove him to rip the paper into shreds. Mira had given him an empty notebook and a pen, urging him to pour his thoughts into music. But more often than not, the notebook became a battlefield, the casualties being his patience and countless sheets of crumpled paper scattered across the floor.

At times, he'd give up entirely, watching the pen roll away as if it, too, had lost its resolve. Derpy, ever the cheerful tiger he is, would push it back to him with his paw, tail wagging as though trying to inspire some motivation in him. Above them, Bird perched on Derpy's head, occasionally squawking in irritation, as if fed up with the repetitive exchange.

It had been a few days since Mira had tasked him with creating his own song. The weight of the challenge pressed on his shoulders. He didn’t even know what kind of song he wanted to write. He even confided in Rumi about his struggles, admitting he could no longer hit the high harmonies they once sang together. 

Singing Free the way they used to seemed impossible now. Yet, she hadn’t been fazed. She had simply smiled and told him she trusted him to write something new, something that would align with their voices, their connection.

“In front of you, I see a version of me I never knew,” Jinu hummed softly, staring at the paper in front of him. The words felt raw, too personal, too... revealing. He pushed the pen back to Derpy, who nudged it right back, like clockwork. Jinu stared at the scrawled lines, heart pounding.

No. No way. He couldn’t sing this. The lyrics were too obvious—they screamed the truth he wasn’t ready to admit.

“I’ll give you all of my true feelings
No filters, no fear, just me in your eyes
You make me feel like I’m enough—just me.”

“GAH! NO!” Jinu shrieked, slamming the notebook shut with a force that startled both Derpy and Bird. Bird let out a sharp squawk, flapping his wings in protest, while Derpy gave a low, confused growl, the pen rolling back to Jinu as if mocking him. He groaned, burying his face in his hands, then thumping the notebook lightly against his forehead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scream,” he muttered, guilt creeping into his voice.

Before he could sulk further, the door creaked open.

“Did you just scream?” Rumi’s voice broke through his thoughts. She stood in the doorway, her hair damp and curling at the ends, fresh from the shower. The soft glow of the hallway light framed her figure, and Jinu felt his throat tighten.

“No,” he croaked, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I mean, uh… maybe?” He coughed, fumbling to shove the notebook under his pillow as nonchalantly as possible. Rumi’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and she chuckled softly.

She stepped into the room and sat beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. Derpy climbed off the bed and circled around before flopping down at their feet, his warmth seeping through the floor like a makeshift furry heater. Rumi absentmindedly rubbed her socked feet against Derpy’s back, her movements soothing and familiar.

“How’s the lyric writing going?” she asked gently, her voice carrying an easy warmth that made Jinu’s chest ache.

He hesitated, feeling the notebook beneath his pillow grow heavier, hotter, almost unbearable. “It’s… alright,” he mumbled, though his tone betrayed the truth. It wasn’t alright. It was a mess. He kept writing blatant love songs—songs that practically screamed his feelings for her. And the thought of making her sing them? It filled him with shame.

It wasn’t just about the music. Deep down, he wanted something more. He wanted to hear her sing with her heart wide open, to pour her soul into words meant only for him. He wanted her to say the things he couldn’t—through the music, through her voice. But it wasn’t fair. It felt selfish.

“You know,” Rumi said, breaking the silence. “You can always ask me for help. I want us to work together, like partners. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?” She tilted her head, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Jinu swallowed hard and nodded. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m just… stuck. I can’t write without—” He stopped himself. Without thinking of you , he almost said. Without imagining her face, her smile, her voice. Without longing for her touch, her warmth, her unwavering presence.

Instead, he forced the words out: “—without a voice.”

Rumi’s brows furrowed, and she gave him a small, encouraging smile. “Stop that. You do have a voice. I hear you singing all the time in here, you know.”

Jinu huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, alright. If my Meister says so.”

That earned him a laugh, light and musical, the kind that made his heart stutter. “Jeez, have you really been watching Soul Eater again? Mira told me you’ve been obsessing over it.” She grinned, and Jinu flushed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Maybe,” he muttered, unable to meet her eyes.

“I like the plot. It’s really cool. Overall, ten out of ten. When I turn back into a sword, I should totally do those cool things as well,” Jinu said with a grin, earning a laugh from Rumi.

“Okay, I agree with that. But what if we make it cooler? Like… a full-blown magical girl transformation?” Rumi added, her tone laced with mischief.

“Magical girl? What’s that?” Jinu asked, his curiosity piqued.

Rumi’s eyes glimmered with excitement, as if she had been waiting her whole life for this moment. “Oh, you’ll definitely like this one,” she said, her enthusiasm spilling over. That earned a chuckle from Jinu, who couldn’t help but be drawn to her energy.

That night, they spent hours talking about different anime, their conversation weaving through the fantastical worlds of magical girls. Rumi’s voice was animated as she described elaborate transformations, dazzling costumes, and over-the-top battle sequences. She even insisted that Jinu, in sword form, should have a matching outfit.

It was a lot—maybe even overwhelming—but Jinu found himself enchanted. Her passion was infectious, and he didn’t mind indulging her wild imagination. Rumi truly had an extraordinary mind, and Jinu realized, with a small smile, that he didn’t mind listening to her ramble. Not one bit.

“You know,” Rumi said suddenly, her voice softer now, her cheeks turning a shade darker. “When you said you wanted to write our song, I… I’ve actually been working on one too. It’s not done yet, though…”

“You did?” Jinu blinked, surprised. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he added, “Jeez, you’re doing everything. You’re making me feel like I’m freeloading or something.”

Rumi punched his arm lightly, her pout barely masking the shy smile tugging at her lips. “Stop being silly. How about I sing it to you now? Maybe you can add some ideas? Just like we did with ‘Free’?”

Jinu’s face heated up at the suggestion, and he was suddenly thankful for the dim room, where the moonlight was the only thing illuminating their faces. He swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Rumi cracked her knuckles with a grin, breaking the tension. “So? Should we?” She stands, looking extremely excited.

Jinu’s lips flapped uselessly, like a fish out of water. Finally, he nodded as he stood shakily, though his body betrayed him by nearly tripping over Derpy, who was peacefully napping on the floor.

“Oh!” Rumi laughed when Jinu stumbled forward, nearly colliding into her. She caught him, her hands steady on his arms. For a moment, their faces were just inches apart.

Rumi’s smile softened, her eyes shimmering under the moonlight, while Jinu’s face turned crimson. He quickly stepped back, his voice cracking as he stammered, “Ah, shit. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Rumi said gently, her smile never faltering. She tilted her head toward the large empty space by the window, where the moonlight spilled across the floor like a spotlight on a stage.

“Should I start? I’m getting nervous,” Rumi admitted, wiping her clammy hands on her pajama pants.

What about him? Jinu thought. He was more than nervous—he was downright panicking. Still, he managed to force a laugh and plaster on a nonchalant smile, even as his heart raced.

Rumi cleared her throat, letting out a series of exaggerated "ehem"s that made Jinu chuckle despite himself. Then, with a grin, she looked up at him. “Ready?”

“Don’t be disappointed if my voice cracks,” He teased.

“Me? Disappointed in you? Never,” She replied. There was a sincerity in her gaze, a conviction that made his chest tighten.

Rumi held out her hands to him, her smile warm and reassuring. “To make it less awkward… let’s dance, okay?”

Jinu blinked, startled. “Dance?”

“Yes, dance,” Rumi said, taking his hands and clasping them in hers. Her touch was light but steady, grounding him.

They stood there for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes as if the world beyond the moonlit room had ceased to exist. Slowly, they moved closer, their steps tentative but deliberate, like two puzzle pieces trying to find their fit.

Jinu’s hand drifted to her waist, and Rumi placed hers on his shoulder. The proximity made his knees feel weak, but he managed to ask, “Like this?” His voice was shaky, laced with uncertainty.

“You’re doing great,” Rumi said, her smile encouraging. “It’s like a waltz. Have you seen how that goes?”

Jinu nodded. “Yeah, I studied it,” he said, his tone casual, though the faintest hint of pride crept into his voice.

Rumi giggled, her laugh light and teasing. “Of course you would study waltz. No K-pop idol would waltz on stage,” she quipped, a playful glint in her eyes.

He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I needed to learn everything, you know,” he replied, lifting a brow as though it should’ve been obvious.

“Okay,” Rumi whispered, her voice quieter now, as if the moment had shifted into something more delicate. She closed her eyes, drawing in a steadying breath before she began to hum.

The melody was slow, deliberate—like a song meant to guide their movements. It seemed to wrap around them, filling the quiet room with a warmth that felt almost tangible.

Slowly, they began to move.

Jinu’s eyes stayed on her, watching the way her lashes fluttered slightly as she hummed, her lips parting just enough to let the melody slip through.

Then, softly, her voice broke through the silence:

“I see you standing in the crowd
Heart so loud, but lips still proud
You're waiting for someone to see
But what if that someone is me?”

Her voice was soft—low and intimate, like it was meant just for him. Their feet moved instinctively, as though their bodies already knew the rhythm, the steps, the way they should fit together.

Jinu could feel the warmth of her hands in his, their skin brushing lightly as they spun together, and he found himself mesmerized. His eyes followed the movement of her face, the delicate curve of her smile, the way her hair flowed behind her. Loose strands caught the pale light spilling through the window, shimmering like threads of spun silver.

Her demon marks shimmered faintly, the intricate patterns glowing softly under the moonlight. In response, his own marks came alive, their soft iridescence pulsing in time with the music.

“You’ve built your walls so high
But I see the sky in your eyes
Just come a little closer.”

Rumi’s eyes fluttered open then, meeting his. Her gaze was tender, filled with understanding—the kind of understanding that only came from someone who truly saw him, who knew him.

And she did. She understood him the way no one else could. She never judged him, never hesitated to accept him for what he was, a demon. A sinner, a guilty man who had left his family...

Their movements became smoother, more fluid, as Rumi pulled Jinu closer. Together, they waltzed across the room, their shadows flickering along the walls, their marks glowing brighter with every step. The moonlight seemed to grow stronger, as if the stars themselves were leaning in to watch.

Jinu’s focus never wavered from her. Every detail—her voice, her expression, the way her body moved with effortless grace—it all held him captive. He almost forgot the reason for their dance, that this was supposed to be a practice to align their frequency, their wavelength.

But for now, none of that mattered.

As the melody swelled, Rumi let go of his hand, spinning away with a playful smile. Her movements turned freer, looser, as if she were inviting him into something more.

She danced around him, her footsteps light and deliberate, her humming soft and enticing. Jinu stood still, watching her as though entranced. There was something almost hypnotic about the way she moved, like a siren luring a sailor into the depths of the sea.

And he would’ve followed her willingly.

Her demon marks glowed brighter now, their luminous patterns matching the rhythm of her song. She spun on her heels, the hem of her pajama pants swishing lightly against the floor, before she stopped and extended her hand toward him once more.

“Take my hand, don’t be afraid
We’ll run where the stars cascade
Just follow me, I’ll find the way
No need to speak, your fingers say
Everything your heart won’t say.”

Jinu didn’t hesitate this time. He reached for her hand, their fingers intertwining as she pulled him close. Together, they spun across the room, their movements seamless.

Jinu guided her into a spin, his hand steady at her waist as he tipped her back gently. For a moment, she hung there, her hair falling like a curtain of silk, before he pulled her upright again. Their steps slowed, the air between them thick with unspoken words.

Rumi’s eyes softened as she closed them again, her hum quieting. The melody seemed to reach its end, fading into the stillness of the room.

Jinu realized this must be where her song ended. But something stirred within him, a quiet urge to continue.

He watched her for a moment, taking in the way her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth:

“You move like you don’t want to fall
But darling, I will catch it all
The silence between us is loud
But your hand fits mine somehow.”

His voice was hesitant, the words uncertain, but they spilled out anyway. Low and quiet, they filled the space her melody had left behind.

Rumi’s eyes snapped open, her expression lighting up with surprise and delight. Her smile was radiant, brighter than the moonlight itself.

Jinu was continuing her song.

She didn’t hesitate to pull him closer, their dance resuming as if there had never been a pause. Her marks glowed brighter, the soft iridescence spreading to match the rhythm of his voice. His own marks shimmered in response, glowing blue, pink, and yellow in a gentle, pulsing harmony.

Their conjoined hands were warm—so warm it felt as though they were being welded together, destined to forever hold each other’s hands. Jinu wished it could truly be like that. 

Beneath the moonlight, Rumi’s eyes glowed, and as if in response, Jinu’s did too.

“If you lose your way, I’ll still be here.
I’ll hold your hand until the very end.
Let me be the one who dares,
To love you when no one cares.”

The words spilled from his lips before he could stop them—a raw, unfiltered confession of his unrequited love. Rumi’s eyes widened, as though she was trying to grasp what he meant. Jinu only held her hands tighter, closing his eyes, refusing to meet her gaze. Warmth radiated from his chest, rising up to his throat, familiar and all-consuming. He knew this feeling—it was the same as when he had been inside the sword.

Was this it? Were their frequencies aligning? Was it working?

Jinu opened his eyes. Rumi was watching him. She didn’t look disgusted. In fact, she wore a small, soft smile, her eyes shining as they held his. If Jinu allowed himself to be a little more delusional, he might have thought it looked like love.

But perhaps it wasn’t. Maybe… maybe she was only swept away by the emotions of the song. Or maybe by the sensation of slowly claiming his soul, as his body began to glow. 

Her eyes widened as they continued to dance.

“Take my hand, through fire and rain.
Through every joy and every pain.
You don’t have to walk alone.
With me, you’ll always have a home.
Just follow me, I’ll find the way.
‘Cause I’ve been waiting just to say—
Please… take my hand.”

Jinu pulled Rumi closer, and before he could stop himself, he pressed his forehead to hers. A burst of light erupted between them, blinding them both. Rumi squeezed her eyes shut as a familiar warmth enveloped her entire being. For a moment, she felt weightless—like she was floating.

Behind her closed eyelids, blue and pink light danced, swirling together in vivid patterns.

And then—suddenly—darkness.

When Rumi opened her eyes, she found herself holding a large glowing sword. Its blade shimmered with hues of blue, pink, and yellow that seemed to dance in harmony. It felt impossibly light in her grip. But something else caught her attention.

Her clothes were different.

She now wore a stunning hanbok in the same iridescent shade as Jinu’s—white that shifted to blue and pink when it caught the light. Her hair was tied back in a braid, and a gleaming silver chestplate rested over her heart, protecting it. Shoulder plates adorned her as well, exuding warmth, as though Jinu had wrapped his entire being around her body to shield her.

It was a complete transformation.

“Jinu…” Rumi whispered, her voice trembling, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The warmth of his forehead lingered against hers, and the sword in her hand pulsed steadily, responding as if it were alive, as if it answered her call.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, almost to herself. “So beautiful.”

The moon shone brightly above them, casting its silvery glow over the scene. And in that moment, Rumi’s heart felt safe—cradled and held, as though Jinu himself were embracing her in his arms.

Chapter Text

THE NEXT MORNING, JINU WAS COMPLETELY CONKED OUT . After turning back into a sword and channeling his very soul to create Rumi’s armor and clothing, he’d drained himself dry. He spent the early hours drifting in and out of sleep on the sofa, barely aware of the world. Rumi hovered nearby, quietly tending to him and fussing over his blanket.

“A MAGICAL GIRL TRANSFORMATION?! WHY DIDN’T YOU WAKE US?!” Zoey shrieked, her eyes shining with excitement. Mira had to physically hold her back from pouncing on Rumi, who was grinning from ear to ear, her cheeks still flushed with the afterglow. She hadn’t forgotten the sensation—the rush, the power, the feeling that she could do anything. It was intoxicating. Was this really the power of a single soul?

Mira glanced over at Jinu, still unmoving. “What about him? Is he alright?” she asked, concern coloring her voice.

Rumi sighed, brushing a stray hair from Jinu’s forehead. “It took a lot out of him. I managed to call him back, but he just… passed out right after.” She gave him a fond, worried look.

Mira nodded in understanding. “That’s awesome, but why didn’t you take a picture?” Zoey piped up, practically bouncing on her heels. Rumi giggled.

“And here I thought you hated the guy,” Mira deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at Zoey.

Zoey pouted, folding her arms. “I don’t! I just needed time to cool down. He’s not so bad when he’s not acting like a tsundere.” Mira snorted, shaking her head.

“Well, you got your magical girl transformation. What now?” Mira asked, jerking her thumb toward the demon still dozing on the sofa.

Rumi hummed, crossing her arms in thought. “Let’s just let him rest for now.”

They did. The living room filled with the soft clinking of mugs and the low hum of the morning news. Moments later, the peace was shattered by the sound of Zoey and Mira bickering over the last matcha boba tea in the fridge. The commotion stirred Jinu awake. His head throbbed, and his body felt like it was filled with lead. Was someone sitting on him? Was it Derpy again ?

It wasn’t the first time that Derpy used him as a pillow. He cracked his eyes open and looked at the side.

No, that was just Derpy sprawled on the rug.

He tried to sit up, vision swimming like he’d spun in circles. Did it work? Did their frequencies match?

“Oho! The lover boy is awake,” Mira teased from across the room.

Jinu could only groan, the voices booming in his skull. He pressed a shaky hand to his forehead, trying to clear the fog. He blinked—twice, thrice—until Rumi’s familiar purple hair came into focus.

“Jinu? Can you hear me? Are you alright?” Rumi’s voice was soft, close.

He nodded weakly. “Did it… work?” he managed, voice hoarse.

Rumi’s grin was all the answer he needed. Relief washed over him. Before he could say another word, Rumi hugged him tightly. The sudden warmth caught him off guard, a noise escaping his throat as his head found her shoulder. She was warm, and he was still so tired. He unconsciously snuggled closer, breathing in her scent—something soft and sweet, like lavender and old books.

“Aiya, look at these two. Hugging in front of us,” Zoey sing-songed. Rumi pulled away, rolling her eyes at Zoey, who was waving her prize—the matcha boba—in the air. Mira, beside her, looked miffed with a chocolate tea in hand.

Jinu looked away, scrubbing the sleep from his face. Was it really already morning? Had he been out the whole time? He tried to stand—and promptly collapsed, face-first, onto the rug.

There was a chorus of yelps and scrambling hands. Rumi and Zoey rushed over, helping him up. For the first time in years, Jinu felt a flush of shame. Once a feared demon, now he was being scooped off the floor by two girls. He muttered, “Please just kill me,” as Zoey snickered.

“That would make Rumi sad,” she quipped, squeezing his arm as they helped him back to the sofa.

Rumi found this hilarious, laughter bubbling up as she rolled her eyes fondly. Jinu finally realized what he was wearing—a hanbok, again. He groaned inwardly. Another set of clothes lost. His favorite slippers, too. Damn it.

“Guys, believe it or not, I want to see the magical girl transformation,” Mira said, settling beside Zoey, both looking expectant. Jinu cast them a helpless look.

As much as he wanted to dance and sing with Rumi, he could barely move his feet, let alone think straight. He was exhausted.

Rumi caught the look in his half-lidded eyes. “I don’t know, guys. He still looks wiped out,” she said gently.

Jinu nodded. “I don’t think I can dance,” he admitted.

Both Zoey and Mira turned to Rumi, eyes wide.

“You guys danced?” they asked in unison. Rumi flustered, waving her hands.

“Well—!”

“Oh my gosh, this is so sweet. The romance is building up. I love a good slow burn!” Zoey practically squealed, while Mira smirked.

“I didn’t know you had it in you,” Mira teased, nudging Jinu, who only swatted at her like a sleepy cat. “Please leave me alone. I’m leaving,” he muttered, not even waiting before stumbling his way to his room.

He could hear Rumi calling after him as he stumbled down the hallway, but he didn’t even bother to close his door behind him. The moment he crossed the threshold, he simply let gravity take over, collapsing onto the floor before he even reached his bed. Sleep claimed him instantly—right there on the hard floor, hair askew.

Through the haze of exhaustion, he could make out worried voices from the living room, mingled with snickers that pricked his pride. Well, if they found this funny, he’d get his revenge. Eventually. But not now. Right now, he needed to die for a moment—or at least fake it long enough to get some beauty sleep.

He dreamed again.

But this time, it wasn’t a nightmare. He did not see his mother’s face, or the shadow of his sister, or the grip of Gwi-Ma, or his own idiotic death. Instead, it was something strange—less a dream, more like a memory he didn’t remember ever having.

He stood beneath a vast tree, its ancient branches spreading wide, filtering the sunlight into lazy gold patterns on the grass. The air was cool and sweet. Before him was a grave, stone worn smooth by time. He couldn’t make out the writing, the letters blurring and shifting, but there was a peace to the place that made his chest ache in a quiet, unfamiliar way.

Where was he? Was this some lost corner of memory, or a dream conjured by exhaustion? He looked around, confusion prickling at his skin. The tree’s roots twisted into the earth, the shade enveloping him in a gentle embrace. Nothing about the grave felt familiar. He wondered, not for the first time, what the ever-living hell he was doing here.

A small voice broke the silence. “Who are you?”

He whirled around, startled, and found a child standing a few paces behind him. She wore a loose, oversized shirt with sleeves that nearly swallowed her hands. Her hair was a light, silvery purple—familiar, tied back in a messy braid. She stared at him with wide, cautious eyes, clutching her hands to her chest.

“Hi,” Jinu said lamely, his voice sounding strange in the quiet grove.

The girl blinked up at him, nose scrunching in confusion. “Are you… Mom’s friend too?” she asked, glancing past him to the grave.

He followed her gaze, then looked back at her, heart pounding. She looked so familiar—her hair, her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw. Like—

“Rumi?” he breathed, half in disbelief.

The child’s eyes widened. “How did you know my name?” she demanded, lips forming a pout as she eyed him warily.

Jinu’s mind whirled, taking a step back. What the hell? This was Rumi—no, this was Rumi as a child. Why was he dreaming of her like this? Was this really her memory, or just his imagination twisting things while he slept?

Before he could say anything else, the little girl brushed past him, digging into her pocket. She pulled out a battered, dried flower, its petals crumpled but still clinging to the stem. She knelt at the grave, her small hands patting the flower carefully into place amidst the grass. Her braid had come loose, wisps of hair escaping to frame her face, and her white pants were stained with dirt, as if she’d been running through the fields to find the flower.

“You should leave,” Child Rumi said quietly, her voice oddly flat—not happy, not sad, not even frightened to see a stranger at her mother’s grave. Just empty. “Aunty won’t like seeing someone new here.”

Jinu watched her, feeling a strange tightness in his chest. Her small hands lingered over the flower, and for a moment, he saw the way her fingers trembled.

“I’m… a friend of your mother’s,” he lied, moving to kneel beside the child. 

Rumi looks up at him, her eyes flat and unreadable, like dark stones catching the morning light. Then, without another word, she turns her gaze back to the gravestone. “Okay, nice to meet you,” she says, the phrase automatic, almost robotic. She stands, brushing the dirt from her knees, and starts to walk away.

“Hey, where are you going?” Jinu calls, uncertain whether he should follow.

Rumi stops and glances over her shoulder, her expression unchanged. “To the garden. I need to get more flowers,” she replies, her voice hollow as if echoing from somewhere far away. And then she’s gone, her small figure disappearing around the corner of a hedge.

Jinu hesitates, but curiosity—or perhaps worry—nudges him to follow. The place is sprawling, acres of green stretching out under a pale sky, with wildflowers painting the landscape in reckless color. The scent is thick, sweet and overwhelming, making Jinu’s head swim. It’s beautiful, but too much, like a memory you can’t quite handle.

He finds Rumi in the garden, bending over a riot of blossoms, her hands deft as she plucks stems with practiced ease. She seems perfectly at home here, the flowers yielding to her small fingers as if they know her.

“Do you need help?” Jinu calls softly from the other side of a low, mossy fence, his hand resting atop the wood as he leans in.

Rumi looks up, her eyes meeting his. There’s a brief flicker—a faint question, maybe—before she shakes her head. “No thanks, mister. You can just watch,” she says, her tone polite but distant. Then she stands, arms full of blooms he can’t name, and slips out through the garden gate.

He trails after her, watching as she returns to the grave. She kneels and lays the flowers down, but there’s no pattern to the arrangement; the petals sprawl in wild clusters, colors clashing. Rumi frowns, rearranging them again and again, her brows knitting tighter with each failed attempt. Frustration tightens her lips.

Jinu crouches beside her, uncertain. He offers a hand, gentle and hesitant. “Do you need help?” he asks.

She shakes her head fiercely, her focus never wavering from the flowers. “No thanks, mister.” The words are clipped, but her hands tremble just a little as she fusses with the stems. Jinu sits back, watching her small, stubborn movements. She lets out a few tiny sighs, as if the world is just too heavy. Then, finally, she stands and stares down at the grave, her face emptied of emotion.

She’s so still, so rigid, that for a moment Jinu wonders if she’s made of stone too—a child carved from grief.

Was this really Rumi?

He notices her hands, dirty and scratched, and the hems of her pants, streaked with mud. “You should wash up,” Jinu murmurs, concerned.

Rumi’s eyes flick to him, flat and tired. She nods once. “Goodbye, mister,” she says quietly.

And just like that, the world blurs and Jinu jerks awake. The ceiling above is blank and familiar, shadows shifting in the corners. Beside him, he hears the faint clink of glass. He turns his head to find Rumi—older now, the child from his dream gone—setting a glass of water on the nightstand. She hums a tune to herself, unaware that he’s awake.

For a moment, Jinu just stares, unsure if he’s still dreaming. A moment ago, Rumi was a little girl in a garden. Now she’s grown, her movements brisk and practiced.

Rumi finally notices him sit up and groan. She jumps a little, then grins. “You’re already awake,” she says, settling on the edge of the bed as Jinu rubs his forehead.

Was that a memory, or just a dream?

“I think I just saw you as a child,” Jinu murmurs, voice thick with confusion.

“A what now?” Rumi laughs, startled, her brow creasing in amusement and concern.

THE DREAMS DOES NOT END THERE, NOT SO EASILY.

Ever since Jinu had turned back into a sword, he’d been sapped of so much energy that he was confined to bed, barely rising except for necessities. Sometimes, through the thin walls, he could hear Rumi’s worried voice outside, confiding in others that she thought Jinu was getting sick.

 She cared—perhaps a little too much—even though Jinu kept reminding her he was only catching up on sleep. Demons couldn’t get sick, after all. If they could, he joked to himself, then he should’ve been ill for the last four centuries. But Rumi didn’t seem convinced, especially since he still couldn’t manage to stand on his own two feet.

“If this is what happens after turning back into a sword, I’m scared to do it again,” Rumi murmured, frowning as she perched on a wooden stool by his bed.

Jinu hummed, shaking his head as he tried to reassure her. “Maybe I just need to get used to it. Or maybe our frequencies still aren’t syncing up.” He meant it as a joke, but Rumi’s face only clouded further, her frown deepening.

“I’m kidding! Really. I think we did the right thing that night. We sang, we danced—it felt like one of those Disney movies,” Jinu said dreamily, gazing at the ceiling as if lost in memories.

Rumi’s concern melted into a small, reluctant smile. “So you watch those too, huh?”

“Mhm. So romantic,” Jinu sang with a grin, making Rumi giggle. She quickly hid her smile behind her hand.

“You should focus on resting more,” she chided gently, pulling the duvet up under his chin. Jinu grumbled, snuggling deeper into the blankets, secretly appreciating the gesture.

“Are you heading out today?” he asked, voice muffled by the covers.

Rumi nodded. “Yeah. Celine and I are meeting up.”

“That’s your aunt, right?” Jinu said, tilting his head.

“Yeah. How’d you know?” Rumi looked at him curiously.

“Zoey told me. She mentioned her—said something about her A-plus parenting skills,” Jinu replied with a teasing glint in his eye.

Rumi looked down at her hands, her expression dimming with shame. Sensing her discomfort, Jinu reached out and brushed her fingers with his own. She glanced up, and he took it as permission to gently hold her hand.

“If she says anything shitty, just tell her being half-demon is the new trend,” Jinu quipped, managing a tired but genuine grin.

Rumi snorted, then broke into laughter. “Where do you learn these things?”

“Zoey lent me her phone a few days ago, since I can’t leave bed. I’ve been watching YouTube and scrolling through TikTok,” Jinu confessed, eyes flicking to the green phone charging on the nightstand. “It’s... entertaining.”

Rumi’s eyes brightened. “I’m glad you and Zoey are on good terms again,” she said softly.

Jinu rolled his eyes, but there was affection in his voice. “She likes the drama, I guess.”

He looked down at their joined hands. Rumi didn’t pull away; in fact, she squeezed his hand tighter, as if afraid he might vanish. Jinu felt his face flush—not from embarrassment, but from a soft, bubbling delight. It curled around his chest like a purring cat. He didn’t want her to leave—not yet. He wanted her to stay, maybe even lie beside him, maybe let him hold her, maybe hold each other. He wondered what her arms would feel like wrapped around him.

“I have to go now,” Rumi said at last, her voice gentle as she stroked his hand before standing. “Celine’s probably waiting at the café.”

Jinu hummed, reluctant. “Good luck.”

“I’ll be back before you know it—you won’t even notice I’m gone,” Rumi promised, flashing him a quick grin.

“I already do,” Jinu murmured, barely audible, as sleep pulled him under again—a darkness with gentle, clawed hands that refused to let him go.

He stands once again before the grave. The air is heavy with silence, broken only by the soft hiccups of a child. He sees Rumi—her younger self—crying, clutching her wrist. Her sleeve is bunched awkwardly up to her shoulder, exposing the demon mark splotched against her pale skin.

“Hey,” he calls out gently.

Rumi whirls around, tears streaking down her cheeks. Panic flashes in her wide eyes as she hurriedly tugs her sleeve down, as if trying to hide something monstrous and shameful. Her face is raw with embarrassment and sorrow—a stark contrast to the stoic mask she usually wears whenever Jinu visits this place.

He already knows what’s wrong, but asks anyway, kneeling to meet her gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Rumi shakes her head, sniffling. “You’re back again, mister,” she whispers, evading his question.

Jinu only smiles, stretching out his hand towards her—a silent offer of comfort.

Rumi looks at his hand, wary and uncertain. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Jinu asks softly.

She glances up at him, then at his outstretched hand. After a moment, she sniffles again and tentatively takes it. Her small fingers are surprisingly strong, gripping his with a desperation that belies her age. Jinu rises, gently guiding her towards a patch of flowers nearby. They are white, almost lilies, though not quite—their name escapes him.

He waits, letting the silence stretch, hoping she’ll speak. But Rumi only cries harder, her fingers digging into his palm, clinging to him as if he’s her last tether to safety.

Jinu’s chest tightens as he watches her tears. He kneels before her again, reaching up to wipe away the trails on her cheeks.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong, Rumi?” he asks once more.

She bites her lower lip, head bowed as she scuffs the dry earth with her white shoes. “Not today, mister,” she whispers, voice so small it almost vanishes in the wind.

Jinu nods, squeezing her hand gently. “Okay, Rumi. How about we walk in the garden, then?”

She doesn’t answer, but lets him lead her down a winding dirt path. The garden is alive with color and fragrance—roses, violets, wildflowers tangled together in a riot of scent that makes Jinu’s head spin. Rumi is silent, her earlier sobs gone as if they never existed. She wipes her face with the back of her sleeve, regaining the composure that seems unnatural for someone so young.

Jinu watches her out of the corner of his eye, heart aching. Rumi is far too mature for her age, he thinks with sorrow. She drags him to a rose bush, where a weathered wooden bench swings gently in the breeze. Rumi lets go of his hand and sits, staring up at him expectantly.

He sits beside her. The bench sways slightly, the creak of wood blending with the distant hum of bees. Rumi tucks her legs beneath her, unable to reach the ground. Jinu nudges the bench, sending them rocking gently back and forth.

For a moment, he closes his eyes, letting the wind brush across his skin. When he opens them, Rumi is staring into the distance, her gaze vacant—emotionless once more, as if she’s slipped on an invisible mask.

Jinu’s heart aches again. This isn’t just any dream, he realizes. These are Rumi’s memories, bleeding into his own ever since their souls fused. He feels her pain as if it’s his own, her loneliness echoing in his heart.

After a while, Rumi breaks the silence. “What’s your name, mister?”

“Will you tell me what’s wrong first, and then I’ll tell you?” Jinu turns to Rumi, his tone light, but underneath is a plea—a hope that she’ll let him in.

Rumi stares back, a small, almost comical pout tugging at her lips. She glances away, jaw set stubbornly. “That does not seem fair at all,” she mutters, her fist curling in her lap. Jinu can’t help but smile, a gentle warmth in his eyes.

“We have all the time in the world, then,” he says, leaning back a little on the bench, “so you can decide if you want to know my name.”

Rumi exhales, the sound almost a scoff, though it’s far too soft, too fragile, to be truly dismissive. “It’s not a fair trade,” she repeats, her hand inching up to her shoulder, fingers unconsciously rubbing at the hidden mark beneath her sleeve. Her gaze drops, shame flickering over her face.

Jinu’s voice turns teasing, trying to lighten the heaviness that hangs between them. “Hm, is that so? Oh well, I suppose you’ll never know my name, then.”

Rumi shoots him a look, her brows pinched together in a way that would look petulant on any other child, but on her, it’s as if she’s fighting to keep some fragile dignity. “Then I’ll just call you Mister forever,” she shoots back, chin raised stubbornly.

Jinu laughs, a brief, bright sound. He ruffles her hair, his hand gentle as he musses the neat braids. Rumi’s eyes go wide—alarmed—and she slaps his hand away with surprising force, as if his touch had burned her.

“Don’t touch my hair,” she hisses, voice sharp and brittle. Jinu blinks in surprise, guilt pricking at him as he sees her face go pale. Hands trembling, Rumi tries to smooth her hair back into place, fingers fumbling with the loose strands.

“Oh, Rumi, I didn’t mean to…” Jinu starts, but she won’t meet his eyes, intent on fixing her braid.

“Aunty will be mad if she sees my hair like this,” Rumi says, panic edging into her voice. Her breathing quickens, and she tugs at the braid as if she might be able to erase his touch entirely.

Jinu leans in, lowering his voice. “Hey, calm down. I can fix your braid, if that’s okay with you.”

Rumi looks at him, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “How do I know you’ll do it right?” she challenges, clinging to a semblance of control.

He smiles, soft and reassuring. “I have a little sister. She likes her hair in braids, too.”

She searches his face, as if looking for any hint of a lie, before giving a tiny nod. “You’re Mom’s friend… I should trust you,” she whispers, barely audible, and turns her back to him.

Jinu feels a pang of sadness at her words—at how transactional trust is for her, how hard-won. With careful hands, he unravels the braid, each movement gentle and deliberate, as if the hair might shatter in his fingers. He weaves it back, not too tight this time—soft, so it doesn’t tug at her scalp. When he’s done, he plucks a rose from the bush nearby, snapping the stem and carefully removing the thorns before tucking it at the base of her braid, tying it in place.

“All done,” he says softly.

Rumi pulls her braid over her shoulder, inspecting the rose with a suspicious squint. “That was fast,” she says, almost accusingly, as if he couldn’t possibly have done it right.

Jinu only smiles, a quiet reserve in his expression. “Don’t worry. It looks beautiful. The rose suits you, Rumi. But you know, you should let your hair down sometimes. Braids like that can hurt your scalp.”

Rumi frowns, dropping her braid behind her again. “I can’t do that, Mister. Aunty will be very mad,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes dart around the garden, as if expecting Celine to appear at any moment.

“Why?” Jinu asks softly.

Rumi’s shoulders hunch, her voice small and brittle. “She says it reminds her of Mom. And that I should do my hair the same as hers.”

Jinu feels his heart twist, the unfairness of it all settling heavy in his chest. “Do you want to know what I think?” he asks, voice barely above the rustle of leaves.

Rumi finally lifts her gaze, meeting his eyes.

He gives her his hand, open and warm. She hesitates, then slides her small hand into his.

“I think you should let your hair down more often. And I think you should listen to what you want, not just what others expect.”

For a moment, Rumi just stares at him, eyes wide and shining. Then, as if a dam has broken, tears well up and spill over, silent and sudden, running down her cheeks. She doesn’t sob, doesn’t wail—just weeps, as if all the sadness in the world is escaping through her eyes.

Jinu gathers her into his arms, holding her close, his chin resting atop her head. The garden is still around them, a sanctuary of flowers and wind and memory. He strokes her back, murmuring nothing at all, just a steady, comforting presence in the storm of her grief.

Then:

Jinu wakes slowly, the weight of dreams lingering behind his eyes. The room is quiet, bathed in gentle morning light. He turns his head and finds Rumi beside him, perched on a narrow stool, her upper half sprawled over the edge of his bed. Her head rests on folded arms, her hair tumbling across the blanket and pillow, dark and soft, touched by a halo of sunlight streaming through the window. She is fast asleep, utterly peaceful—a stark contrast to the child he’d just spoken to in his dreams.

For a moment, Jinu simply watches her, his heart full. He reaches out, brushing his fingers tenderly across her cheek, tracing the smooth, warm skin beneath his touch. Her lashes flutter, casting delicate shadows on her face, and his heart aches with the quiet beauty of it. She looks like a goddess, radiant and gentle, sunlight gilding her hair in a way that seems almost otherworldly.

She deserves to be loved, Jinu thinks. To love freely and be cherished for who she is—not just for what she does or what she represents. He strokes her cheek with his thumb, overwhelmed by the urge to protect her. Rumi has carried so much, endured a life shaped by control and expectations, beliefs fed to her by others. How lonely that must have been, how frightening.

A fierce longing stirs within him—to hold her, to whisper that she is enough, that she is wanted just as she is. Not Rumi the idol, not Rumi the leader, not Rumi the demon hunter. Just Rumi. He wants all of her—her laughter, her sorrow, her quiet moments and her storms. He wants to give her the world.

As he pulls his hand away, Rumi stirs. Her eyes flutter open, confusion flickering across her face as she comes back to herself. She sits up slowly, wincing as she rubs her lower back. “Ow, my back,” she grumbles, before her gaze lands on Jinu, awake and watching her with a gentle, half-lidded smile.

“You’re awake again,” she says, a playful lilt in her voice. “See? I told you. You wouldn’t even notice I was gone.” She grins as Jinu hums, opening his hand on the bed in silent invitation.

Rumi takes it without hesitation, her own fingers curling easily around his. She scoots the stool closer, leaning in until they’re only a breath apart.

“What did you and Celine talk about?” Jinu asks, his voice low, curious.

Rumi blinks, surprise flickering over her features, as if she hadn’t expected him to care—or to remember. “Nothing much,” she replies softly, a small, private smile on her lips. “She asked what I was doing, how my break was going. She asked about the girls.”

“Mhm. That’s all? Nothing else?” he presses, tilting his head, a teasing note in his voice.

Rumi grins, poking his cheek. “Hey, why are you so interested?” she retorts, her tone light. Jinu frowns, swatting her hand away, though there’s no real heat behind it.

“Am I not allowed to be?” he counters.

She rolls her eyes, smiling. “Well, nothing really happened. It was just…awkward, mostly.” She rubs the back of her neck, laughter dancing in her eyes. Jinu snorts quietly, the sound soft and fond.

They linger in that gentle space, talking about nothing and everything, voices weaving together in the hush of the morning. The world outside feels far away, as if it cannot touch them here.

Eventually, Jinu feels the pull of sleep creeping in once more, heavy and irresistible. He tries to fight it, to keep watching Rumi, but the darkness is gentle this time, drawing him under before he can see her leave.

This time, there are no dreams, no ghostly gardens or fractured memories. Only peace, and the warmth of Rumi’s presence lingering in the quiet of the morning.

RUMI DOES NOT THINK SHE IS A CREEP.
But she likes to watch Jinu sleep—likes the gentle peace that settles across his face, the way his brow unfurrows and his lips part ever so slightly. She notices how sometimes he mumbles in his sleep, the syllables barely formed, soft and secretive. His hands often twitch at his sides, as if searching for something just out of reach. Sometimes, Rumi can’t help but slip her own hand into his, her thumb brushing his knuckles as she watches over him.

He sleeps so quietly, so serenely—nothing like what she’d expected from a demon. She had pictured him snoring thunderously, or perhaps muttering threats and bargains into the dark. But Jinu, even in sleep, is perfect, his features softened by dreams. His hair fans out across the pillow in dark, silken waves, glossy and untamable. His long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, and for the first time, Rumi notices how delicate they are. On a whim, she gently traces a fingertip along his eyelid, half-expecting him to stir. But he doesn’t. He only breathes, slow and steady.

She lets her gaze wander to his hands again—unlike hers, unmarked by hardship or toil. His skin is improbably soft, his nails neatly trimmed, and sometimes she catches the glint of a fang peeking from between his lips when he sighs too harshly in his sleep. It startles her, how vulnerable he seems like this.

Sometimes, just on the edge of sleep or waking, he whispers her name—or maybe she imagines it. When she holds his hand, he holds back, his fingers curling tighter as if he knows it’s her, even in dreams.

So no, Rumi doesn’t think she’s a creep for admiring Jinu’s beauty. She just… appreciates him. Even Derpy, seems to approve, flopping down next to her feet as she sits by Jinu’s bedside. Rumi absently threads her fingers through Jinu’s hair; it’s impossibly soft, silky like expensive fur, and she finds herself unable to resist. She tells herself it’s not strange, not really. 

She is definitely not a creep. Right?

A sharp voice shatters the quiet.

“Woah, what are you doing?”

Rumi yelps, jerking her hand away and scrambling back as Mira steps into the room, a cup of orange juice in hand. Jinu, astonishingly, doesn’t even stir at Mira’s raised voice.

“Mira? What are you doing here?” Rumi asks, trying to compose herself as Derpy thumps his tail.

Mira smirks, holding out the glass. “I was going to see if you wanted some. You haven’t come out for breakfast and I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep in here again. You watch over him a lot, you know.”

Rumi flushes, taking the juice with a mumbled, “I’m not… Also, thank you.” She sips, grateful for the distraction.

Mira glances at Jinu, whose chest rises and falls with each slow breath. “He doing okay? It’s been a few days since he was bedridden.”

Worry flickers across Rumi’s face. “Yeah, he’s… recovering. I think we overdid it last time. I’m not sure if we should even try again,” she admits, her voice low.

Mira gives a knowing hum. “Well, he was excited too, you know. Just ask him if he wants to try again when he’s ready.” She shrugs, her tone light, but her eyes kind.

“Yeah, maybe I will,” Rumi said, tapping her finger thoughtfully against the glass. “He’s still drifting in and out—awake one moment, asleep the next. But today, he managed to stay up for a few hours before nodding off again. Maybe tomorrow he’ll be good as new.”

Mira watched her for a moment, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You sure do care about him a lot, huh?”

Rumi blinked, caught off guard by the casual observation. “What does that even mean?” she stammered, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

Mira snickered and perched herself on the empty stool—a spot Rumi usually claimed whenever Jinu was awake. Today, though, Rumi sat on the bed, right beside Jinu’s head. She hadn’t meant to get so close, but something about his presence pulled her in, a quiet gravity she couldn’t resist. The urge to reach out, to touch him, was almost magnetic.

“Nothing…” Mira drawled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just saying, this relationship between you two is definitely edging past the ‘just friends’ zone.”

Rumi’s blush deepened. “W-What? N-No way, we’re just friends, I swear!” she protested, but her voice faltered.

Mira raised an eyebrow, ticking off on her fingers. “Do friends hold hands? Dance together? Sing at night? Touch foreheads?”

“I-I swear,” Rumi squeaked, growing more flustered by the second.

She tried to rationalize it—maybe Jinu just had a different way of showing he cared. She herself had always been touchy with people she loved. Surely Jinu was the same? Surely this was normal, right?

Mira’s teasing faded, replaced by a softer expression. “Rumi, if you like Jinu, don’t let us stop you. We’re not running your life,” she said gently. “Plus, I guess he’s alright. I could use someone to mess with when I get bored of my phone.” Mira winked, making Rumi shake her head despite her embarrassment.

Just then, Jinu’s hand twitched again, restless even in sleep. Like a reflex, Rumi reached out and took his hand. Immediately, he quieted, his breathing evening out. It felt natural, inevitable.

Mira caught the motion, her smirk returning. “Rumi, just remember—don’t forget to put yourself first. If you’re not ready for a relationship, don’t force it. You’ve got to love yourself first before loving someone else.”

With that, Mira slipped out, leaving Rumi alone with her tangled thoughts.

Love herself first, huh? Rumi glanced down at their joined hands. Jinu’s fingers curled perfectly around hers, his skin usually cool, now oddly warm. Her demon marks pulsed in sync with Jinu’s, as if some invisible current connected them.

She wanted to know more about Jinu—about the secrets he kept hidden behind his quiet smiles and gentle hands. She could sense the depths in his eyes, the weight of things unspoken. She hoped, someday, he’d trust her enough to stop hiding. Because Rumi wanted to accept all of him, just as he’d accepted her.

Jinu stirred, breaking her reverie. Rumi quickly slipped her hand away and settled onto the stool. Jinu’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and heavy-lidded.

“Rumi?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“Hey, you’re awake again,” she said, her smile warm and a little shy.

Jinu chuckled softly. “I feel like I keep falling asleep between our chats,” he mumbled, his gaze lingering on her face as if to memorize it before sleep claimed him again.

Chapter Text

JINU MISSED THE ABILITY TO MOVE FREELY. It felt like an eternity since he left his room, relying on others for every small thing. But now, thank the heavens above, he was finally better. The lethargy was gone, his body lighter, and for the first time in days, he felt like himself again.

“Congrats on being able to walk again!” Zoey cheered, her claps loud and enthusiastic, as if she had been waiting for this moment just as much as he had. Jinu’s first step out of his room caught Rumi mid-motion, her hand raised to knock, a look of surprise replacing her usual calm as she took in the sight of him standing unaided.

“You’re already up and about?” she asked, blinking at him in disbelief. For a moment, Jinu flushed under the attention, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Yeah,” he replied, his grin wide and triumphant. “I feel great now. I can even walk without falling flat on my face.”

Rumi broke into a rare, genuine smile. Her hand reached out to pat his shoulder, the gesture warm and affectionate, like a proud mother congratulating her child. “Very good, Jinu. Maybe next time we’ll give you a medal.”

That earned her an exaggerated scoff from him. “Oh, please,” he muttered, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress the small laugh that followed.

“Speaking of medals, my phone, please,” Zoey interrupted, holding out her hand expectantly. Jinu sighed, digging into his hoodie pocket before handing her the familiar device.

“Oh, my baby! How I missed you!” Zoey crooned dramatically, cradling the phone like a long-lost treasure.

“Or,” Mira’s voice drifted in from the kitchen, where she sat hunched over her laptop, scrolling through random YouTube videos, “you guys could just buy him a phone. Problem solved.”

The suggestion hung in the air for only a second before Zoey’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Rumi’s. Both lit up simultaneously, like twin firecrackers, and Jinu immediately regretted being in the same room. He raised his hands, already trying to defuse whatever chaos was brewing.

“Oh no,” he said quickly. “I don’t need a phone—”

But his words were drowned out by the excited squeals of Zoey and Rumi, who practically bounced in unison. “Let’s buy him a phone!” they declared as if it were the most brilliant idea in the world. Jinu groaned, leaning back and dragging a hand down his face.

So much for a chill day. He had imagined himself sinking into the couch, flipping through TV channels, maybe even napping. Instead, he was now at the mercy of two overexcited women plotting his technological upgrade.

Later, in the bathroom, Jinu found solace in the warm water of the tub. He let himself sink under the surface, bubbles escaping his mouth as he exhaled. It wasn’t like he needed to breathe, but watching the bubbles rise and pop was oddly soothing. He realized how much he missed this—this simple, quiet act of bathing. He couldn’t even remember how many days he’d been bedridden, but it felt like a lifetime.

Under the water, his thoughts drifted. In his fevered dreams, he had often spoken to a younger version of Rumi—a child with wide, wary eyes, burdened by expectations far too heavy for her small shoulders. He hated that she had gone through all that alone. If only he had been there sooner, he could have protected her, shown her what it meant to be a child: carefree, happy, surrounded by friends.

But he hadn’t been there. And Rumi had grown up too fast, thrust into a life she might not have even chosen for herself. Jinu could only hope—pray—that she had made that decision for her own happiness.

The sound of the door clicking open jolted him from his thoughts. His head shot up above the water, his heart leaping in surprise.

“R-Rumi?!” he sputtered, quickly sinking back into the tub to hide as much of himself as possible. His face burned with embarrassment as he glared at her.

“Hey, you forgot your clothes in the living room,” Rumi said casually, holding up the neatly folded bundle. She didn’t even flinch at the sight of him, half-naked and clearly mortified. His face slowly turning red.

“R-Rumi, get the hell out!” Jinu yelled, his voice cracking as he tried to shrink into the water.

“You forgot to lock your door,” she pointed out with a mischievous grin, sticking her tongue out at him. She placed the clothes on the sink and turned to leave.

“Is this how humans work today? No sense of privacy?”. Jinu practically shrieked, his face so hot he felt like he was boiling the water himself.

“Just to you!” She sings.

Rumi only laughed, poking her hand back through the door to lock it from the inside. “And don’t forget to lock your door next time,” she said, her tone teasing, before finally shutting it behind her.

Jinu stared at the closed door in silence, his thoughts racing. What the hell does she mean, ‘just to you’?

After that, he drained the tub in record time, drying off and pulling on his clothes. He checked the lock four times before leaving the bathroom, his hoodie pulled tight over his head as if it could shield him from the memory of what just happened.

In the living room, Zoey was sipping juice from a packet, her legs swinging idly. Rumi’s door was open, and she was tying her shoes, looking as relaxed as ever. “Already done?” she asked without looking up.

“Yeah,” Jinu replied, his voice a little quieter than usual. “If you’re ready, we can go now.”

Rumi’s face lit up with a smile, her energy bubbling over as she grabbed her bag. She seemed far more excited than he was, which confused Jinu. Why is she so excited about me getting a phone?

The three of them entered the elevator, Zoey and Rumi whispering in hushed tones. Zoey bounced on her heels, while Rumi shook her shoulders dramatically, her grin wide and conspiratorial. Whatever they were planning, Jinu didn’t like it.

“So,” Zoey said brightly, snapping him out of his thoughts, “what kind of phone do you want? The newest model?”

Jinu groaned as Rumi grinned at him knowingly. He was sandwiched between the two, their excitement suffocating. He could already tell—this was going to be a long day.

“Just a… phone? I don’t need fancy phones,” Jinu grumbled, crossing his arms as Zoey and Rumi exchanged knowing looks.

Oh god… Don’t tell me. Jinu sighed internally, already bracing himself for what was to come.

And, of course, he was right. Both Rumi and Zoey had gone absolutely wild over the phone they were buying for him. He found himself trailing behind them through the bustling streets, utterly bewildered by their animated discussions about RAM, storage capacity, and megapixels—none of which made any sense to him. Modern technology, with its endless updates and jargon, only seemed to get more complicated, leaving him perpetually lost.

By midday, the three of them were walking back through town, and Jinu was now staring down at the shiny new phone in his hands. It was sleek, impossibly modern, and undoubtedly one of the latest models that he couldn’t even begin to identify. He barely cared about the phone itself, but the accessories they had chosen for him were… something else.

They’d picked out a shimmering blue phone case with exaggerated wolf ears sticking out from the top. The ears were sharp enough to be a potential safety hazard, and Jinu was pretty sure he’d end up poking himself in the eye—or worse—if he wasn’t careful. But when Rumi had insisted on it, he found he couldn’t refuse.

Then there was the charm Zoey had bought—a small purple bead strung on a delicate cord that dangled from the side of the phone. Jinu didn’t even know what such things were called, but he couldn’t help admiring how the deep purple bead complemented the blue case. Despite the impracticality of it all, he admitted to himself with a small smile that he liked how it looked.

“Are you sure I won’t get hurt by this?” Jinu asked, poking one of the wolf ears on the case with a skeptical frown.

Rumi snickered. “Do you want Zoey to pick another—”

“No!” Jinu cut her off, his voice sharp and almost too defensive. “I like this one,” he added quickly, clutching the phone as if someone might take it away.

Both girls paused to stare at him, their expressions caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Jinu winced inwardly, forcing an awkward smile. “I mean… it’s nice. Really nice.”

Rumi and Zoey exchanged a glance before breaking into identical grins. “Whatever you say, Jinu,” Zoey teased, her voice sing-song. “But just because Rumi picked it out doesn’t mean you have to pretend to like it.”

“Hey!” Rumi protested, nudging Zoey with her elbow, though her grin betrayed her amusement.

Jinu’s face flushed a deep red as he fumbled to pocket the phone, mumbling something incoherent. The girls, meanwhile, were already giggling, their arms looped together as they leaned into each other, whispering and laughing like schoolkids sharing a secret.

Jinu fell a step behind them, watching silently. He wasn’t much of a talker, and it felt easier—less awkward—to simply follow. Rumi’s laughter rang out, clear and bright, as she threw her head back, her hair catching the sunlight. She leaned in close to Zoey, whispering something near her ear, their arms still tightly intertwined.

Jinu’s steps faltered as he watched them. A strange pang settled in his chest. What would it feel like, he wondered, if Rumi leaned into me like that? If she laughed like that just for me?

His thoughts wandered further. Rumi’s hands were rough, calloused from years of relentless training, and she sometimes underestimated her own strength. Her touch could be clumsy, even painful, but Jinu found it endearing in an odd, almost tender way.

If she ever hurt him with her touch, he thought, he wouldn’t mind. No—in fact, he’d probably cherish it. The pain would feel like penance, a small piece of atonement for what he’d done to her. For betraying her trust. It would be better that way, wouldn’t it?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden commotion.

“Look! It’s Rumi!”

“It’s Zoey!”

“Oh my gosh!”

“Dad! Let’s get an autograph!”

Jinu blinked, startled, as a group of people began to gather around them. Despite the hoodies both girls wore to shield their identities, they’d been recognized. The murmuring crowd quickly turned into a swarm, fans shouting their names and clamoring for autographs.

Rumi and Zoey froze, exchanging a quick glance before Zoey stepped forward with her usual easy grin. “Okay, okay—one at a time, guys!” she called, holding her hands up to calm the crowd.

The fans, however, were relentless, pressing closer and bombarding them with questions.

“Where’s Mira?”

“When’s your next album dropping?”

“It’s really them! Oh my god, I’m going to pass out!”

The crowd thickened, and Jinu winced as someone accidentally stepped on his foot. Feeling increasingly out of place, he edged toward the sidewalk, watching as Rumi and Zoey expertly managed the chaos. They somehow got the crowd to form a semblance of a line, promising to sign autographs if everyone behaved.

From his vantage point, Jinu could only marvel at how effortlessly they handled it all—how natural they seemed in the spotlight.

“Don’t pass out, dude. You just got your cast taken off,” someone in the crowd teased, prompting a round of laughter.

Jinu stood to the side, his lips twitching into a small smile as he watched the scene unfold. Rumi, standing at the center of the crowd, grinned widely, her cheeks tinted a faint pink. She looked genuinely happy.

What was I thinking? Jinu thought, his smile faltering slightly. Of course Rumi loves this. Being an idol, being a hunter—it was clear that this life, as chaotic as it was, suited her. He could see it in the way her face lit up as she signed autographs or waved to fans, her energy infectious even from a distance.

Sure, her life had never been easy. So much had been forced on her—expectations, responsibilities, even beliefs. But despite all of that, she loved who she had become. Jinu could see it as plain as day.

The Rumi he had met as a child was so different from the Rumi who stood before him now. That Rumi had been uncertain, hesitant, still trying to figure out her place in the world. But the Rumi of today? She had grown. She was strong, confident, and unshakably herself.

And Jinu was glad. He was glad that life had turned out better for her, that she had found her way. He wished, more than anything, for good things to keep coming her way. She deserved it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small tug on the side of his jacket. Startled, Jinu looked down and found himself staring into a pair of wide, curious eyes. A little girl stood beside him, her tiny hand clutching his jacket tightly. Her silvery-white hair seemed to catch the sunlight, almost glowing. She looked up at him, one hand gripping his jacket while the other thumb was firmly planted in her mouth.

“Mister?” she asked softly, her voice muffled by her thumb.

Jinu blinked in surprise. Oh jeez, he thought, his stomach sinking. A crowd was forming, and now there was a kid who had somehow gotten separated from her parents. Panic flared briefly in his chest, but he forced himself to kneel down, softening his expression.

“Hello,” he said gently, keeping his voice calm and steady. “Are you lost?”

The girl nodded, her thumb sliding out of her mouth just enough to speak. “My mama is missing,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “She was just there.” She pointed toward the alleyway near the edge of the crowd, where people continued to gather around Rumi and Zoey.

Jinu sighed internally, his heart clenching at the sight of the frightened child. Poor kid, he thought, nodding to her. “Alright,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s go find her, okay?”

The girl hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand. Her grip was surprisingly tight—so tight that Jinu winced slightly as her small nails dug into his skin. Jeez, kid’s got a death grip, he thought, but he didn’t pull away. He let her lead him toward the alleyway, weaving carefully through the growing crowd.

The noise of the fans was getting louder, and Jinu couldn’t help but glance back toward Rumi and Zoey. The two were still surrounded, their cheerful voices carrying above the din as they tried to manage the chaos. Why haven’t they stopped the crowd yet? he wondered, unease bubbling in his chest. He shook the thought away. First, he needed to make sure this kid was safe.

If he left her alone and something happened, he wouldn’t just feel guilty—he’d also have to face Zoey and Rumi’s wrath. And that was a fate he wasn’t eager to tempt.

“Okay,” Jinu said as they reached the alleyway. The noise of the crowd faded slightly behind them, replaced by the quieter hum of passing conversations and footsteps. “We’re here. Where’s your mother?”

He looked around, scanning the area. The alleyway was mostly empty, save for a few closed shops and a handful of couples heading toward the crowd. There was no sign of a frantic parent searching for their child.

The girl stood silently beside him, her thumb back in her mouth. She glanced around uncertainly before looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I don’t know,” she sniffled, her voice trembling.

Jinu froze. Oh no, no, no, he thought, trying not to panic. Kid’s about to cry. I can handle this. I’ve dealt with crying kids before. My sister, a child version of Rumi... I’ve got this… right?

He pushed down the rising anxiety and crouched lower so he was level with her. “Hey,” he said softly, forcing a smile. “It’s okay. We’ll find her, I promise.” He gestured toward the end of the alleyway, where it curved out of sight. “How about we try over there? Maybe she’s waiting for you just around the corner.”

The girl hesitated, sniffling again, but eventually nodded. Her tiny hand tightened around his as they began walking together toward the end of the alley.

Jinu’s mind raced as they moved, trying to piece together a plan. What if her mom isn’t there? He glanced down at the girl, who was still sucking her thumb, her silvery hair gleaming in the sunlight. Focus, he told himself. Find her mom first, then figure out the rest.

But as they approached the turn in the alleyway, unease crept back into Jinu’s chest. Something about this felt… off.

The alleyway was deathly silent as Jinu walked towards the turn, his steps echoing faintly against the cracked pavement. The air felt heavy, stale, as if untouched by sunlight for years.

Shadows pooled in every corner, cast by the towering buildings that loomed over him, their jagged edges blotting out the sky. Even at this hour, no light could reach here. It was too dark, too quiet. Jinu’s eyes darted around nervously, searching for any sign of movement—or the woman they were supposed to find. But there was nothing. Nothing but the oppressive silence and the distant hum of the city beyond.

“Uhm…” Jinu murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, unsure of himself. His mind raced. Should he call the police? Or maybe it’d be better to bring the girl back to Rumi and Zoey; surely they would know what to do. They always knew what to do. They were so well-versed in the things Jinu wasn’t—practical, sharp, decisive.

He glanced back at the girl. She was close behind him, her small hand in his. But he didn’t notice the moment she let go. When he turned back, she had stepped away, her delicate features suddenly shadowed. Her eyes—once wide and innocent—had narrowed into razor-sharp slits, glowing a sickly, predatory yellow.

“Wait—” Jinu started, but his words caught in his throat as he froze, paralyzed by the sight unfolding before him.

The girl’s body began to contort unnaturally. Bones cracked and twisted, the sound echoing in the empty alleyway. Her small frame stretched grotesquely, doubling, tripling in size. Flesh bubbled and shifted, melding into something monstrous. Her skin turned a mottled gray, jagged with spines, and her arms elongated, ending in claws so sharp they could carve through steel. A guttural growl rumbled from her chest as she rose to her full height, her new form towering over Jinu.

What…? Jinu’s thoughts sputtered, unable to form coherence as he stumbled back a step. The little girl was gone, consumed by the creature now standing before him. No, not just a creature—a demon. A grotesque amalgamation of twisted flesh and bone, with the girl’s small, lifeless body grotesquely fused to its back like a discarded shell.

God—it’s a demon.

The demon tilted its head, as if mocking his terror. Its glowing yellow eyes locked onto Jinu’s, and it let out a low, guttural laugh. “Jinu,” it hissed, its voice a distorted mix of growls and something almost human. “What are you doing?”

Jinu’s breath caught as the demon’s mouth stretched impossibly wide, revealing rows upon rows of jagged teeth. Drool dripped from its maw, sizzling as it hit the pavement. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs wouldn’t budge.

“Who—who are you?” Jinu managed to stammer, his voice shaking as he took another step back. He didn’t recognize this demon. He didn’t know who the fuck this was. And that terrified him.

She tilted her grotesque head further, letting out a choked, wheezing laugh before throwing her jaw back and cackling loudly, the sound reverberating off the alley walls. “It’s me, Jinu. Baek Hwa,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Don’t you remember me?”

Baek Hwa. The name hit him like a brick. Of course. She was one of them—one of Gwi-Ma’s generals. Jinu swallowed hard, his throat dry. His heart pounded in his chest as he took another shaky step back.

“I was just collecting souls,” Baek Hwa continued, her voice turning into a low whine. “And then—just like that—I lost connection to Lord Gwi-Ma. Can you believe it? Do you know what that feels like?!” Her voice rose into a shriek, her claws digging into the tiled ground as she stepped closer. The sound of the tiles cracking beneath her was deafening in the stillness.

Jinu’s eyes darted around the alleyway. It was still empty, still dark. Completely devoid of life. But beyond the narrow walls, he could hear the faint hum of the crowd, the chatter of people just a few streets away. He even caught Zoey’s voice, sharp and annoyed as always, shouting at someone to “form the damn line again.”

Shit. He had to get Baek Hwa out of here—away from them. If she turned on the crowd, it would be a massacre.

“A-Ah, Baek Hwa…” Jinu stammered, forcing a nervous smile. “It’s… nice to see you again. It’s—it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How many years has it been? O-one? A-ah, no, two hundred?” He flinched as she took another step closer, her claws clicking against the ground like knives on glass.

Baek Hwa’s lips curled into a twisted grin, her jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. “Two hundred,” she purred, her voice dripping with malice. “Almost two hundred years now, Jinu. You never come to the human realm. Why are you here?”

Jinu swallowed hard, his mind racing. He couldn’t fight her. She was stronger, faster, deadlier. He was nothing compared to her. Not in strength. Not in power. His only advantage was his voice—and, if he was lucky, his ability to talk his way out of this.

“A mission,” he said shakily, lowering his head. “I’m here on a mission for Gwi-Ma.”

Baek Hwa’s grin widened, her glowing eyes narrowing. “A mission?” she echoed, her tone mocking. “And you didn’t call for me? Why not, Jinu? I was in another land, gathering so many souls… so many delicious, screaming souls. You should have called.” Her voice rumbled as she purred, a deep, bone-chilling sound that made Jinu’s skin crawl.

He took another step back, his eyes flicking around desperately. Where was Rumi? If he could just get to her, she could help. She could fight Baek Hwa. Hell, even Zoey would be better than nothing. If Rumi were here, Jinu could turn into a sword, and together they might stand a chance. But alone? Alone, he was as good as dead.

Baek Hwa’s claws scraped against the ground as she stepped closer, her grin growing impossibly wider. “Why are you trembling, Jinu?” she asked, her voice a sickly sweet mockery of concern. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Jinu’s eyes darted to her claws—razor-sharp and glinting like polished steel. Oh god. He was going to die. He was going to get ripped in half.

“Of course not! Wh-Why should I be?” Jinu stammered, his voice cracking as he tried to force a laugh. His back pressed against the cold wall of the alleyway. There was nowhere left to go. “And Gwi-Ma... well, about Gwi-Ma…” He faltered, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “Gwi-Ma felt you were busy… he—he didn’t want to bother you, perhaps…” His voice trailed off, and his throat tightened as he swallowed hard.

The alleyway ended in a dead stop—a solid wall of bricks. Jinu’s heart sank as Baek-Hwa’s breath, hot and rancid, rolled over him. He could feel the stench of her exhale on his neck as he turned to face her, trembling.

“Is that so?” Baek-Hwa purred. Her jaw was so close now that Jinu could see the gleam of her jagged teeth, her saliva dripping onto the floor. Her glowing yellow eyes bore into his, her amusement barely concealing the bloodlust lurking beneath.

Jinu froze as a single claw rested on his shoulder. It felt like a blade digging into his skin, sharp and threatening. “Jinu,” she whispered, her voice low and dangerous, “I trust you very, very much. After all, you are the fourth general of our Lord Gwi-Ma…” She paused, her lips curling into a malicious grin. Slowly, her claw began to sink into his shoulder.

Jinu cried out in pain, his hand flying to her wrist as he tried to pull her away. His knees buckled as she drove her claw deeper, her strength overpowering him. “I can smell your fear,” she hissed, her voice no longer amused. “You LIE!”

Her shriek echoed through the alley, shaking the ground beneath them. The force of it sent cracks spiderwebbing across the walls, and tiles crumbled to dust under their feet. The newly made Honmoon—an iridescent blue and yellow aura—flared to life, pulsing violently, its energy rippling like a bell tolling a desperate alarm.

“Fuck,” Jinu muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with panic. Without thinking, he balled his fist and punched Baek-Hwa square across her jaw. The blow stunned her just long enough for him to slide between her legs and sprint away.

“Jinu! Come back here!” Baek-Hwa roared, her voice shaking the alley. The impact of her rage shattered nearby windows, and the ground trembled under her stomping feet.

Jinu didn’t look back. His legs burned as he ran, his breath ragged. He couldn’t lead her to the crowd. That would be a bloodbath. Rumi and Zoey—he had to call them. Now.

His trembling hands fumbled for his phone as he ducked into another alley, weaving through the narrow passages. He nearly tripped over a discarded crate as he opened the contact list, finding Rumi’s name. The phone rang once, twice. He could hear Baek-Hwa’s heavy footsteps closing in, her snarls echoing behind him.

“Please pick up, please pick up,” Jinu whispered frantically, his heart hammering in his chest. He vaulted over a dumpster to put more distance between them, but Baek-Hwa easily shoved it aside with one arm, her claws tearing into its metal frame like paper.

“TRAITOR!” Baek-Hwa shrieked, her voice a deafening roar. Jinu screamed as she hurled the dumpster at him. He ducked just in time, his knees buckling as the massive object smashed into the wall beside him. Shards of brick and metal rained down around him.

“Jinu?” Rumi’s voice finally came through the phone, calm but laced with worry.

“RUMI!” Jinu screamed, his voice cracking as he sprinted down another alley. “I NEED YOUR HELP!”

“What’s going on? What am I hearing? Where are you?” Rumi’s voice sharpened, her concern evident. “I can feel the Honmoon pulsing—what’s happening?”

Jinu barely managed to glance at his phone, his fingers trembling as he sent his location. “Please, Rumi, just check my location! There’s a demon—a general! She’s—” His words were cut off by a choked yell as something snagged his ankle mid-run.

He was yanked off his feet and sent flying into a dumpster. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and his vision blurred. His phone slipped from his hand, landing a few feet away.

“Jinu? Jinu!” Rumi’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Just wait for us! We’re coming—hold on!”

The call ended abruptly as Baek-Hwa snatched the phone, her claws wrapping around it like a vice. She stared at it with disdain, her glowing eyes narrowing. “A hunter,” she snarled, her lip curling in disgust. “Disgusting. How dare you, Jinu?”

Jinu struggled to his feet, his body trembling, his breath ragged. “Then I’ll be honored to kill one of them!” Baek-Hwa growled, tossing the phone aside.

She lunged at him, her claws swiping for his stomach. Jinu barely managed to dodge, twisting to the side as her talons sliced through the air. Without thinking, he threw himself forward, colliding with her. The force sent both of them slamming into a nearby wall.

Jinu didn’t hesitate. He clawed at her face, his nails raking against her skin. But Baek-Hwa was faster. She blocked his attack with her forearms, her strength overpowering his.

“Don’t you touch them!” Jinu snarled, his voice filled with desperation as he clawed at her arms.

Baek-Hwa hissed, her lips pulling back to reveal her jagged teeth. With a snarl, she kicked him off her, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Jinu landed on all fours, his claws digging into the tiles to steady himself. Blood—blue and translucent—dripped from his arms where her claws had grazed him.

“You were the perfect general, Jinu,” Baek-Hwa growled, stalking toward him like a predator closing in on its prey. “Why must you turn your back on us? On him ?” Her voice was low and venomous, her glowing eyes locked onto his.

Jinu panted, his chest heaving. He wasn’t as strong as he used to be. And Baek-Hwa knew it. She could see it in the way he trembled, the way his claws shook. She had worked with him centuries ago—she knew his weaknesses better than anyone.

“I can see it now,” Baek-Hwa sneered, her voice mocking. “Maybe Gwi-Ma needs to punish you again. I’ll drag you back to hell myself. You’ll learn your place… once more.”

“No, thank you,” Jinu muttered, his voice shaky but defiant. His heart pounded at the thought of returning to hell—of enduring Gwi-Ma’s punishments again.

With a feral roar, Baek-Hwa lunged at him, throwing her full weight into the attack. Jinu raised his arms just in time, blocking her claws with his forearms. Pain shot through him as her talons pierced his flesh, blue blood spilling onto the ground.

But Jinu didn’t falter. Summoning what strength he had left, he drove his claws into Baek-Hwa’s chest.

Instead of crying in pain, Baek-Hwa only laughed, a guttural and chilling sound that echoed through the dimly lit alley. Her jaw unhinged unnaturally, revealing rows of jagged, predatory teeth. Without hesitation, she lunged forward and sank them into Jinu’s arm.

Jinu let out a blood-curdling scream, writhing in agony as her teeth tore through the fabric of his jacket and punctured flesh. He released one of her wrists, frantically trying to push her away, his free hand clawing at her face with animalistic desperation. Blood spilled freely now, warm and sticky, splattering across his cheek. His vision swam as he kicked her with all his might, the impact sending her crashing into the cold, unforgiving brick wall.

Baek-Hwa slid down the wall, blue blood trickling from her chin. Her tongue darted out, licking the viscous liquid away with a sickening relish. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten a demon,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. There was a cruel, almost playful glint in her eyes, as though she were savoring a rare delicacy.

Jinu staggered, his knees buckling beneath him as he tried to stand. Pain erupted in his injured arm, forcing him to collapse to the ground with a strangled cry. He clutched the mangled limb to his chest, breathing hard as panic clawed at the edges of his mind. He had to get out of here—

“Jinu!” A familiar voice cut through the haze. His head snapped up to see Rumi sprinting towards him, her expression a mix of terror and determination. Flanking her were Mira and Zoey, weapons already drawn.

Baek-Hwa let out an ear-splitting shriek, a sound that oscillated between rage and delight. “Hunters!” she hissed, her sharp teeth glinting under the faint light She pushed herself off the wall, her movements eerily fluid and serpentine.

Rumi dropped to her knees beside Jinu, her hands hovering over him uncertainly. “Oh god, Jinu, are you—” Her words faltered as she took in the blood staining his jacket and the feral grimace on his face. He looked like a cornered animal, teeth bared in pain and fury, but his expression softened when he realized it was Rumi.

Meanwhile, Mira and Zoey charged at Baek-Hwa, their weapons slicing through the air with deadly precision. The sound of steel meeting flesh echoed as Baek-Hwa dodged and countered, her movements almost too fast to follow. Zoey was caught off-guard and flung across the alley, her body slamming into the wall with a sickening thud. She crumpled to the ground, letting out a pained grunt.

“Zoey!” Both Mira and Rumi screamed in unison, their voices breaking with fear.

Rumi turned back to Jinu, her eyes wide and frantic. “Jinu, what do we do? You’re hurt—”

Jinu winced, holding out his trembling hand. His face was pale, but his eyes burned with resolve. “Rumi, listen. I need to turn into a sword so you can help them,” he rasped, his gaze shifting to Mira, who was still holding her ground but visibly struggling.

“What? No! You’re in no condition—” Rumi began, but Jinu cut her off with a sharp glare.

“There’s no time to argue!” he snapped. “Sing with me.”

Rumi hesitated for only a moment before determination replaced her fear. “Fine,” she said, grabbing his hand and helping him to his feet. “But when this is over, you’re going straight to bed, and you’re eating everything we give you. No complaints.”

Jinu managed a weak smirk, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Whatever you say, Rumi.”

Their hands clasped tightly, and the air around them seemed to shift, growing heavy with a strange energy. Baek-Hwa, who had cornered Mira, turned her head sharply, her eyes narrowing as she sensed the change. Mira’s Gok-Do flickered weakly in her hands, and her face twisted in pain. She froze when she saw Jinu and Rumi standing together.

Jinu’s voice was low and rough as he began to sing:

“I walk like I own the night
Head high, I don’t need the light
Every step—storm in my wake
Don’t blink or you’ll feel the quake.”

He gritted his teeth, forcing his injured arm to move as he pulled Rumi into a spin. Their movements were synchronized, fluid, as if they had practiced this a hundred times before. Rumi’s expression hardened with focus, and she nodded at Jinu, their mutual resolve clear. 

There was no need for words—they both knew what they had to do.

A blinding flash of light engulfed them, forcing Mira to shield her eyes. When the glow subsided, she blinked in awe. Rumi stood before her, transformed. She now wielded a shimmering sword pulsating with blue and pink light, emitting a hauntingly beautiful melody. Her clothes had changed as well, her usual purple hoodie and loose pants replaced by an iridescent white hanbok adorned with silver armor. She looked ethereal, otherworldly.

Mira barely had time to register Rumi’s transformation before Zoey groaned and staggered to her feet. Her face was a mask of fury as she glared at Baek-Hwa. “This vibe is way too cold,” she growled, her voice rising into a fierce melody. “You can’t keep up with me!”

Zoey spun her blade with a flourish, its edge catching the faint light as she charged forward. Rumi followed, their movements perfectly in sync as they leaped toward Baek-Hwa. The demon shrieked, her form twisting unnaturally as she tried to evade their attacks.

Mira gritted her teeth, forcing herself upright despite the pain coursing through her body. Her Gok-Do flared to life once more, burning brighter than before. “Don’t forget about me!” she shouted, lunging forward and slicing at Baek-Hwa’s leg. The demon howled in pain, her balance faltering just as Zoey’s blade found its mark, embedding itself deep in her chest.

“I’m a cold flame, burnin’ clean
No smoke, no mess, just gasoline.
Everyone’s shocked—
I make cool look easy,”

Mira sang, her voice sharp and resonant in the chaos. The demon’s glowing eyes fixed on her, its clawed hand slashing toward her face. Mira didn’t flinch. Before the attack could land, Zoey darted in like a shadow, her blades flashing. With one precise motion, she severed the demon’s arm completely.

The creature let out an unearthly yowl, clutching its bleeding stump as strange blue transparent blood poured from the wound. It turned toward Zoey with a feral snarl, its jagged teeth bared.

“Ice veins, heart still bleeds art,
Paint chaos on a blank heart.
Shadows watch but never touch—
I’m real—ain’t that too much?”

Rumi’s voice cut through the air like steel, her words laced with defiance. She dashed forward, her sword glinting with an unnatural light. With a single, fluid motion, she cleaved through the demon’s leg as though it were nothing more than paper. The severed limb hit the ground with a sickening thud.

The demon growled, staggering as it struggled to keep its balance. Its guttural voice rose into a shriek. “No! How dare you! Traitor!” It lunged at Zoey in a desperate, frenzied attack.

But Zoey was ready. Her movements were smooth, almost playful, as she leaned away from the swipe with an effortless grace. A cocky grin tugged at her lips as she spun her blades, the faint hum of sharpened steel slicing through the tense air.

“I’m just me, I won’t change.
This crown’s not borrowed—it’s engraved.”

The three of them moved as one, their blades a deadly symphony. Mira’s Gok-Do struck first, driving through the demon’s chest. Rumi followed with an upward slash, her blade tearing into the creature’s torso. Zoey finished it, her blades piercing through its back in a cross.

The demon screamed, its voice raw and desperate, echoing through the alleyway. Black smoke erupted from its body, obscuring the fighters in a shroud of darkness. When the smoke cleared, the demon was gone—its presence erased as though it had never existed.

“I’m the fire you can’t tame.
Say my name, it echoes fame.
All eyes are only on me—
Too cool, too bold, too free.”

The battle was over, but the three of them were left panting, their breaths ragged and wild. Sweat clung to their skin, glistening in the faint light of the broken sunlight above. They stood in silence for a moment, staring at the empty space where the demon had been.

“Woohoo!” Zoey’s triumphant scream shattered the quiet. She threw her hands into the air, her wide eyes blazing with adrenaline. “That was SO badass!”

Mira let out a shaky laugh, leaning heavily on her Gok-Do as her legs threatened to give out. “Almost died there, huh?” she quipped, her grin as sharp as ever.

Rumi, however, remained quiet. Her posture was regal, her sword still in hand as she inspected it. She looked every bit like the old hunters from the legends Celine used to tell them about—poised, powerful, untouchable.

“Magical girl transformation,” Zoey murmured, her voice filled with awe as she stared at Rumi. Her eyes sparkled, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

“And here I thought the Honmoon got them all,” Mira said, kicking her Gok-Do up with her foot and catching it in one smooth motion.

“Me too,” Rumi replied softly, her voice tinged with unease. She turned to the others, her expression hardening. “Guys, we need to go home. Jinu was injured—he might know why that demon was still here.”

The weight of her words settled over them. They exchanged quick nods, their unspoken bond stronger than words.

As they began to leave, Zoey paused. Her gaze swept across the ground until it landed on something familiar. A faint glimmer caught her eye—a phone, its screen cracked but still intact. She bent down to pick it up, her fingers brushing against the cool surface.

“Hey, hurry up!” Mira called, already a few steps ahead.

Zoey tucked the phone into her pocket and jogged to catch up, her footsteps echoing against the cracked stone floor.

JINU WAS GOOD AS NEW. He flexed his arm, now fully healed, and glanced at the three girls staring at him with varying degrees of seriousness.

"I’m glad you aren’t dead," Mira deadpanned, though her pinched brows betrayed her worry.

Zoey sniffled, her voice trembling. "I thought you lost an arm and—and died!" Tears welled in her eyes as she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

Rumi, ever serious, stepped closer, scanning him carefully. "Are you hurt anywhere? At all?"

Jinu raised both hands in a placating gesture and offered them a small smile. "Girls. Please, calm down. I’m alive and breathing." He gave a light shrug, as if to reassure them—and himself. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what had healed him. Perhaps it was the three of them singing together, or maybe shifting back into his sword form had done the trick. Either way, he didn’t feel drained, even after pouring so much of his energy into protecting Rumi during the fight.

Zoey brightened, bouncing on her toes. "Earlier was so badass! The four of us fighting together—like some epic anime battle!" She mimicked slashing and chopping motions with her hands, making exaggerated sound effects.

Mira nodded in agreement, clapping lightly. "Indeed. I must admit, I am very impressed. Soul Eater vibes, magical girl transformations—you’re simply winning at life, my dear Rumi." She grinned and gave both Rumi and Jinu a theatrical nod of approval.

Jinu scoffed, shaking his head in amusement. "There they go with the references again," he murmured, a soft laugh escaping him. Trust them to crack jokes even after nearly dying.

Still, the humor couldn’t quite chase away the unease creeping into his chest. His gaze dropped to his hands, where faint traces of tremors lingered. The memory of their battle against Baek-Hwa, one of Gwi-Ma’s generals, burned in his mind. That they had survived was nothing short of a miracle.

Generals like her were no ordinary demons. Gwi-Ma’s army had always been terrifying, but generals were in a league of their own. Baek-Hwa especially. She wasn’t just a loyal servant; she was a monster fully devoted to her master’s whims. Unlike him.

Jinu bit his lip, his fingers curling into fists. When he’d first been forced to serve Gwi-Ma, he’d fought back with every ounce of defiance he could muster. He had hissed, clawed, resisted at every turn. But Gwi-Ma had broken him.

The memories came rushing back like a tidal wave—loops of death, endless torment. Gwi-Ma had made him relive his deaths over and over, each one more excruciating than the last. Poison searing his throat, blades tearing into his flesh, fire licking at his skin. He had screamed for help, cried out for his mother, his sister—even begged God for mercy. But God did not reach into hell.

Gwi-Ma had laughed at his suffering, a cruel, cackling sound that haunted his nightmares. Jinu had cried until his voice gave out, his mind unraveling with each cycle of pain. And when he could fight no longer, he had pretended to submit, his resistance buried beneath the mask of a loyal servant.

A light touch brought him back to the present. Rumi’s hand rested gently over his, her warmth pulling him from the depths of his memories. Derpy pressed his furry head against Jinu’s leg, offering silent comfort.

"You alright, dude?" Mira’s voice cut through the haze. She stood with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze fixed on him.

Jinu swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah, I’m fine."

Rumi tilted her head, studying him. "That demon… Does it know you?"

The question hit harder than it should have. Jinu’s lips pressed into a thin line before he answered. "Yes. I knew her. She… She was one of Gwi-Ma’s generals. But we weren’t close." He sighed, rubbing the spot on his arm where Baek-Hwa had bitten him. The wound was gone, but he could still feel the phantom sting.

"How is she even here? The Honmoon sealed Gwi-Ma and his army," Mira said, frowning deeply.

Jinu hesitated. "Generals… They’re different. Stronger than typical demons. These are the ones who’ve consumed souls, even behind Gwi-Ma’s back."

Zoey’s eyes widened, her face pale. "Does that mean there could be more of them on the surface? How many generals are there, Jinu?"

He looked up, his expression grim. "Four. Baek-Hwa was the third. As for the first two… I’m not sure. Hell is vast, and they could still be down there. Honestly, I wouldn’t worry too much. Baek-Hwa was the only one who loved staying on the surface."

"And the fourth?" Rumi pressed, her eyes narrowing.

Jinu froze. His heart skipped a beat, and his stomach churned. He had hoped they wouldn’t ask. Would they hate him if they knew?

He exhaled shakily, his nails digging into the skin of his arm. "—Me," he whispered, the confession barely audible.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Chapter Text

SEOUL NEVER SLEEPS. The air was cold, each sharp gust of wind biting against Jinu’s skin. The breeze was stronger up on the balcony, carrying the distant sounds of the city—a chorus of car horns, distant chatter, and the faint hum of neon lights. Jinu couldn’t look away from the roads below, his gaze fixed on the chaotic order of cars weaving through the streets. His hair whipped across his face, but he had long given up trying to push it away.

Behind him, Bird squawked indignantly, his feathers puffed up as Derpy pawed at him, tail flicking back and forth with uncontainable excitement. The small chaos inside contrasted with Jinu’s quiet vigil outside. Then, the faint creak of a door broke through his thoughts. Rumi’s door.

Jinu slouched further, his shoulders climbing toward his ears as she stepped into the balcony.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice barely above the hum of the wind. She took a step beside him, leaning over the railing.

“Hey,” Jinu murmured, his voice low, almost swallowed by the night.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, its light spilling over them like a silent observer, the stars scattered like tiny witnesses. Rumi’s face softened, and without hesitation, she moved closer, her shoulder brushing lightly against his.

“You okay? You know…” she began, her voice gentle but steady, “I don’t see you any differently—even after you told me you were one of Gwi-Ma’s generals, right?”

Jinu shrugged, shaking his head. He didn’t look at her.

“You should,” he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I’ve done a lot of things you wouldn’t want to know about.”

Rumi fell quiet, the weight of his words hanging in the air between them. But then she spoke, her tone laced with quiet conviction. “But you’re working to change. That’s what matters.”

Jinu sighed, finally turning to face her. There was something raw, something vulnerable in his eyes. “You have so much trust in me…” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I don’t understand it at all. I’ve done so much crap in your life.”

Rumi let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and light—a stark contrast to the heaviness of the moment. “If I don’t believe in you, who will? Besides…” she tilted her head, her gaze softening, “you were the first to believe in me. Why wouldn’t I believe in you too?”

For a moment, Jinu was silent, the words sinking into him like stones in a still pond. Then, slowly, a small, almost hesitant smile tugged at his lips.

“Rumi… I’ve never thanked you enough. But thank you. So much,” he said, his voice shaking as he exhaled a shaky breath.

“You shouldn’t thank someone for something as simple as believing,” she teased, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

Jinu rolled his eyes, a soft scoff escaping him. “You can’t stop me. So I’ll say it again: thanks.”

This time, his smile was a little brighter, a little fuller. Rumi stared, caught off guard by how natural it looked on him. For a fleeting moment, he looked almost serene—like someone who had finally found a fragment of peace amidst the chaos.

He turned to meet her gaze, but the moment their eyes locked, Jinu blinked rapidly and looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Rumi laughed, the sound ringing out into the night. “You know,” she began, her tone playful now, “I just noticed—you can’t even look me in the eyes. I wonder why?”

Jinu stiffened, his face flushing a deeper red. “What? N-No. Of course not!” he stammered, his voice rising an octave.

Rumi threw her head back with laughter, patting his shoulder. “It makes me think you hate me,” she said dramatically, her tone dripping with mock offense.

“Stop saying that,” Jinu pouted, nudging her with his shoulder. “If I hated you, it wouldn’t be me.”

Rumi grinned, her expression proud and teasing all at once. “Well, the same goes for me. If you ever find yourself without anyone who believes in you, that means I’m dead.”

Jinu fell quiet, his gaze dropping to his hands as he nervously scratched at the railing with his nails.

“I just want to say…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I no longer follow Gwi-Ma. I may have been his general, but I’ll never bow to his will again.”

He turned to face her, and this time, there was a fire in his eyes—a determination that hadn’t been there before. Rumi’s chest swelled with pride as she met his gaze.

“I don’t doubt it, Jinu,” she said, her voice steady. “You’ve proven yourself to be trustworthy. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. Always.”

Jinu’s mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. He tried again, and still, silence. Finally, he lowered his head, a small, bashful smile spreading across his face.

“Thank you, Rumi… I appreciate it,” he whispered, his voice soft and sincere, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.

And then, suddenly.

All at once.

Rumi’s heart began to hammer in her chest. Her pulse quickened, her breath hitching as she watched him. His smile—it was so genuine, so heartbreakingly earnest, as if he were looking at her like she had hung the moon and stars just for him.

Oh.

The realization hit her like a storm.

I think I like this man.

Her mind reeled, dragging her back to every small moment, every fleeting glance, every quiet word exchanged between them. She had always liked him. From the moment she thought she’d lost him, and maybe even before that.

Now, here he was, standing in front of her.

Rumi remembered Mira’s words, the teasing and knowing smiles her friends always gave her.

Oh.

Her heart pounded so fast she thought it might burst, but she didn’t look away.

THAT NIGHT, RUMI DREAMS. She dreams of a man—a sad man—clad in a white hanbok, crying by the river. His cries echo through the night, louder than the rushing water that weaves its way through the dark landscape. They are pitiful, raw, and heavy with something Rumi can’t quite name.

She looks around. Where was she? The air feels heavy, yet strangely familiar. It is dark, but the moon is high—a full moon, bright and unwavering as if it is deliberately shining down on her. Its silver light glimmers on the surface of the river, illuminating the ripples as they dance.

And there it is again—a cry, sharper this time, like someone pleading for help, desperate and broken.

Slowly, Rumi moves toward the sound. Her footsteps are tentative, the grass soft beneath her bare feet. The man stands by the riverbank, his figure shrouded in shadows, his face obscured by a black gat . His white hanbok, though elegant, is dirtied and torn, as though he has been wandering for days.

“Hello?” Rumi calls out, her voice cutting through the stillness.

The man flinches at the sound, his head snapping up. A sharp crack rings out as Rumi accidentally steps on a stray branch. The moonlight spills over him now, washing his figure in silver.

Her breath catches. “Jinu?” she whispers, her eyes widening in shock.

The man—Jinu—stares at her, his brown eyes filled with equal parts confusion and sorrow. “So-Sorry?” he stammers, his voice soft and melodic, though hoarse, as if he hasn’t spoken in days.

Rumi's heart races. Who is this man? And why does he look so much like Jinu?

“How… how do you know my name?” Jinu asks, his voice trembling, disbelief etched in every syllable.

Rumi takes a step closer, her gaze fixed on him. His hanbok is filthy, the fabric smudged with dirt and dampness. Stray strands of dark hair peek out from beneath his gat , disheveled and unkempt. He looks like royalty—his posture, his aura betraying an air of nobility—but he is uncommonly weathered, like a fallen prince who has lost his way.

She wonders why.

And now, she wonders why he is here, alone, at this hour of the night.

For a moment, she doesn’t speak. She merely watches him, her gaze lingering on the storm brewing in his eyes—eyes that seem to carry the weight of worlds. Then, slowly, she kneels beside him, her knees pressing into the cool, damp earth by the riverbank.

The water is crystal clear, reflecting the moonlight like shards of glass. Jinu stiffens at her proximity, his entire frame tense, as though he expects her to strike him. "Who... Who are you?".

“I’m nobody,” Rumi murmurs, her voice soft as she meets his wary gaze.

Jinu’s brown eyes are clouded with grief, his expression one of exhaustion. Now that she is closer, she can see the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands as they rest limply in his lap. Her gaze falls to his hands.

Her breath hitches.

His right hand is wrapped in white fabric, the edges stained with something dark—red, drying and crusted. Her heart stutters. What happened to his hand?

Without thinking, Rumi reaches out and grabs his wrist.

Jinu yelps, the sound sharp and pained, as she pulls his hand closer to inspect it. His entire body recoils, but she holds firm, bringing the injured hand into the moonlight.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice shaky, his eyes wide with fear.

“What happened to your hand?” she demands, her tone sharper than she intended.

Jinu pulls his hand away weakly, cradling it against his chest as if shielding it from her. His shoulders hunch, his frame curling in on itself. “What is a woman like you asking about a man’s affairs?” he mutters, his voice defensive, though it falters with uncertainty.

He shifts away from her, putting a little distance between them. His movements are slow, almost hesitant, as if he doesn’t have the strength to fully retreat.

He sits like a man who has lost his place in this world.

He looks like a man who doesn’t know who he is anymore.

“Why?” Rumi tilts her head, her voice softer now. “Am I not allowed to ask?”

Jinu doesn’t answer. Instead, he lowers his gaze to the river, his reflection rippling in the water. “It was just… an accident,” he mumbles after a long pause, though his tone betrays the truth. “Why are you interested?”

His eyes narrow with suspicion, but Rumi only offers him a gentle smile, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t answer his question.

Silence falls between them, broken only by the sound of the river and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Rumi studies him, her heart heavy with unspoken questions.

Is this a dream?

It feels too vivid, too real—the details too sharp. The coldness of the air, the texture of the grass beneath her hands, the way Jinu’s voice trembles—it’s all too much for a mere dream.

No, this is something more.

Could it be a memory?

A memory that isn’t her own?

She wonders if this is the result of matching their wavelengths. Their frequency had aligned so perfectly that she could see fragments of his past—glimpses of the pain he has been hiding.

Is this what Jinu has been trying so hard to forget?

Her gaze flickers back to his hand, now hidden beneath the folds of his hanbok. Were those wounds truly accidents? Or were they something else? Something darker?

“How did you know my name?” Jinu whispers again, his voice barely audible above the sound of the river.

“A guess,” Rumi replies softly, her lips curling into a faint smile.

Jinu shot her a disbelieving look, as if she’d just conjured a rabbit from thin air. Guessing someone’s name on the first try was practically impossible. “Are you… a shaman?” he asked, eyeing her strange clothes with a mixture of suspicion and awe.

Rumi glanced down at herself, letting out a small, snorting laugh. “You speak very strangely,” Jinu muttered, brow furrowing in a way that should have looked hostile, but somehow seemed endearing to Rumi’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to tell you that your future is bleak,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

But Jinu’s face drained of color at her words. His hands began to tremble, fingers twitching against his sides. Rumi’s brow knit in confusion as she watched him breathe faster, his chest rising and falling like a trapped bird’s. He clutched his own wrist, trying to still the shaking, but it only grew worse. His shoulders hunched up near his ears, every muscle tense as he struggled for air.

“M-My future… haah… hah… hah, yes—it really is bleak. It is dark. I’ll never get out of this hellhole,” Jinu stammered, his voice caught somewhere between trance and terror, eyes wide and unfocused, staring into some invisible abyss. “My future… My mother, my sister—haah… it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

Rumi made a soft, uncertain sound. “Are you okay? Hey—” She reached out, hand hovering hesitantly, but Jinu jerked away from her touch as if burned.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t—” His words broke off in a choking gasp. Teeth clenched, eyes wild, he seemed to shrink in on himself, every breath ragged and shallow.

Rumi raised both hands, palms outward, as if trying to calm a cornered animal. “I’m not going to hurt you. Please, Jinu, you need to breathe—slow down, okay?”

But Jinu didn’t hear her. His breathing grew harsher, shoulders shaking as his eyes darted frantically around the forest, searching for an escape. Then, suddenly, he doubled over, coughing violently. Droplets of saliva splattered onto the floor, and his eyes threatened to roll back in his head as his lungs clawed desperately for air.

Oh god, I’ve never seen him like this, Rumi thought, panic rising in her chest. She quickly dropped to her hands and caught Jinu’s trembling upper body in her arms, holding him as he shook and gasped, skin clammy and cold beneath her touch.

“I will die. He will take me. I will die tomorrow, I will die,” Jinu mumbled, voice slurred, body convulsing as if seized by invisible hands.

This is a panic attack, Rumi realized with a sick jolt. She could do nothing but hold him, anchoring him to the present.

“Who is going to take you, Jinu?” she asked softly, gently removing the gat from his head and setting it aside. Jinu barely noticed, still breathing in sharp, shallow bursts, his whole body quivering with terror. He whispered, “Mother…” so softly it was almost inaudible, as if calling for her through a veil of pain. “I want mother…” He cried weakly.

Rumi swallowed hard, her heart thudding. Is this really Jinu? Was this who he was before he became a demon?

Was this… when he accepted Gwi-Ma’s deal?

Rumi carefully looked down. Jinu was still trembling in her arms, fingers blindly clawing at the dirt beneath him, desperately searching for some anchor to reality. His breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, and Rumi could feel the tremors running through his whole body, as if he was being shaken by invisible hands.

Gently, she tugged at the sleeve of his arm, the rough fabric scraping softly beneath her fingers. Her heart pounded as she peeled the cloth back, dreading what she might find. There it was—Gwi-Ma’s demon mark, a twisted shape burned into his skin, dark and angry against the pale flesh.

“Oh, god—” The words slipped out in a horrified whisper, her voice barely audible.

Then—suddenly—blinding light crashed through her eyelids. Rumi jolted awake, heart hammering, cold sweat slicking her skin and making the duvet cling uncomfortably to her body. She lay in her bed, breath coming in short, harsh pants, shivering from the chill that seemed to seep from her very bones.

Derpy was licking her face insistently, whining as he tried to rouse her from the nightmare. She reached out with shaking hands, fingers tangling in Derpy’s fur as she tried to steady herself.

Jinu…

Jinu.

“Jinu!” The name tore from her throat, raw and urgent. She staggered to her feet, nearly tripping over the edge of her blanket as Derpy let out a confused yelp. The world felt unreal, as if she were still trapped in the dream’s grip. The house was silent and dark—too early for anyone else to be awake—but Rumi didn’t care. She needed to see him, needed to make sure he was real, that he was safe.

She pushed open Jinu’s door without knocking, the wood creaking softly in the quiet. Inside, Jinu lay on his side, curled beneath his navy blue hoodie. His face was peaceful, eyes closed, lips relaxed—a stark contrast to the haunted, broken expression she’d seen in her dream.

Rumi stood frozen in the doorway, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Was it really just a dream? Swallowing hard, she moved closer, every step heavy with dread. Kneeling beside his bed, she reached out with trembling fingers and gently grasped his wrist, feeling the steady, reassuring thrum of his pulse beneath her touch.

Carefully, she pushed up his sleeve. The skin beneath was unmarked by Gwi-Ma’s dark red demon mark In its place, an iridescent blue and yellow demon mark shimmered faintly at her touch—the very same as the one on her own body.

Rumi let out a shaky breath, her knees buckling as she nearly collapsed, catching herself on the edge of the bed. Confusion and fear churned in her stomach. What was that dream? A vision? A memory that isn’t hers? Or… was it something else?

Was it a dream at all?

Or had she just witnessed one of Jinu’s memories—something buried deep, now bubbling to the surface in her sleep?

She stared at the mark, her mind racing. She does not sleep after that, she watches Jinu as he sleeps to calm her mind and her aching heart.

Rumi thought the dream would end there, but the next night, sleep swept her away once again—back to the river, back to that other Jinu.

She found him sitting by the water’s edge, a wide-brimmed gat shadowing his face, dressed this time in a blue hanbok. The colors were faded, as if the dream itself was worn thin at the edges. Rumi glanced down and found herself still in her pajamas—a jarring contrast in the quiet, historical scene. Her modern clothes didn’t change, even here.

She approached slowly, the soft damp earth cool beneath her bare feet. Jinu didn’t turn, but his head tilted ever so slightly in her direction. His eyes, when they met hers, were heavier than before—more tired, as if he hadn’t slept in years.

“Hello,” he greeted, the word trailing from his lips like a sigh.

Rumi knelt beside him, folding her hands tightly in her lap. The river rushed by, a constant, soothing sound, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest.

“Hi, Jinu. How are you?” she asked, her voice gentle as she watched the water churn and swirl past the smooth stones.

Jinu didn’t answer. He stared at the water, his gaze so weary that Rumi’s heart clenched in her chest. He looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his narrow shoulders. She longed to reach out, to gather him in her arms and promise that Gwi-Ma would never touch him again.

“I’m doing fine myself,” she offered, forcing a hint of lightness into the heavy, dream-thick air. Still, Jinu said nothing. After a long moment, he turned to her, his voice little more than a worn thread.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, as if he had spent all his strength on tears and screams she hadn’t seen.

Rumi winced, forcing a smile to her lips. She wondered if he remembered what had happened the night before—she certainly did. All day, the memory had haunted her: she couldn’t focus on work, could barely talk to Mira and Zoey. Worst of all, when Jinu spoke to her, she couldn’t shake the image of his wild, pleading eyes, or the tremor in his voice from her dream.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Okay, Rumi. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Jinu needs you—maybe not the Jinu she knew so well, but still Jinu. The man who annoyed her, who got flustered at the smallest things. The man she cared for deeply, in ways she’d never put into words—romantic or not, he meant everything to her. There was something about the way he trusted her, something about his voice, imperfect but comforting, as if he was always wrapping her in safety.

She wanted to do the same for him.

He made her feel protected, and she wanted him to feel that too. But this Jinu—this version of him—didn’t know how to talk to her like her Jinu did. He didn’t even know her.

She hesitated. Her Jinu… She’d never thought of him that way before. She glanced at him, sitting so still beside her, hands clasped tightly. Why was he here? For air? To think? To cry where no one could see him?

They sat in silence, the river filling the space between them. After a while, Jinu spoke, his voice barely above the rush of water.

“What is your name?” he asked, looking at her with half-lidded eyes.

Rumi smiled softly, shaking her head. “I’m nobody,” she replied, her voice gentle.

Jinu scoffed, looking away. His shoulders hunched as silence fell between them again. Rumi watched him from the corner of her eye. He was so still, she almost wondered if he was even breathing, if he wasn’t just a statue left by the river’s edge.

She wanted to ask him so many things. What happened after Gwi-Ma’s offer? How did he survive the aftermath? Was there ever hope?

Her lips pressed into a thin line as Jinu slowly rose to his feet. She startled, thinking the dream would keep them there together until she woke.

“Where are you going?” she asked, surprised.

“The palace… I’m needed there,” he murmured, walking away like a ghost—silent, untouchable.

Or perhaps he already was.

Rumi watched his back recede, her heart twisting painfully. What could she do for him, when she didn’t even understand the depths of his pain? She liked to believe she and Jinu were close, that she was peeling away his layers, getting to know him better. But more and more, she felt like she was losing her grip, like he was sand slipping through her fingers.

Her feet itched to follow, her throat squeezed tight with unshed words, but she stayed rooted where she was, helpless.

She watched Jinu fade into the distance, and it felt as if he was falling away from her—slowly, inevitably, lost to a world she couldn’t reach.

She woke again, the taste of disappointment heavy on her tongue.

JINU TRIES TO PRETEND THAT RUMI ISN’T ACTING WEIRD. But she is, and while he’s good at pretending, he’s never been good at pretending with Rumi. Not when it matters. These days, her edges are frayed in a way that’s painfully obvious to him. 

He notices Zoey and Mira noticing too—he sees the way their eyes flick to Rumi with quiet concern when she drags herself out of bed later than usual, or when her exhaustion sits so heavily on her that Jinu has to gently order her back to sleep. Rumi never listens. In fact, she looks like she’d rather do anything than close her eyes.

Jinu is worried, and the worry sits in his chest, tight and twisting. He wishes she’d talk to him, wishes she’d let him in, even just a little. If not, well—he’ll pry it from her, somehow. Not literally, of course. But he hopes Rumi still trusts him enough to let him help.

He finds her in her room, hunched over her bed, a pillow on lap, scribbling furiously onto a scrap of paper. Lyrics, maybe. He likes to think she writes when she’s thinking deeply—when her thoughts are too tangled to speak aloud. For a moment, he lingers in the doorway, swaying uncertainly, wishing she’d notice him. But she doesn’t, lost to the world, her pen scratching out something urgent. Jinu’s worry grows.

He knocks lightly on the doorframe, and Rumi startles, eyes wide as she turns to face him. “Jinu?” Her voice is small, a little rough.

“Hey,” he says, offering a gentle smile. “Can I come in?”

Rumi nods, tugging her knees up onto her chest. Jinu crosses the room, careful not to move too quickly, and settles himself on the edge of her bed. The mattress dips under his weight, springs creaking slightly. For a moment, neither of them speak. Rumi glances down at the paper in her hands, worrying the edge of it between her fingers.

“So—” they both start at the same time, then stop, startled, sharing a look of surprise. Jinu lets out a soft snort, and Rumi ducks her head to hide a smile, but her shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“You go first,” Rumi offers, her eyes crinkling.

Jinu shifts, folding his legs and shaking his head. “No, no. You go first.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You.”

“No, you.”

“Please, I insist,” he says, grinning.

“Nah, you,” she fires back, stubborn.

They volley back and forth, the tension in the room easing with each exchange, until finally Jinu gives in, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation. Rumi pumps her fist in victory, a quiet “yes!” escaping her lips.

Jinu grins, heart feeling unexpectedly lighter. “Okay, fine. I just—” He hesitates, words catching as he clasps his hands together. “I’m worried about you. You’ve been… different, these past few days. Is it because of Baek-Hwa? Are you scared Gwi-Ma might come back?”

He doesn’t mean to sound accusatory. He just needs to know. His heart pounds, quick and anxious, like a rabbit caught in the open.

He understands the fear. They’re hunters, after all—trained to fight, to kill, to protect the Honmoon at all costs. He knows the burden of leadership weighs heaviest on Rumi; if anything goes wrong, it falls on her. Maybe it’s that. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s him. Gwi-Ma’s general. Rumi had always insisted nothing had changed, that she still trusted him—but what if she doesn’t? What if that’s why she’s been so distant, so tired?

“Is this because of… uh, me?” Jinu finally asks, voice hesitant. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward in the heavy silence that follows. Rumi doesn’t answer at first—her eyes widen as she looks up at him, almost startled.

“No! Of course not,” she blurts, words tumbling out too fast. “I don’t care about that—I mean, I do care, but not the way you think I do…” Her voice falters. She lets out a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to the paper in her lap.

Jinu finally notices what she’s been working on—a song, scrawled in sharp lines and half-erased words. The bed is dusted with tiny eraser shavings, evidence of her restless thoughts.

“Jinu, I had a strange dream,” Rumi says softly, still not quite meeting his eyes. She turns the paper over and lays it beside her, then reaches out, offering him her hand. Jinu doesn’t hesitate; he laces his fingers through hers, grounding her. Their eyes meet, searching.

“In my dream, I saw you by the river,” Rumi continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “You were crying.”

Jinu’s brow furrows in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he says, his voice gentle. Rumi holds his gaze for a long, silent moment, as if weighing something unspoken. Then, unexpectedly, she lets out a short, nervous laugh and shakes her head.

“It’s nothing,” she says, trying to sound dismissive, but there’s a tremor in her voice.

“Rumi,” Jinu insists, leaning in. “If there’s something wrong, you have to tell me—”

He stops abruptly as Rumi lifts her hand and presses a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Shhh,” she soothes, her eyes soft. “I know. Nothing is wrong, really. I just… I’ve come to a lot of realizations, you know?” She shrugs, forcing a smile.

Jinu gently catches her wrist, holding her there, refusing to let her retreat behind her walls. They sit in quiet tension, his hand warm around her wrist. Rumi’s expression twists, something unreadable flickering across her face—grief, maybe, or longing.

Slowly, Rumi lets her finger slide from his lips, then cups his cheek in her palm. Jinu freezes, startled by the tenderness of the gesture. His heart hammers in his chest, uncertain but unwilling to break the fragile moment. She brings her other hand up, cradling his face between both palms, and draws him closer.

“Your eyes…” she murmurs, studying him. “They never did change, huh?” Even after his transformation, the brown flecks still linger in the light gold of his irises. He is still Jinu—her Jinu—no matter what else has changed. The same pain, the same hope, the same soul she saw in her dream.

Rumi smiles, soft and honest, and something in Jinu’s chest loosens.

“Whh—?” Jinu finally stammers, blinking rapidly. He flushes, a deep red spreading across his cheeks. While he can’t deny he likes the attention, it’s so unlike Rumi to be this openly affectionate for no reason. “What… what are you doing?”

Rumi just grins, teasing. “Nothing. I just noticed you have the brownest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Jinu gapes at her, half-scandalized, half-embarrassed. He ducks away from her hands, flustered as a skittish cat. “What do you mean? What are you doing?” he mumbles, looking everywhere but at her.

Rumi laughs, a quiet sound that dances between them. “Oh, right—I wrote a song,” she says, shifting back to something safer. “I’m not finished yet, but… I was hoping you could help me with it.”

She hands him the paper, her fingers brushing his as he takes it. Jinu glances down, still flushed, and skims over the messy, half-finished lyrics.

Jinu’s eyes scan the lyrics, the words pressing heavy on his chest:

“I’m here, but I’m not.
My body moves, but I’m not inside it.
Breathing doesn’t mean alive.
No one sees me.That I’m slipping.
Like dust in water, slowly fading.”

“No heaven hears me now
I scream, but it just fades out
There’s no grace falling down
No hands to pull me out
Left in this pain, abandoned
God, if You see me—why do You look away?”

It’s a strange song, Jinu thinks—a little haunting, almost painfully honest. There’s a rawness in the lyrics, a sense of emptiness that makes his own pulse slow. Is Rumi really fine? If so, why would she write something so bleak, so full of longing and loneliness? The words ache with numbness, like someone lost in the world, unsure of their place, desperate for a sign.

He can almost taste the despair, bitter at the edges of his mind.

He looks up. “Rumi… Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is gentle, uncertain. Rumi meets his gaze, her eyes soft, understanding.

She places a hand over his. “I really am. This is about a certain person I know,” she says quietly.

A certain person? The words echo in Jinu’s mind, echoing with a strange note of jealousy he can’t quite admit. Rumi’s smile is gentle, but there’s something in it that makes his chest twist. Whoever this song is for, it must be someone important—someone keeping her up at night, someone she can’t get out of her head. He swallows, forcing a smile.

“This is… a really sad song. Whose is it?” he asks, trying to keep his tone light, but the question comes out more curious, maybe a bit too sharp.

Rumi’s gaze lingers on him, searching, weighing. “It’s just… a special person,” she murmurs, sliding the paper from his hands. Her fingers trace the lyrics, lost in thought. “It’s not finished. I don’t know their whole story yet. But I want to understand. I want to know more.”

Jinu’s brows knit together. He can’t help but wonder—who could mean this much to her? Who keeps her up at night, makes her write songs like this?

“Rumi, whoever this person is… are they the reason you look so tired lately?” he asks, voice softer now. He reaches out, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Rumi laughs quietly, shaking her head. “No, not really. I just… have a lot in my head. Sometimes it makes it hard to sleep, you know?” She glances away, out toward the balcony, where sunlight spills in, painting the room gold.

Jinu watches her, a frown tugging at his lips. “I just want to remind you—if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. Always.” He wants to reach for her hand, to anchor her, but hesitates.

Rumi hums softly, eyes drifting back to the lyrics, then up to him. “Jinu—I feel the same way. I want you to tell me, too. What’s wrong, what you feel… what you’ve been through.” Her voice is warm, inviting, a quiet promise.

Her hair falls loose over her shoulders, catching the light, framing her face in gentle purple. Without thinking, Jinu reaches up, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. His fingers trail down the length of her hair, lingering for a heartbeat.

Rumi doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t blush or shy from the touch, just smiles—a small, grateful smile, as if she’s letting him in.

“Jinu…” she says softly, her hand covering his.

“I want to know more about you.”

The words hang in the air, simple and sincere, and Jinu’s heart thuds loud in his chest. For the first time, he feels the walls between them falter—just enough for hope to slip through.

RUMI DREAMS OF JINU ONCE MORE. The river runs clear and silver, moonlight painting the water in a pale, shifting glow—like a spotlight on a lonely stage. Jinu sits at the water’s edge, his silhouette hunched and weary, shoulders drooping as if burdened by invisible weights. He looks so much more tired than before, his face drawn and pale, eyes ringed with sleeplessness. Rumi aches to gather him up, to shelter him from the cold shadow of Gwi-Ma. But this is the past, frozen and unchangeable. She was never meant to witness these moments, never meant to intrude on this sorrow.

These are the things Jinu never wanted her to see.

“Hello again,” he murmurs, voice flat, eyes unfocused as he watches the river drift past.
Rumi sits beside him, folding her hands in her lap with a soft sigh. “Hello, Jinu. It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” she asks gently.

Jinu turns his head toward her, eyes glassy, then looks away. “I suppose,” he mumbles, exhaling as if the act of speaking is exhausting. Rumi smiles at him, trying to offer a sliver of warmth. “That’s good… What did you do today, Jinu?”

He lowers his gaze to his hands, fingers twisting together.
“I sang today. And sang. And sang,” he says, voice strange, tinged with a self-loathing that makes Rumi’s smile falter. “I ate and ate until my belly was full.” His words hang in the air, heavy with guilt. Rumi’s heart twists; she thinks of how he left his family, how he must carry that ache with him each day. Jinu sighs, shoulders trembling. “I will be gone soon,” he says quietly, emptily.

“Gone? Gone where?” Rumi asks, the question slipping out on a breath.

Jinu doesn’t answer right away. He simply lifts his face to the moon, eyes reflecting its cold brilliance. “Somewhere far away. Somewhere very far away from here, maybe,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. He sounds so tired—tired of singing, tired of living, tired of pretending happiness is something you can fill yourself with, like food.

Rumi can see it in him, etched into his every movement.

She sees how much he misses his family.

She wishes she could do something—anything—but a strange dread gnaws at her, a sense that something is deeply wrong. She doesn’t know what.

Carefully, she slides a little closer, their shoulders nearly brushing. Jinu doesn’t react, lost in his own world. There’s a scent on him, sharp and unfamiliar—expensive liquor, she realizes, probably from the palace. The smell clings to him like another layer of sorrow.

“What should I do, shaman?” he asks suddenly, turning to her with desperate eyes, as if she holds an answer he’s been searching for everywhere else.

Rumi falters, caught off guard. She isn’t a shaman. She isn’t someone who can mend pain with words. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not a shaman,” she says, trying to smile, but her voice trembles. Jinu regards her through half-lidded eyes and lets out a dry, bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he murmurs, reaching out to the river, letting the water lap over his wrist.

Rumi notices the fabric wrapped around his hand—it looks clean now, but she wonders about the wound it once hid, and where he got it. “What is?” she asks, leaning forward, concern sharpening her features. “What are you planning, Jinu?”

He sighs, withdrawing his hand from the water. Droplets fall onto his hanbok, darkening the cloth. He stares at his palm, horror flickering across his face as the red demon mark of Gwi-Ma begins to creep up his fingertips, slow and inexorable.

Rumi’s eyes widened. Before she can stop herself, she reaches out, clasping his cold, damp hand in both of hers. His skin is chilled, his pulse frantic beneath her touch—like a small, frightened animal.

In that moment, her own demon mark flares to life, an iridescent blue that glimmers against her skin. It’s so different from Jinu’s deep, angry red, but it marks her all the same.

Jinu’s eyes widen in shock, but as their hands clasp, Rumi feels as if she is falling into him—into his pain, his memories. Whispers rise around her, barely audible at first, but growing louder, curling around her like icy fingers.

“Your fault.”

 “It’s your fault, Jinu.”

“Come to us, Jinu.”

 “Leave that place and come to hell.”

 “You deserve to stay in hell.”

The voices echo, relentless, as the moonlight flickers and the river seems to darken. Swallowing everything alive—even Jinu.

What—What is this?

The thought slams through Rumi, dread seeping into her bones. Jinu jerks away from her, clutching at his heart as if trying to keep it from shattering. His breaths come in ragged gasps.

“He’s here again,” Jinu whispers, terror etched across his face. His eyes snap to Rumi’s, wild and glassy. He staggers to his feet, swaying like a reed in the wind. “Did he send you? Are you one of his demons? No… no… I can’t leave yet, I can’t!” His voice cracks, rising to a desperate shout as he throws his trembling hand up, as if warding her off.

Rumi stands too, hands raised, palms open. “Jinu, I’m not here to hurt you,” she says, voice trembling but gentle. But Jinu is beyond hearing. He staggers backward, legs shaking, eyes wide with terror

“You’re him—you’ve come to take me away. I can’t leave, I won’t leave! I don’t want to go to hell!”
Without warning, he bolts, vanishing into the darkness before Rumi can stop him.

“Jinu! Wait!” she cries, scrambling after him. Her foot catches on a hidden root, almost sending her sprawling, but she pushes herself upright, heart hammering.

“Jinu! Stop! I’m not going to hurt you!” she screams again, but her voice is swallowed by the night. Darkness presses in, thick and suffocating—the moonlight snuffed out, replaced by a void so complete it feels like the world itself has vanished.

Where is he?!

Rumi’s mind teeters on the edge of panic. She tries to summon her sword, but nothing answers her call. Without Jinu by her side, she feels utterly helpless. Not even an hour in in this memory and she already misses the man—

No… Stop being scared, Rumi.

She forces herself forward, sprinting in the direction Jinu disappeared. The forest seems to close in around her, the space twisting, warping—

 —until suddenly.

She is falling.

A scream rips from her throat as the ground vanishes beneath her feet. Air whips past her cheeks, cold and sharp. Below, a pale light gleams—a room? She braces herself, tucking her arms and landing hard, hands splayed on slick wooden boards. She gasps for air, adrenaline and fear making her chest heave.

Where… where am I?

She rises shakily and looks around. The room is old, vast—the sort you see in Joseon-era dramas, with wide polished floors and paper screens. Is this… Jinu’s past? Awe and confusion mix within her. The wood underfoot feels expensive, and only now does she realize she’s barefoot. She wiggles her toes, noticing the floor is slick and damp.

Strange.

She turns and spots a cracked porcelain bowl on the ground. Kneeling, she picks it up—inside, a clear liquid sloshes. She brings it to her nose and inhales. Alcohol. Expensive, too. Her heart pounds harder, a nervous thrum beneath her breastbone.

Something is wrong.

Her gaze sweeps the room. Papers are scattered across a low table, ink stains and desperate notes left behind. And there—Jinu. He’s slumped at the table, head resting on folded arms, sitting on his knees. His eyes are closed, face ashen and slack. Is he asleep? Drunk? His outstretched hand now lies limp on the table. His gat has fallen nearby, and his hanbok is streaked with dirt and water.

Rumi frowns, creeping closer, the wet floor making each step careful and slow. Did he spill his drink? Or had he come in soaked from outside?

Her question answers itself as she kneels beside him. Up close, she sees the water still dripping from his sleeves, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looks as though he’s just crawled from the river, soaked to the bone.

“Jinu?” Rumi whispers, reaching out. Her fingers brush his cheek. She flinches.

He’s cold. Wet and cold.

She swallows, glancing from his pale face to the wet floor, to the cracked bowl in her hand.

He was just drunk… right? She tries to convince herself. Who knew Jinu would stumble into the river, drunk, and come home to sleep it off in his room? 

But unease coils in her stomach. Something about this place—about the silence, about Jinu’s stillness—feels irreparably wrong.

She uses the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe the water from his face. The fabric is rough against his skin, dragging droplets away, but his lashes do not flutter. He doesn’t move, not even when she wipes his cheek a little harsher than usual—as if the pressure might coax a reaction.

“Jinu? Wake up,” she whispers, shaking his shoulder gently. His other hand, which had been limp at his side, slides down to the floor with a dull thud. Still, he does not respond.

Rumi’s breath hitches, coming in shallow, quick pants.

He’s just asleep, she tells herself. He’s just asleep.

“Jinu, wake up. You can’t sleep drenched in water,” she says again, her voice rising as she shakes him harder, desperation leaking into her tone. That’s it. She grips both his shoulders and pulls him upright.

And then she sees it: a dark, blooming stain beneath his cheek, where his head had rested on the wood. Blood. It seeps from the corner of his mouth, a thin line from his nose, glistening in the dim light.

Rumi gasps, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment she almost drops him, but then she clutches him tighter as Jinu sags against her—boneless, heavy, unmoving.

Cold .

The water seeps onto her clothes, onto her skin. Onto her bones.

“No…” Her voice catches, raw and disbelieving. “No, you didn’t, you didn’t—” The words come out in a strangled sob as she lowers him to the floor, shaking him by the shoulders, her tears falling unchecked onto his still, pale face. “Jinu! Jinu, please—wake up!” Her voice breaks. She searches his face for any sign of life, any flutter of an eyelid. There is nothing.

Her hands, trembling, try to wipe the blood from his lips, from the strands of hair stuck to his cheek. As she pries his mouth open, more blood spills onto her palms. She sobs, rocking him in her arms, her grief raw and unfiltered.

This isn’t real. It can’t be. She’s just dreaming.

This is just a dream. Not a memory.

She must have been watching too many K-dramas lately, she thinks with a hysterical, broken laugh. She squeezes her eyes shut, rubbing at the blood on his face, as if she could wipe away what’s happened, as if enough pressure could bring him back.

Not real. Not real . Not real.

She hugs him tighter, clutching his unresponsive form to her chest.

Please. Let this nightmare end. Please, please—

Please, God, if you hear me. Rumi’s thoughts are frantic prayers, wordless and desperate.

The room spins.

And then—

She wakes up.

Chapter Text

JINU WOKE UP DEAD IN THE NIGHT—not because Derpy had decided he was a suitable pillow, but because a strange, searing heat coursed through his body. It was as if fire had replaced his veins. Groggily, he shoved the duvet off himself thinking it was just a case of overheating with how thick the duvet was, only to freeze when he noticed his demon marks glowing faintly in the dark. A voice—soft, desperate—whispered near his ear, chilling his blood.

“Jinu… Please.”

His eyes snapped wide open, all traces of sleep evaporating as he recognized the voice. Rumi. His heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Without hesitation, he bolted out of bed, the door slamming against the wall as he rushed out of his room. He didn’t care about the noise; all he could think about was Rumi. She was in danger. She had called for him. It wasn’t just a plea—something deeper in his soul pulled him toward her.

He burst into her room, not bothering to knock. The sight before him made his stomach drop. Rumi was thrashing on her bed, her body tangled in the sheets as though she were locked in a battle against some invisible, malevolent force. Her nails clawed at her duvet, her face contorted with terror. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but tears streamed relentlessly down her cheeks.

“Rumi? Rumi!” Jinu called out, his voice filled with panic as he stumbled toward her. But she didn’t respond—only whimpered and sobbed, her body writhing as if she were caught in a nightmare from which she couldn’t wake.

Derpy padded in behind him, chuffing softly, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a quiet concern. The tiger peered  onto the bed, whining softly, watching Rumi intently as she let out another broken sob. Jinu’s heart pounded in his chest, unsure of what to do.

“Is she… is this a nightmare?” he muttered to himself, his hands hovering over her trembling form. Panic clawed at his mind. What do I do? Do I shake her awake? Is that bad? Oh crap, oh crap—

Before he could overthink, Rumi’s nails raked across her own arm, leaving red marks in their wake. Jinu snapped out of his stupor. “Nope. No more of that,” he muttered, grabbing her wrists gently but firmly to stop her from hurting herself further.

“Rumi, wake up. Please, wake up,” he begged softly. He climbed onto the bed, leaning over her, his voice a mix of urgency and tenderness. “It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe. Wake up, Rumi.”

Her sobs grew louder, her breathing uneven as she struggled against whatever horrors plagued her dreams. Then, with a sudden choked scream, she gasped his name.

“Jinu!”

Her eyes fluttered open, wide with terror, but unfocused, as if she were still caught between the dream and the waking world. She stared at him, her breathing ragged, each inhale a desperate gasp for air. Jinu froze, his hands hovering near her shoulders. Her chest heaved so violently that he feared she might hyperventilate.

“Rumi, it’s okay,” he said softly, leaning closer. “I’m here. Just breathe.”

Her lips moved, forming syllables he couldn’t hear. He strained to listen as her voice grew louder, trembling with fear. “Jinu… Jinu… Jinu…” she whispered, her tone haunted, her eyes darting around as if searching for him.

“I’m here,” he said again, his voice steady even as his heart ached to see her like this. He didn’t hesitate. Wrapping his arms around her trembling form, he pulled her into a protective embrace. She clung to him immediately, her nails digging into his back as though she feared he might vanish if she let go.

He didn’t mind. If she told him to stay like this forever, he would. Without question.

“Rumi, I’m not going anywhere. Just breathe. You’re safe,” he murmured, his hand gently rubbing circles on her back. Her sobs slowly quieted, though her grip on him didn’t loosen. For a long moment, the room was filled only with the sound of her hiccupping breaths and the soft purring of Derpy, who had curled up near her feet.

When her breathing finally steadied, Jinu dared to pull back slightly, just enough to look at her face. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes bloodshot and glassy. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his touch careful and soothing. “Rumi? You okay now?”

She sniffled, nodding weakly, though her grip on his hoodie didn’t lessen. “Yeah,” she whispered, but her voice was shaky. Her gaze softened slightly, and she exhaled a trembling breath. “Jinu…” Her voice broke. “Please, stay. At least for tonight.”

Jinu blinked, caught off guard by the raw vulnerability in her tone. “O-okay,” he stammered, letting her pull him closer. Before he knew it, she had tipped him onto his side, forcing him to lie down beside her. He made a soft, indignant noise but didn’t resist. “Rumi? What are you—”

“Stay,” she murmured again, her voice barely audible as she hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest.

Jinu swallowed nervously, his heart pounding loud enough that he was sure she could hear it. He lay stiffly for a moment, unsure of what to do, but eventually relaxed, wrapping an arm around her. “Alright, I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice softer this time.

For a while, the two of them lay there in silence. Jinu wanted to ask her what she had dreamed about—what could have scared her so deeply that she called out to him like that. But he held his tongue. She looked far too fragile, still shaking slightly as she clung to him. Whatever it was, it could wait.

After a long pause, she whispered again, her voice hoarse but firm. “Don’t leave.”

Jinu let out a nervous chuckle, trying to ease the tension in the air. “I won’t, Rumi. I swear.” His voice was soft but sincere. He hesitated, his curiosity and concern gnawing at him. “Now… will you tell me what’s wrong?”

But before the words could fully settle, Rumi’s tears began to fall again. Quiet sobs shook her body as she buried her face into his chest, holding onto him even tighter. Jinu froze for a moment, his cheeks flushing, unsure of what to do. As much as he enjoyed her warmth, the way she clung to him, he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at his chest. Something was wrong—a deep, agonizing kind of wrong.

“Rumi…” he murmured gently, his hand moving to stroke her hair, but he winced when she pulled back just enough to glare at him through teary eyes.

“How dare you do that,” she whispered, her voice trembling with anger and something else he couldn’t place. “You… annoying, handsome guy!” Without warning, she hit his chest with her fist. The blow wasn’t strong—it didn’t hurt—but it left Jinu more confused than ever.

“Wait… what?” He blinked at her, bewildered. Should he move away? Was she mad at him? Why was she suddenly like this? “Rumi, then… I’ll just go—?”

“No!” she cut him off sharply, her voice almost a growl. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer before he could even think about leaving. Her eyes were wild, desperate. “Stay here. Don’t leave. You’re not going to do that… ever again,” she said firmly, her voice breaking as it softened into a whisper.

Jinu’s heart squeezed as he felt her trembling in his arms. He nodded, his voice caught in his throat, and let her pull him back into a tight embrace. Her sobs quieted, but her sniffles lingered as she buried herself in his chest, holding him close. He tightened his hold around her protectively, resting his chin against her head.

They stayed like that for a long time, tangled together, her warmth seeping into him. Jinu didn’t mind. He didn’t remember when his eyes began to feel heavy or when his body relaxed into hers completely. All he knew was the sensation of Rumi’s arms around him, her body pressed close, her legs tangled with his. She held him as though he were her lifeline, as though letting go might mean losing him forever.

So Jinu didn’t let go.

Somewhere along the way, he drifted off. His dreams came quickly, vivid and strange. He found himself standing behind a small, younger Rumi, her figure trembling as she sang softly in front of a grave. Her hands were clasped tightly together, her voice carrying a haunting melody of grief and longing. Jinu watched her with sad, tender eyes, his lips curving into a soft smile that didn’t reach his heart.

It was a peaceful dream, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Jinu slept soundly.

But Rumi did not.

She stayed awake, her eyes rimmed red and swollen as she watched his sleeping face. Her heart was a storm of emotions—guilt, sorrow, understanding, and something else far more painful. Tears welled up again, spilling silently down her cheeks as she whispered into the quiet room, “I’m sorry, Jinu… Maybe I’m starting to understand you now…”

Her voice cracked as her fingers brushed against his cheek, trembling slightly before retreating to clutch at his hoodie. All those words she had spat at him before, about demons feeling nothing, about him being cold and unfeeling—it all tasted like ash in her mouth now. She wanted to take it all back. Every single word.

“I understand you so much it hurts…” she murmured softly, leaning closer to him. Her lips brushed against his forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss, her tears falling silently onto his skin.

She pulled back, her gaze fixed on his face. Her lips trembled as she whispered, almost to herself, “I hope whatever you’re dreaming about doesn’t hurt you the way it hurt me…”

Her mind replayed the memory of her nightmare in vivid detail, the weight of it crushing her chest. She had seen Jinu die. Again. The scene burned into her eyelids even though she was awake—the fire of Gwi-Ma’s wrath, the way Jinu’s body had crumbled into ashes under its flames. His skin, cold and damp, as though he had drowned. The poison, the agony, the emptiness in his eyes when he had decided to end his own life.

“Stop,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head as if she could will the thoughts away. Her face twisted in pain as she buried it in his chest again. “Stop, stop, stop…”

Her hand found his wrist, her fingers pressing against his pulse. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips grounded her, kept her from spiraling completely. He was alive. He was here, warm and breathing. She wouldn’t let him slip away—not ever again.

“Hah, Jinu… Lower your walls. Please let me in,” she whispered brokenly, her voice muffled against his chest. Her other hand clutched at his hoodie, her touch desperate and trembling. She tilted her head slightly, pressing her ear to his chest to listen to the rhythmic thump-thump of his heart.

It was soothing, a reminder that he was still here, still alive. But it wasn’t enough to stop the ache in her chest.

“You’re alive,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, but she repeated it, as though saying it aloud would make it more real.

“You’re alive, and you’ll never slip away from my hands again. Never.”

Her tears soaked into his hoodie as she closed her eyes, holding him as tightly as she could without waking him. Her breathing slowed, her despair momentarily dulled by the sound of his heartbeat. She didn’t sleep that night, but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Jinu was here. Alive. And she wouldn’t let him go.

Not this time.

TODAY WAS THE DAY TO CHILL. At least, that’s what Jinu thought. This was one of those rare, lazy afternoons where time seemed to stretch like a cat in the sun. And speaking of cats—Derpy was at his feet, a loyal foot warmer with fur so thick Jinu half-joked to himself that he could probably make a coat out of it. 

Not that he would; Derpy was far too precious for that. Jinu absentmindedly wiggled his toes against the tiger’s back, earning a satisfied purr. Derpy rolled onto his back, exposing his soft belly, his tail flicking lazily. Jeez—Jinu really loved this oversized furball. He rubbed Derpy’s belly with the heel of his foot, feeling the gentle vibrations of the tiger’s purring under his skin.

“Hey, Jinu,” a voice called out, soft and familiar.

He tilted his head to see Rumi standing at the side of the couch. She wore a small, almost self-conscious smile, her hands fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Hey,” Jinu greeted, his voice lifting slightly in surprise. “I thought you’d be out shopping with Mira and Zoey today.” He tilted his head as she walked over and crashed onto the couch beside him, their shoulders bumping together.

Her sudden proximity made him let out a small, confused noise. And then, to his utter surprise, Rumi hooked her arm around his and leaned closer. It wasn’t the casual kind of closeness he was used to—it was warm, deliberate, like she was trying to melt into his side.

“What… are you doing?” Jinu asked, his cheeks flushing with heat. He didn’t know why her sudden affection made him feel like an overheated kettle, but it did.

Rumi grinned mischievously. “I’m here to watch TV with you.”

Her tone was so matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Jinu was left blinking at her in disbelief. She wasn’t exactly the type to show interest in his favorite pastimes. Sure, he’d asked her to watch TV with him before—plenty of times, actually—but she’d always been too busy with her own things.

Now, here she was. Voluntarily. Sitting close enough for their shoulders to press together. Jinu tried—and failed—to suppress the giddy smile threatening to bloom on his face.

“You never want to watch TV with me,” he pointed out, glancing at the screen.

The channel was airing one of those prank shows where people get caught off guard in public. It was honestly dumb, and Mira had called him “ancient” for enjoying it. Zoey had been even more brutal, labeling him “sad” for finding humor in other people’s embarrassment. But Jinu didn’t care. The bad jokes and even worse pranks still managed to make him laugh.

“What do you mean? I watch TV plenty,” Rumi retorted, feigning offense. She let out an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand over her chest like he’d wounded her pride.

Jinu rolled his eyes, his lips curling into a grin. “You mean the news? News is boring.”

“Only children hate listening to the news,” Rumi shot back, poking a finger at his cheek.

Jinu tilted his head away, pushing her finger down with a mock glare. “First of all, I’m older than you. Second, news is boring. You can’t fight me on that.”

His tone was so petulant it was almost comical. If you squinted at him just right, you might mistake him for an actual child throwing a mini tantrum. Rumi didn’t argue back, though. Instead, she giggled—soft and melodic—and Jinu couldn’t help but glance at her, his heart doing a weird little flip.

“You’re cute,” she said, poking his cheek again.

Jinu blinked, stunned by her words. “Are you… sick?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

The question earned a full-blown laugh from Rumi. She shook her head and pulled him closer, her arm tightening around his. “Nope. Just came to a realization, you know?”

“A realization?” Jinu echoed, his heart thudding nervously. He shot her a suspicious look, but she only winked at him.

“It’s a secret,” she sang, her grin widening.

Jinu huffed, crossing his arms—though the movement inadvertently pulled her even closer. Rumi didn’t seem to mind. She just kept grinning, looking far too pleased with herself. Meanwhile, Jinu could feel the heat rising to his ears. What was wrong with Rumi today?

His thoughts wandered to a few nights ago. She’d had a nightmare and, for some reason, had insisted he sleep next to her. Not that he’d minded. In fact, he’d loved it. It wasn’t just the soft bed—it was the way she’d held him, as if she needed him there. As if his presence mattered.

He wanted more of that. But he didn’t even know if she remembered it, let alone cared to talk about it. So, he’d kept quiet, unwilling to risk ruining whatever fragile thing had started to grow between them. Maybe she was embarrassed about letting him sleep in her bed. Or worse, disgusted. The thought made his stomach churn.

If it was the latter… well, he might just jump off the balcony.

Though… Jinu cuddled a little closer to Rumi. He didn’t quite mind her strange behavior lately—clingy, touchy, and everything all at once. It was unusual, yes, but he wasn’t about to complain. In fact, he was savoring every moment of it, like a starving dog grateful for scraps. It felt pathetic, maybe, but he didn’t care. If this was temporary, if she’d eventually grow tired of him, then he would take what he could get in the meantime.

Silence fell between them as the TV played on. The prank show continued its chaotic antics, but neither of them paid much attention to it. For Jinu, the real show was the peace of this moment: Derpy sprawled at his feet, Rumi nestled against him, and at the corner of his eye, Bird perched by the arm of the sofa, all three of his eyes closed. Jinu felt his chest swell with quiet contentment. He loved this. He wished it could last just a little longer.

“Me and the girls are planning a comeback,” Rumi said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Jinu turned to her, eyebrows raised. A comeback? That was good news for them. But wait—was this really a good idea? Was Rumi alright to even have a comeback?

“I—wow, that’s great, you guys… but are you sure you’re okay to perform?” His tone was cautious, laced with worry. “You, Mira, and Zoey are going to be really busy with rehearsals, show appearances, and fan meetings.” He rattled off the responsibilities in his head, a list he’d memorized through hours of research.

Since the day he’d become involved with them—and by extension, the world of K-Pop—Jinu had made it a point to study everything about the industry. From its history to its modern-day workings, he’d devoured every bit of information he could find. He wanted to understand what made groups rise to fame, what made them resonate with fans, and most importantly, how to beat HUNTR/X without relying too much on Gwi-Ma’s powers.

Rumi tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Well… I like to think I’m doing fine,” she said, though her tone betrayed her.

Jinu huffed, looking away. That sounded like a big, fat lie. “Are you sure? Not that I’m against it, but I can see you’re still not getting enough sleep,” he said, frowning as his gaze dropped to her face. The faint shadows under her eyes didn’t escape his notice.

Rumi reached out and rubbed his elbow gently, her touch reassuring. “Stop worrying so much, Jinu. I’m already working on catching up on my sleep. There’s no need for you to stress over it.”

Jinu nodded reluctantly, though the worry didn’t leave his face. He realized he was scrunching his brows and quickly turned away, only to shoot her an embarrassed glare. “Who said I was worried?” he said, though his tone was playful, not defensive.

Rumi giggled, poking his cheek. “Besides,” she said, her voice softening, “I want you to see us… not just as idols, but as a team. Jinu—I was wondering if you’d like to be one of our producers?”

Jinu froze. A producer?

Rumi didn’t seem to notice his sudden stillness. “I know it’s sudden, but you’re amazing at writing lyrics. You and Zoey are so alike in that way. I even told her about the idea, and she wasn’t against it. Even Mira agreed. The only one left is Bobby, but knowing him…” She rolled her eyes, recalling how Bobby had sent Jinu a dozen chocolate cakes after a series of secret text exchanges via Zoey’s phone. Bobby had still figured out it was Jinu because Zoey never sent texts without emojis.

Jinu’s cheeks flushed, a faint tint of pink spreading across them. Pride swelled in his chest, warm and unfamiliar. The fact that Zoey and Mira wanted him to join—it felt like acceptance. And for someone like Jinu, a demon trying to exist in their world, that feeling was rare and cherished.

“Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly. “I know things have been going well, but… Mira and Zoey—I just…” His voice trailed off as he gestured to himself. “Well, I’m a demon.”

Rumi huffed, rolling her eyes. “Jinu, you’re not just any demon. You’re Jinu. Not a demon, not anything else. Just you. And we really like having you here. You’re probably the only person who actually uses all the utilities in this building.”

She snorted, snickering as Jinu rolled his eyes.

“You three are just too rich to care,” he said, sighing dramatically. But then, a small smile tugged at his lips. “Okay… I like the idea. I’ve never worked with Zoey before, but I’d like to try.”

Rumi’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Yes! This is great!” she exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air. “This comeback is going to be amazing!”

Jinu grinned at her enthusiasm. “A lot of people will be happy to see HUNTR/X back on stage.”

Rumi turned to him, her expression softening. “Do you miss it?” she asked suddenly.

“Miss what?” Jinu blinked, confused.

“Singing. Being on stage. You know, back when you were a Saja.”

Jinu’s smile faltered as he considered her question. Did he miss it? He thought back to his days as a Saja, performing with Soda Pop. It hadn’t been enjoyable, not really. For him, it was just a means to an end—a way to ensure their fame and amplify their powers. He’d only done a few live shows, and the novelty had worn off quickly.

“Eh… it was okay,” he said with a shrug, leaning back against the couch. Performing didn’t excite him anymore. Writing music, though? That was different. He liked the idea of creating something and watching someone else bring it to life.

“Really?” Rumi asked, her hands gesturing animatedly. “I mean, singing, fame—I can understand why people would love it.”

Jinu shook his head, grabbing her hands to stop her flailing. “No. I want to be a producer for HUNTR/X. I think there’s just something… better about letting someone else use your lyrics and watching them bring it to life, you know?” He grinned, his voice tinged with excitement.

Rumi watched him, her lips curling into a soft grin. For a while, they sat in silence, the flicker of the TV casting muted colors across the room. But then, without warning—like a sudden shift in the wind—the air grew heavy. Jinu could feel it settle over them like an invisible weight. He didn’t know why, but the change made his chest tighten.

Rumi let out a soft, shaky sigh. It sounded like something delicate, like the beginning of a confession—or maybe the start of something far heavier.

“Jinu,” she said quietly, turning to face him. She shifted on the couch until they were sitting knee to knee. Her hands reached for his, her fingers brushing against his knuckles as she looked at him with an intensity that made his stomach churn. “I know we haven’t talked about this much… but when you were human… how were you sent to hell?”

Jinu blinked, startled by the question. He stared at her like she had just spoken in a language he didn’t understand. “Me? I—well… I was dragged to hell?” He tilted his head, trying to sound casual. But even he could hear the slight tremor in his voice.

Rumi bit her lip, her brows knitting together as she looked down for a moment. When she lifted her gaze again, her eyes were filled with something Jinu couldn’t quite place—concern? Pity? Sadness? He didn’t know, but it made his stomach twist.

“You know what I mean, Jinu,” she said softly, her voice firm but gentle. “How were you dragged to hell?”

Jinu’s breath hitched. The question hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. His mind raced, his thoughts tangling into a mess of panic and confusion. Why was she asking this? Why now?

“I—I was taken,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “The floor opened up, and then I was in hell.” He repeated the words like a script, as if saying them enough times would make them true.

Rumi sighed again, shaking her head as she lowered it briefly. When she looked back up, her expression was softer, almost apologetic. “A few days ago,” she began, her voice calm but steady, “you mentioned seeing me as a child in your dreams. Do you remember that?”

Jinu nodded, the memory flickering in his mind. He had told her about it in passing, not thinking much of it at the time. But now, the mention of it sent a shiver down his spine.

“I saw you too,” Rumi said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “In my dreams. By the river, planning your death.”

The words hit him like a thunderclap. Jinu froze, his body going rigid as his mind reeled. For a moment, it was as if the world around him melted away, leaving only those words echoing in his head.

“Planning your death.”

His hands pulled away from hers instinctively, as if her touch burned him. His face darkened, and his breathing grew shallow and rapid. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the faint hum of the TV and the soft rustle of Derpy shifting on the floor.

She knows.

The thought tore through his mind like a hurricane, leaving panic in its wake.

She knows.

Oh no, oh fuck. She knows.

Jinu stumbled to his feet, moving away from her as if distance could somehow erase the weight of her words. He barely registered Derpy’s whine as he nearly tripped over the tiger on his way up. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. His body felt like it was caught in a storm—his face burning hot while the rest of him shivered with cold.

In front of him, Rumi stood up as well. She held out a hand, her palm open and facing him as if she were trying to calm a frightened animal.

“Jinu?” she said softly, her voice laced with worry. “Hey… it’s okay. Just breathe.”

But her words only made his pulse quicken.

She knows I’m disgusting.

The thought clawed at his mind, relentless and cruel.

She knows what I am.

Jinu’s vision blurred, his breathing growing erratic as he tried to make sense of the chaos swirling inside him. The room felt too small, too stifling, too loud—even though everything around him was eerily quiet.

“Jinu,” Rumi said again, stepping closer. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like she was approaching a wounded creature that might lash out at any moment.

But Jinu couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t face her—not after what she’d said. Not after what she might know.

“I—” He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. His voice sounded broken, raw, and he hated it.

“Hey,” Rumi said softly, her hand still outstretched. “I’m not here to judge you. Whatever happened… it doesn’t change how I see you. You’re still Jinu.”

Her words were gentle, but they only made him want to run. How could she say that? How could she act like it didn’t matter?

“Jinu, calm down,”

“Jinu, calm down,” Rumi whispered, her voice trembling but steady enough to reach him through the chaos.

“R-Rumi, don’t you see? I’m disgusting!” Jinu cried out, his voice breaking under the weight of his despair. His human façade crumbled entirely—his eyes turned into sharp, slitted pupils, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. His demon marks, normally hidden, pulsed an eerie pastel pink, creeping across his skin like cracks in porcelain. His nails elongated into claws, and his fangs sharpened, glinting faintly under the dim light of the room. He wasn’t even trying to hide anymore. Tears streamed down his face, heavy and unrelenting, like rainfall.

He looked just like the Jinu Rumi had seen in her dream—the one who had knelt by the river, trembling and broken, crying out for his mother to take away his pain. That memory clawed at her heart, twisting it painfully.

Rumi’s eyes widened as her own demon mark pulsed in response, sending a sharp, aching throb through her chest. It was as if she could feel his pain bleeding into her, becoming her own. Her eyes stung, and before she realized it, tears started falling too.

She couldn’t bear it. The weight of his despair was suffocating, but worse than that was watching him crumble in front of her. Without hesitation, she closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Shut up,” she muttered firmly, her voice muffled against his chest. “Shut up. You’re not disgusting.”

Jinu trembled in her arms, his body shaking violently, and she tightened her grip as though she could hold him together by sheer force. She leaned back slightly, placing her hands on his shoulders and pressing his head to her chest, letting him hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

“You’re not disgusting, Jinu,” she whispered shakily, her voice breaking as fresh tears fell.

Jinu clung to her arms, his claws retracting as his hands trembled. His breathing was uneven, choked by sobs. “I didn’t want to do it,” he admitted, his voice small and raw. “I thought—if I did, I could get rid of the marks. I thought I could be free.”

He raised his head to look at her, his face streaked with tears, his expression one of pure anguish. “I’m so sorry, Rumi,” he choked out.

Rumi sniffled, her own tears now flowing freely as she cupped his face. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Jinu,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. She pulled him back into a hug, her arms wrapping around him protectively.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They simply held each other, their pain shared in the quiet stillness of the room. Derpy, sensing the tension, waddled over and wedged himself between them, his massive head resting on Rumi’s thighs. The tiger gave a soft whine as his head pushed Jinu slightly away.

Rumi let out a broken laugh at Derpy’s antics, her fingers scratching the back of his ears. The absurdity of it lightened the suffocating air for just a moment, and Jinu sniffled, drying his eyes as he watched her. But the fear in his chest hadn’t left.

Questions swirled in his mind, threatening to drown him. How did she know? Was she disgusted? Did she hate him? The thoughts raced, almost sending him spiraling again, but Rumi reached out and took his hand, grounding him.

“Jinu,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the tears still glistening in her eyes. “I don’t see you any differently. I just… it hurt to see it. Your pain felt like mine too. And I don’t want you to leave.”

Her words pierced through his fear, though it still lingered at the edges. Jinu squeezed his eyes shut, his voice trembling as he whispered, “It was a mistake. I let Gwi-Ma get into my head. I really thought I could be free—free from him, from the chains, from the voices.”

He shakily raised a hand to his ear, as if fearing he might hear that cruel voice again, laughing at him, mocking his pain. But there was only silence—except for Rumi’s voice, warm and steady.

“It must be disgusting to see,” Jinu said hollowly, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “I didn’t succeed in drowning myself, so instead I poisoned myself, I thought it was easy. Easy to die,” He lowered his head, shame washing over him like a tidal wave. “I’m so sorry, Rumi. I—if I could kneel and beg for your forgiveness, I would.”

He tried to kneel, but Rumi grabbed his shoulders, stopping him. Her grip was firm, almost desperate.

“Stop it, Jinu,” she said, her voice trembling as fresh tears welled in her eyes. “I wanted to see all of you. It hurts to see you like this, but it hurts more to think of you suffering alone. I held you in my arms, Jinu. You were cold, unmoving…” Her voice broke, and she sobbed, her tears falling freely again.

“I hate it,” she cried, her voice shaking with anger and sadness. “I hate it so much. I hate Gwi-Ma for hurting you so much that you would go through that.”

She pulled him close again, laying her head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat—a sound that reassured her he was still alive, still here.

Jinu’s breath hitched, his eyes still glossy with tears as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He rested his head on her shoulder, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, Rumi… I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for something you couldn’t control,” she said firmly, her voice soft but resolute. “Gwi-Ma made you do this. None of this is your fault.”

Jinu tightened his hold on her, his tears soaking into her shoulder as he let her words wash over him. 

Jinu frowns, burying his head in the curve of her neck as his voice trembles. “It was my decision first… my greed blinded me to the possibility of pain and suffering.” His grip tightens as though the words alone might shatter him. “Gwi–Ma… he feeds on your desires. And when you’ve taken enough from him, he will devour your fears, your guilt, your pain—until you find yourself standing there, holding a blade, and you’ll willingly point it at yourself.”

He feels Rumi’s breath hitch, her body stiffening against his. Slowly, she pulls back, her eyes searching his face with a quiet, pained intensity. “Jinu…” she whispers, her voice trembling like a flickering candle. “I want to tell you something too.”

Jinu nods silently, his heart sinking at the weight of her tone.

“The day of the idol awards…” she begins, her voice breaking like fragile glass. “I tried to kill myself too.”

Jinu’s eyes widen in shock, his breath caught in his throat. “Rumi—” he stutters, reaching for her, but Rumi takes his hand, her grip grounding him.

“Let me talk first,” she says, her tone firm but gentle. “I—I need you to hear this.” She swallows hard, her lips trembling as she forces herself to continue. “I’ve long since passed that moment. I have people who love me now, people who care about me, fans who worry about my health.” She offers him a small, teary smile, though it struggles to mask her pain.

“But back then…” Her voice falters, and she shuts her eyes as if shielding herself from the memory. “After the awards, I went to my mother’s grave. And I asked Celine to kill me—with my sword.”

Her confession hangs in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating. Jinu’s body freezes, his mind reeling as her words sink in.

“She didn’t do it,” Rumi continues, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “She was scared—terrified, really. And I understand her. But at that moment, I felt so hopeless. I didn’t know what to do anymore. Gwi-Ma had already won, at least in my heart. When I saw Zoey and Mira pointing their weapons at me, I thought… this is it. I was angry, and sad, and hopeless. I felt everything, everywhere, all at once. Despair. Loss. Madness.”

Her gaze meets his, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I understand what you feel, Jinu,” she says softly, her voice laced with a painful sincerity.

Rumi reaches for his face, her fingers trembling as they brush against his skin. Her touch is warm, grounding him in the present. “I don’t want you to feel alone,” she says, her voice resolute. “Because I’ve been there too. I carry the same marks on my skin—the ones I used to be so ashamed of. But now…” She pauses, her demon mark flaring to life, glowing with an iridescent blend of blue, pink, and yellow. It pulses gently, almost as if alive. “Now, I walk with them in pride. Because I’m the one who gets to decide how my story ends. Just like you.”

Jinu’s demon mark begins to glow in response, its azure light blending with hers. Tears well in his eyes as he stares at her, his emotions a storm threatening to overwhelm him.

“Rumi… I—I…” He struggles to speak, his voice choked with emotion. He wants to tell her how much he loves her, how deeply she’s rooted in his soul. He wants to say he loves her so much that he wishes he could meld into her, that he longs to rest his weary heart in the safety of her chest. But the words won’t come.

Instead, he presses his forehead to hers, his breaths shallow and uneven. “Can we sing? Can we dance? Can you hold my soul again?” he whispers, his voice trembling with vulnerability.

Rumi’s eyes light up, still brimming with tears. She wipes them away with the back of her hand, giving him a shaky smile. “Okay,” she whispers.

She stands shakily, her movements uncertain but determined. Derpy, who had been sitting nearby, moves aside, watching them with worried eyes. Rumi extends her hand to Jinu, her fingers trembling slightly.

“I know it hasn’t been long since the last time you turned into my sword,” Rumi begins, her voice soft yet tinged with nervousness. Jinu takes her hand, his touch gentle. “But… it just feels amazing to hold you in my hands. It feels like I’ve found a piece to a puzzle I never knew I had. It must sound strange—”

“No,” Jinu interrupts, his voice firm but tender. “I want it. I want to be held by you. It feels… safe. Like my heart, my soul, are protected.” He places a hand over his chest, his eyes searching hers. “It feels right.”

Rumi smiles at his words, her expression softening. “I feel the same,” she whispers. Their foreheads touch again, their breaths mingling as they stand in a fragile, sacred moment of understanding.

“It feels too early to be crying,” Rumi murmurs, letting out a weak laugh.

Jinu chuckles softly, though it’s tinged with sadness. “You’re right…” he whispers back.

Rumi pulls away, her hand still clasped tightly around his. She tugs him gently into a small waltz, their movements tentative but filled with raw emotion. Their hands grasp each other as though letting go might make the other disappear.

“I don’t need to hear the whole story
Your silence says more than words ever could
I see the weight behind your smile
And I won’t ask—just sit here for a while.”

Her voice is soft, a gentle melody that fills the quiet room. She hums as they sway together, spinning lightly around the coffee table. When Jinu nearly bumps his shin against its leg, Rumi lets out a giggle, and the sound sparks a shy grin from Jinu.

Slowly, he opens his lips to join her song.

“We’re broken in places we don’t show,
But I recognize the shadows you hold.”

Jinu’s voice was soft, carrying the weight of understanding as his hand traveled to her cheek. He cupped it tenderly, his touch warm and grounding. Rumi didn’t hesitate, instinctively turning her head into his palm. Her warmth seeped into his skin, and for a moment, the world around them faded. His heartbeat slowed—not nervous, not embarrassed. It was something else entirely, a strange sense of serenity. A quiet happiness settled over him, steady and unshakable, as if he had found a missing piece of himself.

Their demon marks glowed in unison, the iridescent hues of blue, pink, and yellow blending together in a quiet harmony. Jinu felt it—the happiness blooming in his chest, rising to his throat, as if he could taste its sweetness at the tip of his tongue.

Together, their voices rose, melding into one like threads of a tapestry weaving something beautiful from their pain.

“You don’t have to hide the pain,
I’ll hold you where it hurts.
We don’t have to say it right—just breathe,
I’ll understand, even when you can’t speak.”

The glow of their marks pulsed like a heartbeat, perfectly synchronized. Rumi felt the warmth radiating from her chest, the kind of warmth that wrapped around her soul and made her feel whole again. Jinu could feel it too, an anchor pulling him back to something real, something safe. He watched her, saw the reflection of his own emotions in her glistening eyes, and his heart swelled with an emotion he could scarcely name.

“I’ve been where you are, in my own way,” Rumi whispered, her voice soft yet unshakable. She held him tightly, their hands clasped as they swayed, spinning together in perfect synchronicity. There was no hesitation, no push or pull. They moved as if they were one, as though they had danced this dance a thousand times before. Every step was effortless, every movement natural, as though they already knew where the other wanted to go. They didn’t need words—they simply understood.

Jinu’s demon mark continued to glow, brighter now, its light pulsing with a gentle rhythm.

“So don’t be afraid to break,
I’ll be the place where your sorrow can go.
When it all feels too heavy to carry alone,
I’ll meet you where it hurts, where love still grows.”

Rumi’s voice trembled slightly, but her resolve never wavered as the melody lingered in the air. This time, there was no grand spectacle, no blinding flash of light or overwhelming transformation. It was quiet, intimate, like the soft closing of a book after the final page.

Jinu smiled faintly, his eyes soft as he gazed at her. Slowly, he leaned in, pulling her into a gentle embrace. She held onto him tightly, as if afraid to let go, and he rested his chin against her shoulder. The warmth of his presence enveloped her, and for a moment, everything felt still.

Then, in a gradual, almost imperceptible shift, Jinu began to dissolve. His body softened into a glowing mist of blue and yellow light, as warm and tender as his embrace had been. Rumi stood still, feeling his essence spread across her, wrapping her in a gentle glow. The familiar sensation returned—the transformation, but this time it was different.

Her hoodie melted away, replaced by a pristine white hanbok adorned with silver armor. Slowly, delicately, the sword appeared in her hands. She gazed down at it, her hands trembling as she clutched it close to her chest.

A single tear slid down her cheek, unbidden. She could feel him—his presence, his warmth, his heartbeat pulsing through the sword. It was as though he was whispering to her, telling her he was still here, that he would always be here.

Rumi closed her eyes, pressing the sword to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’re still with me… I can feel you.”

The sword pulsed in response, a soft, comforting rhythm that mirrored her own heartbeat. Rumi stood there for a moment longer, holding him close, as the glow of her marks slowly faded into a gentle hum.

They had both been broken, but together, they had found something whole.

WHEN MIRA AND ZOEY STEPS THROUGH THE DOOR, the cozy hum of the apartment greets them. Their footsteps echo softly across the floor, but they stop short upon noticing a scene that immediately grabs their attention. Jinu and Rumi are on the couch. Jinu is sprawled out with his head resting comfortably on Rumi’s lap, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. Rumi, however, looks like she’s been through an emotional whirlwind. Her cheeks are blotchy, her eyes swollen and red—as if she’d cried herself into another dimension. On the TV, that familiar prank show Jinu loves is playing, its canned laughter filling the room.

Mira and Zoey exchange a glance, their shared expression a mixture of surprise and worry. This wasn’t what they expected to come home to.

“Rumi?” they both call out at almost the same time, stepping closer.

Rumi glances up at them, her face lighting up with a soft, tired smile. “Hey, guys,” she says, her voice calm but faintly hoarse.

Zoey’s eyes widen as she takes in Rumi’s disheveled appearance. “Are you okay? Did lover boy do something? Your eyes look like you got punched by ten demons!” she exclaims, her voice rising in alarm.

Rumi’s eyes widen as she quickly raises a finger to her lips, shushing Zoey and motioning toward Jinu, who stirs ever so slightly but doesn’t wake. “Shh, keep it down,” she whispers. “He’s sleeping.”

Mira crosses her arms as her gaze flickers between Rumi and Jinu. “Yeah, girl,” she says, her tone still tinged with concern. “Don’t tell me he did something to you.” Her brows furrow as she shoots Jinu an accusatory look, but almost immediately softens. Even as she says it, she knows Jinu isn’t the type. “Actually… no. I doubt he did anything,” she sighs, shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought.

Rumi chuckles quietly, her fingers absentmindedly brushing through Jinu’s hair. “No, he didn’t do anything,” she murmurs, her voice cryptic yet oddly tender. There’s a serene glow in her expression, a softness that makes Mira and Zoey exchange suspicious glances.

“What happened, then?” Zoey presses, curiosity bubbling in her voice.

Rumi doesn’t answer immediately. Her hand continues its gentle motion through Jinu’s hair, her fingers curling around stray strands as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. She finally speaks, but her words are vague. “Just… something,” she says, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Zoey and Mira exchange another look, eyebrows raised in unison. Their silent communication is loud and clear: What in the world is going on with these two?

But then, almost in tandem, they both nod. Without even saying a word, they agree to let it go—for now. Whatever happened, it seemed personal, and maybe prying wouldn’t help.

Zoey’s eyes glance toward the TV, then back to Mira. Alright, let’s not push her, her gaze seems to say. Mira nods slightly in response before turning back to Rumi. “Alright, we won’t ask,” Mira says, lifting her hands in mock surrender. A sly grin spreads across her face as she adds, “But I call dibs on the TV since lover boy over there is out cold.”

Rumi stifles a laugh, her grin widening as she rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

As Mira and Zoey settle onto the couch with exaggerated nonchalance, Rumi’s attention drifts back to Jinu. Her gaze softens, her hand stilling for a moment before resuming its quiet rhythm. She takes in his peaceful expression—the slight furrow in his brow even in sleep, the way his lips part ever so slightly as he breathes. Her heart feels like it’s swelling and floating all at once.

For the first time, Rumi thinks she truly understands him—this man who had somehow become so vital to her. This man she chooses to want, to like, to need. To hold. And as her fingers thread through his hair, she feels a quiet determination bloom in her chest. She wants to understand him more, to know him in ways no one else could.

And for now, that’s enough.

CAPTION:

Jinu's mental health if he just did this pose to Gwi-Ma

Credits: To my dearest friend, JMLilac

Chapter Text

JINU HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN HOW LONELY IT GETS . The apartment felt cavernous and echoing now that the girls’ break was over. They were busier than ever— really busy, as in, Jinu-almost-never-sees-them busy. Most days, the studio on their floor would be bursting with energy and chaos: papers scattered over every surface, Rumi perched on a battered amp and strumming chords, and Mira sprawled dramatically in her bean bag, groaning about deadlines. In a corner, Jinu and Zoey would inevitably spiral into their usual debate, bickering over whether “glow” or “fade” fit better into the chorus of their new single (In the end the single was called GLOW//FADE for funsies).

It always ended in a draw: Rumi, ever-loyal, would side with Jinu, while Mira—equally loyal to Zoey—would offer a countervote, eyes half-lidded with theatrical boredom. Jinu couldn’t help but laugh at the predictability of it all, even if it meant the song was caught in perpetual limbo.

Now, though, the only sound in the apartment was the low hum of the TV and the soft, rhythmic purrs of Derpy, stretched luxuriously at his feet. Beside him, Bird squawked, feathers ruffled, and fixed Jinu with a look that spoke of equal parts fatigue and mild judgment. Jinu reached out, absently scratching Bird’s chin, eliciting a half-hearted croon before Bird fluttered away in a huff. Jinu watched him go, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The TV droned on, but Jinu wasn’t really watching. The girls were out with Bobby, wrangling their costumes for the new song—something about looking like jellyfish, apparently. And speaking of jellyfishes, Jinu flushed at the memory of him almost accidentally kissing Rumi in the aquarium gallery. 

He’d considered tagging along, but the prospect of being trapped in a boutique listening to them debate fabric and cut and “flowiness” was enough to keep him planted firmly at home.

They’d be back late, probably. Which meant the apartment was his—his, Derpy’s, and Bird’s. “Wow, so much freedom . I don’t know what to do with it,” Jinu muttered, stretching as he gazed out the window, stifling a yawn.

Bird squawked again, louder this time, as if to tell him to stop whining. Derpy rolled on the rug, letting out a satisfied growl, thumping his tail against the floor with the air of a creature who owned the place. Which, come to think of it, he almost did—after all, wasn’t he the official HUNTR/X mascot now? Jinu felt a twinge of annoyance at that. No one had even bothered to ask him if it was okay for his tiger to become the group’s face. Not that he minded, exactly, but it seemed odd that only now, after all this time, he’d been told.

Not that he should be surprised. Zoey had always had a suspiciously large collection of Derpy-themed clothes—slippers, hoodies, even pajama pants. How had he never realized?

“Should we go out?” Jinu asked, glancing down at Derpy, who had padded after him into the kitchen, eyes wide and hopeful. Jinu fished a carton of chocolate milk from the fridge, stabbed in a straw, and took a long, slow sip. Rumi had told him he didn’t need supervision anymore when he wanted to leave the building, but he’d rarely taken advantage of that freedom. The truth was, he liked the safety of indoors.

Derpy nudged his leg with a cold, damp nose. Jinu laughed softly; that was usually a yes, though Derpy was rarely decisive about anything. “Alright, let’s go,” he said, already bracing himself for the minor ordeal of getting Bird to cooperate and making sure Derpy looked more like a small tabby cat than a tiger, at least to anyone who might see them. Not that it mattered, really. If people didn’t believe in them, they simply wouldn’t see them—just like what had happened to the Saja Boys. Derpy and Bird might as well be ghosts.

By midmorning, Jinu found himself wandering through town, Derpy trotting at his side, Bird perched jauntily on his head. Pedestrians passed by without so much as a glance, as if Jinu was invisible or at most trailed by a shadowy stray cat.

There wasn’t much to see, but Jinu felt oddly reflective. Without really thinking, he made his way to the rooftop where he and Rumi had first talked after he’d learned about her demon marks. Derpy followed, silent and soft-footed on the tiles. Jinu gazed up at the sullen, cloud-heavy sky and let out a long sigh. Maybe next time, he’d ask Rumi to come with him. Maybe, if he was brave enough, he could even ask her to dance with him up here, under the moonlight. The thought made him blush, and he made a mental note to hold onto that idea for when Rumi finally had a free night.

Behind him, Derpy suddenly let out a roar, louder and sharper than usual. Jinu ignored it, stretching his arms over his head, lost in his daydream, until another roar—deeper, somehow unfamiliar—rattled across the roof. He spun around.

Derpy was crouched low, ears pinned back, tail lashing. Bird circled overhead, agitated. Jinu’s heart hammered as he took in Derpy’s posture: nervous, almost pleading, head half-lowered. Derpy never acted like this… unless something had truly unsettled him. And usually, only those—

The air on the rooftop seemed to thicken, heavy with anticipation. Jinu narrowed his eyes, scanning the horizon, every sense suddenly alert.

He didn’t notice it at first—not until a small, flickering portal, the color of storm-tossed seas, shimmered open beside him. A blue paw emerged, claws glinting. Red eyes followed, sharp and unblinking. Another tiger, blue as Derpy but larger—taller, broader, her muscles rolling beneath her fur like coiled rope. 

She locked eyes with Jinu, a low, guttural growl rumbling in her throat.

Jinu’s heart skipped. Of course. Derpy wasn’t the only hell-tiger he’d ever raised. Long before Derpy, Jinu had taken in others—tigers, lions, all manner of demons—because being a general in hell meant never letting your guard down. Power was survival, and you needed every ally, every beast, every edge you could gather. 

Derpy was the runt, easygoing and friendly, but the others… the others were wild things, hard to control, feared by lesser demons. Most had little patience for Derpy, resenting his softness, his smallness.

“What the—” Jinu stumbled back, surprise etched across his face, as the new blue tiger emerged in full, her growl deepening. She stared at Derpy, dominance radiating from every line of her body. Derpy whined, head low, ears flattened in submission. Jinu’s brows drew together, a frown creasing his features. This tiger was definitely one of his. He remembered her—how she’d been fierce, clever, always watching his back while he made sure Gwi-Ma’s army were able to gather at least numerous souls.

Jinu held his ground as the she-tiger approached, her eyes fixed on him. She sat on her haunches, licked her paw—almost dainty—then leaned forward and rubbed her face against Jinu’s palm, purring softly. The sound was low, almost thunderous. Then she turned, growling at Derpy, who whimpered again, pressing himself to the rooftop.

“Stop that,” Jinu said, his voice gentle but firm. The blue tiger whined, lowering her head, and settled beside him, tail curling around her paws. Her presence was electric—he could feel the hellfire aura radiating from her like heat off asphalt.

She was one of his sentinels, one of the eyes he’d left behind to guard his interests. But she shouldn’t be here. Not while the Honmoon was still active, the barrier between worlds sealed tight.

He knelt, peering into her red eyes. “That’s impossible. How are you here? The Honmoon can’t be weakened anymore,” he muttered, mind racing. The blue tiger simply crooned, unconcerned, and began licking her paw again. Derpy, emboldened, padded over and rubbed his head against her flank. She flicked him with her tail, a warning, but Derpy just started chasing it, kitten-like.

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Derpy, let’s go home,” he said, moving to climb onto Derpy’s back. The blue tiger blocked his way with a soft growl, her eyes intense.

“No, you can’t follow me. I already have Derpy here. Go home to—” He stopped, voice faltering. Home. Hell wasn’t home anymore, not really. Not for him. He wondered, suddenly, where his other tigers had gone—what had happened to them in his absence.

He reached out, hand trembling, and stroked the blue tiger’s head. She leaned into his touch, her fangs flashing as she purred. “Who am I kidding?” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Did Gwi-Ma kill my other tigers?” The blue tiger shook herself, as if tossing away water, her purr never faltering. She padded to the edge of the roof and looked back at him, eyes bright, expectant.

Jinu hesitated, glancing between her and Derpy. She wanted him to follow. He could feel it—a silent pull, a wordless plea as the tiger lets out a small whine. He sighed, resigned, and swung his leg over her back, muscles tense.

“Go home, Derpy. I’ll be right behind you, okay?” he said, reaching down to scratch Derpy’s ears. Derpy whined, pressing close, but the she-tiger hissed, and Derpy flinched, ears pinned back. Jinu almost laughed, despite himself. His tigers had always fought over who deserved his attention. Maybe that’s why Derpy always liked Rumi best—she never made him compete.

“Enough, you two,” Jinu chided, ruffling the blue tiger’s fur. Her tail flicked out, tapping Derpy in the forehead. Derpy whined again, then finally turned and slunk away, Bird flapping after him with a scolding squawk. Jinu shook his head, a tired smile on his lips.

He glanced down at the blue tiger beneath him. “So, where are you taking me?” he asked softly.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she crouched, gathering herself, and then, with a sudden burst of speed, sprinted for the edge of the roof. Jinu barely had time to duck, clutching her fur, as a new portal—cold and blue—opened before them. The world blurred. The portal swallowed them, icy and electric, and then—

They landed on soft, dew-laced grass. The air smelled different here, wild and sharp.

He heard small chuffs echoing from both sides, low and throaty and unmistakably familiar. Jinu raised his head, heart pounding, and took in the scene before him.

Under the shadow of a towering, ancient tree, five blue tigers lounged in the grass—each marked with their own distinct patterns, stripes swirling and breaking in ways that tugged at old memories. They looked up, blinking sleepily, and then, as if recognizing him all at once, their eyes widened. The blue she-tiger beneath him let out a triumphant chuff, waking the others with her prideful rumble.

One by one, the tigers rose, stretching languidly. They sniffed the air, then, with a chorus of delighted croons, bounded toward Jinu. For a moment, he couldn’t do anything but laugh—a sound bright and breathless, tumbling out of him as the tigers crowded around, nipping playfully at each other’s ears and shoulders, their joy infectious. God, he thought, a few of them survived!

He knelt in the grass, letting the cold bite through his jacket, the sensation sharp and bracing. The forest around them was dense and wild, the trees pressing close, branches shivering in the wind. The air carried the clean, mineral scent of distant rain—a storm brewing above the thick cloud cover. Jinu looked around, realizing with a distant, detached wonder that he had no idea where he was—if he was anywhere near Seoul, or even the same world as before.

His tigers pressed in, rubbing against his legs, looking up with those deep, intelligent eyes, waiting. Waiting for his word, his command—just as they always had.

A pang of guilt twisted in Jinu’s chest. He saw flashes of the past: the general he’d been, the weapons he’d made of these beautiful, fierce creatures. They’d followed him through fire, through blood, because he’d demanded it. But he wasn’t that person anymore—not entirely.

He lowered himself to the grass, the cold soaking into his bones, and looked at them, his voice soft. “You’re all free now,” he told them, voice trembling a little. The tigers stared, uncomprehending, their ears flicking, exchanging glances and low, confused chuffs. Jinu almost smiled—of course they understood; he’d raised them to be clever, too clever, perhaps. But freedom was a foreign concept to creatures bred for loyalty and war.

He scanned their faces, his heart heavy as he realized some were missing—tigers and lions alike. He wondered what had happened to them, if they’d found their way out, or if Gwi-Ma had gotten to them first. It didn’t matter now. Those before him were here, alive, and that was enough.

“I’ll leave now,” he said quietly, pushing himself to his feet. The tigers let out soft, plaintive whines, crowding closer. Jinu turned, intent on giving them space, on forcing himself to move on. He glanced around—the mountain air was sharp in his lungs, the landscape unfamiliar, wild and unclaimed. He could always call for Derpy if he truly needed to find his way back.

He took a few steps, then glanced over his shoulder.

All six tigers were following, padding silently behind him, eyes bright with expectation.

Jinu sighed, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Of course, he thought. Freedom wasn’t something they’d ever known, not really. Old habits died hard—for all of them. He resigned himself to the long walk ahead, the unlikely parade of blue tigers trailing loyally at his heels.

This was going to be a long day.

It didn’t take Jinu long to find a town. He wandered its narrow streets, pausing to ask a group of locals where, exactly, he was. When he got his answer, he shot a sharp glance at the she-tiger licking her massive paws beside him, her tail flicking with feline satisfaction.

“Gangwon-do? Are you serious right now?” Jinu groaned, staring down at the striped predator who only purred softly in response, rubbing her face against his pants so persistently he almost tripped. He could call for Derpy, right? Of course he could. Derpy would come—always did, bounding or teleporting to his side with that familiar rumble.

With a weary sigh, Jinu left the town’s edge behind, pushing back through the dense treeline. The mountain forest was alive with the scent of pine and earth, the hush of wind threading through the canopy. He found a mossy patch beneath a twisted old oak and paused, whistling into the quiet. “Derpy?” he called, scanning the trees for the familiar glint of golden eyes.

Usually, the tiger would appear instantly, materializing at his side without warning. But one call became two, then three, then four—each echo swallowed by the forest. Jinu’s frustration grew. Was Derpy sulking? Was he actually being given the silent treatment, just because he’d let the she-tiger cozy up to him and left Derpy on his own?

“Agh… This sucks. Derpy!” he called again, his voice tinged with desperation. The she-tiger and her pack had arranged themselves around him, dozing and purring, their bodies radiating warmth as a gentle breeze drifted by. Jinu slumped, fishing out his phone and staring at the empty signal bars. He should probably head back down the mountain for reception, but every step away from the tigers felt like a retreat.

“No signal,” he muttered, after another failed call to Rumi. The device was nothing more than a useless slab of glass out here. He hummed in irritation, looking up to find the she-tiger fixing him with her enormous, unblinking eyes—eyes that glimmered with mischief and intent.

She did this on purpose. He was sure of it. She’d brought him here, and now she wanted to bring him back—with every tiger in tow. No. He couldn’t take them to the tower. That would be a disaster. Unlike Derpy and Bird, these tigers weren’t pets. They were wild, untamable, and strong enough to shred the tower’s walls if they so much as scented danger.

“No,” Jinu snapped, voice low, almost a hiss. The she-tiger whined, the sound surprisingly theatrical, and shot him a look that could almost be called pleading. She growled at the others, and suddenly all five tigers surged forward, letting out wounded-sounding chuffs. Their heavy heads pressed against his legs, their rough tongues flicking at his hands as his lap was overtaken by blue-tinged fur and hot, damp breaths.

“Ugh! No! Bad tigers! Sit down!” He tried to sound authoritative, but the tigers ignored him. One after another, they piled on, their massive bodies pinning him against the earth. Jinu struggled, trying to squirm free, but the she-tiger simply rested her head, heavy as a stone, right on top of his face.

And that, folks, is how Jinu died.

…

Just kidding. He didn’t actually die—though, lying there, he lost all sense of time. Minutes, hours—he couldn’t tell. Every so often, a tail would flick his ear. The forest breeze would ruffle his hair. And all around him, tigers purred, content and immovable.

God save him now.

RUMI CAME BACK TO AN EMPTY LIVING ROOM . Save for Derpy and Bird. She was used to the familiar sight of Jinu sprawled on the sofa, maybe half-asleep or flicking through TV channels. Instead, there was only Derpy, the massive tiger, whining softly on the rug. Bird, the irritable magpie, was hopping around, pecking at Derpy’s fur and tugging insistently towards the window.

Rumi set down her bag and frowned. Something felt off.

“Where’s sword boy?” Mira called out, bouncing onto the sofa with a satisfied sigh, wiggling her hips until she found the perfect spot. Zoey pounced after her, landing with a theatrical groan.

Mira didn’t even look up as she scrolled through her phone, thumbs flying, totally unconcerned.
Rumi, already uneasy, headed for Jinu’s room. The bed was made, untouched. The bathroom was empty too—she knocked this time, just in case, but there was no answer. The balcony in her own room held only shadows and the faint city breeze.

“He’s gone,” Rumi said, returning to the living room, confusion creasing her brow.

Mira arched an eyebrow, glancing up from her phone. “Right, maybe he’s just outside. It’s still a little early.”

“It’s actually kinda late though,” Zoey pointed out, checking the clock on the wall. Rumi’s nerves prickled as she pulled out her phone and dialed Jinu’s number. The call was declined almost instantly.

Her stomach clenched. Either Jinu had no signal—unlikely in the middle of the city—or he’d turned off his phone, something he never did. She tried again. Another failure. The silence in the room thickened.

“Then where is he?” Rumi muttered, rubbing the back of her neck with a trembling hand.

She glanced around, her eyes finally landing on Derpy. The tiger’s sides heaved with every breath, but he didn’t move. His golden eyes slid shut, tail thumping once on the floor.

“Derpy! Do you know where Jinu is?” Rumi asked, dropping to her knees beside him. She ruffled his thick fur, hoping for a clue or at least a reaction. Derpy only whined deeper, curling to his side and tucking his nose under a paw, refusing to look at her.

Bird gave a sharp, exasperated squawk and flapped up to perch on Zoey’s head, ruffling her hair.

 “Derpy…” Rumi shook the tiger again, voice rising with worry.

Zoey watched, her usual cheer dimmed. “He’s not kidnapped, right? No one knows him here…”

“Totally, no one knows him,” Mira echoed, arms folded but her eyes betraying a sliver of concern.

Rumi bit her lip, heart thudding. “Derpy’s calm, so he isn’t in danger. But he’s the only one who knows where Jinu is—wait.” She looked sharply at Mira, who was clearly thinking the same thing.

“Girl, you’re… connected, right? Can’t you, like, locate him with that weird mind-meld thing you do?” Mira said, waving her phone as if it might help.

Rumi flushed, glancing around in embarrassment. “I—I don’t know how to do that,” she admitted, clutching her head and pacing anxiously across the room.

Zoey finally sat up straight, exchanging a look with Mira, who just scratched her head and shrugged helplessly.

“Guys, what if he’s lost? Missing? Kidnapped for his kidneys?! ” Rumi’s voice pitched higher as panic crept in.

“Do demons have kidneys?” Zoey whispered to Mira, eyes wide.

“That would be cool,” Mira whispered back.

Rumi spun around, exasperated. “ Guys! This is serious!”

“We are serious, girl,” Mira said, holding up her hands. Zoey nodded, her fingers already twitching. She stood up and summoned her blades with a shimmer of light.

“Mission: Save Jinu from….” Zoey hesitated, scratching her head with a blade. “Yeah, from what, exactly? What if he’s just out for a walk?”

Mira finally stood, stretching. “Let’s not panic until we know something’s wrong. Maybe he needed air, or… whatever sword boys do.”

Rumi gnawed her thumb, torn between logic and dread. 

That could be it, Rumi thought. Jinu must have felt a little trapped inside this… enormous apartment. Maybe he just needed air. Still, it was nearly 6 PM—she eyed the digital clock glowing on the wall, then let out a sigh, rubbing the space between her brows. There was no sense of danger, no alarm clanging in her connection to the Honmoon. But she couldn’t shake the unease.

“But I can’t call him,” Rumi muttered, pressing ‘call’ again. The phone rang once, then dropped. Another sigh escaped her lips as she stared at the screen, willing it to connect.

“Rumi.” Mira’s hand landed gently on her shoulder. “Relax, okay? He’s not going anywhere. Besides, he’s a demon. He’s been surviving a lot longer than we’ve been hunting. Trust him a little.”

Rumi tried to smile, but Zoey’s voice cut in, skeptical as ever. “Yeah, I just don’t get why you’re so weirdly obsessed with keeping tabs on him.” Zoey narrowed her eyes, watching Rumi step back and wave her hands frantically.

“Am I not allowed to care?” Rumi stammered, voice a little too high.

Mira and Zoey exchanged a look—one of those silent, suspicious glances that said more than words.

“Uh, no, but…” Zoey trailed off, her hands making vague gestures in the air. “It’s just, you’re a little obsessive. Makes us wonder if you guys…” She wiggled her shoulders in an exaggerated dance, eyebrows waggling.

Mira sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What Zoey’s trying to say is—are you two, you know, together?”

“Together in a what?” Rumi repeated, genuinely baffled.

Zoey groaned, striding over to grab Rumi by the shoulders. “Like, in a relationship , Rumi!”

Rumi just stared, blinking rapidly, then burst out laughing—too loudly, too forced. “Relationship? Oh, no, no, of course not! I mean, who’d have time for that? Especially me—a full-time Idol with, uh, secret demon-hunting… you know how it is!” She waved her hands, launching into a jumble of excuses about busy schedules, idol rules, and how complicated everything was.

Mira and Zoey watched her, unimpressed. Even Bird let out a long, dramatic sigh.

“ They’re totally together ,” Zoey whispered, nodding.

“ Totally ,” Mira agreed under her breath.

Just then, Rumi’s phone rang, breaking the tension. Zoey and Mira barely had time to register the sound before Rumi snatched it up, answering before the first ring finished.

“Hello?” Rumi’s voice was sharp, almost desperate. She switched to speaker.

“Uh, Rumi?” came Jinu’s familiar voice. He sounded perfectly fine—just a little winded, maybe. In the background, there was chuffing and purring, like a dozen cats all at once.

“Are those kitties I hear?” Zoey’s eyes went wide with excitement, leaning close to the phone.

“Um… maybe?” Jinu replied, sheepish. “Anyway, can you guys come pick me up? Derpy isn’t answering my calls.”

All eyes turned to Derpy, who just flicked his tail lazily, clearly listening but refusing to budge.

“Aw, maybe he’s tired,” Mira said, grinning. “Where are you, dude?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing… I’m, uh, kind of far away.”

Rumi’s brow furrowed. “How far?”

“Like… two hours away,” Jinu admitted.

“ TWO HOURS? ” Rumi shrieked, nearly leaping out of her skin. Mira quickly moved behind her, rubbing her shoulders to calm her down, while Zoey nervously grabbed the phone from Rumi’s hand.

“Where are you, man? You’re freaking Rumi out,” Zoey said, leaning closer to the speaker.

There was a pause. Silence, except for the distant sound of purring.

“Jinu?” Zoey called again, glancing at the others.

Finally, Jinu’s voice came through, hesitant. “I’m in Gwang-do.”

“WHAT?!” All three girls shrieked in perfect unison, their voices echoing through the apartment.

On the side, Bird just rolled his eyes and let out another exhausted sigh, as if he’d seen this a thousand times before.

DERPY HAD MULTIPLIED. Jinu returned, breathless, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Behind him padded six enormous blue tigers—each one unmistakably Derpy-like, but at least twice his size, their shoulders brushing the door frame as they entered. The living room suddenly felt tiny as the tigers flopped down in a tangled mound, their deep purrs thrumming through the floorboards like an idling engine. One of them let out a low, rumbling chuff, and the others echoed it, tails flicking, eyes half-lidded in contentment.

Jinu staggered to the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water and downing both in rapid succession, his face red and shining as if he'd just sprinted a marathon. Zoey let out a squeal of delight that rang off the walls. “Aww! Look at them! There’s more Derpys!” she almost shrieked, eyes shining with excitement. “Do they have names?”

Jinu gave Rumi a desperate look, but Rumi was already at his side, gently patting his shoulder before stepping up beside Zoey and Mira. Mira stood transfixed, her mouth slightly open, eyes wide as she tried to take in the sheer scale of the beasts sprawling across their living room like a spilled pile of blue laundry. The tigers’ paws were as big as human heads—each claw a curved, ivory dagger.

“I didn’t know you had more,” Mira managed, her voice a mix of awe and unease.

Jinu nodded wearily. “I do… Back then. Not all of them, but these six—these were my sentinels when I was—uh, a general of Gwi-Ma.” He finished the last drops of water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and let out a shaky sigh. “I don’t know where the others are. These six… they always watched my back.”

Zoey inched closer, eyes huge, her hand already reaching out. “They’re so cute. Can I touch them?”

Jinu’s eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t. Seriously, Zoey, don’t. They’re completely feral. They act cute to get your guard down, but they’re hunters, not house cats.” Zoey’s lower lip jutted out in a pout, clearly unconvinced. Jinu pressed on, “I mean it. They might bite. Or worse. If they don’t, you’ll be their toy for the next hour.”

He turned to Rumi and Mira, voice apologetic. “I’m sorry, you guys. I never thought they’d follow me here. They were supposed to stay in hell. But… I couldn’t leave them there. And now they won’t leave me.”

Rumi smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s fine. The apartment’s big enough, right?”

Jinu shook his head, worry creasing his brow. “It’s not that. I’m scared they’ll trash the place. In hell, they had demons to chew on. Here… there’s just us.” He grimaced, and Mira looked at him, curiosity battling with apprehension.

“What are they, exactly? What were they for?” she asked.

Jinu hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Weapons,” he said quietly.

Mira groaned. “Great. Six tiger weapons in the apartment. At least Derpy’s cute,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen where Derpy was curled up, pointedly ignoring everyone.

“He’s still mad at me,” Jinu admitted, his voice small.

Rumi giggled. “Can you blame him? You left him on the roof.”

“Yeah, dick move, dude,” Mira chimed in.

Suddenly, Rumi’s eyes widened. “Zoey!”

Zoey had crept up to one of the tigers, her hand inches from its massive, whiskered head. Jinu’s voice cracked with panic:

“No!” Zoey froze, startled, as the tiger’s eyes slid open—pale blue and cold as glacier ice. Its jaws parted, revealing fangs that gleamed sharper than Derpy’s. “Down!” Jinu barked. The tiger let out a wounded-sounding whine but obeyed, lowering its head. Zoey backed away, clutching her hand to her chest, her face white.

“Oh jeez,” Rumi muttered, relief and fear mingling on her face.

Jinu’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t let them stay here,” he said, looking to Rumi for help.

“Yeah, no shit, dude,” Mira said, only half-joking. Zoey looked on the verge of tears, devastated that the tigers wouldn’t let her snuggle up like she did with Derpy.

Jinu frowned, thinking. “I can’t send them back to hell. But maybe Gwang-Do… I could—”

“No,” Rumi cut in, gentle but firm. “They’re part of you. They can stay, at least for a while. We’re out of the apartment most days, anyway. Use that time to get them used to the place, to the people. I trust you.”

Mira sighed, running a hand through her hair. “They are kind of adorable, in a terrifying way. I wish they looked more like Derpy, but… beggars can’t be choosers.”

Jinu managed a weak smile. “They’re smart, really. I’ve worked with them for years. They’re just… used to the old ways.” His tone was dark, and Mira opened her mouth to probe further, but the look on his face made her think twice. Some questions were better left unasked.

“Then we keep the tigers, then?” Rumi asks, her voice wobbling between nervousness and excitement.

“Please, I want them to like me,” Zoey sniffs, half-laughing, half-crying. She rubs at her eyes, then suddenly pumps her fist into the air. “And I want to give them names!”

Jinu sighs, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying on a new jacket. “Yeah, okay. I’m fine with that. New life, new…me, or whatever they say. I don’t really know how it goes.” He shrugs, glancing at the tigers sprawled across the living room rug.

One of the tigers—a massive she-tiger with a coat like saphire and eyes like embers—rises from the pile. She sniffs the faded rug, then pads silently toward Jinu, her head low and curious. She pauses, nose twitching, and looks Rumi straight in the eye.

“Uh, what’s it doing?” Rumi whispers, frozen in place.

“Is it sizing you up for dinner?” Mira calls from the kitchen, half-teasing, half-concerned.

“Or are you about to turn into her personal claw trimmer?” Zoey adds, her voice bright with forced bravado.

Jinu grins, the kind of grin that says he’s scared too but won’t admit it. “Relax. She’s the leader of the pack. Let her get to know you. It’s a tiger thing.”

The she-tiger circles Mira, then Zoey, her whiskers brushing their jeans. She lets out a deep, rumbling chuff, a sound that vibrates in their chests, before padding back to Jinu. Sitting beside him, she licks her enormous paw, then sits perfectly still—like a living statue, or some ancient bodyguard summoned to his side.

“Whaaat? That is so cool! She’s like your bodyguard!” Zoey exclaims, pointing at the she-tiger, who looks up at her with a slow blink, her red eyes gleaming.

“Did you teach her to do that?” Rumi asks, leaning just a little too close.

For a split second, Jinu’s heart skips. He wonders if the she-tiger might decide Rumi’s face looks snackable. But instead, the tiger leans forward and gives Rumi a single, slobbery lick across the cheek.

“Oh god! It went in my mouth!” Rumi squeals, scrubbing at her face as both Mira and Zoey burst out laughing.

Jinu laughs too, the tension melting from his shoulders. He glances down at the she-tiger and gently scratches her behind the ears. For the first time in days, he feels light, almost happy, surrounded by this odd, makeshift family—and their new protectors ( Maybe… he can give them a new purpose like how Rumi gave him his own) .

“Let’s name her!” Zoey announces, clapping her hands together. “Drum roll, please…Jangsu!” Mira applauds, echoing the name.

“I love it,” Mira says, beaming.

Rumi is still wiping her mouth, muttering about tiger germs, but even she can’t keep from smiling as Jinu chuckles.

Jangsu chuffs again and turns to Derpy, still sulking in the corner. She lets out a soft, commanding growl. Derpy flicks his tail in annoyance, clearly still holding a grudge against Jinu. Jangsu growls again, deeper this time, and Derpy finally relents, slinking over to Jinu’s side, his ears flattened.

“Hey, Derpy. I’m sorry again,” Jinu murmurs, rubbing the tiger’s head. Derpy croons and butts his head against Jinu’s leg, then Rumi’s, as if he suddenly forgives them all.

“Eek! I like this! We’ve got an apartment full of tigers! This is totally awesome!” Zoey squeals, reaching out to stroke Jangsu’s head.

Jangsu lets out a long-suffering snort, but allows Zoey to touch her ears and play with her giant paws. Her eyes close halfway in reluctant enjoyment.

Jinu snorts, watching the scene: Mira and Zoey crowding around Jangsu, who seems both mortified and—maybe, just maybe—a little pleased by the attention. Rumi, meanwhile, watches Jinu with a soft, secret smile.

Jinu thinks, as the laughter and tiger-chuffs fill the room, that in a few days Jangsu and the others might end up preferring the girls to him—just like Derpy. And honestly, he’s okay with that.

“So, tigers, huh? Never told me that,” Rumi murmured, her voice soft but curious. It was late into the night, and the rest of the house was quiet, bathed in the dim glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. The other tigers, along with Jangsu and Derpy, had claimed the living room as their sleeping spot, occasionally purring and grumbling. 

Meanwhile, Rumi and Jinu were in her room, perched on her bed. She was hunched over, scribbling down lyrics on a scrap of paper, thoughts tumbling out in jagged lines. Jinu sat beside her, watching her work with an amused sort of patience.

“Mhm… thought they were dead,” Jinu sighed, leaning back against the pillow propped against her headboard. His voice carried a weariness that had nothing to do with the hour.

Rumi’s hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, catching faint traces of moonlight. Absentmindedly, Jinu reached out and twirled a strand around his finger, the silkiness of it slipping effortlessly between his fingertips. He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first, but the simple action felt grounding, soothing in a way that surprised him. Rumi didn’t stop him, though her pen paused briefly on the paper.

“Such an asshole, to kill an animal. Ugh,” she muttered, scratching her temple as if trying to dislodge the thought. Her tone was edged with frustration, her brow furrowed as the tip of her pen hovered over the page.

“He really is,” Jinu murmured in agreement, sitting up slightly as if the thought weighed on him too. Then, emboldened by the quiet intimacy of the moment, he leaned closer to her. His breath was warm against her shoulder as he peered over it, his eyes faintly glowing in the low light. He watched her writing, his gaze tracing the sharp, quick movements of her pen. For a moment, Rumi froze, her body tensing as she registered his proximity.

Jinu, oblivious or perhaps unfazed, leaned closer still and rested his head gently on her shoulder. His closeness was disarming, his warmth radiating against her side. “So... Gwang-do, huh? Was it nice there?” Rumi asked, her voice tinged with a nervous edge as she tried to keep her focus on the page.

Jinu chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “It’s nice. We should go there next time. Let’s use Jangsu and Derpy as our ride,” he said, laughing at his own joke.

Rumi giggled, shaking her head. “Totally,” she replied, her grin widening as a laugh bubbled up in her throat.

Jinu huffed a small laugh in response, emboldened by her reaction. He nuzzled his head closer to hers, his dark hair brushing against her cheek. Rumi froze again, her face growing inexplicably warm. She tried to focus, tried to push the heat in her cheeks aside, but it was impossible when Jinu was this close, his presence so consuming.

“Is this okay?” Jinu asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Y-Yes! Of course,” Rumi stammered, her heart pounding in her chest.

Jinu grinned, the corners of his mouth curling up in a way that felt almost boyish. He shifted slightly and nuzzled against her neck like a contented cat. Rumi’s breath hitched, her hands tightening instinctively around the pen and paper. She had to physically restrain herself from reaching up and petting his head, the way she often did with Derpy. He’s not a cat, she reminded herself firmly, though the thought did little to calm the blush spreading across her cheeks.

The paper in her hand lay forgotten, the lyrics she’d been working on slipping from her mind as she focused on the weight of Jinu beside her, his soft breaths against her skin. It was distracting, maddeningly so, but in a way that made her stomach flutter.

“I’m glad…” Jinu murmured suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was softer now, more vulnerable. He lifted a hand and offered it to her, palm up. Rumi hesitated for a moment before placing her hand over his, her fingers curling gently around his.

“Glad of what?” she asked, her voice equally soft as she turned to look at him.

Jinu’s gaze was thoughtful, his usual sharpness softened by something she couldn’t quite name. Slowly, they lay back on the bed, their shoulders brushing as they stared up at the ceiling. Their hands remained intertwined, resting between them like a quiet promise.

“I don’t know. I’m just happy,” Jinu murmured after a pause. His eyes fluttered shut briefly, and his free hand came to rest over his chest. “Can’t explain it. I’m just... happy.”

Rumi chuckled under her breath, the sound light and teasing. “Yeah, that’s usually what happy means, you know?” she joked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

Jinu huffed, though there was no real annoyance in the sound. “I don’t know. I don’t usually feel this,” he admitted, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative.

Rumi frowned slightly at his words, turning onto her side so she could face him fully. She studied his profile—the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way his lips twitched up into a faint smile even now. He turned to meet her gaze, his sharp features softening further as he grinned.

“What? Too sappy?” he teased, his voice lilting.

“Yes, too sappy,” she shot back, poking his cheek lightly.

Jinu laughed, the sound brighter this time. “Am I? I just—never experienced this much happiness. Not in a long while, at least… I want it to last,” he confessed, his voice dropping to a whisper as if he were sharing a secret meant only for her.

Rumi’s expression softened. “Why shouldn’t it?” she asked, her voice equally quiet.

Jinu only grasped her hand tighter, his grip firm but trembling slightly as if he feared letting go would shatter the fragile moment between them. “There will always be something that ruins it,” he whispered, his eyes shadowed with worry as they searched hers for reassurance. “There can never be too much of a good thing. The world doesn’t work like that.”

“Jinu…” Rumi murmured, her voice soft yet steady as she reached out, placing a hand gently on his cheek. He immediately leaned into her touch, his head tilting just slightly to nuzzle closer. They lay face to face now, their noses nearly brushing, breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Rumi could feel the way he held his breath, his golden eyes locked onto hers, wide and uncertain.

“At least trust us to bring you happiness,” she said with a small, reassuring smile.

Jinu exhaled and nodded, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “I do… I know this is completely corny, but I really like it here. When I first came, I was terrified I wouldn’t fit in. A demon… living with hunters?” He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as if the memory still embarrassed him. “I was so sure Mira and Zoey hated my guts too. And maybe that I was only worth something as a sword. That I was better as a weapon than… me.”

Rumi’s expression softened, her thumb brushing lightly across his cheek. “Sword or not, I want you here. But… I prefer being able to hold you like this,” she replied, her voice warm, her words carrying a weight that made Jinu’s chest tighten.

Jinu snorted, his lips curling into a grin. “Yeah, me too. I like having hands,” he said, his tone lightening just enough to draw a laugh out of her.

Their laughter mingled in the stillness, soft and unrestrained, like two high schoolers sharing an inside joke. Their hands remained clasped, fingers entwined as though they couldn’t bear to let go. It felt grounding, like holding onto a lifeline in a world that often felt too chaotic.

“Stay here with me tonight,” Rumi whispered suddenly, her voice dropping to a tender murmur.

Jinu’s eyes widened, his breath hitching. “Is it… alright with you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as though afraid of breaking the moment.

“I– of course, I’d love to—I mean, yeah, sure,” Jinu stammered, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound calm. His effort to act suave only made Rumi laugh, her finger poking his flushed cheek playfully.

“Though… I do want to ask. Why?” Jinu ventured, his voice quieter this time, tinged with curiosity.

Rumi froze at his question, her brows knitting together. Jinu had always gone along with whatever she asked, never questioning her choices. This was new—his first time asking her why .

“Do you… not like it?” Rumi asked, raising an eyebrow. The intensity of her gaze sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to Jinu’s face.

“That’s, uh… a really… interesting question,” he managed to mutter, clearing his throat again as if to buy himself time. He didn’t answer right away, his gaze darting away from hers.

Rumi waited patiently, her expression unreadable but calm. Finally, Jinu sighed, his voice coming out weaker this time. “It’s fine,” he said, though it sounded more like an attempt to convince himself than her.

Rumi’s lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes never leaving his. “Well… I feel better with you by my side,” she said, her tone quiet but firm. “I know we’ve talked about this before, but ever since I saw your memories, I’ve never wanted to let you go again. I already did the first time. I’m never doing it again.”

Her conviction struck something deep within Jinu, making his heart pound fiercely in his chest. His breath hitched as her words sank in, and he found himself lost in her gaze. “Me too, Rumi. Me too,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “As long as I have my hands, I’m holding onto you,” he added, squeezing her hands tightly with a furrowed brow that Rumi found strangely endearing.

“What if you don’t have hands?” she teased, raising a playful eyebrow.

“Then I’ll use my feet,” Jinu shot back with a grin.

“Ugh, Jinu, that’s disgusting,” Rumi groaned, wrinkling her nose.

“I wash my feet, you know,” Jinu retorted, laughing as Rumi giggled beside him.

Her laughter faded as she shifted slightly, inching closer without even realizing it. It was a habit of hers—wrapping her legs around her pillows at night—and before she knew it, their legs had intertwined. Neither of them moved to pull away, and it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

They lay there quietly, their breaths steady as they stared into each other’s eyes. Rumi noticed Jinu’s eyelids begin to flutter, his breathing growing slower and softer. “You’ve gotten used to sleeping now,” she said, her voice a gentle tease. She let go of his hand, only to run her fingers through his hair, the strands soft and warm under her touch.

Jinu hummed in response, pressing his cheek against her palm. The motion reminded her of a dog seeking affection, and the thought made her smile. “Mhm… I have. I’d forgotten how good it feels to sleep. To eat, to drink, to… feel human again.” His voice was low, almost drowsy now, as he continued, “I’d forgotten what it means to be alive. I should thank you for teaching me all that again.”

“Hah! That was all you, Jinu,” Rumi said with a soft laugh, flicking his nose lightly. “Next time, be proud of yourself and what you’ve done.”

Jinu rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight off a grin. “Can’t take a compliment,” he mumbled, burying his face into her pillow.

The room fell quiet once more, their breaths the only sound filling the space. Jinu blinked at her through half-lidded eyes, his gaze growing heavier by the second. Rumi giggled softly, and Jinu made a small, confused noise. “What?” he asked, his voice barely above a mumble.

“Nothing,” she replied, shaking her head. She leaned in just slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Go to sleep, Jinu. I’ll be here tomorrow.”

Jinu stared at her for a long moment, his eyes softening with exhaustion and something unspoken. “I know,” he murmured, his voice fading as his eyes finally closed.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Jinu fell asleep with peace in his heart.

Chapter Text

HE REMEMBERS HOW IT WAS BACK IN HELL. There were four demon generals that Gwi-Ma had personally chosen. The first general? She was the strongest. The craziest. A cruel being who tortured demons into submission—not out of necessity, but for the sheer joy of it. Gwi-Ma adored her, and why wouldn't he? She was the very embodiment of a demon: a devil, a snake, and the essence of chaos all at once.

Jinu hated her. He hated every one of the generals. He hated that he, too, was one of them—a general of Gwi-Ma.

Once, he had been human. Once, he had walked among the living. But when death claimed him and Hell opened its gates, his humanity was stripped away. For fifty agonizing years, he wandered in a daze, grappling with the truth of what he'd become. A demon. A monster. A creature he detested with every fiber of his being. He was consumed by anger—at himself, at Gwi-Ma, at every wretched demon that crossed his path.

In his rage, he rebelled. He refused to bow to Gwi-Ma, fought anyone who dared to approach him, and spat curses at his new reality.

Until Gokdama came and showed him how the weak were treated. 

The first general of Gwi-Ma. When Jinu first met her, he was struck by how human she appeared. A beautiful woman, her figure cutting an ethereal silhouette as she walked through the desolate ruins of Hell. Her hair was a shadowy black, cascading like ink, and her piercing yellow eyes burned with an ancient, predatory gleam. For a fleeting moment, Jinu was confused—disarmed by her beauty in a realm where ugliness thrived.

But he quickly learned the truth.

Gokdama was no mere demon. She was something ancient, older than Jinu, older than the other generals combined. Perhaps a thousand years or more. Jinu never asked. He didn’t care—or rather, he pretended not to care. She was a monster wearing the face of an angel. She relished pain, savored suffering, and found joy in torment. And Jinu? He became one of her victims.

Gokdama had her own sentinels—creatures as terrifying as herself. Chief among them was Sahon-Baem, a massive black snake that prowled the ruins of Hell. Its venom was unlike any other. With a single bite, it forced its victims to relive their most excruciating memories over and over until their minds broke.

Jinu still remembered the day Sahon-Baem sank its fangs into him. It was after he had clawed, screamed, and fought against Gwi-Ma with every ounce of fury he possessed. He had raged for decades, trapped in the unending cycle of his own grief. But the snake's venom subdued him in ways no chains ever could.

Fifty years. Fifty years of dying, again and again, reliving his final moments with brutal clarity. Sometimes, the venom twisted his memories, placing his sister at his side as he reached for her, only to watch their mother pull her away at the last moment. The gates of Hell slammed shut behind him.

When the venom finally loosened its grip, Jinu was changed. He no longer fought Gwi-Ma. His fear of Gokdama—and of what might happen if he defied her again—took root in his soul. He became paranoid, determined to find ways to survive. He enslaved beasts of Hell—hell-tigers, hell-lions—creatures that rivaled Sahon-Baem in strength. They became his weapons, his shield against the horrors of the underworld.

“I applaud you, really. Taming these tigers must’ve been no small feat,” Gokdama’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Jinu glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his fingers plucking a soft, melancholy tune from his bipa. One of his tigers, sprawled lazily on the stones nearby, let out a low growl.

Gokdama smiled, unfazed. Her movements were as fluid as water, her pristine white hanbok fluttering like a ghostly presence as she ascended the stone mountain. “What a beast,” she murmured, her tone laced with mock admiration.

Jinu’s voice was sharp, disdainful. “What do you want, Gokdama?”

“Can’t I visit my dongsaeng ?” she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

Jinu tensed. His fingers dug into the neck of his bipa, his heart pounding erratically. His tigers stirred, their low chuffs and growls warning her to keep her distance.

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed.

Gokdama’s smile widened, a feverish glint in her yellow eyes. “Oh? The way you bristle reminds me of how foolish you were when you first arrived here. It makes me nostalgic, really.”

She ignored the tigers, stepping closer to Jinu with the grace of a predator. He stood frozen, his body rigid with fear.

When she opened her eyes fully, Jinu felt her gaze pierce through him, rooting him in place.

“My Jinul,” she said softly, her voice a velvet trap. “Come back to the palace with us. Chwisaeng misses you. He still sees you as his brother, you know.”

She crouched before him, her claws gliding down the side of his face. Jinu flinched, his breath hitching.

“And besides,” she continued, her voice a dangerous whisper, “I want to hear more of your music. The songs you never sang in court.”

Jinu jerked away, his movements abrupt. “I’m busy,” he growled, rising to his feet.

The tigers, as if on command, stood and formed a barrier between him and Gokdama.

Gokdama laughed, the sound light and mocking. “Oh, I see. Still so scared of me, are we?”

Jinu’s hands clenched into fists. Her words clawed at his pride, igniting a spark of anger beneath his fear.

“Scared?” he snarled, his voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “Don’t fool yourself, Gokdama.”

Her smile was maddeningly serene, her eyes shining with amusement.

“Of course not, I would never. Between the two of us? You are far more of a fool than all these lesser demons,” Gokdama said, her voice honeyed with mockery. She turned on her heel, the hem of her white hanbok trailing behind her like a wisp of smoke as she descended the jagged stones of the mountain.

Jinu stood frozen, his breath shaky, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. His golden eyes followed her every movement, wary and alert, until she reached the base of the mountain.

With a casual wave, Gokdama smiled, her expression as playful as it was unnerving. Slowly, the ground beneath her feet began to ripple and distort, like ink bleeding into water. A dark black hole appeared, its edges writhing like a living thing. The earth itself seemed to swallow her whole, her form sinking into the void.

“I’ll wait for you, Jinul,” she purred, her voice echoing faintly as her body vanished into the darkness.

Jinu stood there for a moment, his muscles taut and trembling. The tigers around him chuffed and growled, pacing restlessly, their agitation mirroring his own. The she-tiger closest to him brushed against his leg, letting out a soft, mournful purr.

Jinu’s golden eyes snapped to her, his expression twisting with anger. “I gave you one job. One job ,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous.

The tiger lowered her head, her ears flattening as if to apologize. Her muzzle touched the cold stone beneath her, but Jinu wasn’t satisfied. He growled, his demon mark flaring on his forearm, radiating a faint crimson glow.

He stepped forward and planted his foot on the tiger’s head, forcing her to press lower against the ground. “ Lower ,” he snarled.

The tiger whimpered softly, her massive frame trembling under his weight. Behind her, the other tigers whined, stepping back cautiously, their tails curling between their legs. They watched as their leader was humiliated, the air thick with submission and fear.

This was only the beginning. Ever since Jinu had been made the fourth general of Gwi-Ma, he had been tasked with controlling the lesser demons left under his command. Gwi-Ma’s orders were clear: instill fear, break them if necessary.

It was a role Jinu had grown into with disturbing ease. At first, he told himself it was survival—fear was the only currency that mattered in Hell. But as the years passed, he found something else in it. A dark, twisted satisfaction in breaking those he deemed weak. He turned the useless masses into something functional, something brutal.

When they were ready, he sent them to the surface, where they were expected to wreak havoc. But when they failed—when they were killed by hunters and returned to him as nothing more than whispers of failure—his anger burned like wildfire.

“General Jinul failed again,” a grating, mocking voice cackled from behind him.

Jinu growled low in his throat, turning to see Baek-Hwa, the third general of Gwi-Ma. Her hulking form loomed in the distance, her broad shoulders shaking with laughter. Her body twitched in excitement, and her crimson eyes gleamed with amusement.

“You don’t get to talk,” Jinu snapped, baring his sharpened fangs. “You do nothing but wander the surface, stealing souls for yourself like a scavenger.”

Baek-Hwa grinned, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim, hellish light. “Oh, Jinul is mad,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mockery. Her laughter was coarse and guttural.

Jinu’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms until he felt the sting of his own blood. His chest heaved as he fought to keep his composure, though his demon mark pulsed angrily against his skin.

Before he could retort, a calm voice interrupted from the side. “The hunters are what you should be worried about, not each other.”

Jinu turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the second general, Chwisaeng, leaning casually against a jagged stone pillar. His hair was a dark shade of purple, streaked with strands of white that shimmered faintly in the dim light. His expression was serene, almost disarmingly so, but his eyes betrayed a sharp, calculating gaze.

Baek-Hwa groaned, rolling her massive shoulders as she turned to face him. “General Chwisaeng. Back here again to stop me from teasing Jinul,” she muttered, her voice dripping with annoyance.

Chwisaeng ignored her, his attention fixed on Jinu. His smile was soft, but it carried an air of quiet authority.

Jinu growled low in his throat, his patience wearing thin. “I told you to stop calling me Jinul,” he snapped. “That is not my real name.”

Chwisaeng’s smile didn’t waver. “It’s the name Lord Gwi-Ma gave you. You should wear it as a badge of honor.”

Jinu huffed, turning his gaze away. “I don’t care what Gwi-Ma calls me. What do you want, Chwisaeng?”

The second general straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from his dark robes. “You’ve been sending your demons to the surface more frequently,” he said, his tone measured. “But they keep failing. You’re drawing too much attention from the hunters. It’s no wonder they had caught all the demons you sent out.”

Jinu’s jaw tightened, his golden eyes narrowing. “Are you here to lecture me, or do you have something useful to say?”

Chwisaeng chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Always so defensive, Jinul. It’s almost endearing.”

Jinu’s fists clenched tighter, his temper boiling just beneath the surface.

Baek-Hwa laughed again, her booming voice echoing through the rocky expanse. “Our little Jinul wants to play the big, bad general, but he’s just a scared little boy trying to survive.”

Jinu’s fangs bared as he turned to her, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Say that again, and I’ll—”

“Enough.” Chwisaeng’s voice was calm, but it carried a weight that silenced the tension instantly.

Jinu glared at him, his chest heaving with barely restrained anger. But he said nothing, his eyes narrowing as Chwisaeng stepped closer.

Chwisaeng’s smile lingered, faint and knowing. “I see it now. You want to please Gwi-Ma, don’t you?”

Jinu scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. “And what of it? Don’t you all?” His words came through gritted teeth, sharp and defensive.

Chwisaeng chuckled softly, unbothered by Jinu’s hostility. “Demons are selfish creatures, Jinul. We all want something in return. Even you.” He stepped closer, his voice calm, almost gentle, as he continued. “You want something, don’t you? Something is bothering you.”

Jinu stayed silent, his jaw tightening as his gaze dropped to the scene below. From the vantage point of the stone cliff, the sprawling chaos of Gwi-Ma’s court was laid bare. Demons gathered in clusters, their twisted forms illuminated by the flickering purple fire that erupted from Gwi-Ma’s wrath. The flames lashed out like living serpents, and his booming voice echoed across the ruins, berating those who had brought fewer souls than before.

Jinu’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles pale.

“I see your hatred for us hasn’t changed,” Chwisaeng remarked with a soft laugh, his sharp eyes watching Jinu closely.

Jinu didn’t respond.

After a moment, Chwisaeng spoke again, his tone casual. “I’m planning to go to the surface. To kill the hunters.”

Still, Jinu said nothing. His shoulders hunched inward as if bracing against some invisible weight.

“Do whatever you want,” he muttered, his voice low and hollow.

Chwisaeng smiled faintly, as if he had expected nothing else. He turned to Baek-Hwa, who had been lingering nearby, her hulking frame casting a massive shadow across the rocks. “Hello, Baek-Hwa,” Chwisaeng said warmly, his tone light. “Would you care to join me?”

Baek-Hwa straightened, her massive body twitching with excitement. “Oh yes, most definitely, General Chwisaeng! It would be an honor!” she exclaimed, her voice booming with enthusiasm.

“Good,” Chwisaeng said, his smile widening slightly. “Let’s go, then—before Lord Gwi-Ma catches us leaving.” He chuckled under his breath, his tone conspiratorial.

Jinu watched them walk away, his golden eyes narrowing as their figures disappeared into the haze of Hell’s perpetual twilight.

It had been centuries since Jinu had last spoken with Chwisaeng. Centuries of silence. After that day, Chwisaeng had vanished without a word, and Jinu had never bothered to ask where he had gone.

Chwisaeng was an enigma, even among the generals. Unlike Gokdama, whose sadistic cruelty knew no bounds, or Baek-Hwa, who devoured souls with gluttonous glee, Chwisaeng carried himself with an air of quiet dignity. He treated others—even the lesser demons—with a respect that seemed entirely out of place in Hell.

Jinu didn’t trust him. He couldn’t.

He didn’t know if Chwisaeng had once been human, like Jinu—a soul dragged into Hell and twisted into something monstrous. He had never asked, and he never cared to find out. Attachment led to weakness, and weakness had no place here.

Still, the thought lingered in the back of Jinu’s mind: if Chwisaeng had been human once, was he pretending? Was his respect for others genuine, or was it all part of some elaborate game to get on Jinu’s good side? To catch him off guard before striking?

But Chwisaeng had never attacked him, not once.

And now, he was gone.

Hell was vast—endlessly so. It was entirely possible that Chwisaeng had simply chosen to live somewhere far away, beyond the reach of Gwi-Ma’s gaze. It wasn’t uncommon for powerful demons like him to disappear for decades, even centuries, before reappearing as though no time had passed at all. Gokdama had done that multiple times and Gwi-Ma rarely bats an eye to that.

Still, Jinu couldn’t help but wonder.

Had Chwisaeng been on the surface when the Honmoon sealed the demons back in Hell? Was he like Baek-Hwa, walking among mortals, blending into the human world until the seal forced him to return? Or had he descended deeper into Hell, retreating to some forgotten corner of the underworld?

Or maybe...

Jinu’s thoughts faltered, his expression darkening.

No… He’s surely back in hell, or. Maybe Chwisaeng was dead . Killed by the past hunters

The idea unsettled him more than he cared to admit. If Chwisaeng had been killed, Gwi-Ma would have announced it, wouldn’t he? He would have made an example of it, a declaration to remind the other generals of their place.

But Gwi-Ma had said nothing.

And Jinu wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

He shook his head, forcing the thoughts from his mind. It didn’t matter. Chwisaeng was gone, and whatever had happened to him was none of Jinu’s concern.

Jinu woke up abruptly, his vision blurry and mind hazy. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The unfamiliar surroundings tugged at his disoriented thoughts until a familiar voice cut through the fog.

“Guys, another take from the top!” Zoey’s commanding tone echoed through the stage.

Jinu blinked rapidly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Oh, right. He had come along to their practice. Memories returned sluggishly—this wasn’t just any rehearsal. The group’s new single was already out, and they were gearing up for their live show. Right now, they were in the thick of it, fine-tuning every note and step.

The stage was a whirlwind of energy. Their outfits were stunning—extravagantly designed yet capturing the spirit of the music. As much as Jinu hated fashion, even he had to admit they looked incredible. No, she looked incredible.

Rumi.

His gaze found her almost instinctively. She was at the center of it all, her voice clear and resonant as she sang her part. Her movements were fluid, confident, as if she was born for the stage. Jinu watched, momentarily entranced, as the three girls danced in perfect synchronization. At the edge of the stage, Bobby clapped along enthusiastically, his movements exaggerated as he matched their rhythm.

Jinu snorted, a small grin tugging at his lips.

What was he even thinking? The past was the past, and he wasn’t Gwi-Ma’s general anymore. There was no need to live as if the world was conspiring against him, no need to carry the weight of old betrayals or schemes. He had a new life now. 

He had Rumi. 

He had Zoey, Mira, Bobby, Derpy, and even Jangsu, who had begrudgingly taken on the role of watching over Zoey and Mira. Apparently, Zoey’s mischievous streak and Mira’s love for reckless fun had awakened Jangsu’s maternal instincts—the kind she reserved for anything she deemed weaker than herself.

The song ended on a high note, and Bobby’s claps grew louder, echoing through the room. Even the cameraman, who should have been adjusting his equipment, had gotten caught up in the performance.

“Juwoon!” a woman’s sharp voice snapped, startling the cameraman. He stammered, fumbling to reposition his stand.

“Good job, girls!” Bobby called out, snapping his fingers to signal the crew. Assistants hurried to bring water bottles and portable fans to the three performers.

“That was awesome! Gosh, I missed this,” Zoey said, her voice breathless but cheerful as she gulped down some juice handed to her. “That three-month break was good, but this is better . I can feel my fat disappearing already!”

“You were never fat to begin with, Zoey. And even if you are, you look good in everything.” Mira deadpanned, rolling her eyes as a stylist fussed over her nails and hair.

Rumi, on the other hand, waved off another assistant before hopping gracefully off the stage. Her steps carried her directly to Jinu, who was still seated, watching her with a lopsided grin. He looked every bit the sleepy slacker in his oversized hoodie, baggy pants, and—of all things—Derpy-branded slippers. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“You could’ve worn something better,” Rumi teased, hands on her hips, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

Jinu laughed, shrugging. “It’s comfortable, and I like it.” He pouted for effect, as if daring her to argue.

Rumi rolled her eyes. “Your idea of ‘comfortable’ looks like absolute trash. Next time, dress up.”

Jinu’s face fell into an exaggeratedly sad expression.

“For me?” Rumi added softly, her smile turning sweet.

That did it. Jinu flushed, scratching the side of his cheek as he glanced around awkwardly. After a moment, he let out a small sigh and nodded. “Okay, fine. If it’s for you, sure.”

“Thanks!” Rumi’s grin widened, lighting up her face. “The live show starts at 2:30, and people are already buzzing about it. Go back to the tower and change your clothes, okay?”

Jinu groaned, leaning back in his chair like a petulant child. “Fiiiine,” he drawled, dragging out the word as he reluctantly stood.

Rumi patted his shoulder, still grinning. “Go through the back, okay? Hurry up—I want you to be here when we start!”

Jinu waved a hand lazily as he shuffled toward the exit. “Yes, ma’am. I won’t disappoint you, ma’am,” he said with mock seriousness, tossing her a playful salute.

Rumi laughed, waving him off before turning back toward the stage.

“Guys, let’s start from the top again,” Rumi called out, her voice firm but encouraging as she addressed Zoey and Mira.

Jinu heard the familiar tone as he stretched and yawned, already halfway out the backdoor. The faint cheers and chanting from the front of the building reached his ears as soon as he stepped outside. The alleyway was quiet in contrast, a narrow haven of solitude. Shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his hoodie, Jinu strolled down the alley, humming a soft tune to himself.

It was 1:00 PM, which gave him an hour and thirty minutes to change clothes and get back to the venue. Or… he could just call Derpy and have him bring a change of clothes if he didn’t feel like walking all the way back to the tower.

“I’ve got plenty of time before the live show,” he murmured to himself, his voice low and thoughtful.

As he walked, his gaze wandered lazily across the street. A small flower shop caught his eye, its vibrant display of blooms spilling out onto the sidewalk. Jinu slowed his pace, stopping just short of the shop’s entrance. He stared at the flowers, their colors bright and inviting under the warm afternoon sun.

It’s their live show today, right? Bringing Rumi some flowers would be a nice gesture. It would be a good way to congratulate her—and to show her he cared, in his own way.

Jinu patted his jacket pocket and felt the crinkle of a few bills. He had some won left over from earlier, when Bobby sent him out to buy Zoey’s matcha tea. He still couldn’t believe Bobby had made him go instead of sending one of the assistants. When he’d asked why, Bobby had smirked and said that Jinu needed to “stop lounging around like a big-ass cat” and get some exercise.

Jinu still didn’t know if he should feel offended or just laugh.

“Flowers it is,” he murmured with a shrug, pushing the door open.

The smell of fresh blooms hit him immediately, an overwhelming mix of sweetness and earthiness that made him instinctively hold a sneeze back. The shop was quaint, with rows of neatly displayed flowers and potted plants lined along the walls.

The counter at the front was empty, but the door had an “Open” sign, so the owner was probably somewhere in the back. Jinu wandered deeper into the shop, his eyes scanning the flowers.

Roses? Too obvious. Tulips? Maybe too simple. Daisies? He wasn’t sure if they were too playful or just right. He didn’t know much about flowers or their meanings, but they all looked… nice.

He moved from one display to another, humming softly to himself as he debated. His nose twitched again, the overwhelming scent starting to nag at him. Before he could stop it, a sneeze burst out, loud and sudden.

“Ah—!” He sneezed again, turning into his elbow to muffle the sound. His chest heaved as another sneeze followed, and then another. Was he allergic? He vaguely remembered how itchy his nose used to get when his sister brought wildflowers home, but he’d never paid much attention to it before.

As he sniffled, trying to compose himself, he heard the faint sound of something dropping behind him. 

“Jinu?”

Jinu blinked as he stared at a familiar face.

“Abby?”

ABBY WAS HUMAN —or at least Jinu thought he was. He found himself standing just inside the back door of the shop, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. The scent of flowers—fresh, earthy, and faintly sweet—hung thick in the air. A narrow staircase led up to the second floor, where Abby lived.

“Wow, this is… nice, somehow,” Jinu said, taking in his surroundings. The place had a strange coziness to it, like it had been lived in for years. Abby’s house sat directly above the flower shop. It was small—compact, really—but spacious enough that two or three people could probably live here comfortably. A small bed was neatly tucked into one corner, a simple desk sat by the window, and in the center of the room was a modest table. On it, a few flowers were carefully wrapped in thin sheets of plastic, as though they’d been prepared in a hurry.

“Yeah, it is,” Abby said from behind him, his voice soft but steady.

Jinu turned, finding Abby leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. His hair was no longer the bright, bubblegum pink it used to be; it was now a dark shade of black, with hints of warm brown catching the light. He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a green apron tied neatly around his waist, loose pants, and socks paired with slip-on shoes. He looked utterly normal—almost painfully so.

“And you’re human again,” Jinu remarked, finally meeting Abby’s eyes. They were sharp, almost piercing, but carried the weight of exhaustion.

“I am,” Abby said with conviction, stepping into the room and brushing past Jinu. His tone carried a faint edge of annoyance.

“Oh, come on, Abby. No warm hugs? No ‘oh my god, it’s been so long!’?” Jinu teased, spreading his arms dramatically. He offered a crooked grin as Abby turned to him, glaring tiredly.

“Are you serious? After dying ? Hell no. And let me guess—you’re still a demon, aren’t you?” Abby shot back, his voice dripping with irritation.

Jinu frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am, yes.”

Before he could say anything else, Abby’s eyes widened. Without warning, Jinu found himself being dragged down the stairs, Abby’s grip like iron on his arm.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You can’t just make me leave!” Jinu protested, grabbing onto the stair railing as Abby tried to yank him away. For a moment, it became a tug-of-war, with Jinu clinging stubbornly to the rail.

“No way. Get the hell out of here, and let’s both pretend we didn’t see each other,” Abby snapped, pulling harder.

“Let me speak first! Hey, stop it!” Jinu exclaimed, his voice rising as Abby’s glare darkened. Eventually, Abby gave up with a frustrated sigh, releasing Jinu and letting him settle back on the stairs.

“Even as a human you’re still strong as hell,” Jinu muttered, glancing at the broken railing he had clung to moments before. Abby clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“What? Are you here to make me sign another contract? Gonna drag me back to hell and force me to serve Gwi-Ma again?” Abby asked, his voice sharp.

“No,” Jinu said, shaking his head with a faint shrug. “I doubt I’d even be welcome in hell after everything I’ve done.”

Abby’s frown deepened, his arms crossing over his chest. “Then what are you doing here? I don’t know about you, but I’m enjoying my life as a human. And for the record, I changed my name. It’s Ha-Joon now.”

“Ha-Joon?” Jinu repeated, raising an eyebrow. He studied Abby for a moment before a sly grin spread across his face. 

“Okay, fine, it needs some work.”

Abby flushed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “What do you really want, Jinu? I know you. You’re never here unless you need something.”

Jinu tilted his head, his grin widening, predatory and sharp. “You’re right. I do need something.”

For a moment, Abby paled, his shoulders stiffening.

Moments later, Abby found himself at his worktable, wrapping a flower bouquet with deliberate care. Jinu stood close by, watching him with an almost childlike excitement.

“I expected you to ask for something dramatic,” Abby said dryly, holding the bouquet out to Jinu. “But flowers ?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical.

“This is really important,” Jinu said, taking the bouquet and examining it. His fingers brushed lightly over the petals, his expression softening. “I need to give this to Rumi.”

Abby froze mid-movement, slowly setting down the roll of plastic wrap he’d been holding. “The hunter ? Rumi as in the one we all tried to kill?” His tone was incredulous.

“Yep,” Jinu said cheerfully, as though the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.

Abby stared at him, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words. Finally, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

Jinu grinned, clutching the bouquet tightly. “Maybe. But hey, I’m not the one who’s human now.”

“What the hell? What happened to pleasing Lord Gwi-Ma so he can erase your memories?” Abby demanded, thrusting Jinu’s change across the counter. Jinu pocketed the coins with a lazy shrug, but Abby wasn’t so easily placated. He eyed Jinu, suspicion flickering in his gaze.

“For all the years I followed you—as part of your army, no less—I don’t believe you’d give up on that just for a woman.” Abby’s words were edged, almost sharp, but Jinu only snorted, his attention drifting to the flowers arranged by the window, their colors reflected in his dark eyes.

For a moment, a silence settled between them, heavy with all the things left unsaid.

“Love can sometimes change you,” Jinu said at last, his voice softening as he glanced away. Abby exhaled, a long-suffering sigh. “Whatever. Just leave this place, and don’t come back. I don’t want any more demons here.” He waved a dismissive hand, but Jinu only smirked.

“What about the other boys?” Jinu pressed, tilting his head. “Are they human now, too?”

At that, Abby clammed up, his mouth snapping shut. He turned back to the register, fiddling with an invisible speck of dust, refusing to meet Jinu’s eyes.

Jinu leaned forward on the counter, his grin growing wider. “I see… Good for them, really. So where are they?”

Abby opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off as the back door swung open with a jangle. Three boys entered, laughing and chattering, their voices echoing in the small shop. Jinu straightened, recognizing them instantly: Baby in his crisp school uniform, Mystery wrapped in a soft sweater, and Romance juggling a bulging bag of fruit. All three froze when they spotted Jinu.

For a moment, no one moved. Then Abby popped his head around Jinu’s shoulder, his face wry. “Told you guys we should have left Seoul,” he muttered.

The three boys crowded in, shock and delight mingling on their faces.

“You’re alive?” Romance blurted out, disbelief in his eyes.

“This is crazy! The band’s together again!” Baby crowed, his grin infectious, while Mystery clapped Jinu on the back, his own smile wide and genuine.

Abby rolled his eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he left his post behind the counter to join the group. For a brief moment, it felt like old times.

“So, everyone’s human, huh?” Jinu asked, scanning their faces. Their skin was flushed with life, no trace of the supernatural. Mystery’s complexion had turned a warm tan, and his once-silvery hair now fell in wild, raven-colored waves. Baby’s hair was pink, though Jinu could spot a stubborn tuft of brown at the roots—a dye job, not magic. Romance’s black hair was streaked with pink highlights, catching the light as he shifted.

“Yeah, basically everyone here got a chance at a new life,” Romance said, rubbing the back of his neck. Mystery nodded, clapping his hands in confirmation.

Jinu grinned, a rare, genuine expression. “I’m glad for you guys. Really.”

Suddenly, Baby narrowed his eyes, peering at Jinu’s mouth. “Wait… You’re not human.” He pointed at the telltale fangs and the slitted eyes. Instantly, the boys stepped back, wary. All except Abby, who just crossed his arms and sighed.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Abby said dryly. “He’s still the same general of Lord Gwi-Ma. But—” He paused, glancing at Jinu, who offered them a small, almost apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry,” Jinu said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m retired.” He chuckled, though the sound was tinged with old sadness. Baby shot him a suspicious look.

“If anything, you’re a damn good liar,” Romance said, arching an eyebrow. Mystery grinned, giving Jinu a thumbs-up.

Baby snickered, relaxing a little. “That’s true. Besides, I can’t be a demon now—I’m a senior! I’ve been working hard, trying to get into a good college.” He fished a wrinkled acceptance letter from his bag and thrust it toward Jinu.

Jinu took the paper with a low whistle, nodding in approval. “Nice job, dude.” They shared a quick fist bump, and Baby beamed with pride.

“But seriously, I’m not under Gwi-Ma anymore,” Jinu said quietly.

“The Honmoon is still active, right? How are you here?” Romance asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Jinu hesitated, glancing between Abby, Mystery, Baby, and Romance. “I… Well, someone saved me.” He shifted the bouquet in his arms, the flowers trembling slightly.

Abby rolled his eyes. “He has a girlfriend. And it’s that hunter girl—half demon, half human.”

“WHAT?!” the boys chorused, voices echoing in the tiny shop. Abby just rolled his eyes, while Mystery raised his arms in triumph.

“This is insane!” Romance laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Baby snapped his fingers. “I know, right? But that’s also kind of dope. Good job, boss. You rizzed up a hunter,” he teased, offering another fist bump. Jinu hesitated, then accepted it with a bewildered look.

What the hell does rizz even mean? Jinu wondered, but for once—he didn’t mind not knowing.

Mystery clapped his hands excitedly, fully supporting Jinu with a bright grin. “This is awesome!”

Jinu tried not to look embarrassed. “Well, it’s a long story. And no, she isn’t my girlfriend… yet ,” he admitted, making a face.

Abby, Romance, and Baby exchanged glances, their eyebrows raised in silent communication. “So it’s a situationship?” Baby asked, drawing the word out with a teasing lilt.

“Must be,” Romance muttered, leaning closer to Baby. “ Poor guy . He’s good at being scary, but probably not so great at being a boyfriend.”

Abby rolled his eyes, marching over and grabbing both their heads, smushing them together to shut them up. “Enough, you two.”

Jinu just chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Situationship? He wasn’t sure what that meant, but decided not to ask.

Abby took a deep breath, his tone turning serious. “So, let’s be clear. You’re not here to ask us to… end the world again, right?”

“Nope,” Jinu replied, his voice light. He watched as Romance, Baby, and Mystery exchanged relieved glances and high-fived each other behind Abby’s back.

“I can see everyone’s having a nice life as a human,” Jinu noted, “Are you all living here together?”

“We make it work,” Romance said with a shrug. “I’m working as a cashier at the supermarket, Mystery’s a vet nurse—don’t even ask how he managed that—and Baby’s busy studying for college.”

Jinu smiled, genuinely happy for them. “I see. Well, good luck then.” He squeezed past them, heading for the door.

Romance called after him, “Wait, you sure you don’t need anything? Not even some advice on your situationship?”

Jinu paused with his hand on the door, glancing over his shoulder with a wry smile. “Nope! I’m good,” he said, giving them a little wave before stepping outside and disappearing down the sidewalk.

The bell above the door chimed softly as he left.

“Well, he looks happy,” Baby said, fishing a lollipop from his pocket and popping it into his mouth with a satisfying crunch . “He really does,” Romance said, not before he was elbowed by Mystery at the side causing him to yelp loudly.

Abby watched the door for a moment, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but eventually he turned back to the others. “Alright, break it up. Go do whatever you want. It’s Saturday, so rest all you want.”

The three boys cheered, scattering through the shop, laughter trailing after them as the afternoon sun streamed in.

LATER, JINU RETURNED , now changed into a crisp dress shirt and tailored slacks, the fabric still stiff from being freshly laundered. He waited quietly near the edge of the stage, bouquet in hand, the flowers trembling ever so slightly in his grip. From the shadows, he watched Rumi shine beneath the bright lights—her energy magnetic, her every movement commanding the audience’s gaze. She really does belong up there, he thought. Maybe she was born to be admired.

A wry smile tugged at his lips as he found an empty folding chair and sat, his posture relaxed but his heart racing alongside the music. He let himself be swept up in their performance, feeling oddly buoyant, almost proud. His mind drifted, just for a moment, to the Saja Boys. He never expected to see them alive—human, even. It turned out, he mused, demons could have a second chance, too. Maybe this was his own version of repentance, a shot at redemption he never thought he deserved.

Absentmindedly, Jinu dragged a finger over the demon marks that curled around his wrist. His rolled-up sleeves left them exposed, iridescent blue and pink vines etched into his skin. They weren’t as bold or as visible as Rumi’s; his marks fanned out across his body, winding beneath his shirt like living tattoos. He wasn’t ashamed of them, exactly, but he’d rather not advertise their matching “tattoos” when Rumi was in the spotlight.

With a slow, practiced motion, he unrolled his sleeves, smoothing the fabric over his wrists and fastening the buttons all the way up to his neck. He let out a shaky sigh, not quite sure how to carry himself around Rumi in public now. After all, she was a K-Pop idol—a star—and he was just... well, Jinu (He was an idol too, but it was more of an end of the world thing. So that’s kind of different).

He barely noticed Rumi approach until she was looming over him, her eyes bright with post-performance adrenaline.

“Hey,” she said, grinning.

Jinu jolted upright, clutching the bouquet a little too tightly before standing to face her. “Hi, Rumi. Congratulations on the comeback.” He offered the flowers, his voice softer than he intended. Rumi’s cheeks flushed as she accepted the bouquet, her fingers brushing his.

“Is this for me? Oh jeez, thank you,” she giggled, burying her nose in the flowers. “These smell amazing.”

“I, uh… thought it would be nice. You know, for your comeback. Congrats.” Jinu gestured awkwardly, his hands fluttering in the air before dropping to his sides.

Rumi’s laughter was bright and unrestrained, her shoulders shaking with delight. “Thank you… You could’ve gotten flowers for the other girls too, you know.”

Jinu’s ears turned pink. “I’m a little short on money, so… sorry! I could only get some for you.” He shrugged, flashing her an unapologetic grin.

Rumi held the bouquet tightly, her smile turning shy as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Thank you, Jinu. Really.”

Chapter Text

IT HAD BEEN A FEW DAYS since Jinu had met the Saja boys. Rumi, Zoey, and Mira were getting increasingly busy. Most days, Jinu found himself alone in the house with the tigers. The big cats usually sprawled across the living room, their striped sides rising and falling with slow, contented breaths. 

Sometimes Derpy would pad after Jinu, curious and silent as a shadow. Other times, Jangsu would follow him, her tail sweeping the floor, her  eyes watchful. But eventually, the quiet and the company of dozing tigers grew dull. The silence pressed in, and Jinu finally decided to venture outside again. This time, he sent Rumi a quick message, letting her know where he planned to go.

“So, where should we go today, Jangsu?” Jinu asked, glancing down at the tiger walking beside him. Jangsu’s only answer was a low, rumbling growl, her ears flicking back as her tail traced lazy circles in the air. A few people passed them on the street, oblivious to the enormous tiger at Jinu’s side. Jangsu purred softly as Jinu stopped in front of Abby’s flower shop—a cheerful little place with wild bouquets spilling from the window boxes.

“It’s not like they can throw me out, right?” Jinu said, turning to Jangsu with a wry grin as he rubbed her broad head. Jangsu purred louder, settling herself by the door, her blue fur catching the light. “Stay,” Jinu told her. The tiger sat obediently at the side of the entrance, her gaze tracking people with calmly

The door jingled as Jinu stepped inside. The shop smelled of green stems and sweet petals. Abby was hunched over the front desk, scribbling in a battered notebook. He didn’t look up at first. “Welcome to—” Abby began, then stopped, recognition flickering across his tired face. “Jinu? What are you doing here?”

Jinu just smiled, leaning against the desk in his usual, too-casual way. “Just around,” he said, his tone light. Abby shot him a disapproving look.

“Really? What’s wrong, your demon hunter girlfriend got sick of you?” Abby snarked, arching a brow. Jinu chuckled, feigning a pout.

“Lighten up, Abby. Aren’t you glad I’m here?”

Abby huffed, but Jinu caught the corner of his mouth twitching. “Whatever.”

“Admit it,” Jinu said, leaning in with a teasing grin, “you had a little fun as a SAJA.” Abby just sighed and flicked him off, but Jinu only laughed. It was an old routine between them.

Abby glanced past Jinu’s shoulder, eyes narrowing as he spotted the massive blue tiger through the shop window. “Did you seriously bring one of your pets here?” he said, giving Jinu a pointed glare.

Jinu shrugged. “Interesting that you can still see her.”

Abby crossed his arms. “Don’t be surprised. We might be human now, but we were demons once. It’s all in the beliefs. If you don’t believe they exist, they don’t. But I do.” He closed his notebook with a snap.

Jinu nodded, rubbing his chin in thought. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Abby squinted at him. “What? Is there a problem?”

Jinu shook his head. “No, just… does no one ever recognize you as a SAJA?”

“That’s the great thing about the mist,” Abby said, voice dropping. “They forget. It’s a blessing, really. But you wouldn’t know much about that, would you? You never left Hell.” He spoke the last word with a sigh, the weight of it palpable.

Jinu offered a small, rueful smile, slouching farther over the desk. “I can only do so much as a general. I was assigned to handle you all, remember? Don’t give me that face.”

Abby rolled his eyes, but Jinu could sense the old pain there—the kind only another demon could recognize. Jinu remembered how he’d met each of them: once human, all of them, just like him. Their greed had led them down the path where Gwi-Ma found them. He could still picture them, lost in the crowd of demons, the moment their lives changed. In the end, a mortal’s downfall was always greed. Greed—that ancient vice—seemed to be the one thing no one could ever truly turn away from.

“So, I assume you’ve been here for months already?” Abby said, dragging out another wooden stool and nudging it toward Jinu.

“Not really, just recently. I’d say I’ve been here a month now,” Jinu replied, taking the seat with a grateful nod.

“It’s been months since the Idol Awards. Where have you been?” Abby asked, confusion creasing his brow.

Jinu hesitated, then offered a lopsided smile. “Well… it’s a long story. But I decided to follow Rumi now.”

“Just like that?” Abby’s tone was skeptical.

“Just like that,” Jinu confirmed, his smile softening. Abby studied him for a moment, then shook his head.

“Whatever. I guess Mystery isn’t the only crazy one for liking a hunter.”

Jinu raised a brow. “Does he now?”

Abby snickered. “Has a shrine to Zoey and everything. He’s pining for that girl.”

Jinu snorted, amused. “I can always help him meet Zoey again.”

Abby grinned. “Mystery’s too shy now that he’s human. I doubt he’ll have the guts to approach her.”

“Well, some things never change, I suppose,” Jinu said, shrugging.

Abby exhaled, watching Jinu with a calculating look. “I know what you’re doing, Jinu. Small talk, visiting, acting like you care. But you never come to us without needing something. So, tell me—what do you really want?”

Jinu put a hand to his heart, feigning offense. “Is it that hard to believe I can change?”

Abby didn’t flinch. “Yes,” he deadpanned. He stood up, stretching, running a hand through his hair. “Jinu, you’ve been a demon for four hundred years. Four centuries. Do you even understand that? I’ve only been a demon for, what, fifty years? And I already lost my mind in those fifty years.” He let out a breath, glancing at Jinu, who could only offer a small, nervous laugh.

“I was ridden with guilt, anger, and every emotion I could think of,” Abby breathed out.

“Abby, look, I’m only here because… you guys are here! Is it so bad that I want to see you all again?” Jinu’s voice was soft, almost earnest—a rare vulnerability shining through.

Abby’s expression softened, his shoulders slumping as he sat back down on the stool. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. “Well,” he said after a pause, “you’re… just you, Jinu. I’ve seen the worst you can do—but that doesn’t mean you can’t change… I guess.” He offered a half-shrug, uncertain but genuine.

Jinu sighed, the weight of centuries hanging heavy in his posture. “I’m trying, Abby. I really am. What I did for those four centuries… I—” He stopped, unable to finish, but the regret in his eyes said enough. “Yeah. You probably already know.”

Abby pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard. “Jinu, you used to hunt demons with a bow and arrow and let your tigers eat them.”

Jinu laughed awkwardly, glancing away as a faint blush crept up his cheeks. “Well, I’ve always hated demons,” he muttered, clearing his throat as Abby groaned again.

“Okay, okay, Jinu.” Abby lifted his hands, surrendering. “I’ll give you a chance. I care about the boys a lot, and I don’t want them dragged into something dangerous. They’ve all been demons for fewer years than me.”

Jinu offered a grateful smile. “Thanks, Abby. I promise—I won’t do anything to put them in harm’s way. Trust my word. I never make false promises, do I?” He tilted his head, his gaze earnest and unwavering.

Abby narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him for a long moment before the suspicion faded. “Yeah, you never have… but if you do, you’re not allowed to come back here again, you hear me?” He leaned in, crowding Jinu with a stern glare.

Jinu grinned, fangs flashing in the sunlight. “You got it, captain.”

Abby recoiled, looking half-mortified and half-amused. “God, you really have changed. It’s terrifying. Like seeing a declawed cat. I can’t believe this. What did that demon hunter do to you?” He shook his head, bewildered.

Jinu only snorted, a bittersweet smile teasing his lips. “I found someone who understood me,” he admitted, barely above a whisper.

Abby turned back to him, the room falling quiet. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them—understanding, maybe, or sympathy. At last, Abby nodded, his voice gentler. “Good for you, Jinu. No one else could possibly have the mental fortitude to handle the trauma of a four-hundred-year-old demon, huh?”

Jinu winced, trying to mask the pain with a crooked smile. “Yeah… that’s about right.”

LATER, JINU FOUND HIMSELF IN THE ROOF AGAIN. He was feeling ruminative, the kind of quiet introspection that seemed to settle over him like a heavy coat. He sat at the very spot where he and Rumi had met—where so many nights had blurred into dawns. The houses below were already dipping into darkness, the horizon painted in deep indigos and smudged golds. Beside him, Jangsu curled up at the edge of the rooftop, her tail flicking from side to side in a restless rhythm. One of her sharp, red eyes was half-open, glimmering in the dusky light as she kept a silent watch over him.

Jinu watched her with a small, grateful smile. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Then Jangsu stretched, her muscles rippling under sleek fur, and padded over to his side. She sat down heavily with a soft thump, her warmth a comfort against the gathering chill.

“Feeling bored, are we?” Jinu murmured, gently patting her fur. Jangsu responded with a low, contented purr, her tail flicking with satisfaction. Jinu hummed, absently scratching her behind the ear before resting his hand on his lap. “Things are going better now, don’t you think so too, Jangsu?”

Jangsu licked her paw, her only answer a soft, rumbling growl. Jinu chuckled low in his throat. “A yes, then? That’s good,” he said, tucking one knee to his chest and gazing out across the rooftop. The sky was darkening, the stars just beginning to prick through the fading light. Jangsu mimicked his posture, sitting perfectly still, almost as if she were meditating with him.

Jinu’s breath slowed as he reached out to pet Jangsu again, his fingers lingering on her fur. “We never really talked about how I treated you all back then, have I?” he asked quietly.

Jangsu stayed motionless, but Jinu caught the way her tail suddenly stilled at his words. “I’m sorry, Jangsu. What I did... it was unforgivable. But—” His voice faltered, raw and vulnerable. “If you can, forgive me?”

For a moment, Jangsu didn’t move. Then she turned to face him fully, her red eyes searching his face. “I understand if you and your pack want to leave. I wouldn’t blame you at all.” He exhaled, the words heavy as stones.

Jangsu’s only answer was a low, grumbling growl—before she suddenly headbutted him, hard, straight on the nose.

“Ow! Fuck!” Jinu yelped, recoiling and clutching his nose as tears sprang to his eyes. Jangsu let out a triumphant, happy roar, looking immensely proud of herself as Jinu checked his nose for blood. Finding none, he heaved a sigh of relief and shot her a look of mock indignation.

Jangsu only turned away, her head held high, thoroughly pleased with herself. “Guess I deserved that…” Jinu muttered, rubbing his nose as Jangsu huffed and licked her paws, radiating smug satisfaction—her way of saying, I’ve been wanting to do that .

“So is that a yes, you forgive me, or is this the start of me becoming your personal scratching post?” Jinu joked, reaching out to scratch behind her ear.

Jangsu purred loudly, lowering her head onto his lap and curling in closer than ever before.

Jinu let out a surprised sound, caught off guard by the sudden affection. Jangsu had always kept her distance, never allowing him the kind of coddling he gave Derpy. He realized, with a pang, that he hadn’t shown her the care she deserved until now. “I’m so sorry, girl,” he sighed, voice thick with regret.

Jangsu only burrowed deeper onto his lap, her warmth seeping through his jeans, her loyalty wordless but eloquent. Jinu rested his hand on her head, stroking her gently.

Jangsu let out a soft, insistent growl, as if telling him to stop apologizing. Jinu chuckled, shaking his head. “Let me apologize, will you?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jangsu whined quietly, her hot breath warming his leg as Jinu bent forward and buried his face in her fur. For a while, he just lay there, letting the world slip away—forgetting he was outdoors, perched on a rooftop.

A sudden voice cut through the quiet. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Jinu shrieked, jerking upright to find Rumi standing behind him, a teasing smile on her lips. She wore a navy hoodie—his, he realized with a jolt—and her familiar bear and choo choo pajama pants. “Rumi?”.

“Is that my hoodie? And your choo choo pants?” Jinu grinned, his face splitting into a smile so wide it almost hurt.

“Yes and yes,” Rumi replied, laughing as she dropped down beside him and let one leg dangle over the edge.

“I was looking for that!” Jinu pouted, feigning offense.

Rumi just grinned, winking at him. “You left it in my room, so I claimed it.”

The hoodie looked huge on her, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Jinu felt his cheeks warm. Isn’t this something couples do? Borrow each other’s clothes? Or was he reading too much into it?

“So,” he asked, trying to sound casual, “how did you know I was up here?”

“A gut feeling?” Rumi said, raising an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a half-smile.

“Really?” Jinu asked, suspicion coloring his voice.

Rumi grinned and shook her head, letting out a laugh. “Nah, I was tracking you with my phone.” She slipped her phone from her pocket, the screen aglow with a familiar map and a blue dot. “See?” She held it up for Jinu to see his own location blinking back at him.

“Oh.” Jinu’s face fell, his shoulders sagging with mock defeat. For a moment, embarrassment flickered in his eyes before he tried to mask it with a crooked smile.

Noticing, Rumi moved a little closer, her shoulder brushing his as Jangsu, ever perceptive, quietly slipped behind them, giving them space. The world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, the hum of the city fading into the background.

“But…” Rumi’s tone softened as she pocketed her phone again. “I had a feeling you’d be here anyway.” She gave him a small, genuine smile. Now they sat shoulder to shoulder, the easy closeness of old friends settling between them.

“I was supposed to go home early,” Jinu admitted, letting out a nervous laugh. He picked at his sleeve, eyes darting away.

“It’s alright. I know we’ve been gone a lot lately…” Rumi hesitated, words catching in her throat. “Why don’t you come with us, hm? I—I, uh…” Her cheeks turned pink as she looked away, suddenly bashful.

Jinu tilted his head, curiosity lighting up his features. “You what?” he prompted, leaning in.

“I miss you, dude,” Rumi blurted out, turning back to him. Then, with the force of her embarrassment, she punched his shoulder—hard.

“Ow! That hurts!” Jinu yelped, clutching his shoulder, his lips twisting into a pout. “What is with everyone hurting my feelings and my body today?”

Rumi just ruffled his hair, her fingers gentle despite the earlier punch. Jinu shot her a wounded look, lips trembling with a fake whimper.

“Aww, is the big baby hurt and sad?” she teased, her laughter tinkling in the dimming light.

Jinu huffed and leaned away, sulking. But before he could retreat too far, Rumi threw her arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a loose, affectionate hug. “Get back here! I can’t believe it’s been so long since we came back here together,” she said, her voice bright with nostalgia.

Jinu giggled, letting her mess up his hair. “Well, I’ve been sneaking here by myself a few times,” he admitted, sitting up and finally wriggling free from her grasp.

“Actually, me too.” Rumi’s voice turned soft, wistful. “Before you came back, I’d stop by and hope you’d show up.” She sighed and propped her chin on her palm, elbows resting on her knees.

Jinu smiled, a warmth in his eyes. “Well, I’m here now.” He made an exaggerated shrug, earning another laugh from Rumi, who gave him a playful shove.

“Not like you can leave anymore,” she said, making a mock-threatening growl.

Jinu grinned, matching her energy. “Who said I was going to leave?” He paused, eyes twinkling. “How could I? When I’ve got everything I need at the ‘HUNTR/X’ tower.” He made air quotes, and Rumi rolled her eyes at his theatrics.

“Really? That’s the only reason you stayed? God, I’m hurt!” Rumi theatrically clutched at her chest, but her smile betrayed her amusement.

“Well…” Jinu leaned back on his hands, a giddy smile blooming on his face. “It’s not like I can leave my Meister without her handsome, beautiful, amazing weapon.” He waggled his eyebrows just before Rumi punched his shoulder again.

“Just so you know, I am the beautiful, pretty, kind, and cool Meister. You’re the boring one, old man,” Rumi shot back.

Jinu laughed, a quiet, genuine sound, and looked at her—a long, searching look. For a moment, the world seemed to still.

“Yeah… you’re kinda right,” he said, voice softer than before.

Rumi felt her face heat up. That… was not what she’d expected at all. She’d braced for a joke, for teasing, not the gentle sincerity in Jinu’s eyes. He looked at her like she was the only person in the world, like she hung the stars in the sky. Her heart fluttered, caught between laughter and something deeper.

“I–” Rumi choked, caught off guard by her own emotions. She coughed, the moment shattering.

Jinu’s eyes widened. He sat up straighter, concern knitting his brow as he patted her back. “Oh shit, are you okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Rumi managed, waving him off with a sheepish blush. “I just… choked on my spit.” She tried to laugh it off, but her cheeks burned.

Jinu relaxed, a smile tugging at his lips before he laughed, bright and clear. “You can literally hit the highest notes and you choke on your spit?” he teased, incredulous.

Rumi pouted, her face still warm. “It was sudden, okay?”

The sky had faded into twilight, shadows stretching long and soft. Yet even in the low light, Rumi could see Jinu’s eyes, shining with that same gentle affection. Her heart beat faster.

She realized, in that moment, how much had changed. The feelings she had for Jinu weren’t exactly new—she’d felt something, once, when she first met him. That reckless, bad-boy charm had drawn her in, but it had been a fleeting crush, more about wanting someone to understand her than love itself. But after all they’d been through—his sacrifice, his return, the way he’d worked to change—her feelings had deepened, grown roots. They were bound together, soul to soul, in a way she’d never experienced before.

“Something wrong with my face?” Jinu asked, his voice light but uncertain.

Rumi shook her head, her lips curling into a soft smile. “No… nothing’s wrong with your face. It’s the same likable one as ever.”

Jinu blushed, looking almost shy under her gaze. He turned away, but not before she saw the small, hopeful smile on his lips. Her heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, her hand moved before she could think—she reached out, her fingers brushing his.

“Can I hold your hand?” Rumi asked, voice barely above a whisper. She felt bold. Braver than she’d ever been.

Jinu seemed to lose his voice for a moment, his mouth opening but no words coming out. But then he nodded, a small, earnest “Yeah,” escaping him as he squeezed Rumi’s hand tighter. Rumi’s smile grew, warmth blooming in her chest.

She nudged his shoulder playfully. “You know, all the things we’re doing already look suspiciously like we’re in a relationship,” she teased.

Jinu flinched as if slapped, his hand loosening. For an instant, he edged away, his eyes darting to the side. Rumi blinked, caught off guard. Did I say something wrong? She thought with a pang of hurt.

“I—uh, I’m sorry if I’m crossing the line,” Jinu stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, his ears bright red.

Rumi stared, a little annoyed at his sudden retreat. “Who said you were?” she challenged, scooting closer and reclaiming his hand. Her fingers threaded through his with a gentle certainty.

Jinu looked up at her, confusion plain on his face. He was so endearingly clueless it made Rumi want to bite his arm in a fit of cuteness aggression. “I’m... not?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice.

“Of course not,” Rumi said firmly.

Jinu frowned, glancing down at their joined hands. “Then... do you do this with everyone you know?” he asked quietly.

Rumi paused, studying him out of the corner of her eye. He looked genuinely troubled, brow furrowed, lips pressed together as if bracing himself for rejection. She was tempted to stay silent, just to see how much he’d squirm. She’d already admitted to herself that she liked this stupid, handsome idiot, but a small part of her wondered—does he feel the same, or is she reading too much into this?

Still, she couldn’t leave him hanging. “Of course not,” she replied. “I would never cuddle or hold hands with just anyone. You’re... special.”

For a heartbeat, Jinu’s eyes lit up, hope flickering across his face before he flushed again, looking adorably flustered. “Okay... then do we call this a relationship or... ah, a situationship?” His voice trailed off, awkward and uncertain.

Rumi froze, her hand slipping from his in shock. “A situationship?” she nearly shrieked, staring at him in disbelief. Jinu blinked, startled by her reaction.

“What do you mean by that?!” she gasped, a mix of offense and laughter in her tone.

Jinu scratched his head, looking utterly lost. “I—I don’t know? I just heard someone say it before,” he admitted, wide-eyed and innocent.

Rumi narrowed her eyes, exasperated and amused in equal measure. “Jinu, do you even know what that means?”

He shook his head slowly, his hair flopping into his eyes. “Not... really?”

“It means that we don’t have a label. It’s kind of... undefined,” she explained, trying to keep her patience as she watched his face for any sign of understanding.

“A label... like a name? Didn’t that girl call us ‘RuJinu’ once? Or is it like being a girlfriend or a boyfriend?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

Rumi let out a dramatic sigh, slumping forward. Of all the things, Jinu’s innocence was almost criminal. Who is teaching him these things? Is it Mira? Zoey? She made a mental note to investigate later.

“No, Jinu, that’s called a ship name.”

Jinu blinked. “We’re a boat now?”

“Jinu!” Rumi groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, voice small and sheepish.

It took at least an hour or more for Rumi to explain all those terms to Jinu, and by the time she was done, it was already night time. They ended up walking home together, Jinu’s face as red as a late autumn maple, his hand warm and awkward in hers. Their footsteps echoed on the narrow concrete, shadows stretching alongside them.

“So… we’re in a relationship then?” Jinu finally blurted, his voice tentative as he glanced at Rumi. She shot him a sidelong look, the corners of her lips curling up.

“Do you want to be?” she asked. Her tone was light, but there was something earnest behind it—a nervousness she rarely let slip.

Labels mattered, she knew, but only up to a point. Whether or not they named it, she liked Jinu. She had held his soul in her palm, seen the flicker of his memories, she had held his dying body for god’s sake and revealed the raw, aching scars of her own heart. He was more than a word, more than a boyfriend, more than the sword she once thought she needed.

To her, he was everything.

Jinu flushed, stammering, “I-I don’t know… is it just me, or does calling you ‘girlfriend’ feel like an understatement?” They slowed as the sidewalk narrowed, leading down the steep steps to the tower. Behind them, Jangsu trailed quietly, pretending not to listen.

Rumi let go of Jinu’s hand as he hesitated. “I don’t get what you mean,” she said, waiting.

Jinu swallowed, running a thumb along the seam of his jeans. “I—don’t take it the wrong way. I… really like you.” His confession was soft, almost swallowed by the city’s hum.

“Hey, everyone likes me,” Rumi teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

Jinu groaned, ducking his head. “No, Rumi. I like you.”

She stopped, turning to face him with a raised eyebrow. “Enough to be in a relationship with me? Enough to have patience when I get moody, or when I’m on my period?” Her voice was light but her eyes searched his.

Jinu’s blush deepened. He nodded, almost shyly. Rumi studied him, her heart hammering unexpectedly. Was he confessing now, after everything? After she’d already told him that she would never open up to anyone else like this? After she had quite literally admitted she would never do these things with anyone else aside from him?

“Are you… confessing?” she asked, a little breathless.

“Am I?” Jinu blinked, looking just as surprised at himself. But when Rumi glared, he straightened, slouching awkwardly. “I am! I’m confessing!” he declared, his voice a little too loud in the quiet street.

Rumi flushed, glancing around at the empty windows. She pressed a hand to his lips. “Shush, it’s late, don’t yell,” she whispered, then slipped her hand down and laced her fingers with his.

Jinu grinned sheepishly. “Sorry… but yes, I want to confess something.”

Rumi gave him a look that said, Are you serious?

“Okay, Jinu, I know things were different in your time. But surely you dated someone before, right? You sang for the king, for godsakes.”

Jinu was quiet for a moment as they walked beneath the flickering streetlamp. “Actually… no…” he whispered, a faint flush on his cheeks.

Rumi stopped again, nearly causing Jangsu to trip behind them. “You never… went with anyone else?” she asked, awe and disbelief mingling in her voice.

Jinu blinked, shaking his head. “Aha… no one really wanted to be with a mentally ill man, yeah?” He joked, but there was an ache behind the words.

Rumi’s hand shot out, squishing his face. “You are not mentally ill,” she growled, then let him go, softer now.

He shrugged, looking away. “Okay… but I never had any interest back then. I was… focused on my… you know.” He waved his hand vaguely, and Rumi’s heart ached for him. His life as a human had been nothing but pain—poverty, separation from his family, guilt gnawing at him for every selfish choice, the final loneliness before the end.

“Jinu—” Rumi started, but Jinu turned to her abruptly, catching both her hands in his.

“Wait, Rumi,” he said, voice trembling. “I really want to say something. I’ve been holding this in for so long.” He took a deep, shaky breath, looking down at their joined hands, as if the courage he needed might be hiding there.

Rumi gazed up at him, her chest tight.

“I want to say that calling you my girlfriend would be a mistake,” Jinu said, voice barely above a whisper.

Rumi’s face fell, but before she could pull away, Jinu’s words tumbled out in a rush, panicked. “Because—it’s an understatement, Rumi! Please let me finish!” His cheeks were so red she almost laughed, but the look in his eyes stopped her.

“It’s an understatement because what I feel for you is more than love. It’s everything. Every emotion I never had as a demon, not even as a human—you made me feel them all. You made me feel love, yes, but also kindness. Patience. You understand me better than I understand myself. And… I hate myself, sometimes, because how can I ever be enough for you? I hurt you, I betrayed you. I’m the same kind of being you were taught to hate, to kill. And I’m selfish, selfish because I want you. I want you to love me. To hold me. To touch me. My soul, my heart, my body.” His voice broke, but he didn’t look away.

“I feel greedy,” Jinu confessed, voice trembling, “because I want your focus solely on me. Only me. I feel so much—so many emotions that sometimes it drowns me. When I think of you, I want to be better—a better person, someone worthy of you. You’re my god, Rumi. And I want to be your one and only believer. If you told me to set the world on fire, I would. I would do anything you want… I—I want you to want me, to find a use for me—”

His breath caught, his words splintering in the air. His eyes shone with unshed tears, desperate and raw.

Rumi’s heart thudded painfully, her chest tightening. Oh god, every word Jinu said was both shattering her heart and sending it into wild, dizzying somersaults. She felt so much at once—so much she thought she might burst. The air between them buzzed with something electric, something alive and terrifying.

“I want you so much it hurts,” Jinu whispered, his voice barely audible. “If you told me to go back to hell, I’d do it. I would do anything for you. You’re not just a relationship, not some small label like a girlfriend. You’re so much more. My god, my world, my universe. Love is an understatement for what I feel.” His breath shook as he squeezed Rumi’s hand tightly, grounding himself.

For a moment, silence cocooned them. Time seemed to hold its breath.

Then, Jinu swallowed and stared at their joined hands. “Rumi? I’m sorry… I must have made you uncomfortable. I’ve never felt this way before.” His face had gone pale, and as he tried to pull away, Rumi only gripped him tighter.

“Shut up, Jinu. Just shut up.” Rumi’s voice trembled, her eyes shimmering. “What you just said is so goddamn poetic I want to tear up, okay? Just… hush for a moment!” Her cheeks were blazing red, and Jinu’s eyes widened, looking so lost, so vulnerable, that her heart ached.

How can he just say those words so honestly? she thought, unable to look away from him.

Jinu looked at her, uncertain, and Rumi drew in a shaky breath. “Jinu, I like you. And you’re right—labels… god, they feel so small compared to what I feel, especially when I’ve held your soul in my hands.” Her cheeks burned hotter. She wondered if she could cook an egg on her face with how warm it was.

Jinu’s lips curled into a small, bashful smile. “I want to be more than just a label, Rumi. I—I want to be etched into your very being.” He whispered the words, almost afraid of their weight.

Rumi’s heart did another somersault. Oh my god. Who knew Jinu was such a poet?

“Oh my god, Jinu,” she managed, pressing her hands to her flaming cheeks. She looked away, flustered.

“Was that too much?” Jinu asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “My head’s always been… messy.” He looked down, picking at his sleeve.

“No! No, it’s not messed up,” Rumi said quickly, turning to face him. “I’m just… overwhelmed. I always knew I liked you from the start, Jinu. But you… you like me. Not just in the simple, easy ways—‘you’re pretty,’ or ‘you’re kind.’ Yours is different. It’s deeper. It makes me—god, it makes me want to cry.”

She broke, unable to hold back anymore, and launched herself into Jinu’s arms. He held her, confusion and tenderness flickering across his face.

“Aha… Did I say something wrong?” Jinu chuckled nervously, holding her close.

“No,” Rumi whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “You said everything right. I just wish you’d save some of that love for yourself.” She pulled away slightly, looking him in the eyes.

Jinu smiled, soft and trembling. “Loving you is loving myself,” he said, threading his fingers through hers. “I want to kneel at your feet, to appreciate every road and path you walk on.”

Rumi let out a laugh, shaky and disbelieving. “God, Jinu, calm down. You’re going to send me into cardiac arrest at this rate!” Her embarrassment was painted across her face, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

“It’s been so long since I wanted to tell you this… I love weird, and I am weird,” Jinu confessed, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips.

Rumi shook her head gently, her gaze unwavering. “You’re not weird. Or maybe you are, but so am I. We’re just the same, aren’t we? I don’t care about labels, Jinu. You’re… like a damn soulmate to me.”

Jinu’s eyes widened, as if the word itself sent a tremor through his soul. He placed a trembling hand over his heart, almost as if to check it was still there. “Soulmate?” he echoed, voice barely a breath.

“Yeah,” Rumi replied softly, her brows knitting just a little. “My soulmate.”

The silence that followed was full, a moment suspended. Rumi smiled faintly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “People always say kissing is the ultimate way to show your love, but… we’ve done more than that, haven’t we? You—God, Jinu, you sacrificed your life, you gave me your soul, and I held it in my hands for months. Why do we have to follow the rules society set for us? Love isn’t materialistic, it’s not just about the physical stuff.”

Jinu’s smile blossomed, soft and genuine. “A kiss would be nice, though,” he murmured shyly, glancing away.

Rumi burst into giggles, the sound bright and infectious. “Of course you’d say that.”

Jinu blushed furiously, his cheeks nearly crimson as realization dawned. “I—I never thought this would actually be real,” he admitted, voice low and hesitant.

Rumi grinned, teasing, “Really? Am I just too amazing for you?”

Jinu nodded, the bashfulness in his eyes edged with a fierce adoration. “Yes. You’re… you’re like the sun. When I touch you, it burns, but I want more of it, even if it hurts.”

Rumi had to look away, biting her lip to keep from bursting into tears or laughter or both. Why is Jinu so adorably poetic? Was he always like this?

Jinu’s voice turned a shade more vulnerable. “But… I really thought this would never happen. At least, not for a long time. I’m not exactly… easy to deal with.”

“Pshh, are you kidding?” Rumi countered, rolling her eyes affectionately. “You’re so low maintenance, I seriously don’t understand how or why.”

Jinu’s lips formed a pout. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Rumi said, grinning, “you don’t need a lot of attention in a relationship. You’re just… easy.”

Jinu fell silent, thoughtful. Then, his voice barely above a whisper, he admitted, “But… but I want that. I want your attention. All of it.”

Rumi turned to him, her heart fluttering in her chest. She swallowed, her face heating, and before she could stop herself, she let go of his hand, buried her face in her palms, and screamed—a loud, muffled, frustrated scream.

Jinu stared at her, startled. “Uh—are you okay?”

Rumi peeked through her fingers, her face blazing. “Stop being adorable for one second! Please!” she pleaded, grabbing his shoulder in mock desperation.

Jinu blinked, then nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said, the picture of earnestness.

Rumi let out a shaky laugh, her whole body tingling with warmth and embarrassment. Who knew letting Jinu talk without a filter would almost send her into a heart attack?

“I’m so happy right now,” Jinu finally admitted as they walked side by side, the evening breeze ruffling his hair. He glanced at Rumi, unable to hide the shy smile tugging at his lips.

“Me too,” Rumi replied, her cheeks still flushed from the whirlwind of emotions. “I feel like I just discovered something new in myself.”

Jinu’s curiosity sparked. “Oh? And what’s that?” he asked gently.

Rumi glanced at him, her face somehow turning an even deeper shade of red. She hesitated, looked away, and shook her head with an awkward laugh. “Nothing,” she mumbled, clearing her throat as if to push the secret back down. Jinu tilted his head, studying her, but decided not to press further. For now.

After a beat, Jinu’s voice broke the comfortable silence. “Does this mean I can stare at you all the time now?”

Rumi stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide. “Stare at me what now?”

Jinu’s ears turned red as he managed an embarrassed smile. “I don’t know—I just want to. You’re… nice to look at.”

Rumi gaped at him, flustered. “Jinu–”

“Does this also mean,” Jinu pressed on, hopeful, “we can share the same bed?”

“Jinu…” Rumi warned, her voice caught between laughter and mortification.

Jinu looked up at her, eyes shining. “Can you hold me then?”

“J-Jinu…”

“How about a cuddle? And—can you also pet my head? Like you usually do?”

All the way home, Jinu’s requests tumbled out one after another, each more earnest than the last. Rumi’s face remained a deep, unrelenting red, while Jinu looked positively radiant, excitement bubbling over with every step.

By the time they reached home, Rumi felt like she’d been dropped into a fever dream. She flopped dramatically onto the bed that Mira and Zoey shared, still dazed.

Mira looked up, eyebrows raised. “Damn, what happened to you?”

Rumi just groaned and buried her face in a pillow. “Guys, don’t freak out… But Zoey, looks like you’re going to get your bed and room back.”

Zoey and Mira exchanged a glance, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is Jinu dying?” Zoey asked, deadpan.

“No, I think he’s finally getting a job,” Mira replied with a hopeful sigh, crossing her fingers as if making a wish.

Rumi groaned louder, shaking her head. “No and no. He’s not dying, and he’s definitely not getting a job.”

“Aw,” Mira sighed, disappointment etched on her face. “Too bad. What a freeloader.”

Rumi sat up, looking them both in the eye, her face still pink. “We’re… sleeping together.”

“WHAT?!” Both Zoey and Mira shrieked, their eyes comically wide.

Chapter Text

JINU LEARNED WITH FRIGHTENING EASE THAT hatred was like a second skin to him, especially when it came to his fellow demons. It clung to him, festering, feeding on his bitterness. This life he now led, trapped in Hell as a proper demon, was one he deserved—so he told himself. A fitting punishment for his selfishness, his vile and disgusting nature. He had earned this eternal torment. And if he could only end it himself, he would. But no, even death was beyond his reach in this accursed realm.

So instead, he turned his malice outward. If he couldn’t destroy himself, he would destroy others, ensuring that the lives of lesser demons were nothing short of a living hell.

“Jinul, enough.”

Chwisaeng’s voice rang out, calm but firm, as he perched atop a jagged stone. Below him, Jinu stood tall, bow in hand, his back straight as he aimed an arrow at a small, gangly demon trudging along the base of the mountain.

Chwisaeng, as always, was the voice of reason. The one who stopped him. The one who reminded Jinu, time and time again, that it was wrong to turn against his own kind.

But when had demons ever been his kind?

They were not his people. They were nothing more than filth to him—creatures that deserved punishment. Useless, wretched beings.

Jinu smirked as he let the arrow fly. It struck its mark with perfect precision. The demon below let out a piercing cry, collapsing into a crumpled heap on the ground. Elation surged through him.

“You are no better than Lord Gwi-Ma himself,” Chwisaeng said, his tone heavy with disappointment.

Jinu laughed hollowly, the sound echoing through the barren landscape. “We are no better than anyone,” he replied, turning to face the older demon.

Chwisaeng sighed, shaking his head. “Jinul…”

But Jinu wasn’t in the mood for lectures. He handed his bow to one of his tigers—a massive blue beast with glowing eyes. The tiger took it in its jaws and padded off into the shadows.

“What do you want now?” Jinu asked, his voice sharp, his patience thin. Whenever Chwisaeng showed up, it was never without reason. There was always news. Or worse, an order from Gokdama.

“Nothing,” Chwisaeng said with a faint smile. “Am I not allowed to visit a dear friend?”

“Demons don’t have friends,” Jinu shot back, narrowing his eyes. “Stop fooling yourself, Chwisaeng, and leave me alone.”

Chwisaeng tilted his head, his dark purple hanbok shifting as he moved to stand beside Jinu. “Leave you alone when you act like this? Lord Gwi-Ma has noticed the sharp decline in demons lately.” His voice was quiet but carried a warning. “If he realizes you’re the one thinning his ranks, he’ll send you to Sahon-Baem as your punishment. You know what that entails.”

Jinu’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the ground. He didn’t respond.

“One day, I’ll kill that damned snake,” he muttered instead, his voice low.

Chwisaeng let out a soft breath of relief as Jinu lowered himself onto a nearby rock. “You’re easier to talk to when you’re not holding a weapon,” Chwisaeng remarked with a faint smile.

“Easier to fool,” Jinu retorted, his tone flat.

Chwisaeng chuckled, shaking his head. “Not to fool. You’re a good conversationalist, Jinul. It gets lonely here, you know. Most demons were born in Hell. They don’t speak like us. It’s... isolating.”

Jinu let out a low hum, his expression unreadable. “It’s lonely for you because you never stay in one place,” he said, his voice edged with mild disdain.

Chwisaeng laughed, throwing his head back. “You never go easy on me, do you?”

Jinu grumbled in response, refusing to meet his gaze.

Chwisaeng moved closer, sitting beside him, their shoulders nearly touching. “How have you been?” he asked softly.

“Why do you care so much?” Jinu snapped, glaring at him.

“Am I not allowed to?” Chwisaeng grinned, nudging him lightly with his elbow.

Jinu inched away, letting out a tired sigh. “Leave me.”

Chwisaeng leaned back, undeterred. “How about a walk?”

“There’s nothing to see here in Hell,” Jinu muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Lighten up, Jinul,” Chwisaeng said with a roll of his eyes. He studied the younger demon for a moment, noting how his dark, flowing hanbok seemed to weigh him down, how the brim of his gat cast shadows over his face.

Jinu remained silent, slouched over himself with a deep frown.

Chwisaeng sighed. He wasn’t surprised. This new general of Lord Gwi-Ma’s was still young, still reckless, still consumed by his anger. Jinu didn’t yet understand the weight of eternity. And now, perpetually locked in this age, he might never learn.

“You know, I get it,” Chwisaeng said finally, his voice softer now. “We’re demons. I understand what that means. But it doesn’t mean we have to act like monsters.”

He rose to his feet, brushing off his robes, and offered Jinu a faint smile. “Don’t you see?”

Jinu growled, his head snapping up to glare at him. “We are monsters. We’re vile, disgusting beings. That’s all we’ll ever be!” He stood abruptly, shoving Chwisaeng back.

One sharp whistle, and his blue tiger let out a thunderous roar, bounding up the mountain with effortless grace. The beast crouched low, offering its back to Jinu, who mounted it in one fluid motion.

“Jinul, wait—” Chwisaeng called, stepping forward. “Let’s not fight. I don’t want you to end up like Gokdama!”

Chwisaeng stood there for a moment, staring after him, his shoulders heavy with the weight of disappointment.

Jinu froze at the name. His grip on the tiger’s mane tightened, his knuckles pale as his jaw clenched.

“Don’t talk about her,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Without waiting for a reply, he pressed his heel into the tiger’s side. The beast roared, muscles coiling as it leapt off the edge of the mountain. Chwisaeng rushed to the precipice, watching as Jinu and the tiger vanished into a swirling blue portal below.

He didn’t look back. He never looked back.

Chwisaeng sighed, rubbing the space between his brows in frustration. Jinu never made things easier for him. Not once.

Straightening his back, he composed himself and began descending the mountain. Each step was heavy, deliberate, and his thoughts churned with irritation and concern. By the time he reached the valley, his focus had shifted. He wasn’t going to waste time chasing after Jinu. Not now. Instead, he turned his steps toward Gokdama’s palace.

The imposing structure loomed in the distance, dark spires clawing at the crimson sky. A faint haze of heat shimmered around it, the air thick with the scent of ash and sulfur. As Chwisaeng approached, the massive gates creaked open, revealing the grand throne room beyond.

“My, my,” a sultry voice called, echoing off the gilded walls. “What brings the second general to my humble abode?”

Gokdama reclined lazily on her golden throne, a smirk curling her lips. Her fingers drummed idly on the armrest, and in her other hand, she held a delicate wine glass crafted from pure gold. Beside her, Sahon-Baem’s massive, scaly body coiled around the throne, her presence filling the room with an oppressive weight. The snake’s black, glittering eyes were half-lidded, her forked tongue flicking lazily in the air.

“Good day, General Gokdama,” Chwisaeng greeted, lowering himself into a respectful bow.

Gokdama’s smirk deepened. “Yes, hello, General Chwisaeng. To what do I owe this pleasure? Or perhaps—” her eyes glittered mischievously, “—our fourth general is giving you trouble again?”

Chwisaeng straightened but didn’t respond immediately. His face remained calm, unreadable, as he moved to take his place at the silver throne beside hers. The throne was elegant yet understated, a stark contrast to the opulence of Gokdama’s golden seat. To her left were two empty thrones—one belonging to Baek-Hwa, and the other to Jinu.

Jinu rarely, if ever, stepped foot in the palace. And as for Baek-Hwa, her massive form made her throne unusable—it would need to be reforged to accommodate her size. Gokdama had often complained about the inconvenience, muttering about finding demons to "rebuild it properly."

Seating himself smoothly, Chwisaeng adjusted his hanbok and finally replied, “He’s not so bad. Jinul is a good child.”

Gokdama raised an eyebrow, swirling the wine in her glass. “A good child ,” she repeated, her tone dripping with amusement. “How generous of you.”

Her lips curled into a smile as Sahon-Baem let out a low, rumbling yawn. The snake’s jaw stretched wide, revealing rows of glistening fangs, her mouth so cavernous that she could easily devour the entire throne room.

“How is the palace to your liking, Chwisaeng?” Gokdama asked, turning her piercing gaze on him. “Our Lord Gwi-Ma truly is a generous master, don’t you think?”

Chwisaeng inclined his head slightly, his tone polite. “The structure is magnificent, truly. You’ve outdone yourself, General.”

Gokdama’s smile widened, pride lighting up her features. “Thank you, General. I do appreciate the compliment.”

Her voice dipped into a more dangerous tone as she continued, “Now, about Jinul… I have other means of making him submit, should it come to that.” She reached out, her fingers brushing the top of Sahon-Baem’s head. The snake’s eyes snapped open, glowing faintly as a low hiss escaped her throat.

Chwisaeng shook his head quickly, his voice calm but firm. “There’s no need for that. He has done nothing to offend Lord Gwi-Ma. Leave him to me—I can handle it. He’s just a child.”

“A child?” Gokdama let out a sharp laugh, tilting her head back. “How generous you are, Chwisaeng. Yes, he’s young, but that makes him all the more dangerous. Reckless, impulsive... and doesn’t he remind you of someone?” Her smirk returned, this time sharper, more knowing.

Chwisaeng ignored the jab, his expression remaining impassive. “There’s no need to waste Sahon-Baem’s strength on punishment, Gokdama. Jinul will fall in line. Eventually.”

Gokdama chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through the throne room. “Of course,” she purred, drawing out the words. With a flick of her hand, another wine glass appeared, this one golden and encrusted with rubies. She passed it to Chwisaeng, who accepted it without hesitation.

“Thank you, Lord Gokdama,” he said, bowing his head slightly in gratitude.

Gokdama waved him off dismissively, her attention already returning to her wine. “You’re welcome, General. But do keep an eye on him. I’d hate for our dear fourth general to end up into something he’ll come to regret.”

Chwisaeng didn’t respond, his grip tightening slightly on the glass as he sipped the wine.

Gokdama’s laughter echoed again, filling the room as Sahon-Baem’s massive coils shifted, the sound of scales against stone.

Chwisaeng left the palace early, the large golden doors creaking shut behind him. He let out a soft sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly as he descended the stone steps. The oppressive warmth of Gokdama’s throne room lingered on his skin.

At the bottom of the staircase, he paused. A familiar figure waited for him—a small tiger with bright, almost cross-eyed red eyes and two tusk-like fangs protruding from its lips.

“Oh, hello,” Chwisaeng greeted, his voice soft and calm. “You must be the tiger Jinul cares so much about.”

The tiger let out a low, cute roar and padded toward him, tail swishing. Chwisaeng crouched down to meet it, lifting it gently into his arms. The tiger purred in response, its rumbling vibrations resonating against Chwisaeng’s chest as he rubbed its belly.

“How did you get here?” he asked, though he knew the tiger wouldn’t answer. It merely blinked at him with lazy contentment, its purring never ceasing.

Chwisaeng sighed, glancing back toward the palace. “If you’ve wandered this far, I suppose I’ll have to return you to your master. Let’s go.”

The journey to Jinul’s mountain was long, but familiar. The towering peak loomed high above the desolate landscape, its jagged ridges shrouded by a thin veil of mist and ash. Chwisaeng understood why this mountain had been Jinu’s choice. It was remote, far removed from the other demons and Gwi-Ma’s shrine. A sanctuary for someone who desired solitude—and a warning for anyone foolish enough to disturb him.

As Chwisaeng approached the ancient stone staircase leading up the mountain, the tiger in his arms let out a soft, pleased purr. “There, there,” he murmured, stroking its fur. “We’ll get you back to your master soon enough.”

At the first landing, a massive blue tiger awaited him, perched on a hill overlooking the staircase. It watched him intently, its red eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Ah, Jinul’s sentinel,” Chwisaeng greeted, bowing his head slightly in respect. “Where is your master?”

The tiger let out a soft chuff, blinking slowly before leaping down from its perch. It landed gracefully beside him, padding forward with deliberate steps. After a moment, it turned its head, as if beckoning Chwisaeng to follow.

“Very well,” Chwisaeng said, falling into step behind the beast. He climbed the staircase carefully, the purring tiger still cradled in his arms. The sentinel led him higher and higher, the air growing cooler and thinner as they ascended.

Finally, they reached the mountain’s peak.

At the summit, beneath the gnarled, skeletal branches of an ancient, dried-up tree, Jinu sat. A lion lay sprawled lazily at his feet, its golden eyes half-lidded as it tracked Chwisaeng’s approach. Jinu, dressed in his dark hanbok, plucked quietly at the strings of his bipa , the soft, melancholic melody drifting through the air.

“General Jinul,” Chwisaeng greeted, bowing respectfully.

Jinu raised his head slightly, his cold eyes meeting Chwisaeng’s. His gaze flickered briefly to the tiger in Chwisaeng’s arms, and he let out a soft exhale. “You found him,” he said simply. His voice was devoid of emotion—not angry, not relieved. Just tired.

“Yes,” Chwisaeng replied. “He was wandering near the palace.”

A flicker of something—anxiety, perhaps—crossed Jinu’s face. His hands tightened on the neck of his bipa , his knuckles whitening as he let out a shaky breath. “Leave him there,” he said quietly. “He’ll come back to me on his own.”

Chwisaeng hesitated for a moment before setting the tiger down. The small creature padded over to its master but stopped short, curling up a short distance away.

“Have you thought of a name for him?” Chwisaeng asked.

Jinu shook his head, his gaze fixed on the bipa in his hands. “Why should I? I don’t name any of them.”

Chwisaeng hummed thoughtfully, stepping closer. The lion at Jinu’s feet gave him a lazy but warning glance before another tiger approached, lowering itself to the ground in front of him. Its posture was clear.

“Sit on it,” Jinu instructed, still not looking at him.

Chwisaeng chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You know I cannot do that. These are magnificent creatures—they deserve better than to be used as furniture.”

Jinu sighed, his frustration evident. “That’s their purpose. If you won’t give them one, then should I kill it? End its misery?” His voice dropped into a growl, the edge of anger sharpening his words.

Chwisaeng let out a resigned sigh and slowly eased himself onto the tiger’s back, using it as a seat. “These beasts are not meant for such purposes,” he murmured.

“If you’re here to lecture me again,” Jinu muttered, plucking another note from his bipa , “then leave. I don’t need to hear it.”

The melody was calm, almost soothing—a stark contrast to the tension that simmered in the air between them.

“You’ve already given me your words earlier,” Chwisaeng said with a soft chuckle. “Are you not tired of fighting me?”

“I am always tired,” Jinu replied hollowly, finally lifting his gaze to meet Chwisaeng’s. “I can smell wine on you. It’s from Gokdama, isn’t it?”

Chwisaeng shrugged lightly. “I am a man weak for such vices.”

Jinu scoffed, looking away. He handed the bipa to a tiger, which held it delicately in its maw. Chwisaeng watched as the tigers and lions surrounded Jinu, their watchful eyes awaiting his command.

“I’m curious,” Chwisaeng said after a moment. “How did you make them follow you so easily?”

Jinu let out a short huff. “These beasts are simple. Show them that you won’t hesitate to hurt them, and they’ll submit.”

Chwisaeng frowned. “Perhaps… you care about them, yes?”

Jinu’s gaze was sharp as it met his. “If they’re useful, I do. If not, I make sure to end their worthless lives.”

“This streak of yours, hurting others... It needs to stop,” Chwisaeng said softly.

Jinu let out a mocking laugh. “And then what? Let them hurt me instead? No. I won’t give them the chance.” His voice rose, laced with venom.

“Jinul,” Chwisaeng began, his tone steady, “if this is about what Gokdama did to you, then—”

“Why are you so insistent on this?” Jinu snarled, cutting him off.

Chwisaeng hesitated, his voice quieter when he finally replied. “Because I feel that these actions will become something you regret.”

Jinu’s expression darkened, his voice hollow. “I’ve done nothing but regret everything. This is no different.”

Chwisaeng studied him for a long moment. “I’m here, Jinul. I understand it’s hard for you to trust—”

“Chwisaeng,” Jinu interrupted with a sharp sigh. “This is what I am. And nothing will change that. You can’t change that. You’re a demon, just like me. A disgusting, vile demon. A sinner. You’re here because you’ve done something just as vile. Stop pretending to be better than the rest of us.”

Chwisaeng didn’t respond.

For once, Jinu was thankful.

JINU DID NOT EXPECT CHWISAENG TO GIVE UP. If nothing else, that man was insistent. Once Chwisaeng set his sights on something, there was no stopping him until he achieved it. Jinu could not fathom why Chwisaeng was so determined to make him stop. To act on his good terms? To live by his so-called principles? Chwisaeng’s attempts to sway him were infuriating. Jinu was not good. He was not kind. And he most certainly did not have a good… heart.

Jinu sighed heavily, gripping his bow tightly. The wooden curve felt familiar and unyielding in his hands, a weapon he trusted more than any man. Carefully, he notched an arrow and aimed it at the demon prowling down the mountain slope.

Beside him, the tigers shifted restlessly, their sleek forms brushing against the ground as they emitted soft, eager purrs. They were excited—hungry for another demon to rip apart for breakfast. Their anticipation was almost tangible, like a sharp current in the air.

But Jinu’s hand trembled as he lowered the bow. The slight quiver did not go unnoticed. A few tigers let out low, questioning growls, their golden eyes flashing with confusion. Jinu gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening. Was he really letting Chwisaeng’s words burrow into his mind? Those false beliefs—those naïve, dangerous ideas—could get him killed. 

A sudden prickle danced along the back of Jinu’s neck. He stiffened, his instincts flaring. Someone—or something—was watching him. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to the demon. It was a gangly creature, its body oddly disproportionate, with large, unblinking eyes and long, matted black hair. Meeting Jinu’s glare, the demon let out a high-pitched shriek before scuttling away on all fours, its grotesque form disappearing into the shadows below.

The tigers and lions around him released disappointed chuffs, their formation dissolving as they padded back from the mountain’s edge. Their shoulders rolled in frustration, muscles rippling under their fur as if they had been denied a long-anticipated hunt. Jinu took a step back himself, exhaling a breathless sigh.

“Did you finally listen to me?”

Jinu gasped at the voice, spinning around to see Chwisaeng standing behind him. The man’s presence was calm, composed, yet unshakably confident. How had he gotten so close without anyone noticing? Even the tigers and lions, usually so attuned to intrusions, purred softly as they rubbed their faces against Chwisaeng’s hanbok in greeting. He stroked their heads absentmindedly, his hand gliding over their fur as if they were nothing more than house cats.

Jinu frowned, narrowing his eyes as he approached him. “What now?” he asked, his voice sharp and clipped.

Chwisaeng tilted his head slightly, his expression serene. “A meeting with Gokdama and Baek-Hwa. Just the generals for now,” he replied casually.

Jinu scoffed, turning away with a dismissive wave of his hand. He dropped onto a nearby stone, his movements heavy with irritation. “I’m not going,” he muttered, handing his bow to the nearest tiger, who took it carefully in its jaws.

Chwisaeng raised an eyebrow, but his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Ah, yes. Normally, I would leave the moment you say that. But unfortunately, I cannot this time.”

Jinu shot him a glare, but Chwisaeng continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “Gokdama has been working on a plan,” he explained, his tone light but measured. “One that requires no help from Lord Gwi-Ma himself. It’s a surprise for him, you see.”

At that, Jinu’s gaze flicked upward, his curiosity momentarily piqued. But he quickly looked away again, feigning disinterest. “I don’t care,” he muttered.

Chwisaeng didn’t budge. He stayed exactly where he was, his calm persistence gnawing at Jinu’s patience. Finally, Jinu growled in frustration, raising his head to meet Chwisaeng’s gaze.

“Fine.”

The word escaped his lips like a reluctant sigh, and Chwisaeng’s smile widened, warm and triumphant. Without another word, he turned and began descending the mountain steps, his hanbok flowing behind him like the wings of a bird. Jinu let out a long breath, rising to his feet. He followed him grudgingly, his steps heavy with reluctance. A blue she-tiger padded beside him, her soft growl a quiet reassurance as they walked toward the palace.

The journey was silent. Jinu didn’t speak. He didn’t even glance at Chwisaeng, who seemed perfectly unbothered by the lack of conversation. When they finally reached the steps of the palace, Jinu stopped, glancing up at the imposing structure.

“Well, we’re here,” Chwisaeng said, his tone cheerful as he smiled over his shoulder. Jinu sighed again, trailing after him as they ascended the stairs.

Jinu turned to his tiger at his side, “Stay,” and the tiger paused from her steps, watching him as she slowly sat on her hunches.

The massive palace doors creaked open, revealing the vast hall within.Gokdama stood near the center, her presence commanding yet elegant. Beside her, Baek-Hwa wore an excited smile, her hands clasped in front of her as she watched them enter.

“Ah, Jinul,” Gokdama greeted, her voice warm and elated. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

Jinu lowered his head slightly in acknowledgment, stepping into the hall. He positioned himself beside Chwisaeng, his expression guarded as always.

Chwisaeng clapped his hands together, grinning. “Ah, the group is back together!” he announced cheerfully, clearly trying to redirect the attention to himself.

Jinu rolled his eyes, but he said nothing. 

“Ah yes, I’ve called you all here for something important… a way to forever break the Honmoon,” Gokdama began, her voice calm but laced with anticipation. She turned gracefully, leading them into a large, dimly lit room. The space was bare, save for a low wooden table in the middle and an arrangement of soft pillows at each side for each general to sit on.

The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, curling lazily in the dim light.

Baek-Hwa let out a dramatic whine, her voice high-pitched and petulant. “General Gokdama, I can’t fit in here,” she complained, gesturing to herself with exaggerated frustration.

Gokdama exhaled softly, her tone clipped but composed. “Please, General Baek-Hwa, revert to your old appearance. I cannot always accommodate your… strange appendages.”

Baek-Hwa pouted before her body began to shift. A grotesque series of crunches and cracks echoed through the room as her bones twisted and broke down. Slowly, her towering form shrank, her once-monstrous appearance fading. When the transformation was complete, she was a small girl, her delicate frame draped in a flowing white dress. Her hair, unnaturally white, cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, partially veiling her childlike face.

Jinu watched it all silently from beneath the shadow of his gat, his dark eyes unreadable. As the others began to settle, Gokdama gracefully lowered herself onto one of the pillows, gesturing for the rest to follow suit. Her movements were smooth, deliberate, exuding authority.

Chwisaeng, ever the charmer, clapped his hands together with a bright smile. “My! General Gokdama, another new room in this palace. Simply beautiful,” he said, his tone dripping with theatrical admiration.

Gokdama allowed herself a small smile, inclining her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, General Chwisaeng. Now, as I said, this is an important meeting. A possible breakthrough—a way to end the hunters once and for all.” Her smile widened as she clasped her hands together in front of her, her excitement barely contained.

Baek-Hwa, now seated cross-legged on her pillow, wiggled happily in her spot. Her pale face lit up with glee as she leaned forward. “We eat them? Yes? Yes?!” she shrieked, her voice reverberating through the room like a cracked bell.

Jinu winced at the sound, his expression tightening as he resisted the urge to cover his ears. Gokdama raised a calming hand, her movements measured and precise. Baek-Hwa grinned toothily but quieted down, her sharp teeth glinting in the faint light.

“A breakthrough, you say?” Chwisaeng tilted his head, his curiosity piqued, though his tone remained light and playful.

“Yes,” Gokdama confirmed, her voice softening as she leaned forward slightly. “There is another way for Gwi-Ma to grow stronger. And not just him—us as well. All four of us.”

She giggled softly under her breath, a sound that sent an uneasy chill down Jinu’s spine. From the sleeve of her loose hanbok, she plucked a delicate white fan, snapping it open with a soft, deliberate flick. The movement was almost hypnotic as she began to fan herself gently.

“Strength… That is right,” Chwisaeng murmured, nodding thoughtfully. “If we four grow stronger, we can end the hunters’ reign with ease.”

Gokdama hummed in agreement. “Humans rely on belief,” she began, her tone taking on the cadence of a teacher explaining a lesson. “They believe in gods, in spirits, in things unseen. Their belief shapes their world. And if we emerge on the surface, they will not see us for what we truly are. Not if we appear as one of them.”

Jinu’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, his unease growing. He watched Gokdama closely, his gaze sharp and calculating. Whatever she was planning, it was clear that her ambitions extended far beyond defeating the hunters. She was after something much bigger—something much darker. Power. Or perhaps… more.

“A shrine,” Gokdama said, her voice lowering as if she were revealing a great secret. “A demonic shrine. We can teach the demon army to mimic human behavior. To act like them. To blend in. And with these shrines, humans will come to see us as gods. They will see Gwi-Ma as their lord. And in doing so, they will give us their belief.”

She paused, her gaze flicking to Jinu. Her smile widened. “And with their belief comes their souls. A cult, dear generals. A devoted following.”

Jinu stiffened as her words sank in. “My dear Jinul,” Gokdama continued, her voice sweet yet commanding. “Would you be so kind as to train some of your demon army and lend them to this plan?”

Jinu’s frown deepened. “I… that will not work,” he said, shaking his head. “The hunters will detect them easily. They are not foolish.”

“Then you must train them well, mustn’t you?” Gokdama countered smoothly, her tone unwavering. “If you succeed, we can create more shrines. Your army will no longer need to roam the surface, gathering souls one by one. These shrines will do the work for us, drawing in followers, believers, and souls for Lord Gwi-Ma.”

She snapped her fan shut with a sharp motion, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Her smile was triumphant, her eyes glinting with something dangerous.

“And if this works as I anticipate, belief will grant us more than just souls,” she added softly. “It will grant us power . Do you all understand? We can be gods, ”

As if summoned by her words, a shadow loomed outside the palace. The massive, glowing eyes of Sahon-Baem appeared at the window, her gaze unblinking and unnervingly large. Jinu flinched. The serpent-like demon’s eyes seemed to fill the entire frame, her presence overwhelming.

“My goodness,” Chwisaeng murmured, his hackles rising. “Sahon-Baem has grown… larger. Have you already begun this plan without telling us?”

Gokdama smiled, her expression serene. “Only a small test,” she admitted. “The recent souls sent here were my doing. And as you can see, Sahon-Baem has grown stronger. Humans are simple creatures, easy to fool. Especially those who are desperate. They will follow you if you offer them what they crave.”

Baek-Hwa clapped her hands together, giggling. “Very amazing, General Gokdama! I love you very much–ness!” she chirped, her childish excitement filling the room.

Jinu said nothing, his gaze fixed on Gokdama. The frown on his face deepened, his unease festering like a wound. He didn’t trust her plan. Not entirely. Whatever Gokdama was doing, it wasn’t just about defeating the hunters 

“Lord Gwi-Ma would definitely be happy with this, wouldn’t he?” Chwisaeng said with a faint smile, though the flicker of unease in his expression betrayed his true thoughts. His tone was light, but the weight of Gokdama’s plan seemed to press heavily on him.

“I want to be very strong, General Gokdama!” Baek-Hwa chimed in, her grin wide and filled with childish eagerness. Her voice carried a sharp edge of hunger, her excitement almost unnerving.

Gokdama chuckled softly, rubbing her chin as if considering. “And you will be, my dear Baek-Hwa. You’ll be able to eat as many souls as your heart desires. And more than that, humans will revere you as a god.” Her eyes glinted with a dangerous kind of ambition. “So, what do you all say?”

The room fell into a tense silence. Jinu’s gaze shifted to Chwisaeng, who was staring down at the table, his face drawn with thought. The flicker of discomfort in his eyes was barely perceptible, but Jinu caught it. For all of Chwisaeng’s charm and bluster, even he couldn’t fully mask his reservations.

“Jinul?” Gokdama’s voice called out, smooth and saccharine, as her sharp gaze fell on him.

Jinu’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. The weight of the decision bore down on him, but there was no room to refuse. Not here. Not now. He let out a low, frustrated growl as he pushed himself to his feet. “Fine,” he spat, his voice rough. “I’ll get you your demons. Give me a month.”

Gokdama’s smile widened, her fanged teeth glinting in the dim light. “Thank you so much, General Jinul. I knew you’d come around,” she purred, her words dripping with satisfaction.

Jinu turned on his heel without another word, his movements stiff. He exited the room, his head pounding as he stepped into the corridor. Outside, the air felt heavier, the shadows longer. He exhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. But his breath hitched when he looked up and saw Sahon-Baem’s enormous eyes peering at him through the massive palace windows. Her unblinking gaze bore into him, her presence suffocating.

His hands trembled at his sides. He clenched them into fists, trying to will the shaking away. But the weight of her gaze—it felt like a reminder. A warning.

“Jinul?”

He flinched at the sudden touch on his shoulder and spun around. But it was only Chwisaeng, his expression soft with concern.

“Are you okay?” Chwisaeng asked, his voice quieter than usual, as if trying not to startle him further.

Jinu pulled away from him with a sharp motion, distancing himself. “Don’t ask stupid questions,” he deadpanned, his tone cold and clipped.

Chwisaeng chuckled lightly, the sound almost apologetic. “You’re right. It was an obvious question.” He shrugged, his casual demeanor returning as he rolled his shoulders.

Jinu huffed, his gaze hardening. “Don’t speak so informally to me,” he snapped before turning away. “I’m leaving. Since all of you seem so eager to do something under Gwi-Ma’s nose, I won’t waste my time here.”

He made his way toward the palace gates, his steps brisk and purposeful. But behind him, Chwisaeng followed, his usual lightheartedness dimmed by something more contemplative.

“Well,” Chwisaeng said after a long pause, his tone thoughtful. “I don’t doubt it will work. Gokdama is a clever demon.”

Jinu didn’t respond. His silence hung heavy between them, louder than any words could have been.

A demonic shrine, huh?

“JANGSU!” Jinu’s voice erupted in a furious roar, his frustration echoing through the living room. His eyes darted to the shredded sofa, its padding spilling out in tufts of white cotton, springs exposed like jagged teeth. The other tigers were mid-chaos, claws raking across the fabric with reckless abandon. Jangsu paced the room, roaring at them in a futile attempt at control, her tail flicking in irritation.

On the rug, Derpy sat quietly, ears pinned back against his head as he watched the commotion with a wide-eyed, almost guilty expression. Jinu groaned, the sound filled with the weight of his weariness. At the sound of his frustration, the other tigers froze, their claws halting mid-action. They whimpered under Jangsu’s growls, lowering themselves to the floor in submission as he batted at their faces with his massive paw.

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice exasperated. “What is this, Jangsu? I leave for one second—one second—to take a bath, and I come back to… this?” He gestured helplessly at the destruction in front of him, wanting nothing more than to collapse onto the floor and pretend none of this was real.

Jangsu let out another deafening roar, directing her ire toward the other tigers, who cowered further, whining softly. Derpy, ever clueless, stood and let out a soft chuff. He waddled over to Jangsu, rubbing against him affectionately, only for Jangsu to swat him away with an annoyed huff.

Jinu’s gaze shifted to the ruined sofa again, his shoulders slumping. It’s fine , he thought, forcing himself to breathe. I can buy a new one. Rumi and the girls won’t be back until Sunday, right? Plenty of time to fix this mess.

As if to mock him, his phone started ringing. Jinu looked around in confusion, realizing the sound was coming from one of the tigers… whose mouth was currently clamped around the device. “Oh, come on!” he groaned, trudging over to retrieve it. The tiger reluctantly dropped the phone, leaving it slick with saliva. Jinu wiped it on his pants with a grimace, glancing at the caller ID.

It was Rumi.

Jinu’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening in panic. He quickly answered, trying not to sound as frazzled as he felt. “H-Hi, Rumi!” he stammered, forcing a nervous laugh.

“Hey, Jinu! How are you doing over there? I know it must be lonely. I still don’t understand why you didn’t want to come with us,” Rumi’s voice was warm, but there was a hint of concern in her tone.

Jinu let out a soft laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I just thought… this kind of thing is for you three, you know? If I were there, I’d probably just distract you from enjoying it.”

“Oh, Jinu…” Rumi sighed, her voice tinged with affection. “There you go again, saying stuff like that. You’re so silly sometimes.” She giggled, and Jinu couldn’t help but chuckle softly in return.

“But still,” she continued, “I wish you were here. I want you to see us perform, see the fans… oh gosh, the fans are amazing—”

“They love you guys,” Jinu interrupted gently, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, they really do…” Rumi’s voice grew dreamy, and Jinu could almost picture the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her passion.

Before he could respond, movement caught his eye. One of the tigers had wandered over to the dining table and was now gnawing on the leg of a chair. Jinu shot a desperate look at Jangsu, who immediately roared, sending the offender scurrying away.

“What was that?” Rumi asked, her tone sharp with curiosity.

“N-nothing!” Jinu blurted, laughing nervously. “Just Jangsu and Derpy playing around, you know how they get. Roughhousing, hahaha.” He glanced around the wreckage—the sofa in shambles, the dining chairs chewed to pieces—and felt a pang of dread. It’s fine , he told himself again. I can fix this. I’ll just order a new sofa and chairs. It’ll be here before Sunday.

“Actually, I think we’ll be home a little earlier,” Rumi said, her voice bright.

Jinu froze. “What?”

“I miss you, Jinu,” she admitted softly. “And… well, I talked to Bobby about it, and he said we could leave early.”

Jinu swallowed hard, his mind racing. “O-oh, Rumi! I miss you too, but… shouldn’t you enjoy yourself first? I mean, it’s your first concert since your break—”

“No way,” Rumi interrupted with a laugh. “I know you think you’re giving me space or whatever so I won’t get tired of you, but that’s ridiculous. I want to be home. I want to see you. And hey, we can finally go on that date you’ve been talking about!”

“A… date?” Jinu echoed, his heart skipping a beat. For a moment, excitement bubbled up inside him. Then his eyes drifted back to the carnage—the broken sofa, the chewed-up chairs, the chaos that surrounded him—and his excitement deflated.

“When are you coming home again?” he asked, his voice faint.

“Friday,” Rumi says cheerfully.

Jinu closed his eyes, the weight of impending doom settling on his shoulders. It was Wednesday.

Ah, fuck.

Credits: To my dearest JMLilac

Chapter Text

JINU MISSED RUMI. A lot. It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. Even when she went out for a quick jog, he found himself sprawled on the bed, grumbling and huffing like a petulant child waiting for attention. He never imagined he’d become so… clingy. But after basking in so much of Rumi’s affection, her care and warmth, he felt like a starved dog—desperate for more.

He never really understood how relationships were supposed to work. Baby—blunt as ever, when is he not—had told him to go online, read up on forums, or watch videos about relationships. But no matter how much he tried, everyone’s experiences seemed so different, so contradictory.

And so, he learned the hard way. Some women hated clingy men. He’d read threads where girlfriends broke up with their partners, complaining about how suffocating it felt to be constantly needed. That terrified Jinu. It gnawed at him. His mind raced with questions.

Was he too clingy? Too needy?

The truth was, Jinu was a touchy, handsy sort of person. He loved how Rumi held him, looked at him, or spoke to him with that soft, soothing voice that felt like a lullaby. For Jinu, their relationship was built on touch—those fleeting, grounding moments that tethered him to her. Yet, it was strange to crave someone’s presence so much.

For years, he had hated being touched. He despised the vulnerability of it, the way it left him exposed to pain. But Rumi… she was different. She made him feel safe, ridiculously safe, as if nothing in the world could hurt him when she was near. And maybe, just maybe, that safety had softened him.

He’d do anything for her. Anything.

But relationships weren’t just about doing things, were they? They were about understanding, about give and take. And this part—this complicated, emotional part—felt like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

Gah… why is this so hard to understand? He thought, his brows furrowing in frustration.

“You’re thinking so deeply, I can hear your mind gearing up,” Rumi murmured, her voice warm and teasing as she leaned against his chest. The room was dark, save for the gentle glow of moonlight spilling in through the balcony.

“Hnn, sorry,” Jinu sighed, his face nuzzling against her cheek. Her giggle was soft, the sound wrapping around his heart like a warm blanket. Her fingers tangled in his hair, drawing out a contented sigh from him—almost like a quiet purr.

“Is this about the sofa and dining chairs? You do know it doesn’t matter, right? We’ll get a new set tomorrow,” Rumi said, her voice light, trying to coax him out of his brooding.

Jinu groaned, burying his face further into her. “I should have known, really. Sorry,” he mumbled.

Rumi’s hands moved to his head, gently petting him. She pulled him closer, guiding him into her arms, and Jinu slotted himself there so easily, like he was made to fit against her. Her ability to read his mind—his needs—made him feel both grateful and guilty.

“Rumi, I’m a bad boyfriend,” Jinu whined.

Her response was a soft laugh, one that made his heart stutter. “What are you talking about now? We’ve barely been together a week since we confessed to each other.”

Jinu pouted up at her, his fangs catching the light of the moon as he tangled their legs together. “Yeah… but I’m bad at this,” he murmured. “Relationships, I mean.” He sighed again, his face burrowing into her neck.

Rumi hummed softly, her fingers brushing through his hair. “Oh, please. What happened to that whole speech about how our relationship is beyond labels? You’re not just my boyfriend, Jinu. You’re my Jinu.”

Her words made his chest tighten. He held her closer, his arms wrapping around her as if afraid she might slip away. “I’m yours. Forever. I’ll follow you to the ends of the world,” he said dreamily, his voice heavy with sincerity.

Rumi’s face flushed, her heart skipping at his words. “Jinu…” she trailed off, unsure how to respond to such raw devotion.

He didn’t seem to notice her silence, his lips brushing against her neck as his fingers played with her hair. He twirled a strand around his finger absentmindedly, his gaze soft and half-lidded. “So pretty,” he mumbled, barely aware he was speaking out loud.

Rumi’s cheeks burned as she giggled, embarrassed by his unabashed adoration. Jinu’s mouth never stopped running when they were alone—compliments, declarations of love, and wild, whimsical promises. Knowing him, he might even climb the Eiffel Tower just to shout his love for her.

It was ridiculous, adorable, and utterly mortifying.

Of all the things she expected from Jinu, this wasn’t it. She had prepared herself for intimacy—touches, kisses, maybe more. But instead, she got this… this unabashed, boyish adoration that made her heart feel like it might burst.

“You know, your marks are really pretty,” Jinu said suddenly, his hand brushing under her chin. His gaze locked onto hers, filled with so much love that Rumi thought she might combust.

She grabbed his wrist, lowering his hand. “Jeez, Jinu, you’re seriously going to send me into cardiac arrest,” she giggled.

Jinu smiled faintly. “You’ve been told to hide your marks for so long. To cover the things you should be proud of. I want to love every part of you,” he said earnestly, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her wrist.

The gesture made her heart stutter. He placed her hand on his neck, guiding her small fingers to wrap around it.

“What are you doing, Jinu?” Rumi asked, laughing softly as he shrugged.

“Your hand is tiny. You can barely hold my neck,” he said with a toothy grin.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated but endeared. Jinu was weird, undeniably weird. But somehow, it was this very strangeness that made her love him even more.

And honestly, Rumi wasn’t so different. She had never been in a serious relationship before. Not even close. As a half-demon, she had always kept people at arm’s length, dreading the moment someone might see her demon marks and recoil in fear. Letting someone in felt too risky, too raw. Besides, she was married to her work—a double life that left little room for love.

Being both a K-pop idol and a demon hunter meant her days were consumed by relentless schedules. Early mornings turned into grueling hours of practice, live shows, and fan meets. Late nights were spent chasing shadows, hunting the creatures that threatened her world. There was rarely a moment to catch her breath, let alone entertain the idea of romance.

But now, one of her biggest struggles wasn’t the chaos of her double life. It was Jinu.

He refused to join her.

When she asked him to come to practice, he declined. When she invited him to watch a live show, he waved it off. Even for their group’s recent concert. Jinu had politely but firmly turned her down.

She didn’t understand it.

Why wouldn’t he come?

The only explanation she could think of was that Jinu was trying to give her space. To prove, in his own way, that he wasn’t too clingy. He was self-conscious about it—she knew that much. But the truth was, she loved it.

She loved the way Jinu’s attention made her feel seen, cherished, and adored in a way she’d never experienced before. She loved the way he held her like she was fragile, even though she was anything but. She loved the way he’d tangle himself around her, as if he could physically anchor her to him. As if he wanted their bodies to meld together forever.

That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was the nagging thought that Jinu was caging himself. That he was forcing himself to stay behind, locking himself in the shadows of her life just to avoid being seen as too needy.

And Rumi hated that. She hated that he felt the need to hold himself back for her sake.

But why?

Why couldn’t he see that she wanted him there? That she wouldn’t mind if he clung to her even during practices or backstage at concerts? It wasn’t like she had it all figured out, either. Relationships were new territory for both of them. And maybe it was because they were both a little broken—her with her demon blood and insecurities, him with his fear of being too much—that they fit so perfectly together.

THERE WAS SOMETHING JINU LEARNED OVER THE YEARS: he could never trust Romance when it came to… well, romance.

“What is this?” Jinu asked, narrowing his eyes as Romance handed him what appeared to be a perfume bottle.

“It’s a perfume,” Romance said with a wide grin, flashing his signature mischievous smile.

Jinu gave him a deadpan stare, letting the silence hang in the air before sighing heavily. “Romance, I may be old, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what a damn perfume bottle looks like.” His voice carried the weight of exhaustion, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Romance, unfazed, leaned in with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “Ah, but this isn’t just any perfume. This, my dear friend, is pheromone perfume! If she smells this on you, she’ll be all over you. She won’t ever leave! Maybe you two can even…” Romance trailed off, winking as he performed a little dance.

Jinu raised a skeptical brow. “I don’t… understand.” He examined the bottle again with a mix of confusion and distrust, his lips pressed into a thin line. Before he could say another word, Romance snatched the bottle back and sprayed him with it.

“Hey!” Jinu protested, but the words barely left his mouth before the scent hit him like a truck. His nose twitched violently, and he was sent into an uncontrollable sneezing fit.

“Achoo—! Achoo!— What the hell is this?!” Jinu barked between sneezes, his voice muffled as he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket.

The situation wasn’t helped by the overwhelming floral aroma wafting through the shop. Surrounding them were shelves lined with fresh blossoms, filling the small space with a heady mix of scents.

“What’s going on here?” Abby’s voice cut through the chaos as he entered the shop, balancing a box of flowers on his hip. His tall, broad frame filled the doorway as he paused to take in the scene: Jinu sneezing uncontrollably, his nose red and irritated, while Romance stood nearby with a sheepish grin.

“Hey, Abbs!” Romance greeted, his tone overly casual as if nothing was amiss. “I was just helping Jinu here with his love life… but it looks like the big guy can’t handle the manly smell.”

Jinu shot him a glare between sneezes. “Manly smell, my ass! It smells like a damn chemical spill!” he growled, his voice hoarse and nasal.

Romance raised his hands in mock surrender, giggling nervously. “Okay, maybe I went a little heavy on the spritz...”

Abby set the box down on the counter, crossing his arms as he gave the two of them a long, unimpressed look. “I thought your relationship was going fine,” he said, his voice a deep rumble of calm authority.

“It is,” Jinu said quickly, still dabbing at his nose. “I just don’t understand what the hell Romance is on about.”

Abby’s gaze shifted to Romance, who wore an innocent grin that only made him look guiltier.

“Hey, I was just trying to help the big man out!” Romance defended, gesturing to Jinu with exaggerated earnestness.

Abby raised an eyebrow. “Romance, you’re about the last person who should be giving advice. You don’t have a girlfriend—or a boyfriend, for that matter. Whatever you prefer. You can’t teach Jinu about romance if you haven’t experienced it yourself.”

Romance’s cheeks flushed as he opened his mouth to retort, but Abby’s words hit their mark. Jinu smirked at the rare sight of Romance being put in his place.

“Well, okay, fine,” Romance muttered, looking away. Then, in a last-ditch effort to regain some ground, he pointed at Abby. “But what about you, Abbs? Didn’t you also die a virgin?”

The room went eerily silent. Abby froze mid-motion, his face slowly twisting into a scowl.

“Calling it ‘dying a virgin’ seems a bit much,” Jinu deadpanned, though his lips twitched in amusement.

“For the record,” Abby began, his voice taut with annoyance, “I did not die a virgin. I had a… well…” He trailed off, his expression softening as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Romance and Jinu exchanged curious glances. Romance, now looking guilty, shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Sorry, Abbs. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Abby interrupted with a sigh. His fingers lingered over the edge of the flower box as he stared off into the distance. “It was fifty years ago. There was a war against the North Koreans. I wanted to make sure my wife and daughter were safe… so I turned to the only person who could help.”

“Gwi-Ma,” Jinu and Romance said in unison.

Abby’s expression darkened, and he nodded grimly.

Jinu stood from his stool, his tone softening. “Hey, maybe you can find your daughter’s descendants? They might still be out there.”

Abby shook his head, moving toward the back room. “No, thanks. I don’t want to mess up anyone’s life at this point. I’m happy just being here, tending to the flowers.” His voice was quiet, but there was a finality to it that left no room for argument.

Romance and Jinu watched him disappear up the stairs, the tension in the room thickening.

Jinu watched Abby retreat upstairs before settling back down beside Romance.

“Do you want to go find his descendants?” Romance asked, leaning forward with his usual enthusiasm.

“That would be hard,” Jinu replied, shrugging. “He never told anyone his real name, has he? Even back in the day, he had so many names he went by.”

Romance hummed thoughtfully. “True. But if we could somehow find his real name, we could just use one of those genealogy websites. You know, the kind where you upload your spit and suddenly find out your ancestors were royalty or something.”

Jinu gave him a tired look. “Well… not that I don’t want him to reconnect with his family, but it’s his life. His decisions. We can’t make them for him.”

Romance stared at him, his mouth slightly agape as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you really Jinu?” He grabbed Jinu’s shoulders and shook him dramatically.

“What the hell are you even talking about now?” Jinu asked, laughing awkwardly.

Romance squished Jinu’s face between his hands, his eyes wide with mock amazement. “Jinu, you’ve changed so much in such a short time. This is… amazing!” he cheered, leaning back and throwing his arms into the air.

Jinu rubbed his cheek, looking mildly annoyed. “I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

Romance gave him a deadpan look. “Uh, yeah, bro. You were bad bad . You couldn’t handle the demon army without siccing your tigers on us every time you got mad. And don’t even get me started on you and General Gokdama. Whenever you two stood side by side, it was like a silent battle of wills. I swear, the tension was so thick I felt like I was choking just being in the same room!” He made an exaggerated choking noise, clutching his throat for effect.

Jinu rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “Ah, Gokdama…” he muttered under his breath.

He still hated that woman, but there wasn’t much he could do about her now. The other two generals had been gone for centuries, and just recently, he’d seen Baek-Hwa sent back to hell by Rumi and the others.

“A snake and a tiger,” Romance mused, interrupting his thoughts. “Pretty cool dynamic, right?” He mimicked a snake slithering with one hand and a tiger clawing with the other.

“Uh-huh,” Jinu sighed, already feeling drained by the conversation.

“You know,” Romance began again, clearly not done talking, “I saw General Gokdama’s snake once. Why is it so big? Like, isn’t Lord Gwi-Ma worried that snake might just up and eat him?”

“Sahon-Baem would get one hell of a heartburn if she did,” Jinu replied dryly, just as Abby came back downstairs.

“What are you two talking about now?” Abby asked, grabbing a chair for himself and sitting down with an exasperated sigh. “Every time I leave the room, the topic changes so fast I can barely keep up.”

“Old man,” Jinu and Romance said in unison, only to be met with a sharp glare from Abby.

“If anyone here is old, it’s you, Jinu,” Abby shot back, pointing at the raven-haired man, whose face flushed slightly in protest.

“Well, for your question, we were just talking about how amazing Jinu is now,” Romance said with a grin, leaning back in his chair. “He’s changed so much. I finally understand why people say love changes you. Look at this guy. A full-on housewife.”

Jinu’s jaw dropped, his expression offended. “I am NOT a housewife!” he growled, but Romance only giggled.

“You totally are,” Abby chimed in, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.

“I stay at the tower by myself, and I get called a housewife?” Jinu asked incredulously, throwing his hands up.

“Uh, yeah, man,” Romance said, smirking. “You’re totally gone for that hunter girl. You’d probably cook for her if she asked you to.”

Jinu flushed, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Why wouldn’t I? Isn’t that just basic decency? Besides, what you’re saying is just toxic masculinity.”

Romance laughed, snapping his fingers. “He’s right, but wow. Dude, you’re simping so hard right now.”

Abby chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You two are ridiculous. I swear, I can’t keep up with how fast modern slang evolves.”

Jinu sighed, pulling a small notebook from his pocket. “Tell me about it. Baby gave me this ‘New Era Slang and Brain Rot’ guide, but I still don’t get half of it.” He flipped through the pages, frowning in confusion.

Romance nearly choked on his own laughter, his face turning red. Abby, meanwhile, gave Jinu a knowing shake of his head.

“This,” Romance wheezed, gesturing toward Jinu, “is what happens when you die a virgin.”

Jinu glared at him, his eyes narrowing. “You died a virgin too, so what do you care about purity or… whatever you’re talking about.” He waved his hands vaguely in the air, his gestures so awkward that both Abby and Romance burst out laughing.

Jinu sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really did act like an old man sometimes. And he can’t help it, okay? Time had gone by him so fast, and that was four centuries!

“Hey, man,” Romance said suddenly, leaning forward. “If you want, I can give you some tips. You know, for when things get spicy.” he dances again, wiggling his shoulders sultry, wiggling his brows.

“I don’t see Rumi like that,” Jinu replied flatly, rolling his eyes.

Abby smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Romance, sometimes relationships are about more than that. It’s about trust, love, and respect. Besides, they should only do that after marriage.”

“Old man!” Romance shrieked, recoiling in mock horror, only to be smacked upside the head by Abby. The sound of the slap echoed through the small shop as Abby grabbed Romance, throwing an arm around his neck and locking him in place. A mischievous grin spread across Abby’s face as he dug his knuckles into Romance’s scalp, delivering a relentless noogie.

“Ah! Quit it, you brute!” Romance whined, flailing dramatically, though his laughter betrayed his lack of real protest.

Jinu sat nearby, watching the chaos unfold with a faint, amused smile. His hands rested idly on his lap, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere. His eyes drifted downward, staring intently at his palms as if they held the answer to some unspoken question.

Marriage, huh? He sighed deeply, the weight of the word pressing down on him. Marriage meant being together forever—if the one you loved didn’t grow tired of you first. Or… If the one you love was a mortal, and you are not.

Romance, still locked in Abby’s grip, caught Jinu’s distant expression out of the corner of his eye. “Uh oh, he’s making that face again,” he said between exaggerated gasps, trying to wriggle free.

Jinu blinked, startled. “What face?” he asked, lifting his head in confusion. His hand instinctively went to his cheek, as though he could feel the expression Romance was talking about.

“That face!” Romance declared, his voice muffled by Abby’s arm. “The one you make when you’re about to get mad at us and sic your tigers on us as scratching posts.”

Before he could say more, Abby smacked him on the back of the head—again. “Stop being stupid,” Abby huffed, finally releasing Romance from his grip, who stumbled back, rubbing his head with a pout. “You all deserved that last time because none of you listened to him.” Abby plopped down into the chair across from Jinu, his sharp eyes softening.

“What’s wrong, Jinu?”

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” Jinu replied, his voice a little too quick, his expression a little too stiff. He made an odd face, as if searching for the right thing to say but coming up empty.

Romance and Abby exchanged a knowing glance, the kind that didn’t need words. 

Romance broke the silence first, shrugging. “Okay, well, since you insist. Just don’t sic your she-tiger over there on us,” he joked, pointing out the window toward the sleek figure of Jangsu, lounging gracefully outside the shop. Her sharp eyes scanned the rain-soaked street, ever observant, ever protective.

Jinu’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Her name is Jangsu,” he corrected gently, his tone carrying an edge of pride.

“You named her?” Abby asked, raising an eyebrow, though a small laugh slipped past his lips.

“Actually, it was Zoey who named her,” Jinu admitted, his smile softening as he spoke. “Jangsu deserves it. She’s followed me since… well, since the beginning. Centuries of loyalty, and she’s seen everything—every mistake, every failure. Giving her a name is the least I could do for her.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice lowering as he added, “She’s more than a tiger. She’s family.”

For a moment, the room grew quiet. The usual banter between Romance and Abby faded as they processed his words. Abby leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. Romance sniffed, breaking the silence with his typical lack of tact. “Jinu, man… I’m really glad you’ve changed. Being stuck in hell for 400 years must’ve sucked.”

Abby groaned, elbowing Romance sharply in the ribs. “Stop spouting crap, will you?”

Jinu chuckled under his breath, the sound light and unexpected. It was rare for him to laugh, but not impossible—not anymore.

The moment didn’t last long. The others began to return, their voices filling the shop with chatter and laughter. Jinu glanced at the clock and realized it was time to leave. The rain outside had grown heavier, thick sheets of water cascading down the windows. He hadn’t brought an umbrella, but it didn’t matter. Jangsu could teleport them home in an instant if he asked.

But he wouldn’t.

Since that day, the day he had apologized to her. Jinu had vowed not to use his tigers for his own convenience. They were no longer his tools, no longer his weapons. They had their own will, their own lives, and he wouldn’t force them to do anything they didn’t want to do. That included using their abilities for his sake.

He stepped outside into the rain, the cold drops soaking through his jacket almost instantly where the awning does not protect him from the drops. Jangsu blinked at him expectantly, her tail swishing once.

He stood outside the flower shop, sheltering under the striped awning, the faded fabric fluttering softly in the breeze. Beside him, Jangsu sat pressed against his hip, her fur slightly damp, whiskers twitching as she let out a small, contented purr. With a gentle nudge of her broad head, she brushed his arm, coaxing a faint smile from him. But Jinu’s eyes remained cast downward, watching the shimmering procession of raindrops as they raced each other down the glass, his expression heavy and distant.

His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his oversized hoodie, fingers absently tracing the seams. He barely noticed the blur of headlights and passing cars, their reflections sliding over puddles like ghosts.

Jangsu nudged him again, more insistent this time. Jinu turned, meeting the tiger’s bright gaze.

“What is it?” he murmured, voice low and flat.

Jangsu responded with another purr, rubbing her cheek along his forearm. Despite himself, Jinu let out a small, reluctant laugh, reaching up to scratch behind her ears, feeling the warmth of her gratitude.

Just then, the door beside him swung open with a soft creak and the cheerful jingle of a bell. Abby stepped out. He held out a clear umbrella, droplets clinging to its surface. It looks like one of the umbrellas Jinu had seen Baby use.

“Hey, you need this?” Abby offered, shaking it gently so the plastic shimmered in the light.

Jinu blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “Oh… Thank you,” he stammered, cheeks tinged with pink as he accepted the umbrella. Abby closed the door with a quiet click and came to stand beside him, hands stuffed in his own jacket pockets.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The rain drummed steadily on the awning above, the air cool and smelling faintly of earth and fresh blossoms. Jinu watched the city move past in slow motion, the world reduced to the hush of rain and the occasional hiss of tires on wet pavement.

Finally, Jinu broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you guys still in Seoul?” He glanced at Abby, who sighed, shoulders slumping.

“We were waiting for you,” Abby admitted, his voice strangely gentle. “We thought… maybe you could end up like us. Human. It was a stretch—I mean, you’re older than all of us, a general, even. Gwi-Ma would never let someone like you go easily.”

Jinu stared at him, surprise flickering in his eyes. “You guys… were waiting for me?”

Abby looked away, the tips of his ears reddening as he scratched the back of his neck. “Ye—Yeah, well… Don’t get a big head about it. We aren’t Saja boys without you. Before all this, we barely even knew each other. Your plan got us together. Did you know Baby has ten sisters? And Romance—turns out he’s pansexual. Mystery is… well, Mystery,” Abby finished, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

Jinu chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re right. We didn’t have much time together, but… at least now you all have the chance to live as humans. Make the most of it.”

He shrugged, but his smile was genuine.

Abby’s gaze grew serious. “And you? Will you just follow that hunter forever? When she grows old, what then?”

Jinu’s smile faded. Shadows crept into his eyes as he looked away. “That…” He hesitated, voice barely audible, “Nothing is eternal.”

Abby let out a deep breath, watching the rain. “That’s the beauty of being human, Jinu. We do what we want because we know it won’t last. That’s what gives things meaning.”

Jinu chewed his lip, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “Rumi… she never got to do what she wanted, not since she was a kid. What does that mean? She isn’t deserving of what humans have?”

Abby hummed, thoughtful. “Jinu, you’re older than everything in this city. You might not have seen every empire rise and fall, but you’ve felt the world change. Fifty years is a blink for you and a hundred is a nap for you, but it’s a lifetime for us. If you have all this time, help Rumi do what she wants. Help the hunter.”

Jinu fell silent, watching the rain slide down the umbrella in his hands. “Her father is a demon,” he said suddenly. “Do you know any demon who’s ever loved a hunter?”

Abby grinned. “You?”

Jinu laughed, a real laugh this time, shoulders shaking. “And Mystery. But he’s human now, so… just me, I guess.”

Abby’s smile softened. “Honestly, I’ve never heard of a demon falling for a hunter. Most of them are born in hell—understanding humans isn’t exactly their strength.”

Jinu nodded slowly. “I’ve lived a long time… Never once suspected a demon could love a hunter. If I can find her father, maybe he’s still alive—demons don’t die easily, right?”

Abby shrugged. “So where will you start?”

“I was thinking about Rumi’s aunt. She raised her—she might know something.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Abby clapped him gently on the back. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Go help your girl.”

Jinu smiled, genuine warmth lighting his features. “A hug would be nice as a goodbye.” He opened his arms with a hopeful look.

Abby immediately flushed, waving him off. “No way, out out!”

Jinu burst into laughter, loud and bright, before popping open the umbrella and waving over his shoulder. “Okay, fine!”

Abby stood under the awning, face still red, but smiling as he watched Jinu head out into the rain.

Chapter Text

JINU REMEMBERS ONE THING FROM GOKDAMA. After Chwisaeng’s so-called plan to kill the hunters with Baek-Hwa and never return, there was something that lingered in Jinu’s mind—Gokdama’s strange words. He had always found Gokdama unsettling: cruel, sardonic, someone he instinctively avoided sharing a room with. Years after Chwisaeng’s supposed “disappearance”—a disappearance that barely warranted the name, since Jinu knew the hunters were not so easily defeated, not even with their demonic shrines—the plan had only ever moved at a crawl.

Sure souls were easier to get than ever, but it was hard to train demons to act like a human when they weren’t one to begin with.

He found her in the shadowed hall of the mountain keep, the air thick with the scent of old incense and sulfur. It was just the two of them now, the last generals of hell, and Gwi-Ma, aloof as ever, seemed content to fade into the background, being fed by his followers. 

Jinu felt the years weighing on his shoulders.

“General Gokdama,” he said, exhaustion roughening his voice. The formal address felt heavy, almost absurd after so long.

Gokdama watched him from under her lashes, her posture loose and feline. “You must be so lonely, Jinu, to call me by my title,” she purred, the corners of her mouth curling in amusement.

He sighed, letting the weariness show. “The only thing I feel is regret that I didn’t go with Chwisaeng and Baek-Hwa. You’re an awful demon to be with,” he muttered, not bothering to mask his disdain.

She laughed, low and delighted, as if he’d just recited a fine joke. “Well, if I do say so myself, I am quite the conversationalist, don’t you think, General Jinul?” She tilted her head, eyes glinting. Jinu stared at the far wall, refusing to answer.

“You must miss Chwisaeng terribly, to haunt this mountain peak where he said his last goodbye.” Her words hit him like a sudden gust of wind, and he froze, frowning as he turned to look at her.

“I understand you,” Gokdama continued, her tone softening as she stepped closer, trailing her fingers lightly over his shoulder. “Chwisaeng is such a good man. He doesn’t deserve to be like us.”

He glared at her sidelong, but Gokdama only smiled, unbothered. “Do you not agree, Jinul?”

“Chwisaeng is nothing but another demon to me… But you’re right,” he admitted, voice low. “He’s better than any of us.”

She laughed again, sharp and sudden. “At last, something we agree on! I’m so happy to talk to you, Jinul. You remind me so much of—” Her hand brushed his cheek, and for a fleeting moment her expression faltered, something like pain crossing her face before she stepped back, composed once more.

Jinu studied her, caught off-guard by the flicker of vulnerability. Gokdama exhaled, then smoothed her features into a smile. “Yes… you’re a good general, Jinul. I would love to work with you more.” She sidled closer, her voice syrupy.

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. “If you need something, out with it.”

Gokdama laughed, shoulders shaking. “Oh, surely not. I’m merely here to offer you company. It wounds my heart to see you come here again and again, waiting for General Chwisaeng.” Her words were teasing, but her eyes searched his face with a strange intensity.

Jinu huffed, turning away. “I don’t know why any of you don’t care that neither Chwisaeng nor Baek-Hwa have ever come back. But if you don’t care, I won’t either.” He started down the slope of the mountain, feet crunching on the gravel.

But then, Gokdama called after him, her voice echoing in the cold air. “You see, Jinu, Chwisaeng is a strange individual,” she began, and he paused, glancing back. “He is kinder, too soft, too good. He doesn’t deserve to be a demon, don’t you think? ” 

Jinu stared at her, the words stirring something uncertain in him. He nodded, almost against his will. There had always been times he doubted Chwisaeng’s nature, and wondered if he truly belonged among them. But the demon marks on his skin were unmistakable.

Gokdama smirked, her eyes bright with secrets. “Don’t worry too much, Jinu. You’ll get the power you want, too.”

His confusion deepened, twisting into annoyance. There it was again, that word that Gokdama loves so much. ‘ Power’

“I don’t want power,” he spat, “because I’m not like you.”

Her smile widened, almost predatory. “Four has always been an unlucky number,” she whispered, her voice a silken thread. Her eyes gleamed with a strange delight as Jinu turned away, unease prickling up his spine.

What did Gokdama mean?

Did something happen to Chwisaeng? Surely not… right?

No. Jinu shook his head, trying to banish the doubt. He didn’t care for that fool. If something had happened to him, it was Chwisaeng’s own fault. Gokdama’s gaze followed him, sharp and unwavering, as he descended the mountain—her presence a shadow that lingered long after he was gone.

ASKING RUMI ABOUT HER FATHER… It wasn't any easier than Jinu had expected. He hesitated a moment before speaking, watching as Rumi moved around the kitchen, her hands busy with the familiar motions of making herself a cup of hot chocolate. The steam curled up between them, softening the morning light.

“Why do you ask?” Rumi’s voice cut through his thoughts, her brow raised in subtle suspicion. Jinu realized he was already seated at the counter, elbows on the cool stone, eyes following her every move.

He tried to sound casual, though his curiosity made his words stumble. “Well, you said your father was a demon… I’m just interested, you know?” He offered a small, hopefully reassuring smile. “He might still be alive.”

Rumi paused, her back briefly to him, before turning with a mug in her hands. Her expression was unreadable for a heartbeat, then she frowned, shoulders tensing just slightly. “He’s dead,” she said quietly, as if repeating a lesson learned long ago. “Celine said so.” There was something almost offended in the way her brows drew together, as if Jinu had questioned an immutable fact.

But just as quickly, Rumi let out a soft breath and forced a thin smile. “Jinu, I think he would have come back if he were alive, don’t you think?” She tilted her head, searching his face for agreement. Jinu frowned, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

“Well… Demons can’t die,” he murmured, tracing a pattern on the countertop with his finger. “Not really. They just get sent back to Gwi-Ma. So it’s possible he’s still out there—”

Rumi interrupted with an awkward chuckle, her gaze darting away as if hoping the conversation would evaporate. “Jinu, how about a topic change?” she interjected, almost pleading. “How was your day with the Saja Boys? You know, when you told me they were human, I was really happy for them.” Her grin was bright, but Jinu could see the strain behind it.

He hid his frown behind his hand, watching her blow gently over her chocolate before taking a careful sip. “Y-Yeah, just catching up,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. It was clear: if he wanted answers about her father, Rumi wasn’t the one to ask. Maybe Celine would know more, but bringing it up might genuinely hurt Rumi’s feelings. He couldn’t do that to her—not now. Perhaps Zoey and Mira would know where to find Celine…

“Really? That’s great!” Rumi said suddenly, her voice brighter. “You should invite them over sometime. You know Zoey…” She wiggled her eyebrows, teasing, and Jinu snorted, relaxing a little as he slid off the counter to follow her to the sofa.

“I think Mystery likes her too,” he whispered with a conspiratorial grin.

Rumi giggled, rolling her eyes. “Zoey too, though she’d rather eat her own shoes than admit it. We should do a double date with them!” she exclaimed, excitement sparking in her eyes as she tossed the TV remote to Jinu, who opened it without even looking.

“Totally,” Jinu purred, sprawling across her lap like an oversized cat. Rumi didn’t even blink—she just laughed and stroked his hair, her fingers threading through the strands with affectionate familiarity.

“Actually, I was thinking,” she continued, her voice softer, “it would be nice to let them visit the tower. Have dinner here with us, hang out for a while—just… something normal, you know?”

Jinu stared at nothing, his mind turning over possibilities, plans, and memories. Despite her certainty, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Rumi’s father was still out there. And though it wasn’t really his place, he wanted Rumi to have that—someone who could love her unconditionally, the way a parent should.

He wondered if his love, fierce and loyal as it was, could ever be enough. Rumi had only known hardship under Celine’s roof. Maybe if he found her father, she’d finally be happy. Maybe she’d finally have what she deserved.

“What do you think, Jinu?” Rumi’s hand stilled in his hair, bringing him back. He looked up at her, searching her face for any sign of the pain she tried so hard to hide.

“Hmm? Yeah. I’ll ask them. They’re all a bit busy these days—everyone’s got a job now,” he murmured, his words muffled against her pajamas.

“Yes! I can’t wait to see Mira and Zoey’s faces when the boys come by,” Rumi almost squealed, her excitement infectious.

Jinu smiled, letting himself relax in her warmth. “Yeah, me too…” he trailed off, mind already spinning with plans.

And so, Mission: Make Rumi the Happiest Girl Alive began—with Zoey and Mira, of course, because they were closer to Rumi than he ever had been. 

“Rumi’s dad? Celine? Okay, fess up—what the heck are you planning?” Mira hissed, her eyes narrowed and voice barely above a whisper. Jinu shifted awkwardly in his seat, glancing between the two girls and then around the nearly empty café.

They looked ridiculous, honestly. All three of them were dressed in oversized hoodies, sunglasses, and baseball caps pulled low—like a trio of bargain-bin spies. Jinu tried not to laugh at the image, but the nervous energy kept buzzing in his chest.

He cleared his throat. “Why are we even here? I thought we could just talk about this back home.”

Zoey and Mira exchanged a look, their brows furrowed so deeply it was almost comical. You’d think he’d just confessed to arson or worse, murder.

“No one ever told you, huh?” Zoey’s voice was a harsh whisper, her eyes darting around as if expecting someone to burst through the door. “You can’t just mention Rumi’s dad. Especially not in front of Rumi—or Celine!”

Jinu blinked, confused. “I—I don’t get it. I just asked Rumi—”

“You asked Rumi?!” Both Mira and Zoey shrieked, their voices echoing much too loudly for the sleepy café. Heads turned.

A barista paused mid-latte-pour. They both flinched, shrinking behind their cups and yanking their caps even lower. Jinu bowed his head in frantic apology to the room, cheeks burning.

Before he could recover, Mira seized him by the shoulders and jerked him closer to the table, coffee nearly sloshing from his cup. “Girl, I can’t believe you would do that to Rumi,” she whispered fiercely, her glare could’ve melted steel. Zoey just shook her head, lips pressed into a thin, disappointed line.

“Dude, Jinu. The last thing I expected from you was that,” Zoey muttered, sounding more hurt than angry.

Jinu’s confusion deepened, worry flickering in his eyes. “Guys? Seriously, I don’t get it. Rumi’s dad could be alive!” He tried for a hopeful grin, but it faltered under their flat, unimpressed stares.

“Look here, lover boy,” Mira said, jabbing a finger at his chest, “you can’t just up and decide Rumi’s dad is alive because you want it to be true.”

Jinu let out a nervous chuckle, trying to defend himself. “But—he could be! Gwi-Ma’s demons never really die, they just get called back to hell, right? That’s why, before you guys rebuilt the new Honmoon, the demons kept coming back…” He trailed off as Mira and Zoey exchanged another uneasy glance.

“Well… I guess that explains some things,” Zoey admitted, her voice softer, “but still. Celine told Rumi she saw him die. Saw it with her own eyes.”

Jinu’s expression darkened, thumb worrying at his thumbnail as he thought. “Then… I’ll go back to hell,” he announced suddenly, a wild glint in his eye.

Both girls stared at him like he’d just sprouted antlers. Mira groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I knew it. He’s gone full crazy-for-her. Zoey, help me out here! Rumi is not going to like this!”

Zoey leaned in, her voice urgent and low. “Jinu, are you sure about that? You can’t go back to hell, remember? Gwi-Ma could kill you—or worse, you could get stuck down there. The new Honmoon changes everything.”

Mira shook her head, exasperated. “Why are you so weirdly obsessed with Rumi’s dad anyway?”

Jinu hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. “I just… think Rumi deserves to meet her dad, you know? She deserves to be happy. She’s human—well, half human. But still, mortal. You all aren’t like us.”

“Ouch,” Mira and Zoey deadpanned in perfect unison.

“Not what I meant—I, ugh, I’m just saying… Fifty years for you guys is an eternity. For me…” Jinu’s voice trailed off. He stared down at his hands, flexing them as if trying to feel the weight of time. “It’s just a blink. I close my eyes and fifty years will already have passed.”

Mira and Zoey exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Of course. This was why he was always so intense, so driven, sometimes even reckless. Immortality, they realized, was a curse of perspective. They would grow old, retire from the hunt, perhaps even fade from memory, while Jinu would remain—unchanged, forever watching.

Zoey reached across the table and patted his hand, her touch gentle. “Jinu, Rumi’s happy with you. Her past is her past. Dad or no dad, she’s glad you’re by her side. That’s what matters.”

Jinu shook his head, frustration etched in the lines of his face. “No, you don’t get it. I’m not enough for Rumi. She needs her father. I know it’s hard to explain—hell, I can’t really explain it myself—but I want to focus on her happiness because… all these years, they mean nothing to me if I don’t spend them for Rumi.”

Mira smiled, softening. “That’s really sweet. Rumi wasn’t joking when she said you were growing sappy.” As she spoke, a waiter appeared, quietly setting three slices of cake before them. Jinu didn’t even look at his. His gaze remained locked on Mira and Zoey.

“I just want to know where Celine lives,” he said quietly. “Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Zoey’s expression hardened. “No way. She was a hunter—she’d recognize you for what you are the second you set foot on her land. She’ll gut you, Jinu. You wouldn’t even see it coming.” Mira nodded in agreement. 

“And talking about Rumi’s dad—or worse, her mom—is basically forbidden with Celine,” Mira added, her voice dropping. “That’s why Rumi’s always weird about her family. Celine never let her talk about any of it.”

Zoey stabbed at her cake, her appetite gone. “Yeah… Rumi used to ask Celine all the time about her mom and dad. Celine would just shut her down, sometimes even get angry. Eventually, Rumi stopped asking.”

Jinu’s hands clenched into fists on the table. “That’s—” he started, his voice trembling with anger. “That just makes me want to find her father even more. This Celine, this woman—she seriously sucks!” He slammed his palm down, the table splitting clean in half, plates clattering to the floor. “Ah–” Jinu squeaked, looking at them with comically wide eyes.

A hush fell over the cafe as people turned to stare. Zoey and Mira gaped at him, eyes wide.

Minutes later, the three of them stood beside the Han River, the sun shimmering on the water. Jinu scuffed his shoe against the pavement, cheeks flushed. “Sorry, guys. I got a little mad.”

Mira shot him a withering look. “ A little mad? You broke the table, Jinu. With one hand.”

Zoey tried to diffuse the tension, patting Mira’s back. “Chill, Mira. He didn’t mean it. Honestly, if I were him, I’d have done the same. I don’t hate Celine, but I hate the way she raised Rumi.” She bit down on the brim of her hat, tugging at it like an agitated animal.

Jinu and Mira edged away, eyeing Zoey warily as she gnawed on her hat.

“So… Celine, huh?” Mira asked, her tone serious now. “You really want to find Rumi’s dad?”

Jinu nodded, relief flickering in his eyes. “You believe me?”

Mira smiled, her confidence gentle but steady. “I trust you. Rumi trusts you. Zoey trusts you. I know you’ll do what you promised—even if it gets you hurt. That’s what worries me. Rumi cares about you, you know. And let me guess… you’re doing this behind her back?” She raised an eyebrow, half teasing.

Jinu laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Totally not…” But when Mira stared him down, he slouched in defeat. “Okay, maybe a little. She didn’t answer when I asked about her dad, and now I feel guilty. I didn’t know Celine was that strict about it.”

Mira’s expression softened. “It’s not Rumi’s fault. I love her—I really do. But sometimes, the past just… lingers. Especially with Celine.”

Jinu’s face darkened, remembering Rumi’s quiet confession: that she’d once asked Celine to end her life. If Celine had agreed, he would have lost her—lost everything. His everything .

“Gah, I’m starting to hate this Celine woman,” Jinu growled, his canines showing as he scowled. Mira raised her hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, relax, lover boy. Don’t go wolfing out on me,” she teased, but Jinu only gave her a tired, warning look.

Mira sobered. “Look, Celine is—was—a hunter. And a damn good one at that.” She paused, weighing her words. “I know you can handle yourself, but…” She gestured vaguely at him.

Jinu raised a brow, mildly offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dude, you are seriously tamed. Like, wild tiger to housecat tamed,” Mira shot back, smirking as Jinu flushed.

“I am not a housecat. I can still do what I used to do!” he protested, but even to his own ears, his growl sounded weak.

Mira just tilted her head, grinning. “Really? Okay. Look, I trust you, but you can’t get hurt, can’t die, can’t even disappear. You’re important to Rumi. You’re her weird-ass boyfriend and her goddamn sword. Without you, she’s as good as dead.” Her hands gripped his shoulders, her eyes intense.

Jinu tried to play it cool, shrugging. “Okay… no pressure then.” But sweat beaded on his brow.

Mira sighed, crossing her arms. “That’s why I’m telling you not to do this. Rumi’s dad could be long dead, and you’d be throwing yourself into danger for nothing.”

Jinu rolled his eyes, frustration simmering. “I want to, Mira. I need to. Rumi deserves to be happy. To be… complete.”

She hesitated, searching his face. “Yeah, but… don’t you? What I’m seeing is you trading one good thing for another that might not even exist. Her dad—if he was alive, wouldn’t he be here?”

Jinu fell silent, staring at the river’s slow current. “He would. But… what if something happened?”

Mira’s voice softened. “You know… I never really believed Celine when she said Rumi’s dad was dead. I’ve known Celine since I was a kid. She hated demons. Look at how she treated Rumi—forced her to hide, to keep silent, to shrink herself. She was always so selfish. I…” She trailed off, letting out a shaky sigh.

“If anyone has a real chance of finding him, it’s you, Jinu,” Mira finally said, her voice low.

Jinu smiled at her, warm despite the tension, and gently patted her arm where she gripped his shoulders. “I really do want to try. And it’s not just duty—it’s something I want for Rumi. I can see now why happiness felt so out of reach for me. My life never ends. I’m always waiting for something more.”

Mira shot him a worried look, but he just waved her off.

“I’m immortal. I can’t die. I won’t die. I’ll always look like this—like I’m in my twenties,” Jinu said, his voice oddly calm. “If I have endless years, I want to use them for her.”

Mira’s tone grew firm. “Love isn’t about serving someone, Jinu. It’s about being equal. You don’t owe Rumi service. Just love her. Be with her. That’s enough.”

Jinu looked up, meeting her eyes. “And for me, loving her means finding her father.”

Mira let out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t change your mind, can I?”

Jinu shook his head, a small, stubborn smile on his lips. “No, you really can’t.”

“Fine,” Mira said, her brow furrowing, her eyes glinting with reluctant resolve. “Then you’d better find him. Make Rumi happy. Celine doesn’t deserve her, but… maybe her father does.” She pulled a pen from her pocket and motioned for Jinu’s hand.

Jinu watched as she scribbled an address onto his palm. He stared at the words, then looked up at her, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Jinu, just remember—you’re important to Rumi too. If you even sense danger, call us. Promise me,” Mira said, her voice deadly serious.

He blinked, surprised by the intensity, but then grinned, teasing. “Is that worry I hear?”

Mira turned away, cheeks flushing. “No.”

At that moment, Zoey reappeared, her hat now little more than shreds in her hands.

“Hey guys, so… is Jinu actually going to try to find Rumi’s dad?” she asked with a lopsided grin.

Jinu glanced at her hat and raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, Zoey, what happened to your hat?”

Zoey giggled, holding up the ruined brim. “I just got a little angry.”

“A little angry is an understatement,” Mira deadpanned, shaking her head. Turning back to Jinu, she jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t die, lover boy.”

Jinu grinned, cocky and fearless. “I promise I won’t. Been alive for four centuries. I doubt I can die now.”

Mira just rolled her eyes, but a smile, tentative and hopeful, tugged at her lips.

“THERE WAS ONCE A MIGHTY DEMON KING

He was in total control.

He feasted on souls,

the world trembled when he roared.

But then some hunters sang some songs.

Now all he does is starve.

Can't get at the souls, and his flame grows cold,

Just a whisper in the dark.”

Contrary to popular belief, it was not Jinu who first thought of the idea of becoming a K-pop idol to defeat the hunters. The spark was actually given to him by Gokdama herself—a half-formed idea to sing to the masses, to capture their souls through music, all while the golden Honmoon hung ominously overhead. 

Gwi-Ma, for his part, seethed with anger despite the countless souls Gokdama gathered for him at the shrines. It was never enough. No matter how much she offered, Gwi-Ma’s hunger only grew, until even Gokdama’s patience began to fray.

Jinu saw it all. He knew that Gokdama used the shrines not only to appease Gwi-Ma but also to feed her own insatiable hunger for souls. With Gwi-Ma’s relentless demands, she found it harder and harder to focus on her own desires. 

But Jinu also realized a secret: most of the souls harvested from the shrines were, in truth, fed to Sahon-Baem.

Gokdama’s true intention was always for Sahon-Baem. The serpent had grown into a colossal force, its coils vast enough that Jinu sometimes wondered if it could swallow hell itself. And somehow he cannot deny the possibility.

“Gokdama, Gwi-Ma wants more souls. The souls you bring are not enough,” Jinu commented quietly, settling onto the cushion across from Gokdama. She poured herself another glass of wine, the crimson liquid catching the room’s faint candlelight. The chamber was bare save for the low lacquered table and the soft silk cushions they knelt upon.

Gokdama’s fingers drummed against the table, her painted nails clicking like distant rain. “And what do you expect me to do?” she replied, her voice edged with disdain. “My shrines can only do so much. Even gods have limits, Jinu.”

Jinu exhaled, his shoulders sagging under invisible weight. “Didn’t you say those shrines could eventually save me from gathering souls one by one? What happened to that? False promises? ” His eyes flashed, pupils narrowing into golden slits as his frustration surfaced.

Gokdama rolled her eyes, then drained her wine in a single, elegant motion. She set the goblet down with a quiet thud. 

“General Jinul. You must never grow complacent. The shrines are to break the Honmoon forever, not simply to collect souls. That’s merely…. a side effect , at best.” She tilted her glass in Jinu’s direction, a sly smile curling on her lips. “And I don’t owe you an explanation, especially when you show so little genuine interest.”

Jinu’s jaw tightened. “I don’t understand. What do you want me to do, then? Gwi-Ma grows restless. I’ve unleashed every demon I can conjure. The hunters are powerful—their voices stir the whole surface world.” He removed his gat and set it beside him, rubbing a hand over his brow. For a moment, his mask slipped, and exhaustion flickered in his eyes. He forced himself to steady his breath. Now was not the time to lose face, not in front of Gokdama.

“Breathe, Jinul,” Gokdama murmured, her smirk deepening. “I know fear when I see it.”

“You don’t know me,” Jinu growled, nails biting into the wood of the table.

“But I do,” Gokdama whispered, her voice almost tender. “That’s why I called you here. I have an idea—one I think only you can carry out.” Jinu tensed, bracing himself. Another scheme, another burden, another task he’d have no choice but to accept. “What is it?” he managed.

Gokdama’s smile grew mysterious. “Music.” With a graceful flick of her wrist, something materialized beneath the table—a battered bipa, its lacquer faded, strings dulled from age and use. It floated up, settling gently before him.

Jinu stared, stunned. “My bipa... How did you find it?” His voice trembled as he reached out, fingers brushing the familiar wood.

Gokdama watched him, her eyes glinting. “Your voice, Jinu. That’s what I want. Tell Gwi-Ma of this plan, hm? The hunters’ power comes not just from their voices, but from how they unify the humans with song. That’s what the shrines cannot do—yet.”

Jinu’s fingers hovered over the bipa’s strings. “And what do you want me to do? Sing for them? To be the same as the hunters?” His voice was barely a whisper, uncertainty and defiance intertwined. He no longer has the voice to even compare half of how the hunters are… So how—?

Gokdama’s eyes brightened, a predatory gleam flickering in their depths. “Why, yes! So you do understand what I’m proposing. If you sing for these… humans, you can take their souls as you do. It’s not so different from what I accomplish with the shrines—just with a touch more artistry. Singing, after all.” She grinned, sharp and wolfish, as Jinu’s scowl deepened.

“You fed those souls to that damned snake —if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be facing this kind of threat,” he snapped, his voice taut with accusation.

Gokdama only smiled, a lilting giggle escaping her lips. “Whatever do you mean, General Jinul?” Her tone was light, mocking.

Jinu let out a shaky breath, anger and helplessness warring in his chest. “Selfish bastard,” he spat.

“Aren’t you, too?” Gokdama tilted her head, offering him a mock-innocent look. “You’ve been wanting something, haven’t you?” Her voice grew softer, almost sing-song. Jinu stiffened, his hand tightening around the bipa’s neck. “Your memories, was it?” she whispered, her voice suddenly intimate, dangerous. “The same memories I toyed with when you were still a small, pathetic demon.” She giggled, pointing at him as he trembled.

Jinu’s voice was barely audible, the words scraped raw from his throat. “What do you mean?”

Gokdama’s eyes glinted with secrets. “Well… Lord Gwi-Ma could certainly grant your wish to be free of your memories. If you defeat those hunters and stop the golden Honmoon,” Her smile widened as realization dawned on Jinu’s face.

“He… can erase my memories?” he whispered, his hand falling protectively on the bipa, as if the worn instrument could anchor him. But that didn't matter, he can be finally free of his guilt..

“Ah yes, of course!” Gokdama replied brightly, rising from her cushion in one fluid motion. “Lord Gwi-Ma erased mine, as you can see. I remember nothing of my past—and that is why I am so… marvelously unburdened , so powerful.” She circled the table, her robes whispering over the smooth floor, and leaned over Jinu’s shoulder. Her fingers came to rest lightly on his taut shoulders. “If you do this, you’ll be free, Jinul. No more painful memories to tether you to the surface. No more guilt. Only power—and peace.”

She smiled, her breath warm against his ear, her hands heavy with promise and threat.

“I don’t want to be powerful,” Jinu murmured, voice trembling with uncertainty. “I just… want my memories gone.” His admission hung heavy in the air.

Gokdama only laughed, the sound sharp and cold. She stepped to his side, bending close. With a swift motion, she seized his chin, her black-lacquered nails digging into his skin as she forced his face up to meet hers. “Oh, Jinul,” she crooned, her eyes glittering. 

“Everyone wants power. You’re just a step closer to it than most, you see?” She giggled, the sound echoing off the bare walls, as Jinu tried to shrink away, gaze lowering. To anyone watching, it looked like submission—a demon bowing his head, yielding to her will.

She let go, her voice turning falsely sweet. “Jinul? Be a good boy and do what I ask, will you? Just a few more souls, and I can break the Honmoon forever. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Gokdama’s smile was sharp as a blade.

Jinu exhaled shakily, glancing up at her with haunted eyes. “What are you planning , Gokdama?” he whispered, voice low, almost fearful. “Are you trying to take over Gwi-Ma? Sahon-Baem has grown larger—far larger than I’ve ever seen her. What are you planning? ”

Gokdama’s lips curled into a secretive smile. “That is none of your concern, Jinul. I’ve chosen you—one of the few demons worthy to rule beside me, once I have what I want.” She patted his cheek almost affectionately, then swept back to her seat with practiced grace, smoothing the folds of her hanbok as she knelt once more. She poured herself another glass of wine, the golden goblet shimmering in her hand.

“Go sing for those humans, will you?” she said, tilting her head with a mocking sweetness. “And when you return, I promise I’ll save you a seat at my table.”

Jinu gathered his gat quietly, the familiar weight grounding him. Without another word, he turned and left the palace. The heavy doors closed behind him with a resonant thud, sealing the cold silence inside.

At the bottom of the palace steps, a blue tiger waited, its fur shimmering like river water, its eyes humorously cross-eyed. Noticing Jinu’s approach, the tiger purred, weaving its massive body around his legs in excitement. Jinu barely acknowledged the creature, stepping past it with a heavy heart.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

The tiger gave another contented purr and fell in step beside him, padding silently as they disappeared into the shadows beyond the palace.

The shadow itself stirred, and large eyes, as big as the sun, blinked open, watching as Jinu walked away silently. A hiss escapes Sahon-Baem’s jaw.

Chapter Text

IT WAS JUST AS HE REMEMBERED FROM RUMI’S MEMORIES : the graveyard, quiet and still, a scattering of wildflowers around a solitary headstone. The scene was unchanging, as if time itself paused here. So this is where Rumi grew up, huh? Jinu stood at the heart of it all, feeling the weight of the place settle around his shoulders. He turned to face the grave, taking slow, deliberate steps until he stood before it.

It was Rumi’s mother’s grave. A name was engraved. ‘Mi-Yeong’

“Hello,” he murmured, voice barely louder than the sigh of the wind. He lowered himself to his knees, bowing his head in respectful greeting. “My name is Jinu,” he continued, a nervous smile flickering across his lips. “I… suppose I’m your daughter’s boyfriend.” He rose, brushing the dust from his knees, feeling strangely self-conscious under the silent gaze of the stone.

Before coming to Celine’s home, he’d made a point to stop in town and pick up something—a small cake, carefully wrapped in plastic. He knelt again, placing the cake reverently beside the incense holder, long cold and empty.

It must be strange, he thought, for a demon to pray at a grave. But Jinu did it anyway, for Rumi’s sake. He pressed his palms together, eyes squeezed shut. “Please,” he whispered, “watch over Rumi, as you always have. She needs you still.”

The silence was thick, peaceful—until the crunch of footsteps interrupted his prayer. At the edge of his vision, something glinted in the sunlight: the cold flash of steel.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” a woman’s voice demanded.

Jinu stood slowly, turning to face her. She was striking, dressed in crisp white—sleeves rolled to her elbows, pants practical and neat. A knitted scarf, handmade and slightly frayed, was looped around her neck. In her hand, she held a sickle, the blade pointed at him with steady confidence.

“Hello,” Jinu said gently, hands sliding into the pockets of his worn jacket. “You must be Ms. Celine.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “And who’s asking?”

“I’m… a close friend of Rumi’s. I came here to speak with you about something,” Jinu said, his tone calm and earnest.

Celine hesitated, letting the sickle lower just a fraction. “A close friend? Are you part of her staff? I don’t remember seeing you before.”

Jinu could only offer a small, awkward smile. “Do you mind if we talk?”

Celine studied him for a long moment, suspicion warring with curiosity in her gaze. At last, she turned away, gesturing for him to follow. “Come.”

He followed her along a narrow path toward the house. It was a simple wooden structure, aged by the years but well cared for. On the porch, a tired rocking chair creaked in the breeze, and the front door was decorated with a bright, if somewhat lopsided, purple flower painted by a child’s hand.

Inside, the air was cool and faintly scented with herbs. Celine—who now seemed less threatening and more tired—ushered him to a sofa. “Please, sit. I know Rumi and I have… our problems, but she didn’t have to send you here to talk to me.”

Jinu shook his head quickly, clearing his throat. “She didn’t send me,” he admitted, watching as Celine froze in place.

“She… didn’t?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain. “Then… what brings you here?”

She moved to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and setting it before him on the low table. 

Jinu accepted the glass and took a small, cautious sip, the cool water settling his nerves for just a moment. He set the glass down carefully, fingers lingering at its rim.

“As I said, I came here to ask you something…” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat, trying to steady himself.

Celine’s gaze sharpened. “A question… about what?”

“About Rumi’s father,” Jinu said quietly.

The room seemed to freeze. Celine’s hands, once steady, suddenly clasped each other tightly in her lap—a nervous gesture she couldn’t quite suppress. Her expression darkened, eyes searching Jinu’s face for some hidden motive.

“So you know, then?” she asked, voice thin and trembling.

Jinu nodded, his own hands fidgeting in his lap. Celine looked away, her jaw clenched. “I don’t understand why you came here about that. Everyone knows that Rumi’s father died. And you—I don’t know you at all…” Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across her face.

Jinu forced a nervous laugh. Relax, Jinu. You’re good at acting—just pretend you’re not terrified. “As I said, I’m Rumi’s friend, and I just… really need to ask. Is her father really dead? Are you sure?”

Celine’s face shuttered, lips pressing into a hard line. “Why does it matter? The past is the past. Why are you digging up old wounds?” Her voice rose, anger and something like pain mingling there. “Are you sure Rumi didn’t send you? That girl—”

“She didn’t. I swear, I came on my own. I want to know more about Rumi—about where she comes from. Please, Ms. Celine, work with me here,” Jinu pleaded, his voice earnest.

Celine let out a sharp sigh, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her own hands. “I have the right to refuse. You should leave now,” she said, rising abruptly.

Jinu’s eyes widened with desperation. “Wait, please, Ms. Celine! Can’t I just ask—just one question?”

She glared down at him, her patience worn thin. “No, you cannot. These are not questions for outsiders,” she said, voice cold and final.

Jinu groaned softly, shaking his head. “Please, Ms. Celine. Just this once. Rumi has always done what you asked, never questioned you. But I need to know. Please tell me what happened to her father.”

Celine froze, her back to him now. Her shoulders trembled slightly, and her hands shook where she clutched them to her chest. “Please,” Jinu pressed, his voice softening, “I know you care about Rumi. I do, too. So… did her father really die? Or is there more you can’t say?”

Celine turned slowly, her glare sharp enough to make Jinu flinch. She stepped closer, eyes searching his.

“How can I trust you?” she demanded, her voice a low hiss.

Jinu swallowed hard. “Because… Because I’m Rumi’s boyfriend,” he admitted, cheeks reddening at the words.

Celine stared at him, surprise flickering over her face. The anger faded, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. “Oh my… Rumi has a boyfriend now?” she murmured, more to herself than to Jinu. She stepped back, suddenly embarrassed, and sank onto the far side of the sofa, rubbing her forehead. 

“Oh goodness… please, sit,” she groaned, gathering herself.

Jinu managed a shy grin and sat again, watching as Celine composed herself.

“I assume you’re asking because you care about her?” Celine asked, her voice gentler now.

Jinu nodded, unable to find words.

Celine smiled, a tired, bittersweet thing. “That’s good. Rumi deserves someone who cares for her.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “About her father… I—Forgive me. I’ve never told anyone what happened. Not even Rumi. It’s strange, talking about it now. But lately, I’ve been trying to… change.” She gestured vaguely, as if searching for the right words.

“That’s fine, Ms. Celine,” Jinu reassured her, his voice soft. “Take your time.”

Celine let out a shaky, deep breath, her eyes distant as though she were peering through the years. “Surely you know what Rumi is by now, right? But… I’ll still explain, of course.”

Jinu glanced at her with genuine surprise before nodding. “Ah, yes. Please, go on.”

Celine gathered herself, hands smoothing the fabric on her knees as she cleared her throat. “I will tell you a tale. Are you interested to hear?” she whispered.

Jinu blinked, glancing around the cozy living room as if expecting an audience, then smiled. “I am,” he said, settling in.

Celine’s voice grew soft, almost singing, as she began.  

“Long ago, demons have always haunted our world. Stealing our souls and channeling their strength back to their king, Gwi-Ma. until heroes arose to defend us. Born with voices that can draw back the darkness, singing songs with courage and hope. But hunters are more than warriors, our music ignites the soul and brings people together. With this connection the first hunter created a shield to protect our world. The Honmoon, every generation a new trio of hunters is chosen to fulfill our ultimate duty, a barrier so strong it is impenetrable that will keep the demons and Gwi-Ma from our world forever. The Golden Honmoon”

A hush fell over the room. The words hung between them, ancient and heavy. “And Rumi is one of those hunters in this era,” Celine murmured, finally unclasping her hands. There was a tremor in her voice, pride and sorrow intermingled.

Jinu listened, wide-eyed. The story was familiar; he was of course already a demon at that era, lived its consequences—but hearing it from Celine, it felt mythic, holy… Beautiful somehow, just like Rumi. “That’s… amazing,” he breathed, a small, awed chuckle escaping him.

Celine glanced up, a small, grateful smile touching her lips. “Is that so?”

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I always knew Rumi was something spectacular. Honestly, this doesn’t really surprise me.”

Her smile grew, lines of worry easing from her face. “I’m glad. I am so happy Rumi found someone like you. I always regretted forcing her to hide her marks… It made her grow apart from others, left her feeling isolated. I have carried that regret for so long,” she whispered, her head bowing as the confession slipped out.

Jinu leaned forward, heart pounding with empathy and a touch of anger. He knew how much Rumi had suffered, how Celine’s choices had shaped her loneliness. But he also felt a flicker of hope—if Celine truly regretted her choices, maybe there was still a chance for healing.

Rumi had given him a chance, and he used that chance to change for the better. Celine herself needs to use those same chances that Rumi is giving her. 

“You can still fix it, you know,” Jinu said gently. “You raised her. Maybe… you did it in a strange way, but I know Rumi still loves you. There’s time to make things right.”

Celine’s eyes widened, shimmering with unshed tears. “You… you think so? I’ve tried to talk to her, but every time, my shame… it’s too much. I’m terrified she’ll turn away from me,” she admitted, voice trembling.

Jinu swallowed, then stood and moved to sit beside her. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, grounding her with his presence.

“She won’t,” he said quietly. “But she needs to hear it from you. Just try, Ms. Celine. She’s waited a long time.”

“I care immensely about Rumi’s happiness… It is… what my purpose is,” Jinu said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Celine turned to him, the corners of her mouth lifting into a small, bittersweet smile.

“I see that,” she replied, her gaze lingering on him. “If you apologize to her—if you just talk to her—I believe she’ll be happy. Rumi still loves you, Celine. And I think she would appreciate hearing from you, even just once more.” Jinu’s smile was gentle, encouraging.

Celine’s eyes widened, shimmering with unshed tears. She lowered her head, shadow falling across her face. “I see,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I see now why Rumi cares for you. I am happy… truly, that she met someone like you. A person who can understand her better than she could,” Her hands tightened around the edge of her scarf, knuckles white. 

“I have always seen Rumi as my own daughter, but… I realize now, I never let go of her mother’s memory after she died in labor.” Celine sighed, the sound heavy with years of regret. “I have hurt Rumi in ways that are… completely unforgivable. But you’re right. I still have time to fix things.” She looked up, meeting Jinu’s eyes as he nodded encouragingly.

She tried to smile, then hesitated. 

Jinu clears his throat awkwardly, he might have forgotten his purpose here. “So… about Rumi’s father—”

Celine’s expression shifted, surprise flickering across her features as she hastily brushed away her tears. “Ah, yes. He left something behind—something meant for someone important to him. I told Rumi that he had died, but in reality, I… I don’t know where he went. He simply vanished.” Her voice wavered, and Jinu’s brow furrowed in concern. He watched as Celine rose to her feet, motioning for him to follow.

“Come with me. There’s something I want to show you,” she said softly. Jinu stood and followed her across the creaking floorboards to a staircase. She led him up, stopping before a locked door. From her pocket, Celine produced a tiny brass key, her hands trembling as she unlocked the door.

The room beyond was dim and almost empty, save for a curious altar at its center—or was it an altar? In the middle of the far wall hung a scroll, delicate and ancient, depicting a majestic dragon. The beast’s scales shimmered with a faint violet hue, its long, serpentine body coiled gracefully, four powerful legs braced as if in mid-flight. A wild, lion-like mane framed its intelligent eyes, which seemed to gaze directly at them.

Jinu’s breath caught in his throat. He looked up and saw, painted across the ceiling, a vast mural of dragons—some entwined playfully, others soaring through clouds, but one in particular stared straight down, its eyes wide and all-seeing.

“What… What is this?” Jinu managed, awe and a hint of fear in his voice.

Celine rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Do not worry. This room is safe.” Her voice was gentle, reverent. “Long ago, dragons protected us—before the hunters came. Or so the stories say.”

“Dragons?” Jinu echoed, still fixated on the scroll. The dragon’s painted eyes seemed to follow him, ageless and wise.

“It’s a legend,” Celine admitted, a wistful smile on her lips. “But then, so were hunters, once. People used to say… dragons were the ones who granted us our voices. Or so I heard as a child.” She laughed, a little embarrassed by her own uncertainty.

Jinu chuckled softly. “You don’t sound too sure, Ms. Celine.”

Her cheeks colored. “No, I suppose I’m not. But many people believe dragons were once our protectors. Perhaps that’s why the world hasn’t fallen into ruin—because of them. And now… it’s up to us to carry on that legacy, to unite everyone as one.” She spread her arms wide, as if embracing some invisible presence.

Jinu looked back up at the ceiling, marveling at the artistry. The dragons’ bodies intertwined, caught in an eternal dance. Yet one dragon—a solitary figure—looked down at him, its gaze solemn and unwavering.

As if, amidst all this chaos, the dragons still saw the truth.

At the threshold, Jinu noticed delicate lettering carved into the wood above the door—words that beckoned him closer.

“Light up the darkness.
We will sing our song.
With this strong voice,
We will heal this world.”

Jinu mumbled the words under his breath, his gaze fixed on the inscription above the door. The weight of their meaning seemed to fill the silent room.

Celine glanced at him, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “I’ve never asked you this—rather embarrassing, really, after all this time.” She rummaged carefully through the altar, her hands searching with purpose. “Ah, what is it?” Jinu asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“Your name. I can’t believe I forgot to ask for Rumi’s boyfriend’s name.” Celine exhaled, rolling her eyes at herself. Jinu let out a gentle laugh.

“It’s fine, Ms. Celine. My name is… Juni,” he replied, giving her a small, reassuring bow. Call out the lack of creativity, but he has to be careful in case Celine knows his name…

Celine’s expression softened. “I’m happy to meet you, Juni. Truly. Rumi is lucky to have someone like you,” she said, her voice warm with gratitude. She paused, looking down at the scroll she now held in her hands, the ancient paper trembling slightly.

“Ah, yes. As you might know… Rumi’s father is a demon. Before he left, he told me something strange,” she continued, her voice lowering as if revealing a secret.

Jinu folded his arms, leaning in. He could feel it—the truth was near, just out of reach.

“It was odd, really. When Rumi was born, he took care of her for several months. He cherished her. But then, something changed. Around that time, more and more souls began to vanish, though demons themselves stopped appearing.” Celine’s brows furrowed with the memory.

Jinu’s own brow creased. “Demons… stopped appearing?” He tried to recall those years—where had he been? What had he seen? All those years he had spent in hell were boiling under all his guilt and anger… It was hard to remember things…. Fuck .

“Yes. And Rumi’s father grew restless. He was once under Gwi-Ma’s control, but when I asked if he was worried about Gwi-Ma, he said no.” Celine shook her head, her voice tinged with sorrow. “When Rumi was about five months old, he left her in my care. He said he would come back, that he had to save someone dear to him.”

“Someone dear to him…” Jinu echoed, rubbing his forehead as he tried to make sense of it. Who could be so important that Rumi’s father would abandon his own daughter? Didn’t he already have Rumi, and her mother? Why leave?

Celine watched him, her sadness etched in every line of her face. “I’m sorry, Juni. I know this must be a lot to take in. I can’t even imagine how Rumi would feel. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her her father left for someone else. I don’t know if this person is human or demon. I just… don’t know,” she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jinu gave a weak, understanding smile. “I—yeah, I get it. This would… this would really hurt Rumi,” he said quietly. Celine’s shoulders shook as she sighed.

“Do you see why I hid it from her? I was torn. Rumi’s father is a demon, yes, but he was a good man. I wasn’t ready to care for Rumi, but I did what I could. For years, I waited, hoping he’d return. But as time passed, I realized he never would. That fear grew—fear for Rumi, and for what she might become with those marks. That… Like her father, she will leave me too. Leaving me no memory of her mother.”

She held out the scroll to Jinu, her hand trembling ever so slightly.

Jinu’s gaze drifts downward, drawn by the soft shimmer of the painting before him. Four figures emerge from the delicate brushstrokes: a tiger, a fox, a snake, and… a dragon. Something about them tugs at the edges of his memory, a haunting familiarity he can’t quite grasp.

“What is this?” he asks quietly, his voice barely disturbing the hush of the room.

Celine hesitates, her hands folding together, knuckles whitening. “Rumi’s father is—was—an extraordinary painter,” she murmurs, her eyes distant. “He painted these four animals and told me it was for someone special. I always assumed it was for… Rumi, you see. So I kept it. But then I realized, if I showed her, it would only bring more questions.” She looks away, voice trembling with unspoken worries.

Jinu studies the painting more intently. The tiger’s eyes, vibrant yellow, seem to watch him with a silent intensity. The fox’s eyes are white, almost luminous. The snake’s are deep, endless black. And the dragon—its gaze is a piercing, regal purple.

“The painting doesn’t mean anything,” Celine says, almost pleading with herself. “I’ve analyzed it for years, turning it over in my mind, wondering what could be so important about it that it had to belong to Rumi.” Her words taper off as Jinu’s eyes search the animal faces, trying to unravel the thread of recognition winding through his mind. The animals felt… familiar, as if from a half-remembered dream.

“He has other paintings, but none were as important as this one. Let me see for a moment. Please wait.” Celine moves back to the altar, the fabric of her pants whispering over the floor as she knelt and hummed softly—a tune that might once have soothed a child to sleep. She rummages through a box of scrolls pushed under the altar, her movements slow, deliberate.

“He’s very old-fashioned, as you can see,” she says, a shaky laugh escaping her lips. “Prefers scrolls to canvas. Says they keep the soul of the painting safer.” Her hands tremble as she brings out more scrolls, their edges worn with age.

Jinu glances up at the ceiling, tracing the faint lines of dust above, then back at the scrolls as Celine lays them out. There are paintings of sky and forest, of sunlight and shadow. One shows Rumi’s mother, serene and beautiful, cradling a tiny, swaddled Rumi. Jinu’s eyes linger on it, and Celine notices. She picks it up with reverent care, pressing it into his hands.

“Here. Bring this to Rumi. Tell her I want her to have it.” Her voice is a whisper, but her grip is firm, her eyes shining with a mixture of sorrow and hope.

Jinu nods, overcome with a sudden, gentle gratitude.

“As you can see, even I could not understand Rumi’s father,” Celine says, more to herself than to him. “I know he loved Rumi very much. But he left, and I… I was not ready for her. I know that’s not a good enough reason to treat her like an outcast, but I love her. I do. I love her for who she is.” Her words are heavy, her hands shaking as she rolls the other scrolls away, her shoulders hunched under the weight of regret.

Just as she reaches for the painting of the four animals, Jinu stops her with a gentle touch. “May I take this one as well?” he asks, his voice careful, respectful.

Celine looks at the painting, frowning in thought. “Yes, of course. Please bring it to Rumi. I never understood it, but… perhaps she will.” She rolls it up and hands it to Jinu, their fingers brushing briefly.

He hesitates, then asks, “This person—the one he painted it for—did he really never tell you who it was?”

Celine pauses, placing the last scrolls back in the box. “Not exactly… I suspect it’s a demon, like Rumi. But I can’t be sure. I don’t believe he had another woman—he truly loved Rumi’s mother.” She clasps her hands together, standing straight, the years of uncertainty etched into her face.

“Right. Thank you, Ms. Celine,” Jinu says, bowing deeply.

Celine startles at the formality, a soft laugh escaping. “Please, just call me Celine. You’re important to Rumi. I’d like you to call me Celine.” She smiles, small but genuine.

Jinu returns the smile, tucking the scrolls carefully into the inner pockets of his jacket. “Thank you—Celine,” he says, the name soft on his tongue, heavy with new meaning.

Well, this plan was a bust. Not only had Jinu failed to find anything concrete about Rumi’s father, but even more questions had surfaced, swirling in his mind like leaves in a restless wind. Why did Rumi’s father leave? Who was this mysterious person he cared for so deeply that he would abandon Rumi to Celine? Each step away from the room seemed to birth yet another uncertainty, each more confusing than the last.

As they stepped out into the hallway, Celine turned the brass key in the lock with a quiet finality. The click echoed in the silence between them. Jinu hesitated, glancing at the worn wood of the door before speaking. “Celine… Rumi’s father, what is his name?”

Celine paused, her expression momentarily shadowed, then she answered quietly, “It’s Chae-Song.”

The name meant nothing to him. It sounded too human, too ordinary. Jinu’s stomach twisted with frustration. That can’t be all there is. He shot Celine a questioning look, and she seemed to read his thoughts. “But,” she added, “he used to have a demon name. He never once used it with us.”

Jinu nodded, absorbing the new information. So, he has a demon name. Chae-Song, he repeated in his mind, trying to sense if the name was a disguise for something older, more powerful. Could his real name be similar, hidden just beneath the surface?

They descended the staircase, the old floorboards creaking beneath their feet. Jinu slowed his pace, voice gentler now. “Thank you, Celine. If you’re willing… would you be the one to talk to Rumi about her father? Even painful, she deserves the real truth.” His words hovered in the air, tentative but sincere.

Celine’s hand trailed along the worn out railing, and her reply was soft, almost vulnerable. “Ah… Yes, I wish to, if that’s alright with you. It may be the start of something good.” Hope flickered in her eyes as she glanced at him, her grip tightening on the key in her hand.

“It really may be,” Jinu murmured in agreement, his own hands unconsciously tightening on the bulge of his jacket, where the scrolls he’d found rested heavily against his chest.

Outside, Celine didn’t hesitate to escort him to the gate, walking beside him along the overgrown pathway that wound back toward town. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the cracked flagstones.

“This place is nice, Celine,” Jinu said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was wistful. “I hope… next time I visit, it’ll look much livelier.”

Celine offered him a smile, fragile but sincere—the smile of someone who had lost much, but found a glimmer of hope. “Don’t hesitate to call Rumi and the girls here,” Jinu added quietly. “I’m sure… they would want you back in their lives.”

Celine nodded, swallowing hard, her eyes glistening with an emotion she didn’t voice. “I will, Juni,” she said.

He turned to leave, glancing back one last time. “Take care, Celine.”

“You as well, Juni,” she replied, watching him as he made his way down the path, watching as he slowly walked down the mossy stairs.

When he finally loses sight of Celine—who had just turned away to head back home—Jinu lets out a low whistle. In response, a shimmering blue portal blossoms open beside him, rippling like water. Jangsu leaps out with feline grace, landing lightly on the grass. 

The tiger gives a small, rumbling growl; her tufted ears flick forward and her tails swish in curiosity. She immediately pads over and noses at Jinu’s jacket, her wide, luminous eyes blinking once in surprise at the unfamiliar scent. Then, without hesitation, she begins rubbing her face all over his side, marking him with her scent.

“What the—hey!” Jinu laughs, caught off guard and a little ticklish, as he pets Jangsu on the head, his fingers sinking into her thick fur.

“Alright, girl,” he sighs, feeling the press of time. “I know I said no using your powers for my own sake, but I really gotta get home before Rumi notices I’m gone—or worse, gets worried and checks my location again. I have it turned off, but you know her. She might panic if she sees it off.” As he speaks, he swings himself onto Jangsu’s broad back, settling into the familiar warmth.

Jangsu chuffs, a sound suspiciously like a laugh. Jinu rolls his eyes. “Ha, ha, very funny. Who knew I’d be the one sneaking around?” He gives her a gentle nudge.

A new portal shimmers into existence beneath them, and the world blurs as they sink through. In a blink, they reappear atop Rumi’s balcony, high above the city, the air tinged with night-blooming flowers. Jinu slides off Jangsu’s back, steadying himself with a hand on her strong neck. They move quietly into Rumi’s room, careful not to disturb anything. The room is empty, thank goodness .

From inside his jacket, Jinu carefully pulls out two scrolls, the paper crackling softly. He offers them to Jangsu, who opens her mouth on instinct. He slips the scrolls onto her tongue, and she snaps her jaws shut with a soft click.

“Keep these safe, alright? I can’t have Rumi knowing what I’m up to. Knowing Celine, she’ll take her time telling Rumi the truth, but I want her to do it. She deserves that much,” he confides, the weight of trust in his voice. Jangsu’s only response is a slow blink, her gaze bored but patient.

“Too much information?” Jinu grins, but before he can say more, the door bursts open.

“Jinu!” Rumi’s voice is bright with relief. She barrels into him, tackling him onto the bed. The mattress creaks as they land in a tangled heap.

“R-Rumi! Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Jinu stammers, laughing breathlessly as Rumi settles on his stomach, pinning him with her weight. She holds up her phone, the screen glowing.

He squints at the message. “W-What is that?” he asks, confused. The sender’s name is unmistakable—Mystery?! And… it’s a message agreeing to a double date with them? Jinu’s eyes widen. He’d been sure Mystery and Zoey were history. Since when did he ever work up the nerve?

“Mystery? How did you get his number?” Jinu blurts, still incredulous. Rumi just smirks, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I have my ways,” she replies, flopping down beside him. At the edge of his vision, Jangsu quietly slips from the room, her jaw closing tightly around the scrolls. Jinu lets out a silent sigh of relief.

Just then, Derpy lumbers in, Bird delicately perched atop his head, dozing. “Does Zoey know about this?” Jinu asks, turning to Rumi.

“She does, and let me tell you—she’s so excited!” Rumi grins, kicking her legs with infectious enthusiasm. Jinu can’t help but smile, warmth blooming in his chest. He turns on his side, wrapping an arm around Rumi’s waist and pulling her close.

“That’s good,” he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek with his own as she giggles softly.

“I missed you,” Jinu groans, wrapping his legs around her like a koala, refusing to let go.

“Oh gee, you big koala!” Rumi laughs, squirming, but he only holds her tighter.

For a moment, surrounded by the soft glow coming from the balcony and the scent of home, Jinu wishes this could last forever. “Stay, Rumi,” he mumbles, voice thick with longing.

She stops struggling, melting into his embrace. For a heartbeat, the world is quiet. Then, she hugs him back, her arms tight, her whisper soft against his hair. “I will. Always.”

Jinu bites his lip, holding her close, savoring the moment. He knows—someday, when her time comes, she’ll have to leave, too.

“I know,” he says, barely above a breath.

Chapter Text

JINU AND MYSTERY WERE, BY ALL ACCOUNTS, AWKWARD IDIOTS. Not that they didn’t know that—they absolutely did.

“So…” Jinu started, his voice trailing as the two of them sat side-by-side on the concrete ledge just outside the HUNTR/X tower. Mystery turned toward him, fingers laced nervously, his leg bouncing with barely-contained anxiety. Jinu could see the faint blush creeping out from under messy bangs that shielded almost half of Mystery’s face.

“Zoey and you… huh? Who knew,” Jinu said, flashing a crooked, teasing smile. Mystery returned it, though his was shaky and uncertain, a breath escaping his lips like he was holding back a laugh and a sigh at the same time.

“Don’t be too nervous,” Jinu said, nudging him with an elbow. In truth, Jinu’s own hands were icy cold, his nerves crackling under his skin. This was their first ever date. A date with Rumi. He could hardly believe it. Rumi—his Rumi—was actually with him, and now, they could finally date. How many times had he imagined this moment? How many times had he—

Before he realized it, he was bouncing his leg in sync with Mystery. The nervous energy buzzed between them, unspoken but unmistakable. Mystery eventually tapped his shoulder, breaking the spell, just as Rumi and Zoey emerged from the tower’s sliding glass doors.

“Rumi!” Jinu called, springing to his feet. Next to him, Mystery’s face lit up with an excitement so pure it almost looked cartoonish—if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

“Myst! Oh my gosh, I—I can’t believe you’re really here again!” Zoey gushed, her voice bright and bubbling over with delight. Mystery, still blushing, nodded silently, his smile wide and goofy.

Jinu turned to Rumi, grinning as he gently reached for her hands. “Hey, Rumi,” he said, a softness in his tone he didn’t bother to hide. Rumi shot him a warm, slightly bashful smile in return. “Hey yourself. You look good,” she replied, giving him a playful once-over.

He glanced down at his outfit: a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into loose-fitting slacks. He flushed, suddenly self-conscious. “Thanks. You, uh, you look amazing too,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rumi wore a black turtleneck sweater tucked into tailored white pants, a delicate gold star necklace glinting at her throat. Her boots—a sleek black leather—completed the look. “I know,” Rumi smirked, though her cheeks flushed pink as she looked away.

Zoey’s voice rang out, snapping them back to the moment. “Hey guys! Let’s go! Oh my goodness, I’m so excited for our first double date!” She squealed, linking arms with Mystery, who nearly melted from embarrassment and happiness.

Jinu offered his arm to Rumi, which she accepted, their arms tangling together comfortably. Zoey and Mystery led the way, Zoey chattering animatedly while Mystery simply beamed at her, looking as if he’d won the lottery. Jinu and Rumi followed at a slower pace, savoring their brief privacy before dinner.

“Our first official date,” Rumi murmured, glancing at him with a sideways smile.

“A real date, in the modern era,” Jinu replied, more to himself than anyone, his eyes wide in awe.

Rumi laughed, poking his side. “You sound so old! Just call it a date.”

He grinned, a little sheepish. “Can you blame me? First date ever,” he admitted, the words floating away in the summer evening air.

Their dinner spot was nothing fancy—just a green canvas tent strung with fairy lights, set up over a handful of picnic tables on the grass. The scent of grilled food mingled with the fresh night air, and laughter from other diners blended with their conversation. 

The food was delicious, the talk easy and full of smiles. But what made the night truly magical was the ease of it all—how Jinu could sit close enough to Rumi to feel her warmth, how their knees brushed under the table, how he could look at her and not worry about what anyone else thought.

He caught himself staring—again and again—while Rumi and Zoey talked animatedly. Mystery barely said a word, too busy gazing at Zoey with heart eyes. Jinu couldn’t blame him; he felt the same about Rumi. It was all so sickeningly sweet that anyone watching might be tempted to throw up rainbows. And, if they stuck around long enough, they’d probably end up shitting rainbows, too. It was that disgustingly, heart-meltingly adorable.

Eventually, the couples split up for some alone time. Zoey all but dragged Mystery away, her intent clear in her sparkling eyes. Mystery shot Jinu a panicked, hopeful look; Jinu just waved him off with a grin.

“Looks like they’re having fun,” Rumi giggled, her voice warm as she leaned into Jinu’s side.

“So now we’re alone,” Jinu sang, plopping down beside her on a worn wooden bench beneath the tent’s edge. Rumi blushed, nudging him with her elbow.

“Was this your plan all along?” she teased, eyes glinting.

“And if it was?” he shot back, waggling his eyebrows.

“How sly,” she giggled, shaking her head. Jinu took her hand, squeezing gently.

“We both needed our alone time. Them, too. I know how much Mystery’s been waiting for Zoey… you know how he is.” He laced his fingers through hers, feeling the steady beat of her pulse.

Rumi’s head found his shoulder. “I’m glad for them,” she breathed.

“Me too. After everything that happened… I think we all deserve this,” Jinu replied. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, holding the moment together like it might slip away if he let go.

Rumi sighed, content. “Turns out, things can be good, huh?”

Jinu smiled, feeling more at home in this moment than he’d ever been before. “Yeah… they really can.”

Turns out, good can really last a long time, huh? Maybe there were new things Jinu could still learn from Rumi. Maybe—just maybe—he could finally start to believe he deserved all this.

He stared at the sky, lost in thought, until Rumi’s voice brought him back.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, lifting her head from his shoulder, her eyes searching his face.

“You,” Jinu blurted, the word slipping out before he could even process the question. Rumi colored a deep red, then gave a snort of laughter.

“You are so sappy,” she teased, but there was a fondness in her voice.

Jinu just grinned, unabashed. “Sure, but I guess I’m your sappy,” he said, winking. Rumi rolled her eyes but let her head fall back on his shoulder, her hand warm in his.

They drifted into a comfortable silence. For a while, they simply watched the world go by—birds wheeling above the rooftops, strangers laughing and wandering past, snippets of conversation floating on the evening air. The moment felt suspended, peaceful, as if nothing bad could ever reach them here.

But Jinu’s thoughts slowly circled back to Rumi, and the ache that lived quietly in his chest. Her father—he still hadn’t found him. His half-baked plan had brought him nowhere. Now he was left with two paintings: one of Rumi and her mother, and another that stirred something deep within him, something he couldn’t quite place. It felt familiar, yet frustratingly out of reach.

How could he promise Rumi happiness when he was stuck at this crossroads? He knew he wouldn’t hesitate to go back to hell if it meant finding answers—he could always slip back down, check in, see how things stood. He was bound to Rumi now, not hell. He doubted Gwi-Ma could even sense him peeking in. The Honmoon was new, but perhaps he could carve a small hole, just for a glimpse.

If Rumi’s father wasn’t here… then maybe, just maybe, he was in hell.

But it was odd. Jinu hadn’t even realized a demon had fallen in love with a human—he’d missed so much. His mind—his memory always been a little scattered, even as a general, and centuries in hell had only frayed his memory further. There was a reason for the holes in his recollection—first he’d forgotten Baek-Hwa’s face, and now…

Jinu stifled a sigh, careful not to disturb Rumi. He squeezed her hand a little tighter, grounding himself in her presence.

He had to find her father. It was the only way he could give Rumi the peace she deserved—a life without pain, a life where she could truly be happy. He wanted to give her that, more than anything. It was the least he could do for someone he loved so much, someone for whom he’d gladly carve out his own heart.

A TIGER, A FOX, A SNAKE, AND A DRAGON. “What does this mean?” Jinu murmured, his voice lost to the night wind as he sat on the tiled roof of the old house—his now favorite spot aside from being beside Rumi of course. The moonlight cast pale shadows across the curved tiles, glinting off the worn scroll spread across his lap. Behind him, Derpy watched with a low, uncertain croon, his eyes soft and unfocused. 

Jinu’s gaze was fixed on the painted animals: a tiger crouched beneath bamboo, its amber eyes narrowed with suspicion; a fox, wild and bright-eyed, caught mid-leap through a tangle of brambles; a coiled snake, scales gleaming, mouth slightly open as if whispering secrets; and a dragon, its sinuous form lost in swirling clouds, eyes downcast and mournful.

“A tiger that watches you with distrust, a crazy fox, a snake that looks hungry, and a dragon that looks sad…” Jinu muttered, tracing each figure with his fingertip. “Derpy, does this mean anything to you?” He turned the scroll so Derpy could see. The tiger tilted his head, his perpetually crossed eyes making it look as though he was staring off into the distance rather than at the artwork.

Jinu couldn’t help but grin at the sight, the tension easing from his shoulders for a moment. He snorted, rolling up the scroll with a soft laugh. “Sorry, Derpy. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” Derpy let out a confused, almost wounded growl, peering back at the scroll as if it might reveal its secrets on a second glance.

Jinu unrolled the parchment again, smoothing it out with careful hands. There was something about these animals—a tug of recognition, a whisper at the edge of memory. It was like a word hovering at the tip of his tongue, just out of reach.

“What is it… Come on,” he sighed, flipping the scroll over to check for hidden writing or symbols. Nothing. He ran his fingertips over the back, feeling only the faint grain of the paper beneath his skin.

Derpy nosed at Jinu’s hand, cool and comforting. Jinu reached up absentmindedly to rub the tiger’s head, staring into the tiger’s painted eyes. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that gaze—suspicious, searching, almost alive. Derpy rumbled in disappointment when Jinu’s hand stilled, demanding more attention.

Jinu glanced at him, a crooked smile flickering across his face. “You see? I’m hopeless. I can’t figure out a thing.” He flopped back with a dramatic sigh, one hand raking through his hair in frustration. The tiger’s eyes seemed to glimmer in the moonlight, unblinking. “If I don’t figure this out soon, I’ll rip a hole in the Honmoon myself and drag Rumi’s dad here with my bare hands!” he groaned, dropping his head to his knees in exasperation. Derpy echoed his mood with a forlorn growl.

Jinu turned to Derpy, noticing how the creature’s ears were pressed flat against his head, his whole body tense. The mere mention of the word "Hell" seemed to have spooked him. “Oh, no, Derpy… I was just—well, it’s just a backup plan if things go sideways, you see,” Jinu tried to reassure him, but Derpy let out a small, anxious whine that trembled in the night air. Jinu sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the weight of everything he didn’t say pressing down on him.

“Derpy… Look, it would be quick. Remember the demon shrines?” he continued, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have this strange theory—just hear me out—that even though the Honmoon was built to be impenetrable, there have to be weak spots. Places where the old demonic shrines were built, cracks in the foundation, easy to tear if you know where to look.” He laced his fingers together, restless energy crackling in his movements as he turned to face the moon. For a heartbeat, he raised his hand as if he could catch the moon itself in his palm.

“It’s crazy, I know. But I’ll only do it if there’s no other choice. If I can’t find Rumi’s dad here, on the surface, then—” He slowly closed his fist, as if sealing the plan away. Derpy whimpered, lowering his head until his snout touched the tiles.

“Aw, Derpy, it’s not like I’ll be gone long. If anything, I’ll only make a tiny tear—just a blink. In and out before Rumi or the girls even notice a ripple in the Honmoon,” Jinu tried to sound light, but his words fell flat in the hush of the night.

Derpy looked up, a sad chuff escaping him, his eyes reflecting worry. “Besides, this is just a failsafe. For now, we need to check those demonic shrines and see if my theory holds water. If it does, we’ve got a way in. And if I find Rumi’s father, I’ll tell the others about the shrines so they can dismantle them for good.”

But Derpy only lowered his head again, this time covering his eyes with his paws in a silent, dramatic protest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jinu asked, genuinely perplexed, gesturing at Derpy’s sulking form. Derpy reluctantly lifted a paw, fixing him with a look that said, 'You’re lying to Rumi, aren’t you?' Jinu let out a nervous, guilty laugh. 

“Not lying, just… omitting! Just like with her father. The truth comes out eventually. We can’t be hasty. Celine will probably tell her the truth about her father’s disappearance soon anyway. That’s stage one: her happiness,” he said, more to convince himself than Derpy, clenching his fist tightly.

Derpy whined again, ears drooping with worry.

“Derpy, I promise—I’m not lying. Rumi will understand. She has to…” Jinu’s words faltered, shame flickering in his eyes. He rolled the scroll up and handed it to Derpy, who dutifully opened his mouth and tucked it away. Jinu hesitated, unable to meet Derpy’s gaze, until the creature nudged him gently, pressing against his side in silent support.

“She’ll understand,” Jinu repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “Besides, I doubt we’ll ever need the failsafe. But we have to be careful, okay?”

Derpy responded with a soft, tentative chuff.

“Tomorrow, we’ll find those demonic shrines—just you and me. Knowing Jangsu, she’d throw a fit at the mere mention of demons,” Jinu said, forcing a grin as he ruffled Derpy’s head. He stood, stretching the stiffness from his limbs before climbing onto Derpy’s back.

“Let’s go home,” he murmured. Derpy’s mood lifted instantly, and he let out a joyful roar that echoed across the rooftops before leaping from the tiles, carrying Jinu into the night.

The tower was quiet when Jinu slipped in through the balcony, guided only by the gentle glow of moonlight spilling across the floor. Rumi was already asleep, her breathing soft and even in the hush of the room. Derpy let out a small, contented purr, looking up at Jinu with sleepy eyes as Jinu carefully opened the door to let him out. The little creature padded away, claws barely making a sound on the polished wood.

“Jinu?” Rumi’s voice was thick with sleep as she stirred, propping herself up on one elbow. Her long hair tumbled around her shoulders, catching the silver light. Jinu turned to her, smiling softly.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Where have you been? After our date, you just disappeared.” Rumi’s brows drew together in concern as Jinu made his way to her side, settling down on the edge of the bed and gently running his fingers through her hair.

“Just went out with Derpy. He’s been feeling cooped up here lately, wanted me to come with him,” Jinu answered quietly.

Rumi’s lips curled into a small smile. “He can always ask me to come along, you know. What about the other tigers? I hope they aren’t too cooped up either.” She frowned, worry flickering in her eyes.

Jinu chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand from her cheek. “Derpy’s a special case. Jangsu takes care of her pack. Sometimes, at night, they go out for a run together. Don’t worry about them, hm?” His reassurance made her grin.

“That’s good. Maybe next time I’ll take Derpy out for a walk,” Rumi mumbled sleepily, sinking back into the bed and tugging Jinu down with her. He settled in, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.

“You should. I swear, Derpy likes you more than he likes me,” Jinu whispered in her ear, making her laugh softly.

“That’s not true,” she giggled, and he wound a finger around a lock of her long purple hair, marveling at the way it caught the light. Rumi sighed contentedly.

“Let’s sleep. Tomorrow, me and the girls have to go out again,” she said, nestling into the pillows.

“What for?” Jinu asked, curiosity piqued.

Rumi opened one eye and smirked. “It’s a secret.”

Jinu pouted, letting out a small groan. “I want to know…”

She squirmed as he ran his hand along her side, giggling. “Fine, fine! I relent! We’re going to the bathhouse,” she admitted between fits of laughter.

Jinu flushed, hiding his face in the pillow. “What is that reaction? You’re so old!” Rumi teased, still giggling as Jinu grumbled into the pillow.

“Forget I even asked, Rumi,” Jinu mumbled, half in embarrassment, half in playful irritation.

“Go to sleep, Jinu,” Rumi said gently, running her hand through his hair. He only grumbled in response, but held her a little tighter. The room fell into a peaceful silence, so much so that Jinu thought Rumi had already drifted off.

But then, in the quiet, she whispered, “Jinu?”

He hummed softly, not opening his eyes.

“I haven’t said this enough, but… thank you for making me happy. Life feels more colorful than it ever has,” she breathed, her words barely more than a sigh.

Jinu slowly lifted his face from the pillow, meeting Rumi’s gaze in the darkness. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, the distance between them shrinking.

“Me too,” Jinu murmured, voice thick with emotion. He inched closer, their faces nearly touching, lips hovering just apart. Rumi’s eyes flicked from his to his lips, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then, with a gentle smile, Jinu pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Good night, Rumi,” he whispered softly.

Rumi’s smile was tender as she replied, “Good night, Jinu.” And in the quiet comfort of each other’s arms, they drifted into sleep, the world outside fading away.

THERE ARE FOUR DEMONIC SHRINES IN SEOUL AND ONLY IN SEOUL. He and Derpy had planned to visit at least all of them, and each one seemed to blur together—ancient, traditional, all carved from the same age-old pattern. But these weren’t just any shrines. Each was dedicated to one of Lord Gwi-Ma’s four generals, every shrine with its own twisted version of a god. 

Jinu didn’t care much for the stories or rituals. All that mattered was that these demonic shrines attracted the souls Gwi-Ma demanded—and as long as the shrines were fed, Gwi-Ma’s attention shifted away from Jinu. The pressure eased, if only for a while.

This shrine looked as old as time: dark wood beams, blackened by rain and sun, roof tiles slick with moss. The air pressed down heavy, thick with incense and something sharper—sulfur, biting at the edges of his senses. Jinu could almost taste the asphalt on his tongue, bitter and unpleasant. Yet, there were visitors here. Tourists, mostly, wielding cameras and curiosity, as if the shrine was just another picturesque relic—something to cherish, something to cross off a list.

They had no idea. This wasn’t a place of worship. It was a trap, built to lure believers to false gods. Beside him, Derpy, his companion in this strange game, let out a soft, uncertain whine. His tail lashed, claws scraping against the stone, refusing to go any further. He crouched next to the base of a tiger statue, fur bristling, golden eyes fixed on the shadowed doorway.

“Hey... I get it. It feels like hell, but it’s not actually hell,” Jinu murmured, glancing down at Derpy. He froze as a group of tourists turned, watching him with wary amusement. To them, Derpy was probably just a stray cat, or perhaps not there at all. No normal human could see a demon, after all.

“Aha... move along, people, nothing to see here,” Jinu said, leaning casually against the railing as the group shuffled past him up the steps.

Derpy still wouldn’t move, his body tense, every muscle ready to bolt. Jinu sighed and nodded. “Okay, fine. I’ll be quick,” he promised, ruffling Derpy’s head before heading up the stairs alone.

Inside, the shrine was dim and close. The thick wooden doors muffled the street noise, and the scent of incense grew so strong it made his eyes water. He bit the inside of his cheek, stifling a sneeze.

The interior looked deceptively ordinary: paper lanterns swaying from the rafters, casting a dull red glow that seemed to stain every surface. Stone tiger statues crouched in each corner, their faces frozen in eternal vigilance. Tourists wandered with cameras, ignorant of the darkness beneath their feet.

Jinu stood in the central aisle, forcing himself to breathe slow. He could feel the Honmoon—the barrier between worlds—thinner here, like stretched leather ready to tear. Whoever built this place had known exactly how to weaken it. Of course Gokdama knew she was older than the land itself.

There were probably shrine keepers, human believers, tending the altars and sweeping the floors, never questioning the “god” they served.

He walked slowly, his footsteps muffled by the worn tiles. At the altar, offerings piled high: bowls of fruit, candles, folded paper prayers, and a great golden urn overflowing with incense, smoke curling like ghostly fingers toward the rafters. A faded yellow cushion sat before the altar. Jinu knelt, glancing up at the hanging scroll.

A tiger, inked in bold, predatory lines, glared down from the scroll, its eyes almost alive in the lantern light. Jinu felt its gaze prickle on his skin, and he looked away. There was something cult-like about this place, a secret lurking just beneath the surface. He wouldn’t be surprised to find a hidden chamber below, a tunnel leading to where the true believers made their offerings.

He exhaled shakily, feeling unease crawl up his spine. Maybe the real demons weren’t the ones born in hell, but the humans who worshipped them. He could see why Gokdama had chosen this method—humans were easy to deceive. Blind faith was a powerful tool. Feed them a “truth” wrapped in gold, and they’d swallow it whole.

“Fuck,” Jinu whispered. He looked down at the tiles. He could feel the Honmoon pulsing here, as if it were fighting back against the shrine’s corruption.

The fail-safe would work, he reminded himself. But he felt sick standing here—anxiety twisting his gut, cold sweat crawling down the back of his neck. The shrine felt wrong, so wrong it made his skin crawl.

A scream shattered the silence. Jinu rushed outside, heart pounding, to find a woman collapsed on the stones, her face white as wax. “Mama! Someone! Help!” a small boy cried, shaking her arm. Tourists gathered, lowering their cameras, panic spreading.

Nearby, a couple stood frozen. The woman clung to her partner, lips tinged blue, face ashen. “We should go. I feel... sick. Something’s wrong with this place,” she whispered. Jinu stared in horror as her soul seemed to flicker, rising like pale mist from her body—and she too crumpled to the ground.

“Ming? Are you okay? Ming?!” her partner cried, catching her as she collapsed. Jinu staggered back, his breath coming in shallow gasps. What was happening? How were souls leaving their bodies, when no demon was present to claim them?

“Excuse me! I’m a doctor, let me help!” A woman’s voice cut through the panic, brisk and clear. She rushed over, her loose, casual clothes rumpled as if she’d just rolled out of bed, but the stethoscope slung around her neck marked her as the real thing. The crowd instinctively parted for her, giving her room to kneel beside the first collapsed woman.

Jinu slipped quietly out of the shrine, his presence almost unnoticed amid the chaos. He edged toward the fallen woman, heart thudding. Her chest still rose and fell. She was breathing, but her face was ghostly pale, lips tinged an unnatural blue.

He watched as the doctor checked her pulse and airway, calm but quick, her hands steady. Jinu felt a chill crawl up his spine. This woman… she has no soul . He could see it—an emptiness where her spirit should be, a hollow echo in the air. Yet her heart still beat; she lived on, body intact while her essence was missing.

What in the world is going on? Has this always been happening here? Jinu turned slowly, eyes drawn back to the shrine. The stone tigers seemed to glare at him now, their carved eyes full of accusation. He exhaled, breath shuddering. This was bad—worse than he thought. Maybe the fail-safe wasn’t enough. Maybe he needed to warn Rumi and the others. These shrines had to be destroyed. Immediately.

The truth was horrifying: these shrines were taking souls without the help of any demon. How? Was it something about the place itself? Some old, hidden power that gnawed at the boundary between worlds? Without the help of any demons? How is that possible then?

“Please help my wife as well,” called the desperate man, carrying his limp wife over. The doctor nodded briskly, gesturing him down. “Lower her here, please. Does anyone have an umbrella? The sun is too hot—this could be heat stroke,” she said, her voice practical as she glanced at the crowd.

Jinu bit his lip, watching from a careful distance. Heat stroke? He wanted to shout the truth. No, it’s not the sun. Their souls are being taken—right out from under you.

“Gokdama… how is she doing this?” Jinu whispered, voice trembling as he hurried out of the temple. The memory of what he’d just witnessed clung to him like a shadow. At the temple gate, he glanced around anxiously. “Derpy?” he called, his tone laced with desperation. But his companion was nowhere to be seen.

He stepped down the worn stone stairs, scanning the empty road. The only signs of life were the solemn tiger statues flanking the gate and a handful of passerby, their eyes drawn toward the commotion within the temple. “Derpy!” Jinu whistled sharply, his nerves fraying with every second.

Suddenly, a small shimmering portal blinked into existence at his side. Derpy’s striped head poked through, ears pressed flat with fright. “Derpy! Oh, thank god,” Jinu breathed, relief flooding him as the tiger padded fully from the portal, whining softly. Derpy hissed at the stone tigers, then pressed his broad head into Jinu’s hands, seeking comfort.

“Listen to me,” Jinu said, voice low and urgent. “We need to check all the temples. Something’s wrong—something feels… off.” He swung onto Derpy’s back, gripping his fur. Derpy purred, muscles tensing, and together they leapt through the portal.

The next temple loomed quickly: this one gleamed white beneath the afternoon sun. A fox statue stood sentinel at the gate, its stone eyes almost watchful, playful. Derpy whimpered, shrinking back. “Stay outside,” Jinu instructed, tone gentle but firm. Derpy growled softly in protest but obeyed, tail lashing.

Inside, chaos reigned. Someone had collapsed at the heart of the temple, and a cluster of people fanned them desperately with folded newspapers and portable fans. Jinu’s heart plunged. He dodged the crowd, pushing his way toward the inner shrine.

A single white cushion waited in the center, stark against the polished floor. Above it hung a scroll, its inked fox staring back at Jinu with knowing eyes. The swirling patterns on the scroll jogged something in his memory, but he didn’t pause to dwell on it. He hurried past the commotion and out to Derpy.

“Derpy, next temple. Go,” he ordered, urgency sharpening his words. Derpy roared, the sound echoing off the ancient stones.

The Snake Temple was teeming with visitors—foreigners snapping photos, locals lighting incense. Jinu wove through them, eyes flicking to the shrine where another scroll hung. A snake coiled menacingly across the parchment, its gaze seeming to follow him.

The Honmoon felt incredibly thinner in this area than the other temples.

What is Gokdama doing? Jinu wondered, unease curdling in his stomach. He returned to find Derpy pacing anxiously, refusing to go near the gate. “Derpy. Last temple,” Jinu murmured. The tiger nodded, tension visible in every line of his body.

The Dragon Temple stood apart. Its doors, heavy and weathered, were shut tight. The grounds were eerily silent, dust motes swirling in the stagnant air. Jinu pressed against the door, wood groaning as it swung open on broken hinges.

Inside, ruin greeted him. The temple was a wasteland—dust, sand, and gravel blanketed the floor. Outside the gate, a dragon statue lay mutilated, its head and feet severed.

“I don’t get it. Four shrines for four generals. Gokdama, Chwisaeng, Baek-Hwa, and me. One is forgotten,” Jinu muttered, the words barely more than breath. He circled the room, eyes roving over the desolation. An empty table sat at the heart of the shrine, a long-cold incense stick lying atop it. The wall where the scroll should have hung was bare.

He stared at the emptiness, the silence pressing in. No cushion, no offerings—no sign anyone had cared for this temple in years. Derpy let out a mournful croon, rubbing his head against Jinu’s shoulder in silent comfort.

This place was different. Though demonic in origin, it felt… sacred. Primal power hummed in the air, old and undisturbed. No wonder the Sahon-Baem are growing so fast , Jinu thought. But these shrines have stood for nearly three centuries…

Could it be…?

How did the hunters not notice this? Unless Gokdama hid it all… Jinu always knew she was good, she was smart. Cunning. Those false gods—each shrine with its own animal: a tiger, a fox, a snake… and—

He froze, staring at the decapitated dragon statue outside. Turning to Derpy, he said, “Derpy, give me the scroll.” The tiger obediently coughed up the scroll, saliva glistening on the parchment. Jinu caught it, unrolling it with shaking hands.

Four figures stared back at him: a tiger, a fox, a snake, and a dragon.

“Rumi’s dad knows about the shrines,” Jinu realized aloud, a chill crawling up his spine. How? Who is this-

His phone rang, shattering the silence. He nearly dropped the scroll, heart leaping as he glanced at the caller ID. Rumi.

“Hello?” he managed, pulse pounding.

“Mind telling me why you went to Celine?” Rumi’s voice was sharp, suspicious.

Jinu’s heart sank.

Oh fuck.

Chapter Text

JINU FELT LIKE A CHILD BEING SCOLDED , the weight of Rumi’s glare bearing down on him. “I can’t believe you! You went to Celine alone?” Rumi’s voice was sharp, her words biting. Behind her, Zoey and Mira stood awkwardly, their damp hair clinging to their shoulders as though they’d just returned from the bathhouse. They exchanged nervous glances but said nothing.

Jinu chuckled awkwardly, shifting in his seat on the sofa while Rumi paced back and forth, her agitation palpable. “Rumi… I’m fine,” Jinu said softly, trying to ease the tension. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mira facepalm, clearly exasperated.

Rumi stopped dead in her tracks, spinning on her heel to glare at him. “And what if you weren’t?” she snapped, her voice trembling, her expression a mix of anger and fear.

Jinu stood slowly, his hands raised as though to calm her. “Rumi, nothing happened. I simply visited your mother’s grave,” he said gently.

Rumi let out a shaky breath, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. “I don’t understand why you did it, Jinu. You didn’t have to go. Celine could have hurt you,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.

“But she didn’t,” Jinu replied, his tone steady. “Rumi, relax. Come sit down.” He gestured to the sofa, but Rumi shook her head, refusing to budge.

“What were you doing there?” she asked again, her eyes boring into him, demanding answers.

Jinu hesitated, his gaze darting to Mira and Zoey, who both looked away guiltily. So, they told her, huh? he thought. Letting out a resigned sigh, he reached inside his jacket, pulling out a carefully rolled scroll.

“Here,” he said, extending it to her.

Rumi frowned, her confusion evident as she took the scroll from his hands. “What is this?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Jinu didn’t answer immediately, his expression somber as Rumi unrolled the scroll. Her breath hitched as the painted image of her mother holding her as a baby came into view. The resemblance was striking, the love in her mother’s painted eyes so vivid it almost felt alive.

“Wh-What is this?” Rumi whispered in shock, her hands trembling as she stared at the painting. She folded the scroll abruptly, as though trying to shield herself from its meaning, only to unfold it again moments later, unable to look away.

“I went to Celine to ask about your father,” Jinu explained, his voice careful, measured. “She said she wanted to tell you herself… but she gave me this. Your father painted it.”

Rumi’s fingers clenched around the edges of the scroll, her knuckles white. “I—I don’t get it,” she said, her voice barely audible. Her legs buckled slightly, and Zoey and Mira rushed to her side, gently guiding her to the sofa.

“My father painted this?” Rumi asked again, her wide eyes locking onto Jinu’s.

He nodded, guilt etched on his face. “I’m sorry for doing this behind your back,” he admitted. “I just… I was hoping to find your father. For you.”

“Find my father?” Rumi’s voice rose, a thread of anger weaving through her confusion. She looked back down at the scroll, her eyes scanning every detail. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she whispered, as though trying to convince herself.

Jinu’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Finally, he managed, “I—I don’t think so. Celine told me he left. He was there when you were five months old. He left you in her care.”

Rumi’s eyes widened, her world tilting as the revelation sunk in. “He… left me? Why?” she asked, her voice cracking like glass.

“That’s what I’m trying to understand,” Jinu confessed, his voice earnest. “I’ve been trying to find him.”

“You what?” Rumi stood abruptly, her emotions a chaotic storm. “No… Hah—I’m so confused… Dad is alive? Turns out he was the one originally taking care of me before just… leaving me? Celine knew all this time and never said a word? I don’t get it!” Her voice rose to a scream, echoing in the room like thunder.

Suddenly, the Honmoon rippled. The air around it shimmered, the rainbow hues pulsing fiercely before settling back to their usual glow.

Zoey let out a startled squeak as everyone turned to the seal in shock. “Rumi, calm down,” Mira said urgently, placing a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder.

Rumi’s breath hitched, her tears spilling freely now. She clutched the scroll to her chest as though it would anchor her in the chaos. “I—I’m sorry, I just don’t understand,” she sobbed, turning into Mira’s comforting embrace.

Jinu stood frozen, his hands twitching at his sides. His thoughts spiraled, guilt gnawing at him.

Look at what you’ve done. You made her cry. 

And here you thought you were doing a good thing. 

Poor Rumi… How could you do this? You really are a monster.

“Jinu.” A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he flinched. Zoey stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder, her expression concerned. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Jinu nodded wordlessly, his throat tight. Gathering himself, he approached Rumi cautiously. Mira stepped aside slightly, giving him space.

“Rumi,” Jinu murmured, his voice gentle. He reached out, taking her hand in his. Rumi looked up at him, her tear-streaked face breaking his heart.

“I—I’m sorry for yelling at you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Jinu smiled softly, brushing her tears away with his thumb. “Nah, it’s fine. I deserve that,” he said, pulling her into a warm embrace.

Rumi sniffled against him, her grip on the scroll loosening slightly as she clung to him.

“I don’t get it. Why did he leave?” Rumi sniffled, wiping her face with unsteady hands. Her voice was quieter now, the sharp edge of anger replaced by a fragile calm. She glanced back down at the scroll, her gaze lingering on the painted image of her mother holding her as a baby. For a moment, Jinu held her silently, his arms offering comfort, though his heart felt heavier than he’d ever admit.

But then Rumi raised her head, her expression shifting into something resolute and pained. “Stop searching for him,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the sorrow in her eyes.

Jinu’s breath caught. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to argue—but the words died on his lips when Rumi looked down, avoiding his gaze. “I have to talk to Celine… about all of this,” she murmured. Her voice carried a quiet determination, one that left no room for protest.

She gently broke away from Jinu’s hold, handing the scroll back with trembling hands. Without another word, she turned and disappeared into her room. The faint sound of drawers opening and closing followed.

“I’m so sorry, Jinu. My stupid mouth,” Zoey admitted, her voice small as she stepped closer, placing a hand on Jinu’s arm. He turned to her, his eyes hollow, his expression unreadable.

“I—at least she knows now, right?” he said, his voice empty, as though he was trying to convince himself more than Zoey. He looked down at the scroll in his hands, the weight of it much heavier than before. He had expected Rumi to be happy—to feel some closure, some joy. Instead, she was hurt, confused, and distant.

What does that make me now? I failed, I failed at everything I do . Jinu thought bitterly.

“Jinu…” Mira’s voice was soft, cautious, as she stepped closer. He raised his head to look at her, letting out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice cracking. “I wasn’t… making any progress anyway. He might have really gone back to hell. I—I just… I don't understand why Rumi isn’t happy .” His words came out breathless, his confusion raw.

He clutched his wrist tightly, his nails digging into the fabric of his jacket as if trying to ground himself. 

Mira sighed, the weight of his despair pressing on her, too.

“I should have stopped you, Jinu,” she said softly. “I told you before—sometimes the truth hurts more than the lie.”

Jinu shook his head violently, as if trying to shake off her words. “I tried to do something good for her!” he snapped, his voice rising with frustration. He held up the scroll, the painted memory trembling in his grasp. “This—this plan was supposed to make her happy. Wouldn’t she be happy if I found her father? If I brought him back instead of just a memory?”

“Jinu…” Zoey’s voice was cautious now, her brows furrowing. “What are you planning?” she asked, her concern evident.

“I… nothing—I was planning nothing at all,” Jinu stammered. He shook his head, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I just wanted her to be happy. I tried to…”

But the ache in his chest grew heavier, his head pounding with a dull, relentless pain. His demon mark burned against his skin, as if mocking him. 

He felt feverish, sick, and utterly drained. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to cry. He wanted to do all of those things. And it makes him sick, because Rumi was the one hurt here. Not him.

“Are you okay?” Mira asked, worry etched across her face. She placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“I—I’m fine,” Jinu lied, though his face betrayed him. He gestured weakly toward Rumi’s room. “I think you should ask her that instead.”

But his own thoughts betrayed him, a cruel voice whispering in the back of his mind:

Happiness? You only brought her pain.

As always, you fail to give her what she truly needs.

Jinu, you truly are a failure.

“I think you need someone to talk to, too,” Mira said, her voice low but firm. “Whatever the reason you started doing this, it’s… it’s unhealthy, Jinu. You’re obsessed with finding her happiness.”

Zoey nodded in agreement, her hands clasped together tightly. “Yeah, I was just thinking that as well. It’s worrying, Jinu. You’re so focused on her happiness that you’re forgetting about yourself.”

“I-It’s because that’s my purpose,” Jinu reasoned weakly, his voice trembling. He avoided their eyes, gripping the scroll tightly.

Mira and Zoey exchanged crestfallen looks. “Jinu, you need to trust Rumi with some things,” Zoey said gently. “This wasn’t trusting her.”

She turned toward Rumi’s room, opening the door slightly to check on her. Mira lingered behind, her gaze heavy with concern as she looked at Jinu.

“Jinu, I know you mean well. I really do,” she said softly. “But I don’t want you to lose yourself in this. If you keep going like this, Rumi will end up losing two people she cares about.”

And with that, she left him alone in the living room, following Zoey into Rumi’s room.

Jinu stood there, frozen, their words echoing in his mind. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the rug like a marionette with its strings cut. Derpy and Jangsu whined softly, their tails wagging anxiously as they licked his face.

It wasn’t until he felt the warm streak of tears on his cheeks that he realized he was crying. He let out a shaky exhale, his chest heaving as the weight of his failure bore down on him.

I’m not enough. I’ll never be enough to make Rumi happy.

How can I be enough… when all I bring is pain?

Why can’t I do something right for someone?

Why?

Jinu heaves, tears continue to fall.

“WE ARE HUNTERS VOICES STRONG,

Slaying demons with our songs.

Fix the world and make it right.

When darkness finally meets the light,”

Jinu remembers. He was the eldest, and now it was only the three of them. His father had succumbed to a sickness that lingered like a shadow in their home, and soon his mother would follow. Her breaths had grown shallow, her strength ebbing away with each passing day. Jinu knew he would be left with his little sister to care for, alone. He had always believed, even as a child, that his sole purpose in life was to make his mother happy.

They were poor—so poor that joy felt like a luxury they could not afford. Yet, Jinu found ways to bring laughter into their home. He would stumble on purpose, trip over his own feet, and contort his face into silly expressions just to see her smile. And she did smile. For a fleeting moment, her weariness would lift, and her laughter would fill the small, dim room. It was all Jinu needed to know that he had done something right.

Then his sister came into the world, a fragile bundle cradled in his arms. She was so small, so delicate, and his mother, weakened from the labor, could barely hold her. Her hands trembled, her breath slow and labored. Jinu was terrified. His mother needed strength she no longer had, and his sister needed nourishment he could not provide. He felt helpless, like a boy pretending to be a man in a world too cruel for either.

Desperation pushed him to his knees on the dirt-filled streets, uncaring of the passersby who ignored him or the ones who cast pitying glances his way. He sang with all the strength his young voice could muster, his throat raw and aching. Sometimes, people would stop. They would toss a few coins his way, or perhaps a piece of bread. And Jinu learned something in those moments: if you were entertaining enough, people would pay attention.

So, he performed. At first, it was music—singing songs far too complex for a boy his age. The effort earned him food and money, enough to keep his family alive. But he soon realized something else: people loved to laugh, especially at the misfortune of others. So, he became a jester. He tripped over his feet, got dirty, made a fool of himself, and acted like a dog. Dignity? He had none to spare. All that mattered was the laughter of strangers and the coins they threw his way.

Jinu became good at it—too good. His antics drew crowds. His songs amazed them. What kind of foolish, clumsy boy could sing with such a voice? They laughed, they marveled, and they paid. He would return home each night exhausted, his throat raw and his hands bleeding from countless falls. But his mother was happy, and his sister was healthy. That was all that mattered.

Years passed, and Jinu grew older. The boy who once amazed and amused the streets was now a man, and people no longer paid to see a grown man act the fool. His voice, once pure and strong, carried less weight than it once did. Winter came, harsh and unrelenting, and the money dwindled. His mother and sister grew sick, sicker than ever before. Jinu sang, but it was never enough.

And then, Gwi-Ma came.

A whisper in the wind, a shadow in the corner of his vision. Gwi-Ma offered him a deal. And Jinu, desperate and broken, listened. There was something he had come to understand about humans: they loved happiness, or rather, the pursuit of it. It wasn’t happiness itself they craved—it was the pleasure it brought, however fleeting. They would chase it, even if it meant hurting those around them or themselves. Happiness was a fleeting thing, a spark that burned bright and vanished just as quickly.

Jinu knew pain. He had lived in its shadow for so long that it had become a part of him, seared into his very being. Happiness was always out of reach, an illusion he could never grasp. And so, he realized his purpose: to serve those he loved, to give them happiness even if it meant sacrificing himself. If that meant making a fool of himself, he would do it. If it meant enduring pain, he would bear it.

Because happiness was fleeting, but pleasure? Pleasure lingered. And humans, Jinu realized, would always trade happiness for the fleeting ecstasy of pleasure.

Perhaps that was what he had done all along.

Jinu stood by the door, his hand resting on the frame as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. The room was dim, bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun filtering through the sheer curtains of the balcony. Rumi lay on her bed, her back partially turned to him, her silhouette faintly illuminated. Was she asleep? He couldn’t tell. Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, her face peaceful yet distant. The sight of her like this tugged at his heart in a way that made him feel both desperate and helpless.

He wanted to go to her, to hold her, to say something—anything—but the ache in his chest was paralyzing. His heart thudded in a sickly rhythm, each beat heavy with the weight of his guilt. He felt feverish, his body caught in a cruel paradox of burning heat and icy chills. His stomach churned as if it were trying to expel the knot of emotions tangled within him. He wanted to vomit, to purge the regret that clawed at his insides.

How had it come to this? He had only wanted to help her, to be there for her—but all he’d done was hurt her. Over and over again. He had tried so hard to be enough for her, to fix things, to make her happy. But instead, he had failed. That’s all he ever was, wasn’t it? A failure. An asshole who thought he could help, only to make things worse.

“Rumi?” His voice broke the stillness, soft and tentative, as though he were afraid of shattering her fragile serenity. He hesitated before stepping closer, his legs feeling like they might give out beneath him. He slowly sat down on the edge of her bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and she stirred, turning her head toward him. Her eyes fluttered open, and despite the exhaustion etched into her face, she managed a small, tired smile.

“Hey, Jinu…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, fragile yet warm. “I’m sorry for… acting like this.”

Her words were a dagger to his heart. His chest tightened, and he felt the air leave his lungs. This is what you’ve done, Jinu. Look at her. Look at what you’ve done.

He couldn’t meet her eyes. The shame was too heavy. He swallowed hard, his throat dry and constricted. Slowly, he lay down beside her, their faces inches apart, and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold against his, and he held them tightly, as though afraid she might slip away if he let go.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. He hated how weak he sounded, but the overwhelming guilt was suffocating. He felt like he was drowning, and no matter how hard he tried to keep his head above water, the tide kept pulling him under.

Rumi let out a soft sigh, her breath warm against his neck. It was shaky, like the exhale of someone barely holding it together, but there was a quiet strength in it too. “I’m fine,” she said, though the faint quiver in her voice betrayed her. “This is all just… so sudden. Me and Celine talked about it… I just—it hurts.”

Her words pierced through him like shards of glass, each syllable cutting deeper than the last. Jinu tightened his grip on her hand, his chest aching as he tried to steady himself. “Did you guys fight?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rumi chuckled softly, a sound that was equal parts bitter and amused. “Not really… I still can’t believe you went to Celine. God, I thought she—she knew. But you told her your name is Juni?” She gave a short laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

Jinu forced a hollow smile. “Lost the creativity,” he muttered, the words empty and devoid of humor.

Rumi rolled her eyes, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at her lips, before her expression softened. Her hand drifted to his hair, her fingers brushing through it slowly, tenderly. Her touch was light, almost hesitant, as though she were afraid he might break. Her hand lingered, finally resting on his face, her thumb brushing over the dark circles under his eyes.

“Jinu…” she began, her voice trembling. She let out a shaky exhale, her breath catching in her throat. He watched her, his heart breaking at the sight of her struggling to find the words.

He wanted to say something, to reassure her, to tell her it would all be okay—but the words wouldn’t come. His throat felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, choking him. He had done this. He had made her like this. How could he?

“Rumi…” His voice cracked as he finally managed to speak. “Don’t you want to see your father?”

Her eyes widened at his question, and for a moment, he thought he’d gone too far. Then, to his surprise, she let out a wet laugh, tears pooling in her eyes. “Are you kidding? Of course I do. But I know that wouldn’t happen… I don’t like false hope, Jinu,” she said, her tone sharp but laced with a deep sadness.

False hope. That’s what he had given her. That’s why it hurt so much. It wasn’t the lies that cut the deepest—it was the hope.

This was what Celine had been trying to tell him. And maybe… maybe she was right. He had only hurt Rumi more by trying to help her. He had given her something to hold onto, only to rip it away.

Jinu bit his lip, his head hanging low as the weight of his failure pressed down on him. He wanted to say he was sorry, but the words felt meaningless. Instead, he stayed silent, holding her hand as tightly as he could, as if that alone could keep her from slipping away.

But Jinu knew he could make it right again. This wasn’t some delusion, or a fragile thread of false hope. He knew . Deep in his bones, he knew Rumi’s father was alive. It wasn’t just a desperate gamble—it was the truth. And he’d do anything to prove it to her, to himself.

Slowly, Jinu sat up from the bed, his movements careful so as not to disturb her. “Where are you going?” Rumi asked, her voice soft but laced with concern. She pushed herself to sit up as well, her head tilting slightly as she studied him.

Jinu chuckled lightly, though it felt forced, the sound hollow in his ears. “Just going to take a breather with Jangsu,” he lied, slipping his hands into his pockets casually.

Rumi frowned, her brows knitting together in a small crease, but she nodded. “Alright…” she murmured, but something gnawed at her. Something about this moment felt… off. She couldn’t place it, but her chest tightened, a faint unease creeping in.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, her hand reaching out to grab his wrist.

Jinu froze, turning back to her with a soft smile, his eyes questioning. “What is it?” he asked gently, his voice calm as though he hadn’t just been caught in a lie.

Rumi stared at him for a moment, her lips parting as if to speak, but then she shook her head and let his wrist go.

“Nothing… I just—I just wanted to tell you I love you.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she quickly covered it with a grin. “You do know I love you, right? Like… a lot lot,” she added with a playful smirk, her tone lightening.

Jinu’s eyes widened at her words, his heart tightening in his chest. For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze locked on hers. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, cupping her face with both hands as though she were something fragile and precious. “I love you so much, Rumi,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Rumi giggled softly, her cheeks flushing as she held his hand, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Don’t make it sound like goodbye, you weirdo,” she teased, her laughter bubbling up and chasing away the unease in her chest. Somehow, just being with him made her heart feel lighter.

Jinu had always had a way of doing that—of making her happy no matter how heavy her heart felt. She didn’t know how he did it. It wasn’t just his touch, though that alone sent her heart soaring. It was his presence, his warmth, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Jinu,” she said, her voice softer now as she gripped his hand tightly.

“Yeah?” he replied, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“Just… hurry up with the air, alright?” she said with a grin, her tone teasing but her eyes filled with affection.

Jinu rolled his eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Yes, Madame,” he said, mock saluting her as she giggled and lay back down, a soft smile playing on her lips. She didn’t notice the momentary flicker of sadness that crossed his face as he turned away, his jaw tightening. Whistling softly, he called for Jangsu and stepped out of the room.

For a while, Rumi lay there, staring at the ceiling as the warmth of Jinu’s presence lingered. But her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. “Jinu?” she called, sitting up again.

But it wasn’t Jinu. Zoey and Mira stood at the door, their faces lighting up when they saw her. “Hey, guys,” Rumi said with a smile as they entered the room.

“You look better now,” Zoey said with a grin, flopping onto the bed beside her. Mira followed more gently, settling on the other side and sandwiching Rumi between them.

“Well… Jinu was here. He has his ways,” Rumi admitted, her face softening, her smile growing as she spoke.

Zoey grinned knowingly, but Mira frowned slightly, her gaze flickering toward the door before settling back on Rumi. “Me and Celine talked about my dad,” Rumi began, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “She told me the truth. My mom… my mom died during labor. My dad… he took care of me. Celine told me that her house—it was originally supposed to be for me and my dad. But he left. He had someone important to go to.” Her voice trembled at the end, and she let out a shaky breath, her hands clenching the blanket beneath her.

“Man… that’s…” Zoey trailed off, her expression softening. “I’m sorry, Rumi,” Mira said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Rumi sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s all so sudden. All these years, I believed my dad had died with my mom. I thought… I thought maybe it was easier that way. I was scared to ask. Celine always looked so hurt whenever I brought it up.” Her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

Zoey reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly, while Mira held the other. Neither of them spoke for a moment, their silence offering a quiet comfort.

“Thank you so much,” Rumi whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You guys… and Jinu… you never fail to make me feel safe. To make me feel at home. And happy.” She smiled faintly, though tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I love my dad. I want to meet him. I have so many questions, but… I don’t want Jinu to do all this just for me.”

Mira stiffened beside her, her body going rigid.

“I tried to tell Jinu that,” Zoey said with a groan. “But he’s just… so obsessed with your happiness.”

Rumi turned to her, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Happiness?” she echoed, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Zoey hesitated, glancing at Mira, who remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Rumi, there’s something I have to tell you,” Mira said suddenly, her voice low and hesitant. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, her gaze darting between Zoey and Rumi.

Rumi turned to her, confused. “What is it?” she asked, her brows knitting together.

Mira hesitated, her lips parting before she took a deep breath and spoke. “There’s something that’s been eating Jinu alive… What Zoey said earlier? About him being obsessed with your happiness? It’s true. He’s been trying so hard to find your father because… because he thinks it’s his purpose. He thinks his reason for existing is to make you happy.” Her voice grew quieter as she finished, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Rumi blinked, her head tilting slightly as her confusion deepened. “I don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “But I am happy. I’ve told him that. He knows that.” Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of uncertainty creeping in.

“Yeah, but Jinu…” Zoey interjected, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Jinu’s Jinu, you know? He’s stubborn as hell and always thinks he has to do more .”

Rumi frowned, her fingers tightening around the blanket. “Then I’ll talk to him when he comes back,” she said with a sigh, shaking her head as she bit her lip.

Mira exchanged a glance with Zoey, her expression uneasy. “Wait… where did he go, exactly?” Mira asked, her voice sharper, more urgent now.

“He said he was going out for fresh air,” Rumi replied, shrugging.

Mira’s lips pressed into a thin line, her worry growing. “I—I don’t know, Rumi,” she stammered, her thoughts racing. “But I feel like… I feel like he’s planning something.”

“Planning something?” Rumi repeated, her brows furrowing deeply. “What do you mean?” Her voice rose slightly, the edge of worry creeping in.

Mira hesitated again, glancing at Zoey, who sighed and decided to speak up. “Well… he did mention something last time,” Zoey admitted slowly, her voice uncertain. “Something about being willing to go back to hell for your dad. You know, just in case he isn’t… here.”

Rumi froze, her heart skipping a beat. “What?!” she shrieked, her voice breaking as she sat up straight, her hands gripping the blanket tightly. “He said what ?”.

Zoey winced, scratching the back of her head awkwardly. “Yeah, uh… he might’ve said something along the lines of, like, going to hell and back for your dad if that’s what it takes,” she admitted, her tone wavering. “You know how dramatic he can get, but… I don’t think he was joking.”

Rumi stared at her, her chest tightening as panic bubbled to the surface. “He wouldn’t…” she whispered, though the words sounded hollow even to her. She knew Jinu. She knew his heart, his determination, his stubbornness. And she knew he would .

She scrambles out of her bed and out of the room, Mira sighed, “Let’s get that idiot back before he accidentally kills himself, yeah?” She turns to Zoey who grinned, summoning her blades. “Fuck yeah!” and they too jumped up from the bed and left the room in a hurry.

Mission: Save Rumi’s Idiot Boyfriend is a go!

Chapter Text

HE’S BACK AT THE TEMPLE AGAIN… Out of all the temples, the one with the thinnest and weakest part of the Honmoon was the Snake Temple. So that’s where he went. Obviously.

“Jangsu… I’m sorry for asking so much, but I need you to help me open the Honmoon. Just for a little while,” Jinu said, his voice heavy with guilt as they stopped in front of the temple gate. He scanned the grounds—there were no people now. The lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, their light flickering as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.

“And,” he added, hesitating, “I’ll try to find a demon… one that might be remotely close to Rumi’s face.”

Jangsu let out a low growl, her golden eyes narrow with disapproval. The sound was sharp and guttural, cutting through the stillness of the evening. It almost sounds like a, ‘ Are you serious? You don’t even know him. How are you going to find him?’

Jinu sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I know, I know ,” he said, his voice faltering. “But I have to see. I’m not entering Hell—not yet. I… I can’t.” His words trailed into a whisper, his resolve wavering.

Jangsu whined softly, her growls turning into a low rumble as Jinu groaned.

“I can open it,” he muttered to himself, almost as if trying to convince his own trembling hands. “I can open a small tear into Hell. It’ll hurt—probably a lot—but… what the hell, right? We can do it.” He let out a nervous laugh, the sound hollow and uncertain.

As they moved forward, the snake-shaped stone statues scattered around the temple grounds seemed to watch them, their unblinking eyes carved with eerie precision. The air felt heavier now, charged with something ancient and unseen.

Jangsu hissed, baring her fangs as she walked beside him, her tail swishing in agitation. She stopped suddenly, her nose close to the ground.

“Here,” Jinu said, kneeling beside her. “This part feels thinner, doesn’t it?” His hands pressed against the stone floor, the cold seeping into his skin.

Jangsu rumbled in agreement, her claws scratching at the ground in short, deliberate strokes.

Jinu glanced at the wooden steps leading to the shrine, just a few feet away. A statue of the fake snake god—loomed over them, its coiled body carved with intricate patterns, its fangs bared in a perpetual snarl.

“Okay… so, how do we do this?” Jinu asked, his voice tinged with nervous laughter.

Jangsu turned her head to him, fixing him with an unimpressed stare.

“Right, of course,” he mumbled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s one thing I understand about hunters… They sing to unite, to save. But…” He paused, his gaze shifting to the ground below. “You can also sing to part people, to divide. To hate.”

Jangsu sat back on her haunches, her ruby eyes locked on him, unblinking.

“My weapon is my voice, Jangsu,” Jinu said quietly. “If I sing a song of hate… it might open. Even if just for a little bit.”

Jangsu’s throat rumbled, the vibrations resonating through the ground beneath them.

“I know, I know,” Jinu said quickly, holding up a hand. “This is completely against Rumi’s wishes. But I need to do this. You have to help me.”

He hesitated, his voice dropping as he added, “Rumi’s dad… he knows about these shrines. But I don’t understand—only we generals were supposed to know about them. Unless…”

Jinu’s breath caught in his throat, his lips trembling as a single name escaped him:

“ Chwisaeng .”

He laughed nervously, waving a hand as if to dismiss the thought. “No, no, of course not. That’s ridiculous , right?”

Jangsu’s gaze didn’t waver, her stare growing heavier. Oh…. Oh. My. God.

“Oh, jeez. Chwisaeng? Are you serious? ” Jinu’s voice dropped to a whisper, the name sending a chill down his spine.

Jangsu let out a thunderous roar, her sharp cry echoing through the empty temple grounds. Jinu’s legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed onto the floor, his hand pressing against his forehead.

“Chwisaeng?” he repeated, his voice trembling. His thoughts raced as pieces of an unseen puzzle began to click together. “Celine said Chae-Song knows how to paint… I-I don’t… does Chwisaeng paint? I can’t even remember what he used to do…”

Jinu turned to Jangsu, who let out another low rumble, her golden eyes glinting with faint amusement.

“Fuck, my memories suck ass,” Jinu muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He glanced back at Jangsu, who somehow looked… entertained.

“This can’t be,” Jinu said softly, his voice laced with disbelief. “I don’t understand. Is this why he never came back?” His words grew heavier with each syllable, his mind racing to connect the fragments of his past.

A groan escaped his lips as he pressed his palms against his temples. “Fuck… but it makes sense, doesn’t it?” he whispered, his brows furrowing. He bit down on his thumb, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to shake.

Chwisaeng lingered in his thoughts, pulling him into a spiral of unanswered questions. Chwisaeng had disappeared for so long—long enough to rewrite his story a thousand different ways.

He could’ve done anything.

Become king.

Do military service.

Hell, even be a K-pop idol…

Or—Jinu’s breath hitched— be Rumi’s dad.

Turning back to Jangsu, Jinu’s voice broke the silence. “Scroll, please.”

Jangsu stared at him, clearly unimpressed by the request. She let out a tired sigh before leaning forward and—without much ceremony—regurgitated the scroll from her stomach. The slimy, saliva-coated parchment dropped unceremoniously into Jinu’s waiting hands.

Jinu grimaced, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Gods, I’ll never get used to this,” he muttered, holding the scroll at arm’s length. “It’s bad enough that all of you tigers share the same stomach, but seriously… this is gross.”

Jangsu huffed, licking her lips as though to emphasize her indifference.

Wiping the scroll as best he could, Jinu unfurled it carefully, his eyes scanning the intricate inked figures painted on its surface. His finger traced the designs, pointing to each animal as he spoke.

“A tiger… that’s me. A fox… Baek-hwa. A snake… Gokdama…”

His hand hovered over the final figure, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“And the dragon… that has to be Chwisaeng.”

Jinu’s finger lingered on the dragon, its coiled body drawn with an almost divine precision. He dragged his hand back to the tiger, then back to the dragon again, his brow furrowing deeper with each pass.

It all made sense now. The painting felt familiar—achingly so.

“Spirit animals,” Jinu murmured, the realization settling over him like a heavy cloak. His mind raced with fragments of memory, piecing together moments he thought he’d forgotten.

He remembered how Chwisaeng used to call him the tiger —a title that had felt strangely fitting, even then. But that was all he remembered. The rest was a blur, a series of disjointed images and feelings that refused to come into focus.

After all, Jinu had always been surrounded by tigers. They were his constant companions, his sentinels. But now, the connection between him and the tiger felt deeper, more significant than he’d ever realized.

Jangsu looked at the scroll as well, letting out a soft, rumbling purr before leaning in to lick Jinu across the cheek. The unexpected affection made Jinu laugh, loud and carefree. 

“Wait! Did I really just find Rumi’s dad?!” His voice bubbled with excitement as he giggled, trying to fend off Jangsu, who eagerly jumped on him, licking his face with happy abandon. Jinu’s laughter echoed through the temple, breaking the stillness of the space, and for a moment, he completely forgot where he was.

“Okay, enough! Enough!” Jinu said breathlessly, gently shoving Jangsu back. The tiger sat upright, still purring, her tail swishing contentedly as she held the scroll in her large paws.

“This is amazing!” Jinu exclaimed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. “I mean… I–I’m not surprised, really. I always knew Chwisaeng was more than just some demon. But starting a family? Gah, seriously?!” His voice rose, half disbelief, half exhilaration. “But it all makes sense now! No wonder Rumi’s voice can break the Honmoon.” He gestured wildly as he spoke, his excitement spilling out in every word.

Jangsu purred in response, her eyes gleaming with an understanding far beyond that of a simple beast.

“Rumi is so strong …” Jinu murmured, his tone softening with admiration. “That’s how she was able to connect with me, how she turned me into her sword!” He clenched his fist as a surge of pride and determination coursed through him.

“This is it,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of relief and triumph. “We did it. I’m a genius, aren’t I? This means we don’t even need to tear through the Honmoon, right? We can just go back to Rumi, tell her to destroy all these demonic shrines, and focus on finding Chwisaeng!” He slapped his palm with his fist for emphasis, his grin widening as he rolled up the scroll.

For the first time in what felt like ages, his heart felt lighter. He handed the scroll to Jangsu, who promptly swallowed it, earning a startled laugh from Jinu. “You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly, patting her head. His grin remained as he imagined telling Rumi the news. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he explained everything. Jinu might not remember much, but he knew the kind of man he had been—and still could be. That is if he can find him right away.

“This is what Rumi deserves,” Jinu thought to himself. His mind was already racing ahead, imagining the moment he could apologize to Chwisaeng in person, to make amends for everything.

But his thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound—something running along the temple walls. Then came the sharp clatter of roof tiles shifting. Jinu flinched, his breath catching in his throat. “What was that?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Jangsu immediately tensed, her purring replaced by a low, guttural growl as she bared her teeth and stared upward.

Jinu reached out to touch the back of her neck, his fingers trembling slightly as he steadied himself. “Okay, Jangsu, let’s get out of here,” he whispered urgently. A faint blue light began to swirl beneath them, the telltale sign of a portal forming.

But before it could fully stabilize, a powerful gust of wind tore through the air behind him.

Jinu barely had time to turn. A heavy object slammed into him, sending him flying off Jangsu’s back. The impact knocked the air from his lungs as he crashed into the ground, skidding painfully against the cold stone floor. He came to a stop next to a snake statue, his leg throbbing and his back aching from the force of the blow.

“Ow, fuck!” he hissed through gritted teeth, his hands clawing at the ground as he tried to push himself up. Every part of his body protested, but he forced his eyes open, scanning the room through a haze of pain.

And then he saw her.

“Baek-Hwa?” Jinu’s voice wavered as he stared at the figure standing on the temple wall. His heart sank as he recognized her childlike form. She stood there, her small frame tense, her piercing gaze locked onto him with a frown that cut deeper than any wound.

“You are also a traitor,” she said coldly, her voice carrying a weight that belied her youthful appearance.

“Baek-Hwa, wait!” Jinu called, struggling to his feet. But his injured leg gave out beneath him, and he let out a yelp of pain. Jangsu rushed to his side, pressing her massive body against him to help him stand. He leaned on her gratefully, his eyes never leaving Baek-Hwa.

“Baek-Hwa, we don’t have to fight like last time,” he pleaded. His voice was gentle, almost desperate, as he stretched a hand toward her, hoping to bridge the growing divide.

But Baek-Hwa’s expression darkened. She let out a low, guttural growl, her teeth bared like a cornered animal. Without a word, she leapt down from the wall, landing with a grace that sent a shiver down Jinu’s spine.

“I can’t believe this, General Jinul,” Baek-Hwa said, her tone laced with disappointment and something far more dangerous. Her small hands curled into fists as she took a step closer, her eyes glinting with barely restrained fury.

“Baek-Hwa, please,” Jinu tried again, his voice cracking as he reached out to her. But she only sniffed disdainfully, her growl deepening as she stood her ground.

Jinu’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t want to fight her again. 

“Baek-Hwa… I know I treated you wrong back then…” Jinu began, his voice unsteady with regret. “But I need your help. Chwisaeng—”

He faltered, the words dying on his tongue as Baek-Hwa’s lips twisted into a snarl. A guttural growl tore from her throat, raw and furious. “General Chwisaeng is a traitor!” she screamed, her voice reverberating through the temple. “A disgusting traitor!”

The Honmoon rippled violently, a dark, viscous red bleeding through its iridescent surface. What once shimmered with every color of the rainbow now looked as if it had been corrupted by a fresh blood spill, the stain spreading and the seal at its center flickering uncertainly.

Jinu stared, transfixed. “The Honmoon… How…” he whispered, his voice barely audible over Baek-Hwa’s pained cry.

“The generals were my family,” she choked out, her anger giving way to heartbreak. Tears welled in her eyes, making her look suddenly small, a child lost in grief. Jinu took an uncertain step forward, only to be yanked back by Jangsu, whose warning roar echoed off the stone walls—reminding him of danger which was in the form of a child in front of him, a danger Jinu knew all too well.

“Baek-Hwa,” Jinu pleaded, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know I failed you before. I know I was wrong. But please—let’s just talk. Let’s calm down, all of us.”

Baek-Hwa’s lips curled into a bitter smile. She laughed, the sound sharp and echoing, sending fresh ripples through the Honmoon’s corrupted surface. Jinu’s gaze dropped, shame burning on his cheeks.

“Look at you, General Jinul,” Baek-Hwa spat, her voice ringing with scorn. “You’ve become nothing. So weak. Just like Chwisaeng. He loved too much, gave everything to that hunter woman, and now… look at him.”

Her voice softened, almost sing-song, as she continued, “That dragon was so eager to please, to pour out every last piece of himself for the humans he so loved . And where did that get him? Into the hands of Lord Gwi-Ma. And now…”

She trailed off, her words hanging in the air, heavy with accusation and mourning. “A dog of Lord Gwi-Ma,”

Jinu’s heart plummeted. “What happened to Chwisaeng?” he managed, his voice barely above a tremor as he instinctively took a step back.

Baek-Hwa only tilted her head, her smile stretching unnaturally, almost to her ears. “You should ask him yourself—when you die!” she hissed.

Jinu barely saw her move. She launched at him, her limbs elongating grotesquely, bones snapping and reforming with sickening pops. Jangsu’s guttural roar echoed through the chamber. Jinu dove to his right, but not fast enough—Baek-Hwa’s claws sliced across his shoulder. Pain flared white-hot, and he let out a choked gasp, clutching his bleeding shoulder. Blue blood dripped, splattering the stone.

Jangsu charged, her massive form bounding up the coiled stones of the snake statue. She leapt, jaws clamping around Baek-Hwa’s neck with a crunch. The two tumbled across the floor, a blur of fur and fury. Jangsu held fast, snarling, refusing to let Baek-Hwa go.

Jinu staggered upright, his leg throbbing, fear and adrenaline burning through him. He’d fought beside Jangsu for nearly four centuries—he knew her strength. But Baek-Hwa… Baek-Hwa was different now. She had torn the Honmoon apart as if it were paper.

“Jangsu, no!” Jinu shouted, horror seizing him as Baek-Hwa flung Jangsu aside like a ragdoll. Jangsu crashed into the base of a statue, letting out a piercing whine before scrambling upright, red eyes blazing.

Jinu whistled sharply. Jangsu’s head whipped to him, nostrils flaring. “We go! Now! We need Rumi and the others!” he barked, voice trembling.

Baek-Hwa’s laughter turned into a shriek, echoing from the high, shadowed ceiling. “The hunters? Oh yes, bring them to me! I’ll feast on them all!” Her voice twisted, a jagged sound that made Jinu flinch and clap his hands over his ears.

“Do you think they can defeat me now?” Baek-Hwa taunted, head tilting at an unnatural angle. Jangsu stepped in front of Jinu, hackles raised, muscles coiled to strike again.

Jinu steadied his breath, pain radiating from his shoulder. “What the fuck do you mean?” he spat, desperation cracking his composure.

Baek-Hwa’s eyes gleamed. “General Gokdama has given me what I wanted—something Lord Gwi-Ma never did.”

It was only then Jinu realized she was growing—her form swelling, doubling in size, shadows writhing around her limbs. His mind reeled. Was she consuming more souls than before? He took another step back, fear gnawing at him.

Then he noticed: Baek-Hwa was blocking the only exit. The walls loomed high, but Jangsu could leap them. Jinu’s hand tightened on Jangsu’s fur, bracing himself for a desperate escape. His wound throbbed, blood still seeping between his fingers.

“What did Gokdama give you?” Jinu demanded, voice ragged.

Baek-Hwa sneered. “Power. More than any of you ever dreamed of. Stronger than those who called me weak!” Her voice trembled with rage. 

“It’s always about power, isn’t it?” Jinu started. “You’ve become a demon so young…” he said shakily.

Baek-Hwa’s snarl softened, almost pitiful. “It’s the only thing I can do,” she whispered, her voice fleetingly childlike. For a heartbeat, Jinu saw the lost, wounded girl behind the monster.

“You can do other things,” Jinu pleaded softly. “Demons don’t have to… They don’t have to be monsters. You can choose, Baek-Hwa. You don’t have to follow Gwi-Ma.”

Baek-Hwa’s glare sharpened. “You’re trying to sound better than me?!” she screamed, her anger swelling, the Honmoon trembled around them once more.

“Of course not! I’m begging you—we can leave this behind. There are other ways to live. We don’t have to be what they made us,” Jinu said, voice shaking with desperation. He slid his hand along Jangsu’s nape, muscles tensing.

Baek-Hwa laughed, a low, bitter sound. “Who said I was following Lord Gwi-Ma?”

Jinu’s heart skipped. He frowned, confusion and dread warring in his chest.

What?

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Baek-Hwa huffed, her head cocked to the side, as if listening to a voice only she could hear. Jangsu ear flicked as if she too could hear it. Irritation flickered across Baek-Hwa’s face, and she let out a guttural growl. “Looks like I can’t touch you,” she snarled, scuffing a clawed foot against the stone in anger. 

Jangsu answered with a threatening rumble from deep in her chest.

“What do you mean?” Jinu asked, weak but wary, his words half-swallowed by pain. 

Baek-Hwa only growled in response, her eyes wild. “Not fair, not fair!” she spat, voice ragged with frustration.

Suddenly, before Jinu or Jangsu could react, Baek-Hwa lunged. Her claws raked violently across Jinu’s side, tearing through flesh and muscle. 

He barely had time to register the pain before she seized him, hurling his body against the nearest snake statue. He struck the stone head with a sickening crunch, the statue’s carved face snapping off and tumbling away as Jinu dropped to the floor, a strangled scream escaping his lips.

Jangsu howled, leaping onto Baek-Hwa once more, her jaws clamping around Baek-Hwa’s neck as they tumbled, locked in a vicious struggle. Jinu writhed, agony burning through his side, his hand pressing desperately to the wound. Blood—unnaturally blue—stained his palm, pooling beneath him as he fought for breath.

“Ah fuck ,” he gasped, voice hoarse, “that was foul play, you didn’t even say game start yet…” He forced a weak, crooked smile, but the pain threatened to swallow him whole. Behind him, he heard Jangsu’s snarl, heard the thud as she was thrown aside again.

Baek-Hwa approached, steps slow and deliberate. “Without your tigers, you are weak. You really are nothing, General Jinul,” she taunted, laughter sharp and cruel.

Jinu just huffed, shaking his head, dizzy and sick. Of course he knew that. He’d never been as strong as the other generals—he could fight, yes, but not like them. He’d always relied on his tigers. It was his weakness, but for so long, it hadn’t mattered. He’d been a general. No one dared to touch him—until now.

“Hah?… Are we seriously talking about that again?” he panted, clutching his bleeding side. Blood spilled through his fingers, dripping to the ground in steady rivulets. Baek-Hwa’s eyes followed the flow, her grin widening, hungry and inhuman. Jinu’s head spun—his vision doubled, the chamber tilting as he saw two Baek-Hwas shimmering before him.

From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Jangsu, crouched atop a shattered snake statue, muscles coiled, ready to strike.

“I want to do more to you, but General Gokdama will get angry if I do,” Baek-Hwa groaned, frustration twisting her features. “I should just bring you home.” She reaches for him, clawed hand preparing to grab the hood of his jacket.

Jinu forced a pained grin. “I don’t know… wouldn’t want you to lose a head.” As he spoke, Jangsu launched herself from her perch, jaws snapping down on Baek-Hwa’s head with a sickening crunch—Jinu could hear the bones shattering.

Baek-Hwa let out an inhuman, muffled scream, her form writhing and contorting. Jangsu held fast, her teeth sinking deeper, until Baek-Hwa’s body dissolved in a swirl of black smoke. Jangsu dropped heavily to the floor, letting out a resounding burp that echoed through the ruined temple.

Jinu laughed weakly, blood bubbling at his lips. “Was the food that good?” he wheezed. Jangsu turned to him, striking a proud pose and rumbling a low, proud growl. Jinu tried to laugh again, but the effort made him nearly collapse. He would have hit the stone if Jangsu hadn’t darted under him, catching him with her massive body and nudging him upright.

“Fuck, she’s right. I’ve gotten weak… not like anything’s changed,” Jinu muttered, breathless. The pain in his shoulder, side, and leg blurred his vision, tears gathering in his eyes. Jangsu whined, nudging him, her muscles shifting as she tried to help him climb onto her back. But Jinu couldn’t move his leg without sending new waves of agony through his body.

Jangsu circled anxiously, letting out another mournful roar. Jinu forced his eyes open, glancing toward the Honmoon. It still glowed a deep, ominous red.

No… How? How can I fix this?

I’ve ruined things again…

This is all my fault . Jinu thought he could almost feel his heart in his throat. He could almost imagine Rumi's face. Her disappointed face.

“This is my fault,” he groaned almost a sob, forcing himself upright with Jangsu’s help. “It won’t be long before more demons come out of here.” he said shakily, unable to stop tears from falling down. He was in pain, in so much pain.

Jangsu led him out of the temple, his feet dragging, her body a solid support. Jinu’s fingers dug into her fur with one hand, the other pressed desperately to his torn side, trying to keep his insides from spilling out. Blood poured through his fingers, warm and relentless.

“We need to… go back to Rumi—tell her about her dad, the temples, Gokdama…” His voice faded, eyelids fluttering. He stumbled, then collapsed, all strength leaving him.

Jangsu roared, panic and anguish in her voice as she nudged Jinu’s cheek with her broad nose, trying desperately to wake him.

JINU DREAMS OF DRAGONS, BEAUTIFUL DRAGONS THAT DANCES IN THE SKY.

He sits atop a lonely mountain, where the skies melt together in a breathless blend of blue, rose, and pale gold. The clouds drift like silk, illuminated by the setting sun. His hanbok is immaculate and white, draping over him like fresh snow, and a black gat rests elegantly on his head, framing his calm face. In his hands he cradles a bipa, its lacquered wood glinting softly—unlike his usual worn-out instrument, this one gleams, newly crafted, flawless.

Above him, dragons wheel and soar through the technicolor sky. Their bodies are long and serpentine, scales glimmering with the shifting hues of the dawn. Each dragon boasts a luxurious mane that ripples in the wind and two proud horns curling from their brow. Four clawed legs dangle beneath, moving with odd grace as they spiral in the air.

Jinu’s lips curve into a gentle smile. He raises his bipa and plucks the strings, the notes drifting upwards like petals on the wind, as if he is singing the world into being.

“Beneath silver clouds and a whispering breeze,
Wings fold gently, hearts at ease.
Lay down your fire, let stars be your guide,
In the night sky, your dreams bloom wide.”

His voice is soft, barely more than a sigh, but the dragons hear. They spiral lower, playfully nipping at each other’s tails and even daring to flick at the brim of Jinu’s gat with their whiskered snouts. He laughs, his voice bright and clear, the sound echoing through the open sky. A dragon tries to snatch his hat, and Jinu bats it away with a giggle, before refocusing on his bipa. His fingers dance, plucking a gentle melody that seems to make the air shimmer.

“Sleep, oh dragon, rest your flame,
No need for war, no need for name.
Soft as breath you fall below,
In dream’s embrace, the world will glow.”

The dragons twirl and chase each other, their movements so fluid and synchronized it’s as if they have rehearsed this dance for countless lifetimes. Jinu watches, transfixed by their beauty and grace, feeling as though he is both audience and conductor of this ballet.

He chuckles softly, warmth blooming in his chest—until pain suddenly flares behind his eyes. A voice, sharp and urgent, breaks through the serenity: “Oh god, Jinu! What happened, Jangsu?” The words echo inside his skull, familiar and strange all at once, pulling him out of the dreamlike peace. He feels a tug, an ache, as though he is being called back to somewhere he does not want to go.

The dragons roar, their manes whipping in the wind. "Sing," their voices seem to urge. "Don’t stop." Jinu fumbles with his bipa, his hands trembling as he tries to steady himself.

“Embers dim in cradle’s grace,
Tail curled soft in night’s embrace.
Hear my voice through twilight’s hum,
When you sleep, all becomes calm.”

His breath comes shakily now, and the world tilts. The sky darkens, painting the dragons in shadows and moonlight. Still, they dance—joyful, wild, unstoppable. Jinu keeps playing, though his arms ache and his skin burns with fever. He doesn’t notice the way his body trembles, or how his fingers fumble on the strings. He can only think of the song. He must keep singing. He must entertain them.

He must.

Wasn’t that all he was good for?

To perform. To amuse.

To be watched through glass, smiled at, pitied, and forgotten

Just entertainment.

Nothing more .

The dragons above him roared again, their voices thundering like storm clouds, furious at his silence. Jinu let out a shaky exhale. His vision blurred, the dragons multiplying before his eyes—a dizzying, spectral dance. Suddenly, the world bled red, as if a volcano had erupted nearby, painting the sky with fire. He could hear distant, echoing screams—raw, terrified, and all too real. Jinu gasped, clutching at his chest, feeling the sting of sweat sliding down his brow.

The dragons’ roars split the air once more as he forced himself to look up, his body wracked with shivers. Trembling, barely able to breathe, the vision shattered again: two massive, luminous eyes of a snake hovered before him, cold and ancient. 

Then the scene twisted back to the dragons, circling above, their mouths open in pitiful, demanding roars, as if nothing mattered but his song.

Sing, Jinu.

Sing.

Sing!

A voice—clear and desperate—cut through the chaos.

“Wake up, Jinu!”

Tears spilled down Jinu’s cheeks as he tried to pluck the bipa, but his hands trembled uncontrollably. The notes came out broken and discordant. The dragons’ faces twisted with anger and disappointment, eyes narrowed with disdain. He could almost hear their silent condemnation:

Not enough.

You are not enough.

You can never be enough.

“Stop. Please…” Jinu choked out, sobbing. His head dropped, shoulders shaking as he hugged the bipa to his chest, desperate for comfort. Another deafening roar tore through the sky, and he looked up in terror.

A purple dragon, larger and more radiant than the rest, soared forward, roaring at the others. The lesser dragons whimpered, shrinking away, retreating into the clouds and vanishing like mist.

Jinu watched, breathless, as the purple dragon hovered above him. Its scales shimmered with amethyst light; its eyes, impossibly deep, seemed to see straight through him. Tears still streaked Jinu’s face as the dragon slowly descended, coming to rest before him.

It stared into his eyes, unblinking, as Jinu stared back—heart pounding, unable to look away. Suddenly, the dragon opened its maw, and a voice echoed out, impossibly familiar and full of aching love:

“Jinu… Please, wake up. Wake up, I love you too much to lose you.”

The words struck him like a bell, clearing the fog in his mind. The dream’s veil lifted, and at last, recognition dawned.

“Rumi… Rumi!” he cried, stumbling to his feet, the bipa slipping from his grasp and falling to the ground.

The dragon closed its mouth, watching him with eyes that seemed almost human—filled with understanding, hope, and longing. Jinu dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in desperate prayer.

“I need to go back,” he pleaded, voice hoarse with longing. “I need to go back to Rumi.”

The dragon regarded him quietly, then inched forward, lowering its massive head until it was level with Jinu. Its eyes softened, and it closed them, inviting, trusting.

For a moment, Jinu hesitated, staring in awe. Then, slowly, reverently, he reached out, pressing his trembling hand to the dragon’s snout. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against its cool, smooth scales.

In that instant, the world exploded with light—

A vision, sharp and dazzling, flooded through him like a bolt of lightning.

He sees a young dragon, curled atop a rugged mountain peak, sleeping peacefully beneath the sweeping branches of a beautiful pink tree. Petals drift lazily down in the breeze, settling softly on the dragon’s shimmering scales. The scene is tranquil, suffused with a gentle, golden light.

A distant voice calls, and the dragon stirs, lifting its head to peer down the mountainside. There, at the roots of the mountain, a group of humans gathers, their arms full of bright fruits—apples, mangoes, all the dragon’s favorites. They lay their offerings with reverence and hope, faces turned upwards with awe.

Slowly, the dragon descends, wings stirring the petals as it lands with surprising grace. It plucks the fruits, savoring their sweetness, and the humans watch with shining eyes. Laughter and music fill the air as the dragon twirls, delighting in their joy. The people press forward, making wishes:

“Oh, beautiful dragon, I wish to be a queen.”

“Oh dragon, I wish for gold!”

“Dragon, I want more children!”

More wishes follow, tumbling out in desperate, greedy waves. The dragon tilts its head, puzzled—he is no wishing dragon. His purpose is to protect: to calm the storms that threaten to rip the earth apart, to shield the villagers from the red embers lurking beneath the soil, waiting to consume their souls.

But the humans do not understand. When their wishes go ungranted, disappointment sours into anger. Harsh words fly—liar, deceiver, fake. The dragon recoils, bewildered and wounded, tears pricking at the corners of his golden eyes.

In his despair, a voice slithers into the silence:

“Come, dragon. I will make sure these humans love you.”

Gwi-Ma. The King of Hell. The sovereign of demons and all that is cruel and cunning. The young dragon, too innocent to grasp the depth of those words, too lonely to resist, agrees.

In an instant, the sky darkens. The gods rage and thunder, their cries shaking the heavens. Divine light rips through the air, and the dragon’s celestial glow fades, torn from him by angry gods. With a final, agonized wail, the dragon plummets—falling, falling, into the darkness of hell.

He cries for days, for years, for lifetimes—waiting to be called home, waiting for love that never comes. In the endless gloom, he turns to Gwi-Ma, seeking comfort, but finds only pain. For centuries, the dragon bows before the King of Hell, bound by chains of regret and longing.

The vision shifts.

The dragon’s form warps and shrinks, scales melting away, twisting into something human—someone sorrowful, yet familiar. Chwisaeng. The second general of Gwi-Ma, his eyes haunted by memory.

Chwisaeng stands before a boy—a young man, who cries, cries and  trembles, weeping among the stones. A snakebite mars his arm, and his gaze is distant, as if he sees something only he can perceive. It is Jinu, broken and alone.

The vision wavers, the scene shifting once more.

Now Chwisaeng stands beneath a sprawling tree, green foliage swirling around him. A woman with dark hair stands beside him, her hands entwined with his, her eyes alight with hope and love.

And then—

In his arms rests a small child, delicate and warm, gazing up with familiar brown eyes.

He wakes to pain.

It is immediate, overwhelming—a firestorm burning through every nerve. The first thing he does is scream.

Jinu screams, voice raw and ragged, as agony floods back into his body. He tries to curl in on himself, but his muscles refuse. Instead, he sits up against his will, pulled by an instinct to fight or flee. His cries echo in the room, desperate and unending.

Hands—so many hands—press him back down. Their touch is frantic, some gentle, some firm, all trying to keep him still. He sobs, the pain so sharp it blurs the world, and he thrashes to escape their hold. Panic rises, choking him, and his heart pounds wildly against his ribs.

Somewhere, something crashes. He hears the sound as if underwater, distant but unmistakable. Voices shout over the chaos.

“Did the sofa just float?!”

Another crash, louder this time. The surface beneath him trembles and shakes, vibrating like an earthquake. Someone shouts, “The Honmoon is rippling—do something!”

“His power is growing unstable!” a woman cries, her words trembling with fear. “Celine, god, I can feel his pain. He’s screaming in my ears—”

A hand grabs his, squeezing tight. The touch is familiar, grounding him for a split second in the storm.

He keeps crying out, both arms pulled down, someone grasping his ankles to pin him. “Hold him down!” an older voice commands—Celine?

“Guys! I don’t want to hurt Jinu!” a high-pitched voice protests—Zoey.

“Zoey, hold his legs down! We just splinted that!” a low, familiar growl snaps near his ear—Mira.

“Jinu, calm down, please. You’re going to hurt yourself,” pleads another voice, warm and achingly familiar.

Only then does Jinu realize his eyes are still clamped shut. He forces them open, light stabbing into his vision, blinding. He squints, vision swimming, until a blurry purple shape resolves into a woman’s face—Rumi. He pants, pain pulsing through him in waves, his head lolling side to side as memories—some not his own—flicker behind his eyes.

“Celine, can’t you help with the pain?” Rumi pleads, voice cracking. Jinu tries to turn his head toward her, but the effort makes him tremble.

This isn’t the Tower, he realizes, lost and disoriented. The surface beneath him feels hard—a table, not a bed. There’s another roar to his left—Mira, fiercely protective.

“Jangsu, Derpy! Out, out! You can’t be here!” Mira’s voice cuts through the chaos, trying to restore order. Jinu whimpers, body shuddering, as Rumi holds his hand tight.

“Medicine won’t work on demons, Rumi. I did what I could—I patched his wounds. Demons heal fast, let’s hope it’s fast enough,” Celine says softly, her voice close and calm. Jinu tries to focus on her words, but the room spins with shifting light, his vision a kaleidoscope of color and movement.

He clings to the voices, the touches, anything to anchor him against the pain and the memories—both his and not his—that threaten to pull him under.

“R-Rumi,” he gasped, barely able to speak through the burning in his chest.

Rumi spun towards him, eyes wide with shock and relief. “Jinu?! Oh god, thank you, thank you,” she sobbed, voice trembling as she squeezed his hand. Faces crowded his blurry vision—familiar, frightened, and even a few that were oddly blue and furry.

“Enough! Do not crowd him!” Celine snapped. At her command, Mira, Zoey, Jangsu, and Derpy reluctantly stepped back. The room felt less suffocating, but the air still pulsed with anxiety and magic.

Jinu reached for Rumi with a trembling hand, voice barely above a whisper. “Rumi… I’m sorry…” He was shaking, eyelids drooping, every breath a struggle.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine,” Rumi assured him, though tears streamed down her cheeks. “Your wounds will heal in no time, I promise.”

A gentle hand landed on Rumi’s shoulder—Celine, her expression grave but steady. “Rumi, you and the girls need to patch up the Honmoon first. We’ve done all we can for him right now. Just hurry, and make sure no demons slipped through,” she instructed softly.

Rumi hesitated, glancing at Jinu’s desperate, outstretched hand.

Mira and Zoey summoned their weapons with a shimmer of nervous energy. Rumi’s own voice broke, thick with fear. “How? I need Jinu—I-I need him to fight. I can’t do it alone.”

Celine turned to her, taking Rumi’s trembling hands in her own. “I’ll watch over him. For now, you’ll have to use your old summon. Try to call your sword, Rumi. You can do this,” she said, voice gentle but insistent.

Rumi nodded, though her hands shook violently. “Okay… Okay…” She closed her eyes, searching for the old strength. A faint, flickering light appeared in her palm—a ghostly version of her sword, fading in and out like a dying ember.

“Rumi, you can’t go out there without Jinu,” Zoey said fearfully, her voice cracking. “Celine, this won’t work.”

Celine bit her lower lip, worry etched deep into her features as she glanced back at Jinu, who was groaning, still lost in pain.

“Our harmonies are always three-part. We can’t do this with just two,” Mira whispered, face pale and drawn. She nearly stumbled, leaning heavily on her Gok-Do for support. Rumi and Zoey both reached out, steadying her with silent, desperate hands.

They all looked terrified, their clothes streaked with blue blood—a stark, unnatural color that made the fear in the room more real. Demons don’t bleed. But Jinu does.

Because he was tethered to Rumi. The bond that had saved them so many times now made her fear for him more than ever.

“Celine, what do I do? The sword—it’s so heavy. I can’t do this without Jinu,” Rumi cried suddenly, voice breaking as tears spilled over her cheeks. The sword’s light flickered, then guttered out, leaving only a plain, lifeless blade that vanished from her hand.

Celine moved swiftly, gathering Rumi into a tight hug. “Rumi, it’s alright. Breathe. I’m here,” she whispered, rocking her gently.

Chapter Text

EVERYONE FELT THE HONMOON RIPPLE. Especially Rumi. As the three of them clung to Derpy's broad, blue-furred back, wind stung her cheeks and whipped Zoey's hair across Mira's face. Mira coughed, spitting out a loose strand like an irritated cat. Rumi barely noticed—her eyes were locked on the glowing pin on her phone’s map.

“Where is he?” Zoey shouted over the roar of the wind, twisting around to look at the screen.

“We’re close—his location isn’t moving—” Rumi started, voice tight with worry. Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through her chest, making her gasp. Her phone nearly slipped from her trembling fingers.

“Gah!” Rumi screamed, clutching her chest and doubling over. Mira’s hand shot out, grabbing Rumi’s arm to keep her from tumbling off Derpy’s back.

“Rumi!” Mira and Zoey shouted together, panic lacing their voices.

Rumi’s vision blurred with sudden tears. Another wave—another ripple—coursed through her heart, stronger and colder than before. The Honmoon was screaming at her. “Derpy, hurry!” Rumi choked out, voice breaking as the pain faded but left her shaking. The blue tiger responded with a mighty roar, muscles bunching under their legs as he surged forward, slicing through the clouds even faster. Behind them, Bird flapped furiously, squawking his own distress.

“Rumi, what happened? You almost fell!” Mira’s face was white with fear, her grip still firm on Rumi’s arm.

“Jinu’s hurt! I can feel it. We need to hurry!” Rumi cried, her words tumbling out as the temple finally came into view—a dark silhouette.

Outside, a familiar shape stood: Jangsu, her hackles raised when she heard them. She turned, lips curling in a snarl—then recognized them, and let out a desperate, mournful whine.

“There! Derpy, land over there!” Zoey pointed urgently. Derpy swooped down, landing hard a few steps away from Jangsu. The ground trembled with the impact.

Rumi leapt from Derpy’s back before he’d even stopped moving, sprinting to Jangsu’s side. Her heart thundered in her chest—the Honmoon’s warning still echoing in her bones.

Her stomach dropped.

“No… No!” Rumi screamed, hands flying to her face. Jinu lay slumped against the temple steps, his face slack, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. A pool of blue blood spread beneath him, soaking into the dirt. Ugly, jagged wounds slashed across his side, as if he’d been mauled by something monstrous.

“ Oh my god …” Mira whispered, frozen in shock.

“Oh god, Jinu! What happened, Jangsu?”. Rumi collapsed to her knees beside Jinu, fumbling with shaking hands to pull off her hoodie. She pressed it to his abdomen, trying to stanch the bleeding. For a moment, she hesitated, afraid to look—afraid of what she might see.

The wound was bad. So bad it made her stomach twist; she nearly vomited. Mira snapped out of her daze, kneeling beside her, and together they pressed down, wrapping her hoodie tighter around Jinu’s abdomen. Rumi watches helplessly. 

“He’s still breathing,” Mira said, voice trembling but steady. “We need to get him home. Now.” 

“Uh, guys?” Zoey called from the steps of the temple, her voice small and uncertain.

Rumi and Mira both looked up, blood on their hands, hearts pounding. “What is it?” Mira asked, getting to her feet to join Zoey.

Rumi stayed with Jinu, desperately tapping his cheek to wake him but he didn't stir, searching for more wounds. She found another gash on his shoulder, and his leg looked badly hurt as well.

“Oh my god,” Mira murmured, her eyes fixed in horror on the red Honmoon pulsing overhead. Shadows flickered across her face, deepening the dread in her voice.

“How can this be?” Zoey whispered, her voice trembling as she edged closer to Mira. “I thought the new Honmoon was strong enough.” She looked to Mira for reassurance, but found only uncertainty.

Rumi’s hands shook as she fumbled for her phone. Mira’s voice was soft, almost lost in the panic. “Who are you calling?”

“Celine,” Rumi replied, her voice barely audible.

Everything after that became a blur, as if Rumi existed both inside her body and far away. Scenes flashed by in fragments—her own voice echoing, Jinu’s hoarse cries, Celine’s hands slick with blood as she worked furiously to stitch him up. Mira and Zoey’s clothes were soaked through, stained so completely by Jinu’s blue blood it looked as if they’d tried to finger-paint with it in a daze. Their hands pressed desperately on Jinu’s shoulders and legs, pinning him to the table while he thrashed and wailed.

Between stitches, Jinu began to plead—his words raw and ragged. “Please, stop—please, it hurts, it hurts—” His cries seemed to fill Rumi’s mind, even when his voice faltered. She could still hear him, his pain and terror echoing inside her like a curse.

“We can’t stop now,” Celine growled, glancing up at the girls. Sweat beaded on her brow, her hands steady even as she drove the needle through torn flesh. Her voice carried a steely determination, but her eyes were wet with worry.

When the worst was over, they wrapped Jinu’s abdomen tightly, using bandages that Celine had in hand. Celine slumped against the wall, her hands caked in blood, hair sticking out wildly from a hurried ponytail. Zoey and Mira worked together, splinting Jinu’s twisted leg with lengths of broken floorboard, their faces set in grim determination.

Celine stared at the blood on her hands, her voice hollow. “A demon… I thought you girls would’ve learned by now.”

Rumi’s fists clenched at her sides. “His name is Jinu. He isn’t just a demon.” Her voice cracked, eyes shining with unshed tears. Celine finally looked up, meeting Rumi’s gaze.

Behind them, Zoey and Mira kept busy, binding Jinu’s leg as carefully as they could, their own hands shaking.

“I know, Rumi. I know…” Celine’s voice was barely a whisper as tears began to pool in her eyes. Rumi sniffled, scrubbing her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Rumi murmured, voice trembling.

Celine shook her head and closed her eyes. “You really are your mother’s daughter.” Her next laugh was wet, broken, as she stepped forward and pulled Rumi into a tight, bloody embrace.

Rumi froze, her body rigid with surprise. Celine leaned back, her smile tired but genuine. “I don’t care anymore. Maybe I used to… But I love you, Rumi. I can’t stop you now.”

Rumi’s frown deepened as she looked away, uncertainty flickering across her face. “What changed?” she whispered.

“It was me who had to change,” Celine said softly, reaching out with trembling hands to squeeze Rumi’s. “I’m truly sorry, Rumi.”

Rumi let out a shaky breath, the tension in her shoulders slowly releasing.

Behind them, Jinu stirred, groaning. Then, all at once, his back arched and he screamed—a raw, agonized sound that rattled the windows and shook the house to its foundation.

THERE WAS ONLY A TEMPORARY FIX IN THE HONMOON , and it was a patchwork solution at best. For now, it meant Mira and Zoey would handle the fighting, while Rumi stayed behind with them—her role reduced to singing support. Celine knew it wasn’t sustainable. It was a weak idea, but she was out of alternatives. Most hunters had never faced anything like what Rumi was going through. A demon as your sword? The thought was absurd, but Celine was certain it had something to do with Rumi’s unique powers. She was strong, powerful—meant for something greater, Celine was sure of it.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Rumi said, her voice trembling slightly. Her usual attire was gone, replaced by loose, white garments. Mira and Zoey stood on either side, both similarly dressed, their faces set with grim determination. Beside them, two tigers—Jangsu and Derpy—waited, their muscles taut.

“We’re bringing them in case things get rough without Rumi,” Mira explained, her hand resting on Derpy’s broad head. Celine nodded, forcing a smile. “Of course. Please be careful,” she said, her voice thick as she pulled each of them into a tight embrace.

From the table, Jinu gave a low groan, shifting restlessly. Rumi made a move to approach him, but Celine held her back. “Rumi, the Honmoon first. I’ll look after him, I promise.” Rumi’s eyes widened with worry, tears shimmering before she swiped them away with her hand. Her demon mark pulsed again, thrumming with an intensity that made Zoey bite her lip. She turned to Rumi, forcing a crooked grin. “Let’s do this, guys. We fix the Honmoon first, then we get our answers, yeah?” Her bravado was shaky, but it was enough.

“Alright. And then I’m going to slap that idiot boyfriend of yours on the back of the head,” Mira added, trying to lighten the mood. With a last look at Celine, the three girls mounted the tigers. From the porch, Celine watched as they disappeared through a swirling blue portal, their figures swallowed by the magic. Only when they were gone did Celine allow herself to stumble back to the sofa, legs weak, heart pounding with fear and hope.

Of course Rumi would fall for a demon, just like Mi-Yeong had. Like mother, like daughter. Some patterns, it seemed, never changed. She truly is her mother’s daughter, Celine thought, both pride and sorrow twisting in her chest.

“Celine?” The voice was faint but familiar. She turned to see Jinu propped up at the table, his face pale, his eyes glazed with pain. She rushed to his side, clasping his trembling hands in hers.

“Rumi—where’s Rumi?” he croaked, his eyes struggling to focus. “She and the girls went to fix the Honmoon. Jinu, what happened in that temple?” Celine asked, her voice soft, but urgent.

Jinu’s face twisted in anguish. “Rumi’s father…” he began, and Celine’s eyes went wide. “You know about him?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Jinu nodded slowly, tears welling in his eyes.

“I know him. Personally,” he said, his voice raw. The revelation hit Celine like a tidal wave. She sank into the chair beside him, her hand tangled in her hair as she tried to process this.

“You… knew him?” she managed, her voice weak. Jinu’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he forced out the words. “Tell Rumi—his name is Chwisaeng. He was a good man, Celine. He didn’t deserve to become a demon. He deserved to live.” Jinu’s voice broke. “He… he went back for me.” Realization dawned, and Jinu choked out a sob.

Celine stared at him, her mind spinning. “ —You’re the one he went back for?” she whispered, her hand clenching into a fist. Jinu nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Celine. I should have— It’s my fault,” he sobbed, shaking with guilt and grief.

Celine was silent, the weight of the revelation settling over her like a shroud.

It was hard for Celine not to agree with the accusation gnawing at her. Was this truly what Chae-Song had left for? Another demon? The very one who had tried to shatter the Honmoon, who had stripped Rumi bare before everyone? Rage and heartache twisted together inside her.

“It’s your fault… He—Chae-Song would never have left!” Celine shot to her feet, her voice thunderous, echoing through the house. Jinu’s head snapped up, tears streaming down his face as he shook, wracked with guilt. “I know. I know. I know,” he choked out, his voice echoing off the walls, rattling the windows. Dust drifted from the ceiling as the house trembled with the force of his grief.

“How could you… You took something else from me!” Celine cried, clutching her hair, her breath coming ragged and fast. Waves of grief crashed over her, almost suffocating. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—I was too blinded, I let myself be controlled,” Jinu stammered, his voice breaking as Celine’s own tears spilled over. She let out a strangled sob, her body shaking.

All those years she had cared for Rumi, always wondering what might have been. If Chae-Song hadn’t left for Jinu, he would have been there for Rumi, for her. “Chwisaeng was a good man… I—I wasn’t even good to him,” Jinu whispered, voice raw. “I don’t understand why he would try to come back for me.”

The room fell silent, heavy with their shared pain. Jinu’s sobs grew quieter as Celine watched him, her fists clenched in her lap. The minutes stretched, broken only by the sound of Jinu shifting. He sat up, wincing.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, eyes narrowing, but she made no move to help him.

“I have to go to Rumi. She needs me,” Jinu groaned, forcing himself to move. He tried to swing his legs off the table, but the pain overwhelmed him and he collapsed back down with a choked cry.

“You’re too wounded to even help her,” Celine said, frustration and worry mingling in her voice.

“I can heal—if I turn into Rumi’s sword,” Jinu insisted, desperation flaring in his eyes. “She needs me, especially if she’s going back to the temple.” He glared down at the splint on his leg, jaw clenched.

“What are you talking about?” Celine pressed, her voice hard.

Jinu looked up, locking eyes with her. “There are four demonic temples here in Seoul. They were built centuries ago by a demon named Gokdama. She created them right under the hunters’ noses.” Celine’s eyes widened in horror.

“A demonic shrine? How is that possible?” she breathed.

“The shrines take souls from anyone who enters. They don’t even need a demon present, not anymore,” Jinu whispered hoarsely, his words chilling the air between them.

“That can’t be. Only demons can take souls,” Celine argued, shaking her head.

“I don’t know how, not exactly. But I have a hunch—Gokdama has a pet. A snake. Sahon-Baem. She’s grown… enormous. It’s possible the shrines are part of her. That she’s the one secretly stealing people’s souls,” Jinu explained, voice trembling with dread.

“Rumi…” Celine whispered, fear creeping into her tone. She turned to see Jinu struggling to set his foot on the floor, wincing as the broken limb touched the cold wood. “You’re in no shape to fight,” she urged, but Jinu shook his head stubbornly.

“I can do it. I just need to reach her,” he insisted, trying to stand. The attempt failed; he let out a strangled scream and nearly collapsed, only stopping when Celine caught his arm.

“How are you planning to break those demonic shrines?” she asked, her tone caught between worry and disbelief.

Jinu gave a choked, humorless laugh. “I don’t know. But I’m very good at improvising,” he managed, a crooked grin flashing through his tears.

CELINE WAS ONE HELL OF A DRIVER WHEN SHE NEEDED TO BE . After she tossed Jinu a set of clean clothes—despite his protests that his outfit would transform if he became Rumi’s sword—she fixed him with a look that brooked no argument. She refused to let him go out looking like he’d just committed murder and then tried to finish the job on himself.

“U-uh, Celine, you’re driving so fast I think I’m going to be sick,” Jinu whimpered, pressing his fevered cheek to the cool window. Every inch of his body throbbed; it felt as if he was one big bruise. Considering the hole in his side and the gash across his shoulder, it was hardly a surprise.

“There’s a plastic bag under the seat. Vomit in that—we can’t stop,” Celine snapped, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The car rocketed down the empty road, swallowing up the distance as if the world belonged to her. With how rich Rumi and the girls were, Jinu wouldn’t be surprised if Celine was disgustingly rich too. She probably could buy the road.

“S-sure…” Jinu mumbled, clutching his wounded side. His face went a shade paler with every bump. Celine glanced at him, worry flickering across her usually unflappable face. Without slowing, she reached over and yanked the seatbelt across his chest, buckling it with a sharp click.

“Wear a damn seatbelt before you go flying out the window,” she muttered.

Jinu managed a weak chuckle. “I can see where Rumi gets all her attitude,” he said, earning a glare from Celine out of the corner of her eye.

The rest of the drive was a blur of adrenaline and ache. Jinu guided her back to the Snake Temple, and as they screeched to a stop outside the ancient gates, he spotted Rumi waiting with Mira and Zoey. Jangsu paced restlessly nearby, her agitation clear even at a distance. Through the open gate, the Honmoon shimmered—still torn, its wound unhealed.

“They couldn’t fix it,” Celine said, her voice shaking for the first time.

“They will,” Jinu replied, bracing himself as he pushed open the door. “If they all sing together. They can do it. I know they can ,”

He stumbled out, catching Rumi’s eye. She broke into a run, nearly tackling him with her hug.

“Jinu?!” she gasped, voice thick with relief.

“What the hell is the idiot asshole doing here?” Mira barked, but her tone was more worried than angry. Jangsu and Derpy looked up, startled, as Jinu sagged against Rumi.

“Rumi…” he breathed, feeling the tension drain from his battered body. “You’re okay…”

She stepped back, eyes wide with worry, then caught him as he nearly toppled over. “Jinu, you’re hurt—”

Celine joined them, her bravado fading. “Girls, what’s the status?”

“It’s no use. We can’t fix it.” Zoey shook her head, staring into the gaping blackness where the Honmoon should have been sealed. “But… no demons are coming out. It’s as if… they’re scared?”

They all peered into the void, the silence of the temple pressing in, heavy and expectant. The tear in the Honmoon pulsed, but nothing moved inside—only darkness, deep and absolute.

“It looks like…” Celine trailed off, her voice soft with awe and fear.

“Scales…” Jinu murmured, eyes wide, his breath catching. “It’s Sahon-Baem. She’s… she’s enormous now.” He leaned heavily on Rumi, who helped him shuffle closer to the tear in the fabric of the Honmoon. The three stood shoulder to shoulder, transfixed, as the black scales beyond the rift shifted and glinted like oil in moonlight.

“Oh god,” Celine whispered, her voice barely audible. “This… this is bigger than anything Gwi-Ma ever did.”

Jinu let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “Of course. I should have known—that’s exactly how we worked. General Gokdama… she always had a way with words, a way with people. She was planning to take Gwi-Ma’s throne from the very start. I knew she was ambitious, but this…” He groaned, shaking his head, regret etched in every line of his face.

He turned to Rumi, voice trembling. “Rumi, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” His apology hung in the air as Rumi’s brow creased with confusion and worry.

“I’m the reason your father left,” Jinu confessed, his voice breaking. Zoey and Mira gasped in unison.

“Plot twist!” Zoey exclaimed, only for Mira to pinch her elbow sharply, yelping in surprise. Rumi shot her a glare before turning back to Jinu, her voice tense. “I don’t understand. My father left… for you? You knew my father?”

Jinu nodded slowly. “It’s… my memory’s still a mess. Your father—Chae-Song—he was the second general under Lord Gwi-Ma.”

Another gasp from Zoey: “Double plot twist!” The others turned to her with varying degrees of annoyance before returning their attention to Jinu.

“Wait—my father was the second general?” Rumi’s voice wavered, disbelief and pain mingling. She turned to Celine, searching her face. “How? This is all so sudden. How did Mom… how did she fall for him?”

Celine shrugged, offering a gentle, sad smile. “Mi-Yeong always saw the best in people. Maybe she saw something good in Chae-Song too.”

Jinu squeezed Rumi’s hands, his eyes shining with remembered sorrow. “Chwisaeng—Chae-Song, whatever name he goes by now—he’s a good man, Rumi. He never deserved what happened to him. He just… he loved too much. So much that he forgot to love himself, too.”

“ Sounds like someone else I know ,” Zoey quipped, whistling.

“Zoey,” the group groaned in unison—Jangsu even let out a low growl as Zoey grinned sheepishly.

Rumi turned back to Jinu, her voice trembling. “Chwisaeng loved you very much, you know. I have no doubt he still does.” Jinu’s grip tightened, and Rumi felt tears prick at her eyes, unshed and burning.

“If he’s searching for you,” she whispered, “and you’re here… then where is he now?”

Jinu’s face crumpled. “I—I don’t know,” he admitted, voice small. Regret lingered between them as Rumi looked down at their entwined hands, then back up with a watery smile.

“You answered all my questions about my father,” she said quietly. “He’s not here but somehow my heart feels at peace,”

Mira’s voice cut through the moment: “Uh, guys? I’m glad you two are getting closure, but…” She stepped back from the swirling tear in the Honmoon, worry etched in her expression.

Celine sighed, forcing a smile. “You said singing could patch this?” she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos around them.

Jinu nodded solemnly. “And maybe… cleanse the shrines, too. I’m not sure what Gokdama did here, but this shrine—it’s linked straight to Sahon-Baem.”

“Sahon-Baem?” Mira echoed, her voice tinged with worry.

Jinu gestured at the gaping tear in the Honmoon. “Yeah. Sahon-Baem. Think of the biggest snake you can imagine, then double it—no, triple it. If she gets out of there, she could swallow us whole without even noticing.”

At that, everyone instinctively stepped back, faces twisted in disgust and alarm.

“Snake?!” Zoey squeaked, her eyes wide with horror. She clutched Derpy to her chest as if he could ward off Sahon-Baem herself. Jangsu, beside her, let out a long, tired growl that rumbled in her chest.

Rumi swallowed. “How… how big is Sahon-Baem, exactly?”

Jinu glanced at her, then scanned the ruined shrine as though searching for words. He finally shrugged helplessly. “Honestly? Probably as big as a continent? She can definitely swallow the entirety of Korea, who knows”

A stunned silence fell. Zoey’s jaw dropped. Mira’s eyes widened. Only Celine seemed unfazed; she pinched the bridge of her nose with exasperation.

“Girls, positions!” Celine barked, authority snapping back into her tone. “Fix the Honmoon. Cleanse the temple. Now!”

Rumi and the others exchanged a look, nerves and determination mingling between them. A wordless agreement passed through the group, and they nodded.

Rumi squeezed Jinu’s hand, a mischievous grin breaking through the tension. “Another dance, partner? ”

Jinu managed a smile, the first in what felt like hours. “Another dance.”

Celine and the tigers retreated, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the shifting tear in the Honmoon. Zoey and Mira summoned their blades with a flicker of will—steel and light materializing in their hands. “Sooo, try not to die? ” Rumi says with a nervous grin. Jinu rolls his eyes, “Who said I would let that happen to you?”.

THERE WAS ONCE A LITTLE GIRL—a girl so small, so quietly present, that no one seemed to notice her at all. Her mother had left her without a backward glance, abandoning her to the care of a father who barely acknowledged her existence. He did not care for her, not truly. She was weak, fragile—a tiny thing in a world that seemed built for the strong. So often, she watched the world from the shadows, overlooked and dismissed.

Everyone looked down on her. She was just a child, after all. What could she possibly do? She was nothing but a child—why did they look at her like that? Their eyes brimmed with pity and, sometimes, with a mocking glint that made her chest ache. She hated those eyes. She hated how they made her feel—small, lesser, invisible. The more she noticed their looks, the more she grew to resent them. How dare they think themselves better than her? Their lives, she knew in her heart, were just as pitiful as hers.

But she also knew: she wouldn’t feel this way if only she were strong. If only she were a bit taller, a bit sturdier, a bit more beautiful—maybe then their eyes would see her differently. Maybe then they would respect her. She remembered watching women in flowing dresses, their hair long and glossy, their faces poised and elegant—so unlike her own. She envied them. She longed for their beauty, their confidence, their power.

In those moments of longing, she realized there was beauty in strength. If only she could have what they had. If only she could be what they were.

She dreamed of being like those women: beautiful and commanding, yet with the unyielding strength of a man. Then, she thought, no one would ever see her as weak again. Those eyes would be filled with awe, even fear—not pity. Yes. If she could become like them, she would prove herself. She would show everyone—including the mother who left her, and the father who ignored her—exactly what they had lost.

One night, as she sat alone by a lonely pond, she heard a voice. It was soft, almost like a whisper carried by the wind.

"Child, do you want strength? Power? To have all of those things you desire?"

Startled, she glanced around, but saw no one. Only a shifting shadow lingered in the corner of her vision. She looked down at her reflection in the water—and for a moment, she saw not a frail little girl, but a beautiful, strong woman staring back at her. Hope flickered in her heart.

"Yes," the little girl whispered, her small fist clenching tightly in the grass. She wanted it. She needed it.

And so, Bora—the little girl—ceased to be from the realm of the humans, instead. She became a demon, twisted and vile, her soul warped by the very desires that consumed her. When she finally saw herself—truly saw what she had become—rage and grief overwhelmed her. She realized the terrible price she had paid.

She cried out in anger and hate. Hell itself reflected her agony, showing her the ugliness she could not escape. But just as despair threatened to swallow her whole, a gentle hand reached out and held her.

"Oh, little Bora. I will help you find your strength, come with me." whispered a woman, her voice soft and kind. Baek-Hwa clung to her, desperate for warmth.

Beside the woman stood a man, his eyes filled with deep sorrow—the kind that spoke of truths too heavy to name. Yet, even as sadness shadowed his face, he offered her a small, gentle smile.

Suddenly, little Bora realized she had found something precious—something she had never known before. In the midst of hell, there was a woman whose kindness was endless, whose gentle hands held Bora as if she were something fragile and treasured. 

There was also a man, his voice so soft and soothing it felt like being cradled by the wind.

Hell was supposed to be a place of torment and loneliness, yet in their company, Bora felt, for the first time, as if she belonged. She knew she was ugly, disgusting, and weak. She saw it in the way her reflection twisted in every dark surface, in the way her own thoughts gnawed at her. But somehow, the beautiful woman who embraced her, and the gentle man who spoke to her, made her feel at home.

The woman’s name was as beautiful as her presence: Aera. Even the sound of it was like a soft sigh, and the meaning—love—seemed to fit her perfectly. Her eyes were warm, gentle, always brimming with an easy affection. The man never shared his old name; he only smiled and said he never had one, which made little sense, but Bora didn’t care. She called him the Lonely Man, though Aera would gently chide her, insisting he was not truly lonely.

One day, Bora whined, her voice echoing off excitedly, “Aera, let’s go out and pick flowers!” Aera stood in the midst of her snakes, their scales glinting in the low red light. She cradled them in her arms, her smile serene and distant. “One moment, Bora,” she replied, her voice lilting like a song.

Beside Bora, the Lonely Man watched, his eyes full of silent sorrow. “It’s not fair,” Bora sniffed, tears welling in her eyes. “Aera is always so focused on those ugly little pets of hers.” The Lonely Man reached out, gently stroking her hair. “Let’s be patient, Bora.”

Eventually, Aera returned, cradling a small snake in her hands. Its black scales shimmered, and it hissed softly, flicking its tongue against Bora’s cheek. “What’s that?” Bora asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I found this snake,” Aera said softly. “She was so small—so small I feared she wouldn’t survive.”

The Lonely Man chuckled, his voice kind. “I doubt that, Aera. You have cared for her well. She will live.” He laid a reassuring hand on Aera’s shoulder, and for a moment, a faint blush colored her pale cheeks. The demon marks on her skin glowed softly.

“Let’s go to the surface!” Bora cried out, joy sparking in her voice. Together, the three of them left hell behind, stepping onto the surface world. There, sunlight spilled across fields of gold, and Bora ran wild, her laughter ringing through the air.

“My… Bora is such a happy child,” Aera whispered, watching her with a smile. The small snake curled in her palm, hissing contentedly. The Lonely Man smiled as well, though sadness lingered in his eyes.

“You care for her so much,” he says quietly. It was a statement, it was a phrase that both of them knew.

Aera grew shy under his gaze, her eyes dropping. “I had a son once,” she murmured. Her hand drifted unconsciously to her chest as she gazed up at the sky, watching the clouds drift. “I’m sorry, Aera,” the Lonely Man said, his face falling with regret.

Aera sighed, her voice heavy with a sorrow that felt ancient. “Lord Gwi-Ma used my shame against me. Now I stand here with you and Bora. Sometimes I regret that we met under such circumstances.”

“If only…” She trails off, her eyes gave such a daze look that she shook her head and did not continue her words.

The Lonely Man nodded, sharing her burden. “As do I. Bora is too young to be a demon.”

Their words faded into the wind, carried away by the hush of the field. Suddenly, Bora bounded back, holding a sunflower almost as large as her face. “Aera! Aera, look, a flower!” she cried.

Aera gasped, delight flickering in her eyes. “Where did you find that? It’s so beautiful, so big!” Bora giggled, hopping up and down with excitement.

The Lonely Man smiled quietly as the snake in Aera’s hand hissed and flicked its tongue at Bora. “Aera, does the snake have a name?” Bora asked, peering curiously at the little creature.

Aera shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“Then… Sa-Rang!” Bora declared, raising her fist in triumph.

“ Love … just like your name, Aera,” the Lonely Man said gently. Aera flushed, her smile genuine and bright. “Then, say hello to little Sa-Rang,” she whispered to the tiny snake, and for a brief moment, the three of them stood together—imperfect and broken, yet bound by something that felt a little like hope.

For a time, their strange little family lasted. Years passed, then centuries, maybe millenia even. All three stood together against the endless tides of hell. But as time corroded the stones of their prison, so too did it erode their memories, their feelings, even their sense of self. 

Bora forgot how to care; Aera, once so gentle, grew ambitious, gathering a den of snakes around her whom she cherished. The Lonely Man, true to Bora’s name for him, only grew lonelier. It was no surprise that the corrosion of hell eventually seeped into their souls. In this place of endless damnation, emotions twisted, desires warped, love turned to obsession, and loneliness to despair.

Though happiness never lasts long, their time together stretched on—centuries, perhaps even more—before the inevitable corrosion set in. Hell, after all, was not a place where hope could thrive forever. Its poison seeped into the soul, slow and relentless.

Aera, once full of warmth and hope, began to forget pieces of herself. Her morality frayed, and the old guilt and shame chewed at her, tightening around her heart like an iron vice. The voice of Gwi-Ma, the devil who had first damned her, whispered constantly in her ear—reminding her of every sin, every shame, every regret. Anger and madness colored her once-kind eyes, and the snakes that slithered at her feet sensed the change, growing restless.

Bora, too, was changing. She could no longer stand the sight of her own face; with each passing century, her self-loathing deepened into fury. She became obsessed with transformation—anything to escape the fragile, hated thing she saw reflected back at her. The memories of gentler days began to fade, first becoming distant, then vanishing altogether.

This was the true curse of immortality—especially for those not born as demons. Aera and Bora, who had once been human, suffered in ways the native-born never could. The first stage was forgetfulness: the gradual erasure of centuries of good memories, until even the warmth of their odd little family became a shadow. The second stage was the loss of morality. Bit by bit, compassion, regret, and guilt were gnawed away, until there was little left but hunger and spite.

The Lonely Man—always on the periphery, always watching—could do nothing to help them. He had been immortal before ever falling into hell, and the blessing of the divine still protected his mind from the worst of hell’s corrosion. He watched as the two souls he cared for slipped further away, helpless in his invulnerability.

It was then that Gwi-Ma appeared, the devil who had cast them down. He watched the three with a hungry satisfaction. So many demons, driven mad by endless years, had been consumed by his fire. But these three—Aera, Bora, and the Lonely Man—endured. They did not break, not truly; instead, they adapted, wielding their madness like a weapon.

Gwi-Ma was impressed. He gave them new names, as if to mark their transformation:

Aera became Gokdama, The Lonely Man became Chwisaeng, and Bora became Baek-Hwa.

They became the three generals of hell, their names whispered like curses and prayers among the damned.

In time, another demon joined their strange, fractured family. His name was Jinu—a young man with sorrowful eyes, his spirit dimmed and the fire in his gaze long since extinguished. And it wouldn’t be too long that the corrosion will set in and he too will be consumed by it. Just like the woman named Aera. A little girl named Bora and the man who is  always alone, The Lonely Man.

Chapter Text

THE PLAN WAS A SUCCESS. At least, Jinu thought so. He wasn’t sure if it would stop everything—the world rarely worked out so cleanly—but surely, one less demonic temple was a victory. Right?

The Honmoon had been repaired, and the snake temple felt… less oppressive. No, more than that. He no longer sensed even the faintest remnant of hell. It was as if the air itself had been cleansed.

“That was amazing! We were all just singing, and suddenly it was like a beam of light shot into the sky—boom, pow, bam!” Zoey exclaimed from behind him, her voice bright with excitement.

Jinu smiled faintly as he walked up the shrine steps, his hanbok fluttering in the wind. From behind, he could hear Mira’s low chuckle and the soft, overlapping conversation of Rumi and Celine. Their presence comforted him. For once, he didn’t mind the noise.

The old hanging scroll was still there, suspended above the altar—the snake’s painted gaze steady and inscrutable. Jinu knelt on the cushion before it, searching the image for answers, as if the inked coils might reveal what Gokdama was planning, or where she had taken Chwisaeng.

“This is pointless,” he muttered, bowing his head. “I don’t know what you’re planning. But…” His words trailed off, lost in a sigh.

“Fighting won’t help anything,” Jinu whispered, mostly to himself. For a fleeting moment, he wished Gokdama could hear him. He could almost imagine her mocking laughter—she’d surely have some barbed remark about him playing the virtuous hero.

“Oh General Jinul, feeling like a hero now are we?”

He can almost feel her nails raking at his neck, her breath tickling his ear and her eyes looking at him, seeing everything. When it came to her, he felt like he was stripped bare for her to see. His shame, his fears, and even his thoughts. The mere thought of meeting Gokdama was terrifying itself.

A gentle breeze drifted through the shrine, tugging at his hanbok. His body still hummed with the strength he’d borrowed from Rumi; embodying her sword had felt… different this time. He felt stronger, his mind clearer. Even his wounds had vanished, leaving only the smooth fabric of his hanbok where blood had stained him before.

“Jinu?”

He turned to see Rumi standing at the arched entrance, her silhouette framed by the sunlight. He stood slowly, heart twisting at the worry in her eyes.

“Rumi, I—” Jinu’s voice broke as she crossed the distance and wrapped him in a fierce hug.

“I love you, Jinu. So much. Like, a lot lot.” She squeezed him tightly, her voice trembling with emotion. “Please take it seriously. Next time, don’t get hurt. Don’t do things without me.” The words were a plea, whispered against his ear.

Jinu hugged her back, holding on as if she might disappear. “I love you too, Rumi. I… I don’t know what came over me. I guess I was too ambitious,” he admitted, his voice small as she pulled away to look at him.

“Everyone’s a little ambitious these days,” Rumi replied with a gentle smile, reaching for his hand.

“Yes, but demons like me… we carry our vices everywhere, even from death into hell. I can’t explain it,” Jinu said, searching her face for understanding. “Rumi, I… I’m not sure I’m good for you. I’m not mentally well. I’m a demon. Remember what I said? That all demons do is feel ? Maybe it’s not healthy for you to be with someone like me.” He pressed a hand to his chest, voice wavering. “I’m still a monster, Rumi. I haven’t changed. Look what I did—”

He didn’t get to finish. Rumi punched his shoulder, hard enough to nearly send him toppling off the altar.

“OW!” Jinu yelped, blinking back tears as he straightened, shocked.

“Don’t ever say that again,” Rumi snapped, her glare fierce.

“Rumi…” He stared at her, uncertain.

“Don’t decide things for me, Jinu,” she growled, holding his hand so tightly her nails nearly broke skin. Jinu drew a shaky breath.

“But what if I become like them? Like the other generals—what if I lose myself? Go mad with power? I… I don’t know!” His words tumbled out in a rush, raw and panicked.

Rumi cupped his face, standing on tiptoe to press her lips softly to his forehead. “That won’t happen. Not while I’m here. Not while we are all here,” she whispered.

Jinu trembled. “We… we can’t know that, Rumi.”

“Don’t you trust me, Jinu?” she asked quietly.

“I do. But I’m scared,” he admitted at last, voice barely audible.

Rumi’s eyes softened, her thumb brushing away a tear.

“I only did this because I was afraid this new life would mean nothing if I didn’t use it for you. One day you’ll leave, and I’ll still be…like this. Don’t you see? That’s what happened to Gokdama. To Baek-Hwa. Time corroded them. I know they were once just people who were hurt, too.” Jinu’s voice broke, and he sobbed quietly as Rumi held him. “I don’t even know if Chwisaeng himself was safe from that as well,”

“Jinu,” she murmured, voice low and steady. “I can’t promise I’ll be by your side forever. But promise me—promise you’ll live for yourself, too.”

He fell silent, her words rooting in his heart. After a moment, he nodded. “Okay… Okay, I promise. For you.”

Rumi smiled through her tears, cupping his face and squishing his cheeks. “When did you get so sappy, huh?” she teased, grinning. “Stop crying, okay? I’m only twenty-two , not a fossil yet. You’re already worrying about the future, you old man.”

“Is that not allowed in today’s era?” Jinu asked, still pouting. Rumi rolled her eyes and squeezed his hand.

“Come on, stop being dramatic. Let’s go cleanse the next temple,” she said, her tone light but determined. Without waiting for a reply, she tugged him toward the exit.

Jinu let himself be pulled, but paused at the doorway. He glanced back one last time at the snake painting on the hanging scroll. Its eyes seemed to follow him, but he forced himself not to feel pity—not now, not when Gokdama’s ambitions were staining the world in darkness. He turned away, jaw set.

It wasn’t long before they were all crammed into Celine’s battered old car. With her expert driving —which Jinu appreciated, though he silently thanked the gods that he hadn’t hurled, trapped as he was in the back seat between Mira and Zoey—Celine sped them across winding roads, through sleepy villages and cities. By the time they arrived, Mira and Zoey had inched as far away from Jinu as possible, eyeing him warily for signs of motion sickness.

They came to a stop before the fox temple, its gates looming. The place radiated a cold, unnatural energy that made the hair on Jinu’s arms stand up.

“Wow, this place…” Zoey trailed off, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Totally demonic,” Mira finished for her, swinging her Gok-Do down and striking the ground. The Honmoon rippled at her touch, a pulse of blue light spreading outward, as if the Honmoon itself recognized its hunters had arrived.

“How many years have these temples been standing?” Celine asked, peering up at the ancient stonework.

Jinu shrugged, thoughtful. “I think… maybe three?”

“Three years?” Zoey echoed, confused.

“Centuries,” Jinu clarified, lips quirking as Zoey’s face paled.

“This place is ancient,” Celine murmured, examining the temple’s golden sigils. “It makes sense why the golden Honmoon was suddenly out of reach for so many years, all this time I had thought it’s because our voices were not enough. The longer a place like this stands, the deeper its roots.”

Jinu nodded, feeling the weight of history pressing down all around them.

Rumi clapped her hands together, breaking the tension. “Alright, game face, everyone. Two more temples after this. Let’s finish this.”

She thrust her hand out into the center of the group. The others stared at her, momentarily confused.

“What?” Rumi grinned. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

One by one, the others stacked their hands on hers—Celine, Mira, Zoey, even Jangsu and Derpy placing their paws on top with a happy growl.

Jinu smiled, warmth blooming in his chest. “On three. To fixing the Honmoon! ” Rumi declared, her voice bright with hope.

“ To fixing the Honmoon! ” they all echoed, their voices blending with laughter. Jangsu and Derpy roared in agreement.

“Alright then!” Rumi said, her eyes shining. She grabbed Jinu’s hand and pulled him forward as the group surged ahead. The air was tense but electric, filled with purpose.

Both Jinu and Rumi grinned at each other as Mira and Zoey shouted in unison, “Let’s go!”

“Walkin’ down the street with the sun in my shades,
Vibes on a hundred, don’t care what they say.
Ice in my veins but a heart full of flame,
I don’t follow trends—I make my own name.”

“I got rhythm in my step, No regrets, just self-respect.
Not tryin’ to flex or play it loud,
But I shine in every crowd.”

“'Cause I'm cool like that, smooth like jazz,
Got my own beat, and I move real fast.
Cool like that, don’t need to try,
Drippin’ confidence when I walk by. Yeah, I’m cool—like that.”

“They ask me, “What’s your secret, man?”
I just smile, say, “Be your own biggest fan.”
I’m not perfect, never claimed I was,
But I wear my flaws with a little bit of buzz.”

“I go in my own style, It’s not about fashion,
it’s about the smile. Head up high, yeah I own my lane,
Cool’s not an act, it’s a whole mindset thing.”

“I’m cool like that, chill like breeze,
Making moves with casual ease.
Cool like that, in my own way,
Woke up like this every day.
Yeah, I’m cool—like that.”

The sun had already begun to rise, casting pale golden rays over the ancient stones by the time they reached Chwisaeng’s temple. The dragon temple stood silent, its grandeur diminished by years of neglect, yet there was a lingering sense of peace that surprised them all.

“It doesn’t feel bad here,” Zoey said, a note of confusion in her voice as she scuffed her sneaker against the smooth stone floor. Shafts of light illuminated motes of dust swirling in the air. Jinu stood quietly within the shrine, eyes fixed on the empty wall where a hanging scroll should have been. The absence felt heavy, as if it were a wound left open.

“This must be Chae-Song’s temple, then,” Celine murmured as the group gathered on the worn steps, her gaze lingering on the intricate carvings that adorned the threshold. They all watched Jinu, who seemed lost in thought, staring at the vacant space on the wall. Finally, he turned to the others, his expression somber.

“This place has been cleansed already. You can feel it, can’t you?” Jinu’s voice was low, almost reverent. “Gokdama must have sensed this and stayed far away. It means she can’t use those demonic shrines anymore. We did it,” He descended the steps, the echo of his footsteps mingling with the morning stillness.

Rumi frowned, her eyes scanning the temple’s ruined splendor. Dragon statues lined the walls, but many were damaged—some missing their heads, others their hands, as if someone had tried to destroy their power. She glanced at Celine.

“Celine, did Dad ever tell you about this?” Rumi asked quietly, voice tinged with both curiosity and apprehension.

Celine’s shoulders slumped a little as she let out a sigh. “He never spoke much about what he did as a demon, not even after he met your mother. Mi-Yeong never pressed him for details, but… sometimes I wonder if she knew more than she let on. Maybe she wanted to protect us from it,” she finished, her words trailing off into the quiet.

Rumi’s frown deepened, but then she let herself relax a little, curiosity overcoming her hesitation. “What was Dad like?” she pressed gently.

Celine looked up at Rumi, her eyes softening. A small, wistful smile touched her lips. “He’s a lot like you, actually. Kind, compassionate. He understands people so well. He always seemed… ancient , like he’d seen everything before. Now I realize why.” She chuckled, and Rumi grinned in response.

“Who would have guessed?” Rumi said, laughter easing the tension. “A demon general of Gwi-Ma himself… At least my dad isn’t Gwi-Ma.” There was a teasing lilt in her voice, but Celine’s face blanched at the mention of the name.

“Gods, no,” Celine groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to ward off the very thought. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Chwisaeng is a very patient person,” Jinu finally said, breaking the somber silence. He stood close by as Rumi turned to him. “He always used to preach about fairness and kindness. And how… I shouldn’t be so cruel to others.” There was a softness to his voice, his lips pulling into a pained, almost self-mocking smile.

“Hah! Who knew he was already practicing being a father to you,” Mira quipped, swinging her legs as she sat atop one of the empty pedestals where a dragon statue once stood, her tone lightening the mood.

“Oh my god, does that mean you guys are step-siblings?” Zoey blurted out, eyes wide. The others instantly turned to her, faces a mix of horror and embarrassment. Jinu even blanched, looking sick at the thought.

“Zoey!” they all shouted in unison, their voices echoing through the temple.

Zoey just giggled, sticking out her tongue in a show of mock innocence. “Sorry! Just a silly thought,” she said, scrunching her nose.

Jinu shook his head with a wry smile. “Chwisaeng is just like that. He’s kind—even to the worst people. Like Gokdama, Baek-Hwa… and even me.” His words grew quieter as he leaned against the battered railing of the old stairs, his shoulder brushing Rumi’s as she reached out and gently took his hand.

“He always sees the good in everyone,” Jinu murmured, thumb brushing over Rumi’s knuckles.

“Just like Mi-Yeong,” Celine added softly, her gaze distant. There was a hush as the others took this in.

“Maybe that’s why they got along so well,” Rumi said, her voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, Jinu and Celine exchanged a look—a flicker of shared loss and understanding. Both had loved and lost someone irreplaceable: Chwisaeng, Mi-Yeong.

“Who knows?” Jinu replied with a shrug, pushing himself off the railing and descending the stairs. “I never understood him well. I—hell messes with your mind, you know? Staying there for years makes you… crazy .” He tapped his temple and made a mock gun gesture, earning a worried frown from Rumi.

“You never tell us much about the other generals,” Zoey piped up, breaking the tension.

“Yeah, wouldn’t it be smarter if we learned more about them?” Mira added, a flicker of seriousness in her eyes as she summoned her Gok-Do, spinning it in her palm. “We’ve cleansed the shrines, but what if the generals come back? We should be ready.”

Jinu hesitated, glancing at Rumi for reassurance. She gave a small nod, and Celine’s eyes shone with curiosity. “Out of all my years as a hunter, I’ve never heard of Gwi-Ma’s generals,” Celine admitted, frowning. “I doubt the last generation of hunters did either.”

“That’s how Gwi-Ma wanted it,” Jinu said with a shrug. “He made us his generals, but we worked in the shadows. No thanks, no recognition. That’s just how it goes.” He paused, his cheeks coloring as he hesitated. “I was the one who… uh… ”

Mira leaned in, grinning. “Spill it, dude!”

Jinu rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I—I was the one who controlled Gwi-Ma’s army. Gave orders, trained them .” The words hung in the air. For a heartbeat, no one spoke—then Rumi burst out laughing.

“No wonder they sucked!” she teased, nudging him playfully. Jinu shot her a half-hearted glare.

“Thank you, Rumi. Very supportive ,” he deadpanned, though a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Mira and Zoey cackled, the tension easing.

“That explains a lot,” Celine mused. “I always wondered how Gwi-Ma pulled off so many things at once.”

Jinu nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking. “I’ll be honest, I never took my job that seriously. Most of my time in hell was spent… well, feeding the demon-born to my tigers.” He jerked his chin toward Jangsu, who was sprawled in a patch of sunlight, snoring softly, while Derpy chased after a butterfly, tongue lolling.

“Exquisite dining ,” Zoey muttered with a wince. Jinu only chuckled.

“Alright. Gokdama.” His tone shifted, growing serious. “She’s the first general. One of the oldest demons in hell. She’s a master of poison, and she has a whole collection of snakes under her control. Sahon-Baem is one of them. She’d feed Sahon-Baem any soul she could get, and she would just keep getting bigger. Her poison… it’s lethal. Nothing else like it.” Jinu’s voice faltered, and for a moment his hand unconsciously went to his wrist.

He caught a flash of memory—the searing pain, the endless cycle of death and failure. The temple seemed to grow colder.

“Jinu?” Rumi called, squeezing his hand gently, her concern drawing him back to the present.

“ Don’t ever get bitten by any of her snakes,” Jinu warned, his voice trembling slightly. “Their poison is incurable. It forces you to relive the most painful memories of your entire life—over and over.” He shuddered, the memory clearly haunting him. Zoey’s playful expression vanished, her face turning serious, while Mira’s brows drew together in concern.

“Gokdama is good at breaking you,” Jinu continued grimly. “She’s basically torturing demons for fun. If a demon refuses to obey, Gwi-Ma orders Gokdama to make them submit. She’s relentless—impossible to resist once she sets her sights on you.” He let out a shaky breath.

“Gee, that’s… terrifying,” Zoey said, her voice small as she tried to laugh it off, but her nerves showed.

Jinu managed a weak smile, then continued, “Rumi’s dad, Chwisaeng, never did much of the dirty work. He was more of an advisor—to both Gokdama and Gwi-Ma. They’d rely on him when they needed someone to judge if a decision was fair for everyone in hell. He always gave his honest answer, no matter what.”

“And Baek-Hwa’s like some kind of scout or she just love fucking with you?” Mira asked, twirling her Gok-Do thoughtfully.

“It’s hard to say exactly,” Jinu replied. “She’s unpredictable. Usually all over the place, but you’ll spot her on the surface more often than in hell. She doesn’t stick to one side for long.”

“Talk about crazy,” Zoey muttered, shaking her head.

Mira’s eyes narrowed with concern. “Wait. We’ve cleansed the temples, but could they… break the Honmoon? Does that mean we still need to aim for the golden Honmoon?”

Rumi and Celine exchanged a worried glance. The question hung heavy in the air.

“I don’t know for sure,” Jinu admitted, uncertainty coloring his words. “But there’s something strange about how Baek-Hwa spoke about Gokdama. It makes me wonder… if Gokdama has taken Gwi-Ma’s throne. Is Gwi-Ma even still alive?” His voice dropped, the possibility chilling. Was Gokdama really able to take the throne?

“Then… The golden Honmoon might be the last thing that can help you,” Celine said softly, her voice tinged with dread. Rumi exhaled, her shoulders sagging as the weight of the moment pressed down.

“Maybe,” she murmured, turning to Jinu, searching his face for reassurance.

Jinu offered her a small, gentle smile, but the shadows in his eyes said he was just as uncertain as the rest of them.

THEY WERE FINALLY BACK IN THE TOWER , finally able to rest after a long day. Celine had gone home to clean her house, and of course, everyone offered to help. Especially Jinu, who seemed particularly insistent, but Celine rejected all of them with a gentle firmness, insisting she could handle it on her own. So now… Rumi found herself in the bathroom, alone with Jinu, who was currently a blushing mess, standing rigidly at the side of the tub and refusing to look in her direction while she soaked contentedly in the steaming water.

It had been her idea for them to bathe together. At first, Jinu had refused, sputtering excuses with his face nearly matching the color of a strawberry. But Rumi had coaxed a reluctant agreement out of him by promising that she’d keep her clothes on—and that he should, too. Even so, Jinu looked as if he might combust from embarrassment, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, his eyes fixed firmly on the space between the tiles of the bathroom floor.

“Jinu, I have clothes on. Come sit inside here with me,” Rumi called, flicking a playful splash of water in his direction.

He pouted, lips drawn in a stubborn line, but shuffled closer, each step an awkward dance of hesitation. “We can’t both fit. I’m leaving,” he muttered, his cheeks so red it looked like he might genuinely warm the whole tub.

Before he could escape, Rumi grabbed his wrist and pulled him in one swift, motion. He landed butt-first with a surprised yelp, sending a wave of water sloshing over the edge and droplets raining down on Rumi’s face.

“Gah!” Jinu yelped, scrambling as if he might leap right back out, but Rumi’s laughter filled the small bathroom, echoing off the tiled walls. Her body shook with delight as she watched his scandalized expression, his hair plastered to his forehead in dripping strands.

“That is not fair play,” he protested, but Rumi only grinned wider, splashing a handful of water right into his face for good measure. Jinu sulked for a moment, arms folded defensively, refusing to meet her eyes.

But Rumi was relentless, sending another wave his way until he finally relented, drawing his knees to his chest and settling awkwardly in front of her. The tub was barely big enough for two, their knees knocking together under the surface as Rumi beamed at him.

“I don’t even know what we’re doing,” Jinu mumbled, eyes darting everywhere but at her.

“It was supposed to be, you know, no clothes ,” Rumi teased, rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “But someone here has to be an old man about it.”

Jinu’s blush deepened. “We can’t do that!” he squeaked, his voice shooting up an octave.

“I’m an adult, you know,” Rumi replied, tilting her head. “I don’t get why you’re so pressed about this. We’re together. We like each other. It’s not like we’re going to do anything except bathe. Unless…” She wiggles her brows and Jinu couldn’t look possibly more scandalized than the last.

Jinu shook his head, mortified. “No, no way ,” he managed, horror clear in his voice.

For a moment, Rumi pouted, lips forming a dramatic frown. Then, a sly grin crept across her face. “Is this because my dad is your friend or something?”

Jinu shot her a sidelong glance, guilt flickering in his eyes. He hesitated—then slowly stretched his legs out, their knees bumping again beneath the water. Sighing in resignation, he sank a little deeper into the tub, the water rising up to his nose as he peered at her, his embarrassment only barely contained by the thin layer of clothes and lukewarm bathwater between them.

Rumi giggled, the sound soft and bubbling in the steamy air, before scooting closer, slipping herself between Jinu’s legs. She reached up, catching his face in her hands, gently squishing his cheeks so his lips puckered.

“Jinu, I’m doing this because…” she began, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, just consider it therapy. Now come on, turn around. I’m going to wash your hair.” She grinned, nudging him playfully.

Jinu pouted, but after a moment’s hesitation, nodded and shifted so his back was to her, knees still hugged to his chest. Rumi moved to sit on the edge of the tub, gathering a generous squirt of shampoo into her hands. She worked it into his hair, fingers strong and sure, massaging his scalp with small, slow circles. Her nails raked lightly at his scalp, sending tingles down his spine. Jinu tipped his head back in delight, eyelids fluttering closed.

It felt… nice . More than nice, actually. It felt intimate in a way he hadn’t expected, her hands gentle and warm as she scrubbed bubbles through his hair. He shivered when her fingers traced the sensitive spot near the nape of his neck.

“How is it?” Rumi’s voice was low, almost a whisper above the sound of water sloshing.

Jinu nodded, not trusting his voice at first. “Feels nice,” he mumbled, the words muffled by his own contented sigh.

“Does it?” she teased, giggling softly. Jinu hummed in reply, half-lost in the comfort of her touch. He wishes it would last forever. When he opened his eyes again, he found Rumi still carefully massaging his hair, her expression unusually gentle.

“Rumi… about what I said earlier…” Jinu’s words trailed off, uncertainty creeping in. Rumi’s movements slowed.

“Said about what?” she asked, her hands pausing mid-scrub.

“If I… suddenly became like them,” Jinu said quietly, bowing his head. The words seemed to freeze the air between them.

Rumi’s hands stilled. “Didn’t I tell you? You won’t be like them,” she said firmly, but Jinu only shook his head, a weary sigh escaping him.

“Wouldn’t it be better for me to just… stay as a sword?” he muttered. “It’s convenient for you, right?” He glanced up, searching her eyes for any flicker of agreement.

“No. Totally no,” Rumi replied instantly, voice sharp. But Jinu pressed on, voice small and honest.

“The new Honmoon isn’t enough … You’ll need your sword back soon. I can’t always be here. I’d feel better if you just kept me as a sword forever, rather than watch me go mad.” He let out a small, bitter chuckle—but Rumi grabbed his shoulders, turning him to face her.

Her eyes were wide, brimming with fear. “I told you, you are not going to be like them. I’m here. I will always be here. Isn’t that enough?” Her fingers trembled as they gripped his skin.

Jinu frowned, his gaze dropping to her hands. Slowly, almost reverently, he took her wrists and settled them gently against his neck, his smile sad.

“I can’t promise I’ll stay the same, Rumi,” he whispered.

Her eyes darkened with worry as Jinu guided her hands, tightening them slightly around his throat.

“I wasn’t born in hell. I was a human who turned into a demon. I’ve lived for four hundred years, and my memories of my past are still here… but soon, they’ll corrode, worn down by time. I’ll let my own sins consume me. Humans weren’t meant to live this long, this immortality… Is a curse .” he said, voice barely more than a breath in the foggy room.

Rumi jerked her hands away, stumbling out of the tub, the water sploshed around spilling over the sides of the tub. Her clothes clung to her, dripping onto the floor, purple hair plastered to her cheeks. Her hands shook; her breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps.

“No… No, I can’t lose you. You are not turning into them,” she said, voice trembling as she backed away. Jinu sat quietly, water and suds sliding down his face, stinging his eyes. 

“I’ve seen it happen,” he murmured. “Humans who become demons—they all go mad, sooner or later. Abby told me he nearly lost himself in just fifty years. What about me, after four hundred? What more another year?”

Rumi spun around, her eyes blazing with sudden, fierce hope. “ No. I won’t accept it. The Golden Honmoon will work. If—if we can turn the Honmoon gold, maybe you won’t be affected. Maybe it’ll stop this… whole thing from happening.” She hurried back to him, kneeling by the tub, determination etched on her wet face.

Jinu’s hair dripped with suds and water, his eyes tired, haunted but hopeful. Rumi reached out, cupping his cheeks again, her hands steady now.

“If it comes to it,” she said, voice steady and strong, “I’ll find a way to turn you human again. I promise.”

For a moment, they stared at each other, the silence charged with something unspoken.

“That’s…” Jinu’s lips curled, eyes glinting with both skepticism and admiration. “Aha! Really ambitious of you.”

“I’m a very ambitious woman,” Rumi replied, her smile crooked and confident. She reached for the water in the tub, swirling the water thoughtfully. “Now, let’s get that hair cleaned.”

Jinu nodded, his gaze lingering on Rumi’s face for a second longer before she slid back into the warm water, perching at the edge as Rumi gently poured water over his head, fingers working through tangles, rinsing away the suds. The steam rose around them, softening the edges of the room, the air filled with the scent of lavender soap.

Eventually, they found themselves in Rumi’s room, the faint glow of the sun from the balcony throwing golden shapes across the walls. Rumi rummaged in her closet, emerging with a bundle of clothes and thrusting them toward Jinu.

“What is this? Did you… ugh, Rumi, seriously?” Jinu’s voice was incredulous as he eyed the teddy bear shirt and the matching choo choo train pajama pants.

“Bought you a pair, actually,” Rumi said, grinning with unfiltered delight as she handed over a matching top.

Jinu let out a sigh, eyes rolling but a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks,” he deadpanned, drawing the word out, but Rumi only grinned wider, flopping onto the bed with a laugh that shook the mattress.

Jinu dropped the pajamas at the foot of the bed and crawled after her, letting out a low, tired groan. “Yes… bed, finally,” she mumbled, stretching out beside Rumi, her limbs heavy with exhaustion.

Rumi’s smile softened as she watched Jinu settle. “Time to sleep. In the morning…” she giggled, her voice trailing off as Jinu snorted, the sound muffled by the pillow.