If the Shoe Fits, Run — reader × AOT one-shot series
A collection of Cinderella-inspired one-shots set in a vaguely medieval, titan-free world. Featuring familiar faces from Attack on Titan in unfamiliar roles—princes, soldiers, wizards, and magically transformed animals. Each story stands alone, with new dynamics, new roles, and one recurring theme: the Reader is probably going to run.
🪡 No tragic endings, no titans—just soft chaos, slowburns, and a bit of fantasy flair.
📖 Completed stories:
– (Levi x Reader) Ashes and Claws | Quotev | Wattpad | AO3
– (Erwin x Reader) Blueprints for an Exit | Quotev | Wattpad | AO3
✨ More to come!
if you want to see more updates, feel free to follow me here or follow the fic tag: #IfTheShoeFitsRun
(please no unsolicited pitches – not open to paying for commissions, cover art offers, collabs, adaptations or ai use ♡)
You build to survive — scraps turned into machines, ideas no one in this world should know.
You sell to escape — each invention a step closer to freedom.
But secrets burn fast. And when a certain commander starts hunting for the mind behind the blueprints,
You’ll have to decide whether to keep running…
Or risk being caught by him.
“A mind like yours should never be wasted on survival.”
An Inventor!Reader x Erwin one-shot. Set in a Cinderella-inspired, kind of medieval, titan-free AU.
✨ Part 2 of the If the Shoe Fits, Run series.
✨ Standalone story - no prior reading needed.
read on:
quotev | wattpad | ao3
full chapter below ↓
Blueprints for an Exit (Inventor!Reader x Erwin)
You remember the moment all too clearly.
The moment the world blinked out like a flame snuffed between two fingers. Your fingers, trembling over a door handle you hadn’t wanted to open. You were exhausted and desperate. You’d whispered to no one in particular, “I’d rather be anywhere else,” and whatever higher force had been listening must have agreed.
The next thing you knew, you were here. In a world out of a fairytale. One where time had rewound, where corsets replaced concrete, and where the men had swords but had never heard of a lightbulb.
You’re still not sure what kind of cosmic joke dropped you in this place. But you did recognize the setup almost immediately — an impending crumbling manor. A dead father. A freshly married stepmother and two daughters with sugary voices and serpent eyes.
Of course it had to be Cinderella.
Which meant you had two options: wait for a prince… or build your own escape.
You chose the latter.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Years have passed since then.
By day, you’re the obedient ward of a noble house, soft-spoken and always with a sweet smile, perfect at embroidery and perfectly silent. Always at your stepfamily’s beck and call.
By night, you become someone else — a hooded figure in the capital’s back alleys, slipping blueprints beneath crates, trading sketches for coin, moving parts for protection. Invention is your escape route. You sell convenience, ingenuity, and just enough brilliance to change lives without changing the course of history too fast.
You have your rules.
Never meet clients twice.
Never leave real names.
Never sell weapons.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The reports come in threes.
First: a small farming family in the outer ring claims their harvest tools now last three times longer — all without a single royal craftsman involved.
Second: the Reeves company quietly doubles profits with a new grain sorter—one so precise it can divide seed by weight. No patents. No blueprints. No one knows who built it.
Third: a military courier’s son survives a fatal accident thanks to a handmade breathing device. No one will say who gave it to him.
It’s always the same: innovation, anonymity, and impact.
Someone out there is rewriting the rules of progress. And they’re doing it without a crown seal.
Erwin leans back in his chair, hands steepled.
He’s seen enough revolutions to know what it looks like when someone gets too smart for the system.
The question is whether this one is dangerous — or brilliant.
He circles the edges of the map. Each incident forms a trail that loops back to one place:
The outskirts of the District Loden.Past Wall Sina, before the slums, the perfect blind spot for a ghost to vanish in plain sight.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
In the quiet hours of the night
You're hunched over a candlelit desk in the attic, goggles crooked, hands streaked with soot and ink.
Tonight’s project is a mechanical compass, not for direction, but for detecting lies.
It’s a test. A prototype. A machine rigged to respond to minute shifts in pulse and pressure when someone speaks. The needle will tremble, just enough to notice. Useless in most noble courts (they lie like they breathe), but powerful in the right hands.
You solder the final piece, your breath steady. The needle twitches once, then stills. You smile.
You have no idea that this invention will be the one that finally gives you away.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The map stretches wide across the oak table, covered in markers and ink. He stands over it with arms crossed, watching unrest spread across the northern districts like a bruise under silk.
“Another noble arrested for treason,” Nile mutters, tossing a parchment down. “That makes four this month. All of them with inexplicably revolutionary tech in their homes.”
Erwin nods slowly. “And all of them claiming not to know where it came from.”
Pixis, half-asleep in the corner with a wine cup in hand, opens one eye. “I suppose our ghost of Loden strikes again.”
Erwin allows himself the ghost of a smile. That nickname, the ghost of Loden, had started as a joke. A whisper of an inventor slipping in and out of reach. Brilliant, anonymous, untouchable.
But lately, the whispers have grown louder. Sharper.
And more dangerous.
He rests a hand on the edge of the table. “We’ve traced two of the latest devices back to the Reeves Trading Company. If anyone’s had direct contact with our ghost, it’s them.”
Nile raises a brow. “Reeves’ll talk if we pressure him.”
“No,” Erwin says. “He’ll lie. And badly.”
He turns toward the map, his finger tapping District Loden.
“I want a meeting. Not as the Chief Strategist. As a buyer. Someone with coin. And a need.”
“You’re going undercover?” Nile snorts. “That’s bound to end well.”
Pixis laughs into his wine. “Do wear something less intimidating. Wouldn’t want them bolting before the bargain even starts.”
Erwin doesn’t respond. He’s already calculating the risks.
If this inventor is truly behind the devices destabilizing the Crown’s hold…
If they’ve been aiding rebels under the guise of business…
Then he needs to look them in the eye himself.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You’ve never sold military tech before.
Not really.
You make tools, not weapons. Mechanisms. Hacks. A lantern that lights without oil. A hearing device sharp enough to catch whispers through stone walls. A boot spring that lets a man leap two stories.
But this? What they’re asking for now?
A pressure-triggered device. A trap meant to deter intruders, to scare off thieves.
“For protection,” they said. “Just to keep their stores safe.”
You bite the inside of your cheek.
It could protect a village. Or cripple a child.
You close your eyes. Back in your attic, the air hangs thick with soot, metal cooling on your desk. The truth compass ticks faintly in the corner.
You promised yourself you’d never cross this line.
But coin talks. And you’re so close. So close to finally escaping this place.
Just a few more deals. A few more risks.
You reach for the seal you use on every delivery, a simple sigil stamped in wax, meaningless to anyone but you.
And slowly, you press it into the parchment.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
He arrives just as the bells begin to toll midnight.
The warehouse is one Reeves uses for “special arrangements”, off the books, low visibility, just enough foot traffic to look ordinary. Erwin wears a dark coat and gloves, the kind that wouldn’t draw attention. No insignia. No gleam of gold to reveal his rank. Just a pocket heavy with coins and a name on his tongue that isn’t his own.
A merchant from Trost. Interested in custom security tech. Payment in full. Delivery tonight.
He knows how this game works.
Reeves had been eager enough once the gold was on the table. “The ghost only shows if you’re serious,” he’d muttered, sweating through his collar. “And if they like you.”
Erwin waits in the far corner of the warehouse, leaning against a crate marked grain, ears tuned to the quiet clatter of the city outside.
Then the door creaks open.
Soft footsteps. Light. Calculated. Not the heavy shuffle of smugglers — something sharper.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You clock the man instantly.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Hands gloved, posture loose but watchful. His face is shadowed under his hood, but something about him feels… official.
Too clean to be a merchant. Too calm to be scared.
Interesting.
You don’t let it show. You step forward and set the case on the table with a deliberate thunk.
“I brought what you asked for,” you say coolly. “Pressure-triggered. Adjusted to your specifications. You can test it before I leave.”
The man nods once. His voice is smooth, low. “And if I wanted more? Something custom. Exclusive.”
You tilt your head. “I don’t do repeats.”
A pause.
“Why not?”
“Because buyers get greedy. Start asking for things I don’t make.” You meet his gaze, even if you can’t quite see his face. “And I don’t make weapons.”
The man’s eyes flick down to the case. His mouth almost curves — not quite a smile.
“That’s one way to describe it.”
The man goes silent. Then, slowly, he reaches into his coat. Your body tenses, but all he produces is a compass.
Your compass.
You go still.
“Such an interesting invention,” he says, watching the trembling needle. “Perfect for business deals… or interrogation.”
Your pulse spikes.
“That’s not what it’s for,” you snap before you can stop yourself.
His eyes narrow, calm but cutting. “Then tell me — what is it for?”
Your heart hammers.
You scan him again, sharper this time.
Who is he?
You inch toward the bag at your side — smoke bombs, just in case, but he raises a hand, not threatening, just controlled.
“I don’t want to arrest you,” he says. “I want to understand why someone this brilliant is selling devices that could topple a kingdom.”
You freeze.
No buyer would say that.
Which means—
“Who are you?” you breathe.
The man reaches up, finally, and lowers his hood.
First you catch the eyes — sharp, unyielding, too perceptive to belong to an ordinary client. Then the rest of his face comes into focus: the hard jaw, the authority etched into every line.
Recognition slams into you.
Erwin Smith.
You’ve just walked straight into the lion’s den.
And you don’t even have a blade.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
There’s a sharp, awful silence in your mind, like every gear in you seizes at once.
You know that face. Everyone does. Chief Strategist of the Crown. The one behind the Capital Reformation. The man who broke the noble monopolies, exposed two major spy rings, and somehow did it all without ever raising his voice.
You’d studied him, and sworn never to meet him.
And now he’s here, in the same room, using your own invention against you.
Your mind starts spinning.
Probabilities. Options. Exits.
Could you throw the smoke bomb and bolt? Maybe. But the warehouse doors are heavy, and he’s too close. He’d catch you before the smoke cleared.
Could you bluff? Say you’re just a courier?
Too late. He’s seen your face.
You swallow, steadying your breath. You can’t out-muscle him. You definitely can’t outrun his authority.
But you can out-think him.
Maybe.
You force your voice steady. “If you wanted me dead, you’d have brought more guards.”
He smiles faintly. “I don’t make a habit of killing inventors.”
“Just arresting them?”
“I’d prefer not to,” he says. “That depends on how honest you’re willing to be with me.”
You snort. “That’s rich, coming from someone who showed up under a false name.”
The needle on the compass twitches.
His smile grows.
Damn it. You hate how smug he looks. Hate more that he caught you.
“So,” you say, folding your arms, “what now?”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
She doesn’t beg.
Doesn’t run.
Doesn’t even shake.
The girl in front of him has soot on her gloves and a mind like a locked vault. She’s young — far younger than he expected for an inventor — the kind of brilliance usually found in old men with dusty medals, not sharp-eyed girls in patched-up coats. But there’s a steel edge to her calm. A sharpness honed by hunger and calculation, not formal training.
He studies the lines of tension in her jaw, the bag at her side, the flick of her eyes to the exits. Already planning how to disappear.
Not yet.
He doesn’t want her gone.
“Let’s make a deal,” he says evenly.
She raises a brow.
“I won’t report this meeting,” he says. “I’ll walk out of here without touching you. But in return, you tell me who you really are.”
“I already told you—”
“Don’t lie.” He nods toward the compass. “It still works.”
She scowls at it like it’s a traitor.
Then, to his quiet surprise, she laughs.
It’s low, tired, almost bitter.
“You want to know who I am?” she says, eyes glittering. “Fine. I’m a girl with a cruel stepmother, two leeching stepsisters, and no family name that matters. I live in an attic that leaks when it rains, I work alone, and I’ve survived this long by knowing how to sell just enough to stay invisible.”
She takes a step closer.
“And you just ruined that.”
Erwin holds her gaze. “If you think I’m here to expose you, you’ve misread me.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because,” he says slowly, “you built a handheld lie detector using nothing but gears and wire. Because you’ve made a dozen devices that could destabilize the noble courts, and yet none of them are weapons. Because someone like you shouldn’t be hiding in District Loden, selling secrets for food.”
She narrows her eyes. “And what do you propose I do instead? Join the Crown?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. For once, he doesn’t have a plan ready. Because that’s exactly what he was going to propose—in theory. A position under an alias, somewhere discreet. But now that he’s met her…
She’s too sharp to cage.
Too independent to tame.
He needs her cooperation, not her obedience.
So he tries a different tactic.
“I don’t want to own you,” he says. “I want to understand you. And if I can’t do that now—” he tips his head toward the door— “then I’ll leave.”
Another test.
Another bluff.
She studies him. Hard.
And then, slowly, deliberately, she reaches out and picks up the compass from the table.
The needle twitches under her fingers from the movement.
“Fine,” she says. “Ask your questions.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You don’t soften.
You keep the compass between you like a line neither of you can cross.
“Let’s start with this,” he says, tone measured. “How long have you been building?”
You tilt your head. “Define building.”
His mouth twitches — not quite a smile. “Mechanical innovation. Inventing technology that doesn’t exist anywhere else in this kingdom.”
You pause. “Six years.”
Erwin nods once. He’d suspected as much — you were just stepping into adulthood when you started. Which makes the sophistication of your current designs even more remarkable. Dangerous, even. And he knows better than to underestimate someone who survived this long without a backer.
“Where did you learn?” he asks.
“I watched. I studied. I experimented. Failure is a far better teacher than any master.”
Then, dryly: “Though I imagine you had access to both.”
He raises a brow. “And what would you say I’ve learned?”
You smile, tight-lipped. “That people will follow anyone in a clean uniform with a strong voice, so long as he names it duty.”
The jab is sharp, but not inaccurate. Erwin doesn’t flinch. Instead, he folds his arms and watches you carefully, as if weighing your bitterness against your brilliance.
“And you?” he counters. “What have you learned?”
You don’t hesitate. “That freedom is a resource. Like coal. Like knowledge. It’s either hoarded, stolen, or bought. And I intend to buy mine.”
A beat passes.
The needle on the compass stays still.
He exhales slowly. “And what price are you willing to pay?”
You meet his eyes. “That depends. What’s the going rate for a life outside this system?”
There’s something in your voice, not desperation, but defiance sharpened by exhaustion. Like someone who’s counted every coin, every betrayal, every compromise, just to crawl this far.
And for the first time in a long while, Erwin feels the steady tilt of certainty falter. Because this — you — were not in the plan.
He was supposed to find the source of the illegal tech, shut it down quietly, and move on.
Instead, he’s staring at a girl with ash on her gloves and stars in her mind, holding her own against the man who commands half the capital.
And something inside him says: don’t let this go.
Not yet.
“I could offer you protection,” he says finally. “Resources. Anonymity. A lab. A salary.”
You scoff. “A collar, you mean.”
“No,” he says, voice low. “A choice.”
You watch him, eyes narrowed, weighing the truth in his words against the tremble in your gut. Because this shouldn’t feel like anything. This shouldn’t be anything. He’s the system. You’re the saboteur. There’s no version of this where you come out unburned.
But for a second, one impossible sliver of breath, you want to believe him.
And that’s what frightens you most.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
A sound breaks the stillness.
Sharp. Metallic.
A crash from somewhere outside the warehouse.
Erwin reacts first, a flicker of alertness crossing his features as he glances toward the door. Reflexive. Calculated. But you? You know what this is.
A gift.
Because the footsteps follow fast, boots against cobblestone, and shouts echo in the distance. Not guards. Too erratic. Drunken, maybe. Local smugglers or dockhands. Wrong place, wrong time.
Or exactly right, if you're lucky.
“Stay here,” Erwin says sharply, already moving toward the entrance.
You don’t.
The moment his back turns, you move.
Quick. Clean. Practiced.
Bag over your shoulder. Compass pocketed. You slip through the window on the side, the one with the stacked crates and rusted tools, and vanish into the smoke-veiled streets like a ghost with somewhere better to be.
Behind you, the shouting swells. The warehouse dissolves into the noise — fists, laughter, the crunch of boots on stone. You don’t look back.
You chose to run.
Not because you were afraid of being caught.
But because, for a second, you weren’t.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
By the time the noise settles and the source of the chaos turns out to be nothing more than a drunken scuffle, she's gone.
Of course she is.
The crates by one of the walls have shifted. One’s been kicked. The window above is open. A clean and deliberate exit.
He scans the window she slipped through.
Not a trace.
Except the smallest thing.
A scrap of parchment, torn and half-singed, caught beneath a metal gear.
He picks it up carefully.
A corner of a diagram, maybe. Notes in handwriting too fast to be elegant. Useless without any context.
Still, he folds it and tucks it into his coat.
Then he straightens, brushing soot from his gloves.
She ran, yes. But not out of defiance.
He’d seen it in her eyes.
That flicker of something real. The way she’d listened, despite herself.
The way she’d hesitated.
She ran because she believed him.
And that… That’s how he knows she can be persuaded.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
He doesn't issue a warrant. No manhunt. No names in reports.
Let the brass think the trail went cold.
Let her think she got away.
It’s better this way — quieter. Cleaner. And infinitely more useful.
Because it gives him time to observe.
He’s not the kind of man who indulges in riddles, but this particular puzzle… deserves patience. She moves like someone used to surveillance, slipping through alleys with mirrors in her sleeves, checking for tails, never using the same contact twice. And yet.
She still shows up in the same place every morning.
A tiny bakery in District Loden. Not for bread, but for the child who lingers by the back stoop, limbs too thin, always barefoot. She gives him whatever scraps she has. A piece of bread. A copper coin. Once, a spring-loaded toy that made the boy laugh so hard he hiccupped.
Later that evening, she slips down a forgotten street on the edge of the district to mend a broken lantern no one else would bother with. She works fast, not showy, not proud, just efficient. A few twists of wire, a smudge of grease on her cheek. When she slips back down, unseen, the light flickers back to life.
Erwin watches from the shadows, arms folded, jaw tight.
He’s seen war criminals do less damage than some nobles in this district. And she, in her soot-streaked jacket and scavenged tools, is risking everything to mend what they’ve broken.
And still.
She runs.
That’s what baffles him most. Not her precision or her caution, but the fear. The deep, bone-sharp kind. It’s not just survival. It’s not guilt.
It’s something older than that. Something learned.
He thinks of the burned scrap still tucked in his coat pocket. Thinks of the way she’d looked at him that day, not with hatred, but with the kind of hope that hurts.
He doesn’t follow her when she disappears into a shuttered workshop to make another deal. Doesn’t break cover. Not yet.
Let her go a little longer.
She thinks she’s running out of time.
She doesn’t know he’s buying it back for her.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
It’s too quiet.
The kind of quiet that wraps around your lungs and squeezes.
Even the attic creaks softer now, as if it knows you’ve been staying too long. You’ve reinforced the walls, covered your tracks, set up three different escape routes and a pulley trap in case someone trespasses.
It should feel safe.
But all it feels is temporary.
You’ve been saving coin for years, hoarding it in careful increments. But the total still falls short, not enough for your plan, not enough to start over somewhere no one knows your name.
And more dangerously, you’re running out of faith.
Not in yourself. In them.
No one keeps promises. Not without blood or leverage. The deal at the workshop proved that. You’d been careful, anonymous, masked, timed to the second, and still they’d brought backup, tried to corner you.
They weren’t looking for an inventor. They were looking for someone to exploit.
And if you hadn’t run…
You drag your hands down your face.
This isn’t working.
Survival is chewing away at you inch by inch. Even with your tricks, even with your charm, even with the few decoys you left behind in transactions to protect yourself — it’s not enough.
You need real power.
Something no one would dare touch.
Your fingers drift toward the schematic hidden under the floorboard. You don’t pull it out. You don’t have to.
You know it by heart.
A prototype so dangerous it’s illegal to draft. Stolen parts, repurposed tech from old Survey Corps designs. You hadn’t built it out of malice, just necessity. The idea had come to you one night while listening to soldiers talk about siege tactics. You realized they were doing it all wrong.
You built something better.
Too effective. Too efficient. The kind of weapon the capital would pay a fortune for, or bury you alive for.
You promised yourself you’d never sell it.
But promises don’t put food in your stomach. They don’t buy freedom. And they sure as hell don’t stop men like the ones at the workshop.
Your hands tremble as you light the oil lamp.
One last deal.
You still know someone who might take it. Someone who doesn't ask questions, just names his price.
If the trade goes through, you can finally leave. For real this time. No more looking over your shoulder. No more chances for that maddening blue-eyed officer to trace your steps.
You shut your eyes.
No more seeing his face when you hesitate.
No more hearing his voice when you think about staying.
You blow out the lamp and stand.
It has to be tonight.
Before your hope convinces you to trust again.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Late at night, the meeting point is a burned-out stable half a mile beyond the canal walls, far enough from town to avoid guards, close enough to reach on foot without notice.
You chose it for its desolation, people tending to stay away. Ash still hangs in the air, the ruins left to rot.
You wear gloves this time. And a hood. And beneath your cloak, the prototype is packed in oilcloth and cinched tight against your ribs. Not a full weapon. Just the core, a proof of concept. Small enough to look like a bluff. Heavy enough to kill if it explodes wrong.
Which is why you hold it close.
Your contact is late.
You hate that he’s late.
You pace the length of the stables once. Twice. Your breath clouds in the cold. Your boots crack the edge of a frozen puddle. And still, no sound.
You’re about to leave when someone steps out from behind a charred post.
Not your contact.
Not even close.
Blue eyes. That coat. The way he doesn’t even bother to draw a weapon.
Just him.
“Funny,” Erwin Smith says calmly. “I thought you’d pick the canal bridge. More escape routes.”
Your blood ices.
You turn to bolt, but he’s already moved. Not fast. Not chasing. Just blocking the way back with the kind of steadiness that makes your skin crawl.
“I don’t want the prototype,” he says, voice low. “Not like this.”
You reach for your pocket anyway.
Erwin’s eyes flick down, not to the weapon, but your hands.
He doesn’t flinch.
“I said I didn’t come to take it.”
“Then why follow me?”
“Because you’re about to ruin everything you’ve survived for.”
Your grip tightens.
“It’s mine to ruin,” you snap.
“Maybe,” he says. “But you don’t actually want to.”
You laugh — harsh, bitter. “You don’t know what I want.”
“I do.” His voice is too damn gentle. “You want out.”
The wind cuts through the broken wall behind you.
“Everyone wants out,” you say. “You think I’m special?”
“I think you’re scared,” Erwin replies. “And smart enough to know this sale won’t buy you freedom. Just more people who know your name.”
“I don’t care,” you hiss. “I’m done trusting anyone.”
He steps forward.
You draw the device halfway out of your coat.
“Don’t,” you warn. “You’re not the only one who knows how this works.”
Erwin stops.
Not because he’s afraid, but because he’s listening.
“Then say it,” he says quietly. “Say you really don’t care. That no one’s ever worth trusting. That you’ll walk away from this alone.”
You swallow.
The words are there. You’ve said them before. In your head. In the mirror.
But you don’t say them now.
Because he’s not just calling your bluff. He’s offering something else.
Not safety.
Not escape.
Just truth.
And that’s the most dangerous thing of all.
You look away first.
He doesn’t move. Just waits, still and steady, like he’s always been waiting.
Then finally, you exhale.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d go through with it,” you mutter.
Erwin raises a brow.
You glare at the ground. “I was going to scare him. Bluff the price up. Maybe… maybe drop it in the canal if he tried anything.”
A pause.
“At least you’re still weighing the risk.” Erwin says simply.
You glance up, startled.
But he’s already turning away.
“No arrest?” you say before you can stop yourself.
“No.”
“Not even for threatening a military officer?”
“You didn’t threaten me,” he says. “You just showed how far you’re willing to go.”
He looks back, just once.
He turns, boots crunching softly over frost. In another blink, he’s gone, footsteps fading in the dark.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You stay frozen long after he’s gone.
Not because you’re afraid. But because something else is clawing at your chest — something unfamiliar, raw.
You don’t want to feel it.
But it’s there, rising anyway:
That stupid, heavy, traitorous flicker of hope.
You grit your teeth and shove it down.
The device is still warm against your ribs. The deal’s off. Your tracks are covered. You’ve lost nothing. He let you go.
Still—
“…I didn’t mean for you to see that,” you whisper, but only to the dark.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
It happens two days later.
You’re stupid. Careless. Just one stop to deliver medicine to the baker’s wife. One detour to fix the pulley at the tannery where a boy nearly lost his arm last week. In and out. Hood drawn tight. Nobody looking twice.
Except someone does.
Not Erwin.
Not a guard.
Just a glint of gold fabric at the edge of the square, the corner of a parasol too fine for this part of town. The clipped voice of a girl asking if that’s really her.
You run. Your breath saws sharp in your throat, cloak catching on the press of bodies as you push through.
Toward the maze of side alleys behind the dye house, where walls are close enough to climb, where soot stains cover your tracks. You think you’ve lost them.
But they know your patterns too well.
You’re halfway through your hiding place, a coal chute behind the barrel-maker’s shop, when someone grabs your ankle and drags you back down.
The world jerks sideways.
You hit the ground hard.
The last thing you hear is your stepsister’s voice, cold with triumph:
“Let’s see what Mother thinks about you skulking around like a beggar rat.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
They lock you in the attic.
The air is stifling, thick with the smell of splintered wood and oil.
Your workbench is bare. Shelves stripped. Even the half-finished gadgets you left mid-assembly are gone, taken before you could complete them. The trapdoor is locked from the outside. The windows are boarded over with crude planks that leave only slits of light.
Rage spikes hot in your chest. Not because you trusted them, you never did, but because they touched what was yours. They took the hours you built with your own hands, pieces no one else could ever understand.
They think keeping you here is leverage. That you’ll behave as long as they hold your name, your records, your “future” hostage.
They underestimate you.
They always have.
You give them three days.
You wait until they stop guarding the door.
Then you begin.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You work with what little you have: lamp oil, torn ledgers, a bent paper knife. The knife pries loose portions of wood, sharp enough to work through a slate. You squeeze through the opening onto the roof, fingers raw from forcing the materials apart. Then you spill the oil, stack the papers, strike the spark. The fire takes quickly. By the time you’re climbing down the eaves, the smoke is already curling from the windows.
The whole wing catches.
They’ll think you died trying to escape the fire.
They’ll find remains — not yours. A bundle of clothes stuffed with meat you smuggled in, shreds of your own hair to give it the right smell. Enough that, when the embers dwindle, they’ll swear it was you.
They’ll find the letter you ‘tried’ to send for help — intercepted and hidden in the steward’s desk. Half-true, but damning enough:
“Please. They’ve locked me in the attic. They’ve taken everything I have and sold it as their own. I don’t know how much longer I can survive.”
The script is uneven, lines pressed too hard into the page, as if written in panic.
By dawn, District Loden believes you died in the fire.
By noon, the steward is under investigation.
By dusk, your stepmother is already fleeing the capital.
And you…
You’re already gone.
Through the sewer grate you marked years ago, into the tunnels, past the river, and at last into the forest.
You don’t stop until the trees thicken and the air tastes like freedom.
And then, only then, you allow yourself a single minute to rest.
One minute to feel the burn in your lungs and the ache in your ribs and the tremble in your hands.
You’re alive.
You did it.
But you don’t cry.
You’re too busy planning the next move.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Erwin stands at the edge of the rubble as the last embers die.
What they recover are brittle fragments and scorched scraps, the pitiful remains and the stench of burned flesh convincing enough for officials to declare a body.
The investigators call it tragic. Unfortunate.
A waste.
Erwin calls it convenient.
Too convenient.
To the officials, her confinement had been airtight — doors barred, windows boarded, no escape. The confiscated letter is shown as proof: her plea for help, tucked away in the steward’s desk. Evidence, they say, that she was silenced before the fire. Books and blueprints destroyed beyond recognition.
The stepmother was already gone, her getaway from the capital making the claims of corruption look less like rumor and more like fact. Convenient timing, Erwin thinks, for a woman under suspicion.
He’s seen better coverups.
What nags at him is the fire’s point of origin. The precise angles of the burn pattern. Someone knew exactly how to collapse the room — just enough to look fatal, not enough to bring the whole wing down.
Someone with skill.
Still, the evidence is gone. Mostly.
But in the rubble, half-buried under char, he uncovers a warped metal panel shielding what little survive. Forgotten. Or maybe abandoned in a rush.
Inside:
– A singed diagram, marked with Marleyan characters.
– A customs report from a nearby port, three weeks old.
– A sketch of an airship with a date beside it — today.
Marley.
Of course.
The only place this side of the sea where technology outpaces bloodlines.
Where engineers are courted by councils, and brilliant women file patents and argue science on the senate floor.
She’d been charting escape routes for months, weighing her options, preparing to buy her freedom with her mind.
Erwin folds the diagram and slips it into his coat.
He doesn't smile. But there’s a glint in his eye now.
She hadn’t run away from justice.
She’d run toward something.
And if she’s half as clever as she seemed, she’s already past the first checkpoint, maybe even halfway to the coast.
But she made one mistake.
She assumed no one would care enough to follow.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The search party scatters past the tree line like hounds off the leash. But Erwin doesn’t move.
He stands still.
Watches the dirt.
Tracks lead into the woods. Too straight. Too obvious.
Too easy.
She wouldn’t have gone in blind. Not her. Not after everything.
She’s clever. Built escape plans like puzzles, like a cunning rabbit with multiple burrows. And if these tracks are real, if she really did run straight into the trees without even bothering to cover her tracks, then maybe he was wrong about her after all.
But he doesn’t think he is.
He lets the wind pass.
Looks around.
And then—
He glances up.
The tree behind him is massive. Thick-trunked. Old enough to outlive empires. Its lowest branches are high, but not impossible to reach, not for someone who can fashion climbing gear out of anything at hand.
He squints. There's a flicker of motion in the leaves.
He smiles, small and sharp.
“I know you’re there,” he says, leaning one hand casually against the trunk. “There’s no point in hiding.”
A beat of silence.
Then a rustle.
And a thud.
You land with a grunt, crouched and annoyed. Straighten your spine like a cat fluffing its tail.
“…Damn you and your wits, Erwin.”
He lifts one brow. “You’re welcome.”
You scowl at him. Your hair’s messy, uneven and choppy. A pack is slung over one shoulder. You’d planned for this. And yet… you’re still here, caught like a fox in the grass.
You dust yourself off without meeting his eyes. “Let me guess. You trailed the fire damage back to the passage.”
“And found what little you left behind.” He studies you. “You’re more meticulous than most escape artists. But I found your maps and plans.”
“Tch. I thought the fire would burn everything clean.”
You turn, like you might just walk away, but he steps in front of you.
“You were headed for Marley,” he says.
A pause.
You breathe out slowly. “What’s it to you?”
You hug the strap of your pack tighter, watching him weigh the words on his tongue.
“I had to be sure.”
“Sure of what?” Your voice tightens. “I’m not dangerous. I wasn’t trying to make the world more chaotic than it already is. I just—wanted to live. Somewhere where I wasn’t property. Somewhere I could build things that mattered.”
“Then why not come to me?”
That gets your eyes on his. Sharp and shining.
The words hang there, fragile, almost too honest. For a moment, neither of you move.
“Because there’s no guarantee your people wouldn’t just wring me dry and use me for their own ends.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“I’ve worked every day to buy back my time, my body, my choices,” you say, voice steady but rising. “And you sit there, safe and respected, and expect me to put my future in your hands?”
“I expect you to survive,” he says, calm but firm. “You chose Marley. Do you understand what that means? You would’ve been studied, used, torn apart—”
“I studied them,” you snap. “Their border patrol routes, their trade ports, their inventor guilds. I made a calculated risk. I wasn’t throwing myself at wolves—I was choosing a place where they value innovation. Where I could join a workshop, register patents. Where I could live as myself.”
A beat.
“…I know the risks. I chose them anyway.”
He studies you then, deeply. Like you’re a cipher he finally has the patience to understand.
“So you’re ready to leave everything behind.”
You nod. “I already had.”
He sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. “And what now? You run again?”
“…I haven’t decided.”
Silence stretches between you. The breeze is warm and faintly dusty. Somewhere in the woods, a soldier calls out — distant and sounding bewildered.
You look up at Erwin again, gaze softer now, but no less resolved.
“I wasn’t waiting for anyone to find me. You know that, right?”
He nods. “I know.”
“I don’t need saving.”
“I didn’t come here to save you.”
You tilt your head. “Then what?”
“I came to see if you were still running from something,” he says. “Or finally running to something.”
“And which is it?”
His voice is quieter now. “I think it’s both.”
You look away for a moment. The weight of everything pressing into your ribs. Then you square your shoulders.
“…You said I was a puzzle once. That no one knew what I was really after.”
“I remember.”
“Well. Now you do.”
A beat.
Then he steps closer.
Not threatening. Not chasing.
Just there—the same way he always is when everything else in your world threatens to shift.
And when he speaks again, his voice is low and certain.
“I won’t stop you. If you want to keep running.”
Your breath catches.
“But if you want to build something,” he says, “something lasting—then don’t do it alone. Let me help you, stand with you, so neither you nor your work are ever buried again.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
[Epilogue – One Year Later]
The capital is quieter now.
Not calm, it never is, but steadier — like a machine that runs smooth, even if the gears still grind. You still keep tools hidden. You still lace knives into your boots. But now you sleep in a proper room, eat three meals, and work on your gadgets without looking over your shoulder.
And Erwin keeps his promises.
He doesn’t parade you through the barracks or ask you to testify before a council. Instead, he gives you a private lab and room in the Survey Corps headquarters — quiet, well-stocked, and technically off the books.
You work in peace. He checks in when he can. And once a week, when the hour is late and the hallways are quiet, he walks you to your room.
Just like tonight.
You reach the stairwell. Pause at the bottom.
“I can take it from here,” you say. “No sense in risking gossip.”
His brow lifts slightly. “From Levi?”
“From Hange.”
“…Fair enough.”
But you don’t move.
Neither does he.
You glance up at him, your usual smirk tugging at your mouth. “You don’t have to walk me back, you know. I’m not planning on running again.”
“I know.” His eyes flicker over your face. “But I still enjoy the habit.”
You roll your eyes. “Ever the gentleman.”
“Hardly.”
And just like that, he steps forward, one hand braced against the bannister — not quite caging you in, but close enough to steal your breath.
Your back straightens instinctively. Your chin tilts up, defiant. But your pulse flutters.
He’s too close. You’re not moving.
“Were you going to leave me without saying goodbye?” he says softly.
He studies you, waiting.
“Were you going to let me?” you ask.
“I trusted you’d say goodbye in your own way.”
Your pulse stumbles. You look away, then back again. “Maybe I still could. If you stay a little longer.”
His brow tilts. “Stay?”
“For tea,” you say, softer than you mean to. “I might even have sugar left.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans a little closer, close enough that the space between you hums. Then, the corner of his mouth curves. “Tempting.”
You steady yourself with a smirk. “You’d better be tempted.” You move your way up the stairs, pretending your heart isn’t pounding.
His footsteps fall in behind yours, deliberate, warm. “Then I’ll stay. Until you ask me to leave.”
At your door, you glance back — no commander’s mask, no burden of rank, only Erwin, steady and unguarded. Something in you yields.
“In that case,” you murmur, leaving him at the entrance, “you’d better start paying rent.”
His laugh follows, low and surprised, curling through the silence until it feels like it belongs to only the two of you. And then he steps inside.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
[Extra Epilogue]
You’re halfway through sneaking out the side door when a hand catches your waist.
“Not again,” Erwin murmurs behind you, warm breath brushing your ear.
You freeze mid-step, already pouting. “I just wanted to stretch my legs after working so long.”
“You’re leaving with a satchel, two knives, and a map of the next county.”
“...I’m stretching them far.”
Erwin sighs, amused, and gently turns you to face him. Before you can wriggle free, his arm slides behind your back, and he braces one hand against the wall beside your head — a quiet thud against stone. You blink at the sudden position, more flustered than you’d like to admit.
“You can have your adventure,” he says, voice low. “But finish this first. One more report. One more device debugged. Then we’ll go.”
You scowl up at him. “You’re so annoyingly tall when you do this.”
“I’ll crouch next time.”
You press a hand to his chest and give a dramatic shove — which, to your dismay, doesn’t move him an inch. “Fine,” you huff, overacting like a brat. “But only because you’re being hot about it.”
His smile curves slow, unbearably attractive. “Good. Focus now. I’ll bribe you with a proper vacation later.”
“Tch. Tyrant.”
You storm off back to your workbench with all the grace of a stomping cat. But when you settle into your chair and reach for your notes, you’re still smiling. Just a little.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Author’s Note
me, plotting this fic: wouldn’t it be fun if the reader was a genius inventor?
also me, 20 tabs deep into researching words fitting for the old timey setting 😵💫
never again will i write an intellectual character augh
word count for this one ended up at 7k bruh 💀
the arson bit was inspired by that scene in The Promised Neverland where they fake Ray’s body with cloth, meat, and hair :D
🛠️ thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed it, feel free to like, reblog, or drop a comment — i’d love to hear your thoughts ♡
more one-shots in this series coming!
🧵 follow #IfTheShoeFitsRun to catch future updates ♡
tag list: @alebrasil0101 (you asked to be tagged, so i hope u enjoy!)
a fleeting calm. a story shared. bonds that feel like they could last.
an ambush that nearly ends it all.
sometimes even peace is just the breath between storms.
read ch6 on:
quotev | wattpad | ao3
full chapter below ↓
🌙 Chapter 6: The Breath Between
You lie awake long after the lamps in the courtyard have dimmed.
The courtyard outside is quiet, but inside your chest, it feels loud—every thought knocking against the next, tripping over itself, replaying his voice, his warmth, the brush of his hand against yours.
It’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t let yourself linger. Not when you’ve already decided—when the only way forward is to leave him behind.
You squeeze your eyes shut. That doesn’t stop the ache.
[You’re sulking.]
“I’m not.”
[You are. You’ve been sighing for two hours straight.]
“…you’re exaggerating.”
A little pause. Then, brighter:
[Want me to cheer you up?]
You roll onto your back, facing the ceiling and letting the quiet weight of the house settle around you. “With what? More mission reminders?”
[Ouch. (¬`ε ´¬) I can be fun, you know.]
You snort before you can stop yourself. “Sure.”
[…Fine. What if we… watched something? Together.]
That makes you blink. “Watch what?”
[Anime!! ✧｡٩(^ᗜ^ )و ✧*｡]
“…you know anime?”
[Of course I know!!] The System sounds scandalized. [It’s, like… ninety percent of your memory library! Well, that and POV playlists.]
You groan, tugging the blanket over your face. “Great. My tragic legacy.”
[Don’t worry. I’ll pick something perfect. Trust me. ദ്ദി(•̀ ᗜ <)]
And just like that, the silence gnawing at you softens, replaced by the odd comfort of letting your strange little System play friend.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The blanket muffles your laugh as the first notes of an opening song burst into your head. Bright, ridiculous lyrics. Way too much energy for the middle of the night.
“…are you serious?”
[What?? This is a classic.]
“This is so over-the-top.”
[Blasphemy!! It’s a shōnen masterpiece!!]
You peek out from under the blanket, lips twitching despite yourself. “Doesn’t it usually have… I don’t know. Lots of yelling?”
Right on cue, a voice shouts the name of a very dramatic attack. You nearly choke holding back a laugh.
[SEE??? Epic. 10/10. Character development and friendship speeches.]
You shake your head, curling onto your side as the episode goes on. The action is loud, chaotic—but weirdly soothing too. You can’t see it, but the sound paints its own picture: swords clashing, over-the-top villains, promises shouted under crashing skies.
“This is so dramatic,” you mutter, lips twitching. “Do they seriously yell about friendship every five minutes?”
[Obviously!! That’s the best part ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ]
You stifle a laugh. “It’s ridiculous,” you say softly. “But… I kind of love it.”
The System softens its voice.
[Makes sense. It's hard not to love the characters when they keep fighting, even when it looks impossible.]
Your chest tightens—but you shove the feeling down, letting the voices and music wash over you instead.
For the first time that night, the ache eases just a little.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The quiet hum of the old hanok manor was broken only by your laughter. The next couple of nights blurred together the same way—half-watching, half-talking, trading commentary until the shows blurred into a patchwork of voices and songs.
“—I’m just saying,” you grinned, sprawled out on the floor cushions, “Usopp doesn’t deserve the level of hate he gets. He’s just reacting like any normal person would in a world full of monsters and superhuman fighters. Honestly? I’d probably be terrified too. I’d hate to suddenly wake up there.”
[But host, didn’t you say that was your favorite anime? Wouldn’t you want to meet your favorite characters if you were sent there?]
You snorted. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’d survive there. If I had to choose, I’d go into Haikyuu.”
[But that’s just a sports anime!]
“Exactly,” you said smugly, “a boring but safe world.”
The System made a tiny huffing sound, complete with a pout.
[Host, you’re no fun! (¬`ε ´¬)]
You chuckled and rolled over. Moments like these—bantering with the strange, ever-present voice in your head—had become strangely comforting. Almost like a slice of normalcy, even if you still didn’t know why you were here in this world at all.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The next day wasn’t so quiet.
You had just left the manor with some bodyguards, umbrella in hand, just in case the gray clouds opened up, planning to meet your brother near his workplace. The air shifted oddly, the faint sound of footsteps breaking rhythm—and then the sharp cry of your guard.
“Stay back!” he barked, snapping his baton open with a sharp crack.
But you knew something was wrong. The tension in the air pressed against your skin like static, and the system’s tone turned sharp.
[System: Host—get ready. Swing left!]
“What?!” You barely had time to protest before something clawed at the air near your face. With a startled yelp you gripped your umbrella like a staff, following the system’s frantic directions.
[System: Down! Now right! Don’t stop!]
Your heart thundered as you swung blindly, the umbrella smacking into something solid followed by an unnatural screech after being pushed away.
“What the hell was that?!” you gasped, breathless. “That didn’t sound human at all—what’s going on?”
[System: …Host, that was a demon. Or more like, a human being controlled by one.]
“A demon?!” Your grip tightened on the umbrella, pulse spiking. “You’re seriously telling me this world has things like that—and you just… forgot to mention it?!”
[System: …You didn’t ask?]
“EXCUSE ME?!” You ducked, almost tripping, as claws raked the space where your head had been. “I thought you’d at least mention demons even existing! Or that this world isn’t the same as the earth I came from!”
[System: I-I assumed it wasn’t important yet!! Σ(°△°|||)︴]
Before you could argue further, another presence cut through the chaos. A woman’s voice—low, firm, and oddly amused—slid into the fray. “You’re braver than you look. Hold tight.”
Steel rang in quick, precise arcs. The attackers hissed and stumbled back, her movements clean and unhesitating. You caught the shuffle of more feet nearby—your guards, still struggling to hold their own—and realized this newcomer was cutting a path toward you deliberately.
She stopped close enough for you to hear her steady breathing. “Your guards are occupied. I’ll handle this side.”
Relief wavered through your chest as you tightened your grip on the umbrella. The last screech faded into silence, leaving only the buzz of your heart in your ears.
“...Who—?” you whispered.
“Rumi,” she answered shortly, though her tone carried a faint smile. “A friend of Jinu’s. You’re safe now.”
“Wait—you know Jinu? Hold on, how does that even—what does that have to do with this?!”
“You can ask him yourself later,” she said firmly, steadying you with a hand at your elbow. “Right now, we finish driving these things off.”
Despite the danger still hanging in the air, you felt the beginning of a strange camaraderie—like she wasn’t just protecting you out of duty, but out of choice.
You stagger slightly, and Rumi’s steadying hand brushes yours. “Thanks… I guess,” you mutter, trying to sound casual despite your racing heart.
She chuckles softly, low and amused. “Don’t sound so surprised. You handled yourself better than most civilians I’ve seen.”
“I just… winged it,” you say, glancing at the system in your mind.
“Mm. Good instincts,” she murmurs, tilting her head. “I like that. You keep thinking, even while panicked. That’s rare.”
You blink into the space where her face might be, smirking. “Careful, you’ll give me a complex about being a hero.”
She grins faintly. “Hero? Not yet. But you’ve got potential. Stick around, and I might teach you a few tricks.”
You duck as Rumi spins around another attacker, steel flashing.
In your head, the System squeals: [H-hey!! I was giving her instructions first!! ⁽⁽(੭ꐦ •̀Д•́ )੭*⁾⁾]
…and then, grudgingly: […okay fine, maybe she’s a little impressive too. But only a little!!]
The last possessed man lunged, wild-eyed and snarling—until Rumi’s blade cut a sharp arc through the air. She didn’t strike him, not exactly; instead, the steel seemed to slice the air itself, scattering a haze that shimmered and vanished. The man crumpled, groaning as though he’d just woken from a nightmare.
Rumi exhaled sharply and lowered her arm. The blade shimmered once before dissolving into light, vanishing back into the honmoon at her side as if it had never been there.
“That’s the last of them,” she said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of certainty.
Your guards rushed forward, seizing the groaning man. One scoffed under his breath. “Tch. People these days… on god knows what, in broad daylight.”
You realized you were still clutching your umbrella in both hands, fingers aching around the handle. Only when you forced yourself to loosen your grip did your pulse begin to steady.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Later, with the guards and Rumi busy dragging off the restrained attackers to the authorities, most of them stumbling in confusion as if waking from a bad dream. You sat tucked to the side of the police station building, in a quieter spot away from the bustling entrance, umbrella balanced across your knees.
A soft thud of paws padded closer. Warm breath huffed against your hand.
“Oh?” you murmured, fingers brushing against thick fur. “Hello there.”
[System: Uh, host—]
“Awww, who’s a good boy?” you cooed, running your hands through the creature’s coat. “So fluffy! So much cuter than you, System.”
[System: H-Hey!! ヽ(#`Д´)ﾉ]
The animal leaned into your touch, rumbling deep in its chest. You laughed softly and wrapped your arms around its neck. “I didn’t know my day was going to get better after almost being murdered. You’re a lifesaver.”
Footsteps crunched over the gravel, pausing at your side.
“…Do you even know what you’re holding?” Rumi’s dry voice returned, carrying a thread of wry amusement.
“Uh,” you said hesitantly, “a really big dog?” You frowned. But now that she mentioned it… it’s awfully quiet for a dog. System, what kind of dog is this?
[System: That’s what I was trying to tell you! Host, it’s not a dog—it’s a tiger.]
You froze, hand hovering mid-pet. “…What?”
The creature gave a rumbling purr and nudged insistently against your palm, demanding more.
“Don’t panic,” Rumi said smoothly, crouching to pet the beast herself. “You can consider them a guardian spirit. They won’t hurt you.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re telling me I just hugged a tiger and lived? Great. First demons, now spirit-animals. What’s next, a dragon taking a casual stroll in the market?”
She actually chuckled at that — low, surprised, like she wasn’t used to laughing in the middle of cleanup after a fight.
You tilted your head. “So… is this guy yours?”
“Not exactly,” she replied, scratching behind the tiger’s ear with familiarity. “They choose who to follow. Looks like they’ve decided you’re interesting. Though usually, they appear near Jinu.”
As if summoned by name, a flutter of wings cut through the air. Something small and feathered settled neatly on Rumi’s shoulder, claws scratching against fabric as it adjusted.
[System: Host, it’s a magpie.]
“…And I’m guessing that one’s not a regular bird either?” you said dryly.
“Good guess,” Rumi replied, lifting a hand to steady the bird when it shuffled along her collar. “He’s sassier than the tiger, but still reliable,” Rumi said.
You tilted your head, smiling. “Reliable and sassy? Sounds like you’re describing a person, not a bird.”
A soft laugh slipped from her, lighter this time. “Sometimes, it feels that way.” The tiger leaned against you, solid and warm, while the magpie adjusted itself on her shoulder with a rustle of wings. You could feel it—the quiet, watchful way she lingered nearby, not because she had to, but because she wanted to make sure you were safe. It was a small, reassuring presence, staying close enough that if anything happened, she’d notice first.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Jinu had been returning from his schedule when he overheard passersby talking about a commotion—a blind girl from the neighborhood had been caught in the middle of a brawl. His heart skipped, and without a second thought, he sprinted toward the source until he found you safe.
Relief broke over his features the instant he saw you safe—occupied with the tiger that leaned almost protectively against your side.
He pulled Rumi aside, jaw tight, still catching his breath.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“She’s got spunk,” Rumi said with a small smirk. “Fought back with nothing but an umbrella. I can see why you’d give the world for her.”
Jinu’s gaze softened at that. But the rest of Rumi’s words darkened his expression.
“But these weren’t ordinary demons. They came for her specifically. Something about her draws them. I don’t know why, but Gwima’s targeting her.”
“…He shouldn’t even know her,” Jinu muttered, fists tightening. “I’m the only one who—” He broke off, jaw clenching. “I even placed a concealment spell. But it wasn’t enough if she’s already a target.”
Rumi presses. “It doesn’t matter why or how. If Gwima wants her, he’ll keep coming. We can’t wait.”
Jinu took a deep breath, weighing her words. Finally, he nodded. “Then it’s decided. I’ll help you seal the Honmoon. I’ll face Gwima, no matter what.”
“Good,” Rumi said. She cast you one last, almost fond glance before leaving. “I’ll keep an eye on her when I can. So try not to let her die, lover boy.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Some of the guards had already hurried off to report to your brother, while the rest lingered a few paces behind, trailing you and Jinu as you made your way home.
“So,” you asked after a stretch of silence, “how do you know Rumi? Is she an idol friend?”
For the first time, Jinu’s smile carried a quiet ease. “Yeah. She’s a good friend.”
He told you about his and Rumi’s stage rivalry, their bickering, the way she pushed him when decisions grew heavy. You listened quietly, smiling at the warmth in his voice.
Then his tone shifted, more hesitant. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
You turned your head toward him. “What is it?”
He glanced at you. “Promise me you’ll hear me out without freaking out first.”
After a breath, “What do you think about demons?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Like the ones that attacked me? They’re… kind of scary. I’m glad Rumi was there to help.”
“Well… what would you say if I was one of them?” he asked quietly.
“What? Jinu, there’s no way—”
“But I am,” he cut in gently. “Just… not exactly like them.”
Your breath caught. “Not like them… how?”
“I can think for myself,” Jinu said quietly. “I make my own choices. And… I can use demon powers without losing control.” His eyes flicked to your face, searching. “That’s how I was able to protect you before.”
You gasped. “Oh, Jinu… that time with my aunt… that energy was you?”
He dropped his gaze, almost as if bracing for your rejection. The silence stretched.
You reached out, your hand brushing against his cheek until your palm cupped it, gently urging him to face you. Your voice was soft, nearly a whisper. “Jinu. No matter what you are, it doesn’t change what I feel when I’m with you. You hold me like I’m something precious, not someone broken. You protect me, but never make me feel less. You’re steady, thoughtful… and you make me happy, in ways I can’t even explain.”
His breath hitched, relief and something deeper flickering across his face. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, he leaned in, and your heart stuttered. The first brush of his lips was tentative, trembling, and when your lips met fully, the world seemed to tip. A small, incredulous laugh slipped out against his mouth, your senses alight, knees weak, pulse racing.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, laughter tumbling from him, warm and unguarded. The sound was infectious, and before you knew it, you were giggling too—dazed, lightheaded, as if the whole world had tilted off its axis.
Down the street, an old woman strolled past with a basket of trinkets, the faint jingle of bracelets announcing her presence. She slowed as she caught sight of you both, her smile kind as she drew a little closer.
“Bracelet? For your beautiful girlfriend?” she said with a knowing smile.
Heat rushed to your cheeks. Jinu, for once, seemed just as flustered. Still, he pressed a few coins into the woman’s hand and thanked her quietly.
When she went on her way, he slipped the bracelet over your wrist, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. The band thrummed faintly with warmth.
“If anything like this happens again,” Jinu murmured, voice low, “this will protect you, even if I’m not there. And if you’re ever in danger…” his thumb brushed lightly over your hand, his tone firming, “…I’ll know.”
You traced the threads, smiling. “Then I’ll treasure it.”
The words lingered in the quiet, warm between you—until something familiar brushed against your arm, startling you.
Jinu chuckled softly. “I see you’ve met Derpy,” he said, giving the tiger an affectionate pat.
A flutter of wings followed, and another presence settled against you. Jinu’s tone softened. “And this one’s Sussie.”
You reached out to feel, fingertips brushing sleek feathers—and paused. “...Is this bird wearing a tiny hat?”
Jinu laughed. “I actually made it for Derpy. But Sussie keeps stealing it.”
The magpie chirped triumphantly, puffing up under your touch, and you broke into helpless giggles.
That laughter lingered between you both as you walked home, the night air carrying it like a secret only the two of you shared.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
For a few days, the world appeared almost too peaceful, with Jinu and Rumi taking turns keeping you company, perhaps also to guard against demon attacks. But peace never lasted long—danger always found its way back.
Gwima had watched each failure with growing irritation, shadows coiling tighter around him with every setback. Pawns, all of them—too weak, too clumsy. At last, his patience snapped. If he wanted results, he would have to handle it himself.
That night, a swarm of demons descended on Huntrix, forcing Rumi, Mira, and Zoey into a relentless fight. Blow after blow, it became clear something was off—their enemies moved with eerie precision, their strikes too measured. No civilians were caught in the fray. It didn’t feel like the usual demon attack. It felt like they were being held in place.
Across the city, Jinu performed beneath stage lights with the other Saja Boys, every cheer from the crowd hollow against the weight sinking in his stomach. He couldn’t name the feeling, only that it clawed at him like a warning. His thoughts wandered, without him meaning to, to you.
Far away, you were sitting quietly, system screen flickering in your vision.
Ding—
[Congratulations! You may now choose a reward:
{Soul Protection}
{Cross-Dimensional Travel Ticket}
{Sensory Restoration: Sight}]
You hovered your hand uncertainly over the panel.
Suddenly, the air ripped open with a shriek, as if reality itself were being torn apart.
A concentrated burst of power slammed into you, staggering you back as the ground trembled beneath your feet. The bracelet Jinu had given you seared hot against your skin, light flaring as a barrier sprang up around you. For a breathless moment, it held—the world warped in a haze of pressure and crackling energy, the air buzzing against your skin. But Gwima’s force pressed harder, heavier, until the shield groaned and splintered. With a shuddering crack, it shattered.
“System—!” you gasped, reaching for anything, anyone, as the world tilted.
The ground gave way beneath you as a portal split open, sucking you into its spiraling void. The world twisted and blurred, colors bleeding into each other. But Gwima’s power hooked into the portal, corrupting it—its glow darkened, edges glitching and stuttering as though reality itself were being rewritten. Instead of pulling you through cleanly, it yanked you sideways, dragging you through warped corridors of space and time.
The last thing you heard before blacking out was the system’s panicked voice:
[System: Host—hold on!!]
And then—silence. The space where you had stood was empty, the last flicker of light from the broken barrier fading into the night.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 Jinu POV snippet
As the last notes faded and the cheers of the crowd still thundered in the air, the boys jogged offstage, waving until the curtain closed. Someone laughed about a sign they spotted in the front row, another groaned about a missed step, and their chatter filled the narrow backstage hall. Jinu smiled faintly, but the hollow tug in his chest hadn’t left him all night. Something had been wrong during the performance—off rhythm, like a string pulled too tight.
He rubbed the back of his neck, already thinking about slipping away. Their schedule was done for the day; maybe he could see you for a while, make sure the unease crawling under his skin was nothing more than nerves.
“Going to visit your girlfriend~?” Abby slung an arm over his shoulder with a grin, voice carrying above the others’ noise.
Jinu opened his mouth to retort—but nothing came out. The tug in his chest suddenly twisting sharp.
“...Bro?” Abby’s grin faltered as he leaned closer, questioning.
That was when Jinu staggered, blood spraying his hand as he coughed violently. The sudden sound froze the room, the boys’ laughter dying into alarm.
“Hyung!” one of them shouted, rushing to steady him.
The ripple of broken energy shivered through the air, faint but sharp. Abby’s smile vanished as his head snapped toward Jinu, his expression tightening as he caught the trace of it.
The bracelet— Jinu’s thoughts reeled, panic clawing its way up his throat. It should have held, should have been able to withstand attacks. How could it possibly rebound on him? Unless it failed… unless that overwhelming force—
His stomach dropped. Only one presence could crush through a barrier like that. Gwima.
“...No,” he whispered hoarsely. His breath hitched, shallow and ragged, the glow of his demon markings flickering across his skin in agitation. Terror coiled tightly in his chest. He was on the verge of losing control, and all he could see in his mind was you.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 author’s note!
me, staring at the kiss scene while drafting: 💀💀💀 how do people write these things and make them sound natural?? i swear i rewrote it like 20 times lol.
also—tada!! ✨ what do you think about the twist at the end? any guesses where reader’s gonna end up? 🤔
ngl this chapter took me forever because it had to be a transition into the next arc, and we’re not following the movie beat-for-beat anyway. so yeah, we’re veering off canon even more from here :)
fun fact: in my early notes, system was gonna be one of those soulless types (like from Debut or Die) like just a cold screen giving missions, no personality and basically more threatening and ominous 🧐 but as i kept writing, a lot of stuff veered off of what i planned, its like the story has a mind of its own and im just recording what happens lol. Anyway, its out of my hands and system is annoying bestie coded now lol
thank you so much for reading ♡ comments, reblogs and likes keep this fic alive and give me the energy to wrestle more kiss scenes into existence 😼
if you want to see more updates, feel free to follow me here or follow the fic tag: #BlindStrings
wherein jinu finds himself a flustered and stuttering mess after being called an honorific by a fan with the prettiest eyes ever—wait what? [jinu x reader]
cws: jinu being mean internally :-(
a/n: lots of love for my man aaaahh shibal my life i miss him
jinu was bored out of his mind.
whatever nickname or term of endearment thrown at him—handsome, prince, husband, baby, you name it, jinu's heard of them all. he's gotten use to it at this point, the attention feeding on his ego. but at this point of his fake career, he's gotten bored at the feeling of being praised as if he was this great godly being.
he knew he was the furthest thing from, so it gave him a sick feeling whenever he suddenly got conscious of his actions.
he currently sat in a fan meet for the saja boys wherein the group greeted and interacted with their stans with false enthusiasm. he conversed with them with excitement—falsely so he'd think he was a top korean actor.
the sudden feeling of his hollow body creeping up at the back of his mind grounded him. snapping out of his thoughts, jinu plastered a wide grin at fan as they moved to mystery next to him. he kept the same smile for the next fan to greet him.
you settled yourself in front of him, hands in front of you with a handmade bracelet to offer him, an awestruck expression visible on your face. "hey there," jinu greeted, eyeing you from your features to how your hair was styled, before settling to look at your eyes. "what's that you got there?"
you felt like melting at the unbroken eye contact that your bias made with you, making you double think to whether the consequences would be reasonable if you jumped him right now.
shaking your thoughts away, you chuckled nervously before stretching your hand more towards him, making the offer of the bracelet more obvious towards him.
jinu hummed as he picked it up with his fingers, intentionally lingering at your palm, a trick he knows seems to work with every fan he's encountered. "for me?" he faked a gasp as he eyed it, the thought of yet another gift to throw away making him laugh in his mind. with a smirk, he eyed the golden stars hanging from the metal bracelet, crafted far from perfection, but with care from a fan.
you nodded, oblivious to the idol's internal monologue. "it's simple, but i think it would really suit you, oppa."
jinu's smirk faltered immediately as he felt his body stiffen, his eyes boring through yours. he felt his voice get stuck in his throat, his breath suddenly ragged. jinu blinked excessively, a warmth creeping up from the back of his neck, reaching his ears and face in less than a second.
"ah—o-oh!" jinu exclaimed rather loudly, his voice cracking.
abby, mystery, and the fans they're conversing with turned to him with confused, amused expressions at the unusual sound emitted from him.
jinu plastered a grin on his lips, a hand going through his dark locks as an attempt to cool himself. "th-than—wow, this is pretty!" he forced a laugh to conceal his fluster. why did the color of your eyes suddenly pop and seem so magnetic? "you're really talented," jinu added, another attempt to keep his cool as he leaned on the table with his elbows.
you giggled from behind your hand, shiny eyes looking up at him in delight. "you really think so, oppa?"
his elbow slipped from the edge of the table. jinu caught himself, straightening his posture immediately before plastering a cheeky smile on his face. "yes, yes, you're pretty—it's! pretty, i mean. of course, you are too, my pride," jinu struck himself across the face internally at how ridiculous he seemed as he stumbled over his words. he eyed the colored blush on the soft curves of your cheeks and the glitter on your eyelids, thinking of just how well they compliment you.
jinu followed your movements with his eyes, watching how a stubborn hair strand fell against your cheek despite tucking it behind your ear. "how charming," you commented jokingly.
jinu's eyes stilled as they found their way back to yours, his gaze softening as his heartbeat steadied into a reasonable pace. he glanced down at your gift and carefully locked it around his wrist. "thank you for this. i'm jinu, by the way," he said.
you stared at him for a moment before laughing softly. he may have forgotten that he was a literal k-pop idol and that you paid to see him along his members specifically, so an introduction was silly, to say the least. you held out a hand, with an amused smile on your lips, your name slipping from your lips softly as you spoke. "it's nice to meet you, jinu."
as the boys followed their routine of discarding fans' gifts and letters, but the coldness of the bracelet stayed against jinu's wrist as he went home.
⟡ summary; a genius, business idea to go on tour with the saja boys, you needed a to catch a break
⟡ contents; pure fluff, rivals, huntrix!reader x jinu
⟡ w/c; 1k
─── .✦
Unbearable, the most fitting word you could find in your vocabulary to describe the situation you found yourself in. And if there’s a bright side it’d be that, at the very least, you weren’t in this alone. The rest of your girl group, Huntrix, also had to suffer tolerating the upcoming boy band you got paired up with.
Bobby wouldn’t even dream of putting any of his girls through this… under different circumstances. But the fans kept switching from Huntrix to the Saja boys like they needed to repent by obliviously running straight to a well-disguised sin.
However, the rapidly decreasing numbers of fans had already trapped him in a predicament. Staying in the safe zone was a luxury neither he or his favorite group could afford if they wished to stay afloat in the industry. So, with a heavy chest, he announced the news on a Friday evening.
You just had to endure a week-long tour around the country, what could go wrong? Ha.
First, it came the signing; greeting the fans as per usual, pretending as if nothing was out of normal, as if hunters weren’t sitting between the very beings they swore to hunt to the ends of the Earth, as if sworn rivalry was the only thing between you.
Stupidly ignoring every subtle glare, eye roll and held half-contained remark exchanged between you and their forsaken leader.
Then, performing on stage together. Who knew they’d find a way to make things harder than they should be.
A bunch of egocentric, supposed idols, not giving either of your group space to breathe freely. Every second even more challenging than the last as you found yourself competing to be heard, stretching your vocal cords all while only his voice alone echoed in the stadium.
Would this effort go for granted or would it actually help your group’s current undergoing crisis? You just hoped it’d be the latter.
Patient, remain patient. You had to remind yourself occasionally to get out of the most overstimulating moments of this tour—like the constant flash of fan cams, or the way the Saja boys' maknae would subtly push past you backstage, or the constant facade you maintained around the fans. Yet, that thought flew out of the window the moment the hotel room fell in complete silence, the other three girls fast asleep on the spacious couch.
Hence, your decision to slip on a hoodie for the sake of your body temperature in the coolness of the night.
There’s nothing better than some time to yourself, so you took the opportunity and made your way out of the suite, it could hardly be considered ‘sneaking out’... you had no intention of doing something stupid in secret and, above all, you had no idea of where to go.
The air in the quiet, dim hall shifted, a faint scent of something familiar – expensive cologne overriding your senses. Before Jinu caught wind of you, you spotted him across the corridor doing just the same as you.
If you pretend something’s not there, it will disappear.
Your breath caught into your throat, of all people you could run into… So, there’s only one logical solution available in case of avoiding all conflict; rush and keep your head down. Freedom, you sighed to yourself, the exit within reach. Fresh air, you romanticized as you lowered the hood off, fresh air in one of the busiest cities worldwide?
“Didn’t strike you as the type to sneak out like some naive teenager.” He scoffed, his tone playful, but you could spot something more in his eyes when they met yours, something you couldn’t decode as he gently pulled on your hoodie. “Where are you headed this late into the night, huh?” He flicked his wrist, checking his imaginary watch as he came to stand beside you.
“I could ask you the same, but I'm not nosy, unlike some people…” You huffed out, eyeing him up and down as if one couldn't understand to whom your remark was aimed at.
Jinu raised his hands in front of him, feigning surrender, even when his lips curved upwards, “Okay, okay, you got me…” You had never noticed the soft brown in his eyes until now, you’d never get this close willingly but he’d allow your stolen glances, “Where are we headed?”
You blinked. Once, twice. Plural?
“We?” You echoed, watching him shove his hands in his jacket’s pockets and roll his shoulders effortlessly, how could he make it look different and better than when other people did it? It’s just a gesture, snap out of it, “You’re a grown ass man, don’t you have anything better to occupy yourself with?”
“Your friends would be very sad if you got kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped? I’m not a child.” A sharp remark, his ridiculous comments truly had no end.
Jinu hummed, narrowing his eyes and using his hand to point out the height difference between the two of you. “Could’ve fooled me.” his tone unusually playful and teasing rather than mocking.
“Okay, you just don’t know when to shut up—"
He didn’t spare you a second more, “Clearly. It’s part of my charm.”
Your facade wavered. Just barely noticeable.
But he caught it. Are you even surprised? He displayed all of his cockiness in one lopsided grin, just for you.
“Come on, you need someone to watch your back, grown-up-child.” Jinu took a few, small, excited steps as if the whole world didn’t know about his existence, as if he was a civilian, nothing more than that. “Scout’s honor, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He looked at you with the brightest smile you’ve seen from him, so expectant that you forgot, he had never stepped foot in a scout camp.
“... Fine.” You groaned and began walking, his shoulder bumping against yours occasionally, but neither of you complained.
“So, where are we going, jagiya?”
“You promised to shut up.”
“I lied.” He whispered in your ear.
You couldn’t help the small smile on your face, enjoying the playful banter and the sensation of security he brought along—not that you couldn’t handle yourself. It felt oddly nice, for once.
─── .✦
⟡ a/n; rushed, but i need him bibically, ironic. thank you sm for reading, have a nice day♡❤︎
a sudden mission, a sneaky date, and a reward that changes everything.
you’re falling. he’s choosing. and the world is holding its breath.
read ch5 on:
quotev | wattpad | ao3
full chapter below ↓
🌙 Chapter 5: What We Don’t Say
The scent reaches you first — crisp and clean, laced with something sweet. Peonies. You blink in the sunlight, head tilted as the breeze stirs the leaves overhead. There’s a sound near the gate. A soft, familiar whistle, followed by his voice.
“Delivery for the lady of the house,” Jinu calls lightly from the other side of the wall. “Fresh from rehearsals.”
You bite back a smile. The guilt doesn’t let you enjoy it for long.
“You can leave them by the postbox,” you say at last, softer than before.
A pause. “Can I not say hi?”
You hesitate, then shuffle slightly on the bench, as if that would make it easier. “You’re not trespassing if you stay outside the gate.”
His laugh is quiet, a puff of breath. “That’s a very legal-sounding invitation.”
There’s a soft scuffle as he climbs just high enough to peek over — the shift of his weight, the rustle of leaves, the faint scrape of boots on brick.
“Hi,” he says, gentle and fond, a little out of breath.
You tilt your head toward his voice. “Hi.”
He doesn’t bring up the last time he saw you. Doesn’t mention the song. Or the way he’d stared at your shadow as if you’d split his world in two. He just holds the moment steady, as if waiting to be invited further — not into the garden, but into the space between your guarded walls.
“Your brother isn’t home?” he asks.
You shake your head. “He’s at work. He didn’t say when he’d be back.”
Jinu hums. “That explains why you look like you haven’t breathed all day.”
“…He’s not that bad.”
“He’s trying,” you admit. “But it’s hard. For him. For me. I don’t think he knows what to do with me anymore.”
There’s a beat of silence. You can feel his gaze on you, even if you can’t see it.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
You open your mouth. Close it again. There’s too much you could say — and none of it would make anything better.
“Thanks for the flowers,” you murmur instead.
“They’re not bribes,” he says innocently. “Unless they’re working. In which case — maybe they are.”
Your lips twitch. “Hm. So thoughtful and well-timed?”
“I do have a knack for that,” he says lightly — but the warmth beneath his voice lingers.
You listen as he steps down from the gate, brushing dust off his hands. The hush that follows stretches longer than it should.
“Take care,” he says eventually. His voice is softer now. Almost careful. “I’ll drop by again soon. If you want.”
You don’t answer right away. The silence clings.
“…I’d like that,” you say finally.
And then he’s gone.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
[Host…?]
You sigh. The System’s voice is hesitant, like it’s been watching you spiral all morning.
[I was monitoring your vitals… they spiked a little. Would you like to initiate a support prompt?]
“No,” you murmur. “I want the truth.”
A short silence.
“…System. Where’s the real version of this body?”
[…Host?]
“The original soul,” you say, voice tight. “The girl who was here before me. The one with a brother. What happened to her?”
There’s static for a second. Then:
[System is not permitted to answer that question.]
You exhale shakily. “Right.”
[Host, please understand—]
“I do. That’s the problem.” You lean forward, pressing your forehead to your hands. “I took her place —”
[Integration was approved by upper-dimensional protocol. No harm was—]
“Then what happens when I finish these missions? Do I get to go home? Is that how it works?”
A pause. Then:
[Upon reaching 100% mission completion, host’s soul will be permitted dimensional transfer if that is your wish. You will be returned to your previous world.]
Something inside you clenches.
“And how close am I now?”
[Completion percentage: 32%.]
You go still. The silence weighs on you.
“That’s… higher than I thought it would be.”
[Your progress has exceeded projections. Estimated timeline of world-stabilizing missions is ahead of schedule! (•̀ᴗ•́ )و]
You press your lips together.
“So I’ll have to keep lying to Jinu for a while longer,” you whisper. “System… I don’t want to use him.”
A beat.
“He’s too good for that. I think…” Your voice breaks, just slightly. “I like him.”
[Then you can stay in this world, host! That was always part of System’s intended outcome — full integration into this world, with your fated partner! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜]
“It’s not that easy,” you snap. “This isn’t my world. I know I seem like I’m doing fine, and maybe some people would kill for a chance to start over like this, but… I can’t stop thinking about it.”
The guilt, the displacement, the wrongness of wearing someone else’s life like a borrowed coat.
“If this was just reincarnation, if I was born again here, maybe I could justify it. But it’s not. This is her life. Not mine.”
You run a hand through your hair, voice cracking.
“Do you know how much it’s been eating away at me? I’m scared all the time — that someone will notice, that the truth will slip out. That my brother will look at me one day and know.”
[Host—]
“I’m not her,” you whisper. “I’m just some stranger pretending to be his sister. I’m lying to Jinu with a fake name and a fake past.”
The System sounds distressed. [Host, please, you don’t need to worry about the details of world integration. The System has accounted for—]
“But I worry. I feel like I’m taking advantage of everyone. Of him.”
Your voice drops, trembles.
“I’m using this body to make people trust me. Taking advantage of Jinu’s kindness to get through your missions. It’s not right.”
[Host, that’s not true! You—]
The System cuts off mid-sentence. A sharp, high-pitched distortion erupts in your mind.
“…System?”
Static. Then silence.
“…What was that?”
After several seconds, the voice returns — quieter, and shaking faintly.
[System cannot continue that line of explanation. Data access interrupted.]
You swallow.
“What were you trying to say?”
[…System can’t tell you right now. But please believe: it’s not your fault. You are not the villain here. And it’s not… not what you think.]
You close your eyes. The wind rustles the grass at your feet.
“…I’m sorry, System,” you say. “I know you’re trying to help. But whatever truth you’re hiding… I don’t think it can justify what I’m doing.”
Your hands tighten in your lap.
“I’ll finish the missions. Then I’ll tell Jinu everything before I go. He’ll get over it.”
A breath.
“Hopefully.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You stand beneath the old tree near the garden wall, chin tilted toward the warm, heavy light resting on your skin. You’ve been here for minutes, maybe hours, trying to memorize what this world feels like. The scents, the breeze, the quiet hum of life.
But your thoughts are too loud. They crowd out everything else.
I’m sorry, Jinu…
It’s not just guilt anymore. It’s dread. You like him — you really do — but that only makes things worse. It’s like the sword of Damocles hanging over you, and every second spent with him feels borrowed. The garden smells like grass and old wood, and the sun is so warm it could almost convince you this moment was real. But it isn’t. Not entirely.
You’re just a guest in someone else’s life.
“You look like you’re about to float away.”
The voice startles you.
You turn toward it instinctively, your head tilting toward the direction of the gate. Jinu’s tone is light, but there’s a tremble beneath it, a nervous edge.
“How long have you been standing there?” you ask.
“I’ve been calling your name. You didn’t answer.”
He lingers just outside your reach. You hear his hands shift at his sides — not quite reaching, not quite retreating.
You straighten, offering a faint smile. "Sorry. I was… thinking.”
You hear him come closer. His footsteps are careful. Respectful. He stops at the edge of the garden, not stepping past the gate — like he’s unsure if he’s allowed. That hesitation makes your chest ache. You take a step, quietly brushing your skirt, and walk toward him. The latch clicks softly as you open the gate.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” you say. “You can come in.”
Jinu stops a few paces away. He studies you for a beat too long, and a silent question flickers behind his eyes. A flicker of worry. Or something deeper — like he’s watching you slip through his fingers.
Then, with a deliberate kind of brightness, he says, “Let’s go on a date.”
You flinch. “A… date?”
“Mhm.” His voice is light, but his eyes don’t waver. “Just you and me.”
You raise a brow. “Out of nowhere?”
“Not nowhere,” he says, a smile tugging at his voice. “You’ve been living in my head rent-free.”
“Oho,” you say, mock-offended. “You dare use my own spells against me?”
He chuckles — and then—
Ding—
[SYSTEM: New mission uploaded.]
[Objective]: Proceed on scheduled date with target “Jinu.”]
[Penalty for Failure]: CLASSIFIED — insufficient clearance.]
[System notes your emotional levels have been suboptimal lately (｡•́︿•̀｡)]
[System believes fresh air and target interaction will be beneficial!]
[Now entering passive mode. Enjoy your outing! ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)]
Your stomach sinks.
“…Why now?” you whisper — more to the System, more to yourself.
But Jinu hears you.
“I understand if you think it’s too sudden,” he says, voice quieter now.
You blink. “Oh—I wasn’t—” You catch yourself, then try to smile. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “Just… come with me.”
He takes a careful step closer, the barest hint of urgency in his tone. “I already have a plan. If you’re worried it’ll be awkward because of your brother—don’t be. I thought of that too.”
“…A plan?”
“Mm. Don’t worry,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I brought backup.”
Just then, a second pair of footsteps approaches. He must’ve been standing quietly until now.
“Heyyyyy,” Abby calls, leaning into view with a two-finger salute. “Sup, future sister-in-law.”
“Oh my god,” you whisper.
Jinu grins. “If there’s anyone who can distract a disapproving older brother, it’s the most obnoxiously charming man in our group.”
“Your plan is to distract him using Abby?”
“Correct.”
“Hi, by the way,” you call to Abby. “Sorry you got dragged into this.”
Abby smirks. “It’s my pleasure. Anything for love.” He flexes — fully unprompted — though you can’t see it.
Jinu immediately moves to your side, arm circling your waist. “Stop flexing.”
“She can’t even see me, bro.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
You lean in to whisper, “Jinu, I don’t know if this will work. I think my brother has an aversion to idols or any celebrity. Or if he didn’t before, he definitely does now.”
“Don’t you worry your pretty head about that,” Jinu says, completely unbothered. “It’s worth a shot. If there’s anyone who can charm the masses, let alone your brother, it’s Abby.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The front porch echoes with new footsteps — and then the unmistakable sharpness of your brother’s voice.
“…Why is one of your bandmates posing on our steps like he’s in a protein powder ad?”
Jinu leans down, lips brushing your ear. “Showtime.”
You listen as Abby fires back, cheerful as ever, “Because I am a protein powder ad, darling. Want a sample?”
There’s a long pause. Then, flatly, “No offense, but you’re not my type.”
“Wow,” Abby says, scandalized. “Not even a little bit?”
“I see plenty of buff narcissists at the gym,” your brother says. “You’re not special.”
“I am special,” Abby replies, deeply wounded. “These abs are top-tier. People cry when they see them.”
Your brother snorts. “Do they cry because they’re embarrassed for you?”
Abby starts to reply, “Listen—”
You lose the rest of the conversation as Jinu starts tugging you toward the side gate, grinning.
“Oh god,” you groan into your hands. “I take it back. I can’t believe this is actually working.”
“See?” Jinu whispers, smug. “Never doubt the plan.”
He’s right. The yard is filled with half-serious insults and dramatic declarations. Your brother’s attention is definitely not on you.
You can’t help it—you laugh, the sound light and freeing after everything.
And when Jinu hears it, he relaxes just a little. You can feel it in the way he squeezes your hand.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The bickering fades behind you as Jinu leads you out — careful, steady, warm.
The late afternoon sun is softer now, casting gold through your lashes as he leads you down the street. The wind tugs gently at your sleeves, bringing with it the bustle of street noise and the faintest scent of food stalls.
You listen for a while as the crowd thickens. Laughter, sizzling oil, a burst of music — it’s louder than the quiet alleyways near the manor, but not overwhelming. You’re used to following sounds, textures, temperatures. But this time, someone is already beside you.
“You’re not saying anything,” he murmurs, giving your hand a small squeeze. “Are you nervous?”
You turn your face toward him. “About what?”
He hums thoughtfully. “A handsome man whisking you away for a secret outing? No itinerary, no context.”
“Oh, you mean kidnapping,” you say lightly.
That earns a laugh. “You wound me. This is very legal and romantic.”
“Is it?” you tease. “What do people even do on dates here?”
Jinu slows, like he’s actually considering it. “Let’s see. They eat. Walk around. Share something sweet. Maybe take photos together.”
You hum.
“Try on hanbok,” he adds after a beat. “Some rental shops run little events or specials for first-timers. It’s pretty popular around here.”
You blink. “That’s a date thing?”
“You don’t want to?”
You hesitate. “It just sounds like a lot of fabric.”
“It is.” His voice tilts fond. “I’ll help. There’s a place nearby that’s quiet — the owner’s kind. She won’t mind going slow.”
He doesn’t rush you. Even as you cross the road, you feel him adjust his pace to match yours, brushing the backs of your fingers with his thumb. He doesn’t let go — not even when a bicycle whips past too fast and he instinctively pulls you closer, murmuring something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.
The shop smells like fabric softener and faint perfume. You stand still as a warm-voiced woman bustles over, explaining patterns and layers — how to lace the jeogori, how to tie the norigae — and before long, the texture of silk brushes your arms. Someone adjusts your sleeves gently. Jinu murmurs soft encouragement near your ear.
“Take a look in the mirror,” the shopkeeper says, a little breathless. “She looks beautiful.”
You smile politely and nod.
But Jinu goes very still.
You can’t see him — but you feel it. The shift.
The air dips. Like something ancient and reverent has stirred behind his eyes. He says nothing for a long time. You wonder if he’s even breathing.
Then he exhales. “You really do,” he says quietly.
There’s something heavier in it than usual. A kind of disbelief. Or awe.
You follow the curve of his arm as he takes your hand again and leads you back outside. The hanbok’s fabric swishes around your legs, unfamiliar but airy, and you have to trust him again to keep you from tripping. He does. Effortlessly.
The street has changed. Busier now. Louder. Vendors call out with cheerful barks and signs announcing couple’s day promotions! One enthusiastic woman waves a flyer somewhere nearby — a photo studio, you think — and you catch words like “souvenir,” “romantic keepsake,” “limited-time frame offer!”
Jinu pauses, sensing you tilt your head.
“Did you hear that?” he asks.
“The souvenir part?”
“You want to try it?”
You shrug, mouth tugging at the corner. “You said we were doing couple things.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs.
The studio is smaller than expected — cool inside, quiet. The photographer explains things gently while Jinu picks out something simple for himself, matching the tones of your hanbok without being too obvious. You perch on a stool while he guides your hand to his shoulder, keeping one of his on your waist. His body is warm, solid, close.
“Ready?” the photographer calls.
You nod, and just before the shutter clicks, Jinu leans in slightly.
Not enough to crowd you. Just enough to brush your temple with his.
The photo prints in soft tones. You don’t ask to see it — you know you’d miss most of the detail anyway. But when the photographer passes him the copy, you hear the faint hitch of his breath.
“Do we look good?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is quiet. “Yeah. We do.”
You spend the rest of the evening wandering up stone steps, the sky dimming to dusk overhead. The crowd thins as you climb. Noise gives way to insects and leaves and the soft, rhythmic tap of your shoes.
The city falls away below. When you finally reach a plateau, the air tastes cooler. Quieter.
“Naksan Park,” Jinu says, his voice hushed. “Do you know it?”
You shake your head. “Should I?”
“No. But I used to come here.”
“You’ve been here often?” you ask as he guides you further up the slope.
“Just once or twice,” he says, even softer. “A long time ago.”
He doesn’t elaborate. You assume he means childhood.
But there’s a pause — like he’s remembering something just out of reach — and his hand tightens slightly around yours.
You’re not sure what memory touched him, but you don’t pull away.
You settle on a bench, letting the hanbok fan around your legs. Jinu stays close, his shoulder brushing yours — a silent reassurance more comforting than words. The sun’s completely down now. The cicadas are louder. You tip your face up toward the sky.
It’s nothing but blackness.
“I wish I could see the stars with you,” you murmur.
Jinu doesn’t answer at first. Then you feel his hand — warm — find yours again.
“You will,” he says. “Once you get better, I’ll bring you back. We’ll go stargazing properly next time.”
Your chest tightens.
He says next time like it’s a promise. Like it’s guaranteed.
Like he believes you’ll still be here.
You swallow and don’t reply.
The sky stretches endlessly above you, full of things you can’t see.
But next to you, Jinu’s hand stays firm in yours — quiet and sure.
And for a long while, neither of you lets go.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
When you return, the house is quiet.
Your brother doesn’t say a word — just opens the gate, glances once at Jinu, and steps aside, tension tightening his shoulders as he hesitates, then lets the moment pass.
It’s the first time he’s trusted someone else to guide you home.
Abby is gone. He must’ve slipped away once you were out of sight — a quiet exit after his job was done.
You step through the gate. Gravel crunches underfoot. The wind has cooled, brushing past you as if urging you forward.
And then —
[Host! Your mission score just increased! You're currently at 46 points! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ ]
[At 50, you unlock your first major reward! Wanna see what’s available?]
The System’s voice bursts into your head like a confetti cannon. You flinch — not from the volume, but from the sudden shift in reality.
You were still half-lost in the weight of Jinu’s hand. The softness of his voice. The lingering warmth in your chest.
“You’ve been tracking that this whole time?” you murmur as you step into your room.
[Mhm! Emotional resonance, proximity, shared experiences — all great metrics for True Love progress! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)]
You exhale slowly. There’s something strange about having your feelings measured—like they’re just another statistic in someone else’s game.
But then the list appears — clean, bright, and strangely official.
You collapse onto the bed. The fabric of your clothes shifts softly beneath you.
Outside, the world spins on. Inside, your hands are still warm from holding his.
You close your eyes and let the System chatter fade.
You’re not sure if the ache in your chest is from disappointment…
or something far more complicated.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 Jinu’s POV snippet
The room feels smaller than it should, heavy with shadows and unsaid words. Jinu paces, nails digging into his palms as he clenches his fists. Rumi watches him, calm but unyielding, her eyes sharp beneath the dim light.
“You’re telling me you really believe that turning the Honmoon gold can save you—free you from your patterns?” Jinu’s voice is low, edged with disbelief. “After everything, you think that’s the answer?”
Rumi folds her arms, unwavering. “It’s the only chance we have to stop Gwima’s plan—and to save you too. You can be on this side when the Honmoon is sealed.”
Jinu shakes his head, frustration coiling in his chest. “And what if it doesn’t work? What if sealing the Honmoon means I get cast out? Erased from this world? All that time, all that struggle—for nothing. I can’t lose her again—not after centuries of agony, believing she was gone.”
He stops, fingers flexing as a flicker of anger ignites in his eyes. “Going against Gwima… it’s too big a risk. There’s no guarantee in your plan that I get what I want.”
Rumi’s gaze hardens. “What—you’d sacrifice thousands of innocent lives?”
She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t mean to accuse you. I know you’re not that kind of man. Didn’t you say you can’t bear to lose her again? Then shouldn’t you be fighting to protect her—”
Jinu’s jaw tightens. “That’s exactly why. If I help Gwima, maybe—just maybe—he’ll spare her. Keep her safe from the claws of those demons once the world collapses.”
Rumi’s voice drops to a whisper. “And how are you so sure Gwima will keep his promise?”
Jinu’s silence fills the room. His fist clenches until his knuckles whiten, unable to find a confident answer.
She steps closer. Her tone is softer, but resolute. “Jinu... instead of gambling on Gwima’s lies, why not place your bet on Huntrix? On the Honmoon? There’s hope there—for you, for all of us. This is a chance not just to save her, but to save the world she loves.”
Jinu stares at the floor, heart pounding with the weight of the choice before him. The path ahead splits into two, and he’s caught between fear and hope, loyalty and love.
You don’t know how close he is to choosing a path that could change everything—irreversibly.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 author’s note!
wooo this chapter is almost 4k!! xD
jinu really said “abby, I choose you!” and yeeted him straight into battling brother lol.
wish i had more to work with for abby’s character, but for now he’s just… giving gym bro vibes.
also, fun fact! the stargazing scene at naksan park is where that bracelet moment happened between jinu and rumi in the movie 👀 it’ll have some extra significance later, so… noted for future lore drops hehe.
thank you so much for reading ♡ every comment, reblog, and like really keeps me going!
if you want to see more updates, feel free to follow me here or follow the fic tag: #BlindStrings
A wounded stray shows up at your doorstep with sharp eyes and a soldier’s glare.
He’s grumpy, demanding, and oddly dignified for a cat.
Still, he stays — through long nights, cruel words, and quiet moments by the fire.
You never expected him to come back.
And certainly not as the captain of the royal vanguard.
A Levi x Reader one-shot. Set in a Cinderella-inspired, titan-free AU.
✨ Part 1 of the If the Shoe Fits, Run series.
Author’s Note:
hey friends! just popping in to say my main focus is still Blind Strings, but i recently binge-watched attack on titan (im on the last season now) and needed a fun outlet because things are getting pretty heavy and depressing.
these one-shot ideas have been stuck in my head, so i wanted to get them down before i forgot.
this is just the first—i’ve got more pairing ideas brewing, and you can expect to see those soon too!
hope you enjoy this little break with levi and co. — more Blind Strings is coming soon! thanks for reading ♡
read on:
quotev | wattpad | ao3
full chapter below ↓
Ashes and Claws (Cinderella!Reader x Levi)
Rain fell hard against the mossy forest floor. Levi’s boots sank into the mud as he stalked ahead, sword drawn, eyes scanning the tangled trees. They’d been tracking the remnants of a rogue spellcaster unit who’d defected from the Royal Vanguard months ago. One of them had left a trail—an odd one, soaked in residual magic. Dangerous.
He reached a clearing where the air felt wrong—too still. In the center, a stone monolith jutted out from the earth, glowing faintly with etched runes. Levi narrowed his eyes.
"Captain," a voice crackled faintly from his communicator crystal. "We've lost your signal—don't engage until backup—"
He stepped forward anyway.
A whisper echoed from the runes. Then a blinding light exploded outward.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You heard the soft thud just as you were stepping back into your cottage with a bucket of water. A second thump followed, then a scratchy, pitiful sound.
You opened the door and froze.
There, slumped against the wooden threshold, was a black cat—soaked, thin, and bleeding from one paw. Its grey eyes were narrowed, watching you with a mix of wariness and exhaustion.
"Oh no," you whispered, setting the bucket aside and crouching down. "Where did you come from, little guy...?"
The cat tried to stand, but its legs gave out.
"Don’t move. I’ll help you, I promise. Just stay still."
You scooped him up carefully, ignoring the weak hiss he gave, and carried him inside.
The cottage was dim and modest. The fireplace crackled softly, the scent of herbs hanging faintly in the air. You set the cat down on a worn towel and rummaged through a small basket for clean cloth and salve.
"You’re so dirty," you murmured, kneeling beside him with a warm damp rag. "I can’t even see where your fur ends and the mud begins."
The cat sat rigidly, every muscle taut. His eyes flicked to the door, as if calculating escape.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” you said gently. “Just wipe—you won’t get drenched. Just this.”
He didn’t move as you dabbed the cloth along his spine, then under his chin.
The next morning, you found him dragging that same cloth across the floor with his teeth. He dropped it at your feet and stared.
You blinked. "...Do you want me to clean you again?"
He sat, expectant.
You huffed a laugh. "Okay, clean freak. You win."
From then on, he brought the cloth to you every morning.
He kept to the shadows of the cottage, watching from shelves or window ledges. Still wary, still silent. But he didn’t leave.
And you talked to him. Freely, often, about anything. He always had the same grumpy expression—like a cat with a permanent scowl—but that didn’t bother you. You’d grown used to it, even found it funny. You liked to fill the silence, make the space feel warmer for him, like he belonged there. Like any cat finding shelter in a strange new home.
"I wanted to be a cartographer," you said one evening, stroking his fur gently as he lay curled on your lap. "I kept all the old maps my father brought back from his travels in a box under the floorboards. I've marked every path out of this town. Every road, every coast—everywhere I thought freedom might be."
You paused, voice lowering. "You won’t tell anyone, will you?"
The cat flicked his tail.
"Didn’t think so," you murmured.
Over time, he began letting you hold him. You handled him carefully, mindful of his injured paw, always using soft rags to wipe him down since he refused to clean himself like a normal cat. He tolerated it. Sometimes he even brought the soap bar from the washbasin in his teeth and dropped it beside you—a request. You didn’t understand why he refused to clean himself like a normal cat, but you obliged every time.
The week the royal ball was announced, the manor turned upside down.
Your stepmother shrieked orders at the maids, flinging dresses from trunks, demanding tailors, silks, slippers, perfumes. Her daughters were in hysterics over which of them would catch the prince’s eye.
You stood quietly by the kitchen doorway, listening.
When you asked—timidly—if you could attend, your stepsisters cackled.
"You? In what, soot and rags?"
"You think the prince would even look at you? You wouldn't even be allowed to enter the ballroom."
Your stepmother didn’t laugh. She only said, "Don’t be absurd. You’ll be staying home."
That night, you sat by the hearth, the black cat curled on your lap. Your fingers idly stroked his back.
"I didn’t even want to marry him," you whispered. "I just wanted to see the palace. Just once. Just… to see something beyond this place."
You hesitated, then reached into a crack in the floorboards and pulled out a worn roll of parchment.
"Just between you and me," you said. "These are my plans — routes. It’s all marked. I was going to leave next spring. Now… maybe sooner."
You looked down at the cat. "If I go, you'll come with me right? You’re the only one who listens."
The cat closed his eyes, like a silent acceptance of the unspoken bond between you.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You tried to hide him.
Your stepmother had a prized long-haired grey persian cat imported from the capital—expensive, pampered, fed on glass dishes. Animals that weren’t pure or expensive were seen as filthy, not worth keeping.
So you kept him in the cottage, away from sight. You snuck scraps to him, brushed his fur, bandaged his paw each day. You thought you were careful.
But the night of the ball, your stepmother stormed into the cottage, furious that neither of her daughters had received a dance from the prince.
She found the black cat curled by the hearth.
"You! What's that stray vermin doing here?!"
You jumped to your feet. "He’s not hurting anyone—"
The broom came down hard, swinging straight toward him.
You reacted on instinct.
You snatched the cat into your arms and ran to the door, flung it open, and pushed him out into the night.
"Run!" you gasped. "Don’t let her catch you. Go!"
You slammed the door shut and leaned your body against it, panting.
Inside, your stepmother advanced.
"You filthy, ungrateful brat—choosing animals over your own family!"
You didn’t fight back. You didn’t scream. You knew it would only make things worse.
You sank to the floor as the blows rained down.
Outside, Levi circled the cottage in a panic. He tried the windows—latched. The back door—barred. He climbed onto the roof, paws slipping, and found a cracked tile.
He squeezed through.
By the time he dropped down onto the rafters and looked below, you were already crumpled on the floor, motionless.
He darted down, calling out in frantic meows.
You stirred.
"You’re… still here?" you whispered. Your lips were cracked. There was blood at your temple. You tried to smile. "It’s okay. I’ll be fine."
He nudged your cheek with his nose. Your hand found his head, trembling, and you closed your eyes.
That was all Levi needed.
That very night, Levi didn’t waste a moment and set off toward the capital under the cover of darkness.
The capital was far, but he didn’t stop.
Mud clung to his fur, his limbs ached, but he ran. He skirted wild dogs, nearly got trampled by wagons, clawed his way under gates.
By early morning, he limped into the royal wizard’s tower, collapsing in front of the hearth.
Hange looked up from a table of smoking bottles. "What the hell—who let a cat in here?"
He meowed. Loud. Then again. Then lunged at their desk and knocking over papers.
"HEY—!" Hange’s eyes narrowed. "Wait. Why are you looking at me like that? Hold on, you look just like this one grumpy guy I know…"
He jumped to the shelf. Dragged a book down. Paws splayed, he flipped it open, pointed to letters.
L. E. V. I.
Hange gasped.
"NO. YOU—Are you Levi? You are! Where have you been?! Did you get turned into a cat? Was it a curse? Was it that sealed stone?! Of course it was the sealed stone—did you touch it? What did it feel like? Was there a noise? Do you remember how many hours you were unconscious? Did you eat anything weird while you were a cat?—"
He hissed.
"Okay, okay! I’ll fix it, just—gods above, I need my notes!"
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
He didn’t waste time.
As soon as Hange confirmed his identity and reversed the curse—still laughing and muttering, “Not exactly the grand return I pictured for our mighty Captain Levi.”—he left her with a flurry of instructions and bolted toward the palace’s inner courts.
Later that morning, Levi pushed into the war room, grim as ever—dried mud, scratches, and a borrowed guard's cloak clinging to him.
Erwin looked up in surprise.
“Levi?”
“I need a squad sent to the southern province. Arrest Lady Tremaine and her household under charges of unlawful confinement, domestic cruelty, and civil abuse.”
There was no time to sit and explain it all. Levi’s words were clipped and fast, but precise. Erwin caught the tone beneath it—rage buried beneath layers of control.
“She’s a nouveau riche,” Erwin said, rising. “Do we have a formal complaint?”
“You’ll get one. From me. I witnessed it myself.”
That was enough.
Within the hour, a full unit was dispatched under military warrant. Levi rode with them, his jaw tight, barely holding back the urge to outpace them all.
They arrived at the manor at dusk.
One of the stepsisters mistook the arrival of soldiers for something else entirely.
“They’re from the palace!” she squealed, adjusting her hair. “Do you think it’s the prince—?”
“Silence,” Levi said coldly, stepping past her.
She went pale the moment she met his eyes.
Whatever fantasy she'd conjured shattered instantly.
The stepsisters screamed when the soldiers flooded into the estate. The stepmother tried to bluster her way out of it—claimed her status, her connections, her right to discipline—but Levi shut her down with a single look.
He didn’t let her speak for long.
The manor was turned upside down. The staff gave testimonies. A few of them even cried. No one tried to defend the Lady.
By nightfall, the house was quiet.
But the girl he was looking for was gone.
Not in her room. Not the garden. Not the stables. One of the younger servants—nervous and shaking—told Levi she’d packed a bag and slipped out earlier, likely planning to flee after last night's cruelty.
She didn’t know help was coming.
He didn’t blame her.
He just needed to find her.
The manor was cold, stripped of its usual grandeur under the weight of authority. Servants whispered nervously, eyes downcast. The stepfamily’s protestations fell on deaf ears.
Levi stood firm as testimonies piled up—words from maids, cooks, and stable hands recounting cruelty, neglect, and fear. The stepmother’s facade cracked, revealing panic and desperation.
When the arrest warrant was read aloud, Lady Tremaine’s eyes widened. But she said nothing—her power stripped away in that moment.
Levi stayed until the last of the guards escorted the family away, their pride broken.
Then he left, determination knotting his jaw.
He had to find you.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The morning after the ball, as light crept through the cracks in the cottage walls, painting soft stripes on the floorboards.
You woke with a dry throat and the familiar weight of the black cat missing from your lap.
Your eyes darted around the empty room.
“Kitty?” you whispered, your voice cracking.
But the silence was the only answer.
You touched the spot where he usually curled. It was cold.
You wrapped your hands around your knees, a hollow ache settling deep in your chest.
“I guess even you want better,” you murmured.
With a sigh, you packed the few things you could carry—maps, coins, your worn cloak—slipping quietly out the door.
The world outside was already stirring. The post-ball city buzzed with whispers and hurried footsteps.
You melted into the crowds, hoping to disappear.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The wagon smelled faintly of dried apples and hay.
You sat at the back, hood pulled low, trying to steady your breath as the city faded behind you.
A merchant had offered you space with the other passengers in exchange for help unloading crates once they reached the eastern gates. You’d nodded quickly, grateful.
The road was rough, and the chatter of others blurred into the background. You let yourself doze—half-asleep, half-alert—rocked gently by the sway of the wheels.
Until everything stopped.
The wagon jolted, tossing you from a light doze.
You blinked up through your lowered hood, heart thumping as rough voices barked orders.
Soldiers swarmed around the wagon, boots crunching on the dirt road.
You froze, clutching your pack tighter.
Someone muttered about a “description,” scanning the passengers’ faces like prey.
A pair of boots came into view beside the wheel. Silence. Then the scrape of gloved fingers pulling your hood back.
You blinked into the sunlight.
A sharp gaze met yours from horseback, the brim of his cloak lifting in the wind.
“Are you...?” His voice was low, urgent.
You blinked, confusion clouding your eyes. “Can I help you? Why are you looking at me like that?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he extended a hand toward you.
“Please come with me.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
She’s right here.
The girl who slipped away from that cruel house before I could reach her—there was no time to waste.
Watching her now, hidden beneath that hood, my heart tightened.
No words could explain to her why I was doing all this—why I had risked so much for someone who didn’t even know me.
So I offered my hand instead, the only way to bridge the distance between us.
She hesitated, then took it.
This was only the beginning.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The Royal Vanguard headquarters was a far cry from the grand palaces you’d imagined.
Stone walls, scattered papers, and the faint smell of ink and wax filled the room.
You stood there, heart pounding, trying to steady your breath.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you blurted. “I haven’t committed any crimes—if this is about the prince, I swear I didn’t even—”
Levi held up a hand.
“You’re not being arrested,” he said calmly. “This is about Lady Tremaine and her daughters.”
"My stepfamily?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Levi nodded. “They’ve been arrested. Exiled, by week’s end.”
Relief washed over you, mixed with disbelief.
“So… I’m free?”
He met your gaze. “You don’t have to run anymore.”
You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the weight of those words.
“Then… I guess I’ll go on my way.”
He stepped forward, blocking your path with a firm look.
“You don’t have to go anywhere. I could use a correspondence clerk. The pay is good. You’d live here. Be safe.”
His voice was steady, firm, but gentle.
You looked at him, considering. It seemed better than wandering from town to town, hoping for a job or a place to stay.
“…Okay.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
She’s hesitant — good.
Trust isn’t given, it’s earned.
But this is the chance she deserves. A fresh start.
I won’t let her slip away again.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
[Epilogue – One Year Later]
The headquarters was quieter these days.
You were sorting through a stack of reports when the door suddenly burst open.
Hange stumbled in, a half-empty bottle clutched loosely in one hand, a wide grin on their face.
“So,” they slurred playfully, “how’s your little pet project coming along? Still bathing your former cat?”
You blinked, stunned.
“My what?”
You turned instinctively to Levi, who froze at his desk.
From his desk, Levi leaned against the table, glaring daggers at Hange and mouthing, Don’t you dare.
It was the kind of look that had made cadets freeze in their boots.
But Hange only grinned wider, entirely unfazed.
You turned to them, eyes wide. “Wait—what are you talking about? What are you keeping from me?”
Levi’s jaw clenched. He shot Hange a sharp glare, silently willing them to shut up.
But it was too late.
Hange choked on a laugh, clearly enjoying themselves far too much. “Oh, just that our dear Captain Levi was cursed, turned into a cat, and ended up falling for his saviour. Quite the story, huh?”
“Wait… you were my cat?”
Your mouth fell open. “No wonder I could never find him, no matter how many times I searched—”
You blinked, the next horrifying thought hitting you like a brick.
“Wait, doesn’t that mean… I—I told you things! I poured my heart out to you while scrubbing dirt out of your fur—are you serious?! That’s just ridiculous!”
Levi didn’t even flinch.
“I know,” he said flatly. “You even cleaned between my toes.”
You dropped the papers in your hands, face burning.
All that time searching, and he’d never even left your side.
“Oh my god.”
Hange howled with laughter.
Levi sighed, rubbing his temples. But for a brief second, you swore you saw the faintest smile tug at his lips.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🐾 thanks for reading! if you enjoyed it, feel free to like, reblog, or drop a comment — i'd love to hear your thoughts ♡
more one-shots in this series coming soon!
🧵 Follow #IfTheShoeFitsRun to see future updates in this series!
a heated argument. a quiet thank you. a melody that shouldn’t exist. and a memory Jinu thought he’d buried for good.
maybe it’s just déjà vu.
maybe it’s fate.
or maybe it’s him, remembering you first.
read ch4 on:
quotev | wattpad | ao3
full chapter below ↓
🌙 Chapter 4: Fragments and Echoes
The air has settled into something soft again. A warm hush after the earlier chaos, the kind of quiet that feels like the world is holding its breath. You're walking beside Jinu, his hand still gently resting against your back, guiding you over the stone path that leads away from the square.
You don't speak right away.
You're still trying to process everything—your relative's greedy voice echoing in your ears, the subtle shift in Jinu's tone when he'd stepped between you and them. There was something... not human in the way he'd done it. But his touch now is careful. Reassuring. Warm.
"Thinking heavy thoughts?" he asks after a moment, his voice tilted in a half-smile.
You exhale through your nose. "I don't know what I'm thinking."
He hums, a soft sound of understanding. Then, like he's trying to lift the mood, he adds, "Want me to distract you with embarrassing stories?"
You turn your head toward him. "Embarrassing for who?"
He chuckles. "Me, obviously. Did you know when the Saja Boys first formed, we were so out of sync we literally kicked each other in the face trying to do a turn? I still have trauma from rehearsals."
You grin. "Tragic. Who's the worst dancer?"
"Oh, we all have our days. Baby keeps freestyling when we're not supposed to, and Abby dances like he's on a battlefield."
You laugh, and the tension in your shoulders begins to ease.
He keeps talking as you walk—describing the other Saja Boys in vivid detail, even their styling choices and hair colors, like he's painting a picture just for you. There's a sweetness in the way he does it, like he knows you're visualizing them in your own strange, formless way.
Then you cut in, amused, "You know... I don't even know what you look like."
He stops mid-step. "You don't?"
You raise a brow. "I mean, no. Unless you've been projecting your soul into my dreams, I have no clue. Do you look like the villain or the second lead?"
A pause. Then: "What if I'm the ugly comic relief?"
You reach toward him with mock solemnity. "Then I guess I have to feel for myself."
He doesn't move away. You find his shoulder first, solid and still. Then carefully, your fingers drift upward. His jawline. His cheekbone. The bridge of his nose. His hair—soft, a little messy from the wind.
He's quiet the whole time, watching you with a gaze so gentle it almost hurts. Your brows are furrowed in focus, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.
And then you pull your hand back and declare, "Yup. I still can't picture it."
Jinu laughs, startled. "Seriously?"
"I don't know how people do it!" you protest. "From the dramas I've seen, I'm supposed to be able to visualise you now—but I guess I don't have a built-in scanner in my hands."
"Maybe," he says, still smiling. "You're just new at this whole being-blind thing?"
"Hah. Maybe."
You both fall into a quieter rhythm for a beat.
Then you say, "You know," more softly, "it happened when I got pushed. I hit the ground really hard and... when I woke up, I couldn't see anymore. The doctors think it was from the impact."
Jinu doesn't speak right away. But you can feel the way his arm shifts slightly—like he wants to hold you and doesn't know if he's allowed.
You shrug, casual. "It is what it is."
He hums, low and unreadable. "It shouldn't have been."
You want to ask what he means, but you don't.
Jinu doesn't say anything else for a while, and neither do you. The late afternoon air has a sleepy kind of warmth to it, and the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot lulls you into a strange calm. Maybe it's him. Maybe it's the way he keeps close without crowding you.
Eventually, you frown. "Wait a second."
"Hm?"
"You've been leading me this whole time."
"Correct."
"But you don't even live around here."
"Also correct."
You stop walking.
He halts too, clearly amused. "What?"
You turn toward where you think he's facing and ask, suspiciously, "Do you even know where we're going?"
There's a pause. "I... have a general sense."
"A general sense," you echo flatly. "Jinu. Do you even remember which street we came from earlier?"
"I figured I'd just keep walking and eventually stumble into somewhere familiar."
You gape. "You were fully planning to get us lost!"
"I wasn't lost," he insists, laughing now. "I was just—slightly improvising."
You shake your head in disbelief. "Wow. So you memorized the route to my house but not how to retrace your steps?"
"I prefer to think of it as being deeply committed to this relationship."
You snort. "Obsessed, is what I'm hearing."
"You say obsessed like it's a bad thing," he says, completely unbothered. Then, with a teasing shrug: "Honestly? I had no choice. Look at you."
You pretend to gag and give him a gentle shove. He laughs again, and there's something golden in the sound—so carefree, like the weight he's usually carrying has slipped off his shoulders for a moment.
Then you hesitate, suddenly remembering your actual situation. Your expression falters.
"...I might be grounded, actually."
That gets his attention. "What do you mean, grounded?"
You scratch the back of your neck. "I kind of... snuck out earlier. Through the side garden. Without telling anyone. Or leaving a note. And I may or may not have ditched my bodyguard halfway."
There's a full second of silence.
Then Jinu doubles over laughing.
"You—wait, you just shook off your security detail? In your condition?" He can barely get the words out between laughs. "You're unbelievable."
You pout. "I just hate being stuck, okay?"
"No, no, I get it. It's just—" He exhales like he's out of breath, still grinning. "You really don't let anything stop you, do you?"
You shrug. "Not if I can help it."
He's quiet for a moment, then says more gently, "Do you want me to sneak you back in?"
You pause.
He sounds... hopeful. Like he wants to help. Like it's not just about covering your tracks—it's about being the one you trust enough to let in on the secret.
But you shake your head. "No. I don't want to lie to my brother again. Not tonight."
Jinu nods, accepting it without protest. "Then I'll walk you to the front."
You take the last turn. The path is familiar now beneath your feet. The quiet returns, but it's a different kind of silence—soft, heavy with unspoken things.
You feel it the moment you step past the final hedge: a shift in the air, like the world is no longer holding its breath but bracing for something else.
"Go on," you murmur to Jinu. "I'll be fine."
But before you even finish the sentence—
"Hey!"
The voice cuts through the night like a blade.
You flinch.
Jinu stills beside you.
Footsteps approach fast. Familiar ones.
"You're kidding me," your brother says, furious. "You went out again? And—" He stops. "Wait. Is that—?"
He's staring past you. Straight at Jinu.
You don't need sight to hear the shift in your brother's tone—from disbelief to shock to something colder. Something protective.
Jinu, ever composed, takes a slow step back.
"I was just walking her home," he says smoothly.
Your brother doesn't answer at first. Then he says—
"You're one of the Saja Boys."
It's not a question.
You can feel Jinu's energy flicker at that—barely a ripple, but it's there. Something curling low and dangerous beneath the surface.
You step forward. "It's not what you think."
But your brother isn't listening. "Get inside," he snaps at you. "Now."
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The gate shuts behind her with a soft clack.
Jinu stays where he is, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, the edge of the fabric shifting slightly in the breeze. He doesn't look up right away. He can hear her footsteps fading—soft, hesitant. There's a guard walking her up the side steps. She doesn't argue. But she turns back once, briefly.
She can't see him, but he watches her—like he always does.
Then another set of footsteps crunches toward him. Sharper. Heavier.
Her brother stops a few paces away, arms crossed, posture stiff with anger.
Jinu lifts his head slowly.
"You're Jinu," the man says flatly. "From the Saja Boys."
Not a question.
Jinu offers a polite bow, small but respectful. "I am."
Her brother's eyes narrow. "How do you know my sister?"
Jinu keeps his expression relaxed. "I met her by chance. She was outside this compound one day. Alone. I spoke to her. We... connected."
"That's not an answer."
Jinu tilts his head slightly. "It's the truth."
Her older brother's jaw tightens. "Today was your debut. Your first appearance. You're not someone she grew up with. You're not a school friend. She never once mentioned knowing a trainee."
Jinu says nothing, waiting.
The brother scoffs. "Trainees don't have time to make friends. They're in dorms, locked down, rehearsing 18 hours a day. That's what they say, right? How the hell would she meet someone like you?"
Jinu's eyes stay calm, but something in them flickers.
He wants to tell him that she's not just someone he happened to meet. That there's something about her he can't explain—like something in his soul snapped into place at the sound of her voice. That he hasn't stopped thinking about her since that first moment. That she feels right in a way nothing else has—like the world had been waiting for her to step into it.
But that would sound insane.
So instead, he bows his head slightly. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I only wanted to make sure she got home safely."
The man doesn't move. Doesn't blink.
"She's vulnerable right now," he says slowly. "She's been through a lot. So if you're taking advantage of that..."
His voice lowers.
"...I don't care how famous you are. We'll have a problem."
Jinu's expression doesn't change, but the air around him does. Just a shimmer of something ancient and cold, held tightly beneath skin. His smile remains soft, careful. Polished. But it no longer quite reaches his eyes.
He's quiet for a long moment.
Then he says, with quiet sincerity, "I like her."
The brother says nothing.
"I won't hurt her."
He waits again. No answer.
So Jinu adds, a little wryly, "I'd like to avoid being banned from seeing her ever again. Especially by someone I might have to start calling hyungnim."
The man physically recoils. "What the hell?" His eyes flash with pure disbelief. "The actual audacity..."
He shakes his head hard, like he's trying to shake the words off. "I'm going to have to talk to her about her taste in men. Hopefully she'll reconsider this whole thing and stay away from you."
Jinu's tone sharpens, just a little. "You can't make her do what she doesn't want to."
"Of course I know that!" the man snaps. "I'm her brother!"
The gate slams shut behind him.
The silence stretches.
Then Jinu exhales softly, looking up toward the moon as if it might offer some kind of answer.
He shoves his hands back into his pockets, rolling his shoulders as he turns to leave. He still has a schedule to make through. Their first variety show appearance is tonight.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
A guard had already radioed ahead, so the front doors didn't open until she reached the final step. They click. Creak. Then—
"Inside," her brother says quietly.
He doesn't yell. Not yet.
She brushes past the threshold, and the warmth of the house closes in around her. He walks in behind her a second later and shuts the door with less force this time, but she can still hear the tension in the way his hand lingers on the knob.
She waits, shifting her weight. She's already bracing.
He speaks first.
"So you've been sneaking out to see him."
You nod, barely.
He paces once, trying to keep his voice steady. "You never even liked idol stuff that much before. And you've only been in this city for what—weeks?"
"I wasn't planning on it," you mutter.
"You barely know him." He sounds sharp, but tired. "And I know you think you're fine, but you can't see everything clearly right now—literally or figuratively."
"That's not fair—"
"I'm just saying," he interrupts. "He's famous. He's unpredictable. And this... this is not the time for whirlwind romances with people who have fans and handlers and probably zero privacy."
He stops walking, stands directly in front of you.
"I just want you to reconsider."
You open your mouth.
"Not because I don't trust you," he says. "But because I don't trust him."
There's a pause.
He sighs. "I'm not grounding you again. That's not what this is."
You stay quiet.
"I just don't want you to get hurt."
That hits heavier than the rest.
You don't say anything right away.
You just nod, once, and walk past him toward the stairs. Turning in for the night.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The next evening, the studio lights are still buzzing behind Jinu's eyes when he slips into the green room, towel slung around his neck, hair damp with sweat. The post-variety-show adrenaline hasn't worn off yet. He'd smiled through every game segment, dodged punishments, and managed to keep Gwima's pressure at bay for one more night.
Barely.
As he pulls a water bottle from the table, the door clicks shut behind him.
He glances up.
It's her.
Rumi.
Hair tied up, stage makeup still on, eyes serious.
"...You helped me last night," she says, no preamble. "Back at the bathhouse."
Jinu's expression doesn't change, but he freezes slightly. "I didn't do anything."
"You did. You gave me time. You didn't expose me. You—"
She stops herself. Starts again, quieter.
"I don't know why a demon would do that for a hunter."
He doesn't answer.
Rumi folds her arms, stepping closer. "I never thought there could be good demons. The kind that... hesitate. But you didn't even blink when you saw my marks. You protected me."
Still, silence.
Jinu exhales slowly, eyes fixed on the floor.
"...I know what it's like. Having to hide a part of yourself from the people you care about."
Rumi studies him, her voice softer now.
"...So even someone like you could care about someone."
That gets a flicker of something from him. The faintest crease between his brows.
"You don't have to tell me who. But I can feel it." Her voice is steady now, almost gentle.
"Someone you're afraid Gwima's plan might hurt. Someone you'd rather forget the whole apocalypse for."
For a second, Jinu looks like he might laugh. Or cry. Or both.
But instead, he twists the bottle cap, takes a slow drink, and says nothing.
Rumi doesn't press further. She just nods once, respectful.
"That's all. I just... wanted to say thank you."
And then she's gone.
The door clicks shut again, leaving only the quiet hum of fluorescent lights.
Jinu stares at his reflection in the mirror.
His hands tremble just once—then go still.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You sit by the window, the chill of the wooden floor seeping through your sleeves.
A full day has passed since last night's conversation, but your brother's words still echo faintly in your mind. You're too tired to untangle them.
Just that quiet, hollow throb in your chest again. Not exactly sadness. Just that ache you haven't named yet.
[Host,] the System chirps, softly, too softly this time. [Don't worry! I'm sure your brother won't hold a grudge on Jinu forever... I mean! He even defended you today! He's always gentle with you and—]
The words trail off, awkward and apologetic, as if even the System realizes it made things worse.
You exhale, slow. "It's fine."
A beat passes.
[...Host?]
"What."
[Didn't you say you used to play guitar? Play a tune for System!! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ]
You blink. "Is this you trying to cheer me up?"
[...Is it working? ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿]
"No. ...Maybe. A little."
You reach around you, fumbling with System's directions until your fingers brush the worn strap of a guitar case the original owned. Your brother must've left it here, maybe hoping you'd pick it up again. Or maybe just out of habit.
It takes you a few moments to find your way around the instrument, hands clumsy from disuse. The strings are slightly off, but your fingers remember what your body forgot—one chord, then another. Then a soft, familiar melody, half-hummed, half-played, pouring into the quiet room.
You don't even realize what you're playing until the System lets out a surprised little ping.
[Wait, is this a song from your world? Σ(°ロ°)]
You hum, noncommittal. "Yeah. Just came to me."
The window's open just a crack, the melody slipping through like mist. Outside, the night air carries the sound farther than you mean to.
And beyond the window, on the other side of the garden wall, a shadow freezes mid-step.
He hadn't meant to come here tonight.
Jinu had spent hours suppressing the urge, telling himself he had things to do. A band to manage. A show to attend. Demons to mislead and teammates to appease. Gwima's influence was growing stronger, whispering heavier against the back of his mind.
But then... he'd heard it.
That song.
The one only she used to hum—centuries ago.
He doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe. Just listens.
It's not possible. And yet—
It is.
It has to be.
You hum a note slightly off-key, in the same exact way she always did.
It's not just déjà vu. It's not coincidence.
It's her.
He presses a palm to his chest. There's a crack in the armor he's spent centuries building — and now it's wide open.
"The one I asked to erase," he whispers.
Gwima had promised: help him finish this, help him feed — and in return, Jinu would forget. The memories of the family he lost, the grief that rotted him from the inside, all of it. Including her.
And now that he's found her again...
He doesn't want to forget.
Not again.
Behind him, a low chuff of breath breaks the silence. His tiger, eyes glowing faintly, pads closer and nudges his side.
A soft caw comes from above — his magpie, wings tucked, peering down from a tree.
Jinu exhales shakily, then pulls something from his pocket.
A weathered sketch. Paper softened by time, smudged and worn. A drawing of a girl with a crooked smile and a worn guitar in her lap.
He used to draw it over and over again, even after her face began to blur.
He turns his gaze back to the window. The music inside fades, replaced by silence.
His fingers curl around the paper, crumpling it slightly.
She's here. Alive. Within reach.
And no one—not fate, not time, not even Gwima—will take her from him again.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 author’s note
no snippet this time — the chapter hit 3k words just for the main story omg 😭
guys… jinu is so down bad for us this chapter 🤭
“he wants us so bad!!” i yell as i get restrained and dragged back into the white padded room
these chapters keep getting longer than planned lol. blame my constant daydreaming and adding new scenes mid-draft
i do feel a little bad about lying to brother… but for the missions (and the plot), we must 😔
also: the male lead fumbling the first meeting with the love interest’s relative is such a classic trope — i had to sneak it in.
jinu is 100% gonna be a future headache for brother because he will not stop trying to cling to us 😭
🎧 what song did you imagine during the last scene?
i had PLAVE on repeat while writing, so in my head it was chroma drift or island 🎶
i didn’t include lyrics or a title for immersion, so feel free to imagine your own ✨
thanks for reading as always ♡ comments, reblogs, and likes really help keep this fic alive 🪡
if you want to see more updates, feel free to follow me here or check the fic tag: #BlindStrings
your memories are sealed, your house is on lockdown, and the System’s idea of a “bonding mission” is sneaking out to watch a boyband
♡ system access: restricted
♡ stealth mode: shaky
♡ bias: unlocked
read ch3 on:
quotev | wattpad | ao3
full chapter below ↓
🌙Chapter 3: Countdown and Crossroads
You pass through the courtyard slowly, bags weighing on your arms. You feel the gravel shift under your feet, the way the sun warms the back of your neck. Somewhere behind you, a guard coughs lightly. No doubt someone’s watching.
You make it through the house without tripping, nudging the bedroom door open with your shoulder.
The door clicks shut behind you.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, fingers still tingling from where Jinu had brushed them. You hear the soft shuffle of guards moving nearby—yeah, you're definitely being watched now. You turn your head slightly toward the hall, gauging how much time you have before someone tries to babysit you again.
Ding—
[SYSTEM: Connection fully stabilised.]
[Ahem. As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted—]
[SYSTEM: Official activation complete!]
[Welcome, Host! You are now linked with True Love System v1.0 ₊˚⊹♡]
[System is pleased to meet you! Let’s aim to achieve our goals with maximum efficiency and affection! (૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭]
You stare at the glowing text flickering faintly in your mind’s eye.
"...Are you being for real right now?"
System chirps back:
[Yes! System is very real, thank you for noticing ✧٩(ˊωˋ*)و✧]
You sit down heavily on your bed, pinching the bridge of your nose.
"This is insane," you mutter. "I got yanked out of my world for this? A glittery dating app assistant with a cutesy obsession?"
System gasps.
[How rude! System is a top-tier, fully certified romantic progression module! And we don’t just ‘yank’—System performed a very delicate host integration, okay?? (｡•̀ ⤙ •́ ｡ꐦ)]
You gesture vaguely in the air. “What kind of world-hopping logic is this, anyway? Where was Truck-kun?? You didn’t even give me a power! No healing magic, no secret combat skill, not even a talking weapon??”
System scoffs.
[Ugh. You transmigrators always expect ‘golden fingers.’ News flash: reality is not a comic book (¬_¬)]
"Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me. I deserve answers."
[Fine.]
[System will have you know that some systems like to flash truck accidents everywhere just to feel fancy. It became a fad after a few popular novels. So cliché. Honestly, it’s not even in the official World Administrator Handbook.]
You blink. “Wait. There’s… a handbook?”
System ignores that.
"So what, you all have some kind of system society?"
[Classified.]
You narrow your eyes. “Okay. But you still haven’t answered the big question—why me?”
A beat.
[System cannot disclose such information.]
"Oh, you mean you can’t or you won’t?"
You pace the room, voice rising. “Don’t think I didn’t notice my memories were tampered with. That was you, wasn’t it?”
A pause.
[…]
[System does not have authority and can’t reveal such information at its current level.]
You go still. It's subtle—but very deliberate phrasing. Not “won’t.” Can’t. Something—or someone—is limiting the answers it can give. And the memory issue… that wasn’t a bug. It was a deliberate restriction. Whoever set this whole situation up… didn’t want you knowing everything just yet.
Still, System said “current level.” Which suggests this annoying pixelated brat might be just as locked down as you are. All this means if you do enough missions and collect enough points, maybe you can finally unlock the truth.
You press your hand to your temple. “Damn it, System, you really made my first isekai a doozy.”
System doesn’t reply.
"You snatched me from my world, threw me into a new body, and scrambled my memories—and you’re not ‘high-level’ enough to tell me why?"
[System was still undergoing upgrades,] it sniffs.
[You should be honoured to work with such potential. ( ╥ᆺ╥)]
You don’t even have the strength to argue.
You sigh. “Fine. At least tell me what’s going on with my eyes. I got isekai’d and woke up blind. Is that supposed to be part of the immersive package?”
System pauses again.
[…Oopsie. That might’ve been a transfer glitch. That’s… System’s bad. Hehe (> •́)ᕗ⊹ ࣪ ˖]
Your jaw drops. “I—what?”
[System is working on fixing it! You can trust in your system! ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ System will definitely restore your vision once enough mission points have been gathered—!]
You groan and throw yourself back onto the bed.
“Ugh! Again with the points! How am I supposed to rizz someone up when I can’t even see what he looks like!?”
[Tch—System already apologised. What more do you want (⩌_⩌)]
You sit up again, arms crossed. “A perk? A starter kit? Even mobile gacha games give you freebies!”
[No freebies! System wasn’t authorised to grant golden fingers. You’re lucky this Love System claimed you first, okay?? Otherwise that creepy Horror System would've gotten its claws on you, and you’d be starring in some low-budget nightmare world! (¬_¬ꐦ)]
“…There’s more of you out there?”
[Absolutely not!!]
[This system is one of a kind!! The number one True Love System! That gremlin Horror System doesn’t even rank in the top 20. That’s why I have 1.0 in my name!!]
“I don’t think that’s what 1.0 means.”
[Oh hush.]
You're about to retort when the door swings open.
"And just where have you been, missy?"
You flinch. “Oh shit.”
Your brother stands in the doorway, arms crossed.
“Oh shit is right,” he says flatly. “What nonsense are you gonna try on me now?”
You scramble for something to say that doesn’t sound like you snuck out to… casually banter with a mysterious stranger.
“Um…”
“Save it,” he sighs. “You're lucky nothing happened. This isn’t funny.”
He turns and gestures to the men waiting just outside. “Bodyguards will be stationed outside your room until further notice.”
“What?!”
“No more vanishing acts.”
You hear the men take their positions near the door.
“You are joking me right now,” you mutter.
No response from your brother.
Just a heavy sigh as he walks off.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
At the gates, moments before...
Outside, someone lingers just a little longer.
Jinu watches you make your way past the compound walls, your steps careful and slow. For a moment, he almost crosses the boundary just to catch you—just in case you trip.
But the door clicks shut.
He releases a slow breath, then turns to go—only to stumble, breath hitching as the brand beneath his skin burns hot, summoning him back.
He barely blinks before the world warps.
Flames roar to life. Jinu drops into the crimson platform with a grunt, landing hard on his feet.
He’s back in the demon realm. Again.
The flames of the Demon King's throne flare like eyes opening.
“My, my,” Gwima drawls, voice a low curl of smoke. “You’ve been busy today.”
Jinu straightens. “If this is about my performance training—”
Gwima’s fire flares. “You dare lie to me?”
A wave of heat presses against Jinu’s spine.
“You made a deal, Jinu. Don’t mistake it for mercy. Did you forget who you belong to?" Gwima’s flames lick across the space.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Jinu says, low and measured.
“Then explain.” Gwima hisses. “You will fulfill the bargain. Don’t start chasing phantoms in the street.”
“…She’s nobody.” Jinu mutters. The words catch in his throat. “Today was nothing.”
Jinu lowers his gaze, just enough to hide the silent snarl curling at the edge of his lips.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Back in your room.
You’ve been confined. Again.
Now with bonus bodyguards stationed outside your door.
“This is stupid,” you mutter, slumping onto your bed. “What, is he afraid I’ll fall off the curb?”
[SYSTEM advises Host to accept her current conditions with grace (¬`‸´¬)]
“Ding dong, your sass is showing.”
Ding—
[SYSTEM: New mission uploaded.]
[Objective]: Attend the scheduled performance at Myeondae-ro square.]
[Time Limit]: 4 hours remaining]
[Penalty for Failure]: CLASSIFIED — insufficient clearance.]
[Please note: This directive is non-optional. Compliance is expected.]
[System appreciates and thanks you for your cooperation. ◝( ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ )◜⋆˙⟡]
You bolt upright. “Wait—what? Now you give me a time limit?! I’m literally under surveillance.”
[Yes! We are on a schedule now! Tick tock~ (ㅅ´ ˘ `) ₊˚⊹♡]
You make several laps of the compound under the excuse of "just stretching your legs" or "finding the toilet"—but every time, you feel the subtle steps of someone trailing you. Every gate is watched. Every alley corner is guarded.
Eventually, you return to your room in defeat, dropping down on the bed.
“It’s impossible for me to sneak out with them at every corner of this damn compound!”
You freeze.
“Guards… at every corner of this compound…”
You straighten. “That's it!”
There’s no sneaking out of here—not without help. So you do the next best thing.
You walk back out, pretending to stretch—and let your hands hover lightly as you pass the guards near your room. One feels stockier than the rest, his frame broad under the fabric of his uniform.
“I’m going out for a walk,” you announce. “I’ll take him.”
You pat the guard’s shoulder.
Then silently: System, be my eyes. Help me lose this guy.
[Understood. Now activating local route mapping ദ്ദി(•̀ ᗜ <)]
You lead the bulky guard down the main path. A few turns later, the alleys get narrower. Then you duck left. Backtrack. Twist through side streets.
Practically tripping over a pile of crates, you turn one last time—
And the footsteps behind you vanish.
[SYSTEM ALERT]: Target location not yet reached.
[TIMER]: 0:34:21 — not that System is panicking… but maybe hurry it up? ¡|!(0∆0)!|¡
You whisper, “I’m trying, I’m trying…”
Using System’s GPS guidance, you slip further into the city. The sounds grow louder: crowds, laughter, movement. You dodge one last cluster of people and emerge near a bustling plaza.
Music.
Cheering.
A lively pop beat rises above the crowd, bouncing off the walls and flooding into the open square. You sit up straighter, something tugging at your memory.
“That voice…” you whisper.
Familiar. Clear. Playful.
Even without seeing—it’s unmistakable.
You lean forward, heartbeat syncing to the rhythm. The chorus hits, and the crowd bursts into applause. It's electric.
You barely register the system’s voice before a hand wraps gently around your wrist and pulls you into an alley.
“Wh—?!”
“Shh.” A warm hand steadies you.
Your breath catches.
“You’re here,” Jinu says softly, like he’s both relieved and shocked.
“…Yeah.”
“Sorry for pulling you like that. I just… didn’t want anyone interfering.”
He waves his hand, and something shifts in the air. A hush. Like the world outside has been muffled.
“…What was that?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs.
You feel him glance around—checking for something. Listening.
“You sounded amazing,” you say, grinning. “You didn’t tell me you could sing.”
“…It wasn’t something I wanted to reveal. Not yet.”
You can hear it in his voice—carefully guarded guilt. And maybe something else underneath.
Before you can say more, someone yells your name.
“You little demon!”
You flinch.
A shrill, too-familiar voice echoes off the alley walls.
A woman steps closer from the street—your aunt.
“Do you think you can run from your family forever?” she huffs. “You and your brother, hiding like rats. Hoarding your inheritance while the rest of us starve—”
“Back off,” Jinu says, stepping forward in front of you.
The temperature drops.
You feel the shift in him—an undercurrent in his voice, his body, his presence.
His words are calm. But something behind them is not.
“Who the hell are you?” she snaps.
Jinu doesn’t answer.
He stares.
And something moves in the air—like a shadow curling around his silhouette. A warning.
Your aunt pauses and her voice falters.
She scowls, mutters a curse, and stomps off.
You grip his sleeve.
“What… was that?”
Jinu doesn’t answer. He places a hand gently on your back and turns you around.
“I’ll take care of it,” he murmurs. His eyes shine faintly—unnaturally—as he looks past you, back in the direction she went.
He walks you home in silence, his hand never letting go of yours.
There’s something low and dangerous in his voice. You glance up. You don’t need sight to feel the unnatural energy humming from him—like a storm waiting for permission.
“Jinu…?”
But he’s already pulling you gently down the street, voice soft again. “Let’s get you home.”
And behind you, in the alley—
A ripple of demonic energy lingers.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🔥 Gwi-Ma POV snippet
From the depths of his realm, the Demon King watches.
He saw the hesitation.
He saw the boy’s eyes wander during the performance, despite his warning.
That girl…
The flames around his throne curl tighter, twisting with displeasure.
There’s something off about her—untraceable. Unmapped. Like the other one.
If it is her…
Then he’ll just have to eliminate her again.
This time, permanently.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 author’s note!
it’s not obvious from the way reader reacts, but i actually love the system LOL
if they had a physical body i would not be able to stop myself from squishing them xD
(…don’t worry, they’d sass me back immediately)
🧋 fun fact! the myeondae-ro square setting in this chapter is actually inspired by the street the saja boys performed Soda Pop 👀
while digging around, i found out from the concept artists that it’s based on Myeongdong, a real district in korea known for its shopping and street signs.
i wanted a name that sounded real and familiar even if you don’t know korean, so i made up myeondae-ro (면대로):
• myeongdong + dae (big) = kinda like “main myeong road”
• and “square” came from staring at that mv way too long and spotting a building sign that said “square plaza” lol
the end result is fictional, but (hopefully) still feels rooted in real-world language and culture 🫶
thank you so much for reading! i appreciate every comment, reblog, like, and tag — it really keeps me going ♡
if you want to see more updates, feel free to follow me here or check the fic tag: #BlindStrings
"you remember falling asleep in your room — then waking up blind, trapped in someone else’s body in a world that feels half-familiar."
centuries-old demons, tangled timelines, & the red-string ache of fate pulling you closer (even when you don’t know why it hurts)
✨ soft banter, glitchy systems, and slow-burn longing
you scramble for a phone, fingers fumbling.
“please please please tell me they have One Piece here…”
it’s not your world — not really.
but the system’s finally speaking, your brother’s trying his best,
and someone shows up again… with opinions about your pants.
♡ bonding mission: unlocked
♡ fashion sense: debated
♡ system stability: questionable at best
read ch2 on:
quotev | wattpad | ao3
full chapter below ↓
🌙Chapter 2: Blind Dates and Bucket Hats
Evening settles heavy over old beams and dusty windows.
Somewhere in the compound, you hear your brother’s voice — low, tired, half-swallowed by doorframes and paper walls.
“Yes… mhm. I’ll sign in the morning. Make it effective tomorrow…”
He spends hours on calls: insurance, lawyers, security agencies.
Changing locks. Hiring guards to keep scavenging relatives at bay.
You feel useless hovering in your own home. Her home.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Later, lying in bed, darkness thick behind your bandages.
You breathe in the weight of unfamiliar ceilings.
Okay, let’s lay this out:
— Woke up blind in a body that isn’t mine.
— Jinu is my “target” and he thinks he knows me... from 400 years ago.
— And there’s a penalty if I fail the mission.
Unknown. Could be pain. Could be death. Could be worse.
A cold bead of sweat crawls behind your ear.
And the original soul? Where did she go?
You swallow, guilt burning sharp under your ribs.
I’ll take care of this body. And her brother. At least for now… It’s the least I could do, even if I got shoved into this ridiculous situation against my will.
You try to break the silence.
Voice small, unsure — but desperation bubbling underneath to test anything.
“Menu open… system log… come on…”
Your hand hovers mid-air like some dorky anime protagonist, feeling ridiculous but still hoping.
“Status window?”
Nothing.
god, I look like a total chuunibyou…
A thought sparks, heart lurching.
“Wait… if this is another world… does that mean—?!”
You scramble off the bed, groping for a phone or tablet, fingers fumbling the screen and buttons as you rush to use voice search.
“Please please please tell me they have One Piece here… and the proper version, not a weird bootleg where Luffy has a mustache or something—”
Soft beep. The AI voice calmly recites the real synopsis: same author, same characters.
“Oh thank god…”
You flop onto the floor, relief flooding you.
“Glad all the time I spent catching up wasn’t wasted…”
You keep searching, for other things you loved and remembered in your original world.
Some of your favorite songs still exist — same lyrics, same voices.
Others… don’t.
Artists who never debuted. Albums that never came.
Guess this really isn’t my world huh?
Frustration claws up your throat.
“Damn it, system! At least say something!!”
For a heartbeat: static buzzes, cold and sharp — like a broken neon light.
[Unable… to establish… full connection…]
[Current energy too low… complete mission… gain points… restore link…]
Flat, robotic, empty.
Perfect. Bootleg system, bad Wi-Fi and zero customer support.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Morning creeps in, too bright behind your eyelids.
The smell of broth drifts through the room.
You sit stiff at the table. Brother sets down a bowl, the ceramic clink louder than it should be.
He tries to sound casual:
“So… about yesterday—”
The words catch you mid-motion; spoon jolts, hits your teeth, rice dribbles.
oof...
Embarrassed heat rushing to your face.
Quietly, he helps guide your hand, wipes the mess without teasing.
“Look,”
He exhales, voice tight but gentle.
“It’s just you and me from now on, okay?
I’ll always be here for you. But you can’t just go running around like yesterday… not right now, when there’s still people who’d take more from us — and while you’re still… like this.”
He pauses, cloth still against your cheek; guilt flickers in his voice for bringing it up.
“Sorry, brother.”
Your voice comes out small, cracking.
He pats your head, voice softening:
“Hey, don’t worry, okay? The doctor said it’s not permanent — you’ll get back into the swing of things soon enough.”
He sits across, chopsticks clicking softly.
“Anyway… what’s up with that guy you mentioned yesterday?”
You nearly choke, cough rattling in your chest.
Brother laughs softly:
“Guy must have been a weirdo or a ghost — no way someone can just poof out of existence like that.”
“Uh, it’s nothing really… he was just spouting nonsense… then randomly introduced himself. I don’t even know him.”
“Oh really?”
“Well… unless you know a Jinu?”
“Girl, be for real. That’s such a common name. He say anything else?”
“No… not even a last name. Just that… if I remember anything…”
You trail off, poking at your food.
“Yeah, I dunno. He was weirdly cryptic, haha…”
Breakfast tapers off with brother reminding you:
“Bodyguards should arrive today. If you wanna go out, you’ll need to wait for them. Okay?”
You nod absentmindedly, just agreeing on the surface.
But you already decided.
Thinking about the mission failure penalty… you’ll slip out before the guards arrive.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
You end up at the gate again, hand brushing the latch.
How the hell am I even supposed to find him? He didn’t even leave a number…Surely the system wouldn’t dump an impossible mission on me… right?
“Fuck it,” you think. Pick a direction. Hope fate has GPS.
Just as you’re about to step forward blindly, footsteps approach — shoulder bumping into yours.
The world stills — air thick, heartbeat thundering in your ears.
Firm arms catch you before you stumble; breath warm near your cheek.
For a second it feels absurdly cinematic — sparkles, soft kdrama theme in your mind — and then it all comes crashing down.
“Uhh… are you really going outside… wearing those pants?”
Voice lightly teasing, half disbelief.
“Are you serious right now?”
You find your footing, brush his hands off, cheeks burning.
Well, at least I don't need to go looking for him now…“Listen, in case you forgot, I can’t exactly see what I’m wearing. Be glad I’m not in a clown suit.”
He laughs under his breath.
“Right… sorry.”
“Hmph.”
Arms cross; chin lifted, pretending confidence.
Jinu regains composure, clears his throat.
“How about I make it up to you? Let me take you shopping.”
You tilt your head, mock suspicion.
“You payin’?”
“Of course, my lady.”
His voice slides playful, with an exaggerated bow.
Your mouth twitches, trying not to smile. You slip your hand into the crook of his arm — feeling him jolt.
“Well then… lead the way!”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
In and out of boutiques; scent of fresh fabric and soft cologne.
Jinu gently lifts hangers, sometimes holds them near your shoulder, a quiet “hm” under his breath.
“So… what did you mean yesterday? About me remembering something?”
He deflects, tugging a bucket hat down on your head and ruffling your hair at the same time.
“Wow, I think this one reallyyy suits you.”
You huff, yanking the hat off.
“Okay, wrong question. My bad, I guess.”
His chuckle low, hand smoothing your hair again.
“What do you do for work then?”
His hand stills; slides away.
“I write… produce music. Nothing big. Probably not the kind you’d like.”
“What about me screams picky taste?”
“I just mean… what I do isn’t that important, haha.”
“What, like you have a small SoundCloud following or something?”
“Haha, not exactly…”
His voice dips, tone quieter — like there’s something more behind it he isn’t saying.
You pat his arm lightly as you walk.
“Well, not to be presumptuous — but I’m sure there are people who appreciate what you put out into the world.”
He stops mid-motion, hanger hovering above the rack; breath caught. Eyes unseen, but the weight of them on you.
“Jinu?”
He exhales, smile returning:
“Do you play any instruments?”
“Okaaay, that’s oddly specific… but yeah, used to play guitar. Just a passing interest tho.”
With a tilt of your head, you smirk:
“Why? Want me to serenade you?”
Eyebrow wiggle.
For a heartbeat:
“Yeah.”
“Uh… wow, way to be direct. This is literally like our first date, lol.”
You try to laugh it off, flustered by his unexpectedly serious answer to your teasing.
He fumbles, voice cracking:
“Oh! I mean — maybe it’d inspire me, or I could sample you into a track…”
The rest of the time passes in awkward small talk and playful teasing.
Jinu quietly keeps pace beside you, bags rustling as he insists on carrying them.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Back home, shopping bags heavy on your arms.
Mission complete. Even if it cost me my dignity.
Ding—
[SYSTEM: Connection stabilising… ✨ Now commencing formal introduction!]
The voice now cutesy, bright, sparkly words spilling fast:
[System name: True Love System ver. 1.0! Hello~! Your cutest system ever, is ready to help! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ Proudly designed to guide host toward destiny’s fated partner, orchestrate bonding missions, and—]
“How the hell are you talking in my head with emoticons?”
[System doesn’t appreciate you interrupting their introduction! <(ꐦㅍ _ㅍ)>]
You drop the bags, sigh sharp in the empty room.
“Oh god. It really talks like that…”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 Jinu POV snippet
He shouldn’t have waited. Shouldn’t have staged a “chance” meeting that wasn’t chance at all.
But when your shoulder brushes his arm — heartbeat spiking, your scent caught somewhere between clean cotton and worry — every carefully rehearsed word melts right out of his head.
For a breath, it feels exactly like it used to.
A stupid, sparkly kdrama moment he pretended to hate — your weight tipping forward, arms catching you, breath held.
Then the words slip out:
“Uhh… are you really going outside… wearing those pants?”
Your head snaps up, mouth sharp, voice dripping embarrassment and stubborn humor.
“Listen, in case you forgot, I can’t exactly see what I’m wearing. Be glad I’m not in a clown suit.”
Jinu’s lips twitch, imagining you rolling your eyes if you could.
“Right… sorry.”
Too familiar. Too painful.
You cross your arms, chin tilted away — but still so you it scrapes something raw in him.
He clears his throat, masks the ache:
“How about I make it up to you? Let me take you shopping.”
When your hand slips into his arm — warmth and trust and memory tangled together — his breath stills.
For a heartbeat, the past and present blur:
She always did this too… acting bold when she was scared.
He shakes it off, voice light, almost playful:
“Of course, my lady.”
And when you tilt your head, teasing smirk hiding nerves — he almost laughs.
Same jokes. Same courage. Same softness buried under bravado.
But you don’t remember.
And maybe that’s mercy.
Even so, as he leads you forward, matching your steps, he finds himself silently hoping:
Please… let it really be you.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 author’s note!
something possessed me while writing this chapter because why is it so much longer than chapter one 😭
i thought about cutting stuff while editing but honestly the flow would’ve felt weird. plus... i was having fun lol.
yes, i say “lol” out loud. what are you gonna do about it 🤨 (jk lol)
i hope you enjoyed this chapter ♡ i really started this fic for me — because i have a serious addiction to reader/oc x character stories.
the date scene literally came to me while i was trying to sleep and my brain went: “!!! write that down! write that down!!” (that spongebob meme)
🪡 quick question: what do you think about the line breaks in this chapter?
i added them to help visualise the scene shifts, but let me know if it breaks immersion or feels distracting — happy to adjust if it helps readability!
You wake up blind in a world that feels half‑familiar — tangled timelines, missing memories, and a man who says he knew you from 400 years ago.
📖 read ch1 now:
Quotev link | Wattpad link | AO3 link
🌙 Chapter 1: Blind Strings
Darkness.
That’s the first thing you see.
Not the warm darkness of drifting off in bed, but a heavy, suffocating black that clings even when you blink.
“Huh…?”
Brain scrambling, heart pounding.
Okay, think: what was the last thing you did?
Lying in bed, cracked phone slipping from your fingers, credits rolling on Kpop Demon Hunters, eyelids drooping from exhaustion.
And then… nothing. Just—sleep.
But now? Your head throbs, and weird memories rush in — not yours:
A sprawling old Korean compound. Wealthy parents who’d just died. Estranged relatives fighting over money and the deed to the house you’re in. Someone shoving you — hard — pain blooming at the back of your skull—
And blackness.
“Wait, wait, wait… did I just — isekai??”
Your voice cracks in the empty room.
“But, I didn’t even meet truck-kun, I was just peacefully sleeping… Nothing could’ve triggered my isekai, right??”
Even as you joke, your pulse skitters. You lift trembling fingers, feeling bandages over where your eyes should be.
Great. Isakai’d into someone else’s body, now blind, and apparently stuck in a bootleg system novel with bad WiFi.
You scramble upright on shaky legs.
“Okay, new world, new body, mystery system. This is fine. I’ve read enough manhwa, I can handle this,” you mumble, voice a notch too high.
Don’t panic. Figure out where you are.
Your fingertips brush rough plaster, then smooth polished beams, tracing carvings that feel familiar from memories not quite yours.
The scent of old incense, wood oil, and faint mildew curls at the edge of your senses.
The air feels stale, and your skin prickles with the weight of emptiness — a house once full, now hollow.
Far off, voices bark and snap outside the compound gates — harsh, impatient words you almost understand.
One voice stands out. Lower, rough from shouting, cracking with worry instead of greed.
A name slips into your head from the stolen memories — your brother.
The only one who really cared. The only one who pulled your — no, her — body away from the scuffle when your head hit the floor.
The guilt bites, sharp and sudden. You feel like an intruder wearing someone else’s skin.
You turn away from the angry shouting and walk, counting paces, until you reach a quieter side gate — away from the barking voices. Fingers find the latch — and you push it open.
Cool air brushes your face, and you step out — back stiff, every muscle screaming bad idea.
You can’t see, but the street hums with life: cars rumble distant, footsteps scuff uneven stone, music drifts like smoke.
“Brilliant move, genius,” you mutter. “Blind, barely awake, wandering outside because panic said so.”
One hand drags along the wall, steadying your balance.
You catch it then: a faint scrape of shoes drawing closer — someone slowing beside you.
Suddenly, a hand closes around your wrist.
“Tell me.”
A low voice, rough at the edges, breathless.
“Do you remember 400 years ago?”
You freeze.
“…Are you saying I look old?!”
“No! I mean— that’s not what I—”
“Look, buddy, I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t wanna see your face again! …Not that I can see, but— you know what I mean!”
Silence.
The grip loosens, like the man’s brain is finally catching up.
“You… you can’t see?”
His voice softens — still polite, but shaken, as though yanking a mask back into place.
“No shit, Sherlock,” you snap, heart hammering so loud you feel dizzy.
He steps back. You sense cloth shifting, catch the faint scent of ink and old wood.
“Who are you, anyway? Creeping on blind girls? Real classy,” you fire, words sharper than you meant.
“I… apologise,” he says, low but careful, each syllable measured.
“Forgive me. I mistook you for… someone else.”
Underneath the formality, there’s confusion and guilt, coiled tight.
“Look, I’m probably not whoever you’re looking for,” you mutter, fingers twisting in your sleeve.
A pause. Then softer, awkwardly:
“My name… is Jinu,” he offers.
“If — if you remember anything… please find me.”
The words stumble before smoothing back into polite calm.
“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan. “Next time I run into random mysterious men on the street, I’ll be sure to schedule a meeting.”
You sense him shift, wanting to say more — but he doesn’t.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
“There you are!”
Warm hands settle on your shoulders. Your brother’s voice — familiar, breathless, a shaky laugh masking worry.
“Don’t scare me like that,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t wander off… especially now.”
“I know,” you whisper, throat tightening with guilt. “Sorry. I just… needed air.”
“Air?” he echoes, guiding you gently. “Did something happen?”
“Oh yeah, I was talking to this guy—”
“You were talking to someone?” he cuts in, sharper now. His gaze sweeps the street.
“What guy? When I found you, there was no one here.”
The world feels emptier for a moment; the echo of footsteps gone.
He doesn’t push further. Just keeps his warm hand steady on your arm, guiding you through the gate.
Inside, he settles you carefully onto the couch, fingers brushing yours — an unspoken reassurance.
“Stay here, okay? I’ll get you some water.”
You nod, pulse still jumping under your skin.
Left alone, your mind reels.
Jinu…
Something about the name pricks at the edge of your memory. It feels half-familiar, half-forgotten.
You know you watched a movie about Kpop… something… right before this. But when you try to drag the plot into focus — scenes, names, even a single image — static blooms behind your eyes, hot and crawling like a nest of sparks.
“Ow… what the hell…?”
Pain spikes so sharp you gasp, hand flying to your bandaged temple.
Ding—
[SYSTEM: Current task: Approach target “Jinu.”]
[Penalty for failure: Unknown.]
[Connection unstable…]
“…Target? What is this, a dating sim?” you mutter under your breath, voice raw.
The compound creaks around you — old beams settling, the soft scratch of fabric as you shift.
Who was that? And why does my stupid heart feel like it knows him?
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 Jinu POV snippet
He shouldn’t have grabbed you.
The thought lands only after your voice cuts the air — sharp, sarcastic, alive.
“Not that I can see, but— you know what I mean!”
For a breath, it almost makes him laugh. Almost.
Instead, something tightens in his chest.
Your voice isn’t quite like hers, but everything else — the humor masking panic, the stubborn tilt of your chin — slices through him like a forgotten chord.
It can’t be her. But… what if it is?
The bandaged eyes, the raw confusion… you don’t remember him. Or you can’t.
“Forgive me,” he forces out, voice too formal, brittle at the edges.
Idiot. You swore you wouldn’t look back.
But the words slip, softer than he means:
“My name… is Jinu. If… if you remember anything… please find me.”
He turns before you can speak, heat rising to his ears in a way that feels embarrassingly human.
You look the same. But you don’t remember me.
Maybe it’s better that way.
And still, as he walks away, he glances back — just once — to where you stand, head tilted, brow furrowed, as if reaching for a half-remembered tune in the dark.
Please…
Let it be you.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
🌙 hi, i’m jellyjoy! thank you so much for reading my first fic ♡
Blind Strings is an isekai / transmigration AU that plays with the idea of tangled timelines, missing memories, and that classic red-string-of-fate ache. it’s inspired by manhwa, k-drama tropes, and of course, my love for K-Pop Demon Hunters (and Jinu).
i hope you enjoy this slow-burn mess of banter, heartbreak, and second chances! i appreciate every comment, reblog and like - it really helps me keep writing 🪡✨
current update plan: whenever my heart says “do it” (but aiming for semi-regular posts). if you want to see more updates, feel free to follow me here or check the fic tag: #BlindStrings
see you in the next chapter 🪡✨
🌙 this fic is for fun — not open to pitches, reposts, or AI training. thanks for reading ♡
a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.
