MULTO || GWI-MA (K-POP DEMON HUNTERS)
" Because with every glance, your face is visible."
Summary: Some things must be forgotten because they belong in the past. What would happen if you were offered another chance to see each other but one of you had to go again in exchange? Will you continue to gamble or will you let events unfold? Warnings: Get your tissues ready, or simply confirm that everyone is wearing seatbelts. Gwi-ma KPDH x Reader Words: 21.6k
The battlefield reeked of blood and ash, soaked in the echoes of screams long silenced. Gwi-ma stood amongst the ruins, his crimson robes torn and burned at the hem. His once regal armor, inscribed with royal lineage and celestial blessings, was now stained with the blood of the fallen—of his enemies, and of his own people. But none of that mattered. Not when her body lay still in his arms, her lips parted as if she had just whispered his name.
The princess. His princess.
“ Seol-ran…” His voice broke like the shattered remains of the palace behind him.
She had been his salvation. The one who looked beyond the crown and saw the man beneath the iron mask. She had dared to love a king with a heart carved in cruelty and taught him how to feel again—how to be warm. But war had no mercy. He had been too late. Too foolish. Too hopeful. And now she was gone. The sky wept with storm and shadow as Gwi-ma, King of Ten Thousand Spears, laid his forehead against hers, whispering ancient words meant only for the gods to hear. But the gods gave no answer.
…
Months Later – Deep Within the Forbidden Mountain
The temple was carved into the bones of the world. Black stone pulsed with unnatural life as red mist clung to the steps like grasping fingers. Gwi-ma stood alone, the crown discarded, his sword rusted by time and neglect. Before him stood a man cloaked in darkness—no face, no form, just the hum of forbidden magic.
“ You mourn as a man. But you seek as a god.” The being said.
“ I seek her.” Gwi-ma rasped.
“ I will give anything.” A smile, cold and vast as the void, echoed from the shapeless thing.
“ Then give yourself.”
And without hesitation, he agreed. It was agony beyond pain. His flesh burned, twisted, unraveled by divine wrath and infernal power. His bones cracked and were remade. His heart—what was left of it—was torn from his chest and forged into black fire. When the screams finally ceased, Gwi-ma opened his eyes…
And the world recoiled. His skin bore the marks of ancient runes, veins alight with demonic flame. Horns curled from his skull like a crown born of torment. His once noble face was now both beautiful and terrifying—a reminder of what he was and what he had become.
The sacrifice had been made. He had become the price.
…
4,000 Years Later – The Endless Search
Across continents and centuries, kingdoms rose and fell, but Gwi-ma remained. He built an empire in the shadows. His demons—seducers, reapers, deceivers—spread like a plague. They harvested souls for him, all in the name of one purpose: To find her. Some he touched lived luxurious lives before dying in agony. Others were consumed in their dreams. None were her.
The rage only grew. The cruelty multiplied. He mourned with fire and death, with temples desecrated and blood spilled upon sacred altars. He whispered her name with every soul he devoured, begging fate to return what it stole. And yet—
Her soul never came. So he searched. And still, he searches.
A demon not born of malice, but of love lost and the curse of hope that never dies.
…
Seoul, 2025 – Rainy Night
Thunder rumbled like a distant war drum as the rain poured without mercy, drenching the city in a curtain of silver. Neon signs flickered in blurred reflections on the wet asphalt.
Humanity moved like insects—rushed, distracted, oblivious. But not him. Not Gwi-ma. Now wrapped in mortal flesh again, he walked these streets with purpose and disgust. His long coat swayed with every step, black boots silent against the pavement. Behind those striking, inhuman eyes now veiled as warm brown, dwelled centuries of violence and longing.
He had killed his own servants. Those who failed. Those who deceived. Those who dared to say her soul was lost forever. And then…he felt it.
A heartbeat. Not his own, no. Hers. It struck him like a lightning bolt straight to his chest—sudden, electric, familiar. It was the same rhythm that once lulled him to sleep in the arms of his beloved.
A heart he thought time itself had devoured. His eyes lifted. There—across the street, soaked in rain and sorrow, you sat on a bench like a ghost forgotten by the world. Papers clenched in your fists, smudged beyond recognition. Your shoulders shook from silent sobs, and your head bowed low, unaware that fate itself had stopped walking. Gwi-ma’s breath caught.
It’s her. No—it’s you. Reborn. Lost. Yet right here. The centuries collapsed in a breath. He didn’t remember moving, only that one moment he stood still—and the next, he was before you. Umbrella open. Arm extended. Voice soft. Measured. Human.
“ Miss…You’ll catch something in this weather. May I…?” You looked up.
Your eyes, rimmed with red and glistening with rain and despair, met his. And he almost fell to his knees. His façade cracked for the briefest second—the demon, the king, the monster—trembled.
Because it was you. Your soul, dressed in a new life, new pain, but the same heartbeat.
You sniffled, forcing a smile despite the tears. “ Thank you…That’s very kind of you.”
You wiped your face with the back of your hand. Broken but still trying to hold your dignity together. You stood, clutching your ruined papers to your chest.
“ You shouldn’t have come to me, though.” You said quietly.
“ People who get close to me…they only end up suffering. It’s like I carry a curse.” Your words stabbed through him. Unknowing prophecy.
“ So…please, don’t waste your kindness on someone like me.”
You walked past him—so gently, like the first time she ever left his chambers 4,000 years ago. Gwi-ma turned, frozen under the rain. His umbrella is now useless in his hand. He didn’t call out. He didn’t move.
He only watched. Watch as you disappear into the mist and rain, like she once did before war tore her away. His jaw clenched. Fists tightening. And for the first time in thousands of years, Gwi-ma whispered into the storm with a voice trembling from more than rage.
“ This time…I won’t let fate take you again.”
Rain or not. Curse or not. He would follow the heartbeat. He would chase you—until you remembered.
…
A Few Months Later – Seoul, 2025
Gwi-ma’s face had become a staple on every social platform. Not for his crimes. Not for his history. But for the way his sharp features looked under studio lights, the cool indifference in his gaze, and the devilish smile that made fans blush and scream.
Acting Manager of Saja Boys. The nation’s newest obsession. An overnight K-pop phenomenon. Except behind every perfect performance, behind the glitter and the stage lights, behind every curated wink and catchy hook, lurked something vile.
Souls. Craved. Counted. Collected. He stood behind the stage now, arms crossed as the boys performed under the flashing strobe lights. Their movements were flawless. Their voices—spellbinding. Fans screamed from the barricades, unaware they were slowly being devoured by charm and enchantment stitched with ancient sorcery. Gwi-ma narrowed his eyes.
To the world, they were idols. To him, they were bait with abs and eyeliner.
“ Good.” He murmured under his breath, watching the crowd swoon.
“ Fools. All of them.”
A staff assistant passed him, asking something about tomorrow’s press schedule. He waved her off with a false smile, never breaking eye contact from the stage. Everything about this modern era disgusted him—plastic smiles, empty words, meaningless trends.
But it worked. This illusion of “personality”, the theater of vulnerability and talent—it lowered their guards faster than fear or violence ever did.
“ They offer themselves now.” He said to one of the boys after the show, his voice quiet and cutting.
“ No need for force. Only a stage.”
Saja Boys. Five demonic servants in pretty disguises. He had molded each of them—imbued with seduction, vanity, rhythm, and desire. They weren’t human. Not really. They were pretty masks over monstrous hunger. And he played the perfect puppet master.
…
Back in His Penthouse – Late Night
Rain began to tap again against the windows of his high-rise apartment. Seoul glowed in neon below, alive with vices and distractions. But Gwi-ma stared at the empty corner of his living room, where no one stood. Where you should’ve been. Even now, with all this power. This is progress. This control over the modern world—you haunted him.
He hadn’t seen you again. Not once. He waited for weeks at that same bench, rain or shine. Nothing. He told himself it was a trick. A cruel echo meant to distract him from his mission. Maybe a soul impersonating hers. Maybe someone planted by a higher force to weaken him. But still…
“ That heartbeat wasn’t fake.”
He felt it. In his chest. The very organ that hadn't been beaten for 4,000 years before you looked at him with tear-streaked cheeks.
And that cursed goodbye.
“ Don’t waste your kindness on someone like me.”
He scoffed, pouring himself a drink. “ As if I ever had any left.”
But the glass trembled in his hand. And his eyes kept drifting to the rain outside. Even surrounded by his loyal demons, even as Seoul knelt at the feet of this new sensation—he felt alone. And that single moment with you—
Was more real than every soul he’s consumed in centuries. He hated it. He missed it. And he would find you again. Even if he had to burn this whole city to find that heartbeat.
…
Flashes exploded like fireworks across the white walls of the grand press hall. Cameras clicked in rhythmic chaos. Staff ran back and forth, adjusting microphones and managing the sea of fans who screamed like their lives depended on being noticed.
At the head table, the Saja Boys sat dressed in matching black and silver designer suits. Their expressions were a perfect balance of humility and charm, each of them playing their role—The Sweet One. The Shy One. The Flirty One. The Stoic One. The Golden Boy.
All masks. All lies. All demons. Gwi-ma leaned against the far wall in the shadows, arms crossed over his chest, one brow slightly raised in eternal boredom. The media adored them. The fans worshipped them. And to him, they were nothing but prey.
“ Pitiful.” He muttered to himself, scanning the crowd with clinical disdain.
“ So easy to lure with a wink and a wink.”
He watched as one of the boys did a finger heart toward a fan in the front row. The girl collapsed into tears. Her friends laughed and squealed, clutching her like she'd been touched by a god. And maybe she had. Just not the kind she thought.
Gwi-ma’s lips curled into a slow smirk. “ Devouring them used to take effort. Now they line up for it.”
He allowed himself a brief moment of dark amusement—until his heart slammed in his chest.
Once. Twice. Then it raced. His gaze snapped toward the middle of the crowd.
And everything else disappeared. You were standing there. Among the noise, the chaos, the madness—you stood like an echo of the past. An ache reincarnated. You didn’t wave. You didn’t cheer. You didn’t even hold your phone up like the others. You just stood there, arms folded, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight, unsure line. You looked so…out of place. Like a dream swallowed by reality.
You turned your head to one of your friends, clearly dragged there against your will, your body language awkward. Resigned. You rolled your eyes at something they squealed about, giving a sarcastic smile—but your discomfort was written all over you.
He read it. Every inch. Every tick of your brow, every shift in your shoulders, every half-hearted smile.
“ You’re not here for them…” He whispered under his breath, eyes softening despite himself.
It was impossible. You had no memory of him. You weren’t even her anymore—not in the way time understood. But your soul… it hadn't changed.
He knew you. The way you tilted your head when you were annoyed. The way you hid your sadness with sarcasm. The way you avoided eye contact when something was too intense.
Thousands of years apart, yet it felt like he had just seen you yesterday.
“ You found your way back to me…again.”
He took a step forward before he could stop himself, his usually unreadable expression now clouded with something dangerous—hope. But the moment your eyes scanned past him, pausing ever so slightly, his breath caught.
Did you feel something? That pulse? That flicker? You blinked and turned your gaze away.
No recognition. His heart dropped and swelled all at once. Onstage, a reporter asked something ridiculous about the Saja Boys’ “ideal type.”
Laughter erupted. The boys answered with rehearsed, flirty charm. But Gwi-ma heard none of it. His entire being was focused on you.
You. After months of emptiness. After centuries of hunger. You were here. Alive. Unknowing. So close. And this time…
He wasn’t going to let you disappear into the crowd again.
…
11:49 PM — Seoul Convenience Store
The soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The occasional ding of the automatic door broke the lull of late-night silence, joined by the rustle of ramen packets and snack wrappers. Gwi-ma sat at the far corner of the seating area, a bowl of instant noodles in front of him, untouched.
He was pretending again. Pretending to be human. Pretending this food didn’t taste like plastic and regretting it. Pretending he didn’t miss the weight of a sword in his hand or the silence of a battlefield under moonlight. But most of all, pretending he didn’t still feel you on the edges of his mind.
He watched the mortals move like clockwork. Laughing. Eating. Smiling. Weak and foolish, yet content with their fragility. A couple of girls were giggling over banana milk. A tired salaryman was dozing off over his coffee. He scoffed.
“ So easily satisfied.” He muttered, swirling his chopsticks.
Then—he felt it again.
The heartbeat. And before he could even process it, someone sat beside him. He turned, fully prepared to release a scathing remark about personal space—until his gaze met yours.
You were smiling at him. So innocently. So unaware of the storm you stirred inside him. Carrying a tray with simple food—kimchi rice, a yogurt drink, and a small medicine bottle peeking from your coat pocket. You placed it down beside him carefully before looking at him with a sheepish grin.
“ Uhm…Is it okay if I sit here?” You asked gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Gwi-ma blinked, stunned. The predator…silenced.
He swallowed, then nodded—slow, mechanical. “ Yes. It’s…fine.”
You exhaled in relief and sat, quietly arranging your food. You didn’t look at him for a moment, letting a moment of silence pass between you before you gave a small, almost apologetic laugh.
“ I didn’t expect you’d be…the manager of Saja Boys, of all people.” You poked at your rice, eyes focused downward.
“ That night…I thought you were just a regular businessman or maybe a government agent. Definitely not a K-pop manager.” Gwi-ma’s lips twitched—almost a smile, but pain clung behind it.
You sighed, your tone softening. “ I’m still embarrassed you saw me like that. Crying like an idiot in the rain.”
He said nothing. Just listened. You looked at him briefly, then away again. You always looked away. Like it hurts to be seen. He knew that look.
“ I applied to a dozen companies in the past few months. But none of them accepted me.” He turned fully toward you now, his hands resting still beside his untouched food. You didn’t meet his gaze. You couldn’t.
“ They say I look too pale. Or that they can’t take the liability. I get it, I guess.” You smiled bitterly, stabbing your rice with your spoon.
“ I have leukemia. Critical stage. Maintenance is expensive and my family isn’t exactly well-off. I just want to help. Even a part-time job would be enough to cover some of my meds.” Gwi-ma’s expression shifted.
Gone was the detached amusement. Gone was the predator. What replaced it was something dangerous. Something soft. Something ancient and unbearably human.
“ You’re…dying.” He said quietly, voice tighter than he meant it to be.
You gave him a sad smile, but not a pitiful one. It was strong in a way that hurt. “ I like to think I’m just…on a shorter clock. Still ticking though.”
You took a sip of your yogurt drink and laughed softly. “ Sorry. That’s a lot to dump on a stranger. Especially one as important as you.”
He stared. Thousands of years collecting souls. Thousands of years destroying lives. And here you were—so fragile, so temporary…and yet more alive than anyone he’d met in centuries.
A flame in the rain. Still burning. Still smiling. He didn’t speak right away. Didn’t move. But inside, his monstrous heart howled.
Not again. Not again. Not when I just found you. He looked at your tray. At your medicine. At your hands—shaking slightly as you picked up your spoon. And for the first time in 4,000 years, Gwi-ma made a vow not for revenge, not for power—
But to protect something. Someone. You.
“ What if I told you I could help?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You blinked.
He looked calm. But under the surface, the demon in him stirred. “ I don’t need anything in return. Just…let me.”
Your eyes widened. And you didn’t know it yet—but the devil had just offered you his hand. Not for your soul. But because somewhere in his cursed heart—
He would rather burn again than lose you twice. The hum of the convenience store seemed to fade when your breath hitched, your wide eyes shimmering under the cold white light. You weren’t just surprised—you were stunned, overwhelmed, and holding back a wave of emotion that had nowhere else to go but forward. He watched you as if he could feel your soul vibrating.
“ You’ll work as the personal assistant of Saja Boys.” Gwi-ma repeated, calmly.
“ Their last one quit. Said they were too loud. Too childish. Too much.” His eyes softened faintly, just a trace of amusement touching his otherwise flat tone.
“ You, however…I have a feeling you’ll handle them better.”
You clutched your handkerchief to your face, trying not to break. The tears came anyway. And Gwi-ma…froze. You weren’t sobbing loudly, just folding into yourself, trying not to make a scene. You wiped at your eyes with the fabric, shoulders shaking lightly.
He wanted to reach out. To hush you. To say you didn’t need to cry anymore. That you were safe now. That he wouldn't let fate play its cruel games again. But he didn’t. He just quietly watched you, expression unreadable to any stranger—but his heart was aching. Torn in ways he forgot were even possible.
He hated this. He hated seeing you cry, even over happiness. He hated feeling this warmth and pain all at once. But more than that, he hated that you still didn’t know why he cared so much. So he did the only thing he could do to keep from shattering. He picked up his chopsticks and forced a bite.
You finally removed the handkerchief from your face, sniffling quietly but wearing a determined look now. “ I-I promise I’ll do my best.” You said, voice still trembling.
“ I won’t waste this. I really won’t. Thank you…really, thank you.” Gwi-ma nodded slowly, setting down his now-empty bowl.
“ Send me your resume when you’re ready.” He said, pulling a sleek, matte-black card from his inner coat pocket. His fingers slid it across the table with measured grace.
“ That’s the agency address. You can come starting tomorrow—or any day you’re ready or just wait for your call.”
You reached for the card with both hands, reverently, as if it were made of gold. Your eyes darted across the simple silver print like it was some secret spell.
He stood, gathering his trash. “ Rest well tonight. You’ll need it.”
You quickly rose too, bowing your head deeply. “ Thank you so much, sir. Thank you—really, thank you!”
You reached out to hold his hand in both of yours, squeezing lightly in a gesture of sincerity and deep gratitude. But the moment your skin touched his—
Time stopped. For him, anyway. His body went still. His chest tightened. His mind sparked, flooded with memories:
Her laughter under the cherry blossoms. Her tears in his arms during the siege. The feeling of her fingers intertwined with his—
And now, yours. The warmth. The familiarity. The ache. It was you. He nearly forgot how to breathe. He cleared his throat abruptly, trying to push the storm back inside.
You noticed. You immediately pulled back. “ S-sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
“ It’s fine.” He said quickly, voice a shade too low.
“ Just…be careful. Don’t do that too easily to strangers.” You blinked, nodding sheepishly.
He nodded once in return, then walked away. Not too fast. Not too slow. Controlled. Always in control. Until he reached his car. He sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the rearview mirror—eyes fixed on the convenience store doors.
And there you were. Inside, practically glowing. Jumping in place, grinning like a child, waving your phone excitedly as you called someone—your parents, perhaps. He could hear the way your voice would tremble with joy, even if he couldn’t hear the words.
“ Someone finally offered me a job…!”
Gwi-ma watched. And for the first time in thousands of years—
He smiled. Not the cruel kind. Not the manipulative smirk. But a real one. Soft. Quiet. Bittersweet.
This time…he’ll protect that smile.
…
Saja Entertainment Headquarters – Morning, Few Days Later
The city air was crisp and clean, the sky a flawless shade of blue that almost seemed to mock the nerves churning in your stomach. You stood before the towering black-glass building of Saja Entertainment, the sleek logo gleaming like a crown above the entrance. You clutched your envelope of documents tighter to your chest—your resume, medical certification, government ID, everything they might ask for. Your heart beat a little faster when you looked up.
“ So tall…” You whispered to yourself, breath fogging briefly as you stared at the impossible height of the HQ.
“ Expensive-looking, too.”
It felt surreal—just days ago, you were sitting in a convenience store with nothing but exhaustion and quiet desperation. Now, you were standing in front of the agency that practically ruled the current K-pop scene. And the fans were already lined up along the barricades, bright signs and lightsticks in hand, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Saja Boys. You walked past them nervously, trying not to draw attention, your presence blending into the crowd like a ghost with purpose. But before you could reach the main doors—
Two security guards stepped in front of you. They were tall, intimidating, dressed in black uniforms and mirrored sunglasses. One raised a hand to stop you.
“ Sorry, miss. No outsiders allowed unless you have an appointment or employee clearance.” You blinked, quickly nodding and fishing into your coat pocket for the card Gwi-ma gave you.
“ Ah—yes, I understand! I was told to come here today by Manager Gwi-ma. He…offered me a job. As the personal assistant of the Saja Boys.” The guards exchanged glances. Skepticism. Caution.
You felt heat crawl up your neck, embarrassment threatening to swallow you. You opened the envelope slightly to show them the resume, about to fumble through an explanation when one of them took the card from your hand. He stared at the dark matte texture and silver print. Then he blinked. His entire posture shifted.
He lowered his radio and clicked it on. “ Control, this is Gate One. We have a visitor claiming an appointment with Manager Gwi-ma. Holding his personal authorization card.”
A crackle of silence. Then a voice responded. “ Confirmed. Let her in. Direct her to the 28th floor. Manager's wing.”
The guard looked back to you, his tone more respectful now. “ You’re clear. Apologies, Miss. Take the elevator to the 28th floor. Straight to the left. You’ll find the door with his name on it.”
You bowed deeply, both in gratitude and from sheer relief. “ Thank you. Thank you so much.”
As you entered the lobby, stepping into the cool, polished interior, your reflection briefly caught in the mirror-like floor tiles. You took a deep breath, then whispered to yourself:
“ This is it.” You touched the card once more inside your coat pocket—your bridge to a second chance at life.
Not just to work. But to survive.
…
28th Floor – Outside Gwi-ma’s Office
You stepped out of the elevator, greeted by silence and the elegant minimalism of the floor’s decor—black marble, golden trimming, and faint music echoing from somewhere distant. You followed the corridor, heart pounding again with every step. You stopped in front of a tall black door with silver lettering:
GWI-MA Manager, Saja Division
You clutched your resume folder, your hands trembling just a little. Not from fear—
But from hope. You knocked twice, gentle but audible. And somewhere inside, behind that door…
The demon who had waited 4,000 years felt your presence again. And this time—
You came to him.
…
The soft hum of the overhead light filled the space between silence and anticipation. The office was cold in its elegance—sleek black shelves, dark wooden desk, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city below.
The only color came from the sharp red bookmark in the corner of his planner and the faint gleam of gold on the pen he held. Gwi-ma didn’t look up right away.
You stood quietly by the door after your polite bow, hugging your document folder tightly against your chest. The man behind the desk flipped another page, his expression calm and composed—but you could feel the weight of his presence in the room like a second gravity.
Then—
“ Take a seat.” He said, eyes still scanning the text before him.
You let out a nervous breath and moved quickly, settling in the leather chair across from him. He finally looked up. And it made your pulse jump. His gaze was unreadable—focused, intense, but not unkind.
You placed the folder in front of him, sliding it neatly across the desk. He took it with a measured hand, opening it without a word. You sat up straighter, folding your hands on your lap to keep them from fidgeting. The silence was deafening as he read, flipping through your resume, your certifications, your medical clearance all of it.
He finally closed the folder with a soft snap and leaned back. “ You’ve worked in admin before. Light translation jobs. Basic logistics.”
“ Yes, sir.” You nodded quickly.
“ Mostly part-time work when I was still in school. And recently, freelance tasks whenever my health allows me to…” Your voice trailed off when you realized how fast you were speaking. Gwi-ma raised a brow, amused.
“ Calm down.” He said simply, setting the folder aside.
Your cheeks instantly flushed. You bit your lip and looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “ S-sorry…I just—nerves, I guess.”
He didn’t respond with a smile, not exactly—but there was a strange softness behind his eyes that hadn’t been there when you walked in. Another pause. You assumed the next question would be about your schedule, your skills, your familiarity with idol work—
But instead, he asked:
“ That night…the thing you said. About being cursed. What did you mean by that?”
You froze. Your shoulders stiffened, and the air felt heavier somehow. He was still watching you—not as a manager now, but as something more.
Someone is listening. Someone remembering. You exhaled slowly, fingers curling over each other.
“ It’s…something I’ve always felt, I guess.” Your voice was quieter now.
“ I try to be positive. I try really hard. But it’s like no matter what I do, something always pulls me down. Whenever something good happens, it feels like it’s taken away before I even get to enjoy it.” You finally met his gaze. And he didn’t look away.
“ I have leukemia.” You said flatly.
“ It’s in a critical stage now. And it’s not just the pain or the meds. It’s how it makes me feel like I’m…a burden. Like I drag people into my problems just by existing.” You smiled, bitterly.
“ People who care about me always end up suffering, worrying, and sacrificing things for my sake. That’s why I said it that night. I didn’t want you to get involved. I thought…if you stayed near me, you’d just get caught in the mess too.”
Silence. The kind that didn’t demand to be filled. The kind that understood.
You bowed your head slightly, voice a whisper. “ No one’s lucky to have an illness like this. So maybe it’s not a real curse, but…it sure as hell feels like one.”
You expected a typical response. Pity. Or discomfort. Or worse—silence with a hint of guilt. But instead, his voice was calm. Sure.
“ You’re wrong.” You blinked, lifting your head. Gwi-ma’s expression hadn’t changed much. But his eyes were deeper now, darker, as if they carried more than he’d ever admit out loud.
“ A curse is something inflicted. A disease is something endured.”
“ You didn’t curse yourself. And you didn’t choose this. But you’re still here.” His words weren’t kind in a poetic sense. They weren’t comforting like soft cotton.
They were iron. Strong. Heavy. Steady. And somehow, exactly what you needed.
“ I’ve seen real curses.” He added, almost under his breath.
“ You’re not one of them.” You stared at him. And in that moment—your shame, your fragility, your fear—began to loosen their grip on your ribs.
Just a little.
“ Thank you.” You whispered. Gwi-ma simply nodded once. Then, as if nothing happened, he stood up and walked toward the drawer behind his desk.
“ I’ll have the contract and ID prepared by tomorrow.” He said, voice back to neutral.
“ You’ll be with the boys during their rehearsals and events. I’ll handle the rest.” You stood slowly as well, still holding the echoes of his words inside your chest like warmth in winter.
This was your first day. And already, something felt different. Lighter. You were here to work. But somehow…you were also beginning to heal.
…
Saja Entertainment, 9th Floor – Rehearsal Hall
The echo of muffled bass notes pulsed from behind the door before Gwi-ma pushed it open. The two of you entered the wide rehearsal hall—a sleek, mirrored room with pristine white floors, scattered water bottles, towels, and the smell of sweat still hanging in the air.
Five boys stood in a loose huddle, talking and laughing in varying volumes until they noticed who had stepped in.
“ Manager-nim!”
Their laughter cut short. All five boys immediately stood straighter, wiping their faces, and bowing respectfully in perfect unison. It was mechanical—habitual—but the air still shifted sharply, like someone had snapped their fingers and switched the atmosphere. You peeked from behind Gwi-ma, your hands tight around your small notepad and pen. You were used to interviews, applications, even some auditions. But this—
Being the center of their attention?
It made your throat tighten. Your gaze met theirs—five pairs of dark, curious eyes. Their gaze wasn’t judgmental, but interested. Too interested. Like prey noticed by a pack that smiled with teeth. You immediately stepped back a little, hiding again behind Gwi-ma’s frame, barely lifting your eyes from the floor. Gwi-ma instantly noticed.
“ Stop staring at her.” He snapped coldly, not raising his voice but sharpening it enough to slice tension into the room.
The boys blinked—then laughed awkwardly. A few rubbed the backs of their necks.
“ We didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable.” Said one with sharp cheekbones and a silver-streaked undercut. That must be Mystery.
“ She’s cute when she’s shy.” Abby, the pink with mismatched socks, muttered with a small pout.
“ We’re being nice.” Added Baby, barely taller than you and sporting a bubblegum pink hoodie.
“ We didn’t even bite—yet.”
“ Baby.” Gwi-ma's voice dropped low in warning.
The youngest zipped his mouth shut. Gwi-ma turned slightly to you, tone much gentler than the one he used on them. “ Come forward.”
You hesitated but nodded and took a small step beside him, giving a timid bow to the group.
“ This is Y/n.” He announced, expression unreadable.
“ She’s your new personal assistant. She’ll be with you from rehearsals to interviews, schedules, and product shoots.”
The boys straightened again, a new kind of spark lighting in their eyes—not just curiosity, but a quiet murmur of…recognition?
No. It wasn’t that they knew you. But something about you interested them far beyond the usual introduction. You gave them a small, nervous smile.
“ Nice to meet you all.” You said politely. “ I’m looking forward to working with you. Please take care of me.”
Jinu, the leader figure with dark auburn hair and a casual aura, offered a gentle grin.
“ Same here, noona.” He said, voice smooth. “ Don’t worry. We’re not as scary as Manager-nim makes us look.”
“ Speak for yourself.” Romance cut in, flipping his hair with flair. His earrings caught the light. “ I’m terrifyingly handsome.”
“ You’re terrifyingly loud.” Mystery muttered, nudging him.
“ Focus.” Gwi-ma sighed deeply, but his eyes flicked to you—checking, grounding, making sure you were okay. You felt it again. That same strange gravity he carried when he was near. You nodded slightly at him, reassuringly. You’re fine.
You can handle this. They seemed young. Spirited. Maybe a little too friendly—but not dangerous. Not at all.
What you didn’t see was the flicker behind their smiles.
What you didn’t know—
Was that the boys weren’t staring because you were new.
They were staring because there was something off about you. To demons like them, human souls glimmered with a thousand invisible threads. But yours? Yours was like a quiet storm. Dimmed by illness. Sparked by pain. Yet untouched by sin.
And that kind of soul…was rare. The kind demons would be ordered to corrupt. The kind Gwi-ma should’ve kept them away from. But instead, he placed you in the center of their den. And something deep inside of him stirred—because for the first time, the predator wasn’t concerned about the hunt.
He was concerned for the prey. You. And the boys knew it. They just smiled. And bowed again.
“ Welcome to the team, Noona.”
…
As soon as Gwi-ma left the rehearsal hall, the air shifted once again—but this time, it wasn’t stiff or professional.
It was unruly.
“ SHE’S BLUSHING!”
“ Did you see how she hides behind Manager-nim like a kitten?”
“ She’s not even a fan?! Oh no, our pride—crushed!” Voices piled over each other like waves crashing down a shoreline.
The Saja Boys were no longer intimidating idols in a press conference or mysterious idols with perfectly curated personas. Now, they were boys—loud, teasing, chaotic boys with the energy of a storm locked in a dance studio.
Abby draped an arm around your shoulder dramatically, pouting like a child. “ So you’re the brave soul who dared take on this cursed job. Do you enjoy suffering?”
Romance leaned forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “ Or maybe…you're secretly a masochist? That’d explain everything!”
“ Romance!” Mystery smacked his arm lightly with a rolled-up towel. “ You’re gonna make her quit on her first hour.”
They laughed like this was normal. You tried to smile along, cheeks warming, unable to meet their eyes for too long. They started introducing themselves again, one by one, but this time with flair like actors auditioning for your attention.
“ I’m Jinu.” Said the leader with a casual smile. “ The voice, the face, and unfortunately the only one who remembers schedules around here.”
“ Mystery. I don’t do small talk. But I’ll remember your name if you survive us for a week.”
“ Romance. I believe in love at first sight. And I just experienced it five minutes ago.”
“ Abby! The most adorable, sweetest, and unhinged member—reporting for duty!”
“ I’m Baby.” Said the maknae, arms crossed.
“ But don’t let the name fool you. I bite.” You blinked. That… might not be a joke.
“ Also…” Baby squinted at you, dramatically leaning in.
“ You really aren’t a fan?” You shook your head gently, a bit unsure.
“ Not really. I mean…my colleagues are. But I only came to the press con because they pulled me.”
There was a beat of silence.
“ I knew it.” Baby groaned, staggering away as if your words had pierced his soul. “ This betrayal…it’s so personal.”
“ You’ll have to work extra hard to earn his forgiveness now.” Abby teased.
Before things got further out of hand, a sharp whistle cut through the chaos.
“ Break’s over! Back in position!” Called their trainer from across the studio.
They groaned in unison like elementary students forced back into class. Jinu turned toward the trainer, then glanced back at you. His playful smile softened into something slightly more serious. He stepped closer to you—not threatening, but close enough that you could see the fine sheen of sweat across his collarbones, and the calm intensity beneath his idol-perfect smile.
“ You’re different.” He said quietly, voice lower than before.
“ Manager-nim wouldn’t bring someone like you into our world without a reason.”
You blinked. “ What do you mean?”
Jinu tilted his head. “ Nothing much. Just…don’t trust anyone too quickly, yeah?”
“ Especially the ones with pretty faces. Sometimes, we wear them to keep you from seeing what’s underneath.”
Your breath caught. And just like that, his tone lightened again.
“ Anyway, wish us luck. We’re doing a new piece today, so we’ll probably die a little.”
He winked and turned away, heading toward the center of the room where the others were already stretching, laughing, and bumping shoulders. You were left standing alone at the edge of the rehearsal hall. Clutching your notepad. Confused. Intrigued. And a little uneasy.
Something was off. But you couldn’t name it. Not yet. You took a deep breath and sat down on the small assistant’s bench near the mirrored wall.
This is your job now. No matter what those boys were hiding—whether it was ego, mischief, or something else entirely…
You were part of their world now. And there was no turning back.
…
For the past few months, your life has shifted into something you never imagined. You weren’t just a girl struggling to survive anymore—you were now the personal assistant of the Saja Boys, a group of chaotic, otherworldly idols who tested your patience, invaded your personal space, and sometimes treated you like a younger sibling…or a babysitter.
They were nothing like their public personas.
On screen: elegance, poise, perfection.
Behind the scenes: food fights during breaks, arguing over who left their socks in the hallway, and spontaneous karaoke sessions at 3am in the dorm when they should be sleeping before interviews.
You learned their rhythms.
Romance talks in his sleep. Mystery reads horror novels upside down. Abby can’t drink caffeine without vibrating off the walls. Jinu will never admit he cries after successful concerts. And Baby? Baby only listens to you when you bribe him with strawberry milk.
“ You’re doing better than the last three PAs combined.” Jinu told you one day after practice.
“ We haven’t driven you insane yet. That's progress.”
Still, despite the madness…you didn’t mind it anymore. Because even in their chaos, the boys made you feel alive. And Gwi-ma. He remained distant…but not cold. He still rarely smiled unless the boys weren’t looking. Still organized and sharp, dressed in black suits and always buried in contracts, endorsements, and logistics.
But sometimes…
He’d silently leave energy drinks or vitamin tablets on your desk. He’d walk you out when it’s late, saying nothing but waiting until your bus arrived. He'd ask about your medications—not as your boss, but as someone who remembered, who noticed.
There was something…undeniably human in how he cared.
Even if he didn’t say it aloud.
Yesterday, though, reality made itself known again. Your doctor appointment had been quiet, sterile, and laced with clinical language that no amount of soft background music could soften. You sat on the edge of the hospital bed, fingers clenched around your results as your oncologist spoke gently.
“ The medication is working—but only to an extent.” She said.
“ Your leukemia cells are slowing down, but they’re still spreading.”
“ That means the disease is still progressing…just in slow motion.” You forced yourself to nod, even though your throat was tightening.
“ Please…” She added, pressing the prescription into your hands,
“ Don’t miss your doses. No skipping even once. I know you’re working hard—but if your body collapses, everything else will too.” You bowed your head. Whispered a quiet yes, doctor.
…
Now, back at the dorm, you sat alone in the assistant’s corner. The boys were upstairs. Gwi-ma was still at a late meeting. The studio lights had dimmed, and for once…everything was still. You stared at your prescription in your hand, slowly tracing the printed letters. Your life had changed so much…and yet your battle hadn’t stopped.
The chaos of Saja Boys became a welcome distraction, a loud comfort, a substitute for the quiet dread that followed you like a shadow. But tonight, that dread returned. Your hands trembled slightly. Until—
“ You’re late taking that.” A low voice said behind you.
You startled—spinning around—and found Gwi-ma standing by the doorway. He walked toward you calmly. His eyes glanced at the bottle and papers in your lap.
“ You went to the hospital yesterday.” You nodded wordlessly.
He didn’t ask more. Didn’t push. He simply reached out and placed a small thermos on the table in front of you. “ Warm water. You’ll need it.”
Your throat tightened again. “ How did you…?”
Gwi-ma shrugged slightly. “ You’re working under my roof.” He said, voice low and unreadable.
“ Everything that touches my domain…I make sure I know.” He started to turn away. But then paused.
“ If it ever becomes too much.” He said without looking at you.
“ This job, or…anything else—you come to me. Don’t carry everything alone.” Your lips parted, surprised. He had never said something so…forward. You opened your mouth to respond. But Gwi-ma had already vanished down the hallway. You stared at the thermos. Then the pills. And then quietly, you took your medicine.
…
The Saja Boys were out of town—finally. Your schedule had been packed for the past month, chasing five grown men around like a glorified babysitter with a clipboard and a medkit. So when Gwi-ma granted a three-day break, you didn’t argue. You packed your things, bowed politely, and took the first train home. But the second you opened your apartment door…
It was silence. Utter, bone-deep silence. No teasing voices. No water fights over bathroom time. No dramatic whining over bubble tea flavors. Just…the air conditioning hum and the subtle creak of the hallway wood under your tired steps. You dropped your bag beside the shoe rack and slowly made your way to the couch. Your arms wrapped around your knees, like they always did when you felt…like this.
Alone. This was your house—technically. The one left for you after the tragedy. Paid off by some distant aunt you never heard from again. You've lived here ever since you were a child. Since that night. And it never stopped feeling cold. No matter how many candles you lit, or blankets you stacked. The shadows here were deeper. The air still remembered.
You remembered too. That night came back in flashes—just like always. Your father's scream. Your mother’s sobs. The sound of the front door slamming open. And then the other noise—something you didn’t know how to name back then.
A hissing. A whispering. A growl that laughed. You had cried and begged for your parents to hide with you. But instead, they shoved you into the kitchen cabinet, whispered “don’t make a sound,” and closed the door. From the crack, you watched.
A figure cloaked in black. Yellow eyes that weren’t human. Hands like claws…and a mouth that opened too wide. It spoke in a language you didn’t understand—then placed a hand on each of your parents’ heads…
And pulled something out of them. Light. Breath. Life. Their bodies dropped like ragdolls. And you didn’t scream. You couldn’t. You didn’t even cry until the next morning when the neighbors found you. You wiped a tear from your cheek now, frustrated you were still haunted.
“ I’m not a child anymore.” You muttered into the silence. But the ache never fully went away. The grief never gave you back what it took.
You were lucky to have Rumi, Mira, and Zoey. They were your closest friends. Sisters by choice, not blood. They were strong. Each one of them. They wielded enchanted weapons, tracked demonic energy, protected people from the creatures who hunted in the dark. The world called them myths. Ghost stories.
But you knew better. They were Demon Hunters or they called themselves the Huntrix—modern-day warriors shielding humankind from a war most didn’t even know was happening.
You admired them so much. Sometimes…you even envied them. You loathed demons with every piece of your soul. You wanted to fight. To protect. To do something. To be more than just someone watching from the sidelines with a weak body and no power. But you knew your truth. Your illness made even waking up some mornings a victory.
What good would you be with a sword if you couldn’t hold it longer than ten minutes? Still…the fire in you never died. Someday, you swore, you’d help. You just needed to find your own way to fight.
Your phone buzzed on the armrest.
A message from Zoey.
Zoey: Heard you’re back in town. We should meet up. Mira says something’s moving near the subway. A new demon signature. Might be nothing. But it feels off.
Rumi: You okay? Don’t forget to take your meds. And stay inside tonight, yeah? We’re patrolling.
You smiled faintly at their messages.
Even in the darkest parts of your world…you weren’t alone. But somewhere outside, just beyond your walls, something was watching. Something that had followed your scent ever since the day you stepped into Saja HQ.
A creature not yet revealed. But very, very aware of who you were. And what was pulsing in your blood.
“ She survived.” It whispered in an ancient tongue.
“ She’s blooming…again.”
…
The Saja Boys didn’t spend their break lounging by tropical beaches or soaking in mountain spas. No. Their break took them home—to the hidden fortress veiled in ancient spells, buried beneath layers of shadow and glamour. Deep within a part of the city no human dared to see, let alone find.
The air here buzzed with the weight of power, thick with the scent of old blood and forbidden pacts. As they passed the threshold, the glamours faded. Gone were the stylish jackets, the soft boyish looks. In their place stood five beings with glowing eyes, shadow-slick skin, and auras that pulsed like living fire. Other demons greeted them—some bowing, others watching with respectful silence.
They were not just idols. They were vessels of ancient chaos wearing the faces mortals worshipped. They made their way to the center chamber where Gwi-ma stood beneath the massive obsidian arch. His eyes glinted as he scanned them.
“ You’re late.” He muttered, though the corner of his mouth curled.
“ Traffic.” Mystery joked, but bowed respectfully. Gwi-ma’s fingers drummed on the hilt of his blackened blade.
“ Jinu…” He said, turning to the leader.
“ Your plan…it’s working. The humans are flocking to your voices. To your touch. Every soul that attaches to you deepens their spiritual bond—ripe for harvest.”
Jinu smirked. “ Of course it’s working. Humans are too easy. Dangle fame, beauty, and a few fake tears—they’ll sell you their soul before they even realize it.”
“ But will it be enough?” Romance cut in. “ To break the Honmoon?”
“ We’re halfway there.” Gwi-ma confirmed.
“ Once the barrier falls, the last sanctuary of the mortals will burn. Our dominion will be complete.” His voice was cold. Certain. Ancient. Then Jinu’s expression shifted. Less pride. More hesitation.
“ And what of the princess’ soul, Gwi-ma?” He asked.
“ When the Honmoon breaks…you’ll lose your human memories. You said it yourself. So what happens to that mission? The one you chased across lifetimes.” The chamber tensed. Even the lesser demons listened now.
Gwi-ma’s jaw clenched, his face unreadable. “ Forget the soul.” He said quietly.
“ That mission died centuries ago. We've searched every lifetime, every vessel. Nothing fits. She's lost to us now.” He turned away, as if sealing the chapter shut.
“ I’d rather lose my memories and reign than cling to a past that won’t return.”
But then—Abby stepped forward. He sniffed the air, eyes narrowing. “ That’s strange…”
Gwi-ma froze.
“ I smelled something recently. Something familiar. Something…old. It was when we met the new assistant.” He said, looking straight at Gwi-ma.
“ Her soul. It’s not entirely human. It matches every description the Seers gave us of the Princess.”
“ Abby.” Jinu warned. But the others were murmuring.
Romance nodded. “ I felt it too. That…tug. Like something from before the Fall.”
“ Me too.” Baby whispered. “ I thought I was imagining it.”
“ She doesn’t know.” Abby continued. “ She’s not awakened. But it’s her.”
Gwi-ma didn’t speak. His eyes dimmed—briefly betraying a flicker of pain. Of hope. The truth clawed at his tongue, but he forced it back down, locked behind walls he spent centuries building.
“ No.” He snapped. “ You’re mistaken. She's just a mortal. An assistant. Nothing more.”
“ But—” Abby started.
“ Enough!” Gwi-ma’s voice echoed across the chamber, silencing them.
“ You will not jeopardize our mission over a ghost from the past. The Honmoon must fall. Do not get distracted.” His voice held the weight of command. Of a king in waiting. And yet…his hands trembled the slightest bit as he turned away.
Because deep in the core of his ancient soul…he knew. The girl who laughed beside him during lunch breaks. The girl who cried softly in the doctor’s office. The girl whose soul glowed beneath layers of sadness and sickness—
She was his princess. The one he failed to protect. The one he swore he would find. The one who shouldn’t be dragged into this war again.
“ Not this time.” He whispered to himself.
“ This time…I’ll protect you. Even if I must lie to everyone to do it.”
…
You jolted awake. Your throat is dry. Your chest heaving. Sweat clung to your skin like second flesh, soaking through your shirt and pooling in your collarbones. Your fingers gripped the edge of the blanket as if they could anchor you back into reality. But the screams—
They still echoed in your ears. The blood. The gold. The voice that kept calling your name—hoarse, broken, and desperate—still lingered in your memory, even as your bedroom surrounded you in stillness.
“ Princess…No—don’t leave me—!” You clutched your chest.
Same dream. Again. That endless nightmare of a palace. Of you dying. Of someone mourning you like the world had ended. It never changed. Not the marble halls. Not the tears on that stranger’s face. Not the cold, searing pain in your chest as everything faded to black. Unable to breathe through the thick silence, you slid out of bed. You threw on your hoodie—one of your favorites, oversized and faded with time—and slipped out the door.
The city was quiet at this hour, streets bathed in ghostly moonlight. You kept your head down, hands stuffed in your pocket, until the bright buzz of a convenience store broke the silence. You grabbed cup noodles and a few rice balls, paid with trembling hands, then settled on one of the plastic stools inside the store. You ate slowly. Mechanically. Trying to ease the weight in your chest.
The food was warm. But your insides still felt cold. Then—your phone vibrated. You blinked. A message. From Gwi-ma.
Manager Gwi-ma: Are you still awake? How are you feeling?
Your heart skipped. It was late. Very late. Managers usually didn't check on assistants after work hours—especially not with soft-toned questions.
You: I'm okay…woke up from a nightmare again. I just grabbed some food. And yes, I took my meds.
Almost immediately, the typing bubble appeared.
Manager Gwi-ma: Nightmares again. Is it the same one?
You bit your lip. Hesitated.
You: Yes…the palace one. And…my parents."
No response for a moment. You assumed he fell asleep. But then—
Manager Gwi-ma: Full moons tend to stir things. Bad memories…old blood. It’s not your fault.
You stared.
What did he mean by old blood?
You shook your head.
You: Thanks. I guess I'm just surprised you care… You're always so serious. I thought maybe you just tolerated me.
This time, the pause was longer.
Manager Gwi-ma: I notice more than I show. And you are not someone to be 'tolerated'. Rest. You’ll need your strength."
Strength…? For what? You looked at your phone, cheeks warming. Maybe he was just kind. In his own, distant, quiet way. Still, something about his words made your heart tighten. Like he was holding something back. Like he knew more than you did about these dreams. About…you. You finished your food slowly, staring out the glass windows.
The moon hung heavy and full in the sky—watching. You didn't know what was waiting. But you felt it. In your bones. Something was changing. And somewhere across the city, in a chamber cloaked in shadows, Gwi-ma stood by a window—watching that same moon. His phone is still in his hand. His thoughts are drifting to you. And the truth he would one day be forced to tell.
“ You still dream of me…Even after all these lifetimes.”
…
The morning sun gleamed over the tall Saja HQ building as you stood outside, clutching your ID and bag tightly. Three days off wasn’t exactly a vacation when you were haunted by nightmares and loneliness—but here, ironically, amidst the chaos of five rowdy idols and one enigmatic manager, you somehow felt less alone. You tapped your pass. The elevator dinged open. You braced yourself. And as expected—
“ SHE’S BAAACK!”
Baby was the first to leap on you, almost knocking you over with an over-the-top hug. “ I missed teasing you! No one screams ‘stop it!!’ like you do!”
Romance draped an arm over your shoulder next. “ I even missed your glares. That must mean something, right?”
Mystery tsked behind them. “ They were hopeless without you. Jinu couldn’t even find his own shoes.”
“ Liar.” Jinu scoffed. “ She’s not that important. But…” He glanced at you sideways.
“ I guess it’s been boring without our favorite prey.” You chuckled despite yourself.
The teasing was loud. Overwhelming. But familiar. Comfortable, even. As if this chaos…was oddly where you belonged. In the midst of their antics, you caught a glimpse of Gwi-ma entering the rehearsal room. The noise dimmed a little. His presence always brought an odd kind of stillness. Like the air shifted when he was near.His gaze immediately landed on you. And for the first time…he smiled. Not big. Not wide. Just enough to soften his sharp features.
“ You’re back.” He said, voice calm but something warm tucked in between the words. You felt it—a sudden thump in your chest. Your hand clutched your shirt. Weird.
You frowned instinctively, and Gwi-ma tilted his head. “ Are you feeling alright?”
“ I’m fine.” You murmured quickly, avoiding his eyes. “ I guess I just…missed the work.”
He studied you a second longer before giving a short nod. “ That’s good. But don’t overdo it.”
From his folder, he pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to you.
“ This month and next.” He said.
“ Schedule breakdown. The boys are booked nearly every day. Concerts, press, photoshoots…a few overseas gigs too. It will be demanding.”
You flipped through the itinerary. It was intense. Barely any breaks. You glanced at the Saja Boys—still bickering over who missed you the most—and sighed dramatically.
“ And I assume that means I have to babysit five gremlins every single day?”
“ Six, if you include Gwi-ma.” Baby chimed, grinning.
“ Do you want extra vocal training today?” Gwi-ma replied dryly without even glancing back.
You hid your laugh behind your hand. Exhausting as it would be…this felt okay. Your chest still ached sometimes, and the shadows of your past still whispered at night—but here, amid demons in disguise and secrets unspoken…
You were starting to feel a little more alive. Even if you didn’t realize that your mere presence had changed everything for someone.
…
The dorm looked…livable. For once. Empty snack wrappers had been banished, piles of laundry finally folded (even if Abby kept sniffing the fabric softener), and the floor—thanks to Baby’s chaotic mopping—was technically clean, albeit slippery in spots.
Jinu vacuumed while dancing. Romance made you a cleaning playlist, of course. Mystery held the trash bags like a grim reaper while saying ominous things like, “This is the smell of your sins.” Abby? Supervised.
Barely helpful. But they tried. Now, at last, they were all out for a walk—probably causing some sort of public commotion—and you were alone in the dorm’s common room. You slumped onto the couch like a puppet with its strings cut, arms sprawled and head tilted back.
You let out a long, ragged sigh. “ Finally…”
The air was quiet. Your muscles were sore. But your lips curled into a tired smile. They’re exhausting. But they’re mine.
Suddenly, the front door creaked open. You groaned. “ If it’s Jinu coming back because he forgot his lip tint, I swear to—”
But it wasn’t Jinu.
It was Gwi-ma. You blinked, sitting up a little straighter.
Before you could even ask why he was here, he held up a hand. “ Don’t worry. I’m not here to dump more work on you.”
Your brows furrowed. “ Then…?”
He stepped inside, hands in his pockets, gaze scanning the now-clean dorm before settling on you. “ I saw the state of this place this morning. And I’ve seen the boys. I know how they are.” He exhaled, long and low.
“ You’ve earned a break.”
You tilted your head warily. “ This sounds like the beginning of more paperwork.”
“ It’s not.” He paused, and something about his voice softened.
“ I want to take you out. To eat. Or drink. Or anything. Just…something relaxing.” Your eyes widened.
“ You? Offering relaxation?” You blinked. “ Are you okay? Did the Boys hit you in the head?”
“ I’m serious.” He said, eyes fixed on yours. “ You’re handling five overgrown toddlers with too much fame and zero impulse control. That’s not just a job. That’s a survival skill.”
You laughed, rubbing your face. “ I appreciate it, Manager-nim, but I’m really tired—”
Gwi-ma cut you off gently, “ They serve jjajangmyeon at that place near the river. And fried mandu. Also, wasn’t that tteokbokki spot your favorite?”
You froze. Your ears literally rang. You sat upright, blinking in disbelief.
“ Wait—how do you even know?” Before he could answer, you were already grabbing your bag and bolting up.
Gwi-ma blinked slowly as he watched you dash toward the door with a speed you didn't have ten seconds ago. “ So…that’s a yes?”
You didn’t answer—just shot him a determined look as you slipped on your shoes. He shook his head, lips twitching despite himself. You didn’t see it, but as he followed you out, he let out a small sigh of relief. Not because he was tired. But because, for once, he found a reason to look forward to something that wasn't chaos. And apparently, that reason ran on tteokbokki and sheer adrenaline.
…
The city lights flickered softly above as you and Gwi-ma walked down a quieter side street near the river. The heat of the day had cooled into a gentle evening breeze, carrying the scent of sizzling oil and red pepper sauce from nearby stalls.
You sat across from him at a small plastic table, the familiar clatter of utensils and quiet chatter filling the space around you. The vendor had just placed your favorites down: a big bowl of jjajangmyeon, golden fried mandu, and a generous serving of spicy tteokbokki.
You nearly moaned at the sight. “ I think I just saw heaven.”
Gwi-ma gave you a side glance, resting his chin on his hand, clearly amused. “ You did. It cost me 24,000 won.”
You stuck your tongue out at him before diving into the jjajangmyeon like a person reborn. “ I haven’t had this in weeks. Abby said it’s too ‘carby’ to keep in the dorm.”
“ He also said breathing near him breaks his ‘aesthetic bubble.’” Gwi-ma deadpanned.
You snorted, almost choking on your noodles. “ Exactly.”
There was a comfortable silence between you as you ate. Occasionally, you’d glance up and catch him watching you—not with any intense expression, but with something calmer. Softer. Like he was…observing peace, not chaos.
“ You’re not eating much.” You said, nudging a piece of mandu toward him.
He raised a brow. “ You need it more than I do. You cleaned five rooms and wrestled with five oversized children today.”
You leaned back in your chair with a sigh. “ True. Honestly, I didn’t realize how much I missed the job until I came back.”
“ And them?”
You gave a half-smile. “ Even them. As annoying and clingy and emotionally unstable as they are.”
He nodded. “ They missed you too. You balance them. Without you, they…drift.” That made your chest warm a little. You looked down at the tteokbokki, suddenly feeling bashful.
“ Still…” Gwi-ma continued, his voice low but steady, “ You need to take care of yourself, too. You give them all your energy, all the time. No one takes care of you.”
You looked up slowly. “ Is that your way of offering?”
His eyes didn’t flinch away from yours. “ Maybe.”
The pause between you stretched—long enough for your heart to beat a little louder.
You reached for the last piece of mandu and broke it in half, sliding one across to him. “ Here. Consider it your reward for tolerating me.”
He accepted it with a faint smile. “ It’s not that hard.”
You raised a brow. “ I said ‘tolerating.’ Don’t push your luck.” You teased, but your voice was softer now. Almost shy.
He didn’t reply. Just watched you with that unreadable gaze of his—like he wanted to say something else, something more, but chose not to. Not yet.
After a while, you both stood, full and a little sleepy from the warmth of food and conversation. As you walked back together, side by side beneath the glow of the street lamps, your hands brushed once. Then again. And again. Until, slowly, without a word, his fingers gently wrapped around yours. He didn’t look at you. But the corners of his lips curved. And neither of you let go.
…
You didn’t know what prompted you to bring it up—maybe it was the warmth from the tteokbokki still lingering in your chest, or maybe it was how Gwi-ma actually listened when you talked, not just nodded politely like most people. But somehow, as you walked back from dinner with your hands still shyly linked, the words slipped out.
“ I used to dream of ice skating when I was a kid.”
Gwi-ma glanced at you. “ Really?”
You nodded. “ Yeah. I always imagined gliding on a frozen lake or something super dramatic. But those indoor skating rinks were way too expensive. So, every winter, I’d wait for a little patch of frozen street in front of our building just to pretend. Slip, fall, bruise. Repeat.”
He was quiet for a moment. You looked at him, then laughed awkwardly. “ Anyway. Sorry, that was random. Just a memory.”
But he simply said, “ I’ll take you.”
You blinked. “ Huh?”
“ Ice skating. I’ll take you.”
You stopped walking. “ Wait, you’re serious?”
He nodded. You gawked. “ You—the Gwi-ma, cold manager of chaos, who acts allergic to joy—wants to take me skating?”
“ I’m not allergic to joy.” He muttered. You laughed so hard, he looked away with the faintest tint of color on his ears.
…
True to his word, Gwi-ma brought you to the nearest skating rink the next evening. And the moment you stepped inside, your inner child exploded. You jumped excitedly, squealing as you looked out at the glistening ice under the rink lights.
“ It’s real! It’s actually real!” You said, tugging at his arm.
He raised a brow, lips twitching. “ You act like you’ve never seen ice before.”
“ Not like this!” You beamed.
“ Come on! Come with me!” At first, he resisted with the strength of a man emotionally tethered to a clipboard.
“ I’ll watch.” He said. “ Supervise.”
“ You supervise everything.” You pouted, clutching his sleeve. “ Just once, be chaotic.”
He sighed. “ Fine.”
You cheered like a toddler given candy and yanked him toward the skate rental. And then, you were out there. On the ice. Well—you were gliding. Gwi-ma was…surviving. He shuffled awkwardly behind you, arms slightly raised like he was anticipating an imminent fall. His expression was tight, focused, and entirely too serious for someone in ice skates.
“ You look like a baby deer.” You giggled, skating backwards to face him.
“ I feel like one.” He muttered. But eventually, he let you tug him along. Slowly. Carefully. Then—you both laughed.
It was strange, hearing his laugh—real, genuine, and not filtered through sarcasm. You glanced at him and caught something rare: not the overworked manager, not the cold professional, but the man underneath it all.
The one who’d bring you to a rink just because you once mentioned a childhood dream. You kept skating together, round and round the rink. Time blurred. Cold air nipped your cheeks, and your hands were numb, but your heart felt warm. Until the wind hit you just right and you shivered, teeth chattering slightly. Suddenly, something soft and warm draped over your shoulders. You froze. You turned. Gwi-ma stood behind you, expression unreadable as always—except his coat was now off, and you were wearing it.
“ I told you to bring a thicker jacket.” He said simply.
You stared at him. “.. Did you just K-drama me?”
“ What?”
“ You K-drama’d me. Coat-over-the-shoulders, serious expression, probably some OST playing in the background. You’re doing it.”
His lips twitched. “ That wasn’t my intention.”
You felt heat crawl up your neck, despite the cold. You tried to brush it off with a nervous laugh. “ Very professional, Manager-nim.”
He leaned in slightly, voice low, barely audible above the sound of skates on ice.
“ Off-duty.” You blinked. Then smiled.
Somewhere between the cold and the falling snowflakes, you realized: you weren’t just skating on ice anymore. You were skating dangerously close to something warmer. And maybe—just maybe—you were ready to fall.
…
Back at the Saja HQ, the artificial brightness of the hallways and the distant sound of someone screaming (probably Baby losing at a video game) were harsh reminders that your little winter escape had ended. You trudged in beside Gwi-ma, cheeks still slightly pink from the cold or maybe from other things you weren’t emotionally prepared to unpack yet. He walked you to the staff lounge area, where you both paused, that invisible line between "off-duty" and "professional mode" starting to pull taut again.
Wordlessly, you slipped off the coat he’d given you—still warm, still smelling faintly like him—and held it out with both hands. “ Here. Thanks for letting me borrow it. I—”
“ Keep it.”
You blinked. “ Huh?”
He didn’t even look up from removing his gloves. “ It suits you.”
You looked down at the massive coat swallowing your frame. “ It’s huge. I look like I’m smuggling three other people inside.”
“ That’s the point.” He replied dryly. “ You looked like you were freezing to death. It's warmer than whatever thin apology of a jacket you own.”
You pouted. “ But it’s yours. I can’t just keep—”
“ You can.” His voice left no room for protest, but there was no edge to it. Just a quiet insistence.
“ Call it manager benefits.”
You finally nodded, bowing slightly. “ Thank you. Really.”
He turned to leave, already halfway out the door, when he suddenly paused.
“ I had fun.” He said. You looked up. He still didn’t turn around, but his voice was quieter now. Honest. Almost…unsure.
“ I haven’t done anything like that in a long time.” He continued.
“ I forgot what it was like. Being out. Laughing. Not watching the clock. You…reminded me that I’m still…” He hesitated. And then, as if the word tasted strange on his tongue:
“…Human.”
You froze. There was something raw about the way he said it—like “human” was an identity he no longer felt worthy of. As if he’d become just a machine made of stress, schedules, and strategy. But you didn’t notice the weight behind it right away. You were still too caught up in everything else—the rare vulnerability in his voice, the fact that he’d opened up at all, and maybe the way your heart ached just a little too sweetly when he did. Gwi-ma glanced back at you—just briefly.
And then he smiled. Small. Subtle. Real. He left before you could say anything more. You stood there in the middle of the hallway, wrapped in his oversized coat, his words echoing in your mind like snow falling inside your chest. Your heart gave a quiet, clenching thud. The kind that felt like it came with consequences.
“ Oh no…” You muttered to yourself, face slowly heating up.
“ This is a bad idea…” But then you laughed. Soft, stupidly giddy laughter bubbled out of you—the kind that only comes from knowing you're probably doomed, but kind of okay with it.
…
The photoshoot set was as chaotic as ever—stylists shouting, cameras clicking, flashes bursting. You, meanwhile, were in your usual role: the quiet but steady shadow, sorting out the Saja Boys’ next wardrobe change, making sure every earring, ring, and shoelace was in place. You were crouched near a rack of jackets when—
You heard it. Not the giggles or banter. Not the camera shutters. But whispers—dark, low, furious—leaking through the hallway, past the dressing rooms, coming from the adjacent room no one was supposed to use.
“ He was killed—by the hunters!”
“ If you don’t move faster, I’ll eat your soul next.”
“ We break the Honmoon before they alert the others. No mistakes.”
Your fingers froze around a shirt hanger.
Honmoon? Hunters? No one should know those words. No one…except your friends—Rumi, Mira, Zoey. You silently moved closer, following the voice like your legs were possessed. Then—
“ RRRRAAAAAGH!” A guttural roar rattled the wall. Your body froze.
The scream. That voice. You remembered it. It was the same inhuman howl that filled your home the night your parents died. You inched toward the door, holding your breath, trying to peek—
THWACK!
“ Ow!” Your forehead smashed right into someone else's. You stumbled back, clutching your skull, only to have a pair of strong arms catch you by the waist.
“ You spying, little assistant?” Jinu raised a brow, amused, his face uncomfortably close. “ That’s not in your job description.”
“ I-I wasn’t spying.” You stammered. “ I just heard something weird…I got curious.”
He smirked. “ Weird voices? Oh. That. Probably one of the guys playing around again with the voice changer. Mystery has a thing for horror SFX.” He waved it off nonchalantly.
“ Sorry if it scared you.” You narrowed your eyes. That roar wasn’t from a sound effect. And the things you heard—
No. That wasn’t just some prank.
“ What are you doing out here, then?” You challenged.
Jinu sighed dramatically. “ It’s hot inside. My pores were melting. Needed to cool off—and now look, I caught our sweet little PA eavesdropping.”
You scoffed, trying to hide your nervousness, and turned to walk back—but something caught your eye.
A purple-black streak, like jagged claw marks, scratched along Jinu’s forearm.
You grabbed his arm before he could turn. “ Wait…what’s that?”
He instantly yanked it back, covering it with his sleeve. “ Body paint.” He said too quickly. “ Abby’s trying out designs for our next MV look. He got…overenthusiastic. You know artists.”
Something in his voice wasn’t right. Too polished. Too easy. Then the door creaked behind him. Gwi-ma stepped out. His eyes were—glowing yellow. Just for a second. Just a flicker. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Maybe not. But the moment he saw you—his entire expression changed. The sternness cracked. His brows furrowed in concern.
“ You’re not supposed to be here.” He said lowly, walking over.
“ I—I was just bringing the outfits.” You said, holding up the garment bag like a shield. Gwi-ma’s gaze flicked from you to Jinu, and something unspoken passed between them. A cold, heavy silence.
“ Get back to work.” He said quietly.
“ Both of you.” You nodded and walked fast—too fast—back to the styling area. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. But your chest was tight. Your pulse racing. Something was wrong. Very wrong. And your gut screamed at you:
The Saja Boys are not what they seem. They are hiding something. Something dark. And you…might be more involved than you ever intended.
…
Your hands were still trembling as you stepped into a quieter corner of the hallway—away from the chaos of stylists and staff—your phone gripped tightly. Without hesitation, you scrolled through your contacts and tapped Rumi’s name.
Ring…ring…
“ Hello?” Her voice came through, casual at first.
“ Rumi…” You whispered, keeping your voice low, eyes flicking around nervously.
“ Does anyone aside from the hunters or demons know about the Honmoon? Or about the Hunters themselves?”
There was a beat of silence.
“…No. Only us. And the demons, of course. Why?” Her tone sharpened instantly.
“ What’s going on?” You scanned the hallway again before huddling closer to the wall.
“ I overheard something.” You whispered.
“ Just earlier. Someone was talking about the Honmoon…and the Hunters. They said someone got killed by the hunters. Then someone else threatened to eat the others if they didn’t move quickly to break the Honmoon.”
Another pause. This one longer.
“ We killed demons last night.” Rumi finally said, her voice slow and confused.
“ Five of them. That’s the only attack that happened.” She paused again. But this time, when she spoke—
“ Wait—” Her voice cracked into something more urgent. Sharper. Filled with panic.
“ You need to get out of there.”
You froze. “ What?”
“ If you overheard that, it means you’re close to them. Too close. That place isn't safe anymore. You might be surrounded by demons and not even realize it.”
You tried to swallow the fear rising in your throat.
“ But I’m just working here.” You said, almost defensively. “ I’m just a P.A. I didn’t do anything suspicious. They don’t know anything about me.”
Rumi’s voice dropped an octave. “ Who are you working for?”
“ The…Saja Boys.” You answered quietly.
There was a deafening silence on the other end. Then—suddenly—
“ WHAT—?! GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT—” Static. Your phone cracked with distortion. Her voice became chopped, broken—like she was underwater.
“ They’re—demons—Run—!”
“ Don’t—let—find—your—”
“ It’s—your—soul—!”
You frantically checked the signal. One bar. Then none. Crap. Just then, the door behind you creaked open. You spun around. Gwi-ma entered—tall, composed, unreadable as always. But the moment you locked eyes, your heart jumped. The memory of his glowing eyes still burned behind your eyelids.
“ I need the contracts.” He said plainly, looking down at you. “ The ones from last week’s CF deal. Bring them to me within the next hour.”
You quickly nodded, forcing a neutral smile. “ I’ll get them now.”
He studied you for a second longer—eyes unreadable, as if he knew something…or was trying not to show it. “ Also, I’ll need you later tonight for reminders before our midnight taping.” He added.
“ Don’t be late.” With that, he turned and walked out, his presence as suffocating as ever. Your hands clenched around your phone.
The signal returned—but the screen only flashed CALL FAILED. You stared at your reflection in the mirror opposite the hallway. Rumi was right. Something was very wrong. You were in the lion’s den. And worst of all…
You might already be too late to leave.
…
You hesitated before turning the brass knob of Gwi-ma’s office. The hallway had already gone strangely quiet. The usual chatter and shuffling outside the manager’s office were nowhere to be heard. And when you pushed open the door, an immediate chill wrapped around your spine.
Click. The office lights flickered once…twice…before finally dimming to a low, cold hue. You squinted into the shadows. The blinds were drawn, letting no light from outside, and the once-modern room was blanketed in something far darker than you remembered. You have been here so many times, organizing contracts, checking schedules—but never like this. It felt…wrong. Tainted.
“ Gwi-ma?” You called gently, stepping in.
No response.
“ Manager-nim…?” You took another step forward. Your breath hitched when you heard something—a faint rustle behind the desk. And then—
Fsssshhhhhh—
Two glowing golden eyes pierced through the dark. You froze. You knew those eyes. You’ve seen them before—burned into your nightmares, buried in your childhood memories. The ones that stole your parents. That turned your innocence into ashes. The same demonic gaze that stared at your hiding spot in the cabinet that night—but didn’t find you. Your lips quivered. Your knees buckled slightly as your hand reached behind you, fumbling for the doorknob.
Locked. Your breath caught.
“ I-I…don’t come closer.” You warned in a trembling voice.
“ Please…” The golden eyes narrowed, unmoving. The air grew heavier.
And then—
Flick! The lights buzzed back to life. You blinked rapidly against the sudden brightness—only to find nothing across the desk. No silhouette. No glow. Just as you tried to make sense of it, the door opened behind you. Gwi-ma walked in, holding a folder in one hand and flipping through some pages.
“ Ah, you’re already here.” He said without looking up.
“ Good, I need you to che—” He stopped the moment he saw you, standing by the door, visibly shaking, your hand still trembling on the knob.
His eyes widened—just slightly—but his expression quickly shifted from neutral to genuinely worried. For someone so composed and cold, his quick approach felt… almost panicked.
“ Hey. What happened to you?” You looked up at him, and for a moment, it was hard to speak.
“ I…I saw something.” You whispered, voice cracking.
“ There were golden eyes. Glowing. Right over there.” You pointed at his desk.
“ I thought—I thought it was a demon. Like the one who…who—” You didn’t finish. You didn’t have to.
Gwi-ma’s brows furrowed deeply. His expression was unreadable for a moment—like something flashed in his eyes—but he quickly composed himself.
He glanced around the room. “ The lights were fine earlier…” He said slowly.
“ And no one else has been here since I left.” You opened your mouth, but he gently placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you to the nearby chair.
“ You might be hallucinating.” He said carefully.
“ Or…just overtired. You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?” You didn’t respond. You just stared at your hands, still shaking slightly.
“ You're still sick.” He added, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to you.
“ You shouldn’t be pushing yourself like this.” He crouched slightly to your eye level, voice softer than you'd ever heard it.
“ You’ve been taking your medicine, haven’t you?”
You nodded faintly. “ I have. I just…I wasn’t imagining it. I swear—”
“ I’m not saying you’re lying.” He cut in gently.
“ I’m saying maybe…your body’s overwhelmed. And that makes your mind vulnerable.” He stood up again, straightening his suit.
“ Don’t let your thoughts chase ghosts.” He added, tone is colder now.
“ They’ll only drag you further into the dark.”
You didn’t miss the flicker in his gaze. Like he knew something. Like he wasn’t entirely dismissing what you saw—but also wasn’t ready to explain it. As he turned away, walking back to his desk, your heart pounded louder in your chest. You weren’t sure what was real anymore. But one thing was certain—
Those weren’t just hallucinations. And Gwi-ma…He knew more than he was letting on. You stood at the corner of Gwi-ma’s office, still processing what just happened earlier. The lights had returned to normal, and the eerie golden glow was long gone—but the chills down your spine remained. That’s when Gwi-ma’s calm, composed voice pulled you out of your daze.
“ I forgot to mention—Saja Boys’ final concert will be held at Namsan Tower next week.”
You blinked, startled. “…Next week?”
You turned to face him completely, disbelief settling in. “ That’s…a full month earlier than planned.”
Gwi-ma didn’t look up from the paperwork he was scanning. “ Yes. I changed the schedule.”
“ You what?” You nearly choked. “ Without consulting the label or the boys?”
“ I already told the boys.” He responded smoothly, still not meeting your eyes.
“ There was no violent reaction from them. In fact, they welcomed the idea. They’re preparing something special for the fans. Something personal.” You paused. Something felt off.
The boys loved teasing you, and if there was a surprise involved, they would've at least dropped hints or bragged about it like children. But this? Not even a whisper from them?
You crossed your arms. “ That’s a big move, manager-nim. Moving the finale a month earlier without any official lead-up…the PR alone would be a nightmare. And why now? What’s the rush?”
Gwi-ma finally looked up, and for a split second—just a split second—you saw something shift in his gaze. The weight of something deeper. Urgency masked under control.
“ Because it’s necessary.” He said.
“…Necessary?” You echoed, frowning.
He walked around his desk and handed you a new folder—thicker than usual. Inside, you saw a complete overhaul of schedules: rehearsal locations, security clearances, staff lists, production designs. Everything was moving fast. Too fast.
“ This is why I called you.” He said. “ You’ll be very busy in the next few days. We need all preparations to run flawlessly. No room for mistakes.”
You felt your throat dry as you scanned through the documents. “ This is a lot.”
He nodded. “ You’ve handled worse. And I trust you’ll manage this too.”
You lowered the folder. “…Are you hiding something?”
There was a pause. Gwi-ma tilted his head ever so slightly. “ Would it make a difference if I was?”
You opened your mouth—but no words came out. His response left your thoughts tangled. It wasn’t a denial…but it wasn’t quite a confession either.
“ The final concert…” He added, stepping closer, voice quiet,
“ Is more than a performance. It’s the beginning…of something greater.” You stared at him, stunned. But before you could ask more, his demeanor shifted again—stone-faced, professional.
“ Get some rest. You’ll need it.” He turned back to his desk, the conversation dismissed as if nothing strange had been said. You walked out of the room slowly, the weight of the folder in your hands mirrored by the weight in your chest.
Something huge was coming. And you were walking straight into it.
…
Your feet felt heavier than usual as you stepped out of Gwi-ma’s office, the weight of the new concert schedule in your arms—yet that wasn’t the real burden gnawing at you. It was something deeper, something crawling in your bones, dragging your energy out of you like shadows stealing sunlight. Your vision blurred, your breath short. A wave of fatigue swept through your entire body like your very cells were giving up one by one.
You didn’t wait. You hailed a cab, hands trembling slightly as you dialed your doctor’s number. There had been warning signs—too many—but you kept brushing them off. Now, you can't ignore them anymore. The white walls of the clinic felt colder than usual. Sterile. Too clean. Too final. Your doctor sat across from you, her face solemn. She folded her hands together, like he was silently praying he didn’t have to say what came next. But he did.
“ Please stay calm as I explain.” She said gently, slipping the lab results across the desk.
“ We’ve done the latest full panel tests. And…the results are concerning.” You stared at the paper, eyes scanning numbers and unfamiliar codes. But you couldn’t make sense of anything.
“ The cancer cells are…mutating.” She said quietly.
“ They’ve stopped responding to your current medications. It’s as if they’ve developed a resistance—fast and unexpectedly.” You froze.
“ We tried every protocol we could. But it’s moving faster than expected. Your body’s immune response is dropping rapidly.” Your fingers gripped the edges of the document, wrinkling it slightly as you tried to stay composed. But the next words shattered you.
“ I’m so, so sorry…but based on your current condition, you may only have a week left. Maybe less.” You blinked slowly. It felt like time stopped.
One week. Just seven days. Your breath hitched, and before you realized it, your tears were falling. Silently. You couldn’t even bring yourself to cry out loud. The ache in your chest was too tight.
The doctor reached across the desk, gently placing a hand over yours. “ I wish there was more we could do. I’m truly sorry.”
You gave her a nod. A pitiful, shaking nod. You didn’t scream. You didn’t panic. You simply held the paper and sobbed into your trembling hands. Not for the illness. Not even for yourself. But for everything you still hadn’t said.
For the people you’d leave behind. For the feelings you never admitted. And most of all—for him.
For Gwi-ma.
…
The lights in Gwi-ma’s office dimmed slowly, casting long shadows across the shelves filled with files, photos, and carefully curated lies. He wasn’t reading anything. He just sat there—staring into nothing. His jaw tightened, fingers curling slightly as memories of earlier flickered in his mind like embers refusing to die out. The fear in your eyes. The way your body trembled. How you backed away like a lamb facing the wolf.
" I made a mistake…" He murmured to himself, voice barely above a whisper, laced with guilt.
He had revealed too much. Even for a split second, those golden demon eyes—his real eyes—slipped through the human veil. It was a moment of instinct, of carelessness… or maybe weakness. And it rattled you.
He should’ve known. He should’ve known about your past. But he didn’t. He’d never taken the time to truly understand the weight you were carrying behind your soft eyes and tired smile.
He only knew fragments: your sickness, your work ethic, your resilience—but not the demons that haunted you. Not the trauma that gnawed at you every night like fangs on flesh. And now, it was worse. His kind—the ones who called themselves "Saja Boys" and "Idols"—were unknowingly draining you. Slowly. Gently. Unintentionally.
But still draining you. Because demons don’t coexist with fragile souls without consequence.
“ This isn’t how it was supposed to be.” He whispered, clutching his temple, golden light flickering behind his irises.
His original plan was cruel but necessary: the last concert at Namsan Tower would be the moment to break the Honmoon—the sacred seal crafted by the Huntrix to suppress the true powers of demons hidden in mortal form. By unleashing the crowd’s energy, he’d reach the peak of his power and sever his fading humanity.
He even lied to the boys. Told them it was a simple schedule advancement, a last-minute promotion stunt. They didn’t question him—much. They followed orders. They always did. But he couldn't do it now.
Because of you. You, who were never meant to matter. You, whose scent called to something deeper than desire. You, who were dying. And he could feel it in your energy—sputtering like a candle about to be snuffed. The illness eating you was real, but their demonic presence hastened it.
“ She doesn’t even know what she is…” He said with a bitter exhale.
He clenched his fists. You weren’t just a girl. You weren’t just some mortal assistant tossed into their world. You were the reason the Honmoon existed. The final piece. The soul is tied to balance—life and death, human and demon.
His mission was to find you. Now he had. And now he was losing you.
“ If I go through with the ritual…I’ll live. But she’ll die.”
“ If I don’t…I’ll die. But she’ll live.”
He already lived centuries. Alone. Wandering. Searching for the soul he lost. And now, she sat only rooms away—fragile and fading.
His voice cracked softly, “ I don’t care about power anymore…I just want her to live.”
There was only one way. He would use the final concert. But not to break the Honmoon. He would reverse the ritual. Give her the life force of a demon—his life force.
It would be forbidden. Irreversible. Fatal to him. But she would live. And maybe, just maybe…she would remember who she was. Who they were.
Even if he wouldn’t be there to see it.
…
The smell of warm pancakes and kimchi fried rice filled the Saja Boys’ dorm as you carefully carried in their breakfast trays, balancing each with practiced ease. The boys were already awake—half-dressed, hair tousled from sleep, and louder than ever. Abby was dragging Romance across the couch like a sack of rice, Mystery was dancing with a toothbrush in his mouth, and Baby and Jinu were busy arm-wrestling on the kitchen counter.
“ Good morning, our sunshine slave~!” Abby teased as he took his tray.
“ We missed your nagging, don’t leave us again!” Baby added dramatically, placing a hand over his chest.
“ She didn’t leave, idiot. She just took a day off.” Mystery muttered, rolling his eyes.
You chuckled, setting the trays down one by one. Despite the weight of yesterday’s revelation—your diagnosis, the glowing eyes, the haunting call with Rumi, you tucked it all away behind a smile. You didn’t want them to worry. Not now. Not when they were so full of life…and you were slowly running out of it.
The boys sat around the low table, passing dishes and bickering about portion sizes. Jinu stole Mystery’s egg, Romance pretended to feed Baby but shoved the food into his own mouth instead. And then the complaining started.
“ Why’d we move the concert again?” Abby groaned.
“ We’ve got a full month of events lined up. We barely sleep as it is!”
“ I didn’t even memorize my choreography yet.” Baby whined with a mouthful of rice.
“ You never memorize it.” Mystery grumbled.
“ It’s just weird.” Romance added, eyes thoughtful.
“ We’ve always planned our comebacks and endings carefully. This felt…rushed.” You laughed with them. Their energy was contagious, their bond grounding. Until your curiosity slipped out like a stone in still water.
“ Can I ask something?” You said, setting your chopsticks down.
“ Uh oh…” Jinu smirked. “ She’s going serious on us.”
“ No, I mean…just a random thought.” You tilted your head.
“ Do you think…once a demon, always a demon? Can they change? Like…if they lived with humans, could they become…better?”
The room fell into a strange, heavy silence. No clatter of utensils. No jokes. Just stillness. You looked up, confused by the sudden shift. All five boys were staring at you, expressions unreadable. Something flickered in their eyes—uncertainty, discomfort…maybe even guilt?
Abby was the first to break it. “ That’s a weird question.” He said, trying to sound casual, but his voice was forced.
“ Yeah…” Mystery muttered. “ Why’d you ask that all of a sudden?”
“ Just curious.” You answered quickly.
“ I mean…you guys joke around about monsters and supernatural stuff all the time, so…” They glanced at one another.
Jinu leaned back, arms folded. “ People change.” He said finally, his voice low but sincere.
“ Even demons. Especially the ones who’ve lived with humans long enough.” You blinked, surprised at the honesty in his tone.
“ Doesn’t mean they stop being what they are.” Romance added softly.
“ But…sometimes, they forget how to be anything else.”
Baby, unusually quiet, reached for more kimchi. “ I think…sometimes, they don’t want to be demons anymore.” He whispered. Mystery just looked away. You nodded slowly, absorbing their responses—half-truths, carefully chosen words.
They were hiding something. But maybe they were also answering you…in the only way they could.
…
The front door clicked shut as you stepped outside with a clipboard in hand, focused on organizing the boys’ wardrobe list, accessories, and props for the final concert. You didn’t notice how all five Saja Boys remained eerily quiet until you were out of sight—until your presence could no longer mask the growing tension in the air.
In the now-silent dorm, Jinu finally exhaled. “ Her energy’s fading faster than we thought.” He muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. “ It’s already taking a toll.”
Mystery leaned against the wall, arms crossed tightly. “ I can feel it. Every time she walks past us, it’s like she’s withering. And none of us are doing anything to stop it.”
“ We are…” Baby said, almost in a whisper. “ We’re just…too late.”
Romance paced near the window, jaw clenched. “ We should tell Gwi-ma. He needs to know how bad it’s gotten.”
But Abby snapped—voice sharp and scathing. “ Tell Gwi-ma? Are you kidding me? He doesn't care. All he thinks about is breaking the Honmoon and reclaiming his full power. He’s using this final concert to steal energy from the mortals. He doesn’t care what happens to her.”
Jinu stood, his usual calm now threaded with tension. “ You don’t know that.”
“ I do, Jinu.” Abby pointed toward the direction of Gwi-ma’s office.
“ You’ve seen it too. He hides things. Keep secrets from all of us—even from you.” There was a heavy pause.
“ But…” Jinu continued, softer now.
“ He changed. The moment she came here, he changed. He started hesitating. Pulling back. There’s something he’s not saying…and I think I know why.” All of them looked toward him now.
“ I think…she’s the one.” Jinu said carefully.
“ The one he’s been searching for all this time.”
Baby’s eyes widened. “ You mean…the princess? From the ancient bond?”
“ The one he lost in the war between the demon clans and hunters centuries ago.” Romance echoed in disbelief.
Abby let out a short, humorless laugh. “ So what? He finally finds her after all these years, and instead of protecting her, he’s sucking the life out of her with us.”
“ Maybe that’s why he’s been lying.” Mystery muttered.
“ Maybe he’s terrified. That the moment she finds out who she really is…she’ll run from him. Or worse, she won’t remember at all.” The room grew cold, their unspoken guilt weighing like lead on their shoulders.
Romance finally sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. “ We have to do something. If she dies…it’s not just on Gwi-ma. It’s on all of us.” There was silence. Then Abby frowned, his voice low.
“ And what about the Huntrix?” He asked. They all knew who he meant.
“ Rumi. Mira. Zoey.” He added.
“ If the final concert is used to break the Honmoon…we’ll be forced to fight them again.”
Baby’s brows furrowed. “ I don’t want to hurt them.”
Mystery nodded. “ They’re not just hunters anymore. They’re…our friends.”
“ More than friends.” Romance said under his breath, eyes distant with emotion.
Abby leaned back, frustrated. “ This is a mess. We're demons who started to care. About mortals. About hunters. About her.”
Jinu exhaled, fingers curling into fists. “ Then let’s stop pretending. Let’s choose.”
“ Her?” Mystery asked.
Jinu nodded. “ All of them. If we can’t save everyone, then we protect her. We protect them. Even if it means going against Gwi-ma…even if it means going against our own kind.”
…
The roaring excitement of the fans echoed like thunder through the open grounds of Namsan Tower. Colored lights danced across the sky, bathing the night in flashing brilliance. You stood behind the staging area, clipboard clutched tight, mind running faster than your pulse. But your body—
Your body was slipping. Your legs felt heavier. Your breath is thinner. And behind the determined look you wore was the terrifying realization:
This is it. Day seven. The day your doctor warned you about. You thought you’d be confined to a hospital bed by now, wasting away withering in silence. But instead—you were here. Still walking, still moving, still standing…barely.
Why? The question lingered as you wiped the sudden sweat from your brow.
The music started. The final concert had begun. The crowd roared as Saja Boys took the stage in their elegant black hanboks, embroidered with silver threads resembling dragon sigils—regal, dark, and unfamiliar. They were glowing beneath the stage lights, their choreography sharp, inhumanly perfect. At first, it was mesmerizing. Until—
Your eyes narrowed. Jinu turned to face the crowd, his head tilted slightly…and there, under his eyes, stretching along his cheek—a long, deep violet mark. Like paint, but pulsing. His golden eyes glowed like molten fire. You froze. You spun to look at Romance—then Mystery—then Abby and Baby.
They all had them. The marks. The eyes. The demonic energy radiating like a heartbeat. You backed away, your stomach churning. Your knees are threatening to buckle. Demons…All this time…they were demons. Your breathing hitched as the memories came crashing back—
The glowing golden eyes in Gwi-ma’s office. The strange fatigue in their presence. The warning from Rumi. The fear in her voice.
“ You might be surrounded by demons.”
It was true. And then, something above—your gaze lifted instinctively toward the sky. Figures. Swift. Silent. Familiar.
Rumi. Zoey. Mira. Clad in dark armor, hoods fluttering in the wind. Their hunter suits gleamed under the moonlight. They stood atop the rooftops around the venue like shadows prepared to strike. Your chest swelled with relief. A flicker of hope.
They're here. They’re going to stop this. Your best friends. Huntrix. Guardians of the human world. You smiled—just a little, just for a second. Until your body began to fail. The edges of your vision blurred. You staggered backward, catching the nearby wall for support. The clipboard clattered to the floor as your knees bent inward.
A sudden trickle of warmth from your nose. You reached up slowly, fingers coming away red. “ No…not now…”
You clutched your chest. Your lungs felt too tight. Like your ribs were crushing from the inside. The concert thundered on. The sky trembled with crackling energy. Something massive, ancient, and dark was stirring. And you, hidden in the shadows, slipped slowly downward along the wall, your eyes locked between the boys on the stage and the hunters on the rooftops, unable to move, caught between two worlds—
One of truth, and one of destiny.
…
Chaos erupted in a second. The music that once echoed across the mountain now gave way to metal meeting flesh, flames burning skyward, and the thunder of combat cries from both sides. The Huntrix had descended. Rumi, Mira, and Zoey struck first—silent, swift, and precise. From rooftops to stage, they dove with their glowing weapons drawn, slicing through the air as a wall of sacred power followed behind them.
Audience members screamed and scrambled as the once-glorious concert morphed into a battlefield. Purple flames burst across the stage, swallowing up the instruments and props. The once-proud lights shattered, replaced by hellish fire. And from the center of it all…
He emerged. Gwi-ma, no longer the polished, composed manager in a black suit—but something older. Taller. Broader. Ancient. Draped in darkened armor made of obsidian bone.
A flowing cape of smoke followed behind him, and his golden eyes burned with a fury that could melt stone. His horns curled back from his head like a crown forged in wrath.
A being no longer human. He was the Demon King reborn. You, clutching the metal barricade to stand, coughed hard—your vision spinning, but you didn’t stop. Your legs trembled, knees nearly giving in, but you forced yourself forward, step by step. Not away, but toward the chaos.
“ I have to help them…”
People fled past you, screaming. The flames licked closer. The air was heavy with sulfur and screams. But you—driven by something more than survival—focused only on getting civilians out of the zone. Helping the wounded. Shielding a child from falling debris. Pushing open exits. Herding the crowd. Your arms were shaking. Your skin was cold. But you didn’t stop. Not until—
Everyone was safe. Now, breathless, you stumbled back toward the stage…and you stepped into the inferno. Rumi’s voice screamed across the heat:
“ Y/N—NO! Get away! That’s not a place for—!”
But you kept walking. Purple fire roared around you, but it never touched you. The flames bent around you, avoiding your skin like water flowing around stone. Like it recognized you. Welcomed you. And there—standing before the heart of the blaze—Gwi-ma. No…not Gwi-ma. Not anymore. A being wrapped in pain, memory, and centuries of longing.
You looked up at him. Tired. Weak. “ So, this is your truth…Demon King.” His hollow eyes dimmed for a second at your voice. Something soft, ancient and grieving flickered there.
“ You should’ve run.” He said, voice both monstrous and sad.
You gave a bitter laugh. “ Run where? I only have today anyway.”
You opened your arms wide, flame shadows dancing behind you. “ Collect my soul. Take it. I’m already dead.”
Then—
A blur of movement. You were grabbed—roughly pulled back. A strong arm yanked you to their chest and sharp black nails pressed to your neck.
“ Stop, or she dies!” Mystery roared. His voice is no longer playful. No longer teasing. It was sharp and cruel, twisted with demonic rage. His eyes glowed like sunfire, and his breath was cold as death. Your best friends froze in place, weapons still raised.
Rumi’s blade wavered slightly. “ Let. Her. Go.” You tried to speak, but Mystery held you tighter.
“ She’s already dying anyway.” He taunted. “ Why not end it with my hands?”
“ I’m fine!” You shouted to them. “ Don’t attack!”
But you knew they wouldn’t listen. Not anymore. With a cry, Rumi vanished from view. A whisper of light. And in the blink of an eye…
SHHK! Her blade slid clean through Mystery’s chest. His eyes widened. His grip loosened. You were shoved to the ground as he stumbled back, dark blood spurting from his chest.
“ You…betrayed us…” His voice cracked before his body dissolved—into ash and black mist—gone. You stared in horror. You didn’t want this. But it happened.
Everything broke. The Saja Boys howled in rage—something monstrous echoing from their throats. The air split with heat as they lunged at the Huntrix, now consumed by war. One by one, they vanished into different parts of the battleground, splitting off into personal duels.
Jinu vs Rumi. Romance vs Mira. Abby vs Zoey. Baby—disappearing into the shadows, no one knowing where he went.
And you—
You collapsed. Your body gave in entirely. Breath shallow. Vision dimming. The stage shook as distant explosions ripped through the tower. Fires blazed. Screams returned. But all you could do now was lie there, eyes half-lidded, heart slowing.
“ I did what I could…”
“ Let this…be enough…”
Your vision was nearly gone. Everything blurred. Lights smeared into each other like streaks of paint on glass. You couldn’t tell if the warmth you felt was from fire…or blood…or death itself brushing your skin. But then—
A voice. Low. Shaky. Desperate. “ Stay with me…don’t close your eyes.”
Gwi-ma. You heard him—cracked and breathless—as if he wasn’t just fighting others but fighting fate itself. “ Please. Not again. Not this time…”
You wanted to answer. But your body wouldn’t move. Your lips trembled open, but no sound escaped. Only air. Only the final wisps of your strength. Then—your vision began to clear. Just a little. And in the haze before you…something emerged from the fire.
A face. Not human. A demonic visage, ancient and crowned in horns, floating in the inferno like a ghost born from pain. Its eyes were golden and molten, its form rippling in and out with the flames. The very soul of Gwi-ma stared at you—naked, vulnerable, eternal.
And it was crying.
“ I wanted to protect you… that was the only reason I came back.” He said.
“ But you’re dying. You’re slipping from me again…” The entire stadium trembled. Walls cracked. Beams collapsed. The sky itself glowed with unnatural light.
“ I’ll end this…” He breathed.
“ Even if it means damning myself forever.”
“ I would burn a thousand lifetimes just to give you one more.”
He looked at you—tender and devastated. “ I found you again, my princess…I won’t lose you again.”
The stage exploded in flames. They spun around you like a storm, not burning you, but piercing into your skin, your soul. You were lifted into the air, floating—screaming—as the energy of a god, a demon king, a lover—poured into your breaking body.
Every bone felt like it was cracking. Every limb trembled under celestial force. Your heart surged with something not human. Not anymore. You could hear your own cries echo into the void, the wind howling like a choir of suffering souls, until—
SLAM. You fell. Hard. Onto the broken, scorched floor of the stage, coughing, trembling, unable to move. Every inch of your skin felt like it was buzzing. Like lightning was stitched into your veins. And then…
He appeared. In front of you. Gwi-ma, now in his human form again, his long black hanbok flowing gently in the wind. His golden eyes dimmed slightly—but still glowed. The same marks that adorned the Saja Boys now traced his face, down his neck, glowing faintly.
He knelt beside you. Smiling. Soft. Sad. “ You’re healed now…You’ll live. You’ll live, my love.” You blinked through the tears spilling from your swollen eyes. Your body still wouldn’t move.
“ I gave you everything.” He whispered.
“ And I would give it again and again, for every lifetime.” He leaned down, brushing your hair away from your forehead.
“ At least in this last breath…I was with you again. That’s all I needed.”
He kissed your forehead. “ Goodbye…my princess.”
“ May we meet again…in another life.”
And just as his form began to flicker into dust—
SHHNK! A flash of silver. A blade. Rumi. Rushing forward. Unseen. Merciless. Her sword drove into his back, piercing through his heart and out his chest in a single, brutal strike. Gwi-ma’s eyes widened—not in pain, but in surprise. A gasp tore from his throat as his body lit up like dying embers, flickering violently. He screamed—a sound that tore across the heavens in agony and despair.
He reached for you, but his hand never made it. He turned to ashes and light. Gone. Forever. You couldn’t even cry out. But the tears came. Falling freely. Falling endlessly.
Your lips mouthed his name, brokenly. “ Gwi-ma…”
But there was no answer. Only Rumi, breath ragged, her eyes hard but her hands soft as she scooped your limp body from the stage. She didn’t say anything. Maybe she knew. Maybe she knew what that meant to you. What he was to you. You trembled in her arms. Your soul is freshly healed…but your heart is irreparably broken.
“ He saved me.” You whispered faintly.
“ And I couldn’t save him.”
…
The battlefield was silent now. Smoke coiled in the air, curling into the open wounds of the sky as twilight settled across the ruins of the stadium. What was once a stage full of light, music, and life had been reduced to scorched stone and bloodied earth.
They were all gone. Jinu. Abby. Romance. Baby. Mystery. All the Saja Boys—your boys—were slaughtered. Their beautiful laughter, their teasing, their warmth…gone. Taken by the righteous fury of the Huntrix, who had done what they were born to do: eradicate evil.
Even if some of that evil once smiled at you in the morning and asked what you wanted for breakfast. You could barely stand, your legs still weak from the earlier ritual. But you dragged yourself toward the broken statue in the middle of the stage—the only thing left of the concert venue. And there, Rumi waited, her blade dripping violet blood.
She wasn’t celebrating. She wasn’t triumphant. She was crying. Hands trembling. Eyes red. Knees on the dirt, next to the very place where Jinu fell—sacrificing his soul to channel the final blow into Gwi-ma’s heart. You slowly knelt beside her, your knees hitting the cold stone. She wouldn't look at you.
“ He gave me everything.” She whispered.
“ And I’m not even…I’m not fully human.”
You blinked slowly, trying to register what you heard. “ What…do you mean?”
Rumi lifted her head at last—her cheeks wet, her expression hollow. “ I have…a demon’s blood. My father was one of them. My mother…she never knew. But I did. I’ve always known. That’s why I was stronger than the others. Why could I survive what they couldn't?”
She laughed bitterly, wiping her nose. “ I killed my own kin, didn’t I? I ended this war. But at what cost?”
You stared at her, the weight of the world resting between you. And then, you did something she didn’t expect. You reached forward, placing a trembling hand over hers. “ Rumi…you’re not evil. Not because of your blood. Not because of your past.”
She looked away, ashamed. But you continued. “ You saved everyone. You ended this. You stopped Gwi-ma when none of us could. Even if it meant killing parts of yourself in the process.”
Her lip quivered, and she finally broke into sobs. You let her cry—because grief was the only thing left that didn’t need justification.
Then, a name left your lips. “ Gwi-ma…”
And it felt like a knife in your chest. The syllables were too familiar. Too intimate. You clutched your chest instinctively, as if to stop your heart from splintering.
“ He gave me his life.” You whispered shakily.
“ He burned himself alive…so I could live.” Rumi watched you with cautious eyes.
“ Why would a demon king do that?” You asked, eyes filled with silent confusion.
“ Why would he choose me? A sick girl, a mortal, someone who was ready to die?” You tried to piece it together—but the puzzle refused to fit.
Until…
“ At least in this last breath…I was with you again, my princess.”
That line replayed in your head again. That word. Princess. It echoed louder than the chaos of the battlefield. It didn't feel like a metaphor. It didn’t feel like flattery. It felt like…a truth buried in time. Your hand went to your chest. Your soul felt older than your body.
“ He called me his princess…” You whispered.
“ Why did it feel real?” Rumi’s expression shifted subtly, her eyes narrowing—not in judgment, but recognition.
“ You never felt like just a mortal.” She said quietly.
“ Not since you walked into our world. Even when we first met…something in you felt ancient.” You stared ahead into the broken skyline.
You were just a girl. A Personal Assistant. A sick girl who met their manager on a rainy night. But the pain in your chest…the pull in your heart…the way his name shattered you…
None of it felt mortal.
You looked up at the sky, voice raw. “ Who…was I…to him?”
The wind whispered across your skin like a memory. Like a touch. And for just a second, the flames of that final night flickered behind your eyes, and his golden voice murmured:
“ My princess.”
…
The sky was cloudy again. Same street. Same silence. Same aching stillness that crept in through your coat sleeves and settled into your chest. You sat at the bench. That bench. The one where he first approached you with that mysterious umbrella and quiet smirk. Where your story began.
Now…it was where you tried to end it. The box beside you was heavy, not just with items, but with memories. You’d just packed up the last of your things from the HQ—once lively with the energy of seven chaotic idols who turned your life upside down.
Now…the building was empty. Cold. Your fingers dug through the contents absentmindedly—posters, signed photos, one of Romance’s perfume bottles still half full. The scent made you stop and blink slowly. That same perfume he wore whenever he stole your charger. You chuckled under your breath. But your laugh dissolved into a sigh.
“ You were all demons” You murmured.
“ And yet…you felt more like home than anyone else ever did.” Your hand brushed against a small plush tucked near the bottom of the box.
A doll. Cute. Handmade. Gwi-ma, wearing his usual manager outfit—buttoned up, tiny glasses, arms crossed like he was always lecturing someone. You remembered when Abby gave it to you, all proud and giggly because they’d secretly made merchandise for you as a surprise. Your thumb pressed the center of the plush’s chest.
“ I love you~” It chirped in a mechanical tone.
And just like that, your heart cracked again. You clutched the doll to your chest, curling your shoulders in, the sting in your throat unbearable. Your tears slipped soundlessly down your cheeks, soaking into the doll's soft fabric.
“ I don’t know if you were lying when you said it.” You whispered.
“ But I think…I loved you too.” You looked up at the dull sky—no flames, no golden eyes, no more illusions.
Just clouds. Just you. You weren’t a personal assistant anymore. Not to seven boys. Not to demons. You were just a girl again. A mortal girl. Living in the aftermath of a war no one would ever write about. And yet, they lived on—in the silence, in the soft wind, in the ache inside your chest.
“ Thank you.” You whispered to the air.
“ All of you. Even you…Gwi-ma.”
The wind blew softly, brushing your cheeks—like a ghost of fingers, like a memory refusing to fade. You stood slowly, the box in your arms, the plush doll resting gently at the top. And as you took your first step forward, you realized…
Maybe life would never go back to how it used to be. Maybe you’d never get full answers about what you were—who you really were. But one thing was certain:
They loved you. They chose you. Even if they were demons. Even if they were gone.
…
The city had changed. More buildings. Brighter lights. Louder noise. Yet everything still felt hollow to you. You tugged your scarf tighter as you walked down the street, away from the busy avenues, past the noise, the weight of old ghosts pressed quietly behind your ribs. The smell of warm pastries, car smoke, and early autumn air stirred memories. All the while, your feet led you—not to anywhere in particular, but to somewhere your soul felt drawn.
Then you saw it: the City Museum of Myth and History. You hadn’t been here in years. Maybe not since your school days. Still, something pulled at you. You stepped inside. Warm yellow lights. Wooden floors echoing soft steps. Paintings. Artifacts. History. You wandered quietly, fingers tracing the air as you passed ancient tapestries, clay vessels, forgotten gods.
The ache inside your chest returned like a quiet whisper. But you told yourself it was just nostalgia. Just the city… stirring old grief. Until you turned the corner. And froze. Your breath caught.
There, mounted on the dimly lit wall, was a portrait. Old. Faded. Yet regal. A king, in traditional robes. Crowned. Cloaked in deep purples and charred golds. Eyes glowing. Jaw clenched. A faint, almost-sorrowful smirk on his lips.
You took one shaky step forward. “ No…”
“ It can’t be…” But your heart said otherwise.
Gwi-ma.
The nameplate read: Unknown Ruler - Period Undocumented. Identity Lost to Time.
Of course. No name. No record. He had ruled in shadow. Loved in silence. Died in the dark. You blinked—and tears spilled from your eyes before you could stop them. You quickly wiped your cheeks, embarrassed.
Years had passed. You were supposed to have moved on. You lived a peaceful life now. On a quiet farm. With quiet skies. You had your best friends still—pursuing their dreams as idols while you stayed far from the chaos. But your heart…
It had never fully healed. And just as you were about to turn away, you heard footsteps. Soft, calculated. Echoing behind you. Then a voice.
“ This one always stops me, too.”
You glanced to your side—and your breath hitched in your throat. A man stood there. Tall. Graceful. Dressed in a tailored black suit, flanked by two quiet bodyguards. His eyes scanned the painting—but then flicked toward you. And the moment stretched endlessly.
His face. His face. He looked like him. No. Not just like him. It was him. His eyes were the same—intense but warm. Heavy with unspoken memories. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. He turned fully to you, confused at first. Then something shifted.
Recognition.
“ Have we met before?” He asked, softly.
You couldn’t answer. Your throat is locked. How do you tell someone you once held their dying body in your arms? That they died for you? That they loved you centuries ago? Just as your lips parted to speak, a museum staff member rushed over to him.
“ Chairman! We need you for the press preview.” The man nodded politely to the guide but hesitated. He looked at you again. Longer this time. Deeper.
“ Maybe…another time.” He said quietly, giving you a small, polite smile.
He turned to leave—but his eyes lingered over his shoulder as he walked away, as if reluctant to break the thread that now pulsed between you. You stood frozen, breathless, surrounded by quiet portraits of forgotten kings.
He was real. Alive. Human. Somehow—he came back. And this time…
There were no demons. No death. No fate written in blood. Just two souls reunited in a world that had finally stopped fighting them.
The story wasn’t over. Maybe, just maybe—this was your second chance.
...
The wind carried the scent of earth and leaves as you leaned into your work—your hands deep in the soil, sleeves rolled, sun high above. Life in the countryside was quiet, peaceful, the kind of peace that left space for memories to echo.
You’d made your choice: a life away from chaos, away from heartache, from blood-soaked memories and glittering masks. And yet…
Your heart never quite let go of that day in the museum. Of him. You hadn’t even learned his name. Just a look. A smile. The way the world tilted ever so slightly when your eyes met his. You thought of him more than you’d admit. Wondering. Hoping. Letting it pass like a dream you weren’t sure was ever real.
Until fate moved again. It was late morning when you saw the commotion by the roadside. A small truck had arrived—common enough. Most farmers sold their harvests to local buyers, and this was one of those days. You didn’t pay much attention at first. Just glanced over while stacking crates of cabbages.
Until your eyes caught on him. Dressed in a simple cream shirt and jeans. Laughing, talking easily with the farmers. Nothing like the sharp, suited figure from the museum. But undeniably…
Him. Your breath hitched. The rake slipped from your fingers. As if sensing it, his eyes found you. And again, the world paused. He walked toward you slowly, smiling unsure, hesitant—yet hopeful.
“ Hi…I wasn’t sure if it was really you.” He said, voice softer this time. “ But I was hoping.”
You swallowed thickly. “ What…are you doing here?”
He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle. “ I’ve been helping out with rural distribution. After…after I woke up, I wanted to do something real. Something that mattered.”
You blinked. “ Woke up?”
He nodded, expression turning thoughtful. “ I was in a coma. For four years. The doctors didn’t know what was wrong with me. No disease. No virus. Just…asleep. Hooked to machines. I was supposed to be gone. But then I woke up. Just like that.” You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.
“ They said it was a miracle. But after I woke up…the dreams started.” He looked at you more closely now, like he was piecing together a puzzle that had haunted him for years.
“ I saw a woman in those dreams. Dressed in ancient robes. Sometimes modern clothes. Sometimes covered in blood. Always sad. Always…strong. But her face was always blurry. Until…” His eyes softened.
“ Until I met you. Then the dreams started to shift. Her face became clearer. Your face.” Your throat tightened. The sky above you seemed to pulse in stillness.
“ I know it sounds crazy.” He continued.
“ But…I think I knew you. A long time ago. Or maybe in a different life. And I’ve been searching for you ever since I woke up.”
The tears threatened to rise, but you blinked them back. You looked at him—this man with a soul that once belonged to someone who burned kingdoms just to keep you alive. And here he was now… no crown, no flames, no golden eyes. Just a man. Real. Breathing. Alive.
“ Do you believe in fate?” You whispered.
He smiled gently. “ I never used to. But maybe I do now.”
You didn’t say anything. You just looked at him—and the warmth in your chest no longer felt like grief. It was recognition. A tether pulling tight between two souls that had wandered far, fought battles neither remembered, and finally—
Found each other again. Not in palaces. Not in blood. But in sunlight and soil. In second chances. And this time, maybe the universe would let you both stay.
…
The sky burned with warm hues of amber and gold, the fields around you glowing like waves under the setting sun. You sat on the edge of the wooden fence, arms resting on your knees. The cicadas had just begun to sing in the trees. Beside you, he stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the same horizon. For a moment, there was peace. Then he broke the silence.
“ You know…I was supposed to be in a board meeting right now.” He chuckled. “ But I’d rather be here, getting dirt on my hands and listening to cows mooing.”
You laughed softly. “ You’re going to make your shareholders cry.”
“ Let them.” He smirked. “ I’ve lived enough years trying to make everyone else happy. I think this place saved me from losing myself again.”
You turned your head to look at him. “ Why this place though?”
He shrugged. “ I don’t know. It felt like something…was waiting for me here. Or maybe someone. And then I met you—again, I guess. Maybe I just followed fate.”
You gave him a small smile, heart warm, but heavy. “ You talk like you believe in fate now.”
“ Maybe I do.” He said, meeting your gaze. “ Ever since I woke up.”
The air fell into a comfortable silence, and you knew it was time to share your side. You reached into your pocket and brought out your phone. Flicked through your gallery until a familiar picture filled the screen—a photo of you surrounded by five young idols, laughing in the HQ. And standing behind you all, in a crisp black suit, was Gwi-ma.
“ This was him.” You whispered, handing him the phone.
“ Gwi-ma. Our manager. They made him a doll once, because fans adored him too.” He took the phone, studying the image quietly.
“ He really does look like me.” He murmured.
You nodded slowly. “ I used to think you were him. When we met in the museum…it scared me. It comforted me. It broke me all at once.”
You looked away, the wind brushing your hair gently. “ I was sick before. Really sick. And I almost died. I was saved by someone…someone who shouldn’t have cared, but he did. He stayed, even when it hurt him. Even when he had to give everything just to let me live a little longer.”
He didn’t speak, only listened. “ We never said what we felt.” You continued.
“ But it was there. Unspoken. Heavy. Like we were caught in the middle of something too big for us to name. I never got to thank him properly. I never got to say goodbye.” He finally handed your phone back.
His smile was faint. But his eyes—they softened. “ Did you love him?”
You hesitated. Then nodded. “ In a way I can’t even explain. Even if I wasn’t sure back then, I feel it now. But…we were too scared to cross the line. And then it was too late.”
He looked down at his hands for a long moment. Then spoke, voice quiet. “ I want to be honest with you.” You turned to him again, your chest tightening with something you couldn’t name.
“ I may have his face.” He said gently.
“ But I’m not him. I’m just me. A man trying to figure out why you feel so familiar. Why do I dream of you? Why is being near you feels like coming home.” You swallowed hard, heart clenching.
“ I’m afraid.” He continued.
“ That every time you look at me…you only see him. That I’m just a ghost walking around in someone else’s memory. And if that’s true, then I don’t want to reopen wounds that time tried to heal.” Your hands curled over the edge of the fence, your eyes stinging.
He sighed. “ But if there’s even a small chance that you can see me, the person standing right in front of you—not Gwi-ma—then maybe…maybe we could make something new. Something real. Not born out of grief. Not haunted by the past.”
The sun dipped lower, casting a golden halo over him. You felt the truth in every word he said. And yet, your heart broke a little more. Because he was right.
Gwi-ma was gone. But maybe—just maybe—the universe didn’t bring him back to reopen the wound. Maybe it brought you back to finally heal it.
This time, with someone who could stay. You wiped the tears before they could fall. Then looked at him with a trembling smile.
“ I see you.” You whispered. And for the first time in a long, long time…
You meant it.
…
The stars above twinkled brighter than usual, casting their celestial glow over the familiar countryside. You stood barefoot in the cool grass, wearing the clothes you always wore on the farm. But the air was softer, the breeze gentler. Everything felt distant—like a memory.
And there he was. Gwi-ma stood beneath the silver light of the moon, draped in a long black hanbok that moved like a shadow around him. But there was no trace of darkness in him now. No crimson glow in his eyes. No heaviness in his steps. He looked like a king—regal, noble, and at peace. His eyes softened the moment he saw you.
“ You came.” He said, his voice warm and low.
You didn’t wait. You ran to him, heart breaking open as your arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He let out a soft chuckle, arms encircling you in return.
“ I missed you.” You whispered, trembling.
He smiled, resting his chin gently on the top of your head. “ I missed you more. Don’t ever doubt that.” He pulled away just enough to look at you, brushing the tears from your cheeks with calloused thumbs.
“ I’m okay.” He whispered. “ Don’t cry anymore, my princess. You don’t have to carry the pain of me like it’s a curse.”
“ But I still see you everywhere.” You said, voice cracking. “ He looks like you. His smile, the way he—”
“ Coincidence.” He gently cut in, voice firm but tender.
“ It’s just a coincidence. His path is not mine. His life is not mine. And neither is yours anymore.” You looked into his eyes, so full of love yet filled with something final.
“ I gave up my life.” He said softly.
“ Because you deserve to live yours. Because in all my centuries of solitude, I only felt alive when I found you. I was selfish. I chased your soul across lifetimes. But now I know better.” You swallowed hard, gripping his sleeves tightly.
“ You came back for me…” You whispered.
He nodded. “ I never really left. I’ve been with you all this time. Every time the wind brushes your skin, every time you feel peace in the silence—that’s me. Watching. Guarding. Loving.” He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks gently.
“ But now…” He said.
“ You need to open your heart to this life. This version of it. With your hands in the soil. With someone who smiles at you like you’re the sun. You deserve love that doesn’t hide in the shadows. You deserve mornings, not memories.” You started crying harder, leaning into his touch.
“ I don’t want to forget you.”
“ You don’t have to.” He said.
“ Just…stop waiting for me. That’s what hurts most. You don’t belong in my past. You belong now.” Then he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. The kind that lingered long after his lips left your skin. He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.
“ I’m so glad…” He whispered.
“ That I found you before I was lost forever. And I will love you—in every universe, in every realm, in every life—no matter what.” You clung to him as he began to glow, light blossoming from within him like stardust. Your grip tightened, desperate, but he just smiled.
“ You gave me life.” He said.
“ So I gave mine, so you could live yours.”
You tried to hold on. But the light grew brighter. His figure began to fade, warmth slipping through your fingers like water. The night air rushed past you again—empty now.
“ I’ll wait for you.” His voice echoed.
“ When it’s truly time, we’ll find each other again. I promise.”
You screamed his name as he vanished into the breeze. Only the moon remained. And the silence. Your eyes snapped open.
The room was dark. The only sound was the soft whirl of the electric fan beside your bed. Your hand was clutching something tightly to your chest. You looked down. It was the plushie of Gwi-ma, the one Abby gave you so long ago. Your thumb must have pressed the button in your sleep.
“ I love you…” The doll’s tinny voice whispered. Your breath caught. Tears spilled freely as you hugged the plush tighter, burying your face into it.
“ I love you, too.” You choked out, through trembling lips.
“ Always…”
And somewhere, perhaps in a realm unseen, a soul smiled at the stars. Because this time…
You were ready to live.
Author's Notes: I haven't watched KPOP Demon Hunters yet; it's still on my watchlist due to my busy schedule and laziness. Last Sunday, while I was supposed to be napping, I had this idea and immediately started writing the story. I’m sorry if this story does not match the actual film. I researched the movie's summary on every website so that I could somehow align the story with what I had read online. Since it has been all over my FYP for weeks, I also spoiled myself by watching the clips online. Last but not least, I have been crying as I go over this story again for editing and proofreading. I am not sure why I did this just to hurt myself, but it was worth the tears. Haha. Anyway, enjoy this story. Thank you for the reads, blazes, comments, and reposts. I sincerely appreciate it.
never in a million years did I think I would be so invested in Gwi-ma yet here I am!!
this was such a beautiful and tragic experience to endure. I loved every single moment of it, thank you for sharing your amazing work with us!
