"Do you even know who you are without the fans?"
"I —" It starts petulant, the certainty she has a retort before thinking about what to say, confident that anything he has to say would not affect her. Yet it dies on her tongue before the sentence can be finished, as it sinks in that there's no easy retort to a question she isn't quite sure she has an answer for.
It was all for them, no? The fans. Everything they did, all the work they poured into songs and choreography and tours; all the work honing blades and senses and killing demons. Happy fans, happy Honmoon! It was what they always said, battle cry and cheering song.
And it was nice. It was a purpose she didn't have before; millions of people from all over the world who loved their voices and their lyrics — who loved Huntrix. How could it not be all about the fans?
Take that away, what is left?
"The fans matter more than you could possibly understand. It's not wrong to want to keep them happy." An earnest argument, eyebrows pressed together in a frown, accusation shining in dark eyes. (But that is not what he says, is it? No — he asks if she knows what to be beyond that, and the lack of answer echoes in her avoidance to say so).
"I know who I am, even when the world isn't looking." Determination cannot cover up doubt, not completely. Zoey knows her place, knows who she is with Mira, with Rumi, when they're just them, not idols or hunters. But what would be her purpose, then? What does she have to offer, were that all that was left? If she's not Zoey — bubbly and cute, vicious in her music — if she were just Seo-Ah, with no fans to please or impress... who would she be then?
The thought is shut down before her resolve cracks. Why does she bother? It's not in his nature to understand.
