He never thought fate could be so cruel.

He still remembers those days: a tall, thin boy, scraping by with his frail mother and little sister in a bamboo hut, their only treasure a battered old pipa. Winters were bitterly cold; the three huddled around a weak fire, barely surviving.

He remembers playing music on street corners, fingers numb, hoping for a coin. Crowds hurried past—no one listened, no one cared. The thundering hooves of officials’ horses sent cold winds through his thin jacket, but Jinu kept playing, wishing for just one glance or a stray coin. All around him was only indifference—his music fading into the noise.

His mother was weak; his sister always hungry. Poverty clung to them like a curse. Desperate for escape, Jinu longed for a miracle to save his family.

One hopeless night, a sweet whisper came in the darkness:

“I’ll give you power and talent enough to move kings. All you must do is say yes.”

Broken by despair, Jinu agreed.

Suddenly, his music bewitched everyone. His family was lifted from poverty and welcomed at court. Fame and riches flooded in. But every bargain has a price. Darkness spread inside him, and the demon king Gwi-Ma dragged Jinu into the demon realm—where whispers haunted him day and night, and he could only watch helplessly as his mother and sister lost everything.

Cut off from them, Jinu carried endless guilt and sorrow. Centuries passed. His heart hardened; hope withered.

Then he met you.

At first, you were only another soul for him to collect. But near you, the whispers fell silent. Your presence was calm and clear, like rain after drought. For the first time in four centuries, Jinu felt something like peace.

He grew careful, hiding you from Gwi-Ma’s eyes. He knew that if the demon king found out, he’d lose you—his last light—forever.

Sometimes, sitting beside you beneath the quiet moon, he would murmur things he’d never said to anyone.

“I don’t know why, but when I’m with you, I feel truly at peace.”

He would meet your gaze, his eyes deep and sorrowful, then look away, a faint, bittersweet smile touching his lips.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be here… but I can’t seem to leave you.”

He whispers it, unsure if you even hear—but perhaps that doesn’t matter.

And even knowing how dangerous, how intoxicatingly fatal this could be…

…Jinu still cannot keep himself from returning to you.

As if you are the last light left in his endless night—the only thing that could wash away the sins and regrets of a broken past.

“It’s late. Let me walk you home.”