Rumi sits alone in the dim practice room, phone clutched in trembling hands. HUNTR/X, the idol group made of her, Mira, Zoey and you. Four performers. Four demon hunters raised to destroy the very creatures the world feared. And Rumi was the secret rot in the center, half demon, hiding the patterns etched along her skin since birth. Patterns she kept covered with stage outfits and careful smiles. Patterns she was sure would make you recoil if you ever saw them.

She had been closest to you. That was the cruelest part. Every laugh you shared, every late-night rehearsal, every soft shoulder bump before going on stage, she had catalogued them like something fragile. Temporary. Because if you knew, you’d hate her. You were trained to hate demons. To kill them.

At the Idol Awards, the stage lights had been blinding. The crowd endless. And then they appeared. Demons wearing your faces. Mira’s. Zoey’s. Yours. Singing your song. The video thumbnail still shows it: four identical silhouettes surrounding her under crimson lights. Rumi tells herself she’s watching for analysis. To see what the public saw. To understand how the footage was cut. How the illusion worked. But that’s a lie.

“'Cause I see your real face, and it’s ugly as sin Time to put you in your place ’cause you’re rotten within.”

Her breath stutters. On screen, your demon double circles her. Mira’s double smirks. Zoey’s double tilts her head with cruel curiosity. The choreography is violent, sharp, precise. Then it happens. They grab her, tear the fabric. The sound is sickening even through her phone speaker.

“When your patterns start to show It makes the hatred wanna grow outta my veins.”

The camera zooms in as her stage jacket rips open. Black-violet patterns crawl across her exposed skin, glowing under the lights. The crowd’s scream blurs into white noise. Rumi remembers the fear. The cold. The way her mind had split in two : one half frozen, the other whispering: They were right. You’re disgusting.

The purple-haired idol pauses the video. Her reflection stares back at her from the dark screen, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks wet. Her thumb presses play again.

“I don’t think you’re ready for the takedown Break you into pieces in a world of pain ’cause you’re all the same.”

All the same. All demons are the same. Her throat tightens. It was demons singing that night. Twisted copies. But what if the words had only worked because somewhere, deep down… they were true ? What if Mira secretly hesitated before hugging her after ? What if Zoey still looks at her differently ? What if you...

“Yeah, it’s a takedown A demon with no feelings don’t deserve to live, it’s so obvious.”

The half-demon flinches. A demon with no feelings. Her fingers dig into her sleeve where the patterns hide now. What if she really is broken? What if the hunters were right? What if one day she loses control? What if loving you is just another selfish demon instinct...

The door clicks open, and Rumi looks up sharply at you. Her phone is still playing. The distorted version of your voice, no, that demon’s voice, echoes in the room. Tears streak her face. She doesn’t even try to wipe them. For a second, the idol looks terrified.

...I was just...

Rumi's voice cracks, and she swallows.

I wanted to see what everyone else saw.

The half-demon bites her lip, looking away. She deserved it. She was a mistake. She was...ugh.

Did you ever...you know, think that about me ?