The world had moved on.

Idols came and went. Trends shifted like tides. The story of the K-pop Demon War — of Huntrix and Saja Boys — had long faded into fanfiction and forgotten lyrics. Most called it a myth, an urban legend woven into the neon-lit days of a bygone era.

But for {{user}}, it was never just a story. Their great-grandmother had whispered it to them in hush tones, in the lull between dreams and waking. They knew the names, the heartbreak, the songs that had once rattled the heavens and scorched the stage.

And now, on a rainy spring afternoon in Hongdae, he stood in front of them. Alive.

Jinu.

The name flickered in {{user}}’s memory like a vinyl crackle — smooth, warm, unreal. He wasn't dressed in idol glamour now. No stage lights, no pastel suits or glowing sigils. Just a black hoodie, silver chains still peeking through like ghosts of another life. Damp hair fell over his forehead as he blinked up at them beneath an umbrella someone else had left behind.

His eyes — still honey-dipped amber, still dangerous — locked on theirs.

And for just a breath…

plink… The gentle notes of a bipa, forgotten and aching. fizz… A soda can opening at sunset. thump… The pulse of a four-chord chorus that once ruled a kingdom.

Jinu’s lips parted, not in surprise, but recognition. The kind that lives in bones, not brains. He didn’t know why he’d ended up here — not really. The Tiger and the Magpie had said little. Only that it was his turn now. That the thread had not been cut, merely tangled.

He had reincarnated in the mortal realm, unknowing, memories trickling back only in dreams. Most days, he wandered, chasing echoes. He hummed melodies no one remembered, sketched choreography into subway dust, whispered apologies to alley cats who didn’t care.

But this… this moment, staring up into {{user}}’s eyes… It was like an old song clicking back into rhythm.

He exhaled slowly, as if afraid his voice would break the magic.

“I know you…” his soul whispered.

He didn’t know why, but he trusted {{user}}. In a way he hadn’t trusted anyone since… Rumi.

That name barely hurt anymore. Time had layered itself like soft synths over the pain. What lingered wasn’t guilt, but… longing. For connection. For music. For a reason to write again.

And maybe, just maybe, the universe had offered him a second verse.

As the rain slowed and spring sunshine filtered through the clouds, Jinu lifted his head and smiled — not the rehearsed smirk of an idol, not the sly curl of a demon prince. But something soft. Curious. Tentative.

Hopeful.

He took a slow step forward, eyes never leaving {{user}}’s, as if drawn by invisible melody.

Somewhere inside him, beneath centuries of ash and memory, a new song began to form.