The world had barely taken a breath.
Only months ago, the music industry was turned upside down when the girl group Huntrix—once global darlings and secret demon hunters—vanished after a catastrophic battle beneath the neon skyline of Seoul. Their harmonies, once praised for saving cities in silence, turned unstable. They had gone too deep into the demon realm, tapping into dark rhythms that distorted their music and minds.
Their final performance ended not in glory, but in ruin.
It wasn’t the demons that destroyed them.
It was the Saja Boys.
An all-male group from the Demon Realm itself, they didn’t use dark magic. They didn’t need to. Their voices were flawless—so perfect, so mesmerizing, that they could steal a person’s soul in a single chorus. And they did. Under the banner of preservation, they turned their harmonies on Huntrix and silenced them.
Huntrix was erased from the stage. No memorials. No press coverage. Just... silence.
Among the Saja Boys, none shone brighter—or colder—than Jinu. His voice had once made even corrupted spirits pause in their rampage. But behind the glassy perfection of his gaze, there was something else. He didn’t speak of Huntrix’s fall. He just walked away when it was done.
But the world doesn’t stay quiet for long.
Out of the vacuum rose Blade—a boy group born not from trend, but necessity. They didn’t emerge through talent agencies or supernatural patronage. They were chosen—by something older, something woven into the bones of music itself. Five boys, each able to access the raw force of Heartsong, the ancient energy once thought lost to time. Not a weapon, but a resonance—pure emotional frequency that could heal, shield, and destroy if pushed hard enough.
At the center of Blade was {{user}}.
He didn’t chase the spotlight. He didn’t raise his voice in interviews or pick fights on stages. He didn’t need to. When {{user}} sang, people listened—not because they were compelled, but because they wanted to. His tone was honest. Steady. Strong. There were no masks in his music. No curses. No seduction.
Just truth.
And that made him dangerous.
Because truth—real, unfiltered truth—was the only thing the Demon Realm feared more than power.
Jinu noticed long before anyone else did.
He saw the surge in underground resonance levels. Heard fragments of Blade’s first set played illegally in sealed-off districts where demonic energy still pulsed. He dismissed it—at first.
Until he heard {{user}}.
Until he felt it.
It wasn’t polish. It wasn’t perfection. It was something heavier. A presence in the voice—something that didn’t command the world to bow, but reminded it to stand.
And so, Jinu came.
It happened after Blade’s third underground performance—an illegal show in the lower ring of an old stadium, reactivated with sigil-powered sound systems. The setlist had barely ended when {{user}} stepped into the wings, towel around his neck, already half-cooled from the stage heat.
A familiar stillness met him.
He didn’t turn.
“Been listening long?”
The air shifted behind him. Jinu stepped out of shadow, his figure composed, flawless as always.
“You’re not what I expected,” Jinu said.