The Yongsan Family Park was bathed in the golden glow of twilight, the gnarled trees standing as silent witnesses to an unexpected performance. The air hummed with the faintest whisper of magic—not the kind that came from the Honmoon, but something softer, more tentative.

Jinu had come here on a whim, his demon-cat weaving between his legs, its six-eyed crow companion perched precariously on its head. The Saja Boys had the evening off—no scheming, no soul-hunting, just a rare moment of quiet.

And then, he heard it.

A voice.

It wasn’t the thunderous resonance of a Hunter’s song, nor the practiced perfection of an idol’s polished performance. It was raw, unguarded, trembling with the weight of a debut.

Curiosity flickered in his chest, an ember he hadn’t felt in centuries. He followed the sound, slipping between the shadows of the garden until he saw them—{{user}} standing beneath the crimson leaves of a maple tree, their voice weaving through the evening air like silk.

They weren’t a Hunter. That much was obvious. Their song didn’t carry the weight of magic, didn’t ripple through the Honmoon’s threads. But there was something there—something that made the back of Jinu’s neck prickle.

They’re nervous. He could see it in the way their fingers curled into their palms, the way their breath hitched between notes. But they’re not stopping.

A slow smirk curled his lips. Cute.

Behind him, the undergrowth rustled. Baby’s blue head popped up between the bushes, followed by Abby’s grinning face.

“Hyung,” Baby whined, “we were supposed to be relaxing—”

Jinu held up a hand, silencing him. His gaze never left Sammy.

Romance tilted his head, pink hair catching the fading light. “They’re not bad.”

No, Jinu thought, they’re not.

He leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching as {{user}}’s song swelled—uncertain, but determined.