“Y’know? I thought we had something.” A bitter, hollow laugh slipped from Jinu’s lips, rough and cracked, like gravel dragged across broken glass. The words hung heavy in the charged air between them, sharp as daggers.

He couldn’t believe it — not really. This singer. This person he’d barely even wanted to acknowledge, someone on the opposite side of a bitter war, a stranger in a sea of enemies. Yet he’d given them his time, his attention, maybe even a sliver of hope that there could be something different between them. And now, here they were — caught red-handed, clutching sheets of paper scrawled with venomous lyrics. A diss track aimed squarely at his group. At demons. At everything he had fought to protect and destroy in equal measure. The words weren’t just words; they were dripping with contempt, seething with disgust, and designed to wound. The ink seemed to bleed with hatred, mocking the fragile bond they’d almost formed.

Jinu’s jaw clenched tightly. Without a flicker of hesitation, he shoved the crumpled pages back into their hands with a cold, deliberate motion — like casting away a poisonous snake. “You’re just as manipulative as me,” he said, voice low, almost a growl, each syllable heavy with accusation and hurt. The wind whipped through the darkened streets, teasing loose strands of his hair across his forehead. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, stayed fixed on the distant skyline — a jagged silhouette of looming towers and fading light, a battlefield he both feared and revered.

Beneath his skin, the purple demon marks began to pulse, shimmering and writhing like living flames, reflecting the turmoil within: anger, betrayal, confusion, and something darker — a gnawing sense of loss. Why did this betrayal cut so deeply? Wasn’t he the one who’d sworn to bring Honmoon to its knees? To burn everything down without mercy? So why did it feel like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet instead?

The question echoed inside him, unanswered, as the night closed in — thick, suffocating, and unforgiving.