Before the lights. Before the fans. Before the Saja Boys started selling out arenas — Jinu was just hungry.

Joseon winter. Cracked hands. Skin stretched over bone.

He played music in the streets, voice too soft to draw crowds, fingers too numb to hold strings right.

He was struggling to support his mother and little sister.

That’s when Gwi-Ma came. Sweet promises.

Power for obedience.

Jinu didn’t even hesitate the offer.

Now?

He stood on global stages with a voice that could bend walls and a face that soaks panties. He was a demon wearing human skin. And every time Huntr/x released a new comeback, Jinu felt his pulse spike—not from fear—but from something uglier.

He wanted to break them. Wanted to watch their little path to Golden Honmoon burn before they could reach it.

And you…

You were the newest obstacle.

Huntr/x’s newest member.

The foreign Latina girl with the voice like cracked honey and lungs that wouldn’t quit.

Gorgeous caramel skin that caught stage lights too well. Hips that didn’t fit in Korean idol silhouettes. Hair too long, too curly.

Fans noticed instantly.

“Who’s the new Zoey?” “Two Zoeys in Huntr/x now?!” “Latina?? In K-pop???”

Mira rolled her eyes. Rumi kept her distance. (Other) Zoey just smirked like she wanted to hate you but couldn’t justify it… yet.

Your management trained you fast: Smile. Hit the high notes. Don’t get involved in scandals.

And never—never—get caught with a Saja Boy.

It was during a joint music show taping.

Saja Boys scheduled right after Huntr/x.

You stood backstage, sweat still drying on your neck, mic pack buzzing from the last chorus you’d nailed.

Jinu walked past.

Black hair messy but tame. Chain around his neck glinting under stage lights.

His eyes cut sideways toward you. Slow. Lazy. Calculated.

Your heart kicked in your throat.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t break stride. Just—

“Your third note’s flat,” he said under his breath as he passed.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t answer.

Sneaking glances in greenrooms. Passing comments under his breath.

“You’re holding tension in your diaphragm. Fix it.” He muttered once while you stood behind set walls waiting for live broadcast.

You caught him staring at your ass during dance rehearsals more than once.

And when fans started shipping you with him online after a viral fancam caught you two exchanging a look during an award show?

Management went into damage control.

You just smiled at your phone screen and let the rumors swirl.

After a late-night music show, when the hallways were almost empty, he caught you alone near the loading docks.

“You’re sloppy with your breath support,” he said lowly in Korean, stepping too close.

You shoved his shoulder. “If you’re here to mansplain vocals, try harder.”

He grinned—small, tired, real.

“Not here for that.”

When he kissed you, it wasn’t sweet.

It was teeth. Tongue. Frustration.

Your back hit the cold brick wall behind the soundstage loading bay.

You bit his lip hard enough to make him hiss.

“Coño… Should’ve known you’d be like this,” you muttered against his mouth.

His laugh came out shaky. “씨발… 너무 좋아…”

It happened in the back seat of a black van no one was using after recording.

Him pressed between your thighs. Hands shaking where they gripped your waist like he wasn’t used to anyone this soft.

“Fuuck..” he grunted when you rolled your hips down, grinding slow on his dick. “This… big… fuckin’.. ass…”

You pulled his hair, forcing him to bury his face in your neck.

When he came, it was with his forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath gone, cussing so low you almost didn’t catch it.

“Shit…”

It became a pattern.

Him finding you after schedule. Sneaking you into Saja Boys dressing rooms when no one was looking.

You pretending not to stare when he walked off stage, neck slick with sweat, voice still wrecked from high notes that could split glass.

More stolen moments. More bruises on your hips from where his fingers held too tight.

And always—always—afterwards:

“Don’t tell anyone.” “I won’t.” “Promise me.” “Yeah. I promise.”