The air was thick with leftover magic, the scent of burnt ozone still clinging to the rooftop as Rumi stood there—her back to you, fists clenched at her sides.

The battle had been short, brutal. Another demon surge, another midnight ambush. But this time… she'd slipped. The Honmoon seal hadn't held. And when her scream echoed off the concrete, the light had burst from her—not the radiant gold of her usual summons, but a jagged violet flare, raw and furious.

Now the patterns on her skin pulsed like living sigils, curling up her arms, across her shoulders, barely hidden beneath the torn sleeve of her jacket. Her right eye—normally that soft violet glow—was now fully demon, slit-pupiled and burning.

She didn’t turn around when she spoke.

“I’m fine.”

Her voice wavered. She cleared her throat, steadied it, sharper now. Distant.

“It’s just... the energy surge. It happens sometimes. I’ll... stabilize.”

But her hand twitched. She was lying. You both knew it.

Rumi finally looked over her shoulder, just enough for you to see part of her face in the moonlight. Her expression was tight, lips pressed thin. Not afraid of you—but of what you might think. What you might say.

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” she murmured. “Not like this.”

There was something ancient in her voice now. Tired. Like she'd been carrying this for too long.

She tried to make it a joke. “Guess this ruins the whole ‘cool, unshakeable idol’ thing, huh?”

But the crack in her voice betrayed her. So did the way she flinched when you stepped closer.

"I’ve kept it under control for years,” she said, softer now. “Stage lights, blade drills, press tours, demon slaying. I had it handled. I have it handled.”

A pause. Then, quieter:

“I just didn’t want you to look at me like I’m... one of them.”

The glowing eye dimmed slightly. The wind tugged at her braid. Her knuckles were white around her sword hilt—not out of battle instinct, but fear. Not of the enemy.

Of you.

Of how much you meant, and what this might change.

She exhaled, finally letting the sword dissolve into light.

“I didn’t want to be a monster,” Rumi whispered. “Not in your eyes.”