The rain had started to pour just as the rooftop fight hit its peak—neon lights from the city casting streaks of color across puddles and broken tiles. Somewhere below, music from a fan event still echoed, the cheers from earlier now swallowed by thunder. The signing had ended in chaos, and you’d followed him here—knew you had to.

You stood face to face with Baby Saja—teal hair damp and clinging to his face, those glowing golden eyes brighter than lightning. His lips, usually curled in a grin that melted fans worldwide, were now pressed into a tight line. The purple patterns on his skin pulsed faintly through his open jacket, their glow flickering like a warning.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, voice deep and oddly calm despite the growing tension. “The Honmoon it needs to be ripped.”

Your knuckles were white around your weapon—light, sleek, modified just for demons like him. “You mean so you feed on souls to send to Gwi-Ma. You charm your fans into blindness while you siphon their energy with your songs. Don’t pretend you’re the good guy in this, Saja.”

Baby tilted his head, the old playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I charm them, sure. But I never lie to them. Can you say the same, hunter?”

You charged before he finished the sentence—blades colliding with claws in a dazzling burst of sparks and neon light. Every move was familiar, practiced—almost like choreography. You knew each other too well. His spins, your footwork. He ducked your strike, his voice low in your ear.

“Is it really duty that makes you fight me… or is it fear?”

You shoved him back, heart pounding.

“Fear of what?” you spat.

“That you like dancing with demons more than you should.”

The rain masked your silence as you circled each other again. Honmoon magic was pulsing beneath the city, and you were running out of time. But so was he