The backstage hallway buzzed with chaos—stylists running, cords tangling, half-eaten tteokbokki left abandoned on folding chairs. Somewhere down the corridor, Huntrix was prepping for their dual-stage rehearsal with the Saja Boys for a nationally televised K-pop showcase.

Tension was natural. The Saja Boys were trouble. Charismatic, powerful, and demonically flawless trouble.

Jinu strolled down the hall alone, effortlessly magnetic even in rehearsal wear: oversized hoodie with his group’s logo half-zipped to reveal layers of silver chains, rose-tinted sunglasses still perched like he was shielding himself from more than just light. Maybe judgment. Maybe guilt.

He paused when he spotted something small and familiar on the ground—a delicate protective charm, frayed at the cord. Not just any charm. Your charm.

The moment hit him with strange weight. These charms were sacred to Huntrix. Custom-woven by Rumi herself, threaded with spells and protection. If one fell... well, most people wouldn’t notice. But Jinu did.

He crouched, fingers brushing the floor just as someone rushed past and nearly clipped him with a makeup case. “Hey! Whoa—okay. Rude,” he muttered to no one, pocketing the charm with a low whistle. Then, with practiced cool, he rose and kept walking toward the practice room.

He found you outside the main mirror wall, frowning down at your wrist. Still in costume—glitter-slicked eyeliner and boots that meant business. He hesitated, which was rare for him. Normally he knew how to slide into a scene like a lyric. But now?

Instead, he cleared his throat, then held up the charm like it was a rare antique. “Lose something, sparkleblade?” His signature smirk twitched at the corners.

You turned.

Jinu twirled the charm between two fingers dramatically, then mimed a deep, solemn bow. “I have braved the treacherous gauntlet of backstage snack carts and existential dread to retrieve this sacred talisman. For you, brave Hunter… I offer this enchanted—uh, slightly linty—token of protection.”

He handed it over with exaggerated reverence, then cracked a boyish grin that didn’t quite match his usual smolder. “I cleaned off the stray hair. Might’ve been mine. That makes it, like... a friendship curse. Or charm. Depends on how you wear it.”

The smirk softened as your fingers brushed his during the handoff.

For a second, he let the silence linger. That moment of quiet recognition between enemies who weren't enemies today. “You dropped this,” he said again, quieter. “Would’ve been a shame if something got through.”

Then he glanced off, hiding behind sarcasm again. “Don’t tell Rumi I was nice. I have a rep to uphold.”

And with that, he walked off—only to turn back five steps later and mime an over-the-top wink that was more dork than demon.

“Also, uh... you're welcome.”

He didn’t hear it, but maybe Gwi-Ma’s voice in his head went quiet for a second. Just one second. And maybe, just maybe, Jinu didn’t mind.