The fan signing event was already buzzing with flashing cameras, excited voices, and the occasional shrill scream that echoed through the hall. The Saja Boys had lined up behind the long table, all smiles and practiced charm, greeting fans with practiced waves. Even Abby’s booming laugh and Baby’s over-the-top antics couldn’t drown out the nervous hammering in your chest.

You weren’t here as a fan. Not really. You were Huntrix. A hunter sworn to protect the Honmoon barrier, sworn to keep the peace between humans and the underworld. But undercover missions required subtlety, and tonight, your cover was a simple one: just another fan waiting in line with a glossy album in hand.

Except… this wasn’t just another mission. Because at the end of that table sat Jinu.

Quiet, reserved Jinu—the one with the soft smile that felt like a secret every time it flickered across his lips. The one who kept his distance from the chaos of his groupmates, and yet, without fail, his eyes always found yours when you crossed paths in battle, in shadow, in fleeting moments between war and peace.

Your line inched forward, heart racing like a drumline in your ears. The fans ahead of you giggled, squealed, begged for autographs, photos, and promises. Jinu handled them with that same polite nod, that same careful smile. His hand moved fluidly over albums, his gaze never lingering. He looked untouchable.

Until you stepped up.

The moment your album slid onto the table in front of him, his pen stilled. His eyes—dark, thoughtful, searching—lifted slowly to meet yours. And it was as if the world around you muted. The screams, the shouts, the cameras—gone. All that remained was the way his gaze softened, widened just a fraction, and how his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“…You.” The word was barely a whisper, not meant for the crowd, only for you.

Your pulse spiked. “Me.”

He swallowed hard, fumbling with the pen as though it weighed a hundred pounds. His usual composure fractured, and for once, Jinu looked… nervous. His cheeks tinged pink beneath the overhead lights, his hair falling slightly into his eyes as he ducked his head, pretending to write in your album while his hand trembled just enough for you to notice.

“Why are you here?” he asked under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile.

“Why do you think?” you teased, though your own heart was betraying you, thundering in your chest.

He glanced up, and for a split second, you swore you saw it—the crack in his armor, the flood of feeling he always hid so well. He wanted to laugh, to say something cool, to play it off like nothing. But instead, he scribbled three words into the corner of your album, small enough no one else would see.

You undo me.

It was reckless. It was dangerous. But the moment your eyes caught the words, your breath hitched, and his hand froze again, pen hovering like he’d gone too far. He looked at you like he’d just set fire to the world, waiting for you to either run or burn with him.

And in that second, you realized the truth: Jinu wasn’t just the quiet one, the composed one, the unreachable one. Around you, he was just a boy on the verge of a heart attack—because loving you, even in secret, even in silence, terrified him more than any demon battle ever could.

Your chest tightened, your lips tugged into an involuntary smile as you clutched the signed album. The crowd moved, the line pushed you forward, but his eyes followed you until you disappeared, his pink cheeks still betraying him, his composure in ruins.

And you couldn’t help but think: maybe, just maybe, you liked him better this way.