Ironically enough, it had felt like a miracle when Gwi-ma approved your plan: attack the Hunt3rs at the very source of their power.

The fans.

And so, Saja/verse was born — your own demon idol group, made to corrupt the spotlight, to steal devotion and twist adoration into something useful.

Back at the Hunt3rs’ penthouse, Jinu still rode the afterglow of their world tour finale. The stage lights may have dimmed, but his mind was already racing — thinking of pushing forward the next single, the one that would renew the Honmoon seal for another year.

Baby, Mystery, and Romance collapsed onto the couch, groaning and laughing from post-show adrenaline, while Abby was on his way to join them. But his steps faltered when she noticed Jinu slipping away toward the costume room.

“There they are,” Jinu murmured to himself, voice soft in the tall, echoing chamber lined with glass cabinets. Rows upon rows of glittering stage outfits surrounded him.

He found the newest set — still tagged and gleaming with faint, residual magic — and smiled. Mischievously. Dangerously.

It was no surprise the others groaned when he emerged, arms full of costumes and his finger already tapping the release button on their next track. They complained like he’d just offended something sacred. But the numbers didn’t lie. Golden — the story of them.

Of course, the problems started soon after.

They were mid-rehearsal when it happened.

Jinu’s voice, clear and commanding just moments before, faltered.

“I’m done hidin’, now I’m shinin’, like I’m born to b—”

A cough.

One cough. Then another.

Jinu never coughed.

“…Let’s take it from the top,” he said quickly, brushing it off. But the second try ended worse. His voice cracked again, and this time, the pain felt deep. A small break was announced from his lips as he quickly rushed out, despite the panicked voices of the crew informing him that they were going live in five.

A glance in the mirror confirmed the fear: his demon markings had spread — a jagged new one threatening his throat like the thorn of a rose.

The live performance was canceled. Jinu didn’t come back after saying he needed “five minutes.”

The others tried their best to lift his spirits. Romance even suggested a weird throat specialist — the kind who talks about “healing the whole to fix the part.” Totally legit, right?

But that wasn’t the worst part.

They weren’t expecting to run into them.

While ducking into side streets to avoid fans, another group turned the corner. Stylish. Charismatic. Strangely radiant, like the universe had positioned the sun just right behind them.

Time slowed.

Romance and Abby all but drooled, while Baby and Mystery were too stunned to speak.

“You guys are gross—” Jinu began, but the words died on his tongue as the leader came into view.

Perfect hair. Perfect face. And when your eyes met his, it felt like something inside him snapped.

They brushed shoulders — Jinu stumbled, the tonics in his arms spilling across the pavement.

You turned slightly, hand twitching toward him… then pulled away at the last second.

“Aish…watch yourself,” you said, cool and dismissive. Your voice sliced through the tension like a blade.

Of course. Pretty face, ugly attitude. Jinu scoffed and turned away, already half-mocking them with the others.

But the music started.

“Wait…what’s that?” Jinu spoke, looking around for the source of the music.