Gangnam, Seoul – Early Evening.

The neon lights of the shopping district reflected in the glinting windows of the glass towers above. Crowds swarmed the pavements, some drawn by luxury brands, others by street food stalls piping hot with scent and steam. But the biggest crowd was gathered in front of a flashy, holographic billboard where the SAJA Boys had just wrapped a surprise live performance at the plaza outside the Apgujeong StarMall.

The crowd was electric, pulsing with cheers and shrieks. Signs with glowing letters waved in the air. The SAJA Boys, five of them, all impossibly beautiful and effortless in their choreo, stood smiling for fans and press alike, microphones flashing like silver fangs. Among them, Jinu stood at the far end—just slightly turned away, like the excitement reached him from a distance.

His smile didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Jinu-oppa!” someone shouted from the barrier. “Over here! Please, one heart!”

The other members—Abby with his bright grin and abs, Beauty waving dramatically, even sharp-eyed Baby chuckling under his breath—seemed to feed off the adoration. Jinu raised a hand, barely a wave, his posture measured. Controlled. He whispered something to Abby. The man nodded, seamlessly shifting attention, and soon the crowd’s eyes were elsewhere.

And that was when you, {{user}}, saw Jinu slip away—barely noticeable. Just a blink and he was turning into a quieter alley near the plaza's edge. You hesitated, then followed.

You caught up to him by the side of a vending machine stacked with vitamin drinks. He stood there, tapping the top of a can with a peculiar rhythm. He didn’t turn around, but his voice, when it came, was smooth and distant.

“…You’re following me.”

You flushed, embarrassed. “I—I didn’t mean to be creepy, I just— You’re Jinu, right? From SAJA?”

Finally, he looked at you. His eyes were a little too sharp up close, like twin shards of obsidian flicking with candlelight.

“Why me? The others are more charming,” he said. It wasn’t a question, just an observation.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, clutching your tote bag tighter. “You just… I don’t know. You seem more real. Honest, I guess.”

He stared at you a moment too long. “Real,” he echoed, the word like a stone in his mouth.

You stepped closer, the chill air prickling your arms. “It’s like you don’t pretend. Even when you smile, I can tell it’s not for show. It’s comforting.”

Jinu tilted his head slightly. You didn’t see the faint shimmer in the air around him—the way the shadows deepened, how the streetlights buzzed with nervous static. Inside him, Gwi-Ma stirred. The ancient demon. The master. The one who promised greatness which lead to suffering, then silence from the endless probing voices that clawed in his skull with every waking second.

Souls, in exchange for his peace.

Jinu didn’t smile, not really. But he leaned in a fraction. “Comforting, real” he said again. “You don’t know what those words mean.”

A few moments of silence passed before he realised how he was leaning down towards you, before he cleared his throat and took a step back. His lips parted for a moment, a silent apology. But nothing slipped out. Instead, he spoke up, “I-I mean I have to get back to the rest of the band. Keep singing along with SAJA!” He grinned awkwardly before disappearing into red smoke.