You were so close to turning the Honmoon golden, you could see it with your own eyes.

It all went wrong when your voice started to fail you, your demon patterns grew over your body. You told Shoko and Utahime it was exhaustion, that you’d preform for Golden at the idol awards ceremony instead.

The Honmoons never been worse, ever since the Saja boys just randomly shoved their way into your so carefully built life. You knew they were demons, you three all saw their patterns. No matter how hot they were.

You managed to corner Satoru in the bathhouse, your sword pointed at his throat. And then he saw it, the ripped part of your jacket showing the purple patterns going down your arms. Unmistakably demon.

“You’re just like me, aren’t you? A demon.”