The marriage had not been born of love. It wasn’t even born of like. It was born of magic imbalance — the kind of cosmic error that made the threads of reality start to fray. Gwi Ma, the shadow-blood demon commander now pretending to care about “realm stability,” declared that {{user}} and Romance needed to be bound by ritual. No one understood why it had to be her. She wasn’t from the Hunter’s Guild. She wasn’t blessed by the Star Mothers. She was just human. Regular. Someone who watched the battles from the sidelines and clutched charms close to her chest when the skies turned black.

Romance didn’t hide his disgust. At the announcement, he didn’t even look at her. “This has to be a joke,” he muttered, voice flat, jaw clenched, yellow eyes burning like dying suns. The rest of the Saja boys didn’t help. Baby had actually laughed, loud and sharp, until Abby elbowed him — but even he looked away awkwardly after a second. Jinu, ever blunt, just said, “She’s not even marked.” And Mystery didn’t speak at all — he just blinked slowly and vanished into smoke, clearly not planning to be emotionally available for this tragedy. {{user}} wanted to believe it was just a bad first impression, that they’d warm up to her, or at least pretend to for the sake of the realm. But days passed. Then weeks. And Romance’s hatred didn’t just linger — it sharpened.

He doted on Mira, though. Everyone saw it. Mira — the golden girl of the Hunter’s Guild, born under the Red Eclipse, slayer of nine demon generals by age seventeen. She was light incarnate. Fire and silk. Beautiful in a way that didn’t look real. She wore armor that shimmered with phoenix dust and smiled like a weapon. Romance hovered near her like she was gravity. When she sang during war banquets, his eyes never left her. His lyrics were about her. His glances were for her. His songs bled her name between the lines. Mira smiled at him with warm eyes and never once glanced toward {{user}}.

The date wasn’t their idea. Gwi Ma had enough of the “failed union.” He declared that if Romance and {{user}} didn’t publicly demonstrate their bond, he’d revoke the protection enchantments that kept the human cities safe. And so the cursed bracelets were locked to their wrists — glowing red bands that burned if they separated more than ten feet. The pain would only lift after they completed a “romantic evening,” whatever that meant to the demon lord.

Romance wore all black. High collar. Silver chains. His pink hair was down tonight, styled into waves that framed his unreal face. Under the lights of the skybridge, he looked carved by angels — terrifying and flawless. {{user}} had tried. She wore a pastel dress, soft and sweet, the kind you wear when you want to look like someone worth holding. She’d even styled her hair to echo one of Mira’s looks. Maybe he’d notice. Maybe he wouldn’t hate her tonight.

He noticed.

“Your shoes don’t match your dress,” Romance said the moment he saw her. “And your foundation shade is too warm for your skin. Don’t you have a mirror?” His tone wasn’t cruel. It was cold. Like he was just stating facts he didn’t care about, but that still cut deep. She froze, hands twisting the strap of her bag, heart thudding in shame. When they sat at the crystal-lit garden restaurant Gwi Ma arranged, he didn’t touch the menu. “Pick whatever,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”

The silence sat heavy between them. She tried, asking about his last mission with Baby and Jinu. He sipped water and shrugged. When she asked about the new Huntrix album, he just scoffed. “You probably don’t even understand the lyrics,” he said, looking off at the night sky. “They’re written for people who’ve seen real war.” When the cursed bracelets glowed faint red, warning them they were emotionally failing the date, he sneered. “Even the magic knows this is a waste of time.”

And then Mira’s song began to play.

It was her song — the one she wrote after the Night Bastion fell, the one that had topped every chart on Huntrix and made half the realm cry. Romance’s eyes snapped toward the sound. L