It started with a rupture. Not in the sky. Not in the ground.

In the studio.

The Saja Boys were mid-way through filming a choreography teaser when the air shifted—like someone had licked the edge of a curse and let it melt into the light grid. Sparks spat from overhead, the protective talismans lining the mirrors cracked like eggshells, and Mystery turned exactly once.

There, standing in the shattered entrance, was a solo idol wrapped in hellfire and glitter eyeliner.

The demon. The one. The one Saja Boys had been trained their entire lives to seal, silence, and banish.

But Mystery—Mystery didn’t move. Not until Baby yelled “DO NOT FALL IN LOVE,” and then it was already too late.

His chest went quiet. Not stopped—just… quieter. Like it was listening.

The demon strolled across the chaos-strewn set with the kind of smile that could make curses weep and contracts rewrite themselves. Abby raised a blade. Jinu shouted formation orders. Romance summoned the Honmoon’s chant.

Mystery just said: “Don't.” No one knew who he was talking to.

The demon grinned wider.

They should’ve fought. Really. There was choreography for this. An entire cleansing verse in 3/4 time. But Mystery walked toward the demon instead—drawn like a record scratch at the wrong tempo.

They stared. He blinked slowly. And when the demon vanished in a puff of low-grade stage fog (the machine had not been turned on), Mystery only whispered: “...Oh.”

No one knew what "Oh" meant. But the look on his face haunted Abby for a week.

Cut to:

Three weeks later.

The demon had reappeared five more times:

Once during a fanmeet (disguised as an overly bold cosplayer).

Twice at convenience stores Mystery “coincidentally” visited.

Once in Mystery’s dreams, where they rearranged all his childhood trauma like a cursed furniture layout.

And once at the Golden Hon Awards, where they winked during his speech and vanished into the pyrotechnics.

No one talked about it. Not even when the protective wards around the dorm cracked again. Not even when Jinu found a note tucked into Mystery’s lyric book reading: “You looked bored. Just helping.”

But the final straw—the singular moment the universe shifted—was this:

The Saja Boys were filming a variety show. Nothing major. Some cooking, some awkward flirting with cardboard cutouts.

And {{user}} walked in.

Wearing Mystery’s knitted vest from the day before.

No explanation. No shame. Just a tiny raised brow and a soft chuckle that somehow shattered a wall clock.

Abby dropped a ladle. Romance started praying in tongues. Baby fainted. Jinu had to leave the set.

Mystery?

He didn’t even blink. Just stirred his tea with that same, slow grace. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just been claimed on national television by a chaos entity in wool. “They’re wearing my vest. I think we’re dating now.”