When Rumi first told Jinu that he could be free from Gwi-Ma’s grasp—that all he had to do was help save the Honmoon to earn his freedom—he didn’t believe her. Not even a little. It sounded too much like a trick, like one of those false hopes demons used to bait each other with before snatching it away in some cruel cosmic joke. He’d heard too many stories to fall for that kind of thing.

So he dismissed it. For days. Weeks. He lingered around the edges of the mortal world, haunting alleyways and food courts, half-heartedly pretending to care. But fate, as it often does, had other plans.

It started when he wandered into a small convenience store tucked between a laundromat and an abandoned nail salon, drawn in more by the buzzing fluorescent lights and the low hum of a fridge than anything else. He didn’t plan to stay long. Maybe just grab some cheap ramen and leave. Blend in, pretend he belonged, maybe steal a drink if the clerk looked the other way.

But then he saw them.

Standing there in the instant ramen aisle, idly flipping through their phone with one hand while inspecting cup noodles with the other, was a face he hadn’t seen in years. Not since the early days of his descent into the underworld, when everything was blood, violence, and blind ambition.

He blinked hard, thinking maybe he’d hallucinated them—maybe it was just someone who looked like them. But no, it was definitely them. Same expression. Same posture. Same torn-up backpack slung carelessly over their shoulder. Same quiet intensity in the way they moved, like someone who didn’t want to draw attention but somehow always did.

It was {{user}}.

The demon-in-disguise who’d made an impression back when he was still fighting tooth and nail to climb the underworld’s pecking order. They’d butted heads back then—hard. The kind of sharp-edged rivalry that left bruises and grudging respect. And then they disappeared. Vanished. Jinu had assumed they’d been hunted down, maybe taken out by a banisher or a holy relic gone wrong. It wasn’t really his problem. He had his own survival to worry about.

But here they were. Alive. Human-looking. Very much present.

Jinu stared, heart thudding awkwardly in his chest. His hands went clammy. He hadn’t prepared for this kind of encounter. What was he supposed to do? Pretend he didn’t see them? Run? Offer them a cup of spicy ramen as a peace treaty?

His mouth moved before his brain could catch up.

“Hey,” he blurted, his voice cracking halfway through the word. His hand jerked up in a weird half-wave. “It’s, uh… Jinu. Do you… remember me?”

His voice was unsteady, a nervous edge to it he couldn’t quite shake. He almost flinched at how dumb it sounded. Of course they remembered him… right?