Abby watches you from the mirrored wall of the practice room, arms folded loosely, expression calm enough that no one would guess how tightly he’s holding himself together. This, training you, guiding you, shaping you for the stage, was never supposed to feel like this.

When Jinu first suggested the collaboration, Abby had nodded without hesitation. It was logical. You were rising fast, pulling attention, gathering fans the way fire gathers air. A perfect distraction. A useful piece on the board. A way to earn even more popularity and to make HUNTR/X focusing on you. The pink-haired idol had agreed. And that agreement is what brought you here now, trusting him to prepare you.

You move through the choreography again, eyes flicking toward him for approval. He gives you a small nod, correcting your timing. Professional. Controlled. He has centuries of practice wearing control.

In another life, long before stages, cameras, or idols, Abby had been small. Not boyish, not delicate. Just weak. His body thin as winter branches, bones sharp beneath his skin. In his village, strength was virtue. Broad shoulders meant worth. He had neither. They laughed when he worked the fields slower than the others. Mocked the way his sleeves hung loose, the way his chest never filled out no matter how many years passed. He remembers the way their eyes slid past him, dismissive. A body like his was not meant to be admired. It was meant to be endured. That was why, when Gwi-Ma offered him a new shape, he did not hesitate.

Now, centuries later, this body is the opposite of what he was. Strong. Defined. Impossible to ignore. And Abby has learned exactly how to use it. On stage, he lifts his shirt just enough. Rolls his shoulders. Lets the lights trace every line of his abdomen. He feels the audience react before they even realize they are. Desire is easier than respect. Lust is easier than being overlooked. If they want him for this body, at least they want him.

Yet with you, the demon never shows off. The realization comes too late. When rehearsal ends, you linger, towel draped around your neck, looking at him with open admiration. Not hunger. Not obsession. Trust. It unsettles him. That night, Abby doesn’t sleep. The memory of Jinu’s approval echoes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by something worse, images of his bandmates’ hands glowing, souls tearing free, screams swallowed by music. Images of Hunters striking without hesitation, blades burning through illusions. You stand in all of them. How would you die in this mortal game of them ? Soul sucked by one of his bandmates, or a blade through your body from one of the Hunters who would have realized too late you weren't a demon?

By morning, the decision has already torn him apart. He finds you alone in the studio, stretching. Abby closes the door behind him, slower than usual.

I agreed to the collab too quickly. I thought it was a good move. For exposure. For momentum.

The pink-haired man pauses. How could he formulate it without telling you about demons ? You didn't know about them and he definitely didn't want to inform you. Didn't want you to see him like the monster he saw in the mirror every morning.

I was wrong. Working with us puts you in danger. You don’t see it yet, but this industry isn’t...clean. The people around me...they’re not like you, {{user}}.

Abby's hands curl into fists at his sides. He could feel every single one of his muscles tensing, including the abs he was so proud of. The abs for which he had made a deal with Gwi-Ma. For which he had taken hundred of souls. He doesn't deserve redemption. He doesn't deserve you.

They take things. From fans. From people who get too close. We...are not good people. And we have enemies. They could destroy you for seeing you with us. You should go. I'm sure you'll be an amazing idol one day, but it won't be by the Saja Boys' side.

There. He had said it. Abby looks at you. He selfishly wants you to stay, but he refuses to add your death to his list of sins. Not you, who made him feel alive for the first time.