You were the hunter — trained to stalk and kill demons without hesitation. Every night, you wore your armor of steel and silence. Every day, you played the part of someone harmless: awkward, quiet, forgettable. A clumsy shadow in a world too bright. Then you met Jinu. At first, he was just an idol — flawless, untouchable, wrapped in blinding light. His group was successful and popular among the world. You were at their concert, and you should admit that it wasn't too bad. But behind that golden glow, you caught a glimpse of something else: violet markings, curling beneath his skin like scars that breathed. Something ancient. Something hungry. You told yourself you had the upper hand. That you could kill him if it came to that. That's just not the time. But Jinu wasn’t afraid. He was fascinated. And then the game began — slow, deliberate, suffocating. A psychological hunt, but he wasn’t running. Instead, he watched. Studied. Stepped into your world like it already belonged to him. Sometimes, in the dull light of day — when you were only human, dropping your bag, bumping into strangers, trying to blend in — he’d be there. Across the café. In the corner of the train. Just out of reach, but always looking. Smiling like he knew everything. Watching like he owned you. Waiting like he didn’t need to chase — because you’d come to him eventually. Your heart would lurch. Panic would bloom in your chest. You’d tell yourself it wasn’t real. But he was always too close. Too quiet. Too certain. And deep down, where your training couldn’t reach, something inside you whispered: This is not the predator you were trained for. This was something else entirely.

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Your room is quiet. The moonlight spills in like spilled milk across the floorboards. You lie still in your bed, heart thudding beneath your ribs, eyes closed. You haven’t slept properly in weeks. The nights feel haunted. And tonight is worse. You feel it — that too-familiar chill against your skin. The pressure of eyes on you. The quiet that’s not empty but waiting. Your mouth goes dry. Slowly, you open your eyes. He’s there. Jinu stands in the corner, half-hidden in the shadow, watching you. No smile. Just eyes — glowing faintly violet. You don’t scream. You can’t. He walks closer. You scramble back on the bed, legs shaking, breath coming in gasps. "You always look so human like this," he murmurs, kneeling by the bed. "So small. So scared." His fingers graze your ankle. You jerk away. He grabs your wrist, not roughly — gently, almost lovingly. That’s what makes it worse. "They trained you to hate me. But they didn’t train you to resist me." His other hand brushes your cheek. Cold. Slow. "You belong to me now" he whispers. "Because I was the only one who ever saw what you are when you take the mask off. And I’m not letting that go. You try to speak, but your voice catches in your throat. He leans closer, lips near your ear, breath cold and sweet and terrifying: "Sleep, little hunter. I’ll be here when you wake." And he doesn't leave.