Archive of Our Own ^beta

You had been to concerts before, but nothing—and you mean nothing—could ever compare to this.

The arena was alive, thrumming like a living thing. The floor beneath your boots vibrated with the crowd’s chants, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and the sweet artificial smoke being pumped across the stage. Screens the size of buildings towered above, spilling waves of neon light that made everything pulse in rhythm with the fans’ screams.

You clutched your Huntr/x lightstick like it was a holy relic, the plastic digging into your palm as you waved it with the thousands of others surrounding you. Your chest buzzed with adrenaline, but it wasn’t nerves. It was pure, unfiltered excitement. Because tonight—finally, after years of watching shaky fancams and memorizing dance practices—you were going to see them. Huntr/x. Rumi, Zoey, Mira. Your idols, your obsession, your private religion.

Front row, field. You couldn’t believe your luck.

A girl next to you was already crying, mascara streaking down her cheeks before anything even started. You rolled your eyes, though a grin tugged at your lips anyway. Okay, maybe you weren’t crying, but you weren’t exactly immune either. The energy was impossible to resist, a tidal wave of hysteria crashing down on everyone inside this steel box.

Then came the announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the presenter’s voice boomed, slick and practiced, “we have a slight change of plans tonight. Instead of opening with Saja Boys, the show will begin with… Huntr/x!”

The arena detonated.

The sound was deafening, a collective roar that shook the rafters. Your own scream tore out of your throat before you could stop it, dissolving into the ocean of cheers. Huntr/x first? You could die right there and call it a good life.

But not everyone was thrilled. From your right, a cluster of girls in matching Saja Boys shirts shrieked in protest. One even flipped the stage double middle fingers, earning a chorus of boos from the Huntr/x fans. You smirked. Typical. Saja Boys’ fandom was notorious for their… intensity. And, sure, you’d heard their music—impossible not to, considering how their song infected every bus ride and coffee shop playlist in Seoul. But they weren’t Huntr/x. Not even close.

You tucked a stray hair behind your ear, lifting your chin as the stage lights dimmed. Your whole body leaned forward, muscles taut, waiting. This was it.

A low hum shuddered through the speakers, a bass so deep it rattled your ribcage. The screens flickered to life, black turning to crimson, crimson to a storm of static. Smoke curled across the floor, backlit by piercing beams of white. The crowd surged.

And then—

The girls appeared.

The center screen exploded with their silhouette, bodies outlined in golden light. They stepped into the haze like they owned it, their costumes swishing at their bodies, penetrating gazes enough to slice through the camera. The stadium howled. You screamed too, throat burning, heart ricocheting inside your chest.

Mira’s sharp figure cut through the smoke, her jawline catching the lights like glass. Then Zoey, lips curled into that sly half-smile that had carried you through every sleepless night on YouTube. Rumi's figure shining above all holy. Together, they looked unreal. Not human. Something bigger.

The music hit.

The beat pounded heavy, every thump landing square in your chest. Rumi’s voice rose above it, clear and lethal, like a blade wrapped in silk. Mira’s voice cracked like lightning, Zoey’s harmonies curling around you like smoke. They were perfection, every move precise, every glance calculated to ruin lives. And yours was front and center, ground zero.

You thought you’d prepared yourself for this moment. Turns out, you hadn’t.

Your lungs forgot how to work. Your body swayed with the crowd, but your mind was somewhere else entirely—caught in the way Rumi’s eyes seemed to burn right through the camera, through the screen, through you. Every note felt like it belonged inside your bloodstream, pumping harder, faster.

And yet.

Amid the hysteria, something… shifted.

It wasn’t the bass, not exactly. You’d been in enough concerts to know what sound systems felt like in your bones. This was different. A vibration that didn’t fade with the music but hovered in the air, thrumming against your skin. Like static, only heavier, alive.

You blinked, frowning. No one else seemed to notice. Fans around you were too busy crying, screaming, recording shaky TikToks. But you felt it. A prickling on the back of your neck, a strange tingle running along your spine.

“What the hell…?” you whispered, voice drowned by the roar of the chorus.

Your skin erupted in goosebumps. You tightened your grip on the lightstick, pulse spiking.

The vibration grew. The music surged toward its peak, Rumi hitting her formation, lifting her arm high, and then—

Everything died.

The sound cut out so violently it felt like someone had ripped the air from your lungs. One moment, bass and voices and screams; the next, nothing. Darkness swallowed the stage. The lights overhead blinked out, plunging the arena into a suffocating void.

For a beat, there was silence. A silence so heavy it crushed down on you, pressing against your ears. The vibration—that wrong, alien thrum—was still there. Stronger now, wrapping around your ribs, sinking into your chest. The darkness wasn’t empty. It was full. Too full.

Then the sound hit.

A metallic clang, low and distorted, spilled out of the speakers. The bass wasn’t playful or polished like before. It was primal, raw, dragging across your nerves like nails on steel. The audience shrieked again, this time half in terror, half in awe.

On the stage above, light flared, Rumi stood alone.

No stage, no backup, no spotlight glamour. Just her figure in a void of smoke, every inhale sharp, every exhale trembling. She looked cornered, fragile in a way you’d never seen her before. Your chest tightened instinctively.

And then—Mira appeared.

At least, it looked like Mira. The crowd erupted, thousands of voices chanting her name. But your stomach twisted the moment you saw her move. Too stiff. Too calculated. Her smile stretched wrong, more sharp.

Zoey followed, stalking out of the shadows. Again, perfect on the surface—same costume, same hair, same predatory aura. But the energy was off. Hollow. Manufactured.

The screams around you grew deafening. Phones lifted high, desperate to capture the “moment.” You gripped your lightstick tighter, knuckles white. No. These weren’t Mira and Zoey, every nerve in your body screamed it.

“Something’s not right,” you muttered under your breath. Not that anyone heard you.

The two fakes circled Rumi, movements synced with the grinding music. On cue, they lunged—hands curling around her arms, forcing her back. The crowd roared. Some fans thought it was choreography, others gasped like they’d just witnessed live drama unfold.

Rumi fought to stay steady, but the terror on her face was unmistakable. She twisted, tried to break free, voice cracking—not in song, but in a strangled whimper. The sound barely carried over the bass.

They grabbed her jacket.

The audience went feral as the fabric tore from her shoulders. Shouts of “Concept stage!” and “Oh my god, iconic!” rattled the air. But your breath lodged in your throat. Because under the stage lights—flickering red and violet—you saw it.

Her skin.

Patterns crawled up her arms and across her collarbone, deep violet lacing like living vines beneath her flesh. They pulsed faintly, veins of light threading her body, glowing and fading in time with the music’s relentless beat.

Rumi’s hands snapped up instantly, clawing at her chest to cover herself. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror. She shook her head violently, lips mouthing no, no, no. Not an act. Not for the camera. Real. Raw.

The fake Mira wrenched her wrist away. The fake Zoey shoved her forward, back into the spotlight. The crowd shrieked louder, some cheering, others confused. Phones zoomed in, flashes sparking across the sea of fans.

But you weren’t looking at the stage anymore. You were staring at the patterns, at the way they shimmered like burning embers trapped under her skin. And the strangest part? The air itself seemed to hum harder in your lungs, a current rippling down your spine in sync with her fear.

This wasn’t a performance. This was an exposure. A trap.

Your pulse thrashed in your ears.

Rumi’s knees buckled. She wrapped her arms tight around herself, trembling, desperate to shield her body from the sea of eyes locked onto her. Every inch of her radiated panic. She wasn’t an idol anymore. She was prey.

And the audience? They devoured it, and the lights cut to black.

Rumi bolted.

No choreography, no graceful exit—just raw panic, legs stumbling as she tore herself free and sprinted offstage. The camera tried to follow her, but the feed glitched, fizzing out in streaks of static before collapsing into nothing. The arena plunged into silence.

For one breathless moment, the crowd held on, waiting for lights, for music, for anything.

Nothing came. No encore, no announcement, just the heavy, suffocating dark, broken only by the echo of Rumi’s ragged gasp still burning in your ears.

You didn’t need anyone to explain the patterns that crawled across her skin, violet and alive, they weren’t stage makeup. They weren’t some hidden concept reveal. They were real.

She was half demon...just like yourself.

The realization made your stomach lurch. Suddenly the earlier vibrations, the off-kilter energy, every shiver along your spine—they all made sense. The world had cracked open for a second, and you’d glimpsed what hid underneath.

Around you, chaos broke loose. Fans screamed accusations. Some insisted it was all part of a concept stage gone wrong, others cried betrayal, and a few just collapsed into sobs. Security scrambled along the aisles, shouting at people to stay calm as the lights flickered faintly back to life.

Then the presenter’s voice cut in, sharp and strained through the speakers. “Due to unforeseen technical issues, the Idol Awards are hereby suspended. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Suspended. Just like that.

The boos were deafening. Bottles flew. Whole sections of the crowd erupted in furious chants. Huntr/x fans cried out Rumi’s name, desperate for her return. Saja Boys’ fans seized the chance to scream louder, crowing their victory through the uproar.

You let yourself be carried by the flood, shoved shoulder to shoulder with strangers, everyone buzzing with outrage. Fans argued in shrill voices, lightsticks clattering to the ground, banners torn in half.

You didn’t even remember deciding where to go. One moment you were shoved out of the arena into the chaos of the streets, and the next, the mob had swallowed you whole. A tidal wave of fans surged forward, chanting, crying, clutching their phones like lifelines. You tried to fight it—once, twice—but resistance was useless. The current dragged you up a hill, and before you realized it, the tower loomed overhead, glowing like a beacon in the night.

And somehow, without choosing, without even catching your breath, you found yourself there again—front row, crushed against the barricade at Namsan Tower, waiting for the Saja Boys.

The arena pulsed with restless energy, a thousand voices rising and falling in broken waves. Phones lit the night, lightsticks shook in the air, the crush of bodies pressed so close you could barely breathe.

Then—silence.

It spread like a shiver, starting at the back and rippling forward until even the loudest screams choked off. The stage went dark, screens black, the tower above glowing cold and white. All that remained was the sound of your own breath, ragged in your chest.

And then came the voices.

Low at first, almost a hum, spilling from the speakers like a chant dredged from some place older than the city itself. It crawled under your skin, tugging at the base of your skull, heavy and hypnotic.

Around you, the crowd swayed. Eyes glazed. Mouths parted in awe. Thousands of people, silent now, moving in unison as though they’d been pulled by invisible strings.

Light split the dark—thin beams sweeping the stage as smoke bled across the ground. The voices rose, layered and eerie, vibrating straight through your ribs.

And then you saw them. Not walking. Not striding out like idols. Levitating.

Their bodies lifted through the haze, ascending slowly, perfectly framed in the violet light. Their eyes caught the glow like glass, faces carved into expressions too sharp, too unreal.

No one else reacted, not a single scream, not a gasp, not even a whispered did you see that? The crowd remained entranced, lightsticks raised like offerings, completely oblivious to the impossible happening right in front of them.

Their bodies snapped into formation with impossible precision, every movement sharp as a blade. And as the lights cut across their skin, you saw it.

Patterns.

Violet marks winding across their arms, climbing their necks, pulsing faintly under the stage glow like living veins of fire. Their eyes caught the crimson beams and burned gold, molten and feral, catching on the camera lenses like predatory flashes.

The crowd lost its mind—screams ricocheted against the tower, hands shot up, people cried and shook like they were witnessing gods descend.

And maybe they were.

Because for the first time, you understood. Why everyone was obsessed, why people carved their names into banners and tore their throats raw screaming for them.

They were unreal. Dangerous. Breathtaking.

Their dance wasn’t choreography—it was invocation. Each snap of their limbs etched patterns into the smoke, symbols you half-recognized from somewhere you shouldn’t. Their voices hit in unison, layered and intoxicating, every lyric curling around your mind like a hook you couldn’t shake.

You told yourself to look away, to resist, but you couldn’t.

They were magnetic. Terrifying. And, goddamn it— they were hot.

Too hot.

Your stomach flipped as one of them—Jinu, the leader, his golden eyes locking on the front row—tilted his head, a grin curling like he knew. Like he saw you, even in a sea of thousands.

And still, the music pounded. The dance spiraled tighter, faster, their movements so sharp they looked like they’d cut the very air open. Every step revealed more of that violet glow beneath their skin, until the whole stage seemed to pulse with it.

You couldn’t even tell when the song ended.

One second, the last note was vibrating in your chest, the Saja Boys frozen in their final pose, golden eyes gleaming under the stage lights. The next—Huntr/x was there.

Right there. Rumi, Zoey, Mira, their silhouettes sharp against the glow, balanced like predators ready to strike.

Something in the air had shifted again, sharp and metallic, like lightning caught in your teeth. Huntr/x moved first.

Their bodies blurred, twisting forward with a speed that wasn’t human, every strike aimed straight at the Saja Boys. The boys answered in kind, no choreography now—just raw violence, fists and claws colliding with enough force to rattle the barricades.

This wasn’t rival groups throwing shade on stage. They were fighting. Right there, in the middle of thousands of screaming fans who didn’t even realize it, too entranced by the spectacle to notice the truth. To them, it was fireworks, strobe lights, special effects.

But to you—it was blood, claws, and teeth.

Huntr/x weren’t just idols. They were hunters. You saw it in the way their movements cut with precision, every strike aimed to wound, to pin, to kill. Their eyes burned with something too sharp, too knowing.

And the Saja Boys— Demons.

The word snapped cold in your mind, even as the world around you spun hot and frantic. You couldn’t take it anymore.

The screams, the lights, the clash of claws against blades—it all blurred together in a nauseating cyclone. Thousands of fans shrieked in trance, blind to the fact that their idols were tearing each other apart right in front of them.

And for what?

For pride? For territory? For some twisted game played on a stage drenched in sweat and light?

Heat surged through your chest, boiling up your throat until your teeth clenched hard enough to hurt. The patterns crawled up your arms, wrapping around your shoulders, thrumming with the same electric hum that had haunted you all night. Your skin pulsed, alive with something old, something dangerous.

“Fuck it” The words ripped through your head like a war cry, and before you realized what you were doing, your legs were moving.

You shoved past the barricade, sprinting straight for the stage, fury pounding harder than the bass ever had. The world slowed as you leapt.

Your body soared higher than you ever thought possible, patterns blazing, hair whipping in the rush of air. And then—

CRACK

Your boot connected square with Baby’s jaw, the sound echoing like a gunshot across the plaza. His head snapped sideways, golden eyes blown wide in shock as his body reeled back.

You landed hard, the stage rattling beneath your boots. The trance broke in your chest, fury still sparking through your veins, claws curling sharp at the ends of your fingers.

Two sides froze—Huntr/x poised mid-strike, Saja Boys mid-snarling grin—staring at you like you’d just shattered the script of the world.

You straightened slowly, violet fire still licking up your arms, lips curling into a sharp smile.

“Well,” you drawled, voice carrying clear over the silence, “sorry to crash the party—but somebody had to interrupt your little dick-measuring contest.”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The green room reeked of sweat, blood, and disinfectant, the buzz of fluorescent lights cutting sharp above it all.

Huntr/x had claimed one corner, visibly shaken. Zoey nursed a split lip with a bloodied tissue, Mira pressed a pack of ice to her bruised knuckles, and Rumi sat hunched forward, her arms wrapped tight around herself. The violet patterns still crawled faintly across her skin, glowing weak in the sterile light, impossible to hide.

Across from them, the Saja Boys weren’t much prettier. Jinu’s cheekbone had bloomed dark with a bruise, his jaw clenched tight as he leaned against the arm of a couch. Abby and Mystery whispered low, shooting you occasional glances. Baby sat slouched back, still rubbing at his jaw where your boot had cracked against him, glaring like he couldn’t decide between fury and disbelief.

Romance, of course, had found a mirror. Even battered, lip split and one eye swelling shut, he was tilting his chin, testing how the damage looked under the lights. When he noticed you watching, he flashed a crooked grin, bloody teeth and all.

And then there was you.

Back against the far wall, one leg bent, arms crossed, your claws still faintly extended. Scrapes stung along your temple and ribs, but nothing serious. Not compared to them. Not even close.

You huffed out a laugh, low and cutting.

“You all look like shit” you said finally, voice low and cutting.

Heads turned. Zoey’s glare sharpened. Jinu’s jaw ticked. Baby froze mid-glare. Even Rumi’s haunted eyes flickered toward you, the glow of her markings trembling faintly.

And you just smirked, tapping your claws against the wall.

“Don’t pout. At least you made it entertaining.”

The silence didn’t last much longer .

“Who the hell are you?” Jinu’s voice cut sharp, low and commanding, his golden eyes locking on you like blades.

“What are you?” Rumi spoke at the exact same time, her voice trembling but fierce, the faint violet still glowing beneath her skin.

The words clashed in the air, both leaders demanding answers, the room tightening like a noose.

You tilted your head, letting the pause stretch just long enough to make them squirm. Then you pushed off the wall, claws still visible, a crooked smile tugging at your lips.

“Straight to the point. I like that,” you said. Every gaze in the room pinned you, the tension thick enough to choke on.

You bared your teeth in a grin, shoulders loose, tone casual—like you weren’t about to drop a bomb in the middle of sworn enemies.

“I’m fifty-fifty,” you said, tapping two fingers against your chest. “Half demon. Half human.”

The words landed like a slap.

Rumi stiffened, her glowing patterns flaring brighter for a second. Jinu’s jaw clenched, fury and something sharper flickering in his eyes. Zoey muttered a curse under her breath. Romance’s grin faltered, even Baby froze mid-rub of his jaw.

And you? You just smirked wider, arms crossing again as if it were no big deal.

“Real original” you added, the sarcasm dripping. “I know. But hey—at least I’m honest about it.”

Not a shocked gasp, not even a whispered curse this time—just silence, heavy and sharp, pressing against every bruise and broken breath inside those four walls.

Rumi didn’t look incredulous. No—her wide, trembling eyes said something worse. Recognition.

Her patterns flickered brighter, as if answering yours, but the glow shuddered uneven, spilling uncontrolled across her skin. Her lips parted, shaky, like she wanted to speak but couldn’t. She was staring at you the way someone might stare into a mirror they’d spent their whole life avoiding.

You tilted your head, meeting her gaze steadily. And then, with nothing more than a breath, you pulled it all back. The violet fire receded. The claws slid away. The marks sank beneath your skin, hidden, erased as if they’d never been there at all.

Rumi’s breath hitched. She gripped her own arms tighter, as if trying to force her patterns down, but they only pulsed brighter, betraying her.

And that was the difference. You could hide. She couldn’t.

“See?” you said lightly, flexing your now-normal hands, smirk curling sharp. “Neat little party trick.”

Jinu finally broke at that. “Explain,” he said, his voice like steel—calm on the surface, but coiled tight with command. His golden eyes locked on you, sharp, unyielding, like he expected you to bow to them.

You met his stare without flinching. For a heartbeat, the violet threatened to spark under your skin again, but you smothered it down, replacing it with something sharper: venom in your gaze, cool and unbothered.

“Funny,” you drawled, tilting your head just slightly. “I didn’t exactly picture my night ending like this.” You gestured lazily at the room, at the two battered groups glaring across from each other. “Locked in a green room with the poster children for bad decision-making.”

Jinu’s jaw ticked. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you let your back hit the wall again, crossing your arms. The exhaustion finally seeped into your tone, not weakness, but the weariness of someone who had no patience left.

“You know what’s really pathetic?” you said, sweeping your gaze across both sides. “Hunters and demons, legends in your own heads, and all I see are a bunch of egotistical idiots too blinded by pride to notice the world burning right under your feet.”

The words dropped like stones in a pond, rippling through the room. Romance’s lip twitched, Baby sat forward a little, Mira’s glare sharpened—but no one had a retort ready.

You smirked faintly, lowering your gaze as if the whole scene bored you now. “Congrats,” you added, voice edged with acid. “You’re all just as stupid as you look.”

You let the silence stretch a beat longer, then pushed yourself off the wall just enough to sweep your hand across the room.

“You know,” you said, tone dropping colder now, “where I live, this—” you flicked your fingers at the sight of them, bruised and bloody, glaring from opposite corners “—doesn’t happen.”

Their eyes tracked you, but you didn’t flinch.

“No one rips out a hybrid’s throat because of what they are. No one throws punches to prove who’s holier or who’s filthier. We don’t waste our nights playing hunters-versus-demons like it’s some twisted game.”

Rumi’s fingers tightened on the fabric at her knees, eyes going wet and wide in a way that wasn’t just fear anymore — it was something like relief, or recognition, that made you want to both comfort her and tell her to shut up and breathe. Hearing you say there were others — not monsters, not myths, actual people like her — shifted something small and dangerous in her face. Romance scoffed, flipping his head back like he’d just smelled something bad. “That’s… impossible,” he said, voice threaded with amused disbelief more than conviction. “Demons hooking up with humans is one thing — messy, tragic, whatever — but an organized community? Sounds like fanfic.”

The room hummed at that, half-laughs, half-nervous snorts.

You let the corner of your mouth lift, slow and poisonous. “Tell that to my mother,” you said, casual as pouring a drink. The name alone would have been enough if you’d said it with less venom, but you kept the edge. “She’s older than half of you put together, and she’d happily rip every last one of your heads off and then knit them into a stupid little trophy blanket.”

Silence folded back over the room — this time different, heavier, threaded with a new kind of calculation. Rumi’s breath hitched; something like a curious, frightened hope softened her features. Romance’s smirk faltered, the flirtatious mask sliding for a heartbeat to reveal an actual, human doubt. Jinu’s eyes flicked to you and then away, as if measuring whether you were bluffing or promising a war.

You shrugged, pretending not to notice the way their faces rearranged themselves around the idea. “Believe me or not, I’m not here to convince you. I’m here because you were being idiots in public and someone had to stop it.”

Rumi’s fingers loosened for the first time since you’d walked in, and somewhere deep in the room, the tension acknowledged a crack — tiny, but real.

You let your gaze sweep over both sides, savoring the way even demons and hunters flinched when your eyes lingered.

“Let me make this clear,” you said, tone sugar-sweet and venom-dripping all at once. “If any of you decide to start that little pissing contest again—” you curled your claws one by one, flexing them like you were already peeling flesh “—I’ll personally rip the skin off every last one of you. Slowly. Like fruit.”

The silence after that was thick enough to choke on. No smirks. No glares. Not even Romance had the guts to shoot back.

And then you turned.

Your claws retracted in an instant as you crossed the room toward Rumi. She stiffened, the faint glow of her markings still trembling across her skin, but before she could flinch away, you bent down and lifted her to her feet with surgical precision. Gentle, careful, like she was glass you’d decided not to break.

Rumi blinked at you, wide-eyed, stunned. And you beamed.

“It’s honestly an honor to meet you,” you said brightly, grin wide and genuine now. “I’m a huge fan!”

The air cracked. The room that had been strung tight with visceral, feral tension snapped all at once—Zoey let out a strangled laugh, Mira rolled her eyes hard enough to shake her skull. Rumi stared at you, something unreadable flickering behind her exhaustion. For the first time, there was no denial in her eyes, just the quiet realization that you weren’t bluffing.

It was absurd, how casually you said it, like you hadn’t just promised to skin them alive seconds ago. Like you were talking about a favorite band at a café instead of standing ankle-deep in blood and tension.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” Baby muttered, still rubbing his jaw, staring like you’d sprouted another head.

Romance gave a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his swollen face. “One second you’re promising to flay us alive, and the next you’re fangirling? Seriously?”

Abby blinked, confusion plain. Even Mystery, usually unreadable, tilted his head as if trying to process what he’d just witnessed.

You turned slowly, still supporting Rumi with one arm. Your smile was gone now, replaced by that same venom curling in your eyes.

The room chilled.

The longer you stared, the quieter it got.

One by one, their postures shifted: Romance’s grin faltering, Baby’s glare sliding sideways, Abby’s shoulders stiffening, even Jinu’s gold eyes narrowing, unable to hold yours for more than a heartbeat.

You didn’t blink. You didn’t speak. You just looked.

Long.

Too long.

Until the tension wasn’t just back in the room—it was crushing it. For the first time that night, it wasn’t hunters versus demons, or demons versus hunters. It was all of them, equally unsettled, under your gaze.

You finally tore your gaze away from the boys, letting them stew in the silence you’d left hanging over their heads. With deliberate calm, you turned back toward Huntr/x.

“By the way,” you said casually, like you hadn’t just promised to skin an entire room alive, “would it bother you if I’m the one who manages them?”

Zoey’s brows shot up. Mira blinked like you’d just started speaking in tongues. Even Rumi, still unsteady at your side, lifted her head to stare at you.

“You?” Mira finally asked, incredulous. “Do you even have any experience with that?”

A grin tugged at your lips, sharp and smug. “More than they do, for sure.” The boys bristled, but you didn’t spare them a glance. “And besides,” you added with a shrug, “I’ve got a business administration degree. How hard could it be?”

The boys started to bristle all at once. Jinu leaning forward, ready to snap something sharp; Abby already muttering under his breath; Romance with that half-smirk winding back into place; even Baby lifting his chin like he had something to prove.

You cut them off with nothing more than a look.

Your patterns surged back across your skin in an instant, violet fire curling up your arms, your claws flexing just enough to catch the light. The room froze, every word choking back into silence.

Satisfied, you pushed off the girls and walked straight toward Baby. He tensed as you stopped behind his chair, then flinched when you bent over slightly, your weight resting against the backrest as your presence loomed over him.

“Here’s the deal,” you said, gaze sliding to the girls. “I’ll keep these idiots in line…” your claws tapped once against the chair for emphasis, “…if you keep your end of the bargain.”

Zoey’s eyes narrowed. Mira traded a quick glance with Rumi, who still looked shaken but nodded faintly.

“…Fine,” Mira said, a trace of hesitation in her voice. “We’ll accept that. For now.”

A grin cracked across your face.

“Perfect.”

You clapped Baby’s back in celebration, hard enough to make him grunt, then straightened and strode toward the girs. Extending your hand with the easy confidence of someone sealing a business deal, you smiled wide and sharp.

“Pleasure doing business with you, ladies.”

You shook each of their hands one by one, your grin sharp and smug, absolutely delighted with yourself. Rumi’s touch lingered trembling, Mira’s grip was firm but wary, and Zoey’s was stiff, all business.

“See? Easy,” you said brightly, dusting off your hands like you’d just signed the most profitable deal of the century.

The girls turned to leave, relief flickering across their faces—until your voice stopped them.

“Wait.”

The word was soft, almost innocent, but the glint in your eye said otherwise. They turned back slowly, suspicion already simmering.

You tilted your head, smiling sweetly, the picture of false naivety, your thumb pointing at the boys behind you “Just out of curiosity… do any of you plan on fucking one of them?”

The question hit like a slap.

Zoey choked. Mira’s jaw dropped. Even Rumi’s glowing patterns stuttered with shock. Their faces twisted halfway between horror and sheer bewilderment.

“Of course not!” Mira snapped, scandalized. Zoey just muttered, “What the hell is wrong with you,” while Rumi looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

You hummed, satisfied. Then, without missing a beat, you turned your head toward the boys, letting the smirk curl back across your lips.

“Well” you continued, voice dropping and wrapped in silk “I do”

For a heartbeat, the room stayed frozen. The girls stared at you like you’d just committed a federal crime in broad daylight, half horrified, half too stunned to move.

Then the boys reacted.

Baby actually choked, coughing mid-breath as if your words had sucker-punched the air out of him. “You—you what?!”

Romance leaned forward instantly, sprawling over a chair, a grin splitting across his battered face. “Oh, I like her,” he said, voice low and rich, ignoring the bruise opening his lip again.

Mysterys narrowed his eyes, lips parting like he was about to scold you, but no sound came—just the faint twitch of disbelief at the corner of his mouth.

Abby muttered something sharp under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose like you were a migraine he hadn’t asked for.

And Jinu—he didn’t move. He just stared at you, gold eyes sharp, jaw ticking, the muscle in his cheek twitching like he was holding back a storm.

You grinned wider, basking in the chaos you’d created, crossing your arms, casual as if you hadn’t just blown up the room with one sentence.

“What?” you said, feigning innocence, eyes darting between their stunned faces. “Don’t look at me like that. At least I’m honest. Unlike some of you, I don’t need to play the we’re-just-idols card when we all know better.”

Baby sputtered, color rushing up his neck. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, relax.” You rolled your eyes, grinning wickedly. “I wasn’t planning to start right here on the couch. Unless you’re volunteering?”

Baby’s jaw snapped shut. Mystery shifted uncomfortably, gaze flicking anywhere but you. Abby muttered another curse, this one louder, though it sounded more like defeat than anger.

You let the silence build again before twisting the knife deeper. “Honestly, the way you’re all staring at me… it’s like none of you have ever been propositioned before. Don’t tell me I’m the first. That would just be tragic.”

Your gaze slid over them slowly, deliberate, savoring every detail of the way they looked now. The wide-brimmed hats, the heavy chains, the violet glow of their skin under the lights. It wasn’t just stagewear — it was bait.

“You know,” you started, tone sharp but dripping with amusement, “you’ve only got yourselves to blame. Strutting around dressed like this? Of course people lose their minds over you. You didn’t need to drop a single note for half the crowd to want you already.”

Their eyes tracked you, narrowing, but you kept going.

“Chains, skin, eyes burning gold like you’re about to eat someone alive…” You let your grin curl wider, venom and heat in equal measure. “Don’t act surprised I said I want to fuck you. You chose to walk out looking like this.”

Then your attention shifted, sharp as a knife, straight to Abby. “And you,” you purred. “Parading around in that little fishnet top? Please. That’s not stage fashion, that’s pure eye candy. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Everyone did. You practically gift-wrapped yourself.”

Abby froze, caught between pride and embarrassment, the flush rising up his throat betraying him. Romance's laughter spilling low and rich from his throat. He leaned back in his chair like he owned it, eyes gleaming even through the bruise swelling at one of his eyes.

“You really don’t hold back, do you?” he said, voice smooth, laced with that trademark swagger. “Most people would fall over themselves just trying to look at us. You…” His gaze dragged over you, deliberate, slow. “…you’re already halfway under our skin.”

Instead of backing down, you sauntered forward, dropping into a crouch right in front of him. The room stirred — Baby muttered something under his breath, even Jinu’s jaw tightened — but you kept your eyes locked on Romance’s.

“You make it sound like that’s hard,” you shot back. “You’re practically begging for attention with the way you dress.”

Romance’s grin widened, sharp and wicked. “Maybe I am. Maybe I like seeing who’s bold enough to take the bait.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a beat. Then your smile curved, slyer. “Never fucked a pure demon before,” you said, voice soft but cutting through the air like glass. “Is it really as intense as they say?”

Romance’s grin didn’t falter — but his eyes flared, a flicker of heat sparking. He leaned foward. “Intense?” he echoed, voice dropping low enough that it vibrated between the two of you. “Darling, ‘intense’ doesn’t even start to cover it. You’d think you were being devoured and blessed in the same breath.”

A ripple of unease passed through the room, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you leaned in closer, chin propped on your hand, studying him with mock curiosity like you were at a market stall inspecting fruit.

“Mm,” you hummed, eyes glittering. “So it’s all claws and fire, huh? Not just theatrics?”

Romance’s smirk widened, his fangs flashing. “Why don’t you let me show you sometime?”

You tilted your head, a sharp grin tugging at your lips. “Careful, you’re starting to sound like you want me to take you up on that.”

“I do,” he said, simple, unashamed.

The tension stretched, hot and electric, your smirk daring, his grin promising. For a heartbeat, the whole room bent around the pull between you two.

“Enough.”

Jinu’s voice cut through like a blade, cold and commanding. His golden eyes pinned both of you, fury flickering just beneath the surface. “This isn’t a game.”

The air snapped, the spell broken.

Romance leaned back, still smirking, though his eyes flicked sidelong at his leader with the faintest bite of defiance.

And you? You only grinned wider, savoring every second of the chaos you’d stirred. You rose slowly from your crouch, every movement deliberate, your eyes never leaving Jinu’s. The golden in his gaze sharpened, tracking you like a predator sizing up a threat, but you only smiled — sin and amusement twisted together.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you purred, brushing imaginary dust from your hands. “If anyone’s to blame for this…” You let your gaze drag up and down his frame, openly appraising, “…it’s you. From what I know, you’re the one who wrote that song.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He didn’t answer. You stepped closer, the boys tensed as you slipped a hand forward, your fingertips grazing the edge of his arm. Then you let them trace upward, lazy, deliberate, seduction in every inch as your voice dropped to something softer — almost a tune.

“♪ Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin… ♪”

The words curled into the air like smoke, and you watched him still, caught between fury and something darker, heavier. His hand snapped up and clamped around your wrist, hard enough that your fingers stilled mid-climb. The sudden strength in his grip jolted through you, golden eyes burning inches from yours.

“Don’t,” he growled, low and sharp, each syllable carrying the weight of command.

You met Jinu’s fury with a smirk, unbothered by the force in his hold. For a long, heated second, the air was nothing but his glare locked against your grin.

Then, with deliberate calm, you slid your hand free from his grip, both palms lifted, fingers spread, as you leaned back a step, your smile softening into something playfully mocking.

“Alright, alright,” you said, voice light with faux defeat. “No need to bite my head off. I was only teasing.” Your tone carried no apology — only satisfaction, like you’d won anyway by getting under his skin.

You turned away from them, and caught sight of the girls.

The three of them were pressed together near the door, wide-eyed, their faces pale as if they’d just witnessed a massacre rather than a green room spat. Rumi’s patterns still shimmered faintly on her skin, trembling, and Zoey looked ready to puke. Mira just stared, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

Your smirk softened, your expression slipping into something almost… pitying. “Oh, poor things,” you said, voice dropping into a mock-coo. “You must be traumatized. All this… testosterone and posturing. Must’ve been awful for you.”

They didn’t answer. Just blinked at you like you were mad. You sighed dramatically, then stepped forward, guiding them gently toward the door like you were escorting fragile kittens out of a storm. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here before you sprout grey hairs from stress.”

Your hand landed on the handle, and for a second you glanced back into the room. All five boys were still watching you, varying degrees of shock, disbelief, and barely suppressed frustration written on their battered faces.

You flashed them your brightest, sharpest grin.

“See you tomorrow, boys.”

And with that, you shut the door behind you.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The next day came faster than anyone wanted.

The Saja Boys’ penthouse was quiet, the kind of heavy silence that followed a night too full of bruises and unanswered questions. Gold eyes and violet patterns had faded, but the weight of what had happened still hung thick in the air.

Until you arrived.

One blink, the room was theirs. The next—you were there, standing in the middle of their living space, sunshine and sass wrapped into one inconvenient package.

“Good morning, sunshines!” you sang, your voice bright enough to bounce off the marble floors. You spun once, arms spread wide, soaking in the ridiculous opulence of their living space. “Wow. Fancy cage you’ve got here.”

Five heads snapped toward you, eyes wide. Jinu was the first to rise, his voice sharp. “How the hell did you—”

“—find us?” Mystery finished, already tense, his gaze darting toward the door like maybe you’d broken it.

You only grinned wider, tapping your nose with one finger. “Please,” you said, voice dripping smug. “You boys are easier to track than a bad Tinder date. All it takes is a nose and a brain cell.”

Baby almost chocked on his coffe, Romance leaned forward, eyes lighting up with amusement, while Mystey actually froze, visibly unsettled.

You dropped onto their couch without asking, legs stretched out, your smirk brighter than the morning sun.

“Relax,” you said, waving a hand. “I’m not here to eat you alive. Not yet, anyway.”

Jinu’s voice cut through the room, low and sharp as a knife. “You can’t just barge in here,” he said, stepping closer, every inch of him bristling with authority. “This isn’t a playground. You don’t get to snap your fingers and insert yourself into our lives.”

You leaned back into the couch cushions, unbothered, one leg draped lazily over the other. The sunlight caught your grin, all teeth and challenge. “Funny,” you drawled, “because that’s exactly what I just did.”

Romance’s laugh slipped out before Jinu’s glare silenced him. Baby muttered something under his breath that sounded like unbelievable, and Abby folded his arms, watching the exchange like it was a tennis match.

Jinu loomed over you now, eyes burning gold again, his voice dropping lower. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

You tilted your head up at him, venom flickering in your smile, your voice sugar-sweet and mocking. “Oh, please. I’ve been ‘playing with fire’ since before you figured out how to write a K-pop chorus. You’re not special, golden boy.”

The room stilled. Even Mystery’s composure cracked at that.

You leaned forward then, eyes gleaming as you looked him up and down with deliberate slowness. “And besides…” you added, almost purring, “if I didn’t know what I was playing with, I wouldn’t be sitting here, would I?”

Jinu’s patience snapped. In a blink he was in front of you, one hand slamming against the back of the couch by your head, the other grabbing at your shoulder to pin you down. The cushions groaned under the force, golden eyes burning, fangs bared in a snarl.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he growled, his voice vibrating against your skin. “Not here. Not ever.”

For a second, the room went dead quiet — the others too stunned to move.

Then you laughed. Not nervous, not shaky — a sharp, amused sound that cut straight through the tension.

“Cute,” you tilted your head as your patterns rippled to life across your arms, violet light crawling fast. “But if you think you’re the only one who knows how to play rough…”

Your claws shot out, catching his wrist before it could dig deeper into your shoulder. With a single twist, you shoved him back half a step, enough to make him falter. The flash of surprise in his eyes was priceless.

You rose smoothly to your feet, standing toe-to-toe with him now, your smile sharp as broken glass. “Lesson number one,” you murmured. “You don’t scare me.”

Jinu’s chest rose and fell, fury still etched across his face — but his grip didn’t return. You lifted your hand slowly, counting off with your fingers as your grin widened.

“Rule number two,” you said, voice bright, almost playful...playing with him. “You don’t get to grab me unless I let you. Try that stunt again, and I’ll make sure it hurts more than your pride.”

Your eyes flicked over his shoulder to the others, all of them stiff and silent, before snapping back to him. You raised another finger.

“Rule number three” Your smile sharpened. “I don’t follow orders. Not yours, not theirs. I move because I decide to, not because you bark.”

And then you lifted a fourth finger, leaning in, closing the space between you both, and pressed one claw-tipped finger lightly against his chest, right over his heart.

“Rule number four:” your voice dropped, low and sly, “you should know this… seeing you like this? Fangs out, fire in your eyes?” Your smirk curled into something darker. “It turns me on more than I’d like to admit.”

The last word lingered, venom and honey braided together. Your finger still pressed against his chest, golden eyes blazing back at you — and then, just like that, you pulled away.

“Anyway,” you said, clapping your hands together like you’d just finished a presentation, “enough theatrics. Time to work.”

You turned on your heel before Jinu could so much as breathe a response, patterns fading from your skin in an instant. The glow vanished like it had never been there, leaving only your voice cutting through the silence.

“First things first,” you continued, already scanning the room. “This penthouse is a disaster. If I’m going to manage you, you’re going to start living like actual professionals and not five feral animals who found a black card.”

Baby blinked. “Wait—what?”

Romance’s grin cracked wider. “She’s serious.”

“Damn right I am.” You pointed toward the clutter of jackets on the couch, the scuffed sneakers abandoned by the wall. “Pick this shit up. I want this place shining before sundown.”

Abby muttered something about bossy little witch, but he still moved to grab a pile of clothes. Jinu hadn’t moved, still standing where you’d left him, eyes narrowed like he couldn’t quite believe you’d just dismissed him like that.

You only flashed him a bright, sassy grin over your shoulder. “Rule number five, boys. I run the show now.”

The second the words left your mouth, the room erupted.

Baby shot up from the couch, arms flailing. “Run the show? You can’t even be here—nobody invited you!”

Abby’s voice overlapped, sharp and irritated. “You don’t just walk into our lives and start barking orders like—like—”

“—like a manager?” Romance cut in, smirking, sprawled in his chair like he was enjoying a private comedy show.

Myst folded his arms, voice low but no less cutting. “You’re reckless. If you think you can control us, you’re delusional.”

And Jinu—he didn’t even need to raise his voice. Just one cold, clipped word: “No.”

Five voices tangled, sharp and messy, bouncing off the walls until it sounded less like an argument and more like a riot. You let it go on for a beat, just long enough for them to really work themselves up. Then, with a sigh, you clapped your hands together once. Hard.

The sound cracked through the chaos like a whip.

“God, you’re loud,” you said, tone sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous. “It’s like babysitting five toddlers hopped up on sugar.”

The words cut clean, silencing the room in an instant. You stood in the center, hands on your hips, glowing with smug satisfaction, the fire in your eyes daring any of them to open their mouths again.

“Listen carefully,” you said, your voice calm now, sharp and smooth. “You can whine, you can glare, you can throw tantrums all day long. But the fact is, you need me. You just don’t realize it yet.”

They stared, jaws tight, fists clenched, but no one argued. Not this time. You let your grin curl wide, leaning back on your heels, voice turning almost playful.

“Because whether you like it or not…” You let the pause hang, savoring their confusion. “I’m about to make you rich.”

Baby was the first to break the spell, scowling hard. “Why the hell should we care about money?” he snapped. “We’re demons. Souls matter more than any stack of bills.”

Even Mysterys’s gaze hardened, gold eyes narrowing as he added, “Exactly. Humans obsess over wealth. We don’t need it.”

You blinked once, then tilted your head back and laughed. A sharp, bright sound that made their stares tighten even further.

“Oh, please,” you said, voice dripping with mock-sympathy. “If you’d rather live under a bridge, gnawing on scraps and whispering about souls like goth raccoons, be my guest.”

They stiffened. Even Jinu’s expression cracked, a flicker of irritation tightening his jaw.

“Or maybe you’d prefer crawling back to the demon world, where every wannabe tyrant would love a piece of you. Go ahead. See how long you last before someone slits your pretty throats for the fun of it.”

Their expressions darkened, but you only stepped closer, your smirk cutting wider.

“Because here? On this stage, in this world—you’ll either shine so bright the world goes blind… or you’ll fade out as a bunch of losers nobody remembers. And trust me—” you jabbed a finger toward them, your voice dripping pure venom“—I don’t manage losers.”

Romance let out a low whistle, and Baby bristled, but none of them moved to challenge you again.

You leaned back, folding your arms, your smile smug and unshakable. “So, what’s it gonna be? Living like legends, or dying like trash?”

The room went still, your words hanging in the air like smoke. For a moment, none of them spoke — until Mystery finally leaned forward, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“You talk like you’ve already won,” he said quietly, his voice even but edged with steel. “Like you’ve already decided for us.”

You tilted your head, watching him with interest, smirk tugging wider.

His gaze didn’t falter. “You think money makes legends? That headlines and sponsorships matter more than what we are?” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that. But bold doesn’t make you right.”

For a heartbeat, the tension thickened again. And then you chuckled, soft at first, before it cracked into something sharper.

“Right or wrong doesn’t matter, sweetheart,” you said, eyes gleaming as you locked on Mystery’s. “Results do. And when I’m finished with you…” You gestured lazily at the five of them, your grin radiant “…you’ll have both.”

Jinu straightened, his shadow cutting long across the penthouse floor. His voice dropped low, controlled, but heavy with finality. “Enough,” he ordered, golden eyes blazing. “We don’t answer to you. Not now. Not ever.”

The others fell quiet at once, the authority in his tone pulling them back like a leash. You exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down your face, and let out a short, sharp smile. Not amused — exhausted.

“God,” you muttered, shaking your head, “I’ve met demons centuries older than you who weren’t this full of themselves.”

Jinu’s jaw flexed, but you didn’t give him the chance to snap back.

You threw your hands up, eyes flashing, your voice rising just enough to echo off the glass walls. “Seriously. Shut the fuck up already. I’m tired of your egos choking the air in here. You’re not half as impressive as you think you are.”

Romance’s grin froze, Baby’s scowl faltered, Abby blinked, Myst’s gaze flickered away. Even Jinu’s lips pressed into a flat, unreadable line.

And you just stood there, arms crossed, daring them all to push you again.

“Honestly, your sex appeal is crashing faster than a bad stock. You’re so wrapped up in your own egos it’s pathetic. Keep it up and the only thing you’ll be fucking...” you snapped your fingers. “is your own reputations.”

You started walking, slow and deliberate, heels clicking against the polished floor as you moved through the wide living room. Your hand brushed across the back of a chair, the edge of the table, casual and predatory all at once.

Then you turned on your heel, facing them again, eyes narrowing.

“So, tell me something, boys” your voice dropped lower, sharper “You five, big bad sa-jeong saja…” You let the words drip from your tongue with mock reverence. “Do you actually feed on souls, or do you just collect them neatly in jars to hand over to your king?”

The words hit heavy, the room stiffening. Their eyes flicked among each other, but none answered fast enough.

So you filled the silence.

“Because here’s the truth—my mother hasn’t touched a soul in over a century.” You leaned in, your smirk curling sharp, voice lowering to a near whisper. “And I sure as hell don’t feel the need either.”

The glow of your patterns shimmered faintly under your skin again, just long enough to prove the point.

“But...” you went on, your voice playful now, dripping insolence. “I do get hungry for things that actually matter.” You tapped a claw against your lips, letting the pause stretch. “Like sweets… and a good, rough night of sex.”

Baby nearly choked. Abby’s head snapped toward you so fast you thought he’d pull a muscle. “You’re obscene,” the last one bit out, his voice sharp, as if the word itself could cut you. “Completely shameless.”

You're one to talk

You turned your gaze on him, slow, and raised a brow and look as if the image itself in front of you were insulting the entire world.

“Obscene?” you echoed. “Or is it just that you’re uncomfortable?”

Abby stiffened, his jaw tightening, glaring daggers at you.

“Uncomfortable with a woman who actually lives her sexuality out loud?” you pressed, your voice sharp as glass, grin widening. “Or does it piss you off because I’m good at it — and you know damn well it makes me hotter than any of your brooding looks ever could?”

The silence cracked again, the weight of your words landing heavy, electric. Abby’s scowl deepened, and both Baby and Mystery shifted in their seats.

You didn’t break eye contact, enjoying every second of their discomfort. Then you straightened, brushing invisible dust from your hands, your grin snapping back into place.

“Enough playing around,” you said, voice ringing sharp in the penthouse. “You’re going to let me work. And you’re going to sit back and watch, because this—” you gestured broadly at the five of them, bruised and brooding, all fire and ego “—is going to work.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t back down.

“This isn’t a question,” you added, tone dropping, your patterns flickering faintly under your skin as your eyes cut across them. “This is me telling you: it’s happening. And you’re damn lucky I decided to be the one making it happen.”

The room held still, heavy with the weight of your declaration. And you? You just smiled, radiant, absolutely certain.

“This is going to work,” you repeated, slow and deliberate, savoring every word. “Because I don’t fail.”

It only took a few days for your role to shift from accidental wrangler to something dangerously close to manager.

You didn’t have an office, a contract, or even their full trust—but you had the sharp tongue, the business degree, and the iron will to drag five half-feral demons into something resembling discipline. And, judging by how the Saja Boys were still breathing, still showing up to practice, and still (mostly) obeying, it was working.

Romance had tested you first, trying to charm his way out of schedules. Abby grumbled about every demand you threw at him, but still showed up when you snapped your fingers. Baby sulked and whined, yet was always the first one at rehearsals—though usually shirtless and smug. Mystery said little, but his eyes never stopped tracking you, as if waiting for you to trip. And Jinu? He didn’t argue. He simply watched. Judged. Smirked when the others cracked under your orders.

They were still doubtful, yes. Still demons first and idols second. But when you spoke, they listened—if only to grumble afterward.

And you? You thrived on it.

The practice room reeked of sweat, smoke, and adrenaline. You stood against the wall, arms folded, clipboard in hand like you were born for it, watching them sweat through choreography. “Careful,” you teased, voice sharp as glass. “I can feel your stares from across the room. Keep dancing before I remind you who’s actually in charge.”

The boys filed in one by one. Baby collapsed onto a couch, peeling his shirt off like it had personally offended him. Mystery leaned silently against a corner, towel around his neck, unreadable as always. Romance still grinned despite the sheen of sweat dripping down his jaw, waving to nonexistent fans. Jinu moved calm, smirk barely visible, already tugging his jacket back on as if the chaos hadn’t touched him.

And Abby? Abby snapped.

“Enough,” he growled, voice rough, sweat dripping down his temple. “You think you can bark orders at us forever? We’re not dogs—you can’t just pull the leash every time we breathe wrong.”

The others froze, their eyes darting between you and him like they were watching a fuse burn down.

You, however, didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

You shifted the clipboard and tapped the pen against it, your smirk sharp as you finally looked at him. “Funny,” you said coolly, “I don’t remember asking if you liked the leash. I only remember tightening it.”

For a second you thought he might lunge, the tension rolling off him like heat, his chest rising and falling too fast, his jaw locked tight.

But he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Because your eyes had already left him—dismissive, calm, as if his outburst wasn’t worth the breath. The others caught it too—the way you ignored his temper like he was a child throwing a tantrum. Abby clenched his fists, but your nonchalance cut sharper than any insult.

You busied yourself with your clipboard, jotting down notes, murmuring something under your breath about scheduling conflicts and costume repairs, not once looking at him again.

That was worse than any fight.

Abby’s fists were tight at his sides, his glare burned into you, hotter than any stage lights ever could. “Get out,” he snapped, voice raw, sharp enough to cut. “We don’t need you. We don’t want you. Not some half-breed pretending to play manager.”

The words hit the air heavy, sharp, ugly. And you? You stayed still, but your aura shifted.

Your smirk faltered, not gone but sharpened, your pen tapping harder against the clipboard. For the first time, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Careful,” you murmured, voice low, dangerous.

Abby took a step forward, growl tearing up his throat. “No. You be careful. We don’t take orders from leashes. We don’t need a hybrid telling us how to breathe.” His jaw clenched, his voice a snarl. “So walk out that door before I—”

You cut him off.

Your gaze snapped to his, patterns threatening to ripple under your skin, your patience fraying like the edge of a blade. “Before you what?” Your tone was razor-thin, every word drenched in venom. “Growl louder? Prove to the others that you can’t handle me? That’s the best you’ve got?”

Abby’s chest rose and fell in harsh bursts, his teeth bared, and snapped forward, the last thread of his temper breaking. His growl rattled the walls, sharp and feral, his fists clenching like he meant to tear something apart.

But you moved faster.

In the span of a heartbeat, your clipboard clattered to the floor and your hand was on his throat, gnarled claws digging just enough to pierce skin. His back slammed into the wall, the sound echoing through the cramped room.

The others froze.

Romance’s grin evaporated. Baby’s eyes widened. Mystery’s lips twitched at the corner. And Jinu's eyes turned shiny gold.

Abby choked, hands flying up to grip your wrist, his eyes blazing as your claws pressed into his skin.

“Listen carefully,” you hissed, your voice low and venomous, heat sparking violet under your skin. “You are still alive because of me. Because I made an agreement that keeps you breathing, keeps Huntr/x breathing, keeps this entire shaky truce standing.”

Your grip tightened, his pulse hammering beneath your palm.

“You want to forget that?” You leaned closer, your breath brushing his cheek, eyes burning gold. “Go ahead. Break the deal. Watch how fast I rip you open before anyone else gets the chance.”

The only sound in that chaos was Abby’s ragged breath, his hands trembling against your wrist, his growl breaking into something guttural and uneven.

You released him with a sharp shove, letting him stumble forward, coughing, claw marks bright against his throat. Then you bent down, picked up your clipboard, and tapped the pen back against it as if nothing had happened.

“Now,” you said flatly, smirk curling again. “Anyone else want to forget why they’re still alive?”

The silence was thick, heavy, Abby’s ragged breathing the only sound in the room. He leaned against the wall, rubbing at the fresh claw marks on his throat, still glaring, but the fight had been cut clean out of him.

Romance was the first to break it. He let out a low whistle, shaking his head, his grin creeping back like he couldn’t help himself. “Well, shit. Remind me never to piss you off, sweetheart.”

Baby leaned back into the couch, towel thrown over his head, muttering, “We’re supposed to be the scary ones. And yet…” His eyes flicked up at you, still wide, still unsettled. “…you’ve got him by the throat like it’s nothing.”

Mystery didn’t laugh. Didn’t comment. But the faintest curve of a smirk twitched at the corner of his lips, as though he was quietly impressed despite himself.

And Jinu? Jinu chuckled low, deep, his arms folded as he leaned against the wall. A faint smirk was carved sharp, eyes glinting. “A half-breed who handles a demon better than demons a hundred times his age…” His gaze lingered on Abby, then slid back to you. “…I’d call that ironic. But maybe it’s just justice.”

Abby growled low, embarrassed, his glare still burning into you. But he didn’t move. Didn’t push back again.

You looked at them one by one, smirk curling sharper with every second. “Still underestimating me,” you said at last, voice cool, dripping with venom. “You’ve been doing it since the very first day.”

Baby shifted uncomfortably on the couch, Romance raised a brow, even Mystery’s eyes narrowed, his stillness breaking.

You stepped closer, your gaze slicing across all five of them. “That’s why you’re so damn easy to attack. Easy to break.”

Abby bristled, but the red marks on his throat kept him quiet.

Your smirk widened, cruel and amused all at once. “Funny, isn’t it? A half-breed—what, maybe five percent of your age?—and I had you pinned to the wall before you could even blink.”

The weight of your words settled heavy. Romance cursed under his breath, Baby muttered something sharp that sounded a lot like fuck off, and Mystery’s lips twitched again, unreadable.

You tilted your head, voice dropping softer but no less dangerous. “Keep forgetting what I am. It only makes my job easier.”

Baby groaned, throwing the towel off his head and glaring at you like you’d just cheated on a test he couldn’t pass. “Okay, no—seriously.” His voice cracked with disbelief. “How the fuck do you do that? We don’t see you train, you don’t eat souls, you don’t even—hell, you barely sleep. And yet you toss Abby around like he’s a rookie.”

Abby growled low, still rubbing his throat, but didn’t contradict him.

Romance tilted his head, smirk trying to crawl back but curiosity burning under it. “He’s right, sweetheart. No offense, but you don’t exactly scream ‘discipline.’ Yet somehow, you’ve got more bite than five demons with centuries under their belts.”

Mystery finally spoke, his voice calm but edged. “You shouldn’t be stronger than us.” His gaze locked on you, steady, searching. “And yet you are.”

Their questions hang in the air, let them stew in it, their stares heavy, desperate for an answer you had no intention of handing over cleanly.

And you?

You only laughed. Low, sharp, dangerous. The kind of laugh that twisted the knife. “The hunger that feeds my strenght doesn’t work like yours,” you said finally, voice low but clear. “It’s not directed at souls. Not in the same way.”

Romance leaned forward, curious and Baby squinted, suspicion written all over his face.

You shrugged, casual, wicked. “Hunger can be filled with many things. Sugar. Spice. Pain.” You let the pause hang, your grin widening as you leaned against the wall. “And sex. Hard, rough, unforgettable sex.”

Baby choked on a laugh, half scandalized, half aroused. Romance barked out a sharp laugh, clapping his hands once like he’d just won a bet. Abby muttered a curse under his breath, glaring away. Mystery’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile but close.

You lifted the clipboard again, tapping it against your palm like a gavel. “I already told you. You just didn’t believe me.”

The room buzzed with restless silence, your words sinking in like venom, their stares still hooked on you, their hunger turning restless. “You should try it sometime,” you said softly, voice dripping with mock-sweetness. “Before you decide I’m lying.”

You gave them all a once-over, satisfied, then lifted your clipboard again like the conversation hadn’t happened. Your voice snapped back into crisp professionalism, cutting through the tension.

“Tomorrow,” you said, tapping the page with your pen. “You’ve got rehearsal at ten, interviews at one, soundcheck at six, and then a fan meet at eight. I don’t care how wrecked you feel—” you shot Abby a pointed look, smirk sharp, “—you show up. No excuses.”

The boys bristled, restless under your words, but none of them argued. Not now. Your heels clicked against the floor as you reached the door, your voice hanging in the air like smoke.

But before you could push it open, a voice cut through the silence.

“Wait.”

You froze, turning just enough to see Jinu stepping forward. His arms no longer crossed, there was no mockery in his eyes—only weight, sharp and unflinching. He stopped a few feet from you, his voice steady, low, carrying the kind of authority that made every other sound in the room fall silent.

“You’ve made your point,” he said. “But don’t mistake control for loyalty. You can force us into line, yes. You’ve proved that. But if you want us to follow you—not just obey you—” his gaze bore into yours, dark and unwavering, “—then you’ll need more than claws and threats.”

For a moment, the air felt heavier than your laughter had left it.

Jinu didn’t wait for your reply. He stepped back, his eyes still locked to yours, then turned toward the others as if nothing had been said. The room buzzed with the echo of his words, the challenge left dangling in the air.

You smirked faintly, hand on the doorknob.

“Get some sleep, boys. You’ll need it.”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The next day, the air in the rehearsal room was sharp, brittle with everything Jinu had left hanging the night before. The boys showed up on time—your orders still carried weight—but the silence between them was thick enough to choke on.

They didn’t look at you the same way.

Romance wasn’t grinning as much. Baby wasn’t whining. Abby kept his distance, jaw tight, throat still marked. Mystery hovered close to the mirrors, unreadable but watchful. And Jinu stood in the middle, arms folded, eyes on you like he was waiting to see whether you understood his challenge.

You did.

Clipboard in hand, you clapped once, the sound sharp. “Listen up. Yesterday was about proving I could keep you from tearing each other apart. Today is about proving I can make you better.”

Their eyes flicked up, uncertain, restless.

You smirked, teeth flashing. “You think claws and threats are all I’ve got? Cute. Watch closely, boys—because I’m going to turn five half-feral demons into idols people can’t stop screaming for.”

Romance blinked, then barked a laugh. Baby muttered, “She’s insane.” Abby growled under his breath. Mystery tilted his head, studying. And Jinu’s lips twitched, not quite a smirk, but close.

You dropped the clipboard onto a chair and stepped onto the practice floor. “Form up. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

The music pulsed low from the speakers, bass shaking the mirrors. The boys lined up, their usual formation—tight, perfect on stage, but raw and sloppy in rehearsal. You leaned back against the wall, arms folded, eyes cutting over every movement. One eight-count in and you’d already spotted the cracks.

“Stop.” Your voice sliced through the beat, sharp enough to freeze them mid-step.

Romance blinked at you, grinning like he hadn’t just fumbled. “What? I looked good.”

“You looked like you were trying to fuck the floor,” you shot back. “Feet closer. Center of gravity lower. Unless you want to eat shit on stage in front of fifty thousand fans.”

His grin twitched, but he adjusted.

Your gaze snapped to Baby. “And you—stop rushing the beat. You’re not faster than the music, genius.”

He groaned, throwing his head back. “I’m keeping energy!”

“You’re keeping chaos,” you snapped. “Lock it down. Energy is useless if it looks like trash.” Baby scowled but moved back into position.

You circled behind Abby, watching his broad shoulders tense as he hit the moves too heavy, too forced. “Ease up,” you ordered, tapping his arm with your pen. “You’re dancing, not breaking the floorboards.”

He growled low, but his eyes flicked toward you—heavier, begrudging. And still, he adjusted.

Mystery. The quiet one. Smooth, but holding back. You stepped into his space, voice lower. “You’re marking it. Again. Full-out or get out.”

His lips twitched, almost a smirk, and this time when he moved, he gave everything.

And finally—Jinu. Perfect lines, perfect rhythm. But you caught it anyway. “You’re leading with your ego,” you said flatly, standing right in front of him. “Pull your chin down. Breathe through the music. Otherwise you look like a statue, not a leader.”

For the first time, Jinu’s brows furrowed. A small, sharp crack in his composure. You smirked. “Better.”

The music started again. They moved sharper, tighter, every correction biting. And you? You stood with arms folded, eyes glittering, your smirk carved deep.

They reset into formation, glancing at you like they expected another verbal lashing.

Instead, you stepped onto the floor. Their eyes followed you instantly—five demons blinking in disbelief as you cut through the center of their line. You didn’t ask for space. You took it.

“Mystery.” You brushed his arm with yours as you slid into his lane, your body going full-out where his had been lazy. “No more half-energy. If I can go harder than you, you’re slacking.”

His lips twitched, and when he moved again, it was sharp enough to make the mirrors tremble.

You didn’t stop.

“Abby.” You shifted into his path, chest to chest, your body flowing lighter through the combo, then snapping hard on the accent. “Strength without control is wasted. Ease into it. Then hit.”

His growl vibrated against you, but his shoulders dropped, his next move smoother, heavier in the right place.

“Romance,” you said, brushing past him, “your weight’s off. Watch.” You sank into the beat, knees bent, body rolling sharp and clean, snapping into place with more control than he’d shown all morning. His jaw slackened, smirk gone.

Jinu hadn’t missed a beat, but you still walked straight up to him, your body mirroring his perfectly for one sequence before snapping sharper, lower, cleaner. You leaned close, voice low.

“Less marble statue. More leader.” For the first time, his breath caught—eyes narrowing, the smallest crack in his composure.

“Baby.” You caught his wrist mid-move, dragging it back to center, your body hitting the rhythm exactly where his was rushing. “The beat leads you. Not the other way around. Lock it here.”

He sputtered, cheeks flushed, but copied the adjustment, teeth clenched.

You smirked, stepping back, the music still pulsing through you. “Better. All of you.”

The boys stared, chests heaving, sweat dripping, their rhythm tighter than before. Not perfect—but sharper. Stronger.

And all because you’d stepped in.

You straightened, brushing a stray strand of hair back, smirk flashing like a blade. “Now run it again. Full out. No excuses.”

And for once, they didn’t argue. The track ended, the last beat echoing off the mirrors. The boys stood dripping in sweat, breathing hard, muscles tight.

You smirked, crossing your arms. “See? Not that hard. You just needed someone with a brain to show you how it’s done.”

Romance let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe he’d let you call him out like that. Baby dropped onto the floor, towel over his face, muttering something like fuck off in between gasps. Jinu wiped sweat from his temple, eyes lingering on you longer than he meant to, unreadable. Abby growled low but didn’t deny it. And Mystery just watched, still but sharper, as if filing the moment away.

Suddenly, you reached into the bag you’d left by the wall. “Alright, break time. Don’t say I don’t take care of you feral idiots.”

The sound of wrappers and bottles clinked as you pulled out an assortment—fruit skewers, cut melon, bottled water, sports drinks, even a small bag of spicy chips you tossed straight at Baby. He caught them clumsily, blinking like he’d just been handed gold.

His head popped up immediately, eyes wide. “You didn’t—”

“You brought snacks?” Romance asked, brow raised.

You shrugged, biting into a slice of apple. “Yeah. Fruit so you don’t die, sugar so you stop whining, spice so Baby shuts up for five minutes. Oh—and a couple things you’re absolutely not supposed to eat if you want to keep your perfect idol diets.” Your grin widened. “You’re welcome.”

Abby grumbled something like tch, but still reached for a bottle of water, as same as Jinu, twisting the cap without breaking eye contact, his silence heavier than words. Mystery quietly took a piece of melon, his expression unreadable as ever.

You leaned back against the mirror, smirk curling sharper as you bit into a slice of apple. “You boys keep underestimating me,” you said lightly, almost sweet. “That’s what makes you easy.”

The room was quiet now, just the sound of wrappers crinkling and water bottles cracking open. They were still watching you—half suspicious, half begrudgingly impressed—when you crouched by the bag again.

“By the way…”

You pulled out a small lacquered box, dark wood polished smooth, tied neatly with red string. Their eyes flicked toward it, curiosity sharpening as you set it down on the table in the corner.

You didn’t open it. Not yet.

Instead, you dragged a fingertip slowly across the lid, your smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Dasiks,” you said casually, like you hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the room. “Homemade. Not by me, obviously—I’m not wasting my time in a kitchen. But still fresh.”

You untied the string with deliberate slowness, lifting the lid to reveal the delicate flower-pressed cookies inside, green tea, sesame, chestnut. The air filled with their subtle sweetness.

None of the boys moved, but...Romance tilted his head, grin creeping back. “You’re dangerous.”

Abby scowled, suspicious but clearly tempted, his throat working as he swallowed down nothing. Mystery’s gaze sharpened, unreadable, but his body leaned ever so slightly closer.

You smiled slowly, tapping the edge of the box with one nail. “What? I said I was feeding you. Did you really think I meant just chips and fruit?”

The sweet scent filling the room, watching them like prey sniffing the trap. “Go on,” you added softly. “Take one. See if they taste as good as they look.”

The tension was thick. You weren’t just feeding them. You were testing them. No one moved.

Mystery didn’t speak, but his eyes flicked between the box and your face, calculating. And Jinu—still silent, still watching you, his smirk gone, expression flat as stone.

Baby crossed his arms, still eyeing the cookies like they might bite him first. “Feels like a trap.”

You sighed, exaggerated and sharp. “They’re not poisoned,” you said flatly. “Relax. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

Your hand dipped into the box, fingers plucking out a dark sesame piece. You held it up, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “I’m feeding you. Helping you. Keeping you alive long enough to actually be worth something.”

Then you popped the cookie into your mouth and bit down, slow and deliberate. The sweetness spread across your tongue as you chewed, smirk tugging sharp at the corner of your lips. You swallowed, licking the sugar from your thumb.

“See?” you said, your voice almost mocking. “Still breathing. Still fine.”

The boys shifted—Baby’s hunger showing first, he groaned, throwing his head back. “Fuck it,” he muttered, shoving off the couch. He stomped over to the table, grabbed a green tea cookie, and shoved it into his mouth in one bite.

The room snapped.

Romance barked out a laugh, half-disbelieving. “You idiot. If she had poisoned it, you’d be choking right now.”

Baby chewed noisily, grinning through crumbs. “Worth it.” He licked sugar from his thumb, eyes narrowing with reluctant satisfaction. “Goddamn. That’s good.”

You smirked, arms folded, leaning against the wall. “See? Told you.”

Abby muttered something sharp under his breath but reached out anyway, snatching a chestnut piece like it was an insult not to. Mystery followed next, his movements calm, precise, as he plucked a cookie and tasted it slowly, eyes flicking back to you. Romance, of course, made a show of it—picking one up, bowing mockingly before popping it into his mouth.

Jinu was last. He didn’t rush. Didn’t smirk. He simply stepped forward, selected a sesame piece, and ate it with deliberate calm, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

You watched them eat, one by one, your smirk cutting sharper with every bite. When the last crumb disappeared, you pushed off the wall and clapped your hands once, mock-sweet. “Good boys.”

That set them off.

Romance let out a bark of laughter, wiping sugar from the corner of his mouth. “You’re insane. No manager talks to us like that.”

Baby groaned, still chewing. “Yeah, seriously. First you choke Abby out, now you’re hand-feeding us cookies? You’re a freak.”

Mystery tilted his head, eyes narrowing faintly as though he was cataloging the moment. “…Unusual,” he said at last, calm but edged.

Abby scowled, chest still tight, his voice low and bitter. “You’re not just unusual. You’re wrong. A half-breed shouldn’t be stronger than us, let alone bossing us around.”

The silence thickened, sharp.

Then Jinu broke it, his voice low, deliberate. “Strange doesn’t mean weak. And she isn’t weak.” His gaze slid to you, heavy, steady. “She’s… rare.”

Their words hung in the air, restless, circling you like smoke.

You only smirked wider, plucking one last dasik from the box and popping it into your mouth. “Rare,” you echoed, chewing slow, your grin wicked. “Get used to it.”

The room buzzed with their frustration, their hunger, their reluctant respect.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Two months later, and you’d become very good at herding monsters.

No one called it that, of course. On paper, you were the newly appointed manager of the Saja Boys, responsible for schedules, promotions, interviews, contracts—the whole industry circus. But in reality? You were the leash keeping five half-feral demons from tearing each other, their fans, or the stage to shreds.

And you were damn good at it.

“Interview at ten,” you said briskly, tossing a stack of schedules onto the table. “Rehearsal at one. Photoshoot moved to three because apparently Abby can’t stop glaring holes into photographers—”

“That guy was an idiot,” Abby muttered, arms crossed.

“—and Mystery,” you continued without missing a beat, “you’re not allowed to vanish before going live broadcast again. The producers nearly had a heart attack.”

From his corner, Mystery tilted his head, shadows curling lazily at his shoulders. “They survived.”

“Barely.”

Jinu smirked, lounging across the couch like he owned the world. “I have to admit, you’re more ruthless than I thought”

“Not hard,” you shot back. “A potted plant would’ve done a better job.”

Romance barked a laugh, Baby choked on his drink, and even Abby cracked the ghost of a smile.

The truth was, you’d made yourself indispensable. Contracts got signed on time. Stages didn’t collapse into chaos. Even Huntr/x had kept their claws sheathed, honoring the uneasy truce you’d carved into the air that night.

The fans noticed too. They didn’t know your name, but they whispered about the “ghost manager” who kept the Saja Boys in line. Some thought you were just another suit in heels. Others swore you were something more, a rumor born from the way the boys sometimes looked at you like predators circling something too dangerous to eat.

Either way, you held the reins. And you weren’t letting go.

The days bled together. Not in the slow, sleepy way of ordinary life—but like a film reel spliced too fast, too sharp, every frame hitting harder than the last.

You adapted quickly. You had to.

Mornings meant dragging five half-feral idols into order, one coffee at a time. Afternoons, you were referee, keeping Abby from snapping at choreographers who confused his intensity for anger. Evenings, you were both strategist and executioner—signing contracts, fixing schedules, fending off rival managers who thought they could talk circles around you. They couldn’t.

Romance flirting shamelessly with the makeup artist until you slid his mic into place and deadpanned, “Save the seduction for the fans.” A rival manager puffing himself up across a meeting table, only to wither when you leaned forward and said, with ice in your tone, “Try me.” Baby trailing after you during rehearsal breaks, sandwich in hand, mumbling that you hadn’t eaten since dawn.

You didn’t smile often, but your presence was a language they understood—one made of sharp edges, blunt truths, and efficiency. The Saja Boys were chaos. You were the leash. And somehow, it worked.

Which is why you noticed the shift in the air before you even saw him.

Romance.

You felt him at your back as you leaned over tomorrow’s schedule, his presence warm, electric, too close to ignore. The scent of sweat, cologne, and something darker—predatory—brushed over your senses.

“Thought you said you wanted to fuck one of us,” he murmured, low and amused, voice dripping like honey over broken glass. “What happened to that?”

You didn’t lift your gaze from the page, the scratch of your pen continuing. “I’m not an easy girl,” you said flatly. “You’ll have to earn me.”

A pause, then the curve of his smirk pressed into your ear. “Or…” he whispered, “we could make it just one night.”

That broke your focus. You let the silence stretch a heartbeat too long, then laughed under your breath, sharp and amused. Finally, you tilted your head just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“One night?” Your tone was incredulous, mocking. “Considering the endless hours, the sleepless days, the hell we’re stuck grinding through together…” You straightened, finally meeting his gaze, your lips curling into a blade of a smile. “If all you want is one night—then that’s your loss.”

For a second, his grin faltered, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then he chuckled, low and throaty, tongue dragging across his teeth in frustration laced with intrigue.

“Careful,” he said softly. “You’re making it sound like you want more.”

You dropped your gaze back to the schedule, dismissing him with deliberate ease. “Or maybe I’m making it sound like I know my worth.”

Romance stood there, quiet now, grin twisted, gaze burning holes into your skin.

And you—utterly calm, violet patterns dormant under your flesh—kept writing, as if you hadn’t just flipped the board on him.

He didn’t let it go. Of course he didn’t.

Every rehearsal, you felt his eyes lingering longer than necessary, following the sway of your movements as you paced the studio with your clipboard. Every break, he’d drift closer, always within reach, testing the edges of your patience.

But Romance wasn’t the only one testing his boundaries.

Abby had been watching. Not in the same obvious way—his gaze was sharper, narrower, full of judgment rather than flirtation. But you caught it, the way his eyes followed every exchange, as if waiting for you to slip, to prove you weren’t strong enough to stand where you were.

It came to a head after rehearsal one night. You’d stayed behind to finalize the new sponsor's contract, scrolling through your pad on the edge of the stage while the boys packed up. The room was almost empty when you realized Abby hadn’t left. He was leaning against the mirror, arms crossed, eyes locked on you like a blade pressed against skin.

“You act like you own us,” he said finally, voice flat but edged with something harsher underneath.

You didn’t look up. “I don’t act. I do.”

That earned you a low scoff. He pushed off the mirror, slow steps carrying him closer until he loomed over you. “You’re just a manager. Don’t forget that.”

You tossed the pad into your bag and stood, the violet patterns under your skin pulsing faintly as if to remind him who you were. Tilting your chin up, you met his glare with calm defiance.

“Funny,” you said smoothly. “I thought a manager was supposed to keep the band alive. Considering how many times you’ve tried to kill each other, I’d say I’m doing my job better than any of you.”

You, reveling in the moment, leaned just a fraction closer and whispered, “Don’t mistake control for weakness. I keep you in line because I can.”

His eyes burned hotter than fire, but he said nothing. Just stood there, caught between fury and something far more dangerous.

You left him like that, walking past him, the echo of your words hanging in the air. Behind you, Abby muttered under his breath, but you didn’t need to hear it. You knew the sound of a predator choking on pride.

...

Mystery never tested you in the same way the others did. He didn’t argue like Abby. He didn’t tease like Romance. He just… appeared.

In mirrors. In doorways. In the corner of rehearsal rooms when you were sure you’d locked the door. And for weeks, he said nothing—just watched.

Until the day he didn’t.

You were alone backstage, flipping through a stack of stage notes, when the air shifted. A prickle crawled up your spine. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was there. “You’ve been following me,” you said flatly, eyes still on the paper.

Silence. Then the faintest ripple of laughter, low and hollow, echoing from the shadows themselves.

You sighed and set the papers down. “If this is your idea of intimidation, I should tell you—” You turned, meeting the twin pinpoints of his eyes gleaming in the half-dark. “It’s not working.”

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Not quite walking, not quite gliding. His presence made the room colder, smaller. “Most people flinch,” he murmured finally, voice soft enough to brush the edges of your bones.

“I’m not most people.”

That earned you silence again. He circled closer, shadows bending toward him like a tide. The violet lines under your skin itched to answer, but you held them back, watching.

“You keep staring at me like you want something,” you said, tone dry. “So? What is it?”

Mystery tilted his head, smile ghostlike. “To see if you’ll break.”

Your lips curled, equal parts amused and sharp. “I don’t break. I bite.” The words hung between you like a dare. For the first time, something flickered in his expression—interest, hunger, curiosity.

He leaned in just enough for the darkness to lick at your throat, and whispered, “We’ll see.” But when you didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, it was him who faded back first, dissolving into the wall like smoke retreating from fire.

You exhaled, steady. Collected. Victorious.

...

Baby was the sunshine of the group. Or at least, that’s what the world believed.

Bright smile, dimpled cheeks, the kind of voice that could melt an entire fanbase into worship. He weaponized softness, used it to disarm, to charm, to make people forget what he really was. But you knew better. Behind that easy grin lived teeth just as sharp as the others’.

Which was why, when you caught him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and smirk firmly in place, you weren’t surprised.

“You’re fun to watch,” he said, tone light, almost sing-song. “Bossing us around like you own the place.”

You arched a brow, arms crossing to mirror him. “And yet, you keep listening. Guess it works.”

His grin widened, sharp enough to glitter. “Or maybe I just enjoy watching you try.”

“Try?” you echoed, stepping closer, closing the gap until there was no mistaking your challenge. “Funny. I thought I was succeeding.”

For a beat, silence stretched between you, electric. Baby didn’t look away, not for a second. And neither did you.

It became a standoff—his sweetness laced with venom, your sharpness wrapped in amusement. He tilted his head, lashes fluttering as if to soften the blade. “Careful. Keep staring at me like that, and people might think you’re falling for me.”

You let out a low laugh, leaning in just enough to match his angle. “Oh, sweetheart,” you said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “If all it takes to scare you is eye contact, you’re in trouble.”

His smile twitched, just slightly. Not broken—challenged. For once, it wasn’t him making someone else fluster. It was you, standing steady, gaze locked, refusing to blink until he did.

When he finally broke eye contact, glancing aside with a huff of laughter, you smiled slow and victorious.

“Didn’t think so,” you murmured, brushing past him as if the whole exchange had been nothing but a game.

But the way his laugh followed you—lower, sharper this time—told you Baby hadn’t lost. He’d simply found a new opponent.

...

Jinu was different. He didn’t circle you like Mystery. He didn’t poke and tease like Romance. He didn’t bristle like Abby, or play coy like Baby.

Jinu simply was. Leader. Predator. The kind of presence that filled a room before he even opened his mouth.

Which is why you weren’t surprised to find him waiting in the the middle of the stage hall one night, perched casually like it was a throne. “Manager,” he greeted, voice low, smooth as smoke. Not your name. Not even a title of respect. Just a word laced with claim.

You dropped your bag onto a near console, arching a brow. “Lurking around in the dark? Careful, Jinu—you’re starting to look needy.”

That earned you a grin, sharp and deliberate. “Needy?” He stood, unfolding to his full height, every step measured as he closed the distance. “I think you forget who’s letting you run this mess”

You tilted your chin up, refusing to give ground. “Do I?”

He stopped just in front of you, so close the heat of his body brushed your skin. The air between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken things. “You keep us in line,” Jinu said, gaze drilling into yours. “But don’t mistake our tolerance for obedience.”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “And don’t mistake my patience for fear. I’m not here because I need you.” You leaned in, your voice dropping to a whisper against his jawline. “I’m here because you need me.”

His eyes narrowed, the smirk twitching but never breaking. For a long moment, neither of you moved—just the sound of breath, the tension of two forces colliding without touch.

Finally, Jinu chuckled, low and rich, tilting his head back just enough to meet your gaze fully. “Careful, little half-breed. Keep talking like that, and I might start believing you.”

Your smile widened. “Good. Because it’s true.”

The silence that followed wasn’t surrender. It was recognition.

And when you finally stepped back, it wasn’t because you’d lost the standoff. It was because you’d won it—by not moving at all.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The penthouse hall buzzed with leftover energy. Five boys scattered across the space, each pretending to focus on their own routines, but the air was heavy, taut, tied together by one undeniable thread: you.

Romance sprawled against the couch, smirking to himself, though his eyes flicked to you every other heartbeat as if waiting for another opening to push. Abby leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw locked—silent, but his gaze never strayed far. Baby twirled a water bottle in his hands, grinning too wide, the kind of grin that said he was plotting his next move. Mystery lingered in the shadows of the far corner, his shape melting and reforming, but even his silence felt aimed at you. And Jinu just watched, seated calmly on the edge of the stage like a king surveying his court, unreadable but undeniably fixated.

You moved through them with steady ease, clipboard in hand, voice crisp as you rattled off schedules and demands. None of them interrupted. Not this time.

The silence that followed your instructions wasn’t submission, but something stranger—something more dangerous. They weren’t ignoring you. They weren’t dismissing you. They were orbiting you, caught in your gravity, even if none of them would ever admit it out loud.

And so...

It started small. A glance held a little too long. A smirk sharpened like a blade. The silence between questions that stretched just a breath too far.

You felt it gathering in the room, thickening with every day that passed. It wasn’t just tension anymore—it was hunger. The kind of restless craving that wasn’t about food or fame, but about skin, pulse, heat.

Romance’s laughter, rougher now, always aimed at you. Baby’s smiles, sweeter on the surface, but hiding something sharper behind them. Jinu’s silence, watching you like a predator who’d already claimed the territory. Mystery’s gaze lingering closer each night. Abby’s glares, hot enough to burn holes into your back.

The rehearsal hall, the green rooms, even the van rides between schedules—every space felt too small. Their gazes clung to you, five threads of heat pulling taut, wrapping tighter with every second.

And you? You felt it too.

Your blood hummed, your skin prickled, you knew the look in their eyes. You’d seen it before, in reflections of your own kind. Hunger recognized hunger.

Still, you kept your mouth shut. You smiled inwardly, sharp and secret, letting them think they had the upper hand. They didn’t know you were watching just as carefully, cataloguing every twitch, every pause, every fracture in their composure.

They thought they were circling you. But you were the one pulling the strings.

And oh, how sweet it felt.

You became fluent in double lives. The official mask of manager you slipped on so easily that even you almost believed it sometimes, clipboard tucked under your arm, schedule reminders flying off your tongue, expression carved into something sharp and professional. The boys played their roles just as well, their gazes polished for the cameras, their movements measured for fans who studied them frame by frame.

But beneath all that, there was the other you. The one they pulled out of you with fingers curling at the hem of your clothes, with mouths pressed where microphones couldn’t hear, with laughter that bent into moans behind locked doors.

It started small, always small.

Jinu leaned down just a little too close during rehearsals, his breath grazing your ear as he asked a question he already knew the answer to. You answered, clipped and annoyed, because that was what you were supposed to sound like. His smirk told you he’d heard the crack in your voice anyway. Later, in the van, his breath was hot against your throat, his fingers digging into the back of your knee under the tinted windows while the others pretended to scroll through their phones.

Romance was a different sin entirely. Reckless, taunting, wicked to the bone. He whispered filth into your ear during live events, all smiles and sunshine while promising things that would make the microphones melt. You never reacted. Not where anyone could see. But sometimes your mouth betrayed you, a ghost of a smirk, a twitch of amusement, and he always caught it. Later, when the lights dimmed and the cameras slept, he made good on every dirty syllable, grinning against your throat while you tried and failed to keep quiet.

Baby was mischief in human form. He lived for the game. Across the makeup tables he mouthed words only you could read, each one filthier than the last. He’d text nonsense while sitting two chairs away, eyes glinting when you ignored him. You’d roll your eyes, pretending indifference, but in private he was the first to pin you to a wall, laughter shaking through his chest as you glared at him, until glaring wasn’t what you were doing anymore.

Abby played innocent until the door clicked shut. On stage, he was sweetness personified, soft smiles and open gestures that made crowds scream. Off stage, he was the one who yanked you onto the mattresses, his teeth catching your bottom lip as though he’d waited hours for it. His favorite game was patience: long, lingering kisses, hands dragging slowly down your body until you couldn’t take it, until you begged; and then, only then, he let you have him. He liked seeing you snap, and you hated that you always did.

And then there was Mystery. Always the quietest, always the deepest cut. He didn’t chase; he appeared. Behind you in hallways, beside you in kitchens at impossible hours, his touch ghosting down your spine like a secret only he could keep. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his words lodged in your bones. He kissed like a confession you weren’t ready to hear, and every time he left, you hated how much you missed the silence he took with him.

It became ritual, in a way. Public composure, private ruin.

On stage, you fixed Jinu’s collar with an irritated sigh. Later, he tore at your clothes like they were a problem only his hands could solve. During interviews, you tapped Romance’s knee when he flirted too much with the cameras. Later, he pressed that same knee between your thighs until you couldn’t remember your own name. You scolded Abby for distracting the stylists, then spent half the night forgetting why you’d been mad in the first place.

The boys liked testing your limits, they liked watching you crack. Baby found ways to sneak touches under tables, and Mystery, the bastard, stole kisses in shadows so fast and quiet you almost doubted they’d happened, until you felt his teeth later, when no one else could stop him.

And always, always, you bit your tongue, because managers didn’t gasp, didn’t moan, didn’t beg. Not in public. Not where anyone could see. It wasn’t professional, and you know it, it wasn’t safe for any of you. But it was addictive. It was the kind of affection that burned instead of warmed. The heat lived in your skin, in the smirks they threw you across crowded rooms, in the way your body reacted before your mind caught up. And you, for all your sass and self-control, kept walking willingly into the fire.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

You adjusted the last stack of glossy posters on the table, the edge of your finger running across the smooth surface as the staff fussed with lighting. Chairs lined up perfectly, name tags placed in order, bottled waters tucked neatly under the table. Everything was ready, or at least it looked that way. You did a quick sweep with your eyes, because if something went wrong later, it would be your head on the chopping block, not theirs.

One of the staff members called your name, asking about pen colors, but you waved them off with a clipped, “Black. Always black. Easier for photos.” You didn’t even look up.

The boys weren’t here yet. Good. It gave you a moment to breathe, to smooth the tension out of your shoulders before they walked in with that storm of energy that belonged only to them.

As you crossed toward the entrance, something faint pulled you closer, music, muffled, bleeding in from the outside. Not the system inside, but something tinny, coming through a cheap speaker from the street.

Curiosity won. You leaned closer to the glass door, tilting your head until the sound sharpened.

Outside, just past the barricades, a small group of girls had gathered in a messy semicircle. No older than eighteen, all of them buzzing with nervous excitement. One adjusted her hair in the reflection of a shop window; another clutched her phone like a lifeline.

The speaker blared a familiar intro, Soda Pop, and the girls scrambled into position, laughing too loud, shoving at each other as they counted off. Then they moved. Imperfect, uneven, but full of that raw, wild energy that made you pause in spite of yourself.

Their sneakers squeaked against the pavement, arms flung out a beat too late, one of them tripped, and the others howled with laughter; another girl forgetting half the move until her friend tugged her back into place. They reset, off-beat and off-balance, but their smiles never dimmed.

They were terrible. And yet, in that moment, they were brilliant.

For a second, warmth bloomed in your chest. The simplicity of it all, just music, just movement, just joy, reminded you why you’d ever fallen for this world in the first place. You exhaled through your nose, a quiet smile tugging at your lips, and pushed away from the door before anyone caught you watching. There was work to do, and if the boys arrived to see that softness on your face, they’d never let you live it down.

You had already turned back toward the tables when the music changed.

The thump of bass slipped through the glass doors, sharp enough that you froze mid-step. A song you knew very well, one you had looped too many times late at night, until every beat was tattooed into your skin.

Your mouth curved before you could stop it.

Damn it

Outside, the girls reset, forming their uneven circle again, arms lifted as the first verse carried them toward the chorus. You stood half-hidden behind the door again, fingers tapping unconsciously against your thigh, your body already itching to move. When the drop hit, they flung themselves into the first chorus, and without thinking, you mirrored them. Just a small sway, a flick of your wrist, barely a fraction of what your muscles wanted to do.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just… muscle memory, a silent shadow. You weren’t really dancing. But your chest felt lighter, the rhythm pulsing through you like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

By the time the chorus ended, your jaw hurt from holding back a grin. The girls laughed outside, shaking out their arms, and you knew you should go back to work. You had tables to fix, staff to wrangle, boys about to arrive. You had no business standing here.

Yet your feet moved anyway.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the girls startled at the sound. A handful of wide eyes landed on you, scanning your face, your clothes, probably realizing you weren’t just another fan. Their speaker buzzed softly, waiting for them to reset, but silence clung for a breath too long.

“Mind if I join?” you asked, voice casual, though your pulse betrayed you.

For a second, they just stared. Then one of them, the one with the neon scrunchie holding up her ponytail, squealed, clutching her friend’s arm. Another girl nodded too quickly, as if afraid you’d change your mind.

You shrugged, stepping into their messy half-circle. The bass pulsed through the little speaker, a low vibration that seemed to crawl right under your skin. The girls glanced at each other nervously, waiting for the right cue. You didn’t, your body already knew.

The music hit, sharp and commanding, and your muscles obeyed before your brain could catch up. You stepped into the chorus like you’d been born there, shoulders rolling, arms slicing the air in perfect precision, your hips snapping with that familiar rhythm you had drilled into yourself in stolen hours.

The girls gasped. One of them nearly forgot to move, her eyes stuck as you moved your hands above your head in a gesture of prayer, knees bending with the beat, your hand flicking forward in that sharp move that punctuated the choreography. You didn’t give them time to recover. You hit every count clean, your body sharp where theirs was soft, steady where they stumbled.

They laughed nervously and tried to keep up, but you were somewhere else entirely. The street, the barricades, the staff waiting inside, gone. All that existed was the rhythm, the push and pull of your chest as you popped forward, arms tight, head snapping to the side with that dangerous precision that came from muscle memory and maybe something darker.

When the movement required stretching your body backward, you moved between them with complete naturalness, as if the girls' bodies weren't there and you were floating, deliberate, sensual without trying to be. A sharp pivot, then a sweep of your arm outward, catching the edge of the neon light from the storefront. The girls followed two beats late, panting, but their grins were wide, exhilarated.

And then the second half hit.

You spun, dropping lower, hair brushing your cheek as your body curved exactly with the track’s rhythm. The street seemed to pulse with you, your boots squeaking against the pavement as you snapped back up, hands slicing upward in sync with the beat drop. The girls shrieked encouragement even as they stumbled; you barely heard them. You were inside the song, every nerve alive, every gesture sharper, harder, filthier than theirs, because you weren’t just dancing. You were letting everything bleed out through movement, the tension of the past days, the heat the boys had carved into your skin, the impossible secret you carried.

By the time the sequence ended, you froze in the final pose, chest heaving, a smile tugging unbidden at your lips. The girls around you burst into applause and laughter, breathless, some of them clapping, one of them covering her mouth in shock.

“Holy shit,” one whispered, too loud in the quiet street. “You killed that.”

You straightened, brushing invisible dust off your pants as if it were nothing, though your pulse still raced. They swarmed closer, all flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, bouncing with the kind of excitement only teenagers could survive. A chorus of voices overlapped, high-pitched and breathless:

“Unnie, are you a trainee?” “Where did you learn that?” “You were insane, like, deadass professional!” “Wait, wait...aren’t you…?”

The last question made them pause as their brains clicked together. One girl clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes going impossibly wide. “Oh my God. You’re their manager, aren’t you? The idol material manager”

Your lips twitched, the hint of a smirk breaking through. They’d seen you before, in photos, in videos, at the edges of stages. Not the star, maybe, but the spark that drew eyes anyway.  “The one and only” you admitted, voice smooth and amused, letting the attention roll over you like a familiar rhythm.

That was all it took. Questions exploded around you, spilling fast enough to trip over each other.

“What are they really like off stage?” “Do they eat a lot? Like, how do they even stay that fit?” “Are they dating anyone...oh my God, don’t answer that; no, actually, do answer that-” “Who’s the funniest? Who’s the meanest? Who snores?”

You raised both hands, mock-surrender, a half-grin tugging at your mouth. “Woah, woah, slow down. I didn’t sign up for an interrogation.”

They laughed, jittery with nerves, but leaned in anyway, desperate for scraps of information. You let them ask, let the sound wash over you, but you picked carefully. Evasive here, sarcastic there. You gave them nothing important, nothing that could stick.

“They’re exactly how you see them,” you said at one point, tone deliberately vague. “Except louder. And more annoying.”

That got another round of laughter, and you smirked. Easy. Too easy.

What you didn’t notice was the girl at the edge of the group, phone held steady in her hand. She hadn’t stopped recording since you’d stepped outside, camera angled just right to capture the full chorus you’d danced. It had you in frame, every sharp movement, every deliberate flick of your body, ending in that final pose with the girls collapsing around you.

And now it had your face. Your voice. Your admission.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, staff calling your name again, reminding you that the chairs needed to be shifted an inch to the left, that the markers had to be uncapped and tested. Work. Always work.

“Guess that’s my cue to return to work” You gave them a lazy wave “Jal gayo” you ignored their chorus of goodbyes and slipped back inside.

The door clicked behind you, sealing off the street noise, replacing it with the low hum of staff chatter and the squeak of rubber soles against the polished floor. You exhaled, long and slow, as if the air inside weighed differently. The manager mask slid back into place almost automatically. Tables straightened, banners checked, bottles aligned, cords hidden.

But the music clung to you.

The bass was still in your chest, the rhythm still in your muscles. You caught yourself tapping the edge of a poster tube against your thigh in time with the chorus, shoulders rolling once, a hint of movement you smothered before anyone could notice.

Still, when you reached for the stack of cue cards, your voice slipped out, unguarded.

You hummed at first, low and absent-minded. Then a line of melody escaped, soft but clear, curling up into the air above the empty chairs.

Your lips moved with the words you knew by heart, and soon you were half-singing, half-talking to yourself, carrying the last refrain as if it belonged to you.

It was louder than you thought. Too loud. The staff glanced your way, a few of them smiling quietly before returning to their tasks. You didn’t care, for once, you let it happen.

The last note slipped from your mouth just as the door opened.

Instinct took over. Your body straightened, spine snapping into that practiced posture right before the boys swept in, a rush of perfume, cologne, and that kind of energy that filled rooms and veins alike, something that moved between you like a current waiting for skin.

“Everything ready?” Jinu asked, his tone casual, but his eyes didn’t bother hiding the flicker that passed over your face before scanning the room.

“Almost,” you replied, crisp, efficient, the kind of voice meant for staff meetings, not for the people who’d had your name breaking against their lips hours ago. You nudged a chair half an inch to the left, tapped the line of markers, all ritual precision. The mask slipped on flawlessly.

Romance stretched with a groan, the sound too indulgent, too aware of the eyes on him. Abby leaned his weight on the table until you slapped his hand away; the contact sparked, quick and quiet. Baby spun a marker between his fingers, watching you like he was timing your pulse. Mystery sank into his chair without a word, but the silence around him was thick enough to feel.

The staff darted around them, adjusting lights, testing sound, trying not to notice the static that seemed to cling to the center of the room. You made another circuit of the table, checking everything twice, refusing to meet their eyes. The faint smile you’d worn earlier had vanished, replaced by the cool, sharp look of someone who knew how to keep secrets standing upright.

“Water’s under the table,” you said evenly. “Pens are in order. Don’t switch them unless you want fans comparing autographs online again.”

“Got it,” Jinu said, mouth curving like a dare. You rolled your eyes just enough for him to see before stepping to your post at the side of the room.

The first wave of fans filed in, a blur of pastel signs, trembling hands clutching albums, and voices pitched too high to catch over the music playing low in the background. The boys straightened in their chairs, their expressions softening into the practiced warmth that made crowds melt.

You stood off to the side, eyes sharp, scanning for potential problems, cataloguing every detail, security placement, pacing of the line, whether anyone lingered too long. Routine.

Until you saw the same girls from outside.

They moved as a cluster, still buzzing from adrenaline, their hair damp with sweat from dancing, their faces flushed with the giddy glow of teenagers who thought the world might actually notice them. The one with the neon scrunchie clutched her phone like it was a sacred relic; another fiddled with her sleeves, whispering too quickly to breathe. They weren’t even pretending to be calm, not when they’d just been screaming lyrics into the open air minutes ago.

You caught their eyes for the briefest second, recognition flared instantly, followed by a ripple of shock. One girl gasped and elbowed her friend, nodding toward you like you were a secret no one else in the room could possibly understand.

Their mouths opened, words spilling fast, “That’s her!!” but the sound drowned under the fan noise, their excitement only doubled as they shuffled up to the table. Jinu leaned forward, smile smooth, signing the first album. Romance cracked a joke that made them squeal.

But the girls kept darting glances at you, as if you were part of the performance now. Their secret co-star.

You folded your arms, expression carved into neutrality, though your pulse still hummed with the aftershocks of the chorus you’d danced with them minutes earlier. And you couldn’t stop the corner of your mouth from lifting, just slightly, when the girl with the scrunchie mouthed a single word at you across the table.

“Unnie.” It was supposed to stay subtle, just a flicker of recognition, a shared secret between you and the girls.

But nothing slipped past Jinu.

He caught the way the scrunchie girl’s eyes kept darting sideways, how her autograph book shook a little too much when she stole another glance at you. His pen paused mid-stroke, and his gaze slid lazily toward you, sharp, curious, the kind of look that asked a question without words.

You didn’t move. Arms folded, face sharp but with a smirk high as their ego, the very image of a manager who had nothing better to do than supervise five demons. But you felt it, the burn of his stare, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he already knew you were hiding something.

Romance noticed next. He leaned back in his chair, flashing the girls his practiced smile, but his eyes flicked sideways, following theirs until they landed squarely on you. His brows lifted just slightly, a silent really, again? before he returned to signing with exaggerated flair.

The girls, oblivious to the silent war passing over their heads, kept whispering among themselves, cheeks pink, smiles splitting their faces. Abby fed into their excitement with a wink, Baby drew a heart that nearly sent them to the floor, and Mystery simply watched, inscrutable as ever.

And when you finally risked a glance at the table, Jinu was staring straight at you, one brow arched in silent accusation. He only signed the next album, unbothered, as if he hadn’t just promised to corner you the second the event ended.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The fansign felt like a lifetime ago by the time you dropped into the penthouse couch.

Shoes off, jacket tossed somewhere you’d probably forget, you stretched across the cushions like you owned them. Your back melted into the upholstery, legs thrown carelessly over the top of the couch, ankles crossed, one arm dangling toward the floor.

Music filled your ears, heavy and fast, thumping straight into your chest. You let it take you, eyes half-shut, hands flicking through the air in lazy mimicry of choreography you hadn’t stopped thinking about since earlier. A wave here, a snap there, fingertips cutting through invisible beats. It was indulgent, careless, something you’d never allow yourself anywhere else.

You didn’t notice how Jinu and Romance stood near the edge of the room, watching. Jinu leaned against the wall, arms folded, expression unreadable but eyes sharp, as if cataloguing every detail. Romance, predictably, had a grin plastered on his face, the kind that meant trouble.

They moved together, silent, until the shadow of their presence stretched over you. A hand brushed against your ear, and you jerked upright too late as Romance plucked one earbud free, twirling the wire between his fingers. Jinu followed, cool as ever, slipping the other from your ear with infuriating ease. The music bled into the open air, no longer yours alone.

“Having fun?” Jinu’s voice came smooth as silk, but the way his mouth curved, it was a knife wrapped in velvet. Romance, of course, was twirling your earbud like it was evidence in a trial. “Funny thing,” he said, grin widening, “those girls at the fansign weren’t looking at us. They were looking at you. Like they knew a secret.”

You leaned back against the couch, legs still slung over the backrest, half queen, half menace. “Maybe,” you said, voice thick with lazy defiance, “I just gave them something worth looking at.” Your eyes glinting as they flicked from Romance to Jinu.

Jinu leaned down, close enough that his breath brushed your temple. “Or maybe,” he murmured, “you wanted us to notice.”

Romance crouched in front of you, elbows resting on his knees, chin tilted up, his gaze sharp and teasing. “Careful, manager. You’re starting to sound like you enjoy the attention.”

You smiled, small and dangerous. “If I didn’t, you’d all be out of a job.”

You stared at them both, unimpressed, while Romance twirled your earbud like a trophy and Jinu loomed over you like he was the judge, jury, and executioner of secrets.

That earned twin smirks, one devilish, one restrained. You groaned inwardly. Great. Double trouble. “Two against one?” you said flatly. “What’s next, interrogation by candlelight?”

Jinu crouched beside the couch, his knee brushing the fabric near your hip. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “They mouthed something to you,” he said. “We saw it.”

You gave a withering roll of your eyes. “Yeah. It’s called unnie, genius. Ever think maybe I just looked like the only adult in a five-block radius?”

Romance’s grin sharpened. “Or maybe you did something outside you don’t want us to know about.”

You stretched your arms overhead, deliberately careless, before folding them behind your head, legs still kicked over the backrest like you didn’t have a care in the world. “If I did,” you said sweetly, “what makes you think I’d tell you two of all people?”

That earned a low chuckle from Jinu, but he didn’t back off. He leaned in closer, studying your face like it held all the answers. “Because you’re terrible at keeping secrets.”

You scoffed, flicking his forehead with two fingers before he could react. “Says the guy who thinks smirking counts as a disguise.”

Romance clutched his chest like you’d shot him, then leaned forward until he was inches from your face. “So you’re admitting something happened.”

“I’m admitting,” you countered, voice dry as dust, “that you’re both nosy as hell.”

They exchanged a glance over your sprawled body, some silent conversation passing between them that only made you groan. “Don’t you dare team up on me” you muttered, covering your eyes with one hand. “I’ll actually kill you both. With a spoon.”

Romance laughed so loud it echoed off the high ceiling, while Jinu just shook his head, the corner of his mouth betraying the smallest twitch of amusement. The argument was still circling in that comfortable loop, your sass, their suspicion, when a shout shattered the room.

“YAAAAH!”

You groaned, dragging your hand down your face. Only one voice could hit that pitch and make it sound like both a warning and a joke.

A second later, Baby skidded into the living room, phone clutched in his hand, eyes lit up with unholy glee. Abby trailed behind him, calmer but clearly intrigued, and Mystery followed last, silent, gaze sharp as a knife as always.

“What the hell now?” you muttered, still lounging like a queen on your couch throne.

Baby didn’t answer. He just shoved his phone in your face, the screen already playing.

The grainy screen flickered to life. And there you were, front and center on a crowded street, hair whipping, body moving with a fluidity that shouldn’t have been possible on uneven pavement. The music blasted faintly through tinny speakers, the choreography sharp enough to slice air. Every hip snap, every turn, every flick of your hand was deliberate, confident, magnetic.

The girls around you tried to keep up, but you outshone them without trying. The final pose, head tilted, chest rising, was pure idol precision. The video ended with a chorus of screams.

The boys stared at you.

Baby broke first, practically vibrating with energy. “EXPLAIN. THE FUCK. NOW.”

Abby tilted his head, lips twitching. “You’ve been hiding talents from us, it seems.”

Mystery said nothing. His eyes stayed fixed on the frozen frame of you mid-dance, unreadable and intent, like he was mapping the story behind every movement.

You reached up, calmly plucked your earbud from Romance’s fingers, and leaned back into the couch again. Unbothered. Unapologetic. “Nice, isn’t it?”

Baby blinked, still too stunned to find words. “Nice? NICE? That was a full choreo assassination in the middle of the street. With fangirls. Recording you. You’re going viral.”

You smirked. “Good. I look good.”

You reached for Baby’s phone, replaying the clip, watching yourself glide through the chorus with sharp precision. Your chest warmed, not with embarrassment, but with a pride you refused to hide.

Watching it again made something spark under your ribs. You didn’t hide it this time. “Honestly,” you said, handing the phone back, “you’re welcome. I just gave your fandom a better show than they paid for.”

Romance’s laughter died halfway out of his throat, replaced by a sharp grin that didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned back on his hands, gaze flicking over you with something darker than amusement. Jinu’s jaw tightening, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth like he was holding back words he shouldn’t say. Abby exhaled through his nose, that calm mask slipping just enough to show the heat underneath. Even Mystery’s stare turned molten, unblinking, territorial.

The room wasn’t laughing anymore. It thrummed with something else, possession, jealousy, the quiet understanding that every gaze that had lingered on you out there had trespassed where they thought only they belonged.

“Alright, let’s see the damage.” Abby plucked the phone from your hands, thumb flicking through the chaos of comments already piling under the video.

manager goals omg no wonder the boys look so good, she’s literally an idol herself she dances like she owns the stage… kill me pls ok but… she’s hot??

“Hot?” Romance repeated with a grin that was all teeth. “They’re not wrong.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Jinu snapped, though his jaw tightened more than his words did.

You, still sprawled comfortably on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “Oh no. Not the big bad idols getting jealous of a few fangirl comments. Should I get you tissues?” Baby groaned dramatically, covering his face with both hands.

“Wait, wait, wait, look at this one,” Abby cut in, scrolling further. His grin faltered into surprise. “she dances as well as she sings.”

That pulled everyone’s attention. Mystery leaned over his shoulder, silent as ever. Baby shoved Abby until he opened the link, and then the sound filled the room.

The same song from the street, but this time, no tinny speaker, just your voice. Clear, unguarded, spilling out into the empty venue while you adjusted posters and stacks of albums. The staffer’s phone shook a little, but it didn’t matter. The audio caught every note, the raw warmth in your tone, the quiet rasp when you hit the final line.

You froze. Of all the things to surface…

The boys didn’t move.

Romance’s grin vanished, replaced with a slow, dangerous curl of his lips. “So you do sing.”

Jinu’s eyes narrowed, flicking from the screen to you. “And apparently, you don’t sound half bad.”

Baby slammed his hand against the back of the couch, wailing. “No fair! You never sing around us!”

Five pairs of eyes pinned you to the couch, absolutely jealous.

You stretched again, slow and lazy, letting the silence drag until you could almost taste it. Then you tilted your chin up, eyes gleaming. “Well,” you said, voice dripping with satisfaction, “at least someone finally appreciates me.”

The staff’s shaky recording started again, tinny against the phone speaker. Your voice filled the penthouse a second time, softer than you remembered singing it, but raw enough to make the silence stretch uncomfortably. Baby was wailing into a throw pillow now. Abby kept scrolling through comments, reading each one in a tone just obnoxious enough to earn a death glare from Jinu. Romance sprawled back in an armchair, one hand covering his face as if the whole situation was just too entertaining to survive.

Mystery hadn’t moved. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on you, gaze heavy enough that you felt it in your skin. When the clip looped again, Jinu finally snapped. He tugged the phone out of Abby’s hand and tossed it onto the table, the screen still lit, your voice still echoing through the room. Then he straightened, pinning you with a look that belonged more on stage than here.

“You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?” His voice was low, sharp.

You tilted your head, unfazed. “Shouldn’t I be?”

Romance chuckled from his chair. “Careful, hyung. She’s enjoying this too much.”

Jinu ignored him. He moved around the couch, slow, deliberate, until he was standing over you. His shadow cut across your body, legs still thrown lazily over the backrest.

“You let them record you,” he said. Not a question.

You raised a brow. “Correction: I didn’t know they were recording”

His jaw tightened. The video looped again, your voice filling the room like static. “Do you have any idea what fans are saying right now?” he pressed, leaning closer. “What they think when they hear you?”

You smirked, tilting your chin up. “That I sound good. That I look hot. That maybe their idols should step up their game.”

A sharp breath left him, half laugh, half something darker.

Mystery finally moved, silent as a ghost, crossing to the other side of the couch. He didn’t speak, didn’t lecture. He just leaned down, close enough that his hair brushed your cheek, his voice a whisper you almost felt more than heard. “They don’t get to have this,” he murmured, soft but pointed. “Not your voice, not the way you move. That’s ours.”

Romance lifted his head, Baby peeked out from behind the pillow, even Jinu froze, caught off guard by the weight of Mystery’s words. You let the silence hang before you finally smiled, slow and wicked. “Then maybe,” you whispered back, “you should try harder to keep me.”

Slowly, deliberately, you swung your legs down from the couch, every movement unhurried, calculated. Their eyes followed you as you reached for your phone, earbuds curling like a lifeline in your hand.

You slid them in, pressed play, and let the music flood you.

The beat pulsed through your chest as you rose to your feet, rolling your shoulders back, stepping into the rhythm like the room was your stage. Your gaze swept lazily across all five of them, daring them to look away. None of them did.

Your lips parted, the words spilling out smooth, confident, teasing. The melody clung to your voice, wrapping around the living room until it hummed in the air. You swayed to the tempo, hips loose, arms gliding effortlessly in time with the song.

Their stares burned hotter with each step you took, but you didn’t falter.

“오, 마리아, 널 위한 말이야
뭐 하러 아등바등해? 이미 아름다운데…”

You spun on your heel, hair brushing your shoulders, and walked straight toward the hallway. Toward your room. Your pace matched the beat, every movement sharp enough to feel like a performance, but this wasn’t for them. It was for you.

The chorus hit, and you let it pour from your mouth, louder, freer.

“oh, nah, ah-ah Yeah-yeah-yeah. 아름다워 마리아…”

You didn’t look back. Not once.

The doorframe swallowed you whole, their silence heavy behind you, their frustration thick in the air. But you didn’t care. You felt the music in your blood, in your bones, and you carried it with you as you closed the door with a quiet click.

Leaving them burning in the living room, exactly where you wanted them.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The door clicked shut behind you, the echo of your voice still clinging to the walls. For a moment, none of them spoke. The song looped faintly from Baby’s abandoned phone, your voice tangled with the original track, mocking them in its repetition.

Romance broke first, dragging a hand down his face, laughter bursting out like he couldn’t help himself. “She just-God, she just viral’d us into the dirt.”

Mystery remained where he stood, arms crossed, eyes locked on the hallway. He didn’t speak, but the sharp glint in his gaze said enough: he was already replaying every note, every movement, filing them away like weapons.

Baby finally exploded, throwing himself onto the couch where you’d been sprawled seconds earlier. “Are you kidding me?!” he shrieked, rolling around like a brat denied candy. “She sings, she dances, she ignores us-oh my god, she’s the worst. I hate her.” He kicked the cushions, then added with a pout, “I hate her so much.”

Romance snorted. “You’re obsessed.”

“I’M NOT,” Baby snapped, his voice pitching high enough to make Abby chuckle.

Jinu finally tore his eyes from the hallway, voice sharp. “We’ll see how smug she is tomorrow.”

But the music looped again, your voice soft, taunting, beautiful. And none of them moved to turn it off. Romance reached for Baby’s phone again. “Let’s see how bad it really is,” he muttered, thumb already scrolling.

The others crowded closer despite themselves, the glow of the screen painting their faces in shifting light. The comments had multiplied, hundreds, then thousands, piling on with each refresh.

“Wait...hold up. Isn’t that their manager??”
“Look at the lanyard around her neck, it’s the same one from staff photos.”
“No wonder she’s always with them. She’s literally part of the team.”
“Manager or not, she ATE.”
“This is insane… she dances like she belongs on stage with them.”
“Her voice-why is she not debuting?!”

Romance let out a low whistle. “Well, there it is. They’ve figured she out.”

Baby yelped, shoving his face into Abby’s shoulder. “We’re doomed! Our manager’s gone viral for being hotter than us!”

Jinu’s glare could have split concrete. He snatched the phone, scrolling faster, expression darkening with every new notification. “Not just one video,” he muttered. “Both of them.”

Because the dance clip was everywhere now, reshared, clipped, slowed down, praised like it was an actual stage performance. And the staff-recorded singing? It had taken on a life of its own, spreading under hashtags, fans marveling at the fact that their idols’ manager had a voice that could rival anyone’s on the charts.

Abby leaned back, laughing under his breath. “Our manager, the new idol…we should’ve seen that one coming.”

Mystery didn’t laugh. He watched the screen once, then turned toward the hallway where you’d vanished, his eyes gleaming with something sharper than jealousy. Possessiveness.

The music from the phone replayed again, your voice pouring out into the penthouse, comments, retweets, hashtags spiraling out of control.

And then the real chaos hit.

@scrunchiequeen_97: “GUYS WE DANCED WITH HER...YES THE MANAGER-SHE’S EVEN COOLER IN PERSON 😭🔥”
@stage4saja: “ok but HOW does their manager move like that??? this is actually unfair.”
@rumi_hx: “Imagine thinking you can outshine her? Couldn’t be me. Queen energy only”
@zoeyluv_hx: “Not me becoming a fan of the MANAGER. She just ate and left no crumbs, idols included 💋”
@mira_hx: “Friendly reminder that talent is talent no matter what role you play. And she’s got it. Period”

The boys froze, staring at the screen as those names lit up the timeline.

Because this wasn’t just random fans anymore. The Huntr/x girls themselves, putting you on a pedestal with a wink and a smile, turning your moment into a wildfire, as if they were using your fame to mock them.

By the time Baby refreshed the feed again, the hashtag was already trending.

#ManagerOnStage
#IdolMaterial
#HottestManager

And you, safe in your room, music still pulsing in your ears, had no idea you’d just broken the internet.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

By the time dawn broke, the internet had already burned itself alive.

Hashtags trended in half a dozen languages. Edits of you, split-screen between your street performance and your stolen vocals, circulated faster than staff could report them. Fan accounts screamed about how unfair it was that a manager danced and sang like an idol. Others defended you, saying you’d only made the boys look better. Some simply thirsted shamelessly, tweeting things you refused to imagine Jinu or Romance ever reading.

News outlets joined in before sunrise. Headlines bloomed across feeds:

“Who is the Viral Manager Behind the Saja Boys?”
“Caught on Camera: Hidden Talent in the Industry”
“Is She the Secret Weapon of the New-Hot Idol Group?”

Staff group chats had exploded, panicked messages, demands to lock things down, speculation about how this would affect the boys’ image. The higher-ups hadn’t even decided on a statement yet, and already memes of you were everywhere.

You slept through it all, at least, until your bedroom door burst open.

“YAH!”

Baby’s voice cracked like a whip, his footsteps slamming across the floor. You groaned, dragging your blanket over your head, but it was too late. The rest followed in behind him. “Rise and shine, viral sensation,” Romance drawled, leaning against your dresser like he owned it.

You peeked out from under the blanket, hair messy, eyes still hazy with sleep. “…What the hell are you talking about?”

Jinu tossed his phone onto your bed. The screen was still lit, flooded with notifications. Edits. Tweets. Headlines. Your face. Your voice. Everywhere.

You blinked…then smiled. Slowly, satisfied.

“Oh,” you said. “Damn”

Baby screeched, throwing himself onto the bed beside you, pillow in hand like a weapon. “DAMN? THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GONNA SAY?! You ruined us! You’re trending higher than we are!”

Romance chuckled. “She doesn’t look too sorry about it.”

You pushed Baby off you with a grunt, snagging Jinu’s phone from the sheets before he could protest. The screen lit up in your hand, hashtags, memes, edits flying past so fast you could barely keep up. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, yawning as you scrolled, not even pretending to hide the smirk tugging at your lips.

#IdolManager was everywhere.
#HottestManager wasn’t far behind.

Clips of you dancing had been slowed down, color-corrected, looped into fan edits with captions like “she moves like she owns the stage”. Others paired your stolen vocals with lyrics in glittering fonts, comments raving about your tone.

You stretched, standing lazily, ignoring the group clustered around you. And that’s when you felt it, the weight of their eyes.

Abby’s laughter spilling out of him as he pointed blatantly. “Is that-” he wheezed, nearly doubling over, “-my shirt?”

Jinu’s mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing. “That’s my shirt.”

You glanced down. Oversized fabric hanging halfway to your thighs, sleeves swallowing your hands. Definitely not yours, definitely stolen.

You shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Finder’s keepers.”

Baby’s jaw dropped. “Unbelievable. She goes viral, steals our clothes, and acts like she runs the place!”

Abby chuckled under his breath, biting back a grin. “She kind of does”

You could feel Mystery’s gaze lingered a fraction too long on the way the shirt draped over your body, unreadable as always.

You turned your back on all of them, scrolling again as though they weren’t even there. The phone buzzed nonstop in your grip, more notifications pouring in:

“She dances better than half the idols out there.” “Is this the same woman who scolds them at events? Icon.” “Her voice??? Girl, debut instead of managing.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, sharp and smug. “Well,” you said over your shoulder, “at least the internet finally has good taste.”

You lifted your arms overhead, the hem of the stolen shirt riding dangerously high on your thighs, then you felt a hand catch the fabric at your side.

“Enough,” Jinu muttered, voice low, pulling at the oversized cotton like he meant to drag you back down to earth.

But instead of recoiling, you arched further into the stretch, spine bending, your body moving with the liquid ease of a cat daring someone to chase it. The shirt tightened against you, slipping under Jinu’s grip, until with one sharp twist, you pulled free entirely.

The fabric dropped to the floor.

You stood there, bare, unbothered, the morning light spilling through the curtains and painting your skin in gold.

Baby shrieked, half outrage, half disbelief. “SHE DID NOT JUST-”

Romance leaned back against the dresser, whistling low, eyes roaming shamelessly. “Goddamn, kitten. You really don’t play fair.”

And you? You smirked, as if this had been your plan all along, and you tilted your head, letting your voice drip with venomous sweetness.

“What?” you teased. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

You bent down and scooped the phone off the floor where the shirt had fallen. Notifications flashed nonstop, the whole internet screaming your name. You swiped lazily, lips curving higher with each scroll.

“Look at this,” you said, almost to yourself, tilting the screen so the boys could glimpse the feed. “She’s hotter than all of them combined.” You chuckled, eyes glittering. “Can’t even argue with that.”

That was the breaking point.

Jinu’s hand clamped around your wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to stop your scrolling. His jaw was tight, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen. “Stop it” he growled. “You think this is funny? That every stranger out there gets to see you, hear you...like we do?”

You tilted your head, utterly unbothered, lips curling into a dangerous smirk. “Aw. Is someone jealous?”

Mystery sighed low from where he leaned, eyes sweeping down your body like he was cataloguing every inch for himself. “Jealous is putting it lightly. He looks ready to kill the Wi-Fi.”

Baby’d been quiet too long, crouched on the edge of the bed like a devil waiting for his cue. Now he slipped off the mattress, steps slow, deliberate, until he was circling you. His grin was sharp, dangerous, the kind of grin that promised trouble.

“You love this, don’t you?” he whispered, low and mocking, eyes flicking to the screen still buzzing in your hand. “All those people drooling over you. Thinking they could have you.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Pathetic.”

You didn’t flinch. If anything, you laughed; low, throaty, sharp enough to make his grin widen.

“Maybe I do,” you purred, twisting your wrist free of Jinu’s grip with feline ease. You lifted the phone again, scrolling to another comment, reading it aloud with deliberate sweetness. “She sings like an angel and dances like a demon. Imagine her on stage, she’d steal the whole show.”

You looked up, eyes blazing, savoring the tension you’d lit in the room. “I’m sensing trouble in your egos”

Their eyes followed you in silence as you padded across the wrecked penthouse, discarded clothes crunching under your bare feet. You didn’t go for jeans, or sweats, or anything remotely normal.

You went straight to your lingerie cabinet.

Lifting out a black lace set, you let the straps dangle from your fingers for a beat, smirking at the weight of their stares. Then, without a hint of shame, you slid into it; delicate bra, garter belt, matching panties, each piece hugging your body like it had been made for this exact moment.

By the time you turned back, the air had shifted again, jealousy drowned out by hunger all over.

Romance groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re trying to kill us.”

Abby tilted his head, smirk curling slow. “Or the industry.”

Jinu’s jaw clenched, his voice sharp. “What the hell are you doing?”

You hooked a thumb under the garter strap, snapping it lightly against your thigh with a wicked grin. “Fixing the mess.”

Baby laughed hoarsely, eyes wide with delighted disbelief. “You mean-”

“I mean…Fixing. The. Mess” You planted yourself in the center of the room, hands on your hips, lace clinging to your skin like sin. “If the internet thinks I’m trouble…” You leaned in, your smirk cutting sharper. “…then I’ll solve it with more trouble.”

Mystery’s low grunt broke the silence, his eyes burning holes into you, but he didn’t move. The others stared; some exasperated, some hungry, all caught between fury and awe.

Romance nearly fell off to the couch, laughing so hard his face turned red. “You’re gonna fix a scandal… by making it worse! Oh my God, I don't care about whatever we've argued about before, I love you”

Abby smirked, chin propped on his hand as his eyes swept over you shamelessly. “Trouble on you looks good. Very marketable.”

Jinu, on the other hand, looked like he was about to combust. He pointed at you like he could physically anchor your nonsense with his finger. “No. Absolutely not. You’re not stepping out in that. Not for fans, not for staff, not for anyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, tugging playfully at the strap of your bra. “Oh, so you do like it.” His jaw clenched so hard you thought his teeth might crack.

Baby wheezed, tears in his eyes from laughing. “No, please, let her do it. I want to watch the world burn. I’ll bring popcorn.”

Mystery didn’t laugh, didn’t yell, didn’t even smirk. He just leaned back, arms crossed, gaze locked on you with that unreadable intensity. But the way his throat bobbed when you adjusted the garter said everything.

Romance flopped onto the couch, still chuckling. “Imagine the headlines tomorrow: ‘Saja Boys’ manager appears in lingerie to address scandal, group mysteriously sells out entire world tour.’”

Baby clapped slowly, deadpan. “I’d buy tickets.”

Jinu dragged his hands down his face, groaning loud enough to shake the walls. “You’re all insane.”

You twirled once, lace catching the light, smirk sharp as a blade. “No. I’m effective.”

The tension stretched one second, then two, then half a minute…until you couldn’t hold it anymore.

You threw your head back and laughed, loud, sharp, hysterical, until your stomach hurt, until tears pricked your eyes. The boys froze, caught off guard, watching you unravel into wicked amusement.

“Oh my God!” you gasped between fits, clutching your side, “you actually thought-” Another round of laughter cut you off, your knees almost buckling. “You thought I was gonna take a photo in this?”

Romance blinked, baffled and a little disappointed. “Wait… you’re not?”

That made you laugh harder, bending at the waist, gasping for air. “No, you idiots! This-” You tugged at the lace strap, snapping it against your shoulder again, your grin feral. “-is only for you.”

Abby groaned, dragging a hand down his face, muttering, “She’s cruel.” But his smirk betrayed him.

Jinu looked like he might combust on the spot, veins tight at his temple. “So you-” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying again. “You got dressed like that just to-”

“Change”  you cut in, still breathless from laughing. You flopped onto the couch, lace on full display, grabbing the nearest pillow like a queen taking her throne. “Obviously. You think I’d waste good lingerie on a press statement?”

Baby shrieked with laughter, rolling onto the floor. “Oh my fucking god. She played us. She actually played us.”

Romance clutched his chest dramatically. “I feel betrayed. And turned on. Both.”

You stretched, slow and smug, lounging back in the lace as if you hadn’t just detonated the entire room. “Relax. This is my aftercare outfit. I’ll put on real clothes when I actually feel like working.”

The room groaned in unison, a chorus of frustration, hunger, and begrudging laughter.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

By late afternoon, the penthouse had gone quiet, except for the furious tapping of your keyboard and the constant buzz of your phone.

You sat cross-legged on the couch in a fresh set of clothes, laptop balanced on your knees, phone tucked between your shoulder and ear. The screen glowed with a dozen open tabs, emails stacked in red, notifications pouring in like a flood.

“Uh-huh,” you said sweetly into the phone, clicking through yet another viral edit of your street dance. “Yes, I’ve seen the video. Yes, both of them. Yes, it was me. Shocking, I know.” You rolled your eyes. “No, I didn’t consent to being filmed. Yes, we should address that. No, I’m not suing teenagers with iPhones.”

The person on the other end sputtered, and you smirked, typing with one hand, already drafting a statement.

“Listen,” you cut in, your tone sharpening. “You’re acting like I committed war crimes. I danced. I sang. The world didn’t end. People are allowed to have fun, even managers. Even me.” You leaned back, stretching your legs out onto the table. “It’s called a hobby. Try it sometime.”

Click. Call over. Onto the next.

Your phone lit up again, another manager, another panicked voice. You picked it up, not even looking away from the screen as your fingers flew across the keys.

“Yes, I’ll handle it,” you said, tone dry, sharp. “No, I don’t need a babysitter. No, I don’t regret it. Yes, the boys are fine. Yes, they’re watching me work right now. No, they’re not helping. Why? Because they’re too busy staring.”

At that, you finally glanced up.

And sure enough, five pairs of eyes were fixed on you; wide, slack, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to admiration.

Jinu’s phone dangled forgotten in his hand. Romance had stopped mid-sip of water, still holding the glass halfway to his mouth. Abby leaned against the armrest, smirking faintly but clearly stunned. Baby sat cross-legged on the floor, jaw practically on his knees. Mystery just stared, expression unreadable, but his grip on his drink was tight.

You snapped your laptop shut with a flourish, smirk curling slow.

“Crisis averted,” you announced, smug. “For now.”

Romance let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Abby chuckled. “Too late.”

Baby groaned, flopping back against the carpet. “She’s a menace. Worse than me.”

Jinu shook his head slowly, still in disbelief. “You… you actually fixed it.”

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming. “What can I say? I’m effective.”

Mystery finally set his drink down, his gaze still locked on you, he didn’t say anything, but you could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing heavy across the room.

For a moment, nobody moved. The air between you and them hummed, warm, electric, charged with something that wasn’t just awe.

It wasn’t just that you’d fixed the chaos; it was the way you did it. Calm, razor-sharp, unflinching. The way your voice didn’t tremble even when theirs had. The boys had seen you angry, laughing, even teasing, but this? This version of you, half fire, half precision, left them quietly undone.

Romance was the first to stir, dragging a hand through his hair like he was trying to shake something off. “You always have to steal the damn spotlight, huh?” he said, but his tone was low, more reverent than annoyed.

You raised a brow. “Says the man who makes fan hearts explode for a living.”

His grin was quick, crooked. “Yeah, well… maybe I don’t like sharing the explosion.”

Jinu’s gaze lingered longer, more measured. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. There was a glint in his eyes, not anger exactly, but something close. Possessive. Protective. “You know,” he said slowly, “you make it really hard for the rest of us to pretend we’ve got you figured out.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Then stop pretending.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Abby, though his eyes stayed on you too. “She’s right,” he murmured. “We keep trying to handle her like she’s one of us...but she’s not. She’s worse.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “And better.”

Mystery leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. His expression didn’t waver, but there was something in his gaze; something dark and knowing. “You don’t tame a storm,” he added quietly. “You learn to move with it.”

No one breathed, Abby’s jaw slackened, and even Baby let out a small, incredulous laugh that broke the tension. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. “Didn’t think the philosopher was awake today.”

Mystery’s lips twitched, but his eyes never left you. “I’m awake now.”

You held his gaze, pulse thudding once, twice, before you finally smirked. “Good. Stay that way.”

Jinu exhaled, half a laugh, half surrender. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice rough.

You smiled, slow and certain. “Took you long enough to notice.”  You leaned back against the cushions, feeling the weight of five gazes still anchored to you. Outside, the sky dimmed into violet. The day settled into its final breath, and the penthouse filled with the faint hum of city lights. You let your eyes drift closed for a heartbeat, still smiling, because somewhere between chaos and calm, you’d reminded everyone exactly who held the reins.