Romance didn’t mean to vanish. It wasn’t planned—just instinct. A flicker of panic, a surge of emotion too raw to contain. One moment, he was beside Yena, having saved her from drowning, soaked in moonlight and memory, and the next, he was gone. The teleportation was sloppy, uncalibrated. He landed on a rooftop overlooking the river, breath shallow, heart pounding in a rhythm that didn’t belong to demons.
Below, the city pulsed with life. Neon signs blinked against the dark, traffic hummed distantly, and the river glistened like a wound. He spotted her almost immediately.
Yena.
She stood where he’d left her, alone by the water’s edge, her silhouette tense and trembling. Her arms wrapped around herself—not for warmth, but for containment. She turned slowly, scanning the shadows, her expression flickering between confusion and disbelief. Then came the frustration. Her jaw clenched. Her shoulders squared. She took a step back, then another, retreating from the river like it had betrayed her.
Romance watched her walk away. There was a cruel satisfaction in it. She was fractured. Off-balance. The mission was working; she was no longer the unshakable force they feared. But as she disappeared into the night, something twisted in his gut. Pride and shame collided, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
You didn’t just manipulate her. You fell for her as well. He hated that thought. Hated how true it felt.
Suddenly, the markings on his skin began to pulse. A low hum vibrated through his bones, growing louder, sharper. The air around him thickened, folding inward. His vision blurred. The rooftop dissolved into smoke, and the city lights blinked out like dying stars.
He was being summoned. The shift was violent as the world twisted around him. The scent of sulfur and scorched stone filled his lungs. When the haze cleared, he stood in the throne of Gwi-ma—the heart of the demon realm.
Romance’s human form unraveled. His skin shimmered with purple smoke, revealing the true creature that he is. Black Hanbok and a black gat hat. His features reverted to their typical demonic origin: yellow slit eyes, sharp fangs, grey-bluish skin, and claws on his hands. He stood slightly shorter with a slight hunch on his back, more monstrous, more vivid.
But he felt no triumph.
Until Gwi-Ma's voice uttered with satisfaction. “You’ve done well.”
It echoed aloud, ancient and omnipresent. The demon king’s presence loomed over the atmosphere like everyone else. Romance bowed his head slightly, his expression carved from stone.
“The hunter is so fractured,” Gwi-Ma continued. “You’ve corrupted her to the bone. Now she is nothing.”
Romance nodded once, but the guilt didn’t fade; it didn't make things any better.
He remembered her voice—soft, defiant. The way she’d looked at him with something dangerously close to trust. The way her song had reached for him, not to destroy, but to understand.
I failed her, and it hurts to know I did so...
He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought down. Gwi-Ma didn’t need to know anything about his inner struggles right now. Letting his shame and guilt of the burdens he had carried over the years show at the forefront. If he wanted to protect Yena or, at the very least, whatever past connection they had, then staying in Gwi-Ma's good graces was the only option.
Without warning, another figure materialized suddenly.
Jinu.
The air rippled as he appeared, his form flickering before solidifying. He looked disoriented, eyes darting around the forlorn landscape, taking in the crowds of demons before him and the presence of Romance beside him.
Romance turned to him, an unreadable expression on his face. “Didn’t expect to see you here instantly,” he murmured, voice low and edged.
Jinu didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked to Romance before slowly turning behind him. He could feel it too—the tension, the weight of Gwi-Ma’s pending humiliation upon him. The demon king wasn’t pleased with his progress at all.
Romance folded his arms, witnessing the situation unfold before him, but he couldn't save his leader from this. He watches as Jinu wreathes in his shame twice, doubled this time around.
About some time later, the air in Seoul felt thinner after the demon realm.
Romance barely noticed the shift. He reappeared in the city like smoke curling back into form, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. The night was quiet, the streets slick with recent rain, neon signs blinking lazily in the distance. He stood beneath a flickering lamppost, the shadows clinging to him like old friends.
Jinu landed beside him with less grace. His body staggered slightly, knees buckling before he caught himself. His breath was shallow, his eyes unfocused. The marks from Gwi-ma’s torture weren’t visible, but they were there, etched into his bones and skull. He was numb to the core, almost lifeless.
Romance glanced at him, a flicker of pity briefly shown before slight amusement tugging at his lips, hiding his empathy. He didn't know what to think of Jinu aside from being the leader of their group. He owes him for this opportunity to see the human world again, but at what cost?
“You look like you’ve been taken to your era and came back,” he said, voice casual. “Guess your promise to that hunter wasn’t worth much after all.”
Jinu didn’t respond immediately. He straightened slowly, shoulders squared, jaw tight. His eyes met Romance’s with quiet fury, but he said nothing.
Romance chuckled, but no humor came from it. “We have a mission, remember? Not some K-drama.”
He turned to walk past Jinu, boots clicking against the wet pavement. But as they drew level, he paused for a moment.
“You didn’t think interfering with my task would go unnoticed, did you?” he asked, voice soft, but his tone was sharp.
Jinu’s gaze snapped to him, eyes burning. “I didn’t interfere with whatever you were doing.”
Romance raised a brow, lips twitching. “No? Then why did Gwi-Ma summon you like a disobedient child?”
Jinu didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, as he had no idea what Romance was implying. The silence between them was thick with accusation, with history, with the kind of tension that doesn’t explode—it corrodes.
Then, without warning, the rest of the Saja boys appeared. They stepped out from the alley like shadows given shape. Abby first, his black Hanbok billowing behind him, followed by Baby, who looked far too amused for the gravity of the moment. Mystery lingered behind, silent, watchful.
An awkward silence fell over the group.
Romance turned slowly, eyes narrowing towards them. “I know you’ve been following me like a bunch of Aunties looking for things to gossip about.”
Abby didn’t flinch at the playful accusation. “We weren’t involved in the boat incident if that's what you wanted to ask.”
“Then why did you even dare to eavesdrop on us?” Romance’s expression darkened, then pointed to Jinu. "He had a much better outcome than I did."
Baby snorted. “You spy on Jinu all the time. Thought we’d return the favor.”
Romance ignored him, his gaze sweeping over the group. None of them looked guilty. None of them looked surprised. But Jinu—Jinu was still syncing in the information, his mind racing, his body tense.
Romance turned back to him, voice low. “If it wasn’t you… and it wasn’t them…” He let the words hang. “Then who summoned the water demon?”
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Morning arrived like a bruise, soft light bleeding through the curtains, casting pale streaks across the floorboards. Yena lay still, tangled in sheets that felt too heavy, too warm, like they were trying to hold her down. Her body ached with the kind of fatigue that sleep couldn’t fix. She hadn’t truly rested. Not with the way her mind had kept replaying the night before, looping through every moment like a song stuck on the wrong verse.
She turned her head toward the window, watching the wind stir the leaves outside. The world looked unchanged. But inside her, something had shifted.
It had once started beautifully. Romance had looked at her like she was something sacred—his gaze reverent, his touch careful, like he was afraid she’d vanish if he held her too tightly. Their kiss had been urgent at first, then slow, like they were trying to memorize each other.
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The river struck like a curse.
One moment, Yena was locked in the fragile intimacy of Romance’s gaze, his breath still warm on her lips, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Next, the world shattered. A violent force surged from beneath the boat, flipping it with unnatural precision. Wood cracked. Metal screamed. Her body was thrown sideways, limbs tangled, breath stolen.
She hit the water hard. Cold enveloped her like a second skin. Her lungs seized. Her arms flailed, searching for the surface, but the current dragged her deeper, twisting her in its grip. Panic bloomed in her chest, sharp and suffocating. The river was no longer just water; it was memory, it was punishment, it was a gate.
Then everything stilled.
Not just the water, but also her mind. A vision bloomed behind her eyes, vivid and cruel. She was no longer drowning.
She was standing in a chamber lit by flickering lanterns, the scent of sandalwood thick in the air. Silk curtains swayed gently, and a folding screen stood between her and the man she loved. She was crouched behind it, breath held, heart pounding like a drum of war.
His voice drifted through the screen—low, deliberate, laced with something venomous.
“Her older brother will arrive alongside the foreign delegation. We strike before dawn. No survivors.”
Yena’s, no... the young woman’s hand flew to her mouth. Her knees trembled. The voice was familiar. Not just in tone, but in rhythm. In cadence. In the way it curled around cruelty like silk around steel.
She peered through the screen’s lattice. The young man stood in profile, his face carved by moonlight. High cheekbones. A mouth that looked like it had forgotten how to smile. Eyes that flickered gold in the candlelight.
Romance or someone who wore his human face, but colder. More calculated and less demonic. He turned suddenly, and their eyes met.
She rose from behind the screen, slowly, like a ghost revealing itself. Her fingers reached for the ornate hairpin in her bun—a delicate thing of silver and jade. She pulled it free, the sharp end catching the light.
“Don’t come closer,” she said, voice shaking in Hangul. “Or I’ll stab myself.”
He didn’t flinch. His expression softened, but not with love—with guilt. With something that looked like regret, but felt like manipulation.
“You weren’t meant to hear that,” he murmured, replying to her in clear Hangul. “It’s not what you think it is.”
She laughed, bitter and broken. “You’re a liar.” He stepped forward, but she raised the hairpin higher.
“Your greed will ruin you,” she said. “You’ll destroy everything just to feel powerful.”
He stopped. The silence between them was unbearable.
“Did you ever love me?” she asked. He hesitated to respond. Too long for her liking, which only confirmed that he never did.
“Yes,” he said, but the word was hollow, lacking any emotion or genuineness.
She closed her eyes. The realization hurt her to the bone as she placed a trembling hand on her belly that showed a protruding bump.
“I am carrying your child,” she whispered as tears left her eyes. “Yet you have never loved me.”
The chamber blurred. The vision cracked, and Yena was back in the river. Her lungs screamed, and her body convulsed. Then, arms wrapped around her. A grip that was firm, yet desperate.
Romance.
He pulled her to the surface, gasping beside her, his eyes wide with panic. She coughed violently, water pouring from her mouth, her body trembling, but her gaze locked onto his face.
Soogeun (Soo-Geun), a name echoing in her mind like a last resort.
And she saw it. Not just resemblance, but recognition. The same eyes. The same guilt. She stared at him, chest heaving, heart breaking.
His expression faltered. Not with confusion but with fear.
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Yena sat up, pressing her palms into the mattress. Her skin was clammy, her breath uneven. The memory of being underwater clung to her like a second skin. Not just the cold or the panic—but the vision. That strange, vivid flash that didn’t belong to her. Or at least, not to this version of her.
It had happened before. Always in water. Always when she was vulnerable.
The woman in the vision had her face, but not her voice. Her posture was different. Softer. More trusting. And the man, he wore Romance’s face, but none of his warmth. His eyes were sharp, calculating. His calmness was a blade.
Yena’s stomach turned. She remembered the way the woman had looked at him—so full of love, so certain. She remembered the way her voice cracked when she asked if he’d ever loved her. The silence that followed. The way he didn’t answer. The way he turned away.
That man broke her. Not just emotionally. There had been something else. A betrayal that went beyond heartbreak. Yena could feel it in her bones, like the memory had been etched into her soul long before she was born.
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady the tremble in her hands.
Was that me? The question felt dangerous. Was that Romance?
She didn’t want to believe it. The man she’d kissed last night was flawed, yes. Maybe even dangerous. But he’d looked at her like she mattered. He’d sung with her. He’d held her like he didn’t want to let go.
But the man in the vision… He’d planned something. Something cruel. Something evil.
Yena’s breath came faster. She began to spiral, her thoughts unraveling. What if Romance was still that man? What if he was playing her, just like before? What if this was all a performance, and she was the fool who believed in the encore?
She thought of the woman in the vision again. How deeply she’d loved. How completely she’d trusted, and how utterly she’d been destroyed.
Yena swallowed hard as she whispered. "No Romance would never do that, not when..." But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. Because the feeling had already called out to her, and Romance, whatever version of him is right now, had already touched her heart.
Three sharp knocks echo from her door. She flinched, the sound slicing through her thoughts. She blinked, disoriented, and turned toward the door. Voices followed very cheerfully, overlapping in a way that felt almost surreal.
She walked slowly, padding across the room with cautious steps. Her hand hesitated on the doorknob. The girls were laughing together as if something had shifted overnight.
She opened the door.
Rumi, Mira, and Zoey stood in the hallway, beaming. Their smiles were wide, their energy infectious, but as soon as they saw her face—pale, distant, eyes shadowed with unrest—their expressions softened.
Rumi stepped forward first, her voice gentle. “Yena… are you okay? You look like you haven't slept well.”
Yena nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… stressed lately.”
The lie came easily, but it tasted bitter. She hated how natural it felt to hide.
Zoey, ever the mood-lifter, grinned. “Stressed about singing Takedown?” She nudged Mira playfully, and the others chuckled, waiting for Yena’s reaction.
Yena forced a smile. “Yeah… maybe that’s it.”
But it wasn’t. Her mind was still submerged, still haunted by a love that had ended in betrayal. She hoped desperately that they wouldn’t see through her calm exterior. That they wouldn’t notice how her hands trembled slightly at her sides, or how her voice didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Mira stepped in, her tone light but decisive. “Lucky for you, you don’t have to sing Takedown. We’ve decided to go with Golden instead.”
Yena blinked. “Wait... Golden?”
She felt a flicker of relief, but also something else. A quiet ache. She hadn’t been there when Golden was made, hadn’t stood in the studio, hadn’t shaped the harmonies. It was a song that belonged to them, not her. And yet, hearing it chosen felt like a balm.
Rumi nodded. “It was a collective decision. We talked it through. And my voice is doing well now.”
Yena exhaled slowly, tension easing from her shoulders. “I’m glad. It’s… good to see you all on the same page.”
Zoey winked. “Don’t get used to it. We’re still chaotic.”
Mira rolled her eyes before smirking. “But we’re trying.”
Rumi smiled, her gaze lingering on Yena. “We’re here. Whatever’s going on… You don’t have to carry it alone.”
Yena nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She was never ready to tell them everything. Not about the visions. Not about the fear that Romance might not be who she thought he was. But for now, their presence was enough. A reminder that not all things from the past have to repeat.
ns216.73.216.86da2
and then Add to home screen.