YOUR VILLAIN112Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzLN0Zy8GNF
(Romance's theme song)
Yena lingered in front of the mirror longer than she meant to. Her reflection stared back with a quiet defiance, the kind born from exhaustion rather than confidence. She adjusted the collar of her outfit, tugged at the hem, and smoothed the fabric over her ribs like it might hold her together. Her eyes were still rimmed with the remnants of emotion, too raw to be called tears, too subtle to be called strength.
She took one last breath, squared her shoulders, and turned away.
The waiting room door clicked shut behind her, sealing in the silence she’d been hiding in. The hallway outside was dimly lit, its polished floors reflecting the overhead lights in long, ghostly streaks. The distant hum of the crowd backstage was muffled, like a heartbeat behind walls. She began walking, her heels tapping rhythmically, each step a small rebellion against the weight in her chest.
“Yena.” She stopped mid-step. The voice curled around her like smoke. Familiar, warm, and entirely unwelcome. She turned slowly, already bracing herself.
Romance was striding toward her, his pace quick but not rushed, his expression unreadable. His dark purple collared V-neck long-sleeve shirt, slightly crumpled, the black heart-shaped pendant necklace on his neck twinkled when hit by the lights. His pink hair was tousled like he’d run a hand through it too many times. There was something off about him—less polished, more real. And that unsettled her more than anything.
“You’re here,” he said, breathless. “I was hoping I’d catch you.”
Yena blinked, her tone clipped. “Why?”
Romance hesitated, then shrugged. “Jinu and Abby got into an argument. I left before someone said harmful words.”
She tilted her head, skeptical. “So you’re just… wandering the halls now?”
“Escaping,” he corrected, with a half-smile. “You know how it is.”
She didn’t respond. Not with words. Her silence was deliberate, a shield. She studied him. His posture, his eyes, the way he kept glancing at her like he was afraid she would leave.
“I’m sorry,” he added, softer now. “I didn’t mean to leave you that night.”
Yena offered a tight nod, the kind that said she’d heard him but wasn’t about to indulge him. “I need to go. The girls are performing now.”
She turned, her body angled toward the corridor again.
“Wait,” Romance said, stepping closer. “Can you stay? Just for a minute?”
Yena paused, her back still to him. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. He sounded different, not like the flirtatious idol who tossed compliments like confetti. This was something else, something quieter. A plea, maybe, a crack in his mask.
She turned halfway, her eyes narrowing. “Why me?”
Romance shrugged again, but this time it looked less casual. “Because you’re not them. And right now, I need not-them.”
Yena’s lips twitched, almost amused. “That’s flattering.”
“I meant it, I need... your company right now,” he said, and for once, there was no smirk.
She studied him again, her gaze sharp. “We’re not supposed to be talking.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.” She turned fully this time, her steps firmer, her pace picking up.
Romance didn’t move. He lifted his hand to his lip and waved out towards Yena's retreating form. His signature move. A heart-shaped projectile, conjured from magic and emotion, flew toward her like a flying kiss made visible. It glowed faintly, pulsing with warmth, cutting through the space between them.
Yena felt it before she saw it. Her body reacted instinctively, her hand raised, her fingers curled. She caught it mid-air, just before it reached her. The heart shimmered in her palm, soft and warm, like a memory trying to be reborn.
She tilted her head, the heart still glowing faintly in her hand. “You really don’t know when to quit.”
"I'm called Romance for a reason." He gives a dreamy smile, but it is a subdued expression. “Only when it’s worth it.” Remaining still, his eyes searching hers, waiting.
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, just slightly. “You think this is going to change anything?”
“No,” he said. “But I hoped it might make you stay.”
Yena looked down at the heart. It pulsed once, like it knew it wasn’t supposed to exist. She closed her fingers around it, extinguishing his dark magic with her own spirit magic. The gesture made Romance surprised at the revelation, then she stepped forward, just enough to make him think she might say something more.
But instead, she leaned in, her voice a whisper against the tension between them. “You’re lucky I caught it. Next time, aim better.”
Yena’s heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she turned away. She needed distance. Some space to breathe, to think, to remember who she was before Romance’s voice began to unravel her, but she didn’t get far.
Without warning, arms wrapped around her from behind. Firm, warm, familiar. Romance’s chest pressed against her back, and the sudden contact stole the breath from her lungs. His embrace wasn’t forceful, but it was certain, like he knew she’d hesitate, like he knew she wouldn’t pull away.
“Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice low and unsteady, brushing against the shell of her ear. “Not yet.”
Yena froze. Her hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to push him away or hold on. The ache in her chest deepened as his words spilled out. The way he chooses his words is soft, rushed, and dangerously sincere.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, the words tumbling like confessions he’d been holding back. “Since our date. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
She should’ve known better, but his voice was irresistible, and her defenses, already cracked, began to crumble. Slowly, she placed her hands over his, her fingers trembling as they met his warmth.
Romance felt it as he leaned in, his nose grazing the crook of her neck, and Yena shivered. The gesture was intimate, almost too much. Then came the kiss—soft, deliberate, placed just below her ear. Her breath hitched, her pulse quickened, and the hallway seemed to narrow around them.
They were both breathless now, and with practiced ease, Romance turned her to face him. His left arm slid around her waist, anchoring her close, while his right hand rose to her cheek. His thumb brushed gently along her skin, and Yena found herself staring into eyes that held no teasing, no bravado, but just longing.
“I can’t resist you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.
Yena’s lips parted, her voice barely audible. “We shouldn’t be doing this… someone might see.”
Romance didn’t flinch. He leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching, his gaze locked on hers like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. “Let them,” he murmured. “It’s none of their business.”
The silence between them pulsed. Yena’s heart thundered in her chest, torn between reason and the pull of something deeper. She knew this moment was dangerous—too raw, too exposed—but she couldn’t look away. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to.
But then she pulled back. Enough to break the contact, enough to remind herself that she was still in control. Romance’s eyes flickered, his grip loosening but not releasing. He didn’t speak. He waited for what she was about to say.
Yena looked down, her gaze falling to the space between them. Her voice came slowly, like it had to be coaxed from somewhere deep inside her.
“Do you really care about me?” she asked, barely above a whisper. "And if so, then help us permanently seal the Honmoon."
Romance’s brows drew together, his expression shifting from longing to shock at her proposal. Yena hesitated before placing her fingers with his.
“Can you promise me that?” she continued. “You can be free from Gwi-Ma. Free from his control. Forever.”
Yena looked at him, her gaze steady now, waiting for his response to join her side. The words hung between them like fog. She didn’t flinch. Her voice had been nothing but calm; however, the intent was clear. This wasn’t a plea. It was a test.
Romance hadn't spoken, but his jaw tensed, his eyes darkening with something she couldn’t name. His hand that she had held dropped to his side, his posture shifting. He looked at her like she’d just rewritten the script of their story.
And Yena knew. She knew the truth; she hadn’t wanted to admit that he would never choose her. That this had always been a game—one he played too well. Her heart ached, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she forcefully smiled like she didn't care. The kind that masked heartbreak with performance. She stepped forward and hugged him for one last time.
Romance stiffened, surprised by the gesture. Thinking she was going to call him out on his bluff, but slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, trying to play it off. His voice was low, uncertain. “Yena…”
But she didn’t respond. Her smile, hidden from his view, shifted into a frown. Her eyes darkened, her breath steady. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.
“Neon yeojeonhi yejeon geudaeroya, Soguna,” she whispered in full Korean. (You're still the same, Soogeun)
Romance’s body tensed. His eyes widened. The name, his real name, cut through him like a blade. No one had called him that in years. Not since before the demon realm. Not since before he buried that identity beneath charm and illusion.
He began to pull away from her, but Yena was faster.
Her palm pressed flat against his chest, firm and deliberate. An unexplained force pushes him away, her eyes locked onto his, and her voice rang out—clear, commanding, and in perfect Mandarin. “揭露..” (Expose)
The word struck like lightning. Romance’s body convulsed, his form shimmering violently. The glamour peeling away like exploding smoke. His demon features full on display, his usual attire—traditional gat, a black jeogori top under a joenbok vest fastened with a sejodae sash, and loose-fitting baji pants. His pink hair darkened once more.
He stood there, no longer the Romance she knew, but the demon behind the illusion and mask.
"Jeoseung Saja," Yena whispers as she takes a step back, her hand still tingling from the force of the command. Her breath was fickle as her eyes were flinching with fear.
She had missed the signs.
All of them. The way he was more intelligent than the rest of the demons she had fought over the years. The way his movements were so perfect yet inhumanly possible. The way he could create hearts out of thin air. It all made sense now. Gwi-Ma hadn’t sent just ordinary minions. He had sent literal reapers.
Romance’s gaze was a blade, sharp and unforgiving. His body was taut with restraint, claws twitching at his sides as if aching to be used. But he didn’t move yet. Something held him back—something fragile and flickering behind the fury.
“You exposed me,” he growled, voice low and guttural, like gravel dragged across steel. “Now you’ve seen what I really am.”
Yena’s heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to let it show. She straightened, chin lifted, voice trembling but defiant.
“You demons are all the same,” she added, her voice sharpening. “Cruel. Heartless. Manipulative.”
That did it. Romance’s yellow eyes flared, the lights slowly dimming across the walls. His eyes narrowed, and his voice rose, laced with venom. “Is that what you believe? That I’m the monster?” His dulcet tone darkened as he hissed. “What about the thing you said two nights ago?”
Yena didn’t answer immediately, feeling guilty for the impulsive words she had said.
He began to circle her, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. His steps echoed in the silence, each one a drumbeat of dread. Yena’s fingers inched toward her waist, ready to summon her fan, her body coiled like a spring.
“Am I wrong? Maybe it's another story you want me to believe,” she said proudly, her voice tight but her throat dry.
Romance paused as his smirk returned. It wasn’t the smirk she knew—the playful, crooked grin that used to make her stomach flutter. This one was cruel, cold, filled with disdain. His demon eyes locked onto her, and for a moment, she felt like he could see everything.
“It was because of you.” He accused, voice raised with bitterness. “Because of you… I became a servant of Gwi-Ma.” Romance’s smirk faded into something darker—grief, or rage, maybe both. His posture shifted from menace to something more fractured.
Yena froze. The words hit her like a slap in the face, echoing in her skull. Because of me? What did I do?
“I wanted to be popular,” he continued, stepping forward. “I wanted people to notice me. This world was cruel when it came to new talent. And every time I got close. Every time I thought I could finally be seen, she showed up.”
His voice cracked, not with weakness, but with fury barely contained. Yena took a step back as her fingers twitched, unsure whether to summon her weapon or keep pretending this wasn’t true.
“You. That face in memories that weren’t even mine. I thought she might understand me and could comfort me when no one could. I chased her like an idiot chasing smoke. I couldn’t love anyone,” Romance spat. “Because none of them were her. None of them were you, but you weren’t even real.”
Romance’s expression twisted, no longer just angry—now wounded, betrayed, something deeper.
"Romance..." Yena tried to reach out to him, but was too scared to continue.
“You were supposed to be my salvation,” He continued in despair as he whispered. “Instead, you became the reason I let Gwi-Ma take me. The reason I stopped fighting. The reason I became this.”
He gestured to himself—his monstrous form, his corrupted aura, the remnants of a boy who once believed in something.
“You’re my shame, Yena. You’re the proof that I was weak. That I was foolish enough to believe in love.”
The words hit her like stones. Each syllable slammed into her chest, cracking something fragile inside. She tried to block them out, tried to shut down the part of her that still cared, but it was too late. His pain was hers now. His shame. His resentment. It wrapped around her like chains.
Romance began to walk toward her again, slow and deliberate, his gaze darkening with every step. His claws flexed at his sides. His breath came heavier. The corridor seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in, the air thick with menace.
Yena backed away, matching his pace, her body trembling with the effort to stay upright. Her mind raced, debating whether to attack him or run. She didn’t know which option was better or worse, because the demon before her wasn’t playing nice anymore.
The moment his restraint snapped, he was overtaken by his shame and anger, but overall, a sense of dark obedience. His arm lunged forward, claws slicing through the air with terrifying speed. However, Yena moved as instinct took over. She twisted her body, dodging just in time as the claw missed her shoulder by inches, scraping the wall behind her with a hiss that sent sparks flying. Her heart thundered in her chest, adrenaline flooding her veins.
She didn’t look back. Her feet pounded against the floor as she sprinted down the corridor, the hallway stretching endlessly before her. Her breath came in sharp bursts, her mind screaming one resolve over and over. Keep running.
She had to get to the girls. She had to warn them about the true nature of the Saja Boys.
The backstage entrance loomed ahead, lit by a faint glow and the muffled sound of music bleeding through the walls. She pushed herself harder, her legs burning, her chest tight. Every step felt like a battle against the fear clawing at her spine. Behind her, silence. No footsteps. No pursuit. But she knew he was watching her flee like a child. She didn’t dare turn around because if she did, pandemonium would ensue.
Romance stood where she’d left him. He didn’t move. He just smirked. A slow, cruel smile that curled across his face like smoke. Then, with an explosion of dark purple smoke, he vanished.
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