The battlefield was chaos incarnate.
Mira’s glaive spun in wide arcs, her body grounded in rhythm, her strikes deliberate and unrelenting. Abby lunged again and again, his claws slashing through the air, but Mira held her ground. Her voice didn’t falter, even as her arms trembled from the force of each collision.
Zoey ducked beneath Mystery’s unpredictable strikes, her daggers slicing through immediate dodges that tried to confuse her. He moved like smoke, his presence disorienting, but Zoey’s focus was razor-sharp. She adjusted with every feint, every flicker of evasion, her voice threading through the chaos like a lifeline.
Yena clashed with Romance, their movements fast and brutal. His strikes were precise, his claws aimed to disable, but Yena was faster. Her divine fan snapped open and closed with each counter, her body shifting like wind, her eyes burning with resolve. She was no longer defending—she was aiming for the jugular, to put him in his place for good.
Rumi had been advancing toward the main stage, her sword pulsing with light, her voice rising in defiance. But the path before her suddenly cleared. The demons that had surrounded her crumbled into red dust, their essence siphoned upward in a violent pull.
Gwi-Ma stirred as his form expanded, flames darkening into molten pink, his body distorting with rage. Eyes opened across his fiery demon form, glowing with hatred. A jagged mouth formed, wide and grotesque, its edges crackling with fire.
“Your song can't defeat me!" he roared, his voice splitting the sky.
The ground trembled as he unleashed a blast of molten pink flame that erupted from his core, surging toward the circular platform like a hurricane wave of destruction. The heat was unbearable, the light blinding, the force enough to tear through stone.
Yena, mid-combat, didn’t see it at first, but lately felt the incoming heat. She turned, and panic seized her chest. Rumi was in range of it, and so was she. The blast was seconds away from them.
Romance, who was mid-strike, snapped out of his stupor. His eyes widened at what was happening. Without a word, he grabbed Yena by the wrist, and in a blink, they vanished and then reappeared on the far side of the platform, away from the blast zone.
Yena stumbled, breathless, her body still braced for impact.
She turned to Romance, stunned at what he did. “You saved me?”
Romance didn’t answer her immediately.
Rumi stood her ground, her sword raised, her body trembling. The Honmoon pulsed around her, threads of light wrapping her like armor. She wasn’t just blocking the fire—she was shielding it before it hit them, redirecting its force with sheer willpower. Her voice faltered, then rose again, louder, stronger, defiant.
“Rumi!” Yena screamed, her voice cracking. Seeing her sister alone, fending off the blast.
Mira and Zoey heard it. They turned, eyes wide with worry, but they were still locked in combat, unable to break free to help her out. Abby pressed harder against Mira, forcing her back. Mystery is distracting Zoey, keeping her disoriented.
Yena stepped forward, ready to dive into the fray to help Rumi, but Romance blocked her path. His claws grazed past her form several times, not to hurt her, but enough to stop her from advancing.
She paused mid-step, fan raised in defense, before striking back with fury. “Don’t get in my way!”
Romance countered, his movements slower now, less precise. “You’ll die if you get close to her,” he said, his voice strained.
“Why do you care all of a sudden?!” Yena’s eyes narrowed, frustrated with his back-and-forth attitude.
Romance hesitated. His next strike was half-hearted, claws slackened. He replies, barely above a whisper. “I was wrong...”
Yena stared at his piercing yellow eyes, breath caught as her heart pounded. The words hung in the air like ash between them.
Before any of them could take the moment, Rumi’s body trembled, her sword lowered, her voice barely a whisper against the roar of Gwi-Ma’s flame. The blast surged toward her, molten pink and furious, a wall of annihilation that threatened to consume everything she had fought for. Her knees buckled, her breath caught, and for a moment—just a moment—she braced herself to fall.
Then the fire was blocked from her vision. A figure stood between her and the inferno, arms outstretched, aura flaring in dark pink.
Jinu. His body absorbed the brunt of the blast, his form flickering with strain, but he held. The flames bent around him, slowed, redirected. His presence was a shield—fragile, flickering, but enough.
Rumi’s heart seized. Time slowed around them. Only the two of them remained.
“Jinu?” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.
He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see his face. His expression was calm, resolute, and unbearably sad. The fire behind him still roared, but he stood firm, his silhouette glowing against the chaos.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For betraying you. For everything. This is the least I can do.”
Rumi stepped forward, her sword forgotten, her hands trembling.
“No,” she said, voice rising with desperation. “I was supposed to save you. I was going to free you...”
Jinu smiled. It was faint. Gentle. “You did,” he replied. “You gave me my soul back.”
His body began to dissipate. Red smoke curled from his skin, rising like mist. “You’ve already freed me.”
And then he was gone. His form dissolved into thin air, leaving only silence and the faint echo of his voice. The rest of the Saja Boys turned for a brief second to see their leader's sudden action and demise. Their expressions of disbelief and betrayal lingered slightly before focusing again to fend off the other hunters in defense.
Rumi closed her eyes, letting the grief settle. Allowing the silence to breathe as a blue spectral flower appeared before her. It hovered in the air, glowing softly, circling her like a whisper. Rumi opened her eyes, watching it with quiet reverence. The flower landed gently on her hand, and from its petals, light began to bloom.
A sword coalesced. Gleaming. Ethereal. Familiar but transformed. It was an upgraded version of her original blade, forged not from vengeance, but from truth. Its hilt shimmered with threads of the Honmoon, its edge pulsed with the souls of the people. It felt alive.
Behind her, the crowd began to hum in harmony. Their souls stretched out toward her, glowing blue, connecting with the Honmoon. The energy surged into Rumi, lifting her gently off the ground. Her feet left the platform, her body surrounded by light, her voice rising once more.
Her blade slashed through the air, cutting into Gwi-Ma’s form with a burst of divine power. The impact sent shockwaves through the arena, the flames recoiling, the shadows retreating. Gwi-Ma roared, his form flickering, his eyes dimming. She hovered in the air, her sword glowing, her soul steady with relief as she had banished Gwi-Ma back to the demon realm.
And now, the remaining Saja Boys stood exposed after the loss of their leader and Gwi-Ma. Their power, once overwhelming, now felt brittle. The illusions had shattered. The crowd was no longer entranced. The tide had turned, and the reapers were losing ground.
Baby was the first to vanish. No one saw him leave. One moment, he was there—hovering, watching with horror as Jinu dissipate, and the next, he was gone. No smoke. No sound. Just absence. Whether it was a retreat or something else, no one could tell. But the battlefield didn’t wait.
Mira had reached her limit. Abby lunged again, his claws slashing with desperation, his fury unchecked. But Mira didn’t flinch. Her moon glaive spun with brutal grace, her body grounded in rhythm, her voice rising in a final verse. She pivoted sharply, her blade glowing with divine energy.
"No more abs!" Then she struck. Once, clean across his abdomen. Twice, deeper, angled. A third time was the final strike.
Abby staggered, his eyes wide with disbelief, his breath caught. Red smoke began to rise from his wounds, his form flickering. He reached out, as if to grab hold of something, but there was nothing left. His body dissolved into dust, scattered by the wind.
Across the platform, Mystery moved like smoke, swirling around Zoey in a final attempt to disorient her. He darted forward, claws raised, ready to pounce, but Zoey had had enough. She punched him in the face. The impact was sharp, direct, and unexpected. Mystery’s body jolted, his hair blown away from his face with the force of the strike. For the first time, his face was revealed—sharp jawline, intense eyes, a quiet sadness etched into his features.
Zoey blinked before smiling wildly.
“You're just my type,” she said in short-term excitement before dismissing it. “Oh well...”
Mystery caught off guard, and that was all she needed. Zoey slashed him across the chest with her spirit dagger, the blade glowing with soul-light. Mystery's form dissolved into red smoke.
Romance turned slowly, his gaze finding Yena's stance. She had already decided his fate, and he knew that. Her divine fan was raised, glowing with the light of the Honmoon. Her stance was firm, her body poised to strike. But her eyes—her eyes betrayed her. They weren’t cold. They weren’t resolved. They were conflicted.
He didn’t do anything to stop it but waited for the end.
Yena’s grip tightened around the fan. Her breath slowed, but her heart continued to pound. She had fought through fire, illusions, and betrayal. She had watched her sisters bleed and rise. And now, she stood at the edge of closure; however, when she looked into Romance’s eyes, something shifted. It was quiet, held by a familiarity beyond mind and soul.
Memories surged through her mind. The alleyway near the clinic where they first met as mere strangers, unaware of who the other was. The bathhouse, where their clash had been more than physical, revealed their past life. The Fan Meet, where both sat beside each other as normal idols. Their date was awkward and strange, but real. The confrontation near the waiting rooms, where truths had begun to crack through their facades.
Each moment flickered behind her eyes like fragments of a dream she hadn’t realized she’d memorized. Her grip on the fan had faltered. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog, trying to silence the war between heart and mind. Her eyes closed, her breath caught.
And then—one memory rose above the rest. The first time they truly spoke. The moment they declared opposing truths, each believed they were right.
“You will never be my weakness,”
“And I won't be your savior. Let me make that clear.”
That moment, however, now felt distant. Useless.
Romance watched her. Her hesitation reminded him of himself—of the person he used to be, before the demon realm, before the mask. He wanted to stay desperately, but he knew what staying would mean. He knew what it would cost her.
So, he decided for her. Without warning, he stepped forward. Gently, his clawed hand reached out and took her hand that held the fan. His touch was soft, trembling. And with quiet finality, he guided her hand, the fan sliced through him across the chest where his heart is.
Yena’s eyes snapped open. She gasped, her body frozen in shock as pink dust began to rise from Romance’s chest. His form dissipating, his grip loosening. Her hand trembled, the fan slipping from her fingers and clattering to the ground.
“No…” she whispered, voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks as she watched him fade.
Romance smiled—sad, gentle, full of everything he hadn’t said before. His eyes never left hers at all.
“I didn’t want you to carry the guilt,” he said, voice barely audible. “So, I did.”
And then, he was gone. His form dissolved into red smoke. Yena stood alone. Her shoulders trembled and her breath came in shallow bursts. The fan lay at her feet, glowing faintly, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Around her, the Honmoon pulsed, but its light felt distant. Her sisters were somewhere nearby, but the world had narrowed to this moment.
She had found closure from it all, but it hadn’t felt like victory. It had felt like goodbye, and it hurt more than she thought it would.
101Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ75CnAKbqPH
After the chaos of Namsan Tower, the girls had collapsed into sleep back at home, their bodies heavy with exhaustion, their minds still echoing with the sounds of battle. They hadn’t spoken much during late afternoon—just soft murmurs, shared glances, the occasional touch to confirm they were still here, still whole.
But dinner changed that. They gathered around the table, the air thick with unspoken things. And slowly, one by one, the words came. Secrets spilled, truth finally coming to light. Apologies were offered afterward, each girl understanding that no one was perfect in the whole picture. Tears were shed as every type of emotion stretched through the walls. Laughter returned, the girls remembering the past and present memories. Hours passed like minutes, and by the end, they had made a promise. No more secrets, no matter how ugly it is. No more silence.
Later that night, the dorm was quiet again, save for the hum of the city outside.
Yena stood in front of Zoey’s door, her knuckles hovering just above the wood. She hesitated for a moment, then knocked gently.
Zoey opened it almost immediately, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Yena?” she blinked, then broke into a grin. “Hey! Did you need something?”
Yena offered a soft smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “Would it be okay if I came in?”
Zoey nodded quickly, stepping aside and swinging the door open wider. “Of course. Yeah. Come in.”
Yena stepped inside, her gaze drifting across the room. It was chaotic, but warm. Lyric papers were scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. A mini-studio glowed softly on the desk, wires tangled like veins. Clothes were draped over the back of a chair, and a half-eaten bag of shrimp chips sat on the windowsill.
But what caught Yena’s attention was the poster. Fastened to the wall, slightly crooked, was a glossy poster of Mystery. His face half-shadowed, his aura intense, his signature half-smile frozen in time.
Zoey followed Yena’s gaze and immediately panicked.
“Oh my god,” she blurted, rushing to stand in front of it. “It’s not... It’s not what it looks like. I mean, it is, but it’s not like, I didn’t put it there recently, it’s been there forever, and I just haven’t taken it down because...”
Zoey trailed off, cheeks flushed. Knowing that Yena was ready to tease her for things, like they always do in the past.
Yena raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slight smirk. She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not judging.”
She walked over and sat on the edge of Zoey’s bed, her posture relaxed but her eyes thoughtful.
Zoey lingered awkwardly near the desk, then slowly sat on the chair.
“I’m sorry,” Zoey said quietly. “Back then, during your hiatus. I didn’t defend you when you needed me. I should’ve done more.”
"It’s in the past now, Zoey. I prefer it that way.” Yena shook her head gently. “I want to start over with a clean slate moving forward."
Zoey nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was heavy but not suffocating. It held space for something real.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. There was a question sitting on her tongue, fragile and sharp. She debated whether to ask it, whether it would help or hurt her sister more. Her eyes flicked to Yena’s face, searching for an opportunity.
The question sat on her tongue, fragile and heavy. “Do you…” Zoey began, voice cautious, “Still like him?”
Yena didn’t answer right away. Knowing very well who Zoey was referring to. Her eyes dropped to her lap, fingers curling around the hem of her nightdress. She bit her lip gently, a gesture more instinct than thought. The question wasn’t cruel; it was honest curiosity, but it touched a wound that hadn’t yet scabbed over.
She hadn’t let herself entertain the thought of Romance, not since the battle. Not since the moment he guided her hand to strike him. It was a scar now. Not just in her memory, but in her soul. A mark that pulsed quietly beneath everything else.
Yena sighed. The sound was soft, but full of weight. She turned to Zoey, who was watching her with quiet concern, her brows slightly furrowed, her body angled toward her like she was ready to catch her if she fell.
“I still like him,” Yena said, voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t think that feeling will ever go away.”
Zoey’s expression softened into a frown. She didn’t speak. She simply moved closer and wrapped her arms around Yena, pulling her into a gentle hug.
Yena didn’t resist. She leaned into it, her body trembling slightly as soft sobs escaped her. They weren’t loud. They weren’t dramatic. They were quiet, restrained—like grief that had learned how to hide. Zoey held her tighter, her chin resting lightly on Yena’s shoulder, her own eyes damp but steady.
They stayed like that for a while. No words. Just warmth.
Eventually, Yena pulled back, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. Zoey didn’t press further. She simply nodded, offering a small smile that said much.
Yena returned to her room not long after. The hallway was quiet, the penthouse hushed in the late hour. Her door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit space she called her own. It was sparse, but welcoming. The soft glow of her bedside lamp cast long shadows across the walls, and the cool air felt gentle against her skin.
Her eyes drifted to the nightstand. There, tucked beside a vase of wilted roses and a half-empty glass of water, was a small picture frame of Romance.
She hadn’t meant to make it, but she would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t. She approached slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the frame. His face stared back at her—smiling with charm, eyes unreadable, frozen in time. She traced the glass with her thumb, her breath catching in her throat.
Then, gently, she turned the frame face down.
Yena crawled into bed, tucking herself beneath the sheets. The silence was heavier now, but not suffocating. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, her thoughts tangled in memory and longing. She closed her eyes and hoped that she would get some sleep.
The battlefield was chaos incarnate.
Mira’s glaive spun in wide arcs, her body grounded in rhythm, her strikes deliberate and unrelenting. Abby lunged again and again, his claws slashing through the air, but Mira held her ground. Her voice didn’t falter, even as her arms trembled from the force of each collision.
Zoey ducked beneath Mystery’s unpredictable strikes, her daggers slicing through immediate dodges that tried to confuse her. He moved like smoke, his presence disorienting, but Zoey’s focus was razor-sharp. She adjusted with every feint, every flicker of evasion, her voice threading through the chaos like a lifeline.
Yena clashed with Romance, their movements fast and brutal. His strikes were precise, his claws aimed to disable, but Yena was faster. Her divine fan snapped open and closed with each counter, her body shifting like wind, her eyes burning with resolve. She was no longer defending—she was aiming for the jugular, to put him in his place for good.
Rumi had been advancing toward the main stage, her sword pulsing with light, her voice rising in defiance. But the path before her suddenly cleared. The demons that had surrounded her crumbled into red dust, their essence siphoned upward in a violent pull.
Gwi-Ma stirred as his form expanded, flames darkening into molten pink, his body distorting with rage. Eyes opened across his fiery demon form, glowing with hatred. A jagged mouth formed, wide and grotesque, its edges crackling with fire.
“Your song can't defeat me!" he roared, his voice splitting the sky.
The ground trembled as he unleashed a blast of molten pink flame that erupted from his core, surging toward the circular platform like a hurricane wave of destruction. The heat was unbearable, the light blinding, the force enough to tear through stone.
Yena, mid-combat, didn’t see it at first, but lately felt the incoming heat. She turned, and panic seized her chest. Rumi was in range of it, and so was she. The blast was seconds away from them.
Romance, who was mid-strike, snapped out of his stupor. His eyes widened at what was happening. Without a word, he grabbed Yena by the wrist, and in a blink, they vanished and then reappeared on the far side of the platform, away from the blast zone.
Yena stumbled, breathless, her body still braced for impact.
She turned to Romance, stunned at what he did. “You saved me?”
Romance didn’t answer her immediately.
Rumi stood her ground, her sword raised, her body trembling. The Honmoon pulsed around her, threads of light wrapping her like armor. She wasn’t just blocking the fire—she was shielding it before it hit them, redirecting its force with sheer willpower. Her voice faltered, then rose again, louder, stronger, defiant.
“Rumi!” Yena screamed, her voice cracking. Seeing her sister alone, fending off the blast.
Mira and Zoey heard it. They turned, eyes wide with worry, but they were still locked in combat, unable to break free to help her out. Abby pressed harder against Mira, forcing her back. Mystery is distracting Zoey, keeping her disoriented.
Yena stepped forward, ready to dive into the fray to help Rumi, but Romance blocked her path. His claws grazed past her form several times, not to hurt her, but enough to stop her from advancing.
She paused mid-step, fan raised in defense, before striking back with fury. “Don’t get in my way!”
Romance countered, his movements slower now, less precise. “You’ll die if you get close to her,” he said, his voice strained.
“Why do you care all of a sudden?!” Yena’s eyes narrowed, frustrated with his back-and-forth attitude.
Romance hesitated. His next strike was half-hearted, claws slackened. He replies, barely above a whisper. “I was wrong...”
Yena stared at him, breath caught, heart pounding. The words hung in the air like ash between them. Before any of them could take the moment, Rumi’s body trembled, her sword lowered, her voice barely a whisper against the roar of Gwi-Ma’s flame.
The blast surged toward her, molten pink and furious, a wall of annihilation that threatened to consume everything she had fought for. Her knees buckled, her breath caught, and for a moment—just a moment—she braced herself to fall.
Then the fire was blocked from her vision. A figure stood between her and the inferno, arms outstretched, aura flaring in dark pink.
Jinu. His body absorbed the brunt of the blast, his form flickering with strain, but he held. The flames bent around him, slowed, redirected. His presence was a shield—fragile, flickering, but enough.
Rumi’s heart seized. Time slowed around them. Only the two of them remained.
“Jinu?” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.
He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see his face. His expression was calm, resolute, and unbearably sad. The fire behind him still roared, but he stood firm, his silhouette glowing against the chaos.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For betraying you. For everything. This is the least I can do.”
Rumi stepped forward, her sword forgotten, her hands trembling.
“No,” she said, voice rising with desperation. “I was supposed to save you. I was going to free you...”
Jinu smiled. It was faint. Gentle. “You did,” he replied. “You gave me my soul back.”
His body began to dissipate. Red smoke curled from his skin, rising like mist. “You’ve already freed me.”
And then he was gone. His form dissolved into thin air, leaving only silence and the faint echo of his voice. Rumi stood frozen, her shoulders slumped, her breath shallow. The fire had passed. The battlefield was still. But something inside her had broken—and something else had awakened.
She closed her eyes. Let the grief settle. Allowing the silence to breathe as a blue spectral flower appeared before her. It hovered in the air, glowing softly, circling her like a whisper. Rumi opened her eyes, watching it with quiet reverence. The flower landed gently on her hand, and from its petals, light began to bloom.
A sword coalesced. Gleaming. Ethereal. Familiar but transformed. It was an upgraded version of her original blade, forged not from vengeance, but from truth. Its hilt shimmered with threads of the Honmoon, its edge pulsed with the souls of the people. It felt alive.
Behind her, the crowd began to hum in harmony. Their souls stretched out toward her, glowing blue, connecting with the Honmoon. The energy surged into Rumi, lifting her gently off the ground. Her feet left the platform, her body surrounded by light, her voice rising once more.
Her blade slashed through the air, cutting into Gwi-Ma’s form with a burst of divine power. The impact sent shockwaves through the arena, the flames recoiling, the shadows retreating. Gwi-Ma roared, his form flickering, his eyes dimming. She hovered in the air, her sword glowing, her soul steady with relief as she had banished Gwi-Ma back to the demon realm.
Jinu’s sacrifice lingered like a ghost in the air, his final words etched into the hearts of those who heard them. The Honmoon pulsed brighter than ever, its threads stretching across the arena, humming with the souls of the awakened.
And now, the remaining Saja Boys stood exposed after the loss of their leader and Gwi-Ma. Their power, once overwhelming, now felt brittle. The illusions had shattered. The crowd was no longer entranced. The tide had turned, and the reapers were losing ground.
Baby was the first to vanish. No one saw him leave. One moment, he was there—hovering, watching with horror as Jinu dissipate, and the next, he was gone. No smoke. No sound. Just absence. Whether it was a retreat or something else, no one could tell. But the battlefield didn’t wait.
Mira had reached her limit. Abby lunged again, his claws slashing with desperation, his fury unchecked. But Mira didn’t flinch. Her moon glaive spun with brutal grace, her body grounded in rhythm, her voice rising in a final verse. She pivoted sharply, her blade glowing with divine energy.
Then she struck. Once, clean across his abdomen. Twice, deeper, angled. A third time was the final strike.
Abby staggered, his eyes wide with disbelief, his breath caught. Red smoke began to rise from his wounds, his form flickering. He reached out, as if to grab hold of something, but there was nothing left. His body dissolved into dust, scattered by the wind.
Across the platform, Mystery moved like smoke, swirling around Zoey in a final attempt to disorient her. He darted forward, claws raised, ready to pounce, but Zoey had had enough. She punched him in the face. The impact was sharp, direct, and unexpected. Mystery’s body jolted, his hair blown away from his face with the force of the strike. For the first time, his face was revealed—sharp jawline, intense eyes, a quiet sadness etched into his features.
Zoey blinked before smiling wildly.
“You're just my type,” she said in short-term excitement before dismissing it. “Oh well...”
Mystery caught off guard, and that was all she needed. Zoey slashed him across the chest with her spirit dagger, the blade glowing with soul-light. Mystery's form dissolved into red smoke.
Romance turned slowly, his gaze finding Yena's stance. She had already decided his fate, and he knew that. Her divine fan was raised, glowing with the light of the Honmoon. Her stance was firm, her body poised to strike. But her eyes—her eyes betrayed her. They weren’t cold. They weren’t resolved. They were conflicted.
He didn’t do anything to stop it but simply waited for the end.
Yena’s grip tightened around the fan. Her breath slowed, her heart pounded. She had fought through fire, illusions, and betrayal. She had watched her sisters bleed and rise. And now, she stood at the edge of closure; however, when she looked into Romance’s eyes, something shifted. It was quiet, held by a familiarity beyond mind and soul.
Memories surged through her mind. The alleyway near the clinic where they first met as mere strangers, unaware of who the other was. The bathhouse, where their clash had been more than physical, revealed their past life. The Fan Meet, where both sat beside each other as normal idols. Their date was awkward and strange, but real. The confrontation near the waiting rooms, where truths had begun to crack through their facades.
Each moment flickered behind her eyes like fragments of a dream she hadn’t realized she’d memorized. Her grip on the fan had faltered. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog, trying to silence the war between heart and mind. Her eyes closed, her breath caught.
And then—one memory rose above the rest. The first time they truly spoke. The moment they declared opposing truths, each believed they were right.
“You will never be my weakness,”
“And I won't be your savior. Let me make that clear.”
That moment, however, now felt distant. Useless.
Romance watched her. Her hesitation reminded him of himself—of the person he used to be, before the demon realm, before the mask. He wanted to stay desperately, but he knew what staying would mean. He knew what it would cost her.
So, he decided for her. Without warning, he stepped forward. Gently, he reached out and took her hand that held the fan. His touch was soft, trembling. And then, with quiet finality, he guided her hand forward.
The fan sliced through him across the heart. Yena’s eyes snapped open. She gasped, her body frozen in shock as pink dust began to rise from Romance’s chest. His form dissipating, his grip loosening. Her hand trembled, the fan slipping from her fingers and clattering to the ground.
“No…” she whispered, voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks as she watched him fade. Romance smiled—sad, gentle, full of everything he couldn’t say. His eyes never left hers.
“I didn’t want you to carry the guilt,” he said, voice barely audible. “So, I did.”
And then, he was gone. His form dissolved into red smoke. Erased from the stage. Yena stood alone. Her shoulders trembled and her breath came in shallow bursts. The fan lay at her feet, glowing faintly, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Around her, the Honmoon pulsed, but its light felt distant. Her sisters were somewhere nearby, but the world had narrowed to this moment.
She had found closure from it all, but it hadn’t felt like victory. It had felt like goodbye, and it hurt more than she thought it would.
101Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcyKL3uwnOw
After the chaos of Namsan Tower, the girls had collapsed into sleep back at home, their bodies heavy with exhaustion, their minds still echoing with the sounds of battle. They hadn’t spoken much during late afternoon—just soft murmurs, shared glances, the occasional touch to confirm they were still here, still whole.
But dinner changed that. They gathered around the table, the air thick with unspoken things. And slowly, one by one, the words came. Secrets spilled, truth finally coming to light. Apologies were offered afterwards, each girl understanding that no one was perfect in the whole picture. Tears were shed as every type of emotion stretched through the walls. Laughter returned, the girls remembering the past and present memories. Hours passed like minutes, and by the end, they had made a promise. No more secrets, no matter how ugly it is. No more silence.
They were sisters now.
Later that night, the dorm was quiet again, save for the hum of the city outside.
Yena stood in front of Zoey’s door, her knuckles hovering just above the wood. She hesitated for a moment, then knocked gently.
Zoey opened it almost immediately, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Yena?” she blinked, then broke into a grin. “Hey! Did you need something?”
Yena offered a soft smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “Would it be okay if I came in?”
Zoey nodded quickly, stepping aside and swinging the door open wider. “Of course. Yeah. Come in.”
Yena stepped inside, her gaze drifting across the room. It was chaotic, but warm. Lyric papers were scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. A mini-studio glowed softly on the desk, wires tangled like veins. Clothes were draped over the back of a chair, and a half-eaten bag of shrimp chips sat on the windowsill.
But what caught Yena’s attention was the poster. Fastened to the wall, slightly crooked, was a glossy poster of Mystery. His face half-shadowed, his aura intense, his signature half-smile frozen in time.
Zoey followed Yena’s gaze and immediately panicked.
“Oh my god,” she blurted, rushing to stand in front of it. “It’s not... It’s not what it looks like. I mean, it is, but it’s not like, I didn’t put it there recently, it’s been there forever, and I just haven’t taken it down because...”
Yena raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slight smirk.
Zoey trailed off, cheeks flushed. Knowing that Yena was ready to tease her for things, like they always do in the past.
Yena waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not judging.”
She walked over and sat on the edge of Zoey’s bed, her posture relaxed but her eyes thoughtful.
Zoey lingered awkwardly near the desk, then slowly sat on the chair.
“I’m sorry,” Zoey said quietly. “Back then, during your hiatus. I didn’t defend you when you needed me. I should’ve done more.”
"It’s in the past now, Zoey. I prefer it that way.” Yena shook her head gently. “I want to start over with a clean slate moving forward."
Zoey nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was heavy but not suffocating. It held space for something real.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. There was a question sitting on her tongue, fragile and sharp. She debated whether to ask it, whether it would help or hurt her sister more. Her eyes flicked to Yena’s face, searching for an opportunity.
The question sat on her tongue, fragile and heavy. “Do you…” Zoey began, voice cautious, “Still like him?”
Yena didn’t answer right away. Knowing very well who Zoey was referring to. Her eyes dropped to her lap, fingers curling around the hem of her nightdress. She bit her lip gently, a gesture more instinct than thought. The question wasn’t cruel; it was honest curiosity, but it touched a wound that hadn’t yet scabbed over.
She hadn’t let herself entertain the thought of Romance, not since the battle. Not since the moment he guided her hand to strike him. It was a scar now. Not just in her memory, but in her soul. A mark that pulsed quietly beneath everything else.
Yena sighed. The sound was soft, but full of weight. She turned to Zoey, who was watching her with quiet concern, her brows slightly furrowed, her body angled toward her like she was ready to catch her if she fell.
“I still like him,” Yena said, voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t think that feeling will ever go away.”
Zoey’s expression softened into a frown. She didn’t speak. She simply moved closer and wrapped her arms around Yena, pulling her into a gentle hug.
Yena didn’t resist. She leaned into it, her body trembling slightly as soft sobs escaped her. They weren’t loud. They weren’t dramatic. They were quiet, restrained—like grief that had learned how to hide. Zoey held her tighter, her chin resting lightly on Yena’s shoulder, her own eyes damp but steady.
They stayed like that for a while. No words. Just warmth.
Eventually, Yena pulled back, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. Zoey didn’t press further. She simply nodded, offering a small smile that said much.
Yena returned to her room not long after. The hallway was quiet, the penthouse hushed in the late hour. Her door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit space she called her own. It was sparse, but welcoming. The soft glow of her bedside lamp cast long shadows across the walls, and the cool air felt gentle against her skin.
Her eyes drifted to the nightstand. There, tucked beside a vase of wilted roses and a half-empty glass of water, was a small picture frame of Romance.
She hadn’t meant to make it, but she would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t. She approached slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the frame. His face stared back at her—smiling with charm, eyes unreadable, frozen in time. She traced the glass with her thumb, her breath catching in her throat.
Then, gently, she turned the frame face down.
Yena crawled into bed, tucking herself beneath the sheets. The silence was heavier now, but not suffocating. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, her thoughts tangled in memory and longing. She closed her eyes and hoped that she would get some sleep.
ns216.73.217.69da2
and then Add to home screen.