"Slaying demons with our song"
The restaurant was tucked into a quiet alley in Mapo. Low-lit, cozy, and just obscure enough that no one would expect to find the most famous girl group in the country slurping noodles in a corner booth.
Yena spotted them through the window before she even stepped inside.
Rumi sat at the edge of the table, posture perfect, phone in one hand and chopsticks in the other. Mira was mid-rant, gesturing wildly with a spoon, while Zoey leaned back in her seat, laughing so hard she nearly knocked over her drink.
Yena paused at the door, watching them for a moment. They hadn’t changed. And yet, everything had.
She pushed the door open. The bell above chimed as three heads turned.
“YENA!” Zoey practically launched out of her seat, arms wide.
Yena barely had time to brace before she was engulfed in a hug that nearly knocked the wind out of her.
“You’re late,” Rumi said, standing to greet her with a more composed but no less heartfelt embrace.
Mira grinned, pulling her in next. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I haven’t,” Yena muttered, sliding into the booth. “Jet lag and demons. The usual.”
They all laughed except Rumi, who gave her a subtle look, not questioning. Just... aware.
The table was already full. Steaming bowls of ramyeon, plates of kimchi scallion pancakes, grilled meat, and enough side dishes to feed a small army.
“You ordered without me?” Yena teased.
“You were late,” Zoey said, mouth full. “And we were starving.”
“You’re always starving.”
“Exactly.”
They ate. They talked. They teased. For a while, it felt like nothing had changed. Like the months apart had never happened. Like the world outside didn’t exist. But beneath the laughter, Yena watched them closely.
Rumi’s eyes flicked to her phone more than once. Mira’s smile faltered when she thought no one was looking, and Zoey, bright, bubbly Zoey, kept glancing at the window, as if expecting something to be watching from the dark.
Yena set her chopsticks down.
“So,” she said, voice low. “When were you going to tell me about the single?”
Rumi didn’t flinch. “You saw the countdown.”
“I saw the gold showing in the Honmoon.” That got their attention. "Since you had reached that point, I didn't need to question further."
Mira leaned in. “You saw it too?”
Yena nodded. “On the plane. A few hours right after an attack.”
Zoey’s smile faded. “You were attacked?”
“Three demons. One of them mentioned Gwi-ma.”
Silence fell over the table.
Rumi was the first to speak. “Then time is of the essence.”
Yena looked at each of them in turn. “I agree, and who knows what tricks the Underlord has installed for us?”
“Is there anything else those demons had mentioned to you?” Rumi said.
Yena subtly bit her lip, uncertain to even utter the short threat the demoness had said to her, “Nothing else.”
Zoey nodded, her expression unusually serious. “In that case, we should always keep our guard up this time.”
Yena exhaled, leaning back in her seat. “So... this comeback. Are you certain about it?”
Rumi shook her head. “We're not just certain, it is the song.”
Yena looked down at her bowl, the steam rising like smoke.
Somewhere far from Seoul, beyond the veil of the waking world, in a place where time curled in on itself like smoke, stood a desolate realm of darkness and mischief.
Its landscape, trapped within the cage of the Honmoon.
On top of the mountain's caldera, Gwi-Ma rules over his demonic kin. An infernal rage continuously lit up the forlorn landscape. His tone burned with a cruel, ancient hunger.
Before him stood Jinu, dressed in sleek black, his features sharp and beautiful. Jinu looked every bit the man he once was. But his eyes, those were different now. The patterns on his skin were touched by something darker.
Behind him stood four figures—his group. The demon boy band. Each one a vessel of charm and chaos, their auras laced with glamour and rot.
“The contracts are signed,” Jinu said, voice smooth as silk. “The fans are already whispering. One debut drop, and we’ll have them hooked.”
Gwi-ma’s guttural response was slow and terrible. “Good. Let them worship their downfall.” The rest of the demons that surrounded them started cackling in excitement.
“But there is one voice,” he said, which made the instant silence. “A voice of purity. Of resonance. It sings not for fame, but for truth. And truth... is poison to us.”
“Yena.” Jinu’s jaw tightened. “Let me snuff her out. Quietly. I am aware of her suspicious hiatus. I know her weak points.”
However, Gwi-ma silenced him. “No. A voice like hers cannot be silenced so easily. It must be broken. Because even in silence, it echoes and a voice so pure... knows no shame.”
A pause befalls all demons then, from the shadows near the edge of the room, another voice spoke. Low. Velvet. Intrigued.
“Perhaps,” said Romance, stepping forward, “that is the problem.”
He was tall, elegant, and unsettlingly frame of beauty that contrasts the ugliest part of demons—thanks to Jinu's power, his presence screams attraction. His heart-shaped pink hair and perfume laced with poison. He had been silent until now, watching, listening.
Gwi-Ma took in his words. “Speak.”
Romance’s creepy smile was slow. “If purity cannot be silenced... perhaps it can be corrupted. Shame is not born from silence; it is born from betrayal. From desire. From... falling.”
He stepped closer, eyes gleaming. “Let her fall. Let her taste something forbidden. Let her choose to sing for herself and not for others. Then, and only then, will her voice be for nothing.”
A long silence followed, then Gwi-Ma laughed.
His deep, echoing sound made the ground tremble. “Yes,” he said. “Let her fall.”
He turned to Jinu, “Prepare your stage, but do not strike. Not yet. Let the curtain rise. Let the hunters believe they're safe.”
He looked to Romance. “And you... begin your song.”
The sun hung low over Seoul, casting golden light across the city’s sprawl as Yena stepped off the subway platform in Gangnam. The streets buzzed with life, commuters, students, tourists, but she moved with quiet purpose, her hoodie pulled up and mask in place.
The trip had been long, the transfers tedious, but it was worth it.
She reached the familiar corner clinic tucked between a café and a flower shop. The sign above the door read: Uri, the Vet – Compassionate Care for All Creatures.
The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside.
And then...
“Momo?” she called softly.
A blur of cream and gray fur shot across the tile floor.
“Mrrrrow!”
“Momo!” Yena dropped to her knees just in time to catch the Ragamese hybrid as he launched into her arms. He meowed furiously, tail flicking, head butting her chin as if to scold her for every day she’d been gone.
Yena laughed, cradling him like a baby. “Okay, okay, I missed you too.”
She buried her face in his fur, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender shampoo and something uniquely Momo—warmth, comfort, home.
Uri stepped out from the back room, wiping her hands on a towel. “Well, someone’s been waiting for you.”
Yena stood, still holding Momo. “He looks healthy. You took good care of him.”
Uri smiled. “Of course. He’s a sweetheart. Though he did try to escape once when a delivery guy left the door open.”
Yena winced. “That sounds like him.”
They moved to the front counter, Momo now curled in Yena’s arms, purring like a motor.
“So,” Uri said, leaning on the desk, “what brought you back? I thought you were done with the idol life.”
Yena hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I missed everyone. The girls. The music. Seoul.”
Uri raised an eyebrow. “That's all?”
Yena didn’t answer right away. She scratched behind Momo’s ear. “Let’s just say... it felt like the right time.”
Uri nodded, sensing more but not pressing. “Well, it’s good to see you again. Seoul’s a little brighter with you in it.”
Yena chuckled. “Tell that to the subway crowd.”
They chatted a little longer, about Momo’s diet, his new favorite toy, and the way he’d taken to sleeping on Uri’s keyboard during Zoom calls, before Yena packed up and headed out.
The train car was half-full, the hum of motion lulling most passengers into quiet. Yena sat by the window, Momo’s carrier beside her on the seat. He was curled up inside, fast asleep, his tail twitching with dreams.
Yena had her laptop open, headphones in, fingers tapping out a beat.
The melody was soft. Wistful, layered with harmonies that rose and fell like waves. She imagined Zoey’s voice weaving through it, playful and bright, grounding the track in something real.
She adjusted the tempo, added a synth line. Just as her fingers hovered over the keys. Something felt... off.
She glanced up, however no one was looking at her. The passengers were either dozing, scrolling through their phones, or staring blankly out the windows, but the feeling remained.
Like eyes on the back of her neck.
She scanned the car again—slowly this time. Still nothing.
She shook her head, trying to brush it off. Jet lag. Paranoia. The lingering echo of last night’s dream, but as the train dipped into a tunnel, the lights flickered. Just once.
And in the reflection of the window, just for a second, she thought she saw someone sitting across from her. Someone who wasn’t there when she looked again.
205Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmvN1gNkQlZ
The sky had deepened into a dusky violet by the time Yena stepped off the train, Momo’s carrier slung over one shoulder. The streets were still alive with chatter and neon, but the edge of the day had softened everything, turning the city into something quieter, more thoughtful.
Momo was wide awake now, meowing softly as he peered through the mesh of his carrier.
“I know,” Yena murmured, glancing down. “It’s new. But you’ll like it.”
She decided to walk the rest of the way.
The path from this morning was still fresh in her mind, and the air was cool enough to be pleasant. She stopped by a corner store tucked between a laundromat and a stationery shop. The bell above the door jingled as she entered, and the clerk gave her a polite nod—no recognition, just another customer in a hoodie and mask.
Thankfully, they allowed pets inside.
Momo sat quietly in his carrier at her feet while she browsed the aisles, grabbing a few essentials: dried squid snacks, a bottle of barley tea, and a few cans of Momo’s favorite tuna pâté. She paid quickly, thanked the clerk, and stepped back out into the night.
The streets were still bustling, but in a way that felt... peaceful. The kind of peace that made her shoulders relax, just a little. She adjusted the strap of the carrier and continued, her eyes scanning the familiar buildings as she neared the Huntrix tower.
She stopped mid-step suddenly, feeling a pulse in the air.
The Honmoon. It had spiked violently.
Yena gasped, her breath catching in her throat as a wave of red shimmered across her vision. It wasn’t physical, not exactly—but it was there. A ripple in the air, like heat rising off asphalt, but tinted crimson. It spread across the street like a veil being drawn. And beneath it—A growl.
Low. Guttural. Barely audible, but it was there.
Momo hissed softly from inside the carrier, ears flattening. Yena stood frozen, her heart pounding. She scanned the street, but no one else seemed to notice. People walked past, chatting, laughing, unaware of the shift in the air.
She waited.
One minute.
Five.
Ten.
Nothing.
No second wave. No demon figures. No rupture in the veil. Just the lingering echo of something that had passed through.
After nearly an hour of standing still, her senses on high alert, Yena finally exhaled. She adjusted her grip on the carrier and the shopping bag, her movements brisk now. She didn’t look back. She just walked, fast and focused, toward the Huntrix building.
Yena stepped through the front doors of the Huntrix building, the familiar scent of polished floors and faint citrus cleaner greeting her like an old friend. The security guard at the front desk gave her a small nod, already used to her presence again.
She made her way to the upper floors, Momo’s carrier swaying gently at her side, the bag of snacks and pet food tucked under her arm. Her mind was still replaying the red wave, the growl, the way the Honmoon had flared like a warning bell.
She needed to tell the girls when they got back, but when the elevator doors opened, she was met with something she didn’t expect.
The scent of food.
Voices.
She stepped into the hallway and followed the sound to the lounge. Rumi, Mira, and Zoey all gathered around the low table. It was lively when they had the time to eat at their place; however, what she had noticed the vibe was the opposite, in fact, very serious.
Yena blinked. “Wait, I thought you had a live show tonight?”
Zoey looked up. “We did; however, it got canceled. Come eat”
Mira waved her over. “We saved you a spot in case you came back early.”
Still stunned, Yena set her things down by the wall and opened Momo’s carrier. The cat stepped out cautiously, sniffed the air, then strutted into the room like he owned it.
“Momo!” Zoey squealed, immediately scooping him up. “You didn’t tell me he got fluffier!”
“He’s been stress-eating,” Yena said dryly, placing the bag of snacks and pet food off to the side before sliding into the seat beside Rumi.
She picked up a pair of chopsticks and grabbed a dumpling. “Okay. What happened this time?”
Mira exchanged a look with Zoey, then turned to Yena. “Rehearsals were going fine at first. Then, when Rumi was doing her high note, it didn't go well.”
Yena froze mid-chew. “What?”
Rumi waved a hand. “It’s not that serious. Just a strain.”
“It's hard to believe,” Zoey said, still cuddling Momo like a plush toy. “You’ve never lost your voice. Not once.”
Yena turned to Rumi, eyes narrowing. “Rumi...” stated as if like a disappointed mother would say.
Rumi sighed. “We were so close, I just need more time.”
Yena’s stomach dropped, then set her chopsticks down. “You need a break. You all do.” The room fell quiet. “This sudden push is straining you more and more.”
“I know,” Rumi said softly. “But we can’t stop now. Golden became the biggest hit we gained by a mile.”
Mira leaned forward. “So, we were brainstorming ways to fix Rumi's voice. Vocal rest, teas, charms—any ideas?”
Zoey perked up. “Actually... I might know a place.”
Everyone turned to her.
“There’s this old herbalist in Itaewon. A friend of mine used to go there when she lost her voice before gigs. They make this tonic—it’s not exactly FDA-approved, but it works.”
Rumi raised an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting I drink a mystery potion from a back-alley apothecary?”
Zoey shrugged. “Worked for my friend, and she used to be in a metal band.”
Yena leaned back, thoughtful. “It’s worth a shot. If it’s magical, a normal remedy won’t cut it.”
Rumi sighed but nodded. “Fine. We’ll go tomorrow.”
Yena glanced at her, then at the others. Something was unraveling, and they were running out of time.
ns216.73.216.250da2
and then Add to home screen.