The Huntrix dormitory was unusually still.
After the chaos of the bathhouse, the building felt like a sanctuary. Dim lighting, clean floors, the hum of air purifiers soft against the walls. The girls had returned bruised and damp, their silence heavier than fatigue. Mira, Zoey, and Rumi had regrouped in the lounge after quick showers, processing the fight in hushed voices over herbal tea and reheated rice balls.
But Yena hadn’t joined them.
She was curled up on her bed, wrapped in her thickest comforter like a sea-soaked kimbap, legs tucked tight under her. Her damp hair clung to her forehead, and shivers had crept in steadily, low-grade and uneven, as if her body was remembering something colder than just the bathhouse water.
On her nightstand, a plastic container of steaming chicken noodle soup sat unopened. Beside it sat a bottle of soju, the label faded from condensation. Rumi had ordered it earlier with a note on the lid in careful pen: 147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV9tKO6raro
“For when you feel human again.”
Momo’s cot was tucked near the window, the cat curled into a warm ball, tail twitching in dreamland. A soft purring filled the background, grounding her.
Yena scrolled through her phone, but did not see the screen. Fan messages, news blurbs, clips from the variety show—all a blur of noise she couldn’t focus on.
Her thumb hovered over a photo taken earlier. A still from her performance, eyes half-closed mid-song, light painting her in gold, but even that couldn’t settle her because the image in her mind was clearer.
That bridge.147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjHFcQ627GX
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“I would rather vanish than be nothing to you.”
She replayed it in pieces, the curve of the bridge and the pain in her voice, the silk trailing behind her in slow motion as she plunged into the lake.
The man’s face… It didn’t just resemble Romance. It was Romance.
Human. Unmarked but unmistakable. Her breath hitched. Was it a memory? Was it hers?
Her father’s voice filtered back from childhood: "Some souls remember."
She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, burying deeper into the cocoon as a single tear slipped down her cheek. No one else knew. Not yet though
Yena’s fingers reached beneath her pillow and found the weight she’d tucked there earlier. A leather-bound journal, worn at the corners from years of quiet entries.
She pulled it out slowly, the magnolia petal inside still preserved, pressed into the front flap like a promise kept. Her pen sat tucked in the spiral binding like it always did, worn down at the grip.
She turned to a blank page. The words didn’t rush. They crept.
147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡg0l3gyh2xH
Entry 127 – Night after the bathhouse
I should feel proud. We survived again.
But instead, I feel hollow.
Tonight, I saw something I can’t explain. A moment through time, layered like skin, two lovers arguing on a bridge. Her voice was, coincidentally, unnervingly mine. His face… was Romance.
I’ve never known him. I was trained to hate everything like him. Demons are to be locked away, sealed, erased. That’s what we do. That’s what I was made for.
So why did it feel familiar? When my body hit the water, my soul screamed like it was coming home.
I’ve lived my life preparing for battles. Perfecting performances. Smiling on cue. I am the careful one. The one they trust to keep us stable, but I miss being childish. I miss the freedom of not knowing better.
As a kid, I did stupid things. I danced barefoot under streetlights, sang lullabies to dragonflies, tied ribbons on strangers' umbrellas just to make the rain feel poetic. That version of me was wild, messy, and alive.
Now I sit in my room, waiting for the world to tell me who I should be.
I’m expected to lead. To be the cleverest face of the generation, but lately, I feel restrained. Like I’m living inside the very poster they printed of me.
Romance whispered that there’s no shame with him. No expectations. And for one second, that felt tempting. Not because I trusted him, but because I’m desperate for someone who sees past the brand. Past the girl that everyone needs me to be.
I want to be understood. Not as Yena of Huntrix.
Just… Yena.
And maybe that's why I'm scared of what I saw. Because it means I’ve felt something before. Something stronger than duty.
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Her pen hovered as the final word sank into the page like a weight pressed against glass.
Yena stared at the ink for a long time before carefully closing the journal, sliding it back under her pillow. Her hand stayed there a moment, resting atop it, like the heartbeat she missed.
The soft knock echoed through the hush of Yena’s room, barely registering beyond the quiet hum of the desk lamp and Momo’s purring from the cot. The door creaked gently, and Rumi entered with practiced grace, holding a cup of honeyed ginger tea in one hand—warm, fragrant, and grounding.
“Yena,” Rumi called gently throughout the room. “I’m not here to talk your ear off. Just checking in.”
Yena didn’t sit up, still cocooned in her blanket.
“I brought the ginger tea you like. The one you like with honey and persimmon,” Rumi added after a second. Yena's eyes moved slowly to Rumi’s other hand; her crystal rose hairpin.
The same one she’d insisted on wearing to the variety show.
The same one she didn’t remember losing in the chaos.
Rumi placed it beside the tea, reverently. “Found this floating in a pool. Figured you’d want it back.”
Yena’s breath hitched—not from surprise, but recognition. The shimmer of the crystal petals caught the lamplight in just the right way, igniting that slow pulse of protective honmoon energy she’d trusted before the ambush ever began.
“I didn’t even notice,” she murmured, reaching out with careful fingers.
Rumi didn’t comment, just stepped back, letting her have space.
Yena turned the pin in her hand slowly, watching its glow play across her skin. The warmth was faint now, like a quiet guardian.
She nodded her thanks, and Rumi gave a soft, approving smile. “Sleep well,” she said. “We have a long week ahead of us.”
Then she left, closing the door gently behind her.
Yena sat in stillness for a moment.
Then, with renewed intention, she reached toward the small wooden box tucked into her vanity drawer. Inside was her old Norigae—a white talisman charm, which she customized herself. Its embroidered knots, phoenix totem, and colorful beads were still vibrant through the years.
She hadn’t worn it in years, not since her hiatus.
Yena tied it to her bedpost with deliberate fingers, making sure to ward off evil even in her sleep, and this time, she reached for the soup, not out of hunger, but out of choice.
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The sun had barely climbed past the horizon, its light spilling across the window blinds in fragmented beams that reached the foot of Yena’s bed. But the world behind her eyelids spun too quickly for her to appreciate it.
She stirred beneath her comforter, face pale, body heavy. Her forehead beaded with faint sweat, and even blinking made the room tilt sideways.
“Ugh,” she groaned.
The door creaked open.
“Stay in bed,” Mira ordered before Yena could even sit up. She was dressed in stage prep wear, her hair wet from a quick shower, jaw already tense. “Bobby’s canceling your full schedule for the day. You’re grounded.”
Yena blinked. “Wait, what—”
Zoey popped her head in with a tray balanced expertly on one hand. “You missed breakfast call. So we voted. You’re officially banned from doing anything today. Mira threatened to cut the production crew's hairs if they resisted.”
Yena stared, betrayed by her team.
“But you have an award show,” she protested weakly.
Rumi entered last, calm and unreadable. “And we have a sick member who’ll relapse if she pushes through like she always does.”
She approached the bed and adjusted the blanket around Yena’s shoulders. “Stay. More award shows are coming.”
Yena fell back against the pillow, frustration curling in her throat. “I hate this.”
Zoey grinned. “We know.”
Mira crossed her arms. “But the fans will still feel you there. We’re going to perform Golden tonight, but with a twist.”
Rumi nodded. “Before the main song, we’re going to play your studio version of the song you sang at the variety show. You recorded it, didn’t you?”
Yena’s eyes widened. “I… did. In the basement studio. I never showed anyone.”
“Well,” Rumi said with a faint smile, “Surprise. You’re singing it tonight—without leaving bed.”
Zoey pulled out her phone and tapped the playlist open. “Got the file from Bobby. We are going to rehearse it later.”
Yena’s throat tightened. Not from sickness this time, but something else—warmth, gratitude, the realization that even when her body betrayed her, her presence remained woven into their rhythm.
Mira turned to leave. “Rest. Drink your tea. And don’t you dare touch the group chat until the livestream ends.”
Rumi placed a thermos by the bed, “We’ll bring home the trophy, your possible bouquet, and some extra snacks too.”
Zoey winked. “See you later, Yena.”
The night had settled into soft silence across the Huntrix dormitory, interrupted only by the occasional beep from the kitchen timer and the muted sound of makeup wipes crinkling from someone’s room. Yena lay nestled in the living room couch, blanket draped over her shoulders, Momo curled beside her in a ball of perfect fuzz. The award show was already halfway through its broadcast, and she hadn’t moved for the last hour.
Her dizziness had dipped, but not enough to leave the building just yet.
On-screen, the stage dimmed. The host appeared with a wide smile. 147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdsXNtrzrPK
"Up next... a very special performance from Huntrix."
The lights shifted, and there it was. Her voice. Gentle, trembling slightly with emotion, rolling through the speakers like a warm tide.
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I'm a goddess with a blade, your 'bout to hear name, ringing in your head, loud-loud-loud.147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡybUo9LlwOB
🎵
Her eyes misted. The camera panned to the girls—Rumi at center, Mira and Zoey flanking in sleek gold-accented outfits. Their expressions were fierce, but proud. As the melody faded into the intro of Golden, the crowd erupted. Light sticks waved like fireflies.
Fan comments streamed in live across the bottom of the screen:
💬 “YENA’S VOICE OMG 😭😭 get well soon” 147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuXNorbBvi3
💬 “Huntrix never misses 🔥” 147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVeNM3Wpcwd
💬 “That intro slayed so hard!” 147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPUMkQRH9wv
💬 “Her voice... is heavenly, unreal. Angels take me.”
Yena pulled the blanket tighter, heart humming with bittersweet pride. She was there, in presence by sound, but it wasn't enough.
The song ended in golden confetti and a standing ovation.
Then the host grinned again.
“And now... the Saja Boys with their greatest debut hit, Soda Pop!”
Yena’s smile flattened.
The screen burst into neon chaos—pink vinyl visuals, bubble motifs, and that familiar addictive beat. The crowd screamed, some even louder than before. The song was sticky, manufactured charm with hypnotic choreography. The boys winked. Bounced. Their presence flooded every pixel.
Yena didn’t blink. She hated how perfect the song was. How calculated it sounded. How conniving it was, timed like a thief in the night. It was inhumanly too good to be true.
She felt something rise in her throat—part nausea, part resentment. She didn’t say it aloud, she didn't need to, but her thoughts were sharp and cold. She dares the heavens to ensure Huntrix continues their win streak on all award shows, just like old times. She would be damned if they lost once to a demon boy band out of the blue.
She set the remote aside without pausing the show. Her hand drifted to her white Norigae attached to her pajama shorts. The colorful beads glinted faintly in the television light. Tonight, Huntrix had fought without her, but tomorrow, she’d be ready to fight with them.
The award show stage shimmered under confetti and colored strobes, the sound of thunderous applause rolling through the venue like a tide. Huntrix stood center-stage, radiant in coordinating gold-and-white outfits, their eyes gleaming with exhaustion and pride.
The MC beamed beside them, holding the trophy and three vibrant bouquets, each wrapped in a ribbon of their favorite color.
“Congratulations to Huntrix, winners of the Artist of the Year award!” he announced, voice full of flair. “Now... looks like the production team brought one extra bouquet...”
He held up the fourth. A hush of realization rippled across the crowd.
Without hesitation, Rumi stepped forward and accepted it with reverence. “She’s still part of Huntrix,” she said clearly into the mic. “We’ll deliver this to Yena ourselves.”
As the girls bowed and turned to exit the stage, the audience burst into a unified chant:
“MI-RA! ZO-EY! RU-MI! YE-NA! HUNTRIX!”
Every syllable carried love, and though Yena wasn’t physically present, her energy pulsed in every corner of the venue.
Back at the dormitory, Yena had curled up deeper into the couch, blanket draped around her like a cape. The award show had just ended. Her body still ached from fatigue. Momo jumped up beside her with a soft meow, settling into her lap like a weighted plush toy and purring with dramatic satisfaction.
Yena laughed, cradling him like the spoiled prince he was. “You’re so needy,” she whispered, rubbing his ears. “You knew we were gonna win, didn’t you?”
Momo blinked slowly, as if to say.
A few hours later, the front door swung open.
“YENA!” Zoey’s voice rang out before her sneakers even hit the entryway carpet. “You should’ve seen it. confetti everywhere, and the chant was so LOUD, like goosebumps loud!”
Mira followed, arms crossed, still holding her bouquet. “She saw everything. She was glued to the livestream like a fan who preordered every version of the album.”
Yena grinned as Zoey flopped beside her. Bobby trudged in behind them, carrying bags of celebratory snacks, clearly already defeated by the post-show chaos.
Rumi approached last, her steps measured. She carried the fourth bouquet and held it out gently.
“For you,” she said. “They didn’t forget.”
Yena accepted it slowly, fingers grazing the soft petals wrapped in golden ribbon. Her throat tightened, but in a good way. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I feel so much better now.”
The girls gathered around her, Momo still nestled happily in the middle of it all, and for a moment, Huntrix felt whole again.
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and then Add to home screen.