The war was over.

Gwi-Ma—the ancient demon king who fed on souls, who twisted idols into puppets and bent entire fanbases to his will, had been sealed away for good. The final battle had shattered more than spells and bones. It had broken the old world apart.

And the final blow hadn't come from Huntrix alone.

It came because of him.

Because the one who once stood at Gwi-Ma's right hand had turned. In the end, he had offered up his cursed soul, not for redemption, not for glory, but for one fleeting chance to stop Gwi-Ma's reign. He had poured his power into you without hesitation, without promise of return. Just a knowing look, and a lopsided smile that said you'll end this, even if I can't.

And then he was gone.

No trace. No final words. Just light, and ash, and the faintest shimmer of gold where his body had once stood.

When the dust settled, when the Golden Honmoon flared to life and sealed shut the gates between realms, he disappeared with the rest of his kind.

No one questioned it.

The demons were dead. Banished. Vanished into myth, like they'd never existed.

And he, like a forgotten star, was swallowed in the aftermath.

Peace came slowly, like morning light after too long in darkness. Saja Boys disbanded under the reason of 'group conflicts', the real reason sealed away.

Huntrix members decided to go for a long-deserved vacation - something they had longed for after countless nights of fighting demons while maintaining their idol image.

You stayed behind. Not out of duty. Not quite out of grief.

But hope.

That maybe, just maybe, something of him had survived.

You decided to stay in Korea for a week before traveling to another country for vacation - just so you could fully accept that everything was finished, the mission, the fighting, and him.

A week passed.

You were preparing luggage, finally ready to leave Korea and see the world. Scrolling through your phone one last time to check for news before departure, a headline blared across Naver News's front page.

"JINU SAJA RETURNS — FORMER SAJA BOYS LEADER DEBUTS AS SOLOIST"

The screen didn't lie.

He stood on stage beneath silver lights, microphone in hand, voice sharp as ever. Presence untouched. Confidence undimmed. The crowd screamed like time had folded in on itself.

It wasn't a memory. He hadn't died. He was back.

And he was performing.

Alive.

Still inhuman.

Still him.

You watched the clip three times in silence. No group chat messages. No warnings. No calls for help. The others were finally breathing freely across the globe.

They deserved peace.

But you?

You had unfinished business.

You decided on your own solo debut to create a legitimate reason to meet him. Appearing together professionally would prevent rumors from burdening managers with explanations. Your debut came swiftly - no teasers, no countdown. Just you, wrapped in black and crimson, under a single spotlight with a gaze daring the world to flinch.

Fans called it powerful. Critics called it a declaration. Some even called it a message - for someone specific.

And he saw it.

Backstage after the show, air thick with sweat and fog machine residue, staff bustling and idols hurrying to waiting vans, you didn't head toward your dressing room.

You moved with intent through dim corridors to where the noise thinned into silence.

And then—

There he was.

Leaning against the concrete wall by the loading bay door, one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded. Still sharp lines and sharper eyes. Still that crooked smile barely hiding something ancient beneath.

Still beautiful in a way that made breathing feel like a question.

His golden eyes flicked open without him looking up.

"...Took you long enough," he murmured. "I was starting to think you're trying to forget about me. That you really wanted me dead.."

You froze mid-step, breath catching in your throat. Heart knocking once, hard.

"...You were supposed to be."

At that, he pushed off the wall, lazy steps bringing him closer. "Supposed to be a lot of things, sweetheart." His smirk deepened as his gaze raked over your outfit. "But look at you now. Solo debut. That fire in your eyes. I'd say you missed me."

"I thought you gave everything." The words came out raw, softer than intended. "You gave me your power. You were fading. I felt it—"

"You felt something," he interrupted, eyes flicking down then back up. "But I'm a little harder to kill than that."

A pause.

Then, softly—mockingly tender—he added, "Admit it. You hoped I made it out. You waited for me."