The message from Bobby arrived just past midnight, lighting up your phone in the quiet of your room.

Bobby: Your favorite brand just offered you an ambassador deal.

For a few seconds, you stared at the screen, unsure if you were reading it correctly. That brand wasn't just any brand. It was THE brand. The one that had shaped trends, defined icons, and built reputations overnight. To be its ambassador meant being elevated into a new realm of visibility and prestige.

Another message followed almost immediately.

Bobby: It's a global campaign. Major product launch for the summer items. You won't be doing it solo though. They want a co-ambassador. A duo concept. But I heard they haven't finalized who will it be because they're waiting for the other side to reply them.

Bobby: BUT!!!!! The benefits are chef kiss! Wait, I'll send you the docs. So, are you in? They want your answer asap before they consider another candidate.

You quickly skim through the document Bobby sent, and without any hesitation, you reply back.

You: I'm in.

Whatever the arrangement was, whoever was gonna be the co-ambassador, it didn't matter. The opportunity was too big to pass up. And when Bobby listed the perks - royalties, private invites to international fashion weeks, control over creative direction - there was no reason to second-guess the decision.

...

Few days later...

The studio was sleek and minimal, tucked in a quiet district of the city where high-end brands did their best work away from public eyes. Inside, the atmosphere was calm but efficient. Staff dressed in all black moved from one end of the set to the other, adjusting lights, checking camera angles, organizing racks of carefully curated wardrobe pieces.

You arrived early, guided into a styling room where a team prepared you with practiced hands and polite smiles. Everything was on schedule, and the energy felt normal, expected.

That was until the room shifted.

It wasn't anything visible at first. Just the sudden hush in conversation, the way several crew members turned toward the entrance as someone walked in. Then you looked toward the sound of approaching footsteps and saw him.

He entered with silent confidence, dressed entirely in black with a high-collared coat that framed his figure. His posture was relaxed, movements fluid, eyes scanning the studio with practiced ease. But it wasn't just the way he carried himself that caught your attention.

It was the markings on his skin.

Dark lines curled across his jaw, trailing down his neck and disappearing beneath the folds of his shirt. The media had celebrated them as part of his striking new look - signature tattoos, they claimed, the symbol of his evolution from idol to model. Some workers are fangirling over him as he walks to the set. He gives them a wink and a flying kiss, waving his hand to them. The workers squeal in delight, giggling over his fanservice.

But you knew better.

Those were not tattoos. They were remnants of what he had been.

Demon.

He was supposed to be sealed forever along with the Saja Boys and all the demons on earth. He was not supposed to be here. He should not have been here.

He spotted you almost instantly. His eyes locked onto yours with a familiar sharpness, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then a slow, amused smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

He walked over with the same quiet confidence, the same subtle arrogance that once made him dangerous. Hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, he stopped a few steps in front of you and tilted his head slightly.

"So," he said, voice low and even. "We meet again."

You kept your expression still, but every muscle was tense. He didn't seem surprised. If anything, he looked entertained.

"I wasn't told who the partner was," he continued, his gaze flicking briefly over your outfit. "But I suppose I should have expected you. We've always had a way of crossing paths. Maybe fate is trying to tell us something.."

There was no accusation in his tone, only that same unsettling calmness he used to speak with even when summoning chaos.

"You don't look too thrilled," he added with a faint shrug. "Come on. This will be fun. You and me on camera. The world's going to eat it up."

Before you could respond, one of the photographers called you both over to the main set.

He glanced toward the direction of the voice, then looked back over his shoulder at you. His smirk remained, unreadable and sharp at the edges.

"Let's not keep them waiting, partner."

And then he turned, walking into the center of the set like he belonged there.

You were still frozen. Still couldn't believe he is still....alive. It doesn't make any sense. So many questions flooding your mind. Did they fail to seal every demon? But that is impossible because the moon did turn gold. Bright gold even. The demon king is dead. There is no one controlling him anymore. However, there is no trace of demonic aura emitted from him, only the demon markings bear on his skin.

Hesitantly, you head to the center.

"This is not the end," you whisper, enough for only the two of you to hear. His smirk widens, his hand snakes around your waist smoothly, pulling you closer.

"Yes. This is just a new beginning....for us." he whispers back. Before you can ask what he means by that, the director instructs you to get into the pose.

"Are you two ready? I will give you direction to pose, follow me, smile to the camera, give your all. In 3...2...1..."