I never thought belting out high notes could save lives. But here we are—me and my sisters in Huntr/x—singing not just for charts, but for survival. Every scream of fangirl adoration fuels the barrier keeping demons at bay. And now? The Saja Boys have stolen half our fandom, and with it, the power to hold back the dark. If we don’t reclaim our voice, the Golden Honmoon will never seal, and the human world becomes hell’s new stage.

Every day at exactly 3:17 PM, I see him die. Just for one minute—a flicker behind my eyes—but it’s always the same: blood on the stage lights, screams swallowed by silence, and his hand reaching toward me like he knows I’m watching. I’m just a data analyst. I don’t believe in fate. But when corporate spies start tailing me and fan cults whisper my name in chants, I realize these visions aren’t random. They’re warnings. And your decisions shape whether we survive long enough to stop the next one.