Chapter Text
Saja Boys POV
The collaboration continued without further incident.
Well.
Without incident for everyone else.
The head designer, however, was on the brink of a complete emotional collapse.
Romance stood in front of a rack of finalized outfits, head tilted, lips pursed in critical contemplation.
The clothes Abby and Romance were meant to wear were elegant, high-fashion pieces meant to complement Mira’s original outfit.
Unfortunately for the designer…
They no longer complemented anything.
Romance snapped his fingers.
“Absolutely not.”
The designer made a strangled noise. “No, no, please! Those are finalized!”
Too late.
Romance snatched his own outfit first.
With swift, confident movements, he undid seams, lowered the neckline into a dramatic V that plunged shamelessly down his chest, and added soft, flowing frills to the cuffs of his sleeves. The result was flamboyant, dramatic, and unapologetically Romance.
The designer staggered backward.
“My… my vision…”
Then Romance turned to Abby’s outfit.
“Oh this will not do,” he muttered.
“Wait, what?” Abby asked, too late.
Rip.
The sleeves were gone.
Snip.
The sides were tightened.
Tug.
The fabric reshaped to emphasize Abby’s broad shoulders and sculpted arms.
Abby blinked as he looked down at himself.
“…Oh.”
The designer dropped to his knees.
“My work,” he sobbed softly. “My beautiful work…”
Bobby stepped beside him, gently patting his back.
“There, there,” Bobby said kindly. “Think of it as… evolution.”
Despite his soothing tone, Bobby’s eyes were sparkling with genuine admiration as he looked at the trio.
“Honestly,” he added, “this looks incredible.”
The three stood before the full-length mirror.
Mira crossed her arms, examining the final look critically, then nodded.
“Not bad, demon boy,” she admitted. “Guess you know more than just stealing souls.”
“…What does that mean?” Bobby muttered quietly behind them.
Romance gasped dramatically. “I prefer the term reappropriating essence.”
Abby flexed instinctively, watching how the fabric clung perfectly to his muscles.
“Oh yeah,” he grinned. “This is dangerous.”
He flexed again.
“And I mean that in the best way.”
Romance struck a pose beside him, one hand on his hip, chin lifted proudly.
“What can I say?” he said smugly. “I’m just amazing like that.”
Mira rolled her eyes, but there was a smirk there.
Before she could respond, a soft chime rang from the front of the studio.
Everyone turned as a nervous-looking photographer stepped inside, clutching his camera like a lifeline.
“H-Hello?” he stammered. “I’m here for the Huntrix and Saja Boys collaboration photoshoot?”
Bobby immediately straightened, all professionalism snapping back into place.
“Over here!” he called cheerfully.
He clapped his hands once, sharp and decisive.
“Alright everyone,” Bobby said with a grin, “let’s get some photos.”
The photographer swallowed hard as his eyes landed on the trio.
“…Wow,” he whispered.
The pink-haired trio exchanged glances, Romance flashing a grin, Abby rolling his shoulders confidently, Mira standing tall with her arms crossed.
They moved into position as the lights flicked on.
The photoshoot went smoothly.
Mostly.
The only real issue was Romance.
“NO! No, no, no!” Romance clapped his hands loudly, stepping in front of the camera. “Your shoulders need to be here. Mira, chin up. Abby, turn slightly. Confidence. Drama. Suffering.”
“It is NOT that serious!” Mira snapped, arms crossed.
“It is to me!” Romance shouted back. “I already redesigned your outfits! The least you can do is pose like you mean it!”
Abby groaned loudly as he rolled his shoulders, joints popping.
“Dude… these poses are murdering my back.”
“Pain is temporary!” Romance declared. “Fashion is eternal!”
The photographer stood frozen behind his camera, sweat forming at his temples.
“…S-Should I stop?” he asked nervously.
Bobby calmly placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“You’re fine,” Bobby said with a warm smile. “This is normal. Believe it or not, this is one of their better days.”
“…Okay,” the photographer said, clearly unconvinced.
Despite the chaos, the shots turned out stunning, sharp silhouettes, powerful stances, and undeniable presence. Once the final shutter clicked, everyone collectively sighed in relief.
Afterward, the trio changed back into their normal clothes and gathered their things.
“Thanks again, Bobby,” Abby said sincerely as he shook the manager’s hand.
“It was no trouble,” Bobby replied with a smile. “Looking out for three more idols barely adds to my workload. I already have enough problems with Celine.”
Romance scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
“…Sorry about Jinu.”
Bobby waved it off. “It’s fine. I’m sure it was an accident. We’ll handle it.”
He gestured toward the exit. “You three go relax. I’ll finish up here.”
Mira paused before leaving, then turned back.
“Thanks again, Bobby,” she said, genuine, soft.
Bobby smiled and gave a small wave.
As the trio walked away, Romance sighed dramatically.
“Well,” he said, “Another flawless performance.”
Abby snorted. “You nearly killed my back.”
Mira smirked. “Worth it.”
Their laughter echoed down the hallway as the door shut behind them.
The three of them slipped into a small, quiet restaurant tucked away from the main street. The bell above the door chimed softly, echoing in the otherwise empty space.
Behind the counter stood an elderly woman, her hair silver and tied neatly back, a gentle smile already forming as she looked up.
“Welcome, dears,” she greeted warmly. “Just find yourselves a seat. I’ll be with you shortly.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Abby replied automatically, his smile easy and polite.
They slid into a small booth near the wall. The vinyl seats squeaked faintly as they settled in, suddenly very aware of how close they were to one another.
The woman shuffled over with three simple menus, her movements unhurried, practiced.
“Take your time,” she said kindly.
They ordered quickly, almost too quickly, as if any delay would make the silence heavier. Once she disappeared back into the kitchen, the restaurant grew quiet again.
Too quiet.
The only sound came from the faint sizzle of something cooking on the stove and the hum of an old refrigerator.
No one spoke.
No one made eye contact.
This was the first time the three of them had sat together like this, no stage, no cameras, no managers hovering nearby. No chaos to hide behind.
Just… them.
Romance scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking between the table and the window.
“So…” he started, then stopped.
Mira tapped her fingers against the table, adjusting her glasses for the third time in ten seconds.
Abby coughed lightly and bounced his knee, the motion betraying his nerves.
“This is awkward,” Romance finally blurted out.
“You think?” Mira shot back dryly.
“Sorry,” Romance raised his hands defensively. “Just… trying to make conversation.”
Mira exhaled through her nose, shoulders stiff.
“Kind of hard,” she muttered, “When my entire purpose is to kill you.”
“That can’t be your entire purpose,” Abby said with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
Mira shot him a glare sharp enough to shut him up immediately.
“…Sorry,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “That came out wrong.”
She leaned back slightly, staring down at her hands.
“It’s just…” she hesitated. “All I was taught was Demons are evil. Demons don’t feel. Demons only care about themselves.”
Her fingers curled slowly into fists.
“You don’t exactly learn how to make small talk with people you’re told are monsters.”
Romance’s smile faded, replaced by something quieter.
“We don’t have to be enemies,” Abby said gently. “We could… I don’t know. Be friends?”
Mira’s grip tightened, knuckles whitening.
Her expression hardened, not in anger, but fear.
“That’s the problem,” she admitted softly. “I think… I don’t want to be friends...”
Abby’s eyes widened.
Romance froze.
“That… makes sense,” Abby said after a moment, his voice careful.
Romance looked down, his lips trembling as his eyes watered despite himself.
“No one would want to be friends with us anyway,” he muttered. “Not really…”
“That’s not what I meant!” Mira said quickly, panic creeping into her voice. “It’s not you! It's me!”
Both demons looked at her, confused and alarmed.
“What do you mean?” Romance asked.
Mira swallowed hard, staring at her hands like they held answers she didn’t want to see.
She let out a shaky breath.
“Where do I even start?”
The sizzle from the kitchen grew louder.
And for the first time, neither Abby nor Romance tried to fill the silence.
Mira POV
Many years ago
I was born into a prestigious family.
Wealthy. Respected. Traditional.
Perfect.
From the moment I could stand on my own, I was taught how to be a porcelain doll.
How to smile without showing too much emotion. How to bow at the correct angle. How to speak clearly, politely, never too loud, never too honest.
Every movement was measured. Every word was rehearsed.
Nothing could ever be wrong.
And yet, no matter how perfect I tried to be, I was never enough.
I was born the younger sister to a golden child.
My brother was everything my parents wanted. Brilliant. Charismatic. Naturally gifted. The kind of child who didn’t need to be corrected, only praised.
He excelled without effort. His grades were framed. His future was discussed proudly at dinner tables.
At every family gathering, every gala, every business dinner, he was the centerpiece.
And me?
A decoration...
I stood in the background while applause followed him. Even when I won awards, when I did everything right,my achievements were footnotes. Mentioned briefly. Forgotten quickly.
You did your best? Your best clearly wasn’t good enough.
Why can’t you do better?
Why can’t you be like your brother?
Those words didn’t just hurt.
They became part of me.
As we grew older, the distance between us widened into something unbridgeable. He pursued medicine, aiming to become a doctor, something noble, respectable. Something worthy of pride.
I, on the other hand, was raised to be married off.
Not for love.
For leverage.
I was a bargaining chip, groomed to strengthen business ties. A future discussed in contracts instead of dreams.
Then… something changed.
One of the family butlers was reassigned to oversee my lessons.
He was old, with a neatly trimmed white mustache and hands worn smooth by years of work. His back was slightly bent, his movements slow, but his eyes were warm.
He smiled at me the first day we met.
“Good afternoon, miss,” he said gently. “You look very serious for someone so young.”
I didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever commented on how I felt before, only how I behaved.
He didn’t treat me like something to be perfected.
He treated me differently...
He treated me like a child.
He taught me about flowers during walks through the garden.
“That one there,” he said once, pointing with his cane, “looks delicate, doesn’t it?”
I nodded.
“But see how it grows through the cracks?” he continued. “Strength doesn’t always look loud.”
I didn’t understand at the time, but I remembered.
He let me bake with him in the kitchen, even when we made a mess of everything. Flour dusted the counters, clung to my sleeves, and once even ended up on his mustache.
“Oh dear,” he chuckled, wiping it away. “Your parents would not approve of this.”
I stared at him in panic. “I-I’m sorry! I’ll clean it!”
He stopped me with a raised hand.
“Mess means you’re learning,” he said softly. “Perfection teaches nothing.”
And then… there was dancing.
At first, it was ballroom dancing. Controlled. Precise. Proper.
I followed every step exactly, waiting for corrections that never came.
One afternoon, after watching me repeat the same routine over and over, he sighed.
“These are boring,” he said suddenly.
I froze. “B-Boring?”
He nodded, leaning back in his chair. “They teach you how to move, but not how to feel.”
Then he turned on the television.
That was the first time I saw the Sunlight Sisters.
I remember sitting on the floor, eyes wide, heart racing as they filled the screen. The way they moved like gravity didn’t own them. The way they smiled because they wanted to, not because they were instructed to.
Their outfits alone were more expressive than anything I had ever been allowed to wear.
I leaned forward, barely breathing.
“They’re… incredible,” I whispered.
The butler smiled, his mustache lifting with it. “Aren’t they?”
“They look… free.”
“Yes,” he said. “And freedom looks good on them.”
We watched for hours.
I didn’t want it to end.
“I want to dance like that,” I said quietly.
He looked at me then, really looked at me.
“Then you should,” he replied without hesitation.
“But,” I started, fear already creeping in. “My parents would never allow it.”
He chuckled softly. “Then we’ll call it ballroom etiquette practice.”
I blinked. “…Really?”
He winked. “It will be our little secret, miss.”
And that was when the rebellion began.
He took me to studios, real ones, where mirrors didn’t judge and music wasn’t measured in mistakes.
Places where I could move without being corrected every second. Where I was allowed to exist instead of perform.
He helped me pick clothes my parents called unfit for someone of my status.
“Status is just an excuse to stay uncomfortable,” he told me once, adjusting a jacket on my shoulders. “You look like yourself in this.”
We laughed more than we should have.
We played pranks on my brother, harmless ones, switching his perfectly organized notes, replacing his polished shoes with identical pairs tied together.
We teased other staff members too, never cruelly, just enough to disrupt the stiff quiet of the house.
Together, we became nuisances.
Troublemakers.
I was caught more times than I could count. Scolded. Forced to bow my head and apologize while my parents lectured me about propriety and shame.
But I never told them about him.
Never once.
Eventually, whispers followed me through the halls. Through family gatherings. Through relatives who spoke just loud enough for me to hear.
Black sheep.
But for the first time in my life… I didn’t care.
That butler made my life livable.
Enjoyable.
Real.
Until my parents found out.
I remember the night clearly.
I was upstairs when the shouting started.
“You have gone too far.”
My father’s voice, sharp, cold.
“I’ve done nothing but teach her to breathe.”
The butler’s voice was steady. Calm.
“You filled her head with nonsense,” my mother snapped. “Dancing like some common performer, wearing clothes that disgrace our name-!”
“She’s a child,” he replied. “Not a possession.”
There was a pause. Heavy. Dangerous.
“You forget your place,” my father said. “She is our daughter.”
“And yet,” the butler answered, “You’ve never treated her like one.”
I pressed myself against the door, heart pounding.
“You have undone everything we have built,” my mother hissed. “She was meant to marry well. To secure alliances. To strengthen this family.”
“And instead,” he said quietly, “you tried to break her.”
Silence.
Then my father spoke again, colder than before.
“You are dismissed. Effective immediately.”
“She deserves freedom,” the butler said, voice growling just slightly. “You caged her like a bird and wondered why she stopped singing.”
“That is enough.”
“You taught her to disappear,” he continued, louder now. “I taught her to live.”
“Leave this place at once!” My father roared.
He was fired that night.
The next morning, his room was empty.
No goodbye.
No note.
No explanation.
Just… gone.
They assigned me a new caretaker almost immediately. Someone efficient. Obedient. Loyal to my parents’ expectations.
I refused to listen.
I stopped smiling. Stopped bowing correctly. Stopped caring.
That night, I packed what little I could carry.
And I ran.
I had money, one small blessing of being born rich.
It felt wrong use, a remnant of my past life I swear I would never go back to, but I needed it to survive.
It wasn’t much, not compared to what I’d grown up with, but it was enough to survive. Enough to eat. Enough to rent cheap rooms. Enough to keep going.
I spent every day dancing.
Not for applause.
Not for validation.
For freedom.
I chased the feeling he had shown me, the way my body could move without permission, without restraint. I danced until my muscles screamed and my lungs burned. Until exhaustion drowned out fear.
Eventually, the money began to run out.
I had to skip meals to save money, take odd jobs to pay for rent, but at the rate I was going at, I was going to end up pennyless on the street.
But then I noticed a flyer taped to a cracked mirror outside a studio.
DANCE COMPETITION
CASH PRIZE
I stared at it for a long time.
My stomach rumbled as I haven’t eaten anything for a long time. I entered out of desperation.
When I arrived at the venue, there were dozens of competitors. Some were trained professionals. Others had confidence I didn’t recognize in myself.
I was terrified, hands shaking, heart pounding so hard I thought I’d collapse before stepping onstage.
But when I finally did…
I thought of him.
Of the man who believed in me when no one else did.
I danced like my life depended on it.
Because it did.
When the music stopped, I was dizzy. Numb. Barely breathing.
I waited as I saw the judges talking amongst themselves.
I waited for what felt like forever.
When they finally decided, they walked up to the podium as the judge cleared his throat.
“And the winner for the competition is…”
I held my breath as I prayed.
“Mira!”
There was applause as I stood there, eyes wide and in shock. I walked up to the podium and claimed my prize as the realization hit me.
I don't know what came over me but I cried.
I don’t think I had ever cried like that before, ugly, uncontrollable, shaking sobs that came from someplace deep I didn’t know existed.
I accepted the prize money, ready to disappear again.
That was when someone stopped me.
“Mira.”
I turned.
She stood there like she belonged, confident, composed, radiant.
Celine.
“I was hoping I wasn’t wrong,” she said calmly, walking up to me.
I didn’t know what to say. My throat was too tight.
“You danced with great spirit as if you're dancing for someone,” she continued. “I need people like that.”
She handed me her card and walked away before I could ask a single question.
I stared at the name.
Celine.
Of the Sunlight Sisters.
I thought it was a dream.
The next day, I went to her office and with no hesitation I accepted.
But the moment I accepted that was when she told me the truth.
“Mira,” she said plainly, “In this world there are creatures that hide and shadows and prey on others. Creatures that take away things that are most dear. These creatures are demons…”
I blinked at her before I laughed.
Not because it was funny, but because it sounded insane.
“Are you serious?” I asked slowly.
“Very.”
I put a hand on my head as I paced around the room before turning to her.
“And you’re telling me this because…?”
“Because I’m building the next generation of hunters,” Celine replied. “Hunters who can fight back against demons. Seal them away with the souls of the people, before they destroy everything.”
I stared at her.
I wanted to call her crazy.
But something inside me… believed her.
“I’m just a runaway,” I said quietly. “I barely survived on my own. How am I supposed to fight monsters?”
Celine stood and walked over to me. She placed a firm hand on my shoulder.
“You’ve been fighting monsters your whole life,” she said. “Cruel expectations. Control. A cage disguised as love.”
Her eyes met mine.
“Demons are no better. We need your fighting spirit Mira,” Celine explained, “You were able to fight monsters, you can fight demons.
Something clicked.
That sealed it, before I knew it I was shaking my hand.
In a week training had begun. It was brutal.
Idol work I could handle. Singing. Dancing. Performance, it was familiar.
But hunter training?
It nearly broke me.
Weapons. Combat. Pain. Fear.
I almost quit, I wanted to quit.
More than once.
Then there was Rumi.
Quiet. Steady. Understanding without asking questions.
And Zoey.
Loud. Chaotic. Kind in ways that caught me off guard.
They became like a family to me, the second kindness I had ever known.
At first, I pushed them away. Stayed cold. Distant. Sharp-edged.
But Zoey’s ridiculous energy and Rumi’s patient warmth chipped away at my walls.
Little by little.
With them, I stayed.
With them, I endured.
And eventually…
We became Huntrix.
Saja Boys POV
Present
“I swore to destroy every demon in my path,” Mira finished quietly, voice steady despite the tremor beneath it, “And to repay the kindness Huntrix has given me. So… I’m sorry if it’s hard to be friends with- What the-?!”
She looked up.
Abby and Romance were sobbing.
Like, ugly sobbing.
Romance had both hands over his face, shoulders shaking.
Abby was openly crying into his sleeve, nose red, eyes glassy.
Even the elderly woman who had brought their food was dabbing her eyes with the corner of her apron.
“That’s so sad!” Romance wailed. “Why is your life a tragedy novel?!”
“You’re so strong!” Abby sniffed loudly. “I would’ve burned the entire estate to the ground!”
Mira blinked. “…You would’ve what?”
The old woman shuffled closer and gently took Mira’s hand, patting it with warmth earned only by lived years.
“You’ve come a long way, young lady,” she said softly. “You should be proud of yourself.”
She straightened suddenly, eyes firm.
“This meal is on the house.”
Mira immediately panicked. “N-No! I’ll pay! I insist!”
“No way, miss,” the woman said sharply, then smiled again. “This one’s free. Think of it as congratulations for making it this far.”
Mira hesitated, eyes darting between the woman and the two demons still quietly sniffling across from her.
Eventually, she exhaled.
“…Very well, ma’am. If you insist.”
“That’s more like it!” The woman set their plates down. “If you need anything else, just yell.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Romance said sincerely, bowing his head slightly.
“My pleasure,” she replied before waddling back to the counter.
As they began to eat, the atmosphere shifted, lighter, but fragile.
“I still can’t believe you went through all that,” Abby said quietly.
“I get it now,” Romance added, wiping his eyes. “Why trusting demons would be hard.”
Mira took a bite, chewing slowly before speaking again.
“I was told demons were no better than the people I call my parents,” she said. “So it’s… unsettling. Seeing you two be kinder than they ever were.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, landing silently on the table.
“And now it feels like Zoey and Rumi are hiding something from me,” she continued, voice cracking. “Like they’re turning their backs on everything we were taught. Like something is whispering that they’ll never really be my family.”
Before she could pull away, she felt warmth.
A hand on each of hers.
She looked up.
Abby and Romance were holding her hands gently, no teasing, no jokes.
“What are you doing?” she asked quietly.
“Mira,” Abby said.
“We can’t give you back the childhood you lost,” Romance continued.
“And we might never change how you see demons,” Abby added.
“But we want to help,” Romance finished. “However we can.”
Mira stared at them.
Then the tears came.
She yanked her hands back quickly, turning away to wipe her face.
“You two are idiots,” she muttered.
Both demons stiffened, worried they’d crossed a line.
“…But I guess that’s what happens,” she added with a shaky chuckle, “when you’re friends with demons.”
Romance froze.
Abby’s eyes widened.
“…Wait,” Romance whispered. “Did you-”
“You just called us friends,” Abby said, smiling.
Mira lifted her drink. “To an awkward friendship?”
“To an awkward friendship,” Abby and Romance echoed, raising theirs.
They ate, laughed softly, and lingered longer than expected. When it came time to leave, Mira tried once more to pay, only to be shut down again.
“This is where we part ways,” Abby sighed outside the restaurant.
“Till we meet again,” Romance said, reaching for Mira’s hand.
She smacked it away instantly.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she snapped.
“Worth a shot,” Romance laughed.
They parted with shared smiles.
As Abby walked off, Romance slowed, his eyes catching on a nearby accessories shop.
“You go on ahead,” Romance said casually. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Abby followed his gaze and sighed. “You and your skincare obsession. See you back home.”
He waved and as he disappeared down the street.
Romance waited as Abby disappeared from view.
Then turned down a narrow side alley, the warmth draining from his expression.
“You can come out now,” he said coldly.
The shadows shifted.
A woman stepped forward, movements lazy, confident…
Dangerous…
“Perceptive as always, Minjae,” she purred.
Romance’s jaw tightened.
“Jilhwa…”
She smiled, sharp and knowing.
“Hello there, love.”