Chapter Text
Saja Boys POV
Many, Many Years Ago…
Before he was Romance…
Before the loud colors, the fearless confidence, the way he took up space like the world owed him room…
He was Minjae.
He was born into a noble family in Korea, one whose name carried weight and history. A family spoken of with respect, with expectation. A lineage built on reputation and tradition.
They all lived together in a single sprawling estate. Generations under one roof. Uncles and aunts. Siblings and cousins. Servants who whispered and halls that never truly slept.
A house that was always full.
And yet, Minjae was always alone.
He was born with a large mark across his face, dark and unmistakable, and pale white spots scattered across his skin like stars that didn’t belong in the sky they were placed in.
From the moment the adults saw him, something changed.
They never used the word abomination out loud. Nobility had rules, about politeness, about appearances, about maintaining the illusion of grace.
Instead, they hid him.
Not locked away.
Not imprisoned.
He was simply… kept out of sight.
He ate only after guests had left. He stayed indoors during gatherings. Whenever visitors came, a gentle hand would redirect him elsewhere, a soft voice assuring him it was “for his comfort.”
Minjae learned early what that meant.
The adults never looked at him for long. Their gazes slid away, lips tightening as if they’d seen something unsettling.
Some whispered prayers under their breath. Others murmured about curses, bad omens, divine punishment, spoken quietly, but never quietly enough.
His parents?
They never defended him.
Why would they?
They shared the same thoughts as everyone else.
Minjae would spend his time making outfits with discarded pieces of cloth. It wasn’t pretty but he admired each of his outfits, even if no one would wear them.
But even with many things given to him to occupy his time, it still didn’t rid him of his loneliness.
And yet, even inside that gilded prison of a home, Minjae found something fragile and precious.
Curiosity.
The children had heard rumors. Whispers passed down by frightened adults. Stories about a monster hiding in the halls.
And children, unlike adults, were not afraid of stories.
They searched the estate in giggling packs, peeking behind doors, darting through corridors until eventually…
They found him.
Minjae’s chamber was quiet. Isolated. Tidy in the way unused spaces always were.
They stared at him at first, wide-eyed and breathless.
“Are you the monster?” one of them asked.
Minjae’s chest tightened.
He looked down at his hands. At his skin. At the mark that had made him something to be hidden.
“Yes,” he said softly. “That’s me.”
He turned away, already bracing himself for what came next.
Fear.
Disgust.
Rejection.
But it never came.
Instead, the children stepped closer.
“That’s not a monster,” one of them said, tilting their head.
“You just look different,” another added.
Someone sat beside him.
Then another.
They talked. They laughed. They stayed.
Minjae didn’t understand it at first. He kept waiting for the moment they would realize the truth and leave.
But they never did.
That day, sitting on the floor of a room meant to hide him away, Minjae experienced something new.
Kindness.
It was small.
And it was the first time his family ever chose him.
Eventually, the children began visiting him every day.
They would slip into his room like it was the safest place in the entire estate, bringing stories from the outside world, what the adults were arguing about, which cousin had embarrassed themselves at dinner, which guest had worn something ridiculous.
Minjae listened eagerly, eyes bright, nodding along.
When one of them exaggerated a story, flailing their arms and raising their voice dramatically, Minjae would laugh and play along.
“No way,” he’d say, eyes wide, “They really said that?”
The children loved that about him. How he listened. How he believed them.
Soon, they adored him.
Even the children older than him came to visit.
Sometimes his older cousins would come to gossip about cute suitors or elder siblings came in to check up on him.
Whenever the adults were busy, whenever the young ones wanted to play games, whenever they needed a place to hide, or whenever the older children needed a place of quiet, they came to Minjae.
They would even bring him rolls of cloth for him to make outfits for them or fix up their torn ones.
His room stopped feeling like a prison and started feeling like a sanctuary.
Then one day, they arrived together.
They stood in front of him, hands hidden behind their backs, giggling uncontrollably.
“We made something for you!” one of them said.
Minjae tilted his head. “For me?”
They pushed the gift into his hands.
Minjae froze.
It was a mask.
Handmade from paper and cloth, stitched together unevenly, painted with bright colors and clumsy patterns. Flowers. Swirls. Smiles that were far too big to be proper. The paint was thick in places, smeared in others.
It was ridiculous.
Yet, it was beautiful.
“So you can play with us outside,” one of the children said eagerly.
“You don’t have to stay in here anymore!” another added.
Minjae’s hands trembled.
Tears spilled down his face before he could stop them.
He pressed the mask to his chest, shoulders shaking.
“I… Are you sure?” he whispered.
They nodded eagerly.
That day, Minjae put on a bright hanbok to cover the marks on his skin and donned the mask.
And he stepped out of his room.
He passed adults in the hallway. They reacted the same way they always did, averted gazes, tight smiles, whispers behind hands.
But this time…
It didn’t hurt as much.
When he stepped outside for the first time, the world opened up before him.
People.
Vendors calling out.
Animals wandering freely.
Laughter carried on the wind.
The children noticed his wonder immediately and grabbed his hands, pulling him along.
“Come on!”
“Look at this!”
“You’ve never seen this before, right?!”
They ran through open spaces. Played games in the dirt. Shared snacks. Laughed until their sides hurt.
By the time night fell, Minjae’s chest ached, not from fear, but from happiness.
Joy.
The kind he had never known.
They returned home reluctantly, whispers of “tomorrow” and “again” following him back to his room.
Alone at last, Minjae stood before the mirror.
Still smiling.
Slowly, he removed the mask and then the hanbok.
But the moment he did, the joy drained from his reflection.
The marks were still there…
No matter how bright the mask.
No matter how kind the children were.
He leaned closer to the mirror.
And then he heard them.
The voices.
You can’t hide your true self.
No one will ever truly love you.
You will die alone and unloved.
Minjae pressed his hands against the glass, breath shaking.
The world had given him one perfect day.
And reminded him why it couldn’t last.
From that day forth, Minjae wore a second mask.
Not one made of paper or cloth.
But an emotional one.
He learned how to smile at the right moments. How to laugh softly when his siblings and cousins came to see him. How to pretend he wasn’t hurting so they wouldn’t worry.
They never saw the cracks.
But every night, when the estate finally fell silent, when the laughter faded, when footsteps retreated and doors closed, Minjae would curl into himself and cry quietly into his pillow.
He cried for the face he was born with. For the marks he couldn’t erase. For the hope that one day someone might love him without him having to hide.
He cried until exhaustion claimed him.
Then came the night that changed everything.
His family was hosting an event.
Music drifted through the halls, rich and vibrant. Voices layered together in polite laughter. The scent of grand meals carried on the air.
Minjae noticed something through the crack of his door.
His older sisters and cousins passed by, dressed in colorful hanboks, brilliant reds, deep blues, flowing golds. They looked radiant. Alive.
Without thinking, he followed.
Every step felt dangerous. Forbidden.
But curiosity pulled him forward.
He stopped at the edge of a large room and peered inside.
The sight stole his breath.
Guests filled the space, seated at long tables heavy with food. Servants moved gracefully between them. Candles flickered. Music played.
Before he could turn away, his sisters entered.
They lined up together.
And then they danced.
Minjae watched, transfixed.
Their movements were fluid, precise, beautiful. Every step told a story. Every turn felt intentional. They weren’t just moving, they were expressing something deeper.
Something free.
Outside the room, hidden behind a pillar, Minjae felt the music pulse through him.
Tentatively, he moved his foot.
Then his hand.
Then his whole body followed.
To his surprise, he could keep up with the rhythm.
He wasn’t perfect. His steps were hesitant. His posture, unsure.
But he could move.
And the feeling…
It was intoxicating.
For the first time, his mind went quiet. The voices faded. The marks didn’t matter. The walls around his life seemed to fall away.
He was just… there.
Alive.
Then a shadow fell over him.
“Minjae?”
He froze.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
An elder cousin stood there, staring at him.
He braced himself.
For anger.
For punishment.
For exposure.
She turned and walked away.
Tears burned in his eyes.
This is it, he thought.
But then she came back.
With others.
More cousins. His siblings.
They didn’t look angry.
They looked excited.
“You dance?” one of them asked, eyes wide.
“I-I’m sorry,” Minjae stammered. “I didn’t mean to…”
“Don’t stop,” another said quickly. “Show us!”
They closed the distance around him, music still drifting through the walls.
They danced together.
It was clumsy at first. Awkward. Minjae tripped more than once. But they laughed, not unkindly, and guided him gently.
“Like this,” his sister whispered.
“Follow the beat,” another encouraged.
Minjae learned quickly.
Too quickly.
Despite his age, his body understood the movement. He adapted. Flowed. Moved with a grace that surprised even him.
“You’re good,” one of them said, breathless.
“Really good,” another added.
Praise warmed him in a way he didn’t know how to describe.
From then on, dance became his secret.
A refuge.
A place where he could forget.
But as the years passed…
The voices never left.
No matter how beautifully he danced.
No matter how many smiles he wore.
They always came back.
Whispering.
Waiting.
Patient.
When Minjae reached adulthood, his skills in sewing and dancing improved exponentially, but he was still hidden away, a stain upon his family.
A black sheep…
One afternoon in the market, Minjae walked beside his cousins as they browsed rolls of cloth, fine silks and dyed cotton meant for a new hanbok. The noise of the crowd pressed in from all sides. Vendors shouted. Bells chimed.
And then he collided with someone.
“Oh!” Minjae gasped.
A woman stood before him, startled. Around his age. Dark eyes. Curious, not cruel.
Panic seized him.
He grabbed his mask, bowed deeply, and apologized in a rush before fleeing with his cousins, heart hammering.
He never learned her name.
And little did he know then that she would change everything.
Some time later, his family hosted a spring festival, one meant to honor farming, prosperity, and goodwill with the people.
As always, Minjae was ordered to stay inside.
And as always, his siblings ignored that order.
They wrapped him in oversized, layered clothing. Secured his mask. Slipped him out into the night like a precious secret.
The festival was alive.
Lanterns swayed. Music spilled through the air. People danced, laughed, ate together beneath the open sky.
Minjae smiled. He laughed with his family.
Yet still… beneath it all, something inside him felt hollow.
Then the music shifted.
A rhythm caught him without warning.
He moved, softly at first, then more freely, letting the beat carry him.
That was when she saw him.
The woman from the market.
She stood still, eyes fixed on him, mesmerized by the way he danced, not stiff like nobles, not showy, but honest. Unbound.
She searched him out when the song ended.
Minjae recognized her instantly.
His siblings noticed too.
One by one, they drifted away, pretending not to see, giving him space he had never been allowed before.
Minjae was a nervous wreck. He had never spoken to anyone outside his family like this.
But she smiled gently and spoke easily.
They walked together through the festival, talking about small things. The food. The music. Their favorite seasons. Shared laughter stitched something fragile and hopeful into Minjae’s chest.
For the first time, the emptiness eased.
He felt it then.
Love.
Later, when the festival waned, they sat together near a shrine. Stars glittered above them.
She tilted her head, studying him.
“Why do you wear such large clothes?” she asked softly. “And the mask?”
Minjae’s fingers tightened around the fabric.
“To hide my marks,” he said. “It’s better if no one sees.”
She frowned. “I would be different.”
His heart skipped.
“I wouldn’t care,” she insisted, reaching toward him.
Hope flared, bright, reckless.
She removed the mask from him.
But the moment she saw his face, her expression shattered.
Fear replaced warmth.
Her scream echoed through the night as she ran away, dropping the mask.
The mask hit the ground, cracking as it fell.
Minjae didn’t chase her.
He couldn’t bring himself to.
The void inside him tore open, wider, deeper than ever before.
He picked up the broken mask, dusting it as he walked home alone.
“I should have known,” he whispered. “No one could ever love me like this.”
That night, he collapsed onto his bed, sobbing until his chest burned.
“I’ll never know love,” he cried. “I’ll die alone, lying in my empty room.”
Then the voice spoke to him once more.
Yes.
You will die alone… if you remain as you are.
It coiled through his mind like silk and shadow.
But you don’t have to.
I can give you beauty beyond imagining.
They will adore you.
You will never be alone again.
All you must do… is accept.
Minjae didn’t hesitate.
“I accept.”
By morning, the mirror showed someone else.
The mark was gone.
The pale spots had vanished.
Minjae ran through the estate in disbelief.
Shock turned to awe. Awe to acceptance.
And finally, for the first time, he was welcomed.
He ate at the same tables. Danced openly at events. People sought his talents, admired his appearance, praised him.
He was loved.
Or so it seemed.
Minjae chased that feeling relentlessly. He drowned himself in attention, in shallow affection, believing each new embrace would finally fill the emptiness.
He would even sleep with numerous women, indulging himself in acts of debauchery, in hopes to fill the empty void the first one left.
But it never did.
With every passing year, the void only grew larger.
He stopped dancing for joy.
Stopped listening to his cousins.
Stopped being the boy they once loved.
One night, stood before his mirror.
“Why?” He asked his reflection.
“Why?! Even with my new beauty, even when I was finally accepted by everyone,” He glared at himself, “Why do I still feel so empty?!”
He punched the mirror as the shards fell to the ground. His reflection broke as he stared down at them.
“Am I not beautiful enough?!” Minjae cried as he shouted at his broken reflection, “Am I not good enough?!”
Romance began to punch the shards as his knuckles became bloody.
“Why?! Why am I not good enough?!”
He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take the empty feeling in heart growing every year.
He just wanted the feeling to end…
He just wanted to find love…
Present Time
The alley was too quiet.
Romance stood still, the city’s glow barely reaching the narrow space between buildings.
“Why are you here, Jilhwa…”
His voice was low, feral. A growl pulled from somewhere old and ugly in his chest as his fangs slipped free.
She laughed softly.
“Is that any way to greet someone you loved?” Jilhwa teased, stepping out of the shadows like she owned them. “Can’t I simply miss you?”
“We both know that’s a lie,” Romance snapped, claws sliding free with a metallic scrape. “You don’t come back for sentiment.”
She placed a hand over her heart, mock wounded.
“Ouch. I’ll have you know that’s half untrue.”
Her heels clicked closer. Too close.
“Let’s just say… An old flame asked me to look in on you.”
Romance stiffened.
“…Gwi-Ma.”
“Bingo,” Jilhwa purred, her smile sharp. “There’s that clever mind I adored.”
His jaw tightened. “So you found me. What now? What does he want?”
She reached up, fingers brushing his cheek as if he hadn’t flinched from her touch a thousand times before.
“He wants you back, of course.” Her thumb traced his jaw. “Did you really think you could just… Leave?”
Romance didn’t move, his eyes deadpan as he stared at the woman in front of him.
“Then why doesn’t he drag us back?” he demanded. “Why send you?”
Jilhwa leaned in, breath ghosting over his ear.
“You already know the answer, love.”
His eyes flickered. The charm. The wards. The fragile web that is keeping Gwi-Ma blind. The only thing that is keeping The Saja Boys safe.
“So why reveal yourself?” Romance shot back. “Why say any of this?”
She pulled away just enough for him to see her grin.
“Because I love you,” she said simply.
The words landed wrong. Twisted. Rotten.
She leaned forward, lips inches from his.
But before she could connect, he stepped back.
Her brow creased in mild surprise.
“Grew a backbone, have you?” she asked softly. “You used to beg me not to leave.”
Romance’s voice shook, but he didn’t step back.
“That was because I was desperate,” he said, “And you used me.”
Jilhwa laughed, bright and cruel.
“Oh, I remember.” Her finger dragged slowly up his chest. “How you’d do anything to keep me. How empty you were. How easy it was to make you believe you were loved.”
“Not anymore,” Romance growled, stance widening. Claws gleamed.
Her smile faded, not into anger, but disappointment.
“You’ve gotten boring,” she sighed. “Ever since you joined those traitors.”
His eyes burned. “Then why warn me?”
She tilted her head. “Because I’m generous.”
Romance’s heart stuttered as realization hit.
“You’re not telling him,” he said quietly.
She clapped once. “Clever boy.”
“But in exchange you won't tell your so-called brothers either,” she added lightly.
“What makes you say that?"
Jilhwa smiled devilishly.
“We wouldn’t want anything to happen to your new girlfriend, would we?”
Romance’s eyes shot wide open as he stared at her.
“What was her name again?” she murmured, “Mira?”
Romance’s breath caught.
“If you so much as touch her, you’ll-”
Her hand snapped up.
A clawed nail hovered inches from his throat.
“I’ll what?” Jilhwa whispered. “Did you forget what I am?”
Her eyes glowed, ancient, predatory.
“I’m a Greater Demon. Lived longer than you and fought more battles.”
Romance swallowed as sweat dripped down his brow.
“You’ll do nothing,” Jilhwa said sweetly. “Because you’re still afraid.”
She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“But it’s that fear that I love so much about you.”
She stepped past him, heels clicking away.
“Until next time, my love,” she called over her shoulder. “And don’t try anything stupid.”
She paused at the edge of the alley.
“Gwi-Ma is always watching.”
Then in a puff of smoke, she was gone.
Romance stood alone, claws trembling, the charm burning hot in his hand.
He gripped his hands hard as his nails dug into his skin, drawing blood.
He couldn’t do anything.
“Damn it…”
Romance grumbled as he put his hands in his pocket and walked home.
Unaware that his troubles have just begun…