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The stadium was empty now.
Streamers and empty water bottles littered the floor. Stage lights—once fierce and dancing—now dark. The air smelled like sweat, magic and pyrotechnics. And somewhere beneath it all… ash.
Everyone else had gone home.
Rumi and Zoey, laughing and linked arm-in-arm with Bobby on their heels, had disappeared in a whirlwind of after-party invites and well-earned exhaustion.
Mira had said she’d stay behind. “Helping clean,” she’d said.
But she wasn’t moving. Not really.
She sat on the edge of the stage, elbows resting on her knees, eyes scanning the empty rows like the battle might still be playing out in ghosts and echoes. Her red hair had fallen loose, the last traces of gel flaking away. She hadn’t even bothered to reapply her lip gloss.
She told herself it wasn’t that deep.
But something about Gwi-Ma’s final scream had left a splinter in her soul. Like unfinished business. A demon sacrificed his soul. That goes against everything they knew about demons.
That’s when she noticed it.
A soft, blue shimmer—barely there—hovering above the center of the stage. Mira squinted, rising slowly to her feet. Her boots scuffed the floor, but the glow didn’t vanish.
Instead, it coalesced.
The shimmer deepened, like moonlight condensed into shape. Limbs. A body. A breath.
And then -
“Jinu?” Mira whispered.
The figure blinked, looking just as startled as she felt. The once-smug demon now looked… human. His eyes were the same dark brown, but softer. His clothes were plain, hair mussed. He looked like he’d woken from a long sleep with no idea where—or who—he was.
“I—” he began, voice raspy. “I shouldn’t be here. I gave her everything. My soul. It was supposed to be over.”
Mira didn’t flinch. She stepped closer, hands by her sides and with no urge to call upon her woldo.
“I don’t think it works like that,” she said slowly.
Jinu looked at her, wary. “Then why am I still here?”
She exhaled through her nose. “It’s just a theory, okay? But maybe it’s because you gave it willingly.”
He frowned.
“You know how Gwi-Ma ate souls? Swallowed them whole, left nothing behind. But when we use them—Rumi, our weapons… we don’t take everything. Just a thread. A shimmer.” Her gaze drifted up to the lights, as if visualizing it. “The rest of the soul isn’t destroyed. It’s… woven. Like how the Honmoon is formed. Memory. Protection.”
She looked back at him.
“You didn’t die. You transformed.”
Jinu stared at his hands. They trembled slightly. “But I’m not the same. I feel… lighter. Like something’s missing.”
“Yeah,” Mira said. “Your shame.”
His eyes snapped up.
“You did the most selfless thing a demon could do,” she said. “You gave your soul, so Rumi could end it. Gwi-Ma. The war. Everything.”
Silence settled between them, deep and vast.
“So… what now?” Jinu asked. He sounded small. “I don’t belong anywhere. I’m not a demon anymore. I’m not even sure I’m real.”
Mira tilted her head. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth—dry, but not unkind.
“I spent most of my life thinking I didn’t belong, either. Too angry. Too loud. Too weird. My family tried to fix me. Society tried to shrink me. I got good at pretending I didn’t care.” She shrugged. “Turns out… belonging isn’t about being what they want. It’s about finding people who let you be who you are.”
Jinu looked unconvinced.
“Which means I can’t tell you what to do next,” she said with a shrug, stepping away. “That’s your choice.”
She stopped. Her eyes flicked to the shadows behind the stage scaffolding.
“…But if it were me?” she added. “I’d see this as a second chance.”
Jinu followed her gaze. There—half-hidden, obviously afraid—stood Baby and Romance Saja. Their yellow eyes glowed faintly. Their expressions were guarded, uncertain.
“They’re still here,” Mira said. “Lost. Scared. Trapped on this side now that Honmoon is stronger and Gwi-ma is gone. Maybe they don’t need a hunter. Maybe they need… you.”
He looked at them. Really looked.
They weren’t just strays anymore. They were fragments of a broken demon world with no one left to guide them.
Maybe that’s why he was back.
“…I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” Jinu said.
Mira smiled again—full of mischief this time. “Good. Means you won’t screw it up with your ego.”
He laughed softly. It caught him off guard.
Behind him, the Sajas took a hesitant step forward.
“What about you?” he asked. “What do you do now?”
Mira smirked, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Spa day. Probably binge every season of Single's Inferno on our couch.”
She turned, walking offstage. Her steps were unhurried, every movement dripping with Mira-level chill.
Just before exiting into the dark, she paused and looked back.
“Welcome back, Jinu. Try not to mess it up this time.”
And then she was gone—leaving only the shimmer of stage lights, and the faint blue glow of what might finally be hope.