#TMGDB

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Series Masterlist

The Saja Boys are Seoul’s hottest new idol group and demons in disguise. Their new manager, is just a human… or so they think.

She’s actually the last witch of her bloodline, bound by an ancient oath to protect five powerful beings foretold in prophecy. Managing them would be easier if they weren’t chaotic, suspicious, and weirdly attractive.

They’re hiding what they are.

So is she.

And if anyone finds out, the spotlight might not be the only thing that burns.

✦ Author’s Note: This series is written as a reader-insert — you are the mysterious, magically overqualified manager of the Saja Boys.

When talking about the story in other posts or comments (and on AO3), you are referred to as Areum, as that is the character's name in-universe and where you can find more about the world. But make no mistake — this is still your story.

Started: 6/30/25

Finished:

( Also on Ao3 )

Prologue: Under Glamour, Under Guise

Chapter 1: Witchcraft in the Waiting Room

Chapter 2: Sweat, Spells, and Setlists

Chapter 3: Lights, Glamour, Residue

Chapter 4: Silent Pages, Shifting Shadows

Chapter 5: No Coincidence, Only Intent

Chapter 6: Shadows Between Us

Chapter 7: Unplanned, Unveiled

Chapter 8: Meetings, Missteps, and Misdirection

Chapter 9: Signals, Sparks, and Shrugged-Off Magic

Chapter 10: Closets, Charms, and Carefully-Lit Lies

Chapter 11: Coffee and Counterspells

Chapter 12: Burn Marks and Shifting Lines

Chapter 13: Wards, Warnings, and Witnesses

Chapter 14: Clear Skies, Subtle Lies

Chapter 15:

Use tag #TMGDB to filter this story

Q&A about series (possible spoilers) : #1 #2

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Clear Skies, Subtle Lies

Chapter13/Chapter14/Chapter15

Outdoor Fan Shoot — Early Afternoon

The skies over Seoul had been clear all morning.

A blessing, according to the shoot director. Perfect conditions—sun-dappled clouds, a mild breeze, the kind of soft light that required minimal editing. No filters, no fuss. Just nature doing the heavy lifting. A rooftop garden had been rented for the occasion, styled in florals and delicate pastels. Paper parasols leaned artfully against benches. A vintage watering can was placed just off-center. Someone had fluffed the hydrangeas.

Everything looked easy.

She didn’t relax.

She never did.

Her clipboard had already been flipped through twice. The call sheet had no typos, the prop checklist was intact, water bottles were distributed evenly, and a small, discreet pouch of glamour stabilizers sat at the bottom of her tote. Backup stabilizers. In case anyone’s charm cracked mid-pose. She wasn’t expecting it. But that wasn’t the point. She never expected a problem. She prepared for it anyway.

Her earpiece crackled faintly—then nothing.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that meant someone somewhere was slacking—or something else was listening.

Beneath the neat layering of her protective wards, she felt it. A subtle shift in the air, like silk catching on a nail. Her wards didn’t buckle. But they rippled—just once. Like something had brushed against them, curious or lost or both.

Something tugged at the edge of her field.

Not strong.

Not focused.

But insistent.

Storm magic.

Wild. Untethered. Probably accidental. She had seen it before—new mages playing with ambient weather without understanding how to shut it down. This wasn’t cast with intent. No direction, no structure. But that made it worse. Magic like that had no anchor. No aim.

And unfocused magic always hit someone.

She moved without urgency, turning slowly as if checking her schedule notes. The click of her pen covered the subtle shift in her expression as her eyes scanned the space.

The rooftop was quiet. Stylists fixing hair. The boys joking softly by the hydrangeas. Nothing overt. But the air shimmered in strange ways near the metal railing. The sound of distant traffic dulled like it had been muffled. And across the rooftop’s edge—just beyond the safety line—a tall antenna leaned into the sky from the building opposite, vibrating faintly with static.

Leyline interference.

Not unusual.

Not safe.

Her gaze narrowed.

This wasn’t a direct attack. There was no hex. No curse signature. It was more like someone had dropped a live wire into a puddle and walked away. Careless. Dangerous. Someone had stirred the sky and left it to unravel on its own.

She reached into her tote, fingers closing around a small glass tin. The lid clicked open with the soft snap of habit. Inside: mirror-dust, finely ground and faintly glowing, like powdered glass under moonlight.

She dipped her fingers inside.

The shimmer clung to her skin. Not bright. Not visible to anyone untrained. But enough.

Enough to bend stray magic away.

To hold the weather at bay.

She exhaled slowly, grounding herself.

She didn’t need a spell circle.

She was the circle.

---------------------

The shoot was just finishing when the temperature dropped.

Not in a slow, creeping way. Not in the way shade might slide over a rooftop or a breeze might curl through flower petals. It dropped like something had cut the sky open and let the chill spill out.

Romance stood near the flower cart, clothed in loose white linen like a Regency ghost caught mid-dramatic exit. His hand draped over a bouquet of baby’s breath and garden roses, held in the least natural way possible—as if it had personally offended his concept of masculinity.

“Hold it softer,” the photographer called.

Romance smirked. “I am holding it softly. This is my softest.”

Behind the potted rosebush, Baby had already finished his shots and was stealthily peeling open a second snack bag. He crouched behind the hydrangeas like an idol in exile, popping honey-almond clusters with the skill of someone who knew exactly where the cameras weren’t.

Jinu stood at the edge of the set, scanning the pose list like it was a war plan. His brow was furrowed, not with worry, but with the exacting concentration of someone trying to predict five outcomes at once and eliminate four.

Mystery leaned against the trellis.

Silent. Half-shadowed. Present in body, distant in thought.

It was Abby who noticed first.

He was lounging near a rack of pastel cardigans, eyes tracking the sky with casual curiosity—until the hair on his arms lifted.

“Hey,” he called, squinting upward. “That cloud looks like it wants to fight.”

She turned so fast her earpiece shifted.

The wind had changed.

Not just direction—intention.

She felt it hit her wards like a shoulder bump in a crowded hallway. Not malicious. But not passive either. Something conjured this. Something without finesse. And now the sky was bending.

The clouds above them didn’t roll—they tilted.

The pressure system snapped sideways in a way no natural storm should. A low rumble followed, not the kind that heralded thunder but the kind that echoed wrong in the bones. Too dry. Too early. Too much.

This wasn’t weather. This was summoning.

She had five seconds.

She dropped the clipboard.

Not carelessly. Not in panic. The motion was fluid, deliberate, like a stone dropped into still water.

She stepped forward, one foot grounding her against the magical disruption, and flicked her fingers once, clean and practiced.

A ripple shimmered along the rooftop perimeter—just for a moment. The crew didn’t notice it. But she did. So did one other.

The edge of her ward flared like stretched glass. She drew her fingers low and curved them upward, pulling the boundary into shape like threading a bubble around the rooftop.

The dome sealed.

The wind hit.

It slammed against the invisible barrier with the force of a car crash—and shattered.

Rain followed, sharp and fast, slicing through the air like silver needles—until it met the ward line. Each drop flattened, skewed, and scattered sideways. The entire rooftop stayed dry.

Completely, unnaturally dry.

The photographer blinked, visibly shaken. “That… passed fast?”

Jinu frowned and looked skyward. “We didn’t get a single drop.”

Romance raised both arms as if conducting a weather symphony. “Maybe I scared the storm off,” he said, grinning.

“No,” Baby said, deadpan, not even pausing in his chewing.

Mystery tilted his head toward you.

Just a little.

She calmly knelt, picked up her clipboard, and dusted off the cover like nothing had happened. One page flipped in the wind, but she caught it before it could fly.

“Clear skies for the next hour,” she said, adjusting a line on her schedule with smooth, even handwriting.

The stylist muttered something about Seoul weather being weird lately and moved on.

The photographer nodded and clapped. “Alright, next setup! Romance with the tulips, Mystery on deck.”

The shoot resumed.

But the energy had shifted.

Not because the storm passed.

Because something else had been held at bay.

---------------------

Later — Post-Shoot Debrief

They gathered beneath one of the parasols that hadn’t blown away.

The rooftop looked picture-perfect again—petals scattered in curated chaos, the props now slightly sun-faded, the air sticky with late afternoon haze. The stylist crew was already packing up the floral arch. A few assistants chased down a rogue makeup sponge that had somehow made it all the way to the neighboring balcony.

The Saja Boys sat in a half-circle, sipping lukewarm sodas and looking sun-dazed, as if the shoot had drained them of both moisture and functioning brain cells.

Romance sprawled with the kind of ease that said he believed the day had gone well because he was there. He stretched his arms over his head, shirt riding up just enough to be strategic, and yawned theatrically.

“So,” he began, voice syrupy-smooth. “Are we gonna talk about how we were dry in a literal monsoon?”

“Microclimate,” Jinu replied immediately, tone clipped like he’d been waiting for this.

Romance rolled his eyes. “Bro, we were the only microclimate on the block.”

“Studio warding?” Jinu offered, less confident now.

“No way,” Abby said, pointing with his soda can. “There were like five real estate signs out front. That building doesn’t even have working elevators.”

“I tripped on a loose tile,” Baby added, licking powdered sugar off his thumb. “Place is haunted. Or bankrupt. Maybe both.”

Romance sat up, now interested. “Okay, but like—no one flinched. Not even her. Wind slaps the ward, rain hits an invisible wall, and she’s just... adjusting her clipboard like it’s Tuesday.”

There was a collective pause.

Baby squinted. “You think she cast something?”

Jinu scoffed. “She’s our manager, not a weather witch.”

Romance leaned forward, voice dropping to mock-dramatic levels. “Main. Character. Energy.”

Abby chuckled. “Unbothered. Powerful. Slightly terrifying.”

“Sounds about right,” Jinu muttered.

“She did have that jar of glittery powder,” Baby said thoughtfully. “Mirror-dust. That’s not in a manager starter pack.”

“Could be from Olive Young,” Jinu argued weakly.

“Jinu” Romance said, utterly serious, “nothing from Olive Young stops rain.”

None of them noticed the slight shift in the breeze. The way the air bent just around their circle, like something still lingered in the leftover edges of your spell.

Mystery hadn’t spoken once.

He sat with his hands folded, gaze angled just slightly away from the group—toward the other end of the rooftop, where you stood near the edge, phone in hand, texting one-handed while tucking her clipboard under her arm.

She wasn’t looking at them.

But she was listening.

He could tell by the way her fingers paused, mid-message. Just long enough to register the conversation.

Then she resumed typing, unbothered. Or pretending to be.

---------------------

That Evening — Your Journal

The scent of lemon balm lingered in the air, fresh from the protective incense she’d burned at the apartment window. Her hair was still faintly scented with ozone. She didn’t bother to change out of her work clothes. She just sat at her desk, kicked off her shoes, and opened her journal.

The page welcomed her like an old habit. Pen already in hand. Words waiting.

Journal Entry — Rooftop Fan Shoot: Weather Incident

Residual storm magic detected mid-afternoon. Source: likely student-tier conjuration, unsupervised. Unstable. Not directed. Drawn through leyline rupture—unanchored pulse near nearby broadcast antenna. Wind pressure reached threshold. Glamour disruption potential: high. Deflected using mirror-dust perimeter shell. No glamour break. No staff exposure. Crew unaware. Saja Boys—partial suspicion. Romance: vocal curiosity. Jinu: dismissive, but watchful. Baby: inquisitive. Possibly intuitive. Abby: uncertain. Protective instinct triggered. Mystery: observant. Too much. Will need distraction.

She tapped her pen once on the edge of the page. Then, deliberately, underlined two phrases they’d used:

“Main character energy.” “Unbothered.”

A smile tugged at her lips.

Small. Sharp. Satisfied.

Maybe just this once, she’d let this myth build itself.

Let them believe she was something dramatic and mysterious. Something powerful but safe—on their side. That belief might keep them out of deeper truths for just a little longer.

She closed the journal softly and reached for her tea.

Outside, thunder rolled again—distant this time. Natural.

She didn’t flinch.

She was ready.

AN: Back to our regularly scheduled program. No weather apps were harmed in the making of this chapter. However, several parasols were emotionally compromised, a bouquet was held in an aggressively unnatural way, and one (1) manager may or may not have outmaneuvered a minor sky-based apocalypse without spilling her tea. Not saying she controls the weather. But also not not saying that.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball @tenaciouskittenpuff @venommie @honey-and-sweetdreams @luna-looniesblog @lyunsafebubble @tulnukaz @levifiance @mysteris-things @aerissblog @anxiousskylar @downbadgirlypoo @misdollface @renchai @rithalie-sideblog @tsukimoon-chan @reixtsu @ghostiiess 

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Witchcraft in the Waiting Room

Prologue/Chapter 1/Chapter2

The conference room was every shade of uninspired: beige walls, buzzing lights, and the faint scent of instant ramen lingering like a ghost that never left. The table, scratched and water-stained, was just large enough to seat the five demons pretending to be a rookie idol group.

They were waiting. Restless.

Jinu sat at the head of the table, posture perfect, fake reading glasses perched on his nose. He tapped a pen against the table in a rhythm that matched neither time nor beat.

Abby lounged next to him, arms crossed to subtly flex against the tight sleeves of his shirt. He offered a friendly smile to no one in particular and watched the clock tick.

Mystery leaned back in his chair, the edge of a company memo torn between his teeth. His dark eyes flicked toward the lights overhead, as if trying to understand their existence by glaring at them.

Romance looked painfully at home, reclined like he was posing for a solo teaser poster. One leg crossed. Shirt half unbuttoned.

And Baby? Baby had three open energy drinks in front of him, his foot bouncing like a jackhammer.

They were told their new manager would arrive at 2 p.m.

It was 2:04.

"Maybe they forgot," Jinu muttered.

"Maybe we manage ourselves now," Romance said with a smirk. "Democratic. Sexy."

"Do we really need a manager?" Baby asked, already halfway through his second drink. "We’ve got charisma."

"We have no schedule, no staff, and no clue what we’re doing," Jinu shot back. "We absolutely need a manager."

"What if she’s old?" Baby asked. "Like ancient-old. Or smells like mothballs."

"What if she’s hot?" Romance countered.

"What if she eats us?" Mystery added quietly. It was hard to tell if he was joking.

The door opened.

They fell silent.

The new manager stepped into the room, closing the door behind her without a sound. She carried a clipboard, a black coffee, and an air of unimpressed efficiency.

Her eyes swept over them, measured but not wide. Not startled. She set her drink down calmly, adjusted her blazer, and spoke with the kind of confidence that made even demons listen.

"Good afternoon. I’m your new manager. You must be the Saja Boys."

A beat passed.

Five demons blinked at her.

Romance was the first to recover. He sat up, flashing a slow, practiced smile. "You're not what I expected."

She tilted her head. "Neither are you."

That earned a flicker of interest from Mystery.

Jinu cleared his throat, standing up just enough to bow politely. "Thank you for coming. We’re looking forward to working with you."

"I’m sure you are," she said. Flipping a page on her clipboard. "We’ll be discussing your upcoming showcase schedule shortly. But first, I’d like to set a few ground rules."

The boys sat straighter.

"Number one," she continued, her tone calm but crisp. "No skipping rehearsals. No exceptions. Number two, personal drama stays personal, I don’t want to anything about it on the news. Number three, if you’re going to experiment with... eccentric looks, make sure they’re not flammable."

A pause.

"And number four respect the staff. Even if you think you could do their job better." She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "That goes for me, too."

They were quiet again.

She hadn't said anything strange. Nothing out of place. But something in the way she watched them, steady, calm, and wholly unafraid rubbed against instinct.

Mystery tilted his head slightly. Baby stared at her like she was a math problem he couldn’t solve. Romance looked intrigued. Abby smiled, as always, but this time with more interest than politeness.

And Jinu… Jinu watched her like he was trying to find the string beneath her surface.

But you didn’t give them time to pull at it.

"Now," she said, gathering her things, "you have ten minutes to get dressed for practice. I’ll meet you in the studio."

She turned on her heel and left the room.

They didn’t follow right away.

Not because they were suspicious.

But because something about her energy, tightly coiled, quiet, patient made them feel like they had already been sized up, cataloged, and filed away.

And somehow, that was worse than being underestimated.

(Flashback: One Week Earlier – Your POV)

The city hummed with energy. Seoul always did. But lately, there was a flicker beneath the noise  like static in the ley lines. Something was coming.

You had felt it before you saw it.

The prophecy had been buried in her grimoire, untouched for a century:

"Five fires shall walk the city.Under glamour, under guise.If the last witch sees them first,They will live.If others find them—Burn."

You found them by accident. Or maybe fate.

A rehearsal studio. Music shaking the walls. Bodies moving with more power than choreography should allow.

When she saw them; five boys laughing, sweating, radiating energy like a warning, she knew. Not what they were exactly. But that they were hers to protect.

Not to control.

To watch. To guide.

To save, if it came to that.

(End of Flashback)

They followed her to the studio in silence.

Romance didn’t flirt. Not yet. Not until the elevator dinged and the spell of that first meeting cracked.

"She’s definitely not a rookie manager," he whispered.

"She didn’t flinch," Abby said thoughtfully.

"She didn’t ask questions," Jinu muttered.

"Maybe she’s just chill?" Baby offered.

Mystery didn’t speak.

But when she opened the studio door and waved them in like she had all the time in the world something in him settled.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

But for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t going to be boring either.

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Under Glamour, Under Guise

Prologue/Chapter 1

The world saw five beautiful boys: talented, charming, chaotic in just the right way. A K-pop group with potential, mystery, and fan edits by the hour. But you saw something else.

You saw them before they were famous. Not in the literal sense and no, you hadn’t been stalking their debut clips or lurking on social media. You saw them in fire. In prophecy. In a warning passed down by witches long gone.

"Five fires shall walk the city. Under glamour, under guise. If the last witch sees them first, They will live."

You hadn’t expected it to be so literal.

They called themselves the Saja Boys. You called them what they were: demons. Old power in new skin.

And now You were their manager.

They didn’t know what you were. They thought you were just another human, clever, competent, maybe a little intense. You let them believe that. Because if the wrong people learned the truth, you wouldn’t be able to protect them at all.

There were rules: keep them safe. Keep them secret. Keep them from learning too much about her, about the world, about the enemies who would love nothing more than to see demonkind and witchcraft alike burned to ash.

But rules are hard to follow when your clients are five supernatural disasters in expensive eyeliner.

Still, you had a job to do. And an oath to uphold.

And you wouldn’t let anyone—or anything—take them away.

In a world where idols shine on stage and demons walk in designer sneakers, the Saja Boys are just another rising K-pop group with a dark secret, they’re not just idols, they’re literal demons, glamoured and hidden in plain sight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Enter you, a calm, capable manager with sharp eyes, a tighter schedule, and secrets of her own. As the last surviving witch of an ancient bloodline, you were never supposed to get involved.

But a prophecy buried deep in your family’s grimoires spoke of five flames—five demons—who would burn or be burned depending on who found them first.

Now your managing them.

They think she’s just human. She lets them believe it.

Between chaotic rehearsals, half-disguised powers, forbidden magic, and the slow, inevitable pull of fate, you must protect the boys from a world that would destroy them and from the truth about who she really is.

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Sweat, Spells, and Setlists

Chapter1/Chapter 2/Chapter3

The studio smelled like sweat, spell-dampened glamour, and expensive hair product. The air hummed with the intensity of their rehearsal, a friction of energy as the Saja Boys moved in sync, yet just slightly off-kilter, enough to make her feel the tension between the boys and the world that no longer remembered them.

She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, clipboard balanced on one hip. Her gaze was sharp, catching every movement, every flicker of hesitation in their choreography. She was not impressed.

“Again,” she said, her voice calm but carrying an unspoken weight.

The beat dropped.

The Saja Boys danced with the kind of energy that only demons could summon sharp, powerful, but imperfect. It wasn’t that they were bad dancers. No, they were extraordinary. But the cracks were there, the tiny moments where their power slipped through the glamour that veiled them. Your trained eyes caught it all the hesitation in Jinu’s left foot, Abby’s overpowering rhythm that was too big for the space, the brief flicker of gold behind Mystery’s shadow as he spun too fast, the way Romance flirted with the beat but never quite became part of it.

And then there was Baby—his footwork impeccable, aggressive, like he had something to prove.

They were beautiful. And terrifying. But they were also lost.

Jinu was the easiest to read. He moved with the precision of a soldier, every motion deliberate and controlled, but there was a tension in him. He wasn’t just dancing for the sake of performance. It was like he was fighting for something fighting for survival. There was something about the way he counted the beats in his head, as if trying to stay one step ahead, as if trying to hold everything together without anyone noticing the weight of it all.

You liked him. He reminded you of yourself—always watching, always calculating, always holding things together in silence.

Abby, on the other hand, danced with a kind of grace that shouldn’t belong to someone as large as he was. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm, his gaze connecting with each of the boys in turn, always making sure they were still a team, still in sync, even when the world outside their rehearsals threatened to tear them apart. Abby wasn’t just strong physically; his emotional intelligence was off the charts. He saw everything every crack, every sigh, every unspoken word.

But the truth was, Abby didn’t realize how strong his power was. She had seen it before. She had felt the crackle under his skin when he was angry, when his strength flared out of control. She had seen him almost destroy a room with nothing more than the sheer force of his presence.

Mystery, meanwhile, moved like water fluid, unpredictable, untamed. His body bent the choreography to his will, twisting it into something primal. She thought she caught him glancing at the mirror more than the others—not out of vanity, but confusion. He didn’t seem to recognize himself in the reflection. He didn’t see the demon lurking beneath the surface.

And when the glamour slipped, when his true form shimmered through for just a moment she noticed the flash of the spiral-shaped mark under his collarbone. A demon’s brand. The same kind of mark the boys had been born with, but one that no human was supposed to see.

Romance, as usual, flirted with the mirror, with the choreography, with the beat itself. His every move was a performance—charisma wrapped in flesh, smooth and effortless. He was too good at pretending to be human.

It made you trust him the least.

He noticed everything. His eyes had already clocked her, the way she was watching them more than their footwork. He smiled, a knowing, teasing grin, and she could almost feel him pulling at her, trying to get a reaction. But she held her ground. There was more at play here than the surface, and she wasn’t going to let him distract her from the real danger.

Baby didn’t smile.

His footwork was flawless fast, aggressive, and precise, like a machine. Every move had purpose, every motion calculated for maximum impact. There was no wasted effort, no hesitation. But more than that, there was a stillness about him. The others joked around, laughed between takes, but not Baby. He was all business, his eyes always darting around the room, taking in the smallest details. He was young, yes, but that didn’t mean he was naive.

And that was why you marked him as the most dangerous. Not because of his recklessness, but because of his deliberate control. He was the one who could destroy everything without even trying.

You let them run the dance three more times, making mental notes, tracking their movements, but also watching them closely—watching how their power leaked out when they forgot to hold back, when they let their guard down. You wondered if they knew it was happening. Did they feel it?

Probably not.

That was the problem with glamour. It slipped at the edges.

The boys filed out of the studio sometime after seven, laughing and shoving each other, their hair damp and their clothes wrinkled from hours of rehearsal. They were loud, vibrant, trying to act like normal humans. They joked and teased each other, putting on their best “idol” faces, trying to blend into the world that no longer remembered them.

You handed them their revised schedule and didn’t linger.

“Group photoshoot on Monday,” you said, voice crisp and direct. “Don’t be late.”

Jinu nodded, his gaze lingering on the paper. Abby grinned, stretching his arms above his head. Romance winked at you, the flirtation still lingering in his eyes.

Mystery stared at the fluorescent light like it had insulted him.

Baby didn’t say anything. But he caught your eye for a beat longer than usual, as if something unspoken passed between them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your apartment was small, neat, and filled with protective wards. Silver threads crisscrossed the windows, keeping the world outside from prying too closely. The balcony, barely visible from the street, held dried herbs strung like bunting, a scent of magic and nature filling the air. The tea shelf doubled as a potion rack, every bottle and jar carefully labeled, as though the apartment were a place of secrets rather than just a home.

You dropped your keys in the bowl by the door, unbuttoned your blazer, and crossed to the window out of habit.

Then you paused.

Across the narrow street, in the window of a sleek new apartment building, a light flickered on. Then another.

A shadow passed by—a tall, broad figure, familiar yet distant.

Then another.

Then five.

Your fingers tightened around the mug.

So.

They lived across from you. Not exactly opposite, but close enough that you could see their windows if one leaned out a little, just enough to glimpse movement, silhouettes, outlines against the curtains.

They didn’t know.

Couldn’t see you through the protective charms woven into the glass.

But you could see them.

And for now, that was enough.

You though, had known.

Had known from the moment you saw them that they weren’t just any K-pop group. They weren’t just talented boys with too much charisma. You saw them for what they truly were: survivors. And knew what would happen if the wrong people discovered them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At first, the boys had laughed off the idea of needing a manager.

Abby, as always, was the first to speak up: “We’ve got charisma. We don’t need anyone holding our hands.”

But he didn’t see it. He didn’t see the weight of the world on their shoulders, the constant pressure to fit in when they had been erased from human memory. He didn’t see the darkened eyes watching them from the distance, the people who would see them not as idols, but as demons.

Jinu had been the first to get it. He saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the way they floundered in a world that couldn’t remember their past. He saw that they needed something someone to help keep them grounded in a reality that had forgotten them. And he saw that she was more than just a manager. She was their lifeline.

Mystery hadn’t said much about it. But every time she was in the room, his eyes would flick to her, as though searching for answers in the quiet strength she carried. He didn’t understand her completely, but he recognized that she was the one who kept them from unraveling.

Romance, for all his flirtations and playful demeanor, had moments when he looked at her with something softer in his eyes. He never asked for her help, but he always sought her out when the world around them felt too loud, too overwhelming. She was the one who held their group together, the one who kept the chaos at bay, even if she didn’t fully reveal her own secrets.

Baby, however, was the one who noticed her first. Baby, despite his youthful appearance, could sense things the others couldn’t. He noticed how you never looked at him like a child. Didn’t underestimate him the way others did. You saw him, and in doing so, gave him something the others never could: the feeling of being understood.

The prophecy that foretold five flames—five demon lords walking the Earth—had been true. But what it didn’t tell them was that their existence would disrupt everything. They were demons, but they were alive, walking, and hiding in a world that had no place for them. And even though she had kept them safe for now, the prophecy also spoke of her being part of their future, part of their salvation.

She wasn’t just their manager. She was the key to their survival.

Their connection to her went beyond mere circumstance. It was fate. And even though the boys didn’t realize it, they had been marked by destiny. She had been drawn to them, and they to her.

They needed her more than they knew.

Because without her, they were nothing more than lost demons, forgotten by the world they had tried so hard to fit into. And they would soon realize that the world wasn’t going to let them stay hidden for much longer.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Signals, Sparks, and Shrugged-Off Magic

Chapter8/Chapter9/Chapter10

Performance Hall — Early Evening Rehearsal

The Saja Boys were halfway through a dress rehearsal when the mic packs started acting possessed.

Romance’s cut out every time he hit a high note. Abby’s buzzed so hard it sounded like bees were trapped in the speakers. Baby, somehow, had picked up someone else’s feed and was now mouthing along to a completely different song.

“How am I supposed to vibe with interference?” he grumbled, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently in time to the wrong beat.

Jinu crouched near the audio rack, staring at the wires like they’d personally offended him. “This… doesn’t look safe. Should that cable be sparking?”

She stood off to the side, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand flipping through the rehearsal schedule with surgical focus. She wasn’t irritated—she was already triaging. Which meant something worse was coming.

The light rigs above them groaned.

“It better not rain inside,” Romance muttered.

She paused mid-step.

She looked up.

And moved.

----------------------

It happened quickly.

A sharp pop cracked through the rafters. One of the massive LED light rigs tilted forward as the clamp holding it gave way. Steel wrenched sideways with a sound like bending bone. The support arm groaned. Tilted.

Romance was directly underneath it.

There were shouts. Abby surged forward. Jinu raised his arms, signaling the techs. Mystery didn’t shout—he just tensed.

But before anyone could do anything—

There was a loud snap from the rigging. A pulse shuddered through the cords. Just before the structure could fall, something yanked hard on the emergency tether—not a clean stop, but enough to redirect its momentum.

The rig lurched sideways and crashed into the floor at an angle. Dust and light haze filled the stage, but no one was hurt.

She stood at the edge of the stage, one hand still on her headset.

“Kill the feed to Grid 3,” she said, voice cold and precise.

Someone in the tech booth scrambled to comply.

It was only after the clatter died down that the boys noticed the glint of something—a thin piece of copper wire and an unfamiliar charm half-melted in the truss mount. Something old. Something embedded.

Romance stared.

You didn’t.

“Replace the clamp before you reset it,” you said evenly. “And check all the mounts. Every single one.”

Nobody questioned you.

----------------------

Backstage buzzed with nervous energy and bottled water.

Romance cradled his elbow, still wide-eyed. Abby paced like he could walk off the stress. Jinu was already scouring an equipment log. Baby sat cross-legged on the floor, uncharacteristically quiet.

“That was insane,” Abby muttered. “It just... redirected. It didn’t fall the way it should have.”

“Stage rigging doesn’t move like that,” Jinu agreed. “Unless someone rigged an override system. But we would’ve seen the wiring.”

“Or maybe someone snuck something into the clamps,” Baby said quietly.

“Like what?” Romance asked.

“I don’t know. A ward or something?”

Abby gave Baby a sidelong look. “You think someone protected the stage without telling the staff?”

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened this month,” Baby said.

They all turned to their manager.

She was calmly entering notes into her tablet.

“Manager-nim,” Abby said carefully, “what did you do?”

You looked up. “I noticed that rig mount yesterday. I filed a maintenance note.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t install the safety cables. I just made sure someone did.”

Romance tilted his head. “But that wire thing. That wasn’t normal tech.”

“If it worked, then it doesn’t need to be normal.”

There was a long pause.

Mystery, still watching from the shadows, finally said, “She’s just built different.”

Romance snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Human reflexes could never.”

“That wasn’t a reflex,” Jinu muttered. “That was... coordination.”

“Or ninja training,” Baby said, chewing slowly.

“Explains the clipboard discipline,” Abby added.

“Or the tea drawer,” Jinu said. “She has a blend for everything. That’s not normal. That’s tactical.”

They nodded.

A highly trained, deeply competent human. Possibly ex-military. Maybe magic-adjacent. But clearly not supernatural.

Definitely not.

----------------------

Later — The Dressing Room

Romance plopped onto the couch, still shaken.

“You know what I keep thinking about?” he asked the ceiling.

“No,” Baby said flatly.

“She didn’t flinch. When it fell. She just moved. Like she’d already seen it happening.”

“That’s because she’s prepared for everything,” Jinu said, still scrolling through stage schematics on his tablet. “She’s methodical.”

“Yeah, well, methodical people usually do flinch. That was... I don’t know. Surgical.”

Abby looked toward the hallway. “She was protecting us. Again.”

Mystery didn’t speak, but his fingers tapped the same rhythm on his sleeve—an old habit from another life.

----------------------

That Night — Your Apartment

You lit one candle. Quiet magic. Old comfort.

The tea steeped on the windowsill. Outside, the faint glow of the Saja dorm reflected back in the glass.

You opened your journal.

Journal Entry: Rehearsal Incident Clamp sabotage appears accidental. Rigged emergency tether activated. Talisman embedded last night triggered at pressure point. Charm held. Partial discharge only.

No visible magic. No flare. Mystery watched the fall. Jinu saw the charm. Baby almost said something.

Charm pattern will need upgrading. No more passive sigils in open environments.

You tapped the pen against the corner of the page. Then added:

Still lucky. They want to believe I’m just competent. Let them.

Note: Buy replacement charm core and Baby a new bag of spicy chips.

----------------------

Mystery’s Room — Late Night

He sat on his bed, one of your discarded hallway charms in his palm.

It didn’t glow now.

But it had.

Just for a second.

Just enough to feel warm where it shouldn’t.

He turned it slowly between his fingers, the etching faint but deliberate. Not random. Not cheap. Something old was pressed into the shape—something careful. Whatever it was, it hummed with the aftertaste of power. The kind not meant to be seen. The kind that watched back.

Across the street, the apartment window flickered with candlelight.

He didn’t need to see her to know she was awake.

She always stayed up late after something happened. Not visibly shaken. Just... more still than usual. Like she was calculating odds.

He didn’t know what she was.

But she wasn’t just a manager.

She didn’t ask stupid questions when the supernatural bled through the cracks. She didn’t blink at near-death experiences. She read things no one else could read. Moved like someone who had rehearsed disaster.

He told himself she was just experienced. Just unnaturally competent. Just calm.

But the charm in his hand told a different story.

Mystery didn’t speak, didn’t write it down. He didn’t even breathe too loudly.

But he stared out the window and thought:

If she’s hiding something, it’s because it’s something big.

And maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t protecting them from the world.

Maybe she was protecting the world from them.

And herself… from something worse.

AN: The Saja Boys are bonding over shared confusion and a complete lack of magical awareness over here.

Manager-nim? Unbothered. Moisturized. Blocking death in heels. The boys? “She’s just really good at her job 🥲 definitely not magic.” Meanwhile, Mystery is in the corner conducting silent arcane forensics with a hallway charm and a thousand-yard stare.

Everything is fine.

No one’s suspicious at all.

Totally normal manager behavior.✨

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball @tenaciouskittenpuff @venommie @honey-and-sweetdreams @luna-looniesblog @lyunsafebubble @tulnukaz @levifiance @mysteris-things @aerissblog

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Shadows Between Us

Chapter5/Chapter6/Chapter7

A Rooftop, Late Evening

The city stretched beneath You, its lights blinking like distant stars in the twilight. It had been a long day of rehearsals and photo ops for the boys, but you had stayed behind—again. There were always things to check, always things to prepare. You couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off, a nagging sense that there was more to everything than met the eye.

Standing alone on the rooftop, the wind tugging at your blazer, the chill of evening settling in. Your thoughts were on the warding rituals performed earlier, the minor charms that were now humming beneath your skin. They should have been enough. But something felt different tonight. It was like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

It’s just nerves. You’ve done this a hundred times, she told herself, but the feeling lingered.

As she adjusted her earpiece, ready to check in on the boys’ next performance schedule, she noticed the faintest shimmer in the air ahead of her. It was subtle—something she would have missed had she not been attuned to the magical frequencies around her. A ripple, barely there, but unmistakably unnatural.

Before she could react, a flicker of black smoke shot toward her, followed by a shriek—a sound unlike anything human. It came from the shadows beneath her feet, twisting and writhing like a creature coming to life.

Your heart raced, instinct kicking in. You reached for the sigils hidden in her jacket, preparing to draw them into place, but the creature’s movement was faster than anticipated. Black claws reached out, slashing through the air in her direction.

You stepped back, magic flaring just in time to create a weak barrier, but the claws scraped across it with a sickening sound, forcing you to stumble.

Not enough. Not enough, she thought, panic creeping into her chest.

She had always been in control—always able to ward off anything that came her way, but tonight, something about this creature was different. Stronger. Darker.

Before she could react further, a flicker of movement by her side caught her attention. The air around her seemed to tighten, a brief rush of cold energy following it. A figure was beside her, too quick to track, and before she could fully comprehend what was happening, the creature was slammed backward, its attack interrupted by a sudden shockwave of power.

The figure stood between her and the creature, blocking its advance. She blinked as the figure shifted, revealing Mystery, his posture poised yet unbothered. The faintest shimmer of energy seemed to ripple from his direction, something that made the creature hesitate. His eyes never left the shadow, but his presence was solid, unshaken by the chaos around them.

He didn’t move much, his gaze steady, focused solely on the creature. You took a step back, hand still on the sigil, but it was clear that Mystery’s subtle presence was more than enough to stop the creature in its tracks. The shadows recoiled for a moment, then disappeared into the darkness as quickly as they had come. The night settled, the energy that had crackled between them fading as Mystery’s gaze relaxed.

You stood there, momentarily stunned, as he turned toward her. His expression didn’t change, but there was a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, almost detached.

You nodded, taking a breath. "I’m fine. Just… didn’t expect that."

He tilted his head slightly, but didn’t offer much else. There was something in the air between them, a silent understanding. Mystery didn’t need to say anything more—the moment spoke for itself.

“Thanks,” she added, still processing.

He simply nodded once, then took a step back toward the shadows, his figure blending with the night. Before he disappeared completely, he glanced over his shoulder, and for the briefest of moments, their eyes met. No words. Just a quiet connection, and then he was gone.

Backstage – Later

The boys finished their performance successfully, but your thoughts were obviously elsewhere. As they filed back into the dressing room, Abby gave you a questioning look. "You good?" he asked again, his voice softer now, more genuine.

You nodded. “I’m fine. Just need to reinforce a few things tonight.”

Walking over to the staff area, moving past the boys. You didn’t stop to chat, lost in the quiet buzzing of your thoughts. You had felt something earlier, but couldn’t pinpoint it yet.

You caught a glimpse of Romance talking to someone, and while his smile was as effortless as always, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest trace of unease.

Focus. You reminded herself. There’s a bigger picture here.

Later That Night – Your Apartment

She stood at her desk, watching the faint, lingering shadows from the earlier encounter dissipate as her wards settled back into place. The attack had been quick, almost too quick. Who was behind this?

The metal scrap from the rooftop lay on her desk, now burned clean and warded once more. But it had been just one piece—there had to be more. Someone was testing the boys’ defenses.

She opened her journal and quickly jotted down a few notes.

Shadows are closing in. It’s not just about them anymore. Someone is sending things, testing weaknesses. They’ll come after the boys, but they’ll target me first.

She paused, her fingers hovering over the page, tracing a line that wasn’t there. Mystery’s presence was… different. He didn’t seem affected by the creature the way I was.

Another line, added with a quiet, deliberate hand: Next performance: double the protections. If this escalates, it’ll be worse than a curse.

She closed the journal and turned off the lights, the low hum of the ward in her hand sending a small pulse through her fingers. She lay back, but even as her eyes closed, the sense that something was watching, something waiting, didn’t leave her.

Not tonight.

AN: Okay so… that escalated a little. 😅 This chapter dipped into the shadowy side of things, but don’t worry—you’re still standing (mostly). Mystery stepping in like a silent, dramatic bodyguard? Iconic. Zero commentary. Maximum impact. 10/10 would trust again.

The story’s starting to shift now—more weirdness, more danger, and definitely more "wait, was that normal?" moments ahead.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Closets, Charms, and Carefully-Lit Lies

Chapter9/Chapter10/Chapter11

Saja Dorm Hallway — Night

The dorm hall was dim and quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the entry light and the TV flickering in the living room.

Baby had just finished brushing his teeth, a lollipop already tucked between his lips. He padded down the hall barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, a little buzzed from sugar and late-night reruns.

He turned the corner—and paused.

Their manager stood in front of the hallway closet.

It wasn’t that she was doing anything strange. Not exactly. She had one hand on the doorknob. Her other hand hovered a few inches away, fingers twitching like she was counting heartbeats in the air.

The moment he turned the corner, she pressed the knob.

There was a flash.

Not big. Not explosive. Just a pulse of soft blue light, like lightning caught inside a drop of water. It danced across the frame of the door for a half second, licked the corners of the wood like mist.

Then it vanished.

The door opened. She reached inside, pulled out a towel, and shut it behind her.

She turned. Saw him. Paused.

“Bathroom’s free,” Baby said casually, the lollipop bobbing slightly with the words.

She nodded. “Thanks.” She walked past him like nothing had happened.

He stood there for a second, staring at the closet door. Then touched the knob.

It was warm.

He opened the closet. Nothing inside but neatly folded towels, extra soap, and one brand-new package of backup toothbrushes.

He shut it again. Stared at it a moment longer.

“…Definitely static electricity,” he muttered. And walked away.

----------------

Later — Baby’s Room

The TV in his room played soft background noise — an old cartoon, something about ghosts and gadgets — but Baby wasn’t really watching.

He lay back on his bed, lollipop still in his mouth, staring up at the ceiling.

That spark… that flicker. He replayed the moment again in his head. Her hand hadn’t touched the closet yet. The glow had definitely started before she made contact.

She’d done something. He wasn’t stupid. That wasn’t static. But what was it?

He twirled the lollipop between his fingers absently, eyebrows scrunching. His usual sugar-fueled energy was subdued tonight — not gone, just simmering under curiosity.

She wasn’t a witch. Right? She didn’t act like one. Didn’t smell like spells or sulfur or oil-burn. She didn’t talk like someone with a familiar on standby.

She didn’t carry talismans. …At least, not visibly.

Maybe she wasn’t one. But she knew something.

Baby tapped his lollipop against his knee.

“Obviously she has connections,” he muttered. “Maybe she knows a witch.”

It made sense. She didn’t blink when strange things happened. She didn’t ask too many questions when their glamours flickered. She always had answers that weren’t quite lies but never the full truth either.

And most importantly, she never made a big deal out of anything they couldn’t explain. Not the weird burns on Romance’s stage boots, not the time Mystery disappeared from one side of the room and appeared on the other. Not even Abby’s occasional habit of cracking tiles when he stretched too hard.

She didn’t even comment when their marks pulsed. Not once.

She wasn’t ignorant. She was just... prepared.

That was the part that got him.

He sat up, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. Opened a blank note.

Closet. Tuesday night. Blue light. Manager. Possible glyph? Looked like binding, maybe elemental. Hand didn’t touch knob. Energy discharge. No sound. Just glow.

He stared at the note a second longer. Then tucked it behind his schedule reminders for the week, buried beneath “Stretch before practice” and “Refill snack drawer.”

Just in case. Out of sight. But not forgotten.

He sat for another few minutes, watching the cartoon credits roll.

“Maybe she’s got someone helping her,” he whispered. “Someone on the outside. Quiet magic. Subtle stuff.”

His hand drifted to the charm she had left for him months ago. It hung from his lamp pull-chain now. He’d never activated it. He wasn’t even sure what it was supposed to do.

But he hadn’t thrown it away either. Didn’t seem smart. Just in case.

He picked it up now, turning it over in his hand. The threads that bound the charm were fine—too intricate to be store-bought. He’d always thought she made it herself. She never said.

None of them asked. Not really. But that was starting to change.

“Maybe we should’ve asked more questions,” he murmured.

A beat passed.

Then he huffed and dropped the charm back onto the lamp chain, flopped backwards on the bed, and let the silence settle again.

----------------

Meanwhile — Your Apartment

You sat at the small workbench nestled between the kitchen and the window, where the wards along the sill pulsed softly under the dim light of a single candle.

The sigil youd burned into the Saja Boys’ hallway closet trim months ago sat in front of you now—on a scrap of charred copper, humming faintly from residual energy.

It had degraded faster than expected.

A minor curse had latched onto it. Harmless, but invasive. Designed to detect proximity. Most likely fan-made. Most likely not the last.

You added a pinch of lavender ash and re-etched the symbol into a new disc, careful to press the lines with enough intent to hold.

The next ward would last longer. Stronger magic. Hidden better.

You glanced out the window toward the building across the street.

You hadn’t expected Baby to walk by. He hadn’t said anything. But he’d seen it.

You tapped the pen twice against the journal.

----------------

Journal Entry

Residual curse nested into the hallway closet frame. Harmless, but invasive. Removed with embedded sigil pulse. Caster likely testing proximity enchantments again.

Baby witnessed the discharge. Expression: neutral. Did not ask. Did not react with alarm. No aggressive energy spike detected.

Either too tired to care, or he’s more observant than he lets on.

Curious. He’s emotionally subtle when he wants to be. Possibly tracking me back. Must be careful with nighttime rituals.

Refresh ward in bathroom mirror next visit. They’re starting to notice light shifts.

Also: check Romance’s glamour shimmer. It’s fluctuating in bright light.

And Baby… might need a decoy routine for brushing his teeth.

----------------

You capped the pen. Then leaned back, sipping tea in the quiet hum of your own space.

Across the way, the Saja dorm flickered with movement behind drawn curtains. The wards would hold.

For now.

AN: Who knew closet doors could be so dramatic? Baby’s detective skills are definitely on point… or at least powered by lollipops and suspicion. The manager’s magical side-eye is getting harder to ignore. Also, Baby’s charm? Still a mystery box. I swear it’s not just a fancy keychain.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball @tenaciouskittenpuff @venommie @honey-and-sweetdreams @luna-looniesblog @lyunsafebubble @tulnukaz @levifiance @mysteris-things @aerissblog @anxiousskylar @downbadgirlypoo @misdollface 

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

No Coincidence, Only Intent

Chapter4/Chapter 5/Chapter6

Music Show Backstage — Late Afternoon

The backstage of a music show was a war zone in polite lighting. Techs shouted over headset static. Interns darted like mice. Someone’s manager was already crying near the costume rack. You had seen it all before.

The Saja Boys were in full glam and semi-cooperative. Jinu was reading the schedule like it was a sacred text, flipping through the pages with reverence. Abby was stretching in the corner in a shirt two sizes too small, his muscles flexing as he prepared for the stage. Mystery hovered by the exit sign, eyes scanning the space with his usual predatory detachment. Romance flirted with a makeup artist, his charm effortless and borderline inappropriate. Baby had discovered the joys of unguarded soda and was now vibrating with citrus energy, a mixture of sugar and adrenaline lighting up his face.

She wasn’t watching them, though. She was watching the lighting rig.

Specifically, the set of metal scaffolding where Romance was supposed to lean during the closing pose. The prop had arrived late. No one had checked it. But she had.

The sigil was carved under the paint. Small. Ugly. Rushed. Someone had tried to curse him.

It wouldn’t kill him, not directly. But it would weaken his glamour just enough for something else to catch hold. Something watching. Something waiting.

Her pulse quickened, but her expression remained steady. She closed her clipboard, adjusted her earpiece, and walked toward the set.

"Manager-nim! We need you in standby area 2!" a stagehand called. "In a moment," she said smoothly. "There’s an issue with the lighting grid." "What issue?" She pointed. "Unsecured bolts. Could swing under pressure. Liability nightmare." He paled and nodded, hustling off to fetch someone else to deal with it.

She took the opportunity to step up to the platform, her eyes narrowing on the rig. She crouched, her fingers brushing the cold metal. She felt the faintest spark of dark energy, a pull from the curse still lingering beneath the surface. Amateur work, but its intention was clear—malicious. Blood-forged.

Probably from a fan-turned-hired-witch. Pathetic.

Her fingers hovered over the sigil. The curse resisted her touch, but only for a moment. She didn’t chant. She didn’t need to. Her wards burned under her skin like old embers relit, hot and familiar.

The metal sparked.

She pulled her hand back just as the bolt snapped loudly out of its housing. The entire frame tilted. And crashed. The sound made everyone flinch.

The chaos that followed was predictable. "What happened?" Jinu asked, already on his feet, his usual composure shaken. "Holy shit," Abby muttered, grabbing Mystery and pulling him away from the falling rig. Romance looked offended, eyes wide. "That was my sexy lean spot." "Looks like it leaned too hard," You said dryly, brushing your hands off as you stood.

The techs swarmed in, panicking over damage and replacement timelines. The usual clamor filled the space, but she wasn’t concerned with that. She was already scanning the backstage area, the weight of her earlier actions settling into the space between her and the boys.

Jinu’s voice broke her thoughts. "You okay?" he asked, concern clear. She nodded once. "Not my first time dodging falling metal." She didn’t elaborate.

Backstage protocol kicked in immediately. They shifted blocking for the final pose, and despite a few grumbles, the boys made it through the performance without issue. The techs worked furiously to fix the rig. Everything would be fine. For now.

Later, After the Performance 

After the show wrapped, Romance found her near the staff lockers, his sparkly jacket half-draped over his shoulders like he owned the place. His usual flirtatious air hadn’t dulled even a little.

"You saved my ass," he said, catching her by surprise.

"I saved your elbow. Your ass was two feet to the left." "Still," he said, watching her a little too closely. "You always this lucky?"

She met his gaze, not blinking. "Luck has nothing to do with it." He tilted his head, studying her, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Is that so?"

She smiled, a brief, almost imperceptible curl of her lips. Then she turned and walked away, leaving him watching her back, still trying to figure out the puzzle she had become.

Later That Night — Your Apartment

The scrap of metal sat on her desk, scorched at the edges where the sigil had been. She’d picked it up before the techs could cart it off.

Burned it clean. Purged it twice. Drew a ward over it for good measure.

But she still didn’t like the feel of it.

Not because of the power behind it—that had been weak. But because it had gotten so close.

She opened her journal, the familiar scent of ink and paper settling over her. Her hand moved automatically, almost as if the words already knew where to go.

Someone is probing the glamours. Not well, not yet. But if they had aimed for Baby or Mystery…

She paused, her fingers hovering over the page, tracing a line that wasn’t there.

Romance draws eyes. I need to teach him how to deflect, not invite.

Another line, added with a quiet, deliberate hand:

Next performance: reinforce protection charms in the makeup powder. They’ll never notice.

She closed the book with a soft sigh and turned off the lights, the low hum of the ward in her hand sending a small pulse through her fingers. She lay back, but even as her eyes closed, the sense that something was watching, something waiting, didn’t leave her.

Not tonight.

AN: This chapter bridges tension between the performance stage and the supernatural world watching from the sidelines. We’re seeing the first real signs of magical sabotage—and Manager-nim is not letting that slide. 👀✨ Also: Romance’s “sexy lean spot” may never emotionally recover.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Meetings, Missteps, and Misdirection

Chapter7/Chapter8/Chapter9

Two Days After the Incident

The living room smelled like banana milk, tiger balm, and denial.

You had called the meeting for 10:00 a.m. sharp. At 10:07, you were seated at the dining table, laptop open, clipboard in place, pen uncapped. The boys were filing in with the enthusiasm of conscripts.

Baby arrived first. Technically. He wandered in half-conscious, hoodie askew, a granola bar stuck between his teeth like a cigarette. He collapsed onto the carpet without a word.

Abby came next, stretching as he walked in, tank top clinging to every muscle like it owed him rent. He nodded politely, as if they weren’t all pretending nothing had happened two days ago.

Romance floated in at 10:09 with an iced coffee and sunglasses. It was overcast and they were indoors.

Jinu appeared with papers and a tension headache. Mystery was already in the corner, perched on the windowsill like a curse the apartment tolerated.

You didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

Romance raised his drink. “Fashionably.”

“You’re not paid for fashion,” you replied.

“I am,” he said, unbothered.

“You’re paid to dance and show up on time.”

“Harsh,” he muttered, sliding into a chair with enough flair to warrant its own budget line.

---------------------------------

She clicked her pen once. It sounded like a trigger.

“Now that you’re all here—barely—we’re revising your schedule. After Monday’s incident, we’ve had to reshuffle rehearsals and promotional shoots. The showcase is still in three weeks. That hasn’t changed.”

There was a brief shuffle. No one met her eyes.

Romance sipped his drink. “You’re not going to mention the part where the ceiling tried to kill you?”

“Not relevant,” You said flatly. “We’re moving forward.”

Abby frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not the one who tried to hold up a lighting rig like it was a yoga mat.”

He looked sheepish. Romance looked smug.

“And you’re not injured?” Abby pressed.

“No,” she said again. “Now—moving on.”

She clicked her pen again.

“New dance transitions have been added to the second chorus—per Jinu’s notes. We’re rehearsing them today.”

Jinu blinked. “I didn’t mean immediately.”

“You wrote them in red ink. That’s practically a blood pact.”

Romance leaned over to Baby, who hadn’t moved from the floor. “She’s scarier than Gwi-Ma.”

Baby whispered back, “She alphabetized my shampoo by ingredient strength.”

Abby cleared his throat. “Can we add a ten-minute cooldown block between the second and third sets?”

You glanced up. “Yes. Good idea. I’ll revise it.”

Romance gasped. “Favoritism.”

“She respects basic athletic care,” Abby said.

“She respects forearms,” Romance muttered.

“Respect punctuality,” Jinu added, pointed.

“Respect caffeine,” Baby mumbled into the rug.

You, unbothered, turned another page. “Next: wardrobe fittings are moved to Friday. And the behind-the-scenes shoot is still Thursday morning. No switching stylists, no sabotaging each other’s hair gel, and if anyone flirts with staff—again—I will personally schedule your next promo at 5:00 a.m. in Gwangju.”

Romance gasped louder.

Baby groaned.

Mystery blinked slowly, then looked away like none of this concerned him.

She paused. They were waiting. Even the humor couldn’t mask it.

---------------------------------

They wanted her to say something. To ask. To confirm. To break the tension they weren’t ready to name.

So she didn’t.

“Manager-nim,” Jinu said after a beat, “you’re not filing a report?”

“About what?” she said without looking up. “The part where your safety instincts kicked in?”

Romance tilted his head. “That’s a very... chill response.”

“I’m focused on the job.”

“You nearly got crushed.”

“And I didn’t.” She raised a brow. “Why does that bother you?”

He didn’t answer. Neither did Abby.

“I’m fine,” she said. “You protected me. Let’s leave it there.”

They weren’t convinced. But they didn’t push it.

“Last thing,” she said, standing. “I noticed the charms around your room doors were... fading. I left some replacements in the utility drawer. You don’t have to use them, but maybe check in on your security, yeah?”

That got their attention.

“What kind of charms?” Abby asked.

You shrugged. “Basic protections. A little energy reinforcement. I picked them up from a local shop.”

Jinu frowned faintly. “You know a lot about those.”

“I do my research,” she replied simply. “You lot attract weird energy like it’s your side hustle.”

Mystery didn’t say anything. But he was watching her again.

There was a long pause. The meeting ended in a shuffle of paper and awkward retreat.

Baby rolled onto his feet, somehow still holding his granola bar. Jinu muttered something about reprinting the schedule. Romance swanned off in search of a mirror. Abby collected everyone’s trash. Mystery lingered.

---------------------------------

She gathered her laptop and notes, moving to the kitchen for tea—and paused.

She spotted the open chip bag on the counter.

Spicy honey butter, half-eaten.

She hesitated, looked around, then reached in and grabbed a chip.

Crunch.

Another.

Crunch.

A small, satisfied sigh.

“That’s mine,” came a voice from directly behind her.

She turned, chip in hand.

Baby stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face blank. But his tone was grave.

“You have a whole drawer of tea herbs,” he added.

She raised a brow. “And you have a drawer labeled ‘Baby’s Do Not Touch Chips.’”

“That’s a sacred label.”

She considered. “They’re delicious.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re too calm.”

“You’re too dramatic.”

He moved toward the bag, inspecting its remaining contents like she’d stolen a family heirloom. “How many did you eat?”

“Two,” she said.

He frowned deeper. “Three. I heard three crunches.”

She smiled, the tiniest bit. “You should label them better next time.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And you’re twelve,” she replied, brushing past him with the bag. “Eat some fruit.”

“I hate this power dynamic,” Baby muttered.

“I manage this power dynamic.”

Behind her, he sighed, picked up a mandarin, and sulked with it like a cat denied tuna.

---------------------------------

She was halfway back to her laptop when Jinu appeared in the hallway with a notebook.

He looked uncertain. That wasn’t unusual for him around her—but today it felt heavier.

“Manager-nim.”

“Yes?”

“You really don’t want to talk about... what happened?”

She didn’t look up from her clipboard. “No. Not unless you do.”

He hesitated. “You’re not even going to ask how?”

“I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to.”

Jinu studied her a moment longer. Then nodded. “Okay.”

He turned to go, then paused. “Thanks for fixing the schedule.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “You have early blocking tomorrow.”

“Of course I do,” he muttered.

She finally sat, notebook on her lap, and let herself exhale.

They didn’t know she’d already reported the incident—to herself.

They didn’t know she’d gone back to the stage that night, picked up one of the cracked fixtures, and run a finger over the burnt edge until it pulsed faintly with someone else’s magic.

They didn’t know she hadn’t stopped protecting them, even for a second.

She didn’t plan to.

AN: This chapter is 40% scheduling, 30% denial, 20% chip-related war crimes, and 10% unspoken supernatural tension.

Manager-nim is holding the group together with nothing but sarcasm, a clipboard, and sheer force of will. The boys? United in exactly one thing: pretending they didn’t nearly blow their cover two days ago. Baby knows exactly how many chips go missing. Jinu is losing his mind over red ink. Mystery is just watching.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Totally normal idol group behavior.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball @tenaciouskittenpuff @venommie @honey-and-sweetdreams @luna-looniesblog @lyunsafebubble @tulnukaz @levifiance

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Unplanned, Unveiled

Chapter6/Chapter7/Chapter8

The rig shouldn’t have fallen.

The safety cables were checked. Twice.

But in the blink of an eye, half the lighting grid groaned, tilted and crashed toward the stage where she stood with her clipboard.

She didn't have time to react.

A force slammed into her side, knocking her off her feet just before metal met flesh. Sparks flew. The air snapped hot with the smell of singed rubber and burning plastic.

---------------------------------

You hit the floor, hard.

Eyes opening in time to see the stage split with a roar and Abby, arms braced above him, holding up the half-collapsed rig like it weighed nothing. Muscles bulging, veins dark against his skin, his jaw clenched with inhuman focus.

Behind him, Romance, one hand glowing faintly crimson, stood among the wreckage. The steel beneath his fingers hissed and bent-melted, actually reshaping just enough to push the collapsed structure off to the side.

Neither of them looked human just then.

Not exactly.

Not enough.

you stayed still, blinking.

Abby looked down, eyes wide with panic. “Are you okay?! Manager-nim—did it hit you?”

“No,” she said, breathless. “I’m fine.”

He exhaled. Relief softened his features. He knelt beside her, still flushed, still glowing faintly around the shoulders.

“Don’t move yet,” he said. “You might be in shock.”

“Did you—” she started, her voice too calm, too steady. “You caught it. You held it.”

Romance crouched near them now, brushing soot off his sleeves like he’d just stepped out of a photo shoot instead of a near-death disaster. “Technically he held it. I just... discouraged it from falling further.”

“Discouraged it?” she echoed.

Romance smiled crookedly. “You know. With my hands. And maybe a little fire.”

She sat up. Dust clung to her blazer. Her eyes scanned the stage—everyone else had cleared out or was yelling for emergency staff. But these two weren’t panicking.

They weren’t pretending anymore, either.

Abby opened his mouth. Closed it. Then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand still glowing faintly with heat. “Okay. So… uh. This is gonna sound crazy—”

“She’s not screaming,” Romance cut in, sounding almost offended.

“I know she’s not screaming.”

“She’s just staring. Like she expected this.”

“I didn’t expect it,” You said softly. “But I’m not scared.”

That threw them both off.

Abby shifted uncomfortably. “You should be. Not because we’d hurt you—we wouldn’t—but most humans don’t take this well. Finding out their clients are—”

“Not normal?” You supplied.

Romance chuckled. “Understatement. We’re not exactly in your company handbook.”

“Clearly,” she muttered. Then blinked. “You’re telling me you’re not human.”

“We’re demons,” Abby said, finally, gently. “Not… hellfire and pitchforks demons. But still demons. And we’ve been trying to keep that part quiet.”

Romance leaned in, tone teasing but cautious. “So... this the part where you run? Or call the Vatican?”

You looked at them both. At the wariness in Abby’s face. At the easy grin that didn’t quite mask Romance’s tension.

You thought of the prophecy.

Of five flames. Of your oath. And you smiled—small, tired, but real.

“I think I need a coffee,” she said. “And probably a new lighting tech.” Romance blinked. “You’re still not screaming.”

“Should I be?”

Abby looked floored. “You’re seriously not going to quit?”

“I don’t have time to quit. You have a showcase in three weeks and at least two of you don’t know your left from your right when dancing.” There was a pause. Then Romance laughed—a real one, unguarded. “I like her,” he said.

“Me too,” Abby muttered, standing and offering her his hand. She took it.

“Can we... pretend this conversation didn’t happen?” he asked. “For the others. For now.”

“Sure,” she said. “But maybe... next time something like this happens, give me a little warning?”

“No promises,” Romance grinned.

They helped her to her feet.

Behind them, the stage still smoldered faintly.

---------------------------------

Your Apartment – Midnight

The apartment was dark except for a single lamp, its golden glow catching the edge of an old leather-bound journal. The kind you couldn’t buy anymore. Not online. Not anywhere.

You sat at the desk, fingers ink-stained, mug of herbal tea untouched beside you.

You didn’t write on a laptop for this. These were the kinds of thoughts you committed to paper, spelled into pages with memory and meaning. Your handwriting was neat. Controlled.

---------------------------------

Journal Entry – June 28th

The lighting rig was sabotaged. I’m sure of it. But that’s not the important part. What matters is what happened after.

Abby caught it—caught over two hundred pounds of steel like it was nothing. No marks. No hesitation. His arms glowed. Aura saturated. Not just strength—resilience. Protection. That’s his aspect. Romance melted steel. That’s not metaphor. It bent under his fingers. Some kind of infernal heat, but controlled. Elemental? Or charm-based? Possibly both. He deflected suspicion with a joke. Classic distraction technique. I wonder if he even realizes he does it.

She paused. There was something unsettling about how effortlessly they had performed—their abilities flashing under pressure. It was almost as if they were used to hiding in plain sight.

Another line:

They told me what they are. Or rather, what they think I am. Human. How strange, to be considered the weakest in this situation. Yet, in a way, it felt strangely comforting. A position I was unfamiliar with, but not necessarily unwelcome.

She paused again, her mind replaying the events on stage. 

Romance’s power—raw, intense, and so close to her that she could feel the heat radiating off him. And Abby, lifting the rig as if it were weightless, his strength practically tangible in the air. They weren’t like the demons she’d read about. These weren’t just stories of monsters. No, these were beings of real, living power—alive, breathing, and real. It felt like they had no place in this world, yet they had somehow learned to adapt, to fit in. They were creatures of myth, but they were more than that—they were very much alive. And they were hers to protect, whether she was ready for it or not.

They don't know I already knew. That I was warned of them before they were even born into these bodies. That I chose this path knowing it would end like this—with broken glamours and bent truths. They still think they’re hiding something from me. But the truth is... I think I’m the only one hiding anything.

You closed the journal.

You didn’t lock it. No one could read it but you anyway.

Outside the window, across the narrow street, the faint light of another apartment flickered.

You could see their balcony. Just barely.

A shadow passed behind gauzy curtains.

You smiled, just slightly.

---------------------------------

The Saja Boys’ Apartment – 12:14 AM

The living room still smelled like popcorn and cologne. Someone had left a game paused on the TV. But no one was playing it.

The five demons sat scattered on the couch and floor, unusually quiet.

Romance sprawled across the beanbag chair, one hand behind his head, the other playing with a lighter he wasn’t technically supposed to have.

“She didn’t scream,” he said again, for the third time.

Jinu adjusted his glasses. “Plenty of people go into shock during traumatic events.”

“She made a joke, Jinu. She told me I needed to fix my shirt before the next stage rehearsal.”

Abby looked up from where he sat on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. “I think she might actually be... okay with it.” “She’s human,” Baby said. He was upside down on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “They don’t do okay with demon stuff.”

“She didn’t look scared,” Mystery said softly. He was near the balcony, the curtains half-open. Watching the same street as you. But you didn’t know that. “She looked… focused.”

There was a long pause.

Jinu stood, pacing. “We need to be careful. We don’t know how she’s reacting yet. She could be pretending.”

“She could be a demon hunter,” Baby added.

“No hunter walks around with a clipboard and color-coded schedules,” Romance muttered.

Abby rubbed the back of his neck. “What if she is just human? But… different? Braver?”

Romance grinned. “Then I think I’m in love.”

Jinu sighed. “Don’t fall for the manager.”

“Too late,” Baby said.

“Too obvious,” Mystery whispered.

They all looked at him.

He didn’t explain.

AN: This was such a fun (and tense) chapter to write!! I’ve been waiting forever to start peeling back the layers on their demon sides, and of course Abby and Romance had to be the first ones to slip up. 😅And Mystery's keeping secrets of course.

Also: shoutout to manager-nim for being calm under pressure. The clipboard is mightier than the sword, apparently.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball @tenaciouskittenpuff @venommie

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Silent Pages, Shifting Shadows

Chapter 3/Chapter 4/Chapter 5

Late Night — Saja Boy's Living Room

The dorm was asleep. Or at least, most of it.

The living room lights were dim, the shadows deepening at the edges of the room, except for the flickering glow from the television. An old animation rerun from the '90s flashed across the screen—choppy animation, exaggerated faces, and far too much shouting. It was the kind of cartoon they only played after midnight, when no one was watching, and you didn’t bother changing the channel because the channel didn’t care.

Mystery sat cross-legged on the floor, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape, his posture stiff, yet oddly composed. He wasn’t watching the cartoon. He hadn’t been paying attention to the voices, the colors, the movements. He was listening.

To the silence.

To the hum of the refrigerator’s motor.

To the creak of the floorboards when someone stepped through the hallway.

To the faint rustle of a door opening and closing.

To the sound of her.

She didn’t make a sound when she entered, nor did she turn on any lights. The softest of footsteps, the kind that carried no intention but purpose. She moved through the living room with practiced ease, heading straight for the counter, where the kettle was always kept.

You had always been one to take responsibilities seriously. Even if the boys were asleep, you often check on the apartment—ensuring everything was secure, making sure no supernatural forces lingered where they shouldn’t be. It had been a long day, but the night wasn’t over yet. You still had small protective tasks to attend to, like making sure the new charm you'd picked up was discreetly placed where the boys wouldn’t find it. It had been subtle but effective, a safeguard for the apartment. You wouldn’t let their protection slip, not for something as simple as tiredness.

The boys didn’t know how often you stayed late, running checks on the wards placed around the apartment or adjusting the runes you kept hidden away. Tonight, it had been both work and something more. You had sensed a shift in the air, and was taking extra precautions to ensure their safety, especially now that you knew the supernatural community was becoming more aware of their presence.

Your movements were deliberate and careful, as though trying to avoid disturbing the quiet that had settled between them. The sound of the water filling the kettle was almost too loud in the silence, a small disruption in the calm. You didn’t look at him when you noticed him sitting there in the dark, cocooned in his blanket.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, her voice soft, a gentle observation rather than a question.

Mystery shrugged beneath the blanket, the small motion barely noticeable. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. It wasn’t about the words—they rarely were. The cartoon continued to flicker on the screen, its dialogue completely detached from the room’s unspoken exchange. A villain cackled on the screen, but Mystery didn’t laugh.

You made tea. Didn’t ask him again why he was awake, why he sat there in the darkness. Instead, you moved fluidly, one hand steady as measuring the tea leaves, the other pouring the water into the mug. It was the same ritual you’d done hundreds of times before—no fuss, no hurry, just the quiet sound of water meeting ceramic.

When you passed him on the way to the couch, you paused. For a second, your hand brushed lightly against the corner of the blanket, adjusting it over his shoulder. It wasn’t motherly. It wasn’t casual. It was simply... present. The kind of small touch that spoke more than words could ever convey.

Mystery blinked, just once, his gaze never leaving the screen. But his thoughts flickered.

Why did she do that?

He didn’t know if it was the soft way her fingers moved or the quiet way she seemed to understand what wasn’t being said, but it left him unsettled in the way that only the unfamiliar could.

You didn’t speak. Simply sat down on the opposite end of the couch, far enough to be polite, close enough to share the space between them. The air around them seemed to tighten, but not in discomfort—just in awareness.

The cartoon ended, the credits rolling in silence. Another began, but this one wasn’t better. Neither of them moved. The minutes stretched longer than before, the stillness thick enough to feel almost tangible. The kettle’s faint hiss was the only sound to break the silence, but even that seemed muted against the quiet connection between them.

Mystery turned his head slightly, just enough to see her hands. Long fingers, bare nails, no rings. The absence of something that should have been there, a sigil, perhaps, or some marker of her true nature. But he had seen the way she moved, the way she held herself, like something deeper was hidden beneath the surface. He didn’t know what she was yet but something told him that magic wasn’t always visible.

Her hands, the way they held the mug—delicate, controlled—left more questions than answers.

She caught him looking. Their eyes met for a brief second, but instead of looking away, you simply held his gaze, like you had caught him searching for something and didn’t mind being found. There was no judgment in her stare. No surprise. Just quiet understanding.

And Mystery, who rarely ever felt seen without feeling dissected, didn’t look away. He simply let himself be.

The Next Morning — The Book

You found the book. It was lying on the coffee table where Mystery had been sitting, tucked beneath the remote control like an afterthought. A plain leather cover, no title, no stitching. Old. Worn in a way that seemed intentional, like it had been held too tightly, carried too far, for too long.

You reached for it hesitantly, running a finger along the edges before opening it. The letters inside shifted, squirming beneath the touch, writhing like something alive. They weren’t meant for human eyes. Not meant for anyone, really. But as you turned the page, they stilled, settling like a creature unsure of its surroundings.

They recognized you.

You flipped to the next page.

Shadow maps. Mirror runes.

A name scratched out and rewritten three times.

A sigil stamped in the margin flared faintly when she traced it with her thumb, just enough to prove she could. Just enough to show that she, too, knew things the world wasn’t meant to know.

The text inside wasn’t entirely human—there was a strange cadence to it, a pull in the words that made her fingers tremble. She didn’t let it overwhelm her, but there was something about it that felt intimately familiar. A map of sorts, but not for places—for people. Symbols she knew but hadn’t seen in a long time.

She didn’t take it to her room. She didn’t hide it in some secret drawer. She read it on the couch, sipping her coffee, wrapped in the blanket she had draped over her lap earlier. The words in the book felt familiar, like they belonged to her, but they were still a puzzle. Still waiting to be pieced together.

Mystery’s Return

Mystery returned around mid-morning. Silent as always. He didn’t say a word when he entered the living room. His eyes—sharp, careful—noticed the book immediately.

He glanced at it, then at you. The book was turned slightly from where it had been, and the pages seemed to have shifted. There was a subtle weight to the atmosphere, as though someone had been there, had opened it, and yet… nothing had been said. No explanation offered.

He didn’t touch the book.

He didn’t so much as give her the idea that he’d noticed it.

He didn’t act on it at all. Instead, he simply sat beside her, the blanket shifting between them.

The silence stayed. The questions lingered. But nothing needed to be said. The space between them, filled with unspoken understanding, felt like the loudest thing in the room.

And in the silence, the pages turned.

AN: This chapter is slower and softer, but still important. Mystery doesn’t speak much, but he sees everything. I love writing the small silences that say more than full conversations ever could. He and Areum are circling something that neither of them fully understands yet… and maybe they don’t have to. Also, yes, the book does mean something. 👀

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Lights, Glamour, Residue

Chapter2/Chapter 3/Chapter4

The studio they were using for the shoot was all sterile lighting and polished chrome, a familiar maze of garment racks and shouting stylists. You had arrived ten minutes early, clipboard in hand, ready to wrangle the chaos.

You wore the usual sharp blazer, black slacks, and no nonsense. Aura crisp as your eyeliner.

It was Monday. Which meant three things:

The Saja Boys were late.

There were at least three major sponsor names riding on this shoot.

You’d had the creeping feeling all weekend that something was going to shift—and soon.

You couldn’t shake the tension, not even under her practiced calm. There was something in the air lately. A shimmer under the skin of the world. Like fate was holding its breath.

Still, when the boys finally arrived, they looked polished, chaotic, and infuriatingly camera-ready.

Mystery was the last to enter.

He walked like he hadn’t been called for, like he was simply appearing because the shadows allowed it. His long coat whispered against the floor, and his bangs hung low over his eyes.

But she felt it immediately: the way his gaze landed on her. Not a direct look—he never quite met her face—but a knowing weight settled in the space between them.

It wasn’t suspicion. It was something older.

And then the studio lights flickered. Just once.

A brief, humming dip in power as the air buzzed with something not quite electricity.

No one noticed. No one but her. And Mystery.

She watched his head tilt, just slightly. His fingers twitched where they rested on his sleeve. He smelled it—her. Not fully. Not the way a witch might recognize a sigil in blood, but like static before a storm.

It was enough to make him pause mid-step.

She lifted her clipboard, pen tapping once against the schedule.

“Let's go over call order,” she said calmly.

Mystery’s expression didn’t change. But he didn’t look away from her again.

Mid-Shoot

The boys were naturals—despite themselves. Abby flexed too often, Romance posed like he was falling in love with the camera, and Baby had to be told three times to stop sucking on a lollipop between takes.

Jinu pretended to be annoyed, but Areum could tell he was watching everything. Not just the shoot. Her.

“Manager-nim,” a stylist whispered, stepping close. “Do you have a moment?”

You followed her behind the backdrop and crouched to inspect a monitor cable, fingers brushing the frayed cord. A sharp spark zipped up your palm.

You didn’t flinch.

Instead, with a casual flick of her fingers—subtle, unspoken—a thread of sigil energy repaired the cord in less than a heartbeat. Not visible. Not loud.

But enough.

When you straightened, Mystery was watching from across the set.

His eyes, barely visible under the veil of bangs, gleamed faintly—not with recognition, not yet, but with ancient curiosity. The kind demons didn’t show easily.

You gave him nothing in return. Not yet.

After the Shoot

The boys trailed out of the studio, some grumbling, some still joking. You lingered to sign the final checklist, organize the release forms, and field a call from a production assistant who didn’t understand why backup clothes wouldn’t arrive on a two-hour notice.

You massaged your temple with one hand while holding the phone with the other, offering clipped, polite explanations that only barely veiled your exhaustion.

By the time you stepped outside, the evening air had cooled, brushing across her cheeks like a warning.

Mystery stood at the edge of the alley.

Not blocking. Not confronting. Just… standing.

His head tilted.

You raised a brow, still holding the phone, now silent and forgotten.

He said nothing. Just stared for one long moment—like he wanted to ask a question but hadn’t figured out how to phrase it in human terms.

Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows like he’d never been there.

Mystery pov

The others were still talking when he slipped out of the main room. Their voices followed him down the hall—Jinu’s clipped commands, Abby’s even tone, Romance’s smooth deflection, Baby’s sharp observations.

Words didn’t matter. He’d already heard everything he needed. Things were changing.

He drifted toward the far end of the hall, past the familiar signs of life: protein wrappers outside Abby’s door, flickering light under Romance’s, a trail of candy wrappers near Baby’s. His own room remained untouched, quiet and cold.

But he didn’t go inside.

Instead, he stopped at the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city, his silhouette framed by glass and distant light. Skyscrapers blinked under the thinning night. The streets below were small veins of motion. He rested his forehead against the cool glass and let his eyes half-close.

Across the way, something moved. A curtain shifting. A light flickering. The manager's apartment.

He couldn’t see her, not exactly. Not from this distance. But he felt… something. A watching presence. Not hostile. Not afraid. Just aware. Too aware.

Humans flinched from him. She never had. Not once.

She looked at him through his bangs. Through silence. Through space. And that—that—was strange.

Mystery didn’t know what she was. Not yet. But she wasn’t ordinary. Not when she moved like she’d seen them before. Not when her silence felt like understanding.

Maybe she was just observant. Or maybe she was something else.

He closed his eyes.

The glass cooled his skin, but heat curled just under the surface—his demon mark pulsing faintly, like it, too, had noticed something different.

She hadn't said a word to him today. But he could feel her. Watching. Waiting.

And he wondered—not for the first time—who was studying whom.

Shopping Trip-- Your pov

She walked through the busy streets of the supernatural district, her steps deliberate, every glance calculated. The marketplace here wasn’t just a collection of shops—it was a living, breathing testament to the hidden world that ran parallel to human society.

Supernatural creatures—some who passed for ordinary humans, others not so much—moved between the stalls hawking potions, sigils, and enchanted trinkets. The air hummed with an energy that could only be described as magic in its purest form.

She had only been to the district a handful of times since she began working with the Saja Boys. The area was full of charm—literally and figuratively—but she didn’t visit often. The supernatural community was a delicate balance between peacekeepers and enforcers, each shopkeeper knowing far more about the dangers of the world than the boys ever could.

She stopped in front of a modest stall at the corner. The scent of incense filled the air as an elderly woman looked up from behind the counter. Her eyes gleamed with the wisdom of someone who had seen centuries pass. She knew the lady wasn’t just any ordinary herbalist; she was a witch who specialized in protective magic.

“Ah, the witch who watches over the demons,” the woman said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I thought you might come. What is it you need, my dear?”

She tilted her head slightly. “Just some protection. For an apartment. Something subtle, something strong enough to keep certain... visitors at bay.”

The old woman’s gaze sharpened, studying her for a long moment. Then, she reached behind the counter, pulling out a small black pouch that seemed to absorb the light around it.

“This will shield them for now. It won't hide their presence, but it will mask their power. It's a protective charm, crafted specifically for those who don’t belong in the human world.”

She took the pouch, feeling the weight of it in her palm. “This should be enough. How much?”

The old woman waved her hand dismissively. “No charge. I know who you're protecting, and I know the cost of what you've done. You’ll need more than this in time, though. Things are changing, and not in their favor.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

The woman’s voice lowered, barely above a whisper.

“The Saja Boys are marked. They may have helped Huntrix defeat Gwi-Ma, but they are still demons—demons who once nearly destroyed entire spiritual communities with the Honmoon fluctuations and even worse when they broke free of his control. You may keep them hidden from the human world, but their true nature can’t stay concealed forever.”

She felt a tight knot in her chest. The truth. The boys’ glamour had fooled the human world, but it wasn’t enough to hide the truth from those who knew what to look for.

“The spiritual communities haven’t forgotten,” the woman continued, her voice low. “And when they find out who those boys really are—when they realize who you’re really protecting—they won’t stop until they’ve destroyed them. They still believe the Saja Boys look like they did under Gwi-Ma. They think they’re still the same demons. And they will come for them, sooner or later.”

She nodded, hiding the weight of the revelation behind a calm exterior. She paid for the charm and left the stall, but the words haunted her.

The Saja Boys—her boys—weren’t just dealing with human hunters. The supernatural community had been hunting them since their escape from Gwi-Ma’s control, and even though they were still hidden beneath the veil of their glamour, the community’s instincts were honed and sharp.

The Saja Boys had destroyed several spiritual sanctuaries during their escape, and the communities feared their return. Though the Honmoon had been restored by Huntrix after Gwi-Ma’s defeat, the damage had already been done.

The boys’ true demon forms—their power, their nature—was still a secret, but the communities believed they were still the same monsters from before.

The boys might be idols now, performing and living in a world that had forgotten their past, but the supernatural community had not forgotten. And once the glamour slipped or the truth came to light, the boys would be hunted as the very demons they once were.

She could feel her heart tightening in her chest. She knew that the truth was waiting for the boys around the corner, whether they realized it or not.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, you sat on the edge of the bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the room. The faint scent of sage from the protective charm picked up earlier lingered in the air.

The city hum buzzed faintly through the window, but for now, the world felt like it had slowed down.

You took a deep breath and picked up the journal from the nightstand, the worn leather cover smooth beneath your fingertips.

You didn’t write often. It was an old habit, one picked up long before becoming entangled with the Saja Boys. But tonight, it felt like you needed the release.

The pen hovered above the page, the scratch of it filling the silence as you began to write.

I can feel it now—the weight of what’s coming. The boys don’t realize how much danger they’re still in. Not from the humans, but from the demons who remember. The supernatural community believes they look like they did under Gwi-Ma’s control—still dangerous, still a threat. They can’t see their glamour. They don’t see the change.

I went to the marketplace today. Picked up a charm to help protect the apartment. Something subtle but strong enough to mask their power, at least for now. The old woman seemed to know exactly what I was looking for, but she didn’t stop there. She told me the truth—the Saja Boys are marked. They may have helped defeat Gwi-Ma, but the damage they left in their wake is still fresh.

The spiritual communities are still hunting them, and they’ll never stop until they think the boys are truly gone.

I can’t let them know. Not yet. They have enough on their plate. But I feel the pressure of it—the weight of their unspoken questions. Mystery... I saw it in his eyes today. He noticed something in me, something I didn’t want him to see.

I can’t hide forever. But I can’t reveal everything either. Not yet.

I need to keep them safe. I need to keep them distracted, grounded, even as the world closes in on them. But the question remains: How much longer can I hold the truth back from them?

You paused, pen hovering over the page before you placed it down gently. Closing the journal, setting it beside her on the bed, thoughts racing.

Mystery’s gaze earlier had unsettled you more than you'd let on. He was getting too close. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep the secret from them—especially from him.

But for now, all you could do was keep the boys safe. Guard them from both the world they’d left behind and the one they were trying to fit into.

You wasn’t just their manager anymore. You were their protector. And the truth you carried was a heavy burden to bear.

You turned off the lamp. The room sank into darkness.

But even in the quiet of the apartment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching. Waiting.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like the one in control.

AN: Areum and Mystery are making quiet eye contact and louder subplots. We’re slipping deeper into the shadows behind the stage lights and yes, this takes place after the movie. But let’s just say… not everything (or everyone) from back then is done making an appearance. Stay tuned.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Coffee and Counterspells

Chapter10/Chapter11/Chapter12

Dorm Kitchen — Morning Before a Fan Meet

The boys were not morning people. Not even a little.

Jinu was trying to stay awake by arguing with his own calendar app. Abby was holding an entire banana like it had personally wronged him. Baby leaned against the fridge in full tracksuit, silently daring someone to speak. Romance had curled into himself at the table with tinted sunglasses and a protein shake. Mystery, at least, had the decency to be motionless.

She moved through them like a breeze.

She dropped packets of vitamin supplements beside each plate, filled mugs and tumblers from the electric kettle, and passed out drink orders without needing to ask.

"Yours has cinnamon," she told Abby.

"Bless you."

"Yours is decaf. You’re vibrating already," she told Baby.

He didn’t answer, but he drank it.

"Yours has collagen powder and extra ginseng," she said to Romance.

He perked up. "Trying to keep me pretty, Manager-nim?"

She didn’t answer. Just raised an eyebrow and moved on.

---------------------------

What they didn’t notice: She had blessed the kettle.

Not overtly. Just a small sigil carved into the plastic base with a fingernail dipped in rue oil. Not strong enough to disrupt electronics. Just strong enough to break minor curses.

And someone had tried.

She noticed it when she picked up the delivery bag from the coffee supplier that morning. It had a signature glyph—a seeping curl meant to burrow into magical fields and unravel identity-based glamours.

Whoever cast it hadn’t known what they were doing. But it was specific. Targeted.

She didn’t like that.

She kept her expression calm as she brewed. Her finger circled the lid of the thermos just once too long. The enchantment nested there recognized her and shimmered briefly, then faded.

Each drink she made had a tiny anchoring charm built into it. Nothing detectable. Just enough to stabilize each boy’s magic signature for the next several hours.

In a space like a fan meet, where cameras flashed and emotional energy ran wild, glamours could slip.

Today, they would not.

---------------------------

On the way to the van, Jinu asked, "Did you double-check the schedule?"

"Three times," She replied.

"And the staging layout?"

"Yes."

"And staff credentials?"

"Jinu."

He stopped. She looked at him.

"I know what I’m doing."

He nodded once and got in the van.

She didn’t smile.

But she did breathe a little easier.

---------------------------

Later — Fan Meet Venue

The boys were seated in their usual formation at the table, sharp-eyed and photogenic, each of them performing their personal version of fan service.

Abby handed out stickers. Baby posed for a selfie. Jinu signed with his left hand so the fan could keep the original. Mystery tilted his head at one fan for so long she started crying. Romance flirted without blinking.

You watched from the sidelines.

You tracked energy the way security tracked wristbands.

A girl in row three had residual spell dust on her cuffs. A boy in row five had a bag that pulsed faintly with an artificial aura. A woman by the bathroom door was radiating something that smelled like silver and envy.

You adjusted the earpiece. Stepped forward. Paused just enough to block a direct line of sight between the woman and the boys.

Your wards pulsed faintly under the blazer. No one noticed.

No one ever noticed.

A particularly bold fan passed Abby a bracelet with glittering beads — nothing enchanted, but a few stones carried old energy. Abby, unaware, thanked her politely and moved on.

Another fan asked Mystery for a hug. He stiffened, nodded once, then allowed it. You tracked the static ripple of his glamour as it shimmered briefly and then settled again.

Romance pulled a fan into a playful selfie and whispered something too soft for mics. The fan turned bright red and nearly tripped on her way out. You arched an eyebrow. Romance winked.

Jinu was quizzed on a past livestream’s coffee preference by a fan who was clearly keeping track. He answered without looking up — and signed her album with a note that matched her aura: clear, soft, loyal. A safe one.

But not all of them were.

More than once, You caught something in the air. Not heavy enough to activate wards — just unfamiliar magic, the kind woven into charms stitched into sleeves or etched beneath layered nail polish. Magic designed to coax.

She kept her hands at her sides. But her left ring finger held a ward like a needle.

The boys didn’t notice the way the air tensed and released around her. But she knew they felt the ease that followed — the way things didn’t spike, didn’t crackle.

Not today.

---------------------------

Afterward — Back in the Van

Romance exhaled loudly and slouched across two seats.

"We crushed that. Admit it."

"You cried a little," Baby said.

"Emotional resonance is a powerful weapon," Romance replied.

Jinu was already typing notes on what they could improve. Mystery had vanished under a hoodie. Abby was scrolling through photos fans had already uploaded.

"I didn’t feel drained," he said, frowning a little. "Usually I do."

You tucked the clipboard into your bag. "You all held focus well. That helps."

"Nah," Abby said. "It was something else."

He didn’t press.

None of them did.

Romance stared at his finished drink. “Is it just me, or do your coffee orders taste better when she makes them?”

“Objectively true,” Baby mumbled.

“Too good,” Jinu added. “I think mine had a stabilizer. I didn’t shift once.”

Mystery didn’t speak, but he nodded once from under his hoodie.

They drank their half-finished coffees, now slightly cold. The protection sigils still shimmered faintly along the rims.

---------------------------

That Night — Your Journal

Glyph detected in vendor seal. Custom construction. New signature. Possible hire?

Stabilized all five. No break in cover. One observer neutralized on site.

Mystery made eye contact once. Not sure if it meant anything.

Enhance next set with subtle veil reinforcement. Romance's is the weakest when engaged.

You paused.

Add charm base to their water bottles next week. Fan meet exposure too frequent now.

Another pause.

One glyph bore resemblance to fragment traced last quarter. Need to follow thread.

Next time, trace the glyph to origin.

You closed the journal. And reached for the thermos. Still warm. Still humming.

---------------------------

Elsewhere — Unknown POV

The girl from the third row wiped the spell dust from her sleeves, eyes narrowed at her phone. The glamour anchor hadn’t worked. Not even a flicker. She’d watched for it.

Her lips twisted.

Too clean. Too calm. That wasn’t normal.

She opened a thread in her encrypted chat group.

Confirmed. Five targets unbroken. Attempt nullified. Suspected countermeasure active. Interference is smarter than anticipated. Possible embedded proxy. Female. Recommend escalation.

She tapped send. Then deleted the app.

Behind her, the crowd noise faded. The boys had already left the venue.

But she remembered the manager.

The one who paused too precisely.

The one who stood just far enough to break a line of energy.

She didn’t look like a witch. Didn’t move like a hunter. But that woman was something.

And the next time they met, she’d find out what.

AN: Whoops. Looks like someone’s watching more than just the boys. 👀There’s always one in the crowd—too quiet, too precise, too informed. The manager? She’s been in the crosshairs before. She just knows how to move through them now. Escalation has been requested. Let’s see who gets to her first.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball @tenaciouskittenpuff @venommie @honey-and-sweetdreams @luna-looniesblog @lyunsafebubble @tulnukaz @levifiance @mysteris-things @aerissblog @anxiousskylar @downbadgirlypoo @misdollface @renchai

[thatonegrimm]

Settling in here with my coffee and my red string let's goooo

The way you answer the hunter question implies to me that the families/guilds passing down knowledge are also on that "only partially human" train. Does that mean they're generally like, descendants (however potentially distant) of supernatural beings? Or are they like...equivalent to neanderthals in the sense that we are *related*/in the same...category, kinda, but have traits & abilities that allowed them to survive and blend better than said neanderthals in history?

I like this answer, it always makes more sense to me for the magical community to be suspicious of the ignorance & assume there is more knowledge than they actually have. The whole "yeah we're a secret society bc no one can find us, no we're not examining that assertion" can tick me off sometimes. BUT ALSO YES, MAGICAL BEAUROCRACY. I am way more excited about the potential drama of "yeah I saved the boys now I gotta go to court about it" now 🤣

Ooo yes okay I was curious whether mortal instruments was on the inspo list, I only read the first book but I was getting very minorly recognizable vibes to relate to & worried I was just superimposing it where it didn't belong. I'm not familiar with The Magicians, but that part reminds me of some pieces of Dresden Files I've read, and also may I reiterate I LOVE the idea of complicated messy politcal and TRACKED magic, ehehe.

ALSO love the honmoon info, it sorta ties into how, if you're using the movie lore too, the "original" hunters who put it up must have had some kind of supernatural help, surely, if they were mostly or entirely human? so it makes sense that magic in line with it's purpose, i.e. stabilizing and protecting the realm from demonic corruption & doing things with some sense of logic or progression like contracts & oaths would help to strengthen a web that's already pulling from the area around you. & if you're doing a great big soul-grabbing scheme like Your Idol, the honmoon will be unhappy & tear apart from the energy...

Loving all this ahh. I am torn between showing u my whole conspiracy board and sticking to talking around the most story-related questions bc ~the reveal~ will be so satisfying. This is ur fault I hope you realize, your writing is too juicy I have to Savor...and reread. Again. <3

-🪐

🪐 ANON. I am grinning like an idiot at this whole thing.

First of all, yes, settle in with your coffee and conspiracy board — this is the kind of delicious overthinking I live for. Let me unpack some of this for you in bits because hooooo we are aligned on SO much, and you’re pulling on all the right strings (some of which might actually connect, some are red herrings that’ll hurt later, but that’s half the fun, right? 😈)

Hunters & Supernatural Lineage

Yes. Yes yes yes. You clocked that implication hard — hunters are not fully human in the modern sense. Think: diluted bloodlines from older, more magical times. The comparison to Neanderthals is brilliant — it’s not that they’re part-fae or demon necessarily (though some are, secretly), but they’re descended from lineages where humanity and magic coexisted more openly. There were deals, pacts, crossbreeds, and even just long exposure that changed people’s physiology over generations.

Now? It’s mostly faded, dormant genes—except when awakened. Hunters are the ones who carry those dormant traits forward in their bones, passed down through blood or oaths. And that blood remembers.

Magical Bureaucracy / Paperwork

Absolutely screaming. YES. YES TO COURTROOM DRAMA OVER SOUL CONTRACTS. YES TO MISFILED HEXES. YES TO ARGUMENTS OVER WHETHER A HOUSE BLESSING IS “TO CODE.”

Areum did file magical protection papers (standard blessings, location locks, emotional stabilizers for trauma recovery, etc), but because she went through a public-facing, neutral node, it’s visible on magical records that she used protections. That’s risky if the wrong hunter guild gets nosy. But she doesn’t care. She’s earned her peace.

Also: there will be a moment in the main storyline where someone gets hit with a curse and the only way to break it legally is... a long-forgotten contract clause that forces someone else to owe the bureaucracy a favor. You will see magical small claims court. It will be absurd.

Honmoon + Movie Lore + Oath Magic

YES AGAIN. The Honmoon, in this AU, is not just a barrier — it’s an evolving construct maintained by intent, memory, and accumulated oaths/sacrifice. So singing out of joy, love, or harmony stabilizes it.

Negative energy? Guilt-tripping, manipulation, demonic soul-rending concert schemes? Tears it apart from the inside. That’s why the “Your Idol” performance is dangerous — not just because of Baby’s hellfire, but because the intent is off.

And you’re dead on: the original Honmoon was built through collaboration. No way humans did that alone. That’s another mystery you’ll see cracked open slowly — there are signs in the old hunter texts of a sixth signature on the original barrier. But only five names were recorded…

Inspirations

Yes to Mortal Instruments light vibes — not canon world mechanics, but definitely that vibe of “ancient organizations protecting humans from a hidden world, except they’re messy as hell.”

The Magicians influence is more like, “Okay, what if magic worked like a science that was equally powerful and horrifying when misunderstood.” Also tracking spells?? Emotional casting?? Legal precedent?? YEP.

And you're right to mention Dresden Files too, especially with the layered secrecy and territory control.

🪐 please never stop. You’re fueling me. You don’t even have to send your full theory board — just leave glittery crumbs. Or do both. Either way, I'm ready for the unraveling 💫

[thatonegrimm]

Also also also. GRIMM. GRIMM I HAVE QUESTIONS about how...the supernatural stuff works in witch's oath I reread it again and there are so many little hints my brain is trying to connect dots I'm not sure are there so hi hello I wanna bother you about your au!!

Specifically, are the hunters part of the supernatural community or separate from it? Are you going off of any particular bits of media/trope/archetype for how the community is put together alongside everything else? Like is it commonly known that kind of thing is out there, is it just so old nobody talks about it, how much of the crew around them are clocking magical protections? Did Areum submit paperwork for her magical protections, am I reading that right, or was she only referencing the standard sets of "fix this/bolt loose" etc. papers?

I'm so curious how magic affects the honmoon too, just. Questions. QUESTIONS!! (Love it)

-🪐

AHHH I LOVE YOU FOR ASKING THIS 😭🖤 WELCOME TO The Witch’s Oath conspiracy corner, pull up a chair, pin your red string to the corkboard.

Let’s go one-by-one:

Are hunters part of the supernatural community? Yes, but only partially. Hunters are a weird in-between. They're human (or mostly human) but operate within supernatural jurisdiction. Think of them as licensed enforcers or cleaners. The supernatural world doesn’t love them, but they’re useful. Some factions revere hunters. Others blacklist them. Also they wont be the main focus for a long time.

Is the supernatural community public knowledge? Nope! Not to civilians. The general public has no idea, but everyone in the supernatural world assumes that humans know more than they let on. There are a handful of families and guilds that pass knowledge down generationally Areum comes from this. But to the average human? It’s all urban legend. That being said, there is infrastructure. Magical permits. Ward registration. Territory claims. You can absolutely get fined for summoning in a protected zone.

Did Areum submit paperwork for her magical protections? YES. when she mentions the “protections” during the inspection scene, she’s actually referring to a warding sigil that’s officially filed under her name. It’s like spiritual insurance. That part of her past has been scrubbed from public record, but old witches know how to fudge paperwork without raising alarms 👀 Of course the criminals don't even bother with this part at all.

What are you pulling from (trope/media-wise)? Good question! A mix of:

"The Mortal Instruments" for supernatural society that exists beside the normal world

"The Witcher" in terms of reluctant protectors and grudging contracts

Korean folktales and shamanism, especially for Honmoon and binding magic

And bureaucratic urban fantasy like The Magicians, where magic is messy, political, and requires documentation

And way to many others where I take the one thing I like and sweep the rest away.

How does magic affect the Honmoon? This one’s complicated. The Honmoon is like a thin barrier between the mortal world and full demonic corruption. Strong, chaotic or malicious magic (especially when done emotionally) weakens it—but balanced, sacred, or contract-bound magic reinforces it. ALSO it surrounds all of ASIA specifically so we will see some of that influence things.

That’s also why spells like the reader’s oath don’t cause rifts. It’s a stabilizing force. Demonic singing (like in the Your Idol concert) shreds it open, while certain kinds of singing can mend it.

If you want more specifics let me know which dots you’re trying to connect and I’ll let you know if you’re on to something 🕵️‍♀️✨