starylovw

[starylovw]

New Stars

1/2/??

The hours bled together as the day wore on, sunlight slipping lower with each passing minute. Now, the late afternoon glow poured through your office windows—soft orange hues casting long shadows across the floor.

You leaned back in your chair with a sigh, spine cracking slightly as you stretched your arms overhead.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” you said, voice tired but firm. “Tomorrow we’ll dive into the first track—lyrics, tone, maybe even some melody if my coffee budget allows it.”

You snapped the folder shut and slid it into your bag with a practiced motion.

But before you could grab your coat, Jinu—the presumed leader, if only by process of elimination—stood up.

“About that,” he said, voice calm but purposeful. “We already have an idea.”

You didn’t miss the flicker of pride in his eyes. Or the way the others still didn’t say a word.

You held up a hand.

“Tomorrow,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “Not tonight.”

Your bag hit your shoulder with a dull thud as you made your way to the door, exhaustion settling into your bones like a second skin. You didn’t have it in you to untangle their ideas tonight—not when you still hadn’t figured them out yet.

They were… particular.

Not in a bad way. But not quite in a good way either.

Just—off

Four of them hadn’t spoken a single word all day. Not even a whisper. Just nods, glances, and the occasional shrug. Only Jinu spoke. Always Jinu.

You sighed, the sound dragging on the walk to the elevator.

Please let them at least be able to sing.

You didn’t need another tragedy with good hair and dead eyes.

As you reached the front doors of the building, the weight in your chest began to lift—just a little. The kind of heaviness that clings to you after a long day of managing egos, expectations, and too many unknown variables.

You exhaled, hand on the glass, ready to push it open—

Then you froze.

You felt someone behind you.

Turning slowly, you found Baby standing just a few feet away. Blue hair catching the glow of the streetlights, lips curled into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You blinked, confused by his sudden appearance.

“You need something?” you asked, cautious. The kid had barely said a word during the meeting, and now he was standing behind you like a ghost with perfect posture.

He looked momentarily stunned, like your voice had pulled him out of some deep thought. But the expression vanished almost immediately, replaced by his usual blank calm.

“No,” he said simply, before brushing past you and stepping out into the night.

Just like that.

You stayed there, hand still hovering near the door handle, staring after him with narrowed eyes.

Weird.

Really weird.

The moment stretched too long. The silence in the lobby felt louder than it should’ve.

Finally, you shook yourself out of it, stepped outside, and began your slow walk toward the train station—questions lingering in the back of your mind, cold air nipping at your skin.

The city buzzed around you as you made your way toward the train station, streetlights flickering to life one by one in the early evening haze. Your steps slowed as you passed the row of billboards lining the sidewalk—each one a towering display of perfection.

HUNTRIX.

The name screamed from every poster, their glittering smiles and razor-sharp style impossible to ignore. The girls looked untouchable—every hair, every pose, every spark of attitude engineered to capture attention and never let go.

You sighed. For what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you plugged in your headphones and thumbed over to your usual playlist. The second you hit play, a familiar beat dropped into your ears.

“How It’s Done”.

The opening notes wrapped around you like muscle memory—tight choreography, flawless vocals, perfectly timed charisma. Even now, after countless plays, it still hit the same.

You couldn’t deny it.

Those girls had talent. Real, raw, undeniable talent.

You let the track play on as you headed toward the station, eyes on the pavement, mind already calculating the impossible expectations you’d have to match with the Saja Boys.

Great.

No pressure.

[starylovw]

Am I the only one that feels like Baby Saja could sing Killin’ it girl (by Jhope) about Zoey. Especially the part where Jhope says

“Looking like a twenty from Korea to Miami”

It fits the fact that Zoey lived in America and Korea ! And, we know that Baby Saja is the rapper of the group !

Anyways it was just a little headcanon I wanted to share with y’all about kpop demon hunters !

🩵

[starylovw]

New Stars

1/??

The chill of the marble floor seeps into your skin before you’re even fully awake. A low groan escapes your lips as your hand fumbles blindly across the nightstand.

Ring ring.

“Ugh, a call. Just what I needed right now,” you mutter, voice still thick with sleep.

1 deep breath.

2—Fake smile.

3—Showtime.

You clear your throat and answer with forced cheer,

“Hellooo, Director! Y/N L/N speaking—live and ready!”

“L/N. Good. New group. Folder’s on your desk.”

Plink. Call ended. Just like that.

“Fucking bastard…” you sigh under your breath.

Dragging a hand down your face, you stretch out your stiff limbs with a groan that echoes slightly off the high ceilings. Another day, another chaotic assignment. Time to get moving.

—

As you step into the building, the familiar weight settles on your chest.

This place…

Where dreams are manufactured and broken in the same breath.

Where sadness clings to the walls like old wallpaper, and anger echoes in every hallway.

Where idols rise—and fall.

You move quietly, weaving past exhausted trainees and staff who won’t meet your eyes. Like ghosts in a machine.

Your desk is exactly where it always is—cold, impersonal, and unfortunately, still yours. Sitting right in the center is a red folder, pristine and precise.

You squint.

Is that… a lion?

You stare at the pink-embossed creature like it personally insulted you.

“What the fuck did I get stuck with this time?” you mutter, dropping into your chair with a sigh.

But bills don’t pay themselves, and stability—no matter how soul-sucking—is still stability.

You flip the folder open.

“Saja Boys.”

You blink. “Weird-ass name… but whatever.”

You sift through the papers in the folder, eyes scanning profiles, stats, and training evaluations with mechanical precision. It’s second nature by now—breaking people down into potential and problems.

Then the door creaks open.

You don’t look up.

“You ever heard of privacy—” you begin, voice dry with annoyance.

And then you feel it. That familiar, suffocating weight in the room. Authority. Expectation. Pressure.

Your head snaps up.

You’re already on your feet, bowing instinctively.

“Director Gwa,” you say evenly, your voice steady and respectful, despite the flicker of irritation in your chest.

The man steps aside, motioning toward the doorway. “L/N. These are the Saja Boys. The next group under D-Entertainment. Go on, boys.”

Just like that, your office—your last scrap of personal space—becomes a stage.

So much for privacy.

So much for peace.

You straighten, plastering on your professional mask as the boys file in.

Here we go.

You recognized all five of them the second they stepped in—not that it was difficult.

Neon hair. Sharp cheekbones. That unmistakable idol aura.

They screamed “rookie group with a marketing budget.”

Before you could get a word in, they started introducing themselves one by one, all confidence and choreographed charm.

You watched them with a critical eye.

At least they’re hot. And polite, you mused in your head. I’ll give them two months.

It wasn’t bitterness—it was experience talking.

Then one of them said something that made your brain stutter.

“Hi…I’m Baby”

You blinked.

“…Baby?” you echoed, looking up from the folder to meet the gaze of a blue-haired boy, who nodded without shame, as if that name wasn’t a cry for branding help.

You stared for a beat too long, then sighed. “Well. You know what? Sure. Fine.”

Your fingers drummed on the desk.

Scratch that.

Make it one month.

As the last introduction wrapped up, you gave a sharp nod toward Director Gwa. He turned on his heel and walked out without so much as a glance or goodbye.

Bastard.

You exhaled slowly, like you were bracing yourself for a storm.

Alright. Time to lock in.

You turned back to face the boys—your boys now, whether you liked it or not.

“So let me get this straight,” you said, rubbing your temples. “Baby. Mystery. Romance. Abby. Jinu.”

You could feel the headache blooming behind your eyes.

Who the hell gave these kids the freedom to choose their own stage names?

They all nodded in unison like well-trained puppies. You stared at them for a beat before sighing.

“Okay, fine. Saja Boys it is. Lions, huh?” You pointed lazily at the folder’s pink crest. “Matches the logo. Bold, aggressive, borderline dramatic—marketing’s wet dream.”

You barely noticed when you started pacing, already rambling about aesthetic cohesion.

“Color palette—bold primaries, maybe gold accents. Concept photos, maybe a duality thing? Wild versus tame. Fandom name—something punchy, but not cringe. We’ll circle back.”

You didn’t even realize you were lost in the storm of planning until you caught one of them blinking in mild awe.

You paused, eyes scanning their faces.

You’d seen too many groups fall apart before their debut stage. Watched stars burn out before they even learned how to shine.

But still—every time—you gave them a real shot.

And these lion cubs?

Well. You’d give them one too