Chapter Text
Third Person POV
Raejin’s aura thickened until the very air screamed. The windows shattered outright. Shards were raining down like glass rain. Every step he took toward Jinu sent cracks spiderwebbing across the floor, purple flame spreading out as if the ground itself was afraid to hold him.
Jinu’s hand twitched toward his pocket—out of instinct, not because he thought a trick or weapon would help. Nothing could stop this storm. Not charm. Not lies.
Raejin’s golden eyes fixed on him, blazing. His voice finally cut through the silence, low and jagged, like broken glass dragged across stone.
“…How dare you.”
The words were low, but each syllable carried enough venom to strip the flesh from bone.
Jinu’s pulse spiked. The suspicion he’d buried in the pit of his stomach turned sharp, undeniable.
Rumi had told him.
And if Raejin looked this monstrous with his aura unraveling the walls, then she hadn’t just confessed about them. She had confessed about the child.
His child.
“You,” Raejin snarled, his face twisting with inhuman fury. His claws dug furrows into the ruined desk, aura flooding the office like a tide of black fire.
“Who gave you permission to date my daughter?”
Jinu froze, cold sweat prickling down his spine. The weight of Raejin’s aura pressed on his chest like a mountain, but still his lips curved into that infuriating, catlike grin. His best weapon was always his tongue.
“Uhh… You did, sir.”
For the briefest heartbeat, Raejin faltered, golden eyes narrowing.
Jinu seized it, leaning forward slightly, voice dripping with mock reverence. “Remember? That glorious day when I humbly sought your blessing?” His smile stretched wider. “Sailor outfit, smudge chocolate, that baby picture where her cheeks looked like steamed buns…” He made a little squish gesture with his hands.
A vein in Raejin’s temple throbbed, his claws curling into fists. Yes, he remembered.
That wretched blackmail.
The lord’s growl was low, guttural, like the sound of earth splitting open. His aura burst outward, slamming the desk aside like a child kicking a toy block. Splinters and papers whirled into the air as if sucked into a black vortex.
“You dared lay your hands on her. On my daughter.” His monstrous face loomed closer, eyes burning. “And now…” Shadows lashed across the walls like whips, gouging deep cracks into the plaster.
“…you dare put your seed in her?”
The words detonated in the room. The walls groaned. The floor cracked under Raejin’s fury.
Jinu’s smile twitched, threatening to crack, but he held it, even as his knees screamed to buckle.
“Technically,” he muttered, raising a shaky hand in mock-defense, “It… It was a joint effort?”
Raejin’s claws cracked through his skin, black fire hissing up his arm. The air warped, suffocating. “I should tear you apart, Jinu. Limb from limb. I should scatter what’s left of you across the underworld as a warning to anyone who thinks they can touch what’s mine.”
Jinu staggered back, his mask slipping, cold sweat soaking his collar. And yet, he forced his lips into a grin. A gambler’s grin.
“Lord Raejin…” His voice cracked, but he swallowed hard and pushed through. “She’s not a child anymore. She made her choice. If Rumi told you… Then you already know she doesn’t regret it. You’d kill me, sure. But can you kill the truth? Can you erase what already exists?”
The words rang out, fragile but unshaken.
And in that instant, Jinu’s mask cracked as his memory flooded in like a tide.
-Flashback-
He hadn’t believed it at first. Couldn’t. Rumi was half demon, and demons didn’t get sick, not like this. But day after day, she’d turned pale and weak, clutching her stomach over the sink as if something inside her was fighting its way out.
He’d joked to cover his fear. “What, princess, my cooking finally caught up to you?”
But when her hands trembled, when her face blanched, when the word pregnant fell from her lips in a whisper that trembled like glass—Jinu’s world spun.
‘Pregnant.’
They’d been careful. Always careful. Except for—ah. That night. The one drowned in alcohol and fire, when they tore at each other like nothing else mattered. He remembered laughing the next morning, both of them hungover and tangled together, thinking the world hadn’t changed.
But it had.
She’d been shocked at first, frozen with disbelief. Then, her expression shifted slowly. And when her trembling hand brushed her stomach, her lips parted in something fragile and radiant. A smile.
Joy.
Jinu’s breath had caught. Because for the first time, she wasn’t looking at herself with hatred. She wasn’t cursing her blood, her lineage, her very existence. She was… at peace. No—she was in love. With herself. With the tiny spark of life inside her.
It was a miracle. A blessing. A second chance neither of them thought they’d ever have.
And then she’d looked at him, eyes shining with a hope that nearly broke him.
“…Do you think,” she whispered, voice trembling, “our child could be a second chance for my dad too? He never got to watch me grow up. Maybe… maybe this time, he could.”
-End of Flashback-
Jinu remembered the look on Rumi’s face as she said that. The quiet hope. The softness in her eyes had undone him more completely than any blade ever could.
Rumi was his world now—half his soul. And now, with her, he had something more. Something worth bleeding for, worth dying for, and worth fighting for. His whole life, he’d lied, cheated, and deceived to survive. But for her, and for this child, his truth had never been clearer.
His goal had always been simple: to keep her smiling. And deep down, he knew… Raejin wanted the same.
Jinu cut in smoothly, pulling a folded sheet from his coat. “Before you kill me, you should see this...”
So Jinu moved slowly, deliberately. His hand slipped inside his coat pocket. He drew out the folded paper, smoothed by nervous fingers from being carried too often, and held it up between them.
Raejin blinked, thrown off just enough to pause. “…What am I looking at? A… blob?”
“Not a blob.” Jinu’s grin softened into something sharper, intentional.
“It's your grandchild.”
The word landed like a hammer.
“...!”
Raejin’s hand froze mid-strike. His monstrous aura sputtered, faltering like a candle in the wind. His claws trembled inches from Jinu’s chest as his gaze dropped to the ultrasound.
A small, grainy image. A blur of black and white. And in the middle of it, curled tight, impossibly fragile, impossibly alive.
Raejin’s breath hitched. His grip slackened without meaning to. The black fire guttered at his fingertips, dying against the weight of what stared back at him from that page.
His golden eyes widened, monstrous face flickering with something rawer, deeper. Not rage. Not power. But something far more dangerous.
He was no longer the Lord of Death standing over Jinu. He was just a man again, standing in a sterile white room years ago, Mi-yeong’s hand in his, the scent of disinfectant sharp in the air.
He remembered the grainy screen. The doctor’s calm voice. And then—there it was. The first flicker of Rumi’s existence. Small. Fragile. A curl of life hidden in a black and white blur.
Mi-yeong had cried, soft tears of joy that sparkled brighter than any star. Raejin had only stared, struck silent, struck powerless. He’d sworn then that he would protect that tiny life, no matter the cost.
And now, staring at this second ultrasound with the same blurred miracle, he felt that oath tear through him again.
His claws slackened. His monstrous face flickered, faltering. The flame writhed and pulled back, uncertain.
Jinu watched him carefully, heart hammering, but said nothing. He didn’t need to.
Raejin’s chest rose and fell heavily, his golden eyes caught between past and present, rage and memory. His resolve and burning certainty that Jinu had to die splintered under the weight of what he saw.
The face of a father who had already lost too much.
And now, a second chance staring back at him.
.•♫•♬••♬•♫•.
Jinu straightened his collar with a slow, deliberate motion as if he were about to step onto a stage. He let the silence sit, thick as smoke, before speaking.
“You missed out on being a father,” Jinu said, measured, almost gentle. “The first laugh. The first step. The first time she called for you.” His voice dropped, surgical. “That’s gone. You can’t get it back.”
Guilt flickered across Raejin’s face and his jaw locked.
“But,” Jinu continued as he folded the ultrasound between his fingers and slid it into Raejin’s palm with the casual economy of someone dealing cards, “you can have this. A second chance. One generation late, maybe, but whole.”
He didn’t ask. He offered terms. “You get to be the man she needed. Every milestone. Every laugh. You don’t have to miss this one.”
Raejin’s fingers went white around the paper. For a heartbeat, his eyes were not the Demon lord’s but a man’s. Then suspicion hardened them.
“…And all I have to do is let you stay by her side?”
Jinu’s smile was a refined blade.
“Let me?” Jinu’s laugh was soft, practiced. He tilted his head the way an actor tilts his hat. “She already chose me. I’m offering terms that make sense. You get to be a grandfather. I keep her happy. And,” he added, eyes glittering, “her hand in marriage.”
Raejin’s aura flared, a violent ripple that dented the air. The old hunger for blood rose in him, a beast half-awake.
“…You manipulative little bastard.” The words were spat, but something like a laugh cracked them.
“Compliment accepted.” Jinu’s smile sharpened, courteous and exact.
Raejin barked, half anger, half something that might have been respect. “…You’ve grown some balls.”
“Rumi thinks so too,” Jinu said instantly, straight-faced.
Raejin nearly lunged again before catching himself. He shook his head, exhaling through his nose like a dragon barely leashed. “You’re walking a fine line, boy. One wrong step, one tear on her face—and you won’t live to regret it.”
Jinu’s grin went cold and razor-thin. He folded his hands, calm as a man conducting a concert. “Then it’s a good thing I never plan to let her cry.”
“And if it helps your conscience—if proof gives you the courage not to tear me apart…” Then, he pulled out a sleek iPad, sliding it across the desk with deliberate calm.
Not ultrasound. Not photographs. A video.
The iPad screen glowed, flooding the room with a softer light than Raejin’s aura had ever known.
At first, it was just Rumi’s smile. She sat cross-legged on her balcony, notebook in her lap, wind teasing strands of her hair. “Uh… hi, Dad. This feels weird. Like talking to a ghost.” She laughed at herself, the sound unpolished and awkward but real. “But I guess… you’re the ghost, aren’t you?”
The video shifted. Another clip. Rumi in the kitchen, her hair messy, holding up a pan with something burnt beyond recognition. “Cooking lesson fail number six. Don’t laugh! Okay, you can laugh, but only a little.” She stuck her tongue out at the camera before dissolving into laughter herself.
Then another. Rumi curled up on her bed with a blanket cocooned around her, humming softly. It was an old lullaby, Mi-yeong’s lullaby. Her voice cracked halfway, but she smiled through it.
“Do you remember this? …I think I do, even though I shouldn’t. It’s like something left in my blood.”
The next clip was blurry because Jinu had clearly filmed it without Rumi noticing. Rumi was asleep on the couch with her face smushed against a pillow and soft snores barely audible. She stirred, mumbling, and curled tighter into the blanket. The kind of moment no audience, no stage, no spotlight would ever see.
And then—one last clip. Rumi in her room, the curtains half-drawn, speaking straight into the camera. Her voice shook, but her eyes blazed.
“If you’re watching this, Dad… it means Jinu kept his promise. It means you still care. I don’t want you to just be Lord Raejin. I want you to be… my dad. Even if it’s late. Even if you missed everything else. You can still have this.”
The iPad’s glow lit him like a shrine, like an altar of everything he’d lost and everything he was being offered.
The video flickered one last time. Rumi laughing, flour on her cheeks, swatting at the camera. “Stop recording, Jinu!”
And then it froze, her smile captured in light.
Raejin froze. His claws curled, then slackened. The fire that had been ready to scorch the room guttered, a candle snuffed in its own smoke. His throat worked as he swallowed hard against something raw, something old.
The video flickered—Rumi’s laugh, unpolished and pure, echoing like a ghost of what Raejin lost.
Raejin’s jaw tightened. “…So you think you’ve trapped me.”
“Trapped?” Jinu chuckled low, shaking his head. “No. I think you’ve just realized what you want.”
That single word—you—shifted the air.
Raejin stiffened, caught in the web.
Jinu leaned forward, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “You’re not sparing me. You’re choosing your grandchild. You’re not allowing me to stay—you’re ensuring she stays happy. This isn’t about me.” His smile turned sharp. “This was always your decision.”
For a moment, Raejin said nothing. Then a slow, grudging laugh rumbled out of him, dark and rough. “…Cunning bastard. You turned it back on me.”
“Did I?” Jinu’s smirk widened. “Or did you just realize it yourself?”
The silence that followed felt like a pact sealed in shadow.
Finally, Raejin shoved the photo inside his coat and stepped back, aura dimming just enough to ease the crushing weight of it. “…Fine. I’ll allow this.”
Jinu bowed his head slightly, hiding the flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Your blessing honors me.”
Raejin narrowed his gaze, deadly serious again. “Don’t mistake me. This doesn’t mean I like you. It means if she cries because of you, I’ll put your head through the wall.”
Jinu straightened, lips curving into that infuriating smirk once more. “Then I guess it’s a good thing she’s smiling now.”
Raejin’s chest heaved, golden eyes still locked on the glowing screen, the faint echo of his daughter’s laughter clawing into him. He knew Jinu was cunning, a silver-tongued trickster who built kingdoms out of smoke and mirrors. But this? To twist his grief into a leash—no, a blade? The boy had nerves of steel. Or perhaps no nerves at all.
His claws twitched again, the shadows threatening to surge—when the wrecked office door banged louder, splinters snapping under a sudden weight.
“Stoooopppp!”
The word tore through the suffocating tension like a whip.
Both men turned.
There she was... Rumi. She was framed by the jagged doorframe, breathless, cheeks flushed from running. Sweat clung to her hairline as purple strands stuck to her face as her chest rose and fell.
Panting hard, she stared at them both.
“Dad!” Her voice cracked, panic raw in it. “Don’t—please don’t kill Jinu!”
Rumi stumbled into the wreckage, boots crunching over shattered wood and scattered papers. Without hesitation, she threw herself between them—between Jinu’s deceptively relaxed form and Raejin’s looming, shadow-wreathed rage. Her arms flung wide like flimsy shields, but her trembling voice carried more weight than any wall.
“Don’t hurt him!”
Raejin’s golden eyes snapped to her, wild, molten with disbelief. The aura around him snarled like a caged beast.
“Rumi…” his voice cracked, heavy with too many things unsaid.
But Rumi was already blurting, words spilling in a flood that tumbled over each other.
“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have told you like that—I should’ve given you time—” Her hands shook, clutching at her own arms. “It’s just… You looked so guilty when we were together, Dad. Like you’d failed me. Like you regretted everything. And I thought—” her voice broke, cracking on the edges of tears, “I thought maybe this news would make you happy. That it would cheer you up, that it would give you hope again.”
Her words tumbled faster, tangled with sobs she was desperately trying to swallow. “I didn’t know—you’d… you’d want to kill him! I thought—” she gasped, eyes swimming as she stared up at her father’s monstrous form, “I thought you already gave us your blessing when you went back to the underworld.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Raejin stood frozen, shadows trembling around him like a storm barely held in check. He had torn apart armies without a thought, devoured souls without hesitation. Yet here, before his daughter’s tears, his monstrous wrath faltered.
Behind her, Jinu sat with infuriating calm, though a sheen of sweat betrayed the gamble. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—he knew the smartest play was to let Rumi’s chaotic honesty do what his deception could not.
Rumi’s voice dropped to a whisper, raw and breaking. “Please, Dad. Don’t take him from me. Don’t take this from me.”
Her plea hung in the air like a noose tightening around Raejin’s fury.
Raejin’s hand rose slowly. For a moment, Rumi flinched, as if expecting the wrath she had just thrown herself against.
But instead, his palm cupped her cheek, rough thumb brushing away her tears. The monstrous heat of his aura dimmed, shadows retreating like a tide giving way to shore.
“I will not kill him,” Raejin rumbled, voice lower now, steadier. “I promised to be there when you need me. To walk you where I should have walked before...” His golden eyes softened, grief flickering like embers. “So I will keep that promise.”
"I will walk you down the aisle."
Rumi’s breath caught. Her teary brown eyes widened, shimmering as though she hadn’t heard right. She tilted her head back to look up at him, her lips parting, trembling with disbelief.
“W-what…?” Her voice cracked, small and fragile. “Did you just say…?”
Raejin’s expression remained steady, grave and resolute. “I will walk you down the aisle,” he repeated, each word heavy with a promise long overdue.
Rumi blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear her ears, her mind, the years of distance that had made such a moment impossible. Her lips quivered again before breaking into a radiant smile—so bright it seemed to chase away even the last of the shadows clinging to Raejin’s aura.
“Y-you mean it?” she whispered, half breathless, half laughing in disbelief. “Dad… are you serious?”
Raejin’s large hand came down gently to rest on her shoulder, grounding her. “I have failed you once,” he said, voice quieter now, laced with something raw. “I will not fail you again.”
Her chest hitched, and she let out a laugh that was half-sob, half-joy. Then, unable to contain it, she flung herself forward, hugging him tight, as if afraid he’d vanish if she let go.
Behind them, Jinu leaned back in his chair, lips quirking into a sly smile.
“Guess that’s a yes,” he muttered under his breath, though his eyes gleamed with something softer as he watched them.
She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. “Thank you, Dad,” she whispered, voice muffled but glowing with joy.
Behind them, Jinu exhaled a silent breath of relief, leaning back in his chair with a sly grin tugging at his lips. He straightened his collar like he had orchestrated the entire thing.
Raejin’s hand lingered on Rumi’s back, but his golden eyes flicked to Jinu—sharp, warning, deadly. The message was clear in his head was clear:
“You live because of her. One step wrong, and no promise will save you.”
Jinu only met the gaze with his gambler’s smile, unfazed.
.•♫•♬••♬•♫•.