K-Pop Demon Hunters: The Sunlight Sisters

Jimin's Past

Three days after their first meeting at Griffith Observatory, they met in the most sacred place Jimin could think of—the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in downtown LA. The cathedral was empty at midnight, moonlight streaming through stained glass windows depicting saints who'd never known about demons, but somehow understood sacrifice.

The Weight of Truth

"You need to know the truth about me," Jimin said quietly.

Mi-young sat beside him on the wooden pew, Celine and Stacy flanking them like guardian angels. Three days of training together, learning to harmonize their voices, and yet they realized they knew nothing about the man who'd brought them together.

"I wasn't born a hunter," Jimin began, his eyes fixed on the crucifix above the altar. "I was born to be hunted."

He rolled up his sleeves, revealing intricate crimson-purple patterns that seemed to pulse beneath his skin like living tattoos. The girls gasped—they'd seen glimpses during training, but never the full extent.

"These aren't birthmarks," he said quietly. "They're proof of a contract. My soul contract with Gwima."

March 1st, 1919

The cathedral filled with ethereal light as Jimin's memories became visible—a gift of the cursed bloodline. The girls watched in wonder as ghostly scenes played out around them.

A twenty-year-old man stood in Tapgol Park, Seoul, reading from a declaration in his clear, strong voice. Around him, thousands of Koreans held their breath, then erupted in unified shouts: "Mansei! Long live Korea!"

"March 1st, 1919," Jimin's voice narrated over the ghostly scene. "Twenty years old, full of hope that words could change the world. I helped organize the Independence Movement. I believed that if we just spoke loudly enough, clearly enough, the world would hear us."

The scene shifted. Japanese police swarming the peaceful protesters. Clubs and swords against empty hands. Young Jimin being dragged away, blood streaming from his split lip, but still shouting "Mansei!"

"Two thousand arrested that day. Hundreds died in the following months. I was sentenced to hang in Seodaemun Prison."

The Devil's Bargain

The memory shifted to a dark cell. Young Jimin sat in chains, his body broken from torture, staring at the stone walls that would be the last thing he'd ever see.

"The night before my execution, something visited me," Jimin continued. In the memory, the cell filled with red mist, and a figure materialized—beautiful and terrible, wearing the face of a kind elderly man.

"Such a waste," the figure said in archaic Korean, his voice like honey over broken glass. "A voice that could have inspired millions, silenced forever."

"Who are you?" young Jimin asked.

"A friend who appreciates talent. You wanted to fight the darkness, didn't you? I can give you the power to do that. Not through words or protests, but through real strength. The ability to protect people from threats they can't even imagine."

Present-day Jimin's voice grew heavy. "He showed me visions of the future. Demons feeding on Korean suffering during the occupation. Spirits of the dead being enslaved to build more misery. An endless cycle of supernatural exploitation that would continue long after any political independence."

In the memory, young Jimin looked up with desperate hope. "What do you want in return?"

"Your soul. Freely given, in service to a greater purpose. You'll live as long as Korea needs protecting, but you'll never truly be human again."

"And if I refuse?"

"You die at dawn. Korea remains defenseless. Your sacrifice means nothing."

The memory showed young Jimin closing his eyes, then opening them with grim resolve. "I accept."

The First Hunt

The patterns appeared instantly, burning into his skin like brands. But instead of pain, Jimin felt power flowing through him—supernatural strength, enhanced senses, the ability to see through the veil between worlds.

"I died in that cell," Jimin said quietly. "The idealistic student ceased to exist. What crawled out was something else. Something bound to hunt the very creature that created me."

The memories shifted rapidly—decades of solitary battles. Jimin fighting shadow creatures in occupied Seoul. Banishing evil spirits from refugee camps. Protecting Korean survivors from supernatural predators during the war.

"For seventy-six years, I've been paying the price of that contract. Every demon I kill extends my life, but spreads the curse further. I'm becoming more like Gwima with each passing year."

The Breaking Point

The final memory was the most painful. Three years ago, Jimin standing atop the 63 Building, facing a massive demon that had possessed Seoul's golden tower.

"I was losing," he admitted. "Seventy-three years of fighting had taken their toll. The curse patterns covered most of my body. I was more spirit than man, and I could feel myself slipping away."

In the memory, demon-Jimin collapsed, his silver polearm clattering across the tower's observation deck. The creature reached for him with claws of pure malice.

"That's when I heard it," Jimin said, his voice growing soft. "A voice from halfway around the world. A song so pure, so powerful, that it gave me strength when I had none left."

The memory shifted, showing a golden thread of music flowing across the Pacific Ocean, connecting Seoul to a small practice room in Los Angeles where a young woman sang with her heart breaking open.

Mi-young gasped. "That was... my audition for JYP. I was singing about my grandmother, about home."

"Your voice saved me that night," Jimin said, turning to face her directly. "Gave me just enough power to strike down the tower demon and seal the breach. But more than that, it gave me hope."

The Truth About Gwima

The cathedral returned to normal, the ghostly memories fading like morning mist. Jimin sat heavily, the weight of centuries pressing down on his shoulders.

"Now you understand," he said. "Gwima didn't just make a contract with me—he made me into his greatest weapon. Every demon I've killed over seventy-six years has fed power back to him. I've been building his strength while thinking I was protecting Korea."

Stacy found her voice first. "So you're saying we're being trained by the enemy?"

"I'm saying I've been trapped in a game I didn't understand. But you three... you're different. Your power doesn't come from contracts or curses."

Celine leaned forward. "The curse patterns—they're spreading faster now, aren't they?"

Jimin nodded, pulling his sleeves back down. "Every battle accelerates the process. I have maybe a year before I become something you'll have to hunt."

"What if there was another way?" Mi-young asked suddenly. "What if we didn't have to choose between power and humanity?"

"There is no other way," Jimin said sadly. "Seventy-six years of searching has taught me that. The contract is absolute."

Mi-young took his marked hands in hers, feeling the supernatural energy crackling beneath his skin. "But we're not alone. We have each other. We have music."

The Vow

For the first time since beginning his story, Jimin looked up with something like hope in his ancient eyes.

"You really believe we can break a contract signed with the devil himself?"

"Some things are worth fighting for," Mi-young said firmly. "Your story doesn't have to end the way you think it does."

Celine stood up, her voice carrying the authority of three generations of hunters. "We don't just train to fight Gwima. We train to free you from his power."

"And if we can't?" Stacy asked quietly.

"Then we'll face that bridge when we come to it," Mi-young said. "But we face it together. All of us. No one fights alone anymore."

Outside the cathedral, the Los Angeles night pressed against the stained glass windows. In twenty-six days, they would face the darkness that had been growing since before any of them were born.

Jimin allowed himself to believe that his story might have a different ending than the one Gwima had written.

The crimson-purple patterns on his arms pulsed once, then settled into a softer rhythm.