K-Pop Demon Hunters soundtrack guide: A complete list of the K-pop music explained song by song

They slay demons the same way they command the stage, with rhythm, precision, and intent. In K-Pop Demon Hunters, music drives the story forward. It carries memory, camouflages pain, and strikes with the sharpness of a curse. Every note is loaded. Every chorus reveals.

In K-Pop Demon Hunters, idol culture becomes both camouflage and spellcraft. The heroines of HUNTR/X wield choreography like a martial art, while the Saja Boys enchant with falsettos that lure, then devour. Behind the glitter lies a system of symbols: pop as ritual, fandom as weapon, harmony as defiance.

The soundtrack of K-Pop Demon Hunters reads like a second script. With original songs performed by the film’s fictional groups and contributions from icons like TWICE and EXO, each track layers new meaning over myth and movement. Voices blur between characters and idols, turning performance into prophecy.

This is your guide to the music of K-Pop Demon Hunters, explained song by song and how each track reshapes the battlefield.

HUNTR/X and Saja Boys: when K-pop becomes a magical weapon

In the world of K-Pop Demon Hunters, no one sings just to entertain. Every melody is a code. Every comeback is a summoning. HUNTR/X and the Saja Boys stand on opposite sides of the war but share the same stage, and in this universe, the stage is sacred ground.

HUNTR/X steps out in battle-ready silhouettes disguised as idol uniforms. Their choruses carry the rhythm of ancient chants, their choreographies map invisible sigils into the air. What looks like performance becomes exorcism in K-Pop Demon Hunters. The voices of EJAE, Audrey Nuna, and REI AMI fuse electronic grit with wounded resolve, layering sweat, steel, and vulnerability into something that hits harder than any weapon.

The Saja Boys play a different game. Their charm is manufactured to disarm. Their songs are laced with the kind of seduction that clouds memory and rewrites desire. Andrew Choi’s production molds their sound into perfection so polished it blinds. They mirror idol tropes down to the last wink, turning devotion into dependence.

This is not just a battle of voices. It is a spell duel disguised as a concert tour, and every encore leaves scars.

The soundtrack as spellwork: each track, each wound

“How It’s Done” marks the first strike in K-Pop Demon Hunters. No build-up, no warm-up. It opens with pulse and precision. HUNTR/X locks into motion, syncing limbs to purpose. Synth lines lash like whips, each beat landing with the weight of a vow.

“Jinu’s Lament” drips in grayscale. Andrew Choi folds time into each line, layering breath and regret like silk over old scars. It hovers in the space between what he did and what he became, drawing the past into the present with slow-burning clarity.

“Strategy” plays over rehearsals that feel more like rituals than practice. TWICE’s track coils around breath and muscle, binding the team together through motion. Every repetition is trust sealed in sound.

“Golden” rises in the wreckage. It comes when everything else is breaking in K-Pop Demon Hunters, when silence threatens to swallow them whole. And yet, from that silence, this gleam. Not naïve, not triumphant, just alive.

“Path” lingers like a question left unanswered. It flows behind glances and decisions not yet made while things unfold in K-Pop Demon Hunters. Change moves through it the way water eats through stone, slow, patient, irreversible.

“Love Me Right” glistens on the surface, velvet and polished. But something in its cadence stings. Sung by the Saja Boys at their most alluring, it bends into obsession masked as intimacy. Their voices press too close, too smooth, too rehearsed.

“Love, Maybe” recalls a different genre, a softer one, where love doesn’t devour. Borrowed from the Business Proposal soundtrack, it slips into the story like a memory. For Rumi and Jinu, it holds what was almost possible.

The voice actor behind Jinu in K-Pop Demon Hunters, Ahn Hyo-seop, previously starred as the lead in Business Proposal, making the choice of song feel even more intimate, as if the film is winking at a love that never left the screen.

“Soda Pop” bursts with fluorescent cheer, layered in synth glitter and carnival glaze. But the sweetness runs too deep, too precise. It doesn't dance. It circles. Each repetition tightens the trap. The Saja Boys are all smiles, but the echo bites.

“Takedown” detonates mid-scene. It cuts through illusion with precision and fury. This is no anthem. It is a final blow wrapped in harmony, sharp as glass, timed like a heartbeat. HUNTR/X doesn’t hesitate. They strike in sync.

“Free” slows the fallout. Rumi and Jinu share the mic, but not a resolution. Their duet trembles on the edge of closure. It’s vulnerable, off-guard, the kind of sound that only emerges once everything else has collapsed.

“Your Idol” dresses itself in fanservice and fantasy, but the core is hollow. The Saja Boys deliver every line with mechanical perfection, letting the mask slip just enough to chill. There’s nothing soft left. Just performance as extraction.

“What It Sounds Like” folds inward. It doesn’t seek to impress. It breathes like memory, rooted in voices that know what it means to lose shape. For once, HUNTR/X isn’t performing. They're remembering.

“Score Suite” holds everything together without calling attention to itself. Marcelo Zarvos scores through silence and shadow, tying emotion to movement with invisible thread.

And just before the lights come up, “Takedown” returns in a new skin. Jeongyeon, Jihyo, and Chaeyoung step in as if they’ve always belonged there. This version doesn’t echo the past. It reframes it, as legacy, as prophecy, as encore.

The bridge between worlds: TWICE, EXO, and the metadrama of idol culture

When Jeongyeon, Jihyo, and Chaeyoung perform “Takedown” in K-Pop Demon Hunters before the credits close, they shift the axis of the story. This version carries the full weight of what came before, but with the clarity of voices that already move millions. It extends the narrative, anchoring it in voices the audience already trusts. What began as fiction returns to the stage that shaped it.

Their delivery blends elegance and ferocity, reframing the anthem as something that belongs both inside and beyond the film. The choreography lands like memory. The harmony feels inevitable. This moment moves past narrative closure and into something mythic. The sound steps out of the frame and back into the world that made it possible.

EXO’s appearance in the soundtrack for K-Pop Demon Hunters works in another direction. “Love Me Right” threads into the Saja Boys’ set with eerie perfection. A song once known for warmth turns glossy and dangerous under new context. Their polished harmonies sharpen the tension between adoration and control. What once felt like a love confession starts to echo like a contract.

K-Pop Demon Hunters mirrors the industry it borrows from with sharp precision. It speaks its language fluently, with stylized VCR intros, glowing lightsticks, and coded fandom rituals. Idols become more than performers. They channel archetypes. They summon stories. They carry myth in their breath and turn applause into currency.

Fame here isn’t performance. It’s spellwork with a fanbase.

The sound behind the spell: who crafted the music and why it matters

The soundtrack of K-Pop Demon Hunters moves the story as much as any line or frame. It pulses with layered intent, shaped by a creative team that blends pop architecture with emotional weight, not to echo chart-toppers, but to carve something ritualistic from the familiar.

Marcelo Zarvos handles the score of K-Pop Demon Hunters with the eye of a storyteller. His orchestral themes move like shadows under silk, drawing out silence where dialogue falters and binding the mythic to the human. His background in dramatic cinema gives the film its deeper tonal spine, not louder, but heavier.

The vocal tracks, on the other hand, vibrate with industry pedigree. EJAE, REI AMI, and Audrey Nuna build HUNTR/X’s sonic world with raw edges and warpaint gloss. They sculpt emotion into structure, not the kind that craves perfection, but the kind that breathes through harm and hunger.

Andrew Choi leads the musical identity of the Saja Boys with unnerving elegance. Alongside producers like Neckwav, Danny Chung, and Kevin Woo, he crafts harmonies that hypnotize before they hit. Their sound wears the skin of sincerity, but beats with something colder underneath.

The production team includes legends like Teddy Park, Lindgren, and Jenna Andrews, figures behind tracks for BLACKPINK, BTS, and TWICE. Their touch calibrates everything: rhythm, breath, resonance. Each layer comes wired with intention. Every note works like a sigil.

The result goes far beyond accompaniment. This is musical infrastructure, built to carry lore, carry feeling, and leave an imprint deep enough to echo past the credits. K-Pop Demon Hunters nailed it.

When the chorus cuts deeper: the lasting spell of K-Pop Demon Hunters

What stays from K-Pop Demon Hunters isn’t the melody alone. It’s the way each track absorbs what the characters leave unsaid. Regret coils into falsetto. Fury bleeds through harmony. Desire, loss, vengeance, all of it survives in the spaces between verses, in the shimmer that lingers once the beat has passed.

K-Pop Demon Hunters composes a soundscape that moves like memory. Not in a straight line, but in layers, looping, shifting, resurfacing in altered voices and broken rhythms. Songs fracture the narrative, stain it, soothe it. Music becomes the echo that keeps rewriting the fight.

This is pop shaped into spellwork. Each track seals a vow. Each refrain binds myth to motion. The story lives in the choreography, but it endures in the playback, whispered in headphones, chanted in fan edits, burning quietly where language falters.

And long after the demons fall, the sound remains, humming under the skin like a second heartbeat.