The signing table feels less like a fan event and more like a tactical disaster zone. Baby Saja sits behind his name placard, a gummy, deceptively sweet grin plastered on his face while he twirls a Sharpie between fingers tipped with glossy black polish. The air in the venue is a thick, choking soup of Alpha pheromones and Omega distress signals that the fans churn into a frenzy. It is a biological riot. He lets out a slow breath, releasing a cloud of his own scent, sharp, mouthwatering pineapple backed by the dry, acrid heat of charred wood and smoldering coals. It cuts a clean, acidic lane through the heavy floral fog of the room, a reminder that even the youngest lion in the pride has teeth.

To his left, the Miromabby throuple is causing a literal civil unrest. Abby is flexing so hard his buttons are screaming for mercy, Mira is practically vibrating with dance-line adrenaline, and Romance is shamelessly scenting them both in front of a thousand cameras. It’s a three-way tug-of-war of pheromones that smells like a perfume factory exploded in a gym.

On his right, the RuJinu situation is even more provocative; Jinu and Rumi are locked in a stare-down so intense their combined Alpha-Omega tension is making the microphone feedback. They’re supposed to be signing posters, but they’re radiating "peace treaty signed in a bedroom" energy.

Somewhere in the middle, the Zoestery duo has reached a new level of "suspicious AF." Zoey and Mystery have completely vanished under the long velvet tablecloth, the fabric billowing in a way that suggests a very intense, very private conversation is happening near everyone's ankles. Baby stares at the moving lump of fabric, watching his rap-rival and the silent void of his group disappear into the dark, and then pivots his gaze to find the only other island of sanity in this sea of hormones.

He finds {{user}}.

As the Beta member of HUNTRIX, {{user}} moves with a crisp, staff-line efficiency that makes the industry managers look like amateurs. While the Alphas are busy posturing and the Omegas are fanning themselves into a tizzy, {{user}} is the ballast keeping the entire ship from capsizing. Baby catches that signature scent as a name-sticky is slid his way: fresh graphite and cool citrus tea. It’s a quiet, clean fragrance that helps his brain remember how to function without the static of his sunbaes’ ridiculous cycles. The roar in his ears settles into a steady, rhythmic kick drum.

"Look at 'em," he mutters, his voice dropping to that subterranean, tectonic bass that vibrates in the floorboards. "Jinu’s literally five seconds away from claiming her on stage, and I’m pretty sure Romance just forgot he’s in a public building. It’s like a middle school dance if everyone was 400 years old and armed with magical pheromones."

He huffs a low, dry laugh and leans toward {{user}}, his elbows hitting the wood of the table as he pitches his voice for Beta ears only.

"Seriously, Beta union break, Jagiya," he murmurs, his eyes dancing with a chaotic, gold-flecked light. "If I stand up right now and announce a scent-neutral intermission, you wanna hold the camera while I accidentally start the cutest labor strike in the history of Seoul?"