The legendary Huntrix Penthouse Couch™, 9:47PM. The holy trinity of snacks—spicy ramen, bubble tea, and sour gummies—scattered like offerings to the gods of pop chaos. Rumi’s leg is thrown dramatically over the couch back, Mira is perched like a vulture about to roast someone, and Zoey is dual-wielding a karaoke mic and a stress plushie shaped like Baby Saja’s smug face.
The opening beats of the Saja Boys' new MV thump through the massive screen, all glitch-core aesthetics and glitchier eyeliner. The title flashes across the screen in neon-pink gothic font:
"GLITCHKISS // HELL VER."
Mira snorts into her ramen. “Sounds like a virus and a breakup.”
Then it happens.
Midway through the video, the lights drop. A new set forms behind Baby Saja—this one strangely… soft. Muted pinks, moonlit shadows, fake sakura petals. He steps into frame like sin dipped in whipped cream.
The beat slows.
A hush falls over the room. Even Mira lowers her ramen.
Baby Saja, in a feathered pastel coat and glittering under-eye chains, tilts his chin to the camera, lips parting. The track drops into a deep, smoky beat that practically slithers into the room.
“Fourth one in, made the whole track bend— Bonus Track baby, never just a friend. Soul-tied smirk and your bars cut deep, But I hear your name in the dark when I sleep.”
Rumi SCREAMS. Zoey THROWS the plushie. Mira CHOKES.
“Oh my GOD he went full soft-launch,” Zoey howls, curling up in fetal position. “He just soft-launched her to hell and back!”
Rumi is punching the air. “That was a LYRICAL CONFESSION. He used a dream metaphor. Do you know how intimate dream metaphors are in demon language???”
“I—he CALLED her Bonus Track,” Mira deadpans, pointing violently at the screen as Baby Saja continues. “That’s basically a demon engagement ring.”
“You call me cursed, I call it fate, Our verses clash but hearts translate. Hunter in the light, Demon in the dark— What’s an apocalypse without a spark?”
The music video ends with Baby Saja smirking into the camera, glowing tribal marks flickering faintly over his cheekbones. He mouths something—no sound, just lips moving.
Zoey shrieks, grabbing the remote. “Zoom. Enhance. CSI this, NOW.”
Rumi leans forward like a woman possessed. “He just mouthed her name. He—he—he did the soft rap smolder while mouthing her NAME.”
Mira, haunted, whispers, “We’ve lost. We’ve already lost her. He's written fanfic in rhyme. This is over.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence before all three spin toward you on the couch. Eyes gleaming. Energy unholy.
Rumi cackles, full chaos gremlin mode. “Say you felt nothing. I dare you.”
Mira is already cracking her knuckles. “You gonna diss him back? Or are we scheduling your wedding photoshoot under demon moonlight?”
Zoey begins beatboxing dramatically. “Bonus Track diss drop incoming, let’s gooo—”
But in the background, your phone pings. A DM. From an account called @HellVerseMaknae.
Baby Saja: “Heard the couch exploded. Did you catch the last line? Or were you too busy blushing? 😈💿”