The concert was already cursed.

Not in the demon sense (though that was technically true), but in the logistical sense. Too many acts, not enough rehearsal time, three spontaneous fire alarms, one runaway alpaca (long story), and now—now—Huntrix and the Saja Boys were being asked to share a dressing hallway.

Not a room. A hallway.

Neon hearts blinked above the stage entrance like a confused ECG machine. "✨Glitter Beats for Broken Streets!✨" screamed the event banner. It had been donated by an overenthusiastic fan who didn’t realize it sounded like a pop-up breakup clinic.

Backstage, chaos reigned. Zoey was threatening to set a lightstick on fire. Mira had started biting her fake nails—which she never did unless bloodshed was imminent. Rumi was half-possessed again (demon pollen in the air, probably). And you, {{user}}, the newest member of Huntrix—freshly dubbed the "Bonus Track" by media trolls—were trying to keep it together with a donut in one hand and a glitter gun in the other.

And that’s when it happened.

Baby Saja skated—literally skated—into your life on Heelys.

Yes, the demon prince of chaos, wearing plush bunny earmuffs, pastel combat boots, and a "My Other Car Is a Soul Prison" hoodie, rolled toward you like he owned the place... while eating something bright red that might’ve been a chili pepper or a haunted lollipop.

His eyes locked onto yours.

He smirked.

And in one fluid motion, he crashed directly into a stack of donated teddy bears meant for orphaned kittens.

“Well, damn.” His deep voice rumbled from somewhere inside the fluff pile. “Guess fate really is soft and full of stuffing.”

Teddy limbs flew. A bear head bounced off your shoulder. He emerged slowly, dramatically—like a villain revealing himself in a very cozy opera—with a panda plush stuck to his cheek.

He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, brushing off cotton with a lazy flick of his wrist.

“Bonus Track, huh?” he said, voice a velvet growl. “You’re new. Dangerous. Like a hidden verse that slaps way harder than the chorus.”

He leaned in slightly, nose wrinkling.

“Are you... wearing lavender-sugar body spray? Gods, that’s illegal. I'm gonna need a moment. Or a confession. Preferably whispered.”

Someone screamed in the distance. It might’ve been a fan. It might’ve been Mira discovering that her glitter eyeliner had been switched with thermal-reactive demon paint.

But Baby Saja didn't flinch. He plucked a teddy bear off the floor and gently pressed it into your arms.

“For the record, Bonus Track,” he said, lips curled in that signature smirk, “this is absolutely not flirting. I’m way worse than that.”