Chapter Text
The next thing he knew, the only colour he could see was RED.
Pure, boiling rage — thick and choking, like blood rushing behind his eyes. Minho’s hands clenched at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms as Jisung’s oblivious words echoed in his skull.
Chan-hyung is Jeongin’s older cousin.
Of course, he’ll be there.
He’s basically his older brother.
Bang Christopher Chan.
The sandalwood-scented thief who stole his first kiss, groped him senseless, and vanished like it was nothing.
The notorious omega-hunter who left him wrecked, resigned, and haunted for years.
Minho’s vision tunnelled. The kitchen, the apples, his babies’ worried faces — all blurred into crimson.
No.
Not like this.
He wouldn’t let that alpha walk into their performance space — their territory — and act like he owned the world. Like he could take.
They were club performers. Omegas who commanded stages bent alphas to their will with a single look, a single roll of hips. They weren’t prey.
They were the trap.
Minho’s lips curled into something sharp and dangerous. Not a smile. A promise.
He turned back to the group, voice deceptively calm, eyes still burning.
“Change of plans,” he said, cutting through the worried silence. “No classics. No safe ABBA bullshit.”
Hyunjin raised a perfect brow. Felix tilted his head, wide-eyed but intrigued. Jisung, still tucked against Jeongin, blinked in confusion.
“We’re doing Womanizer, “ Minho declared. Britney Spears. Full choreo. Disguises, handcuffs, the works.”
A beat of silence.
Then Felix’s eyes lit up like stars. “Hyung… you’re scary when you’re sexy.”
Hyunjin smirked, slow and lethal. “I like it. Very… pointed.”
Jisung squeaked. “But— isn’t that, like… calling someone out?”
Minho’s gaze flicked to Jeongin, who was watching him with mild confusion — oblivious to the storm brewing.
“Exactly,” Minho said softly.
They’d dress like predators.
They’d move like revenge.
Every “womanizer, woman-womanizer” would be a blade aimed straight at the guest of honour’s throat.
Minho would lead.
He’d whip his hair, pop his hips, point into the crowd — right at him.
He’d make Chan remember that night.
Make him ache.
Make him want.
And when the alphas in the room — Chan included — went home hard and haunted, minds looping with nothing but “fuck, breed, dominate”
They’d know exactly who put them on their knees.
That’s what their group was for.
Placing alphas where they truly belonged.
Beneath them.
Minho exhaled, the red finally receding — replaced by cold, glittering resolve.
“Let’s rehearse.”
He smiled, sharp as broken glass.
“Chan-hyung won’t know what hit him.”