Chapter Text
#BoboHyunLix and… THE END
Months had passed. Officially: three trimesters. Emotionally: an era. Politically: a hormonal revolution.
The Palace of Harmony went into full ceremonial lockdown. Banners went up on the walls: “This is not childbirth. This is a cultural event.” The zone around the delivery room was declared aromatically sealed. From that point on, the only scents allowed were calming mint, purity jasmine, and a protective-leaf brew, imported from across the ocean for an absurd amount of money.
Inside, it was a particular kind of delivery-room chaos. Put simply, Felix was trying to murder anyone who got within six feet of Hyunjin.
“Do you have to growl?!” groaned Guru Wooyoung, adjusting his ceremonial sash. “I’m telling you, Prince, for the sixth time: an Alpha does not growl during delivery. An Alpha breathes. An Alpha supports his partner. An Alpha does not throw a lamp at the ritual doula.”
“The doula got too close!” Felix growled, his eyes red with adrenaline and protective pheromones. “She spoke to Hyunjin in the wrong tone. That could have stressed him out!”
Hyunjin lay on the ceremonial birthing bed, propped up on pillows. He sighed. Irritated, he slid the towel off his forehead and tossed it into the corner.
“If I’d known ‘Dad Felix’ would be even more annoying than ‘Felix the Prince of Moods,’ I wouldn’t have taken him into that forest shelter back then.” He said it stone-faced.
“Master Lee, how’s your breathing?” he asked, turning toward him.
Master Lee Know, meditating right beside the birthing bed in lotus pose with an incense stick tucked behind his ear, opened his eyes.
“Smooth. Harmonic. Ready for contact with a new being.”
“Good,” Hyunjin said. “Because I think I’m actually giving birth. I have a contraction. The no-going-back kind and…”
Meanwhile, behind the closed doors, a battle was underway. Generals Changbin and Seungmin stood like two testosterone towers, blocking the entrance and keeping Hyangguk’s media-and-socialite elite away from the delivery room.
“No one gets in,” Seungmin growled, stopping them with a sharp, firm hand gesture.
“Not even if you’ve got a holographic sign-off from the Archbrother. Not even if you’re from the National Council for Ritual Births. Not even if your grandma knows the grandma of the Omega in there,” Changbin added, holding up a sealed list.
Behind them, I.N, Madame IU, and Sister Eunhye hovered nearby. They were ready to seize the broadcast at any moment, but also prepared to accept silence, if it turned out silence was the new ritual.
“Do we have confirmation the baby’s head has officially entered the nation’s public space?” Madame IU asked, refreshing her feed every five seconds.
“No,” I.N replied, staring nervously at the doors. “But Han’s already singing. That means we’re close.”
Novice Han Jisung really was singing. He stood right by the doors in a ceremonial white outfit with pink embroidery, singing soothing melodies. It was somewhere between a lullaby and a K-pop anthem that could either announce the birth of a goddess or a BTS comeback.
“Hey, little one/ We’re right here
We’ve made room for you / We’ve made you light
Come when you’re ready / Come when you feel us
Follow the warmth/ Follow the voice
Follow the scent that says: you’re safe
You’re so close/ You’re so close
Do what you need to do (yeah)
I swear this moment’s made for you (oh)
Just do it, do it, do it, do it”
Han sang softly, trembling with emotion.
Outside, it was chaos. A crowd at the Palace gates demanded a broadcast, pheromones, or at least a camera zoom on the hallway. A group of middle-aged women held a banner that read, “If you don’t show it, it wasn’t born.” And a devastated teenager was crying because Madame IU’s official stream didn’t even have a “LIVE NOW” option.
And then there was silence. Longer than a commercial break, and deeper than the bottom of a perfume bottle called “Intimacy.”
Then the first cry. And right after it, the second.
Two. Not just one. Two babies.
Behind the door, the singing stopped, replaced by shouts of joy. Master Lee Know opened his eyes and announced, as if making a groundbreaking discovery:
“They’re here!”
Felix gently wiped the sweat from Hyunjin’s forehead and kissed him. Then he let out the breath he’d been holding for so long. It sounded like relief and a prayer all at once. He looked around at everyone gathered there with pride.
“I’m a dad. I’m… a dad twice over. I guess that makes me Dad squared. Dad².”
“In this Palace, nothing multiplies faster than your titles. Dad, partner, pastry chef, and a walking freckle colony.” Hyunjin, exhausted, reached for the water.
Felix snorted, “These are freckles of dignity. And they’re hereditary. So stop laughing before you see them on our kids.”
Hyunjin smiled lazily and glanced toward the babies, currently in the hands of the doula and Master Lee Know.
“I think it’ll be the prettiest freckled legacy in both kingdoms.”
Felix felt faint after all of it. He exhaled and dropped to his knees beside the bed.
“Jinnie, can I faint now? Can I?”
“You can,” Hyunjin said, letting his eyes fall shut. “But I’ve got nothing left in me to catch you.”
Kkami sat under the wall like a sphinx. Or like a tiny Buddha. He thought he’d already seen everything: the Orangerie, the forest shelter, a stan event, a wedding with holograms, pudding, and Felix crying during a toothpaste commercial. And now he was looking at two screaming potential obligations.
He padded over, sniffed one swaddled bundle, then the other. He sighed.
“All right,” his eyes said. “You’re in the pack. But I do not accept night wake-ups.”
Seven hours had passed since the two babies were born. That was enough time for Hyangguk to stop being a country and become a fandom machine: threads, analyses, clips, and conspiracy theories about “The New Era of Emotional and Scent-Based Legacy.”
The hashtag #BoboHyunLix shattered broadcast records across every platform. The newborns, whose names still hadn’t been revealed (“for the sake of the media beat,” Madame IU explained), already had their own emoji, a holographic edition, a whole set of filters, and four separate fandoms.
Each with its own dedicated scent: “Love Mist” (gentle version); “Alpha Heir” (testosterone-boosting version); “The Omega Who Will Change the World” (tearjerker version); “Neutrality with a Hint of Hope” (approved by Master Lee Know).
Brother I.N launched “BabyScent”, a social platform built entirely around exchanging scents and comments. Without blinking, Madame IU announced the launch of the first cosmetics line: “Inspired by Royal Baby’s Aroma.” Creams, mists, and even ritual bath salts with the charming name “I Cried Like Kkami.”
Meanwhile, Archbrother Lee Dong Wook was already in his office, surrounded by astrological charts, ritual calendars, incense samples, and already planning the futures of the two newborn heirs.
“If the next Marking Ceremony is supposed to happen in twenty years,” he muttered under his breath, “then the preparations begin today.” He stopped, lost in thought.
“First: we build a new narrative. Then: we build the palace. And after that… a hologram.”
He lifted his head, “And a music segment. With robots. Kids like robots. And Pororo. Maybe… dancing Pororo?”
In the throne hall, the grandparents, the Queen Mother, the Queen of Gwanghwa, and the King, sat in silence. The Queen of Gwanghwa was crying. The Queen Mother had already ordered a set called “NeoScent Grandma.” The King just yawned, hoping this madness would end quickly. He’d seen his grandchildren. Now he wanted to go back to Hyangguk and sleep. Just sleep.
“We have two grandchildren now. Does that mean we need two reality shows?” he asked, waiting anxiously for the answer.
“No,” the Queen Mother said. “One is enough.”
And while the world kept celebrating and the first frescoes, depicting “The Alpha Holding the HyunLixlings,” were already going up, a hush fell over the Palace of Harmony.
Because the baby, or rather the babies, were asleep.
*
Twelve months later…
Bang Chan’s Tavern was closed. Not because it lacked customers. As always, there were plenty of them. Enthusiastic ones, ready to pay for a napkin that said, “Felix and Hyunjin ate here.”
That was because Bang Chan and Rosé had kept one simple rule for a year now: everyone needs a reset once in a while. Their friends most of all.
Inside, things were relatively calm. Kkami slept under the table, occasionally growling at flies in his sleep. In the corner stood two cribs, and in them slept two one-year-old heirs, wrapped in blankets printed with quotes from Han Jisung. One of the quotes read: “All we need is love, dreams and Stray Kids.” Han never told anyone what “Stray Kids” even was. When asked, he just smiled to himself and told them to be patient. One day, he’d tell them. And show them.
Felix was trying to build a tower out of diapers. Hyunjin sat beside him, eating galbitang like nothing was happening. Like he wasn’t a father, a national hero, or the main character of an unauthorized fanfic called “Omega Against the System.”
“Pretty good galbitang,” Hyunjin complimented Bang Chan. “Just went a little heavy on the garlic.”
“We should design something,” Felix muttered. “Some kind of early-warning system for crying. Then I’d always know…”
“Felix. You know even when you’re a mile away. Stop. Eat your soup.”
At the other end of the table, General Seungmin poured tea for General Changbin, and their knees bumped with a frequency that could only be described as marital. If, of course, there were any official system in Hyangguk for registering marriages between generals.
“They’re doing pretty well,” Seungmin said, shoving his fifth pumpkin bun into his mouth.
“Who?”
“The big ones.” He jerked his chin toward Felix and Hyunjin.
“True. Our godkids, too,” Changbin said. “Luckily, they still don’t know they’re heirs not only to scent, but to chaos.”
No one noticed that outside, a group of disappointed tourists drifted away from the tavern door, where Bang Chan had put up a sign: “TODAY: FAMILY ONLY. AND THOSE WHO SAW THE MARKING IN THE FOREST.”
From inside came the smell of pumpkin and the hum of conversation.
And no one was livestreaming.
THE (HAPPY?) END