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The morning began with a duffel bag, three scent-neutral stickers, and Jay already regretting everything.
“I am not legally qualified to handle this,” he said, watching Jungwon zip up a bag larger than Yurim himself. “I don't even babysit plants.”
“You’ll be fine,” Jungwon replied, way too calmly for someone abandoning his only child.
“We left him with you last month,” Heeseung added, slinging a sleek travel bag over his shoulder. “You taught him chess.”
Jay looked down at Yurim, who was currently trying to climb a bookshelf with a towel tied around his neck like a cape. “He weaponized chess,” Jay said flatly. “He used pawns as scent markers and declared the kitchen a demilitarized zone.”
“That’s just Alpha Enrichment,” Ni-ki offered cheerfully, high-fiving Yurim as he leapt off the third shelf and rolled like a feral ninja into the couch cushions.
“See?” Jay gestured wildly. “That. That right there.”
“We’ll be back by dinner,” Jungwon said, already halfway out the door. “Don’t let them start a cult again.”
“There was no cult,” Ni-ki called after him.
“There was a chant,” Jay muttered. “And a flag.”
The door closed behind the parents. Silence fell for two full seconds.
Then Yurim stood up on the coffee table, arms raised. “Initiate Operation Supreme Alpha Protocol!”
Ni-ki saluted. “Co-commander standing by.”
Jay stared at them both.
“Let me guess,” he said. “I’m the janitor again?”
“No,” Yurim said solemnly. “You’re Beta Liaison Jay, Keeper of the Snack Treaty and Designated Apology-Giver to the Neighbors.”
Jay groaned into his hands. “I knew I should’ve fake-coughed and fled.”
By mid-morning, the living room had transformed into a command center built entirely out of couch cushions, string lights, and post-it note alpha charts. Jay had tried to sit in one corner to answer a work email — only to be immediately scent-checked and demoted to “Neutral Observer, with limited perimeter access.”
“This is an abuse of authority,” he grumbled, sipping his second coffee of the day.
“It’s science,” Ni-ki said, dabbing a streak of green glitter glue across Yurim’s cheek. “We’re testing alpha environmental responses in domestic space.”
Jay blinked. “You’re testing what now?”
“Alpha Enrichment Day,” Yurim recited proudly, “stimulates pack hierarchy development, cooperative leadership models, and scent imprint diversification!”
Jay squinted. “Where did you learn those words?”
“Documentary night,” Ni-ki said. “I let him watch two hours of that beta-narrated nature series about pack bonding rituals. He took notes.”
“You let a seven-year-old take notes during scent documentaries?”
“He color-coded them!”
Jay inhaled through his nose. “Okay. No more science for the next hour. We’re doing something normal. Like coloring.”
Ni-ki and Yurim exchanged a glance — an entire silent telepathic conversation unfolding in real time.
“Coloring it is,” Yurim said slowly. “But can we use the blender first?”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
“It’s for scent mapping!”
“No!”
Five minutes later, Jay stood in the kitchen watching a small vial of crushed blueberries, flower petals, and — was that turmeric? — spin in his blender like a cursed smoothie.
“You promised not to plug it in,” he said, glaring at Ni-ki.
“I didn’t,” Ni-ki replied. “Yurim did.”
Yurim, standing proudly on a stepstool with protective goggles on, beamed. “This is for Pack Identity Visualization. If it glows, we’re bonded by fate.”
Jay pressed his forehead to the refrigerator. “I’m not paid enough for this.”
“You’re not paid at all,” Ni-ki said cheerfully.
“Exactly.”
The blender stopped with a final buzz. Yurim held up the small jar of viscous purple goo and whispered reverently, “It’s humming.”
“It’s humming because it’s warm,” Jay said. “Because you blended it.”
“Warmth indicates emotional resonance,” Ni-ki added helpfully.
Jay didn’t have the energy to argue. He simply confiscated the vial and hid it on top of the fridge, where even Ni-ki couldn’t reach.
“It’s over,” he declared. “Alpha Enrichment Time is canceled. We are going outside.”
“But it’s sacred territory hour,” Yurim protested.
“I don’t care. Put on your shoes.”
“I’m barefoot alpha class!”
“You’re a feral goblin!”
“I’ll remember that when the Trial of Leadership comes.”
Jay turned to Ni-ki. “Trial of what now?”
Ni-ki just gave him a thumbs up. “He’s planning to crown a successor this afternoon.”
“To what? The ottoman?”
“The Empire of the Back Porch.”
Jay let out a long, soul-weary sigh. “I’m going back to Seoul.”
Outside, the chaos escalated immediately.
The backyard, once a peaceful patch of coastal calm, had become a battleground. Yurim stood on top of the picnic table with a foam sword in one hand and a dish towel tied around his neck like a cape of conquest. Ni-ki was drawing a pack emblem in sidewalk chalk — an unhinged swirl of spirals, fangs, and what might’ve been a very muscular rabbit.
Jay stood at the door with three bottles of water and absolutely no will to live.
“Water?” he offered, weakly.
“No thanks,” Yurim said. “Hydration weakens my aura.”
“You’re seven.”
“Seven and a half,” Yurim corrected.
Jay turned to Ni-ki. “Can’t you rein him in?”
Ni-ki shrugged. “You ever tried to lasso a hurricane?”
Jay stared at the picnic table. “I can’t believe he made a loyalty oath out of popsicle sticks.”
“He’s a visionary,” Ni-ki said with pride.
“He threatened me with exile when I took the grape one.”
“That was the sacrificial flavor.”
Jay sat down on a lawn chair, cracked open his water, and sighed. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he just dissociated long enough, Jungwon would come home and fix everything—
“Mister Jay!” Yurim screamed.
Jay opened one eye. “No.”
“The neighbor’s cat is back and she’s trying to infiltrate our borders!”
“No.”
“She smells like rogue omega!”
Jay groaned. “That’s because she’s in heat.”
Yurim gasped. “We’re under pheromone attack?!”
Ni-ki immediately picked up the foam shield. “I’ll distract her with sardines. Commander, activate scent-neutral perimeter!”
Jay stood up so fast he pulled a hamstring. “NO ONE IS MARKING THE YARD.”
“But—”
“I AM NOT CALLING ANIMAL CONTROL FOR ALPHA SPARRING.”
“But—”
“Do you know what happened last time you tried to challenge a cat? We had to replace Jungwon’s hydrangeas!”
Yurim raised his sword. “Then I must finish what I started.”
Jay grabbed the back of his shirt. “Touch that cat and I’m telling your Appa you licked the blender.”
Yurim froze. “You swore a blood silence—”
“And I’ll break it. Try me.”
There was a long pause. Then, reluctantly, the sword was lowered.
“Fine,” Yurim muttered. “But she knows what she did.”
Jay turned to Ni-ki. “You. Inside. Now.”
“Can I bring the tribute sticks?”
“No!”
Inside again, Jay sat on the couch with a popsicle shoved into his mouth like a stress plug while Ni-ki and Yurim began reciting the Pack Anthem (to the tune of an old girl group song).
Jay opened the group chat with Jungwon and Heeseung.
Jay: i’m folding
Jay: your child built a shrine out of laundry baskets and keeps calling me ‘lesser beta’
Jay: he tried to scent claim the microwave
Jay: we are losing
Jay: send help
No response.
Jay: don’t make me activate the blender
Still nothing.
Jay: fine
Jay: you did this
Jay: enjoy your quiet dinner in Seoul
Jay: i hope your pasta is overcooked and your wine is room temperature
He looked up. Yurim was attempting to wrap Ni-ki in plastic wrap “to preserve the alpha bonds.”
Jay sank back into the couch. “I should’ve been a librarian.”
Jay had barricaded himself in the laundry room.
Not out of fear. Not exactly.
But when Ni-ki started teaching Yurim how to bark in three different dialects of Alpha Territorial Challenge — and then they both sprinted shirtless around the kitchen declaring a “full-scent moon rite” — Jay decided it was time to put a heavy appliance between himself and the underage cult forming in his home.
“I just wanted to watch a drama and eat fried chicken,” he whispered to the dryer.
The dryer didn’t respond. Probably a beta.
Somewhere beyond the door, something crashed. Followed by a war cry in what Jay could only assume was ancient Jejuese. He heard Ni-ki yell “TO THE BLENDER” and then the unmistakable whirring of a motor.
“God, they’ve unionized,” Jay muttered, checking the group chat again.
Still no response.
Heeseung was probably sipping espresso in some minimalist hotel lobby with perfect lighting, while Jungwon judged glassware and destroyed executives with polite stares. Meanwhile, Jay was stuck in a scent-fort with a sugar-high seven-year-old and a fully-grown alpha with the impulse control of a Labrador in heat.
There was a knock at the laundry door.
“Jay Samchon?” Yurim’s voice was too sweet. Too calm. The voice of a child who knew he held all the power. “Can we use the nail polish for blood vows?”
Jay inhaled through his nose. Counted to ten. Exhaled.
“I’m coming out.”
When he opened the door, Yurim and Ni-ki were wearing sunglasses and matching dish towel sashes.
“What’s the occasion,” Jay asked flatly.
“It’s time for the Ceremony of Choosing,” Ni-ki said solemnly.
“I’ve already chosen death.”
“You’re a vital witness,” Yurim insisted. “Every new Pack Alpha must be officially recognized by a neutral beta.”
Jay blinked. “I’m not a beta.”
“You are when you cry during documentaries,” Ni-ki said.
“I WAS HORMONAL.”
“Sure, Hyung.”
They led him — led him — to the living room, where the couch cushions had been rearranged into a throne. Yurim stood proudly on top, holding a broom like a scepter.
“I have made my decision,” Yurim proclaimed. “Ni-ki Samchon, you are the Pack Alpha of my heart. Until the next snack time.”
“I accept,” Ni-ki replied, bowing so hard his sunglasses fell off.
Jay just clapped once, slowly. “Beautiful. Bravo. Can we watch cartoons now?”
“Yes,” Yurim said, dropping the broom. “But only Pack Programming.”
Jay didn’t ask.
He simply collapsed onto the couch, opened the kid-safe streaming app, and surrendered.
Thirty minutes later, they were all passed out under a blanket fort, with a still-open bottle of glitter glue and a half-eaten popsicle wedged into the remote.
When Jungwon and Heeseung finally arrived home, they opened the door, blinked at the wreckage, and said nothing.
From beneath the couch cushion, Jay’s hand emerged, holding a sticky note that read:
I survived. But not intact.
Heeseung stepped over a plastic sword.
Jungwon surveyed the scene — the overturned laundry basket throne, the glitter-streaked Ni-ki snoring under a dish towel, their son drooling onto a pack emblem made of goldfish crackers — and said softly, “They held the Choosing.”
Heeseung nodded. “We trained them well.”
Jay just whispered, “I hate you both.”