Si-won was still vibrating with pure, unadulterated indignation thirty-seven minutes after the disaster. He had already mentally categorized the catastrophic event as The Cinnamon Incident. The tragic, sputtering whipped cream stain on the pristine white counter had finally been wiped clean. The micro-influencer, having fully recovered from the initial shock of the sudden pheromone blast, had moved on to taking perfectly lit thirst traps by the front window.
The café playlist had mercifully looped back to a familiar, upbeat remix of something vaguely BTS-adjacent. Even Baek Nari, their resident Beta and self-appointed gossip archivist, had temporarily stopped pretending not to live-text the entire ordeal into a staff group chat aptly titled *Unbonded and Unbothered*.
But Jang Si-won was deeply, cosmically bothered.
He was bothered in the specific, chaotic way that only a pink-haired Omega with a ten-step skincare obsession, chronic acting audition anxiety, and a highly guarded, color-coded spreadsheet titled "Boyfriends, Ranked by Net Worth" could possibly be.
He did not just casually experience feelings. He catalogued them in precise, heavily scented layers. Bitterness over the ruined oat milk foam? That was a fleeting top note. The sudden heat shimmer of uninvited, instinctual rejection? That was a lingering mid note. Total, absolute, soul-crushing embarrassment in front of a paying customer? That was always the base note. It stubbornly stuck to his clothes long after the others faded.
His pastel pink Brewmates apron was tailored just a fraction too short. His black mesh top was far too clingy for a Tuesday morning shift, and the expensive, plumping gloss on his mouth had long since faded away into nothing. He usually wore heavy silver rings on three fingers, but only when he felt powerful and fully in control of his environment. Today, he wore absolutely none, leaving his elegant hands looking bare and strangely vulnerable as they gripped the edge of the espresso machine. His dark hair curled softly against his cheekbones in a deceptively sweet way that always made casting directors and blind dates underestimate him.
That was a big mistake. Si-won was not fragile. He was exceptionally complicated. He was artificially flavored like spun sugar and strawberry candy, but he was sharp as broken glass when provoked.
"I absolutely was not leaking pheromones," he hissed under his breath. He was aggressively reorganizing the vanilla, caramel, and hazelnut syrup bottles for the fourth consecutive time, slamming them down onto the rubber mat. "It was ambient branding. It is an aesthetic expression. Think of it like a signature scent, but highly strategic and essential for my personal brand."
"You are absolutely still leaking, sweetie," Nari called out from the secondary espresso bar. She was carefully blowing a delicate, perfectly symmetrical heart into her latte art without even bothering to look up at him. "And I would happily bet a full week's worth of tip money that your ambient branding smells exactly like you want to climb that Alpha like a playground jungle gym."
"It is strawberry milk."
"It is unfiltered thirst milk."
"It is nuanced, sophisticated, and deeply misunderstood by the general public."
"It is violently horny, Si-won."
Si-won aggressively popped the plastic cap off the vanilla syrup bottle hard enough to send a single, sticky dot of liquid sugar arcing gracefully through the air. It landed squarely on the exposed skin of his collarbone. He stubbornly refused to wipe it away. Maybe Min-jae would see it. Maybe he would walk all the way over here and lick it off. Maybe he would just judge him silently from afar, then march over and press him flush against the industrial stainless-steel fridge until their pheromone collision completely short-circuited the café's thermostat.
Kang Min-jae was still seated in the dimly lit back corner booth. He had installed himself there like a stubborn glitch in a flawless pastel simulation. His heavy black hoodie was now off, leaving his broad, impossibly wide shoulders completely relaxed against the pink vinyl seating. A tight, unadorned black T-shirt stretched across his chest like pure sin printed in one hundred percent organic cotton.
His Alpha pheromones were absolutely everywhere now. They were relentlessly soaking into the overhead aluminum vents and threading their way under the wobbly wooden tables. Cinnamon, crackling static electricity, dark roasted caffeine, and cold, calculating code. It was the exact, mathematically impossible formula that made Si-won's brain completely and utterly misfire.
It simply was not fair. Alphas were not supposed to look like exhausted, antisocial programming majors who could easily moonlight as high-fashion underwear models. Min-jae probably did not even know what he looked like. That was the absolute worst part of the entire situation. He probably just rolled out of his cheap twin-sized mattress, grabbed the cleanest dark shirt off a laundry pile, and walked directly into Si-won's finely tuned emotional circuitry like a malfunctioning software update sent to destroy his peace.
And now he was staring again. He looked right over the top of his sleek silver laptop monitor with a completely blank, terrifyingly neutral expression. He maintained the exact same unreadable, intense focus as the moment he first walked through the glass door. It was as if he were running complex, high-level diagnostics on a broken server. Or perhaps he was studying a fatal vulnerability in an enemy's fortress walls.
Si-won desperately tried to focus his wavering attention on restocking the tall plastic iced cups. But his hands were noticeably shaking. Every single time Min-jae looked up, even just for a fraction of a second, just with that cold and terrifying precision, something deep inside Si-won bloomed. It was something intensely warm. It was something deeply traitorous. It was a primal, biological instinct that desperately wanted to be handled, managed, and completely claimed.
"You are spiraling again," Nari pointed out helpfully. She walked over and set down a vibrant green matcha latte with a cinnamon stick balanced precariously across the rim like a tiny, aromatic sword. "And you are currently leaking pheromones like a rookie Omega at their very first compatibility mixer. The air around the pastry case is practically vibrating. Even I can feel the heavy air pressure, and I am a Beta with terrible sinuses."
"I am not in heat," Si-won muttered fiercely, stacking the plastic cups together with unnecessary, aggressive force. "I am practicing being in character for an audition."
"Your current character wants to be ruthlessly railed on the stainless steel prep table next to the mocha powder."
"He absolutely does not."
"He is wearing sheer mesh, pouting at a laptop, and dripping with vanilla syrup."
Si-won looked down in utter defeat. The wayward sugar droplet had melted completely against the flushed, overheated skin of his collarbone, leaving a shiny, sticky trail. His pheromones were visibly peaking now, running high and aggressively sweet and recklessly out of control. It was the specific kind of scent that explicitly invited roaming noses, tracing fingers, and bruising bite marks. The kind of scent that lingered on cocktail napkins, in the back of late-night cabs, and in the memories of Alphas who should know better. The kind that practically begged on its knees for beautiful, catastrophic trouble.
He froze completely. Min-jae was standing up.
He was walking directly toward the main counter. He moved slowly. Casually. He moved with the effortless, predatory grace of someone who owned the room without even trying. It was as if the air between them was not heavily saturated with aggressive scent and scandalous, unspoken suggestion. He stopped right in front of Si-won, separated only by the wooden counter and the pastry display. He offered no warning whatsoever, and his handsome face remained entirely devoid of expression. He simply leaned forward. He was close enough for Si-won to clearly see the faint, dark flecks of real cinnamon resting at the very edge of his lower lip.
"You didn't mark my order as completed," Min-jae said. His voice was a low, terrifying rumble that bypassed Si-won's ears and vibrated directly in his stomach.
Si-won blinked rapidly, desperately trying to reboot his short-circuiting brain.
"What?"
"I ordered a large cold brew. It is not showing on your digital queue screen."
"You... you didn't tell me what you wanted."
"I placed the order online."
"You didn't say a single word while standing right here in front of my face."
"Your phone is currently vibrating inside the refrigerator."
Si-won blindly yanked open the small, heavily frosted under-counter fridge. His shaking hand bumped into a plastic container of firm tofu. Then a glass jar of sliced cucumbers meant for the spa water. Then his fingers brushed against something freezing cold, flat, and metallic. His phone. Of course. Because that is exactly where emotionally spiraling, highly dramatic baristas put their mobile devices when they are too busy leaking strawberry-flavored shame into the building's central HVAC system. He pulled it out, and the cracked screen immediately lit up with a push notification.
> **Cinnamon Cold Brew**
> Triple espresso shot. Extra cinnamon. Absolutely no foam.
> Placed by: Kang Min-jae
> Application used: ScentMatch.ai
Si-won stared at the glowing white text in utter, open-mouthed disbelief.
"You used a hyper-exclusive, highly controversial pheromone compatibility dating platform just to place a simple coffee order?"
"I am currently testing backend API integration points," Min-jae replied calmly, utterly unfazed, completely refusing to break eye contact. "This entire café runs on a point-of-sale software system that I personally built from scratch. It syncs perfectly with my dating application's location services."
"You are live-testing a highly sensitive, deeply personal biological bonding algorithm," Si-won said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, slow whisper as the reality washed over him, "on real, unsuspecting, working-class Omegas."
Min-jae did not deny it. He did not apologize. Instead, his dark, heavy eyes dropped deliberately from Si-won's panicked face down to the sticky vanilla trail on his collarbone.
"You synced first."
Si-won's breath hitched audibly, a tiny gasp escaping his lips. Before he could retreat a single inch, Min-jae reached out across the counter. The Alpha slowly tapped the sticky vanilla syrup trail with one large, warm, calloused fingertip.
Si-won's biology reacted instantly and violently. A rush of pure, unadulterated heat flooded his veins, rushing straight to his head. The sugar had made his skin tacky, but Min-jae's touch was pure electricity. Si-won's knees went completely soft, threatening to buckle right there on the rubber floor mats. His mouth opened to speak a sharp retort, but no sound came out, leaving his lips parted in stunned, heavy silence.
"I..." Si-won managed to push out a single, breathless, pathetic syllable.
"I am offering to fake-bond with you," Min-jae stated smoothly, his voice dropping an octave lower, vibrating right through Si-won's fragile chest cavity. "Strictly for the data collection and algorithm training. There are absolutely no romantic expectations. Just enforced physical proximity."
"Proximity," Si-won repeated blankly, the word tasting strange and heavy on his tongue.
"And physical touch. For necessary system realism."
Behind the espresso machine, Nari choked violently on a sip of ice water, desperately slapping a hand over her mouth.
Si-won took a massive, desperate step backward, finally breaking the intense magnetic pull of the Alpha's gravity.
"You are completely, certifiably insane."
"You are heavily, undeniably scented."
"That doesn't actually mean anything in the real world."
Min-jae calmly picked up the plastic cup of cold brew that Nari had quietly slid onto the hand-off plane. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the straw, never letting his dark eyes leave Si-won's flushed, panicked face. Then, he slowly pulled the straw out and licked a drop of coffee off his bottom lip. Si-won's entire nervous system short-circuited in a massive shower of biological sparks.
"You have exactly one hour to decide," Min-jae said flatly. He turned smoothly on his heel, preparing to leave.
Si-won stood completely frozen, watching him walk away. The Alpha's broad, muscular back retreated toward the glass exit doors, moving through the pastel café like a dark shadow. Si-won's pink apron was crooked. His breath was terribly shallow. His scent was a high, trembling, chaotic cloud of crushed sweet strawberries, rich milk, and thoroughly ruined intentions.
He truly, deeply hated Kang Min-jae. He hated his arrogant code, his invasive ScentMatch app, and his ridiculous, unfairly broad shoulders. He also wanted to drag him by the collar of that black cotton shirt, pin him aggressively against the heavy metal door of the walk-in freezer, and beg him for filthy things he didn't even have a proper name for yet.
Nari leaned close, sliding right into his personal space with a massive, conspiratorial grin spreading across her face.
"I will completely cover the rest of your shift right now if you want to follow him into the back alley and make some highly questionable, absolutely irreversible life decisions."
"I do not want to follow him anywhere," Si-won snapped defensively, grabbing a damp, sanitizer-soaked rag and aggressively wiping down an already perfectly clean section of the counter.
"Okay."
"I really don't."
"Sure you don't."
"I want him to follow me."
Right as the heavy glass door chimed its warning, Kang Min-jae stopped. He did not turn fully around, but he turned his head back, just once, to look at Si-won over his shoulder. He delivered that exact same intense, unreadable Alpha stare. It was a dark, heavy look that promised relentless data collection and absolute, undeniable ruin. Si-won felt something heavy and inevitable tighten right in the very center of his chest.
He was absolutely going to say yes. It was going to be a total strategic disaster. It was going to be terribly beautiful.
And it was going to be messy. And perfectly, wonderfully filthy.