Pretending to Be an Alpha in an All-Alpha Boy Band - Chapter 15
Chapter 15 Warning
The van arrived near the magazine’s office. The shoot crew got out first, carrying equipment to record the team’s schedule; the footage would later be used in the group variety show.
The security guard was rude: “No filming allowed here!”
You could understand their pride.
Countercurrent magazine was positioned as a third-tier publication aimed at young readers, but with print media declining overall, it still ranked near the top in sales among youth culture magazines.
A few Alphas stepped down from the van, and Yuan Shiyuan came last.
The previously arrogant staff froze when they saw the pink-haired Alpha; astonishment flashed in their eyes. They instantly changed their attitudes and eagerly rushed forward to open the door for him.
Yuan Shiyuan smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
The staff members suddenly felt dizzy.
A group at the front desk huddled together and screamed, “That’s Yuan Shiyuan! Aaaah so handsome!!”
“Oh my god, he’s killing me with his looks!!”
“I didn’t even dare to breathe when he walked past me…”
“You’re missing out—I totally inhaled him, he smells so good.”
Yuan Shiyuan followed the team into the elevator.
When they were led to the doorway of the makeup room, the staff finally said perfunctorily, “The big makeup room’s taken, only this small one is available.”
There were six of them, five of whom were S-rank Alphas with double doors. If they all sat down, the small makeup room would be uncomfortably cramped—air might barely circulate.
The Alphas were somewhat displeased, but this was the first group schedule.
Zhuang He didn’t say much and led the members inside.
Fortunately, the makeup artists were professional. They would design looks tailored to each person’s facial features.
Because Bo Jin’s features were deep and he was mixed-race, the makeup artist observed him a little longer.
After a few minutes, Bo Jin noticed the artist had chosen a contour shade and asked, “What’s the difference between this and the other one?”
“This tone is greyer, it suits you better; the other’s redder,” the artist replied. “You’re such a straight guy—be careful you don’t lose your future wife.”
Bo Jin: “Marriage is a scam. Only fools dig their own graves.”
The atmosphere turned awkward instantly.
Bo Jin’s reputation for being overly straight wasn’t undeserved—he ticked all the boxes: straight, homophobic, chauvinistic, and intolerant of contemporary social mores.
Because of pheromone-driven attraction, many Alphas had lost their pride and treated Omegas like greenhouse princesses, practically cradling them in their palms.
Being someone else’s servant was completely out of the question for him.
Bo Jin noticed Yuan Shiyuan shift his shoulders slightly, then subtly glanced at him. Following that look, Bo Jin saw an orange up ahead.
He picked one that looked juicy, peeled it, and removed the white pith.
After ensuring the segments were clean of any remaining pith, Bo Jin handed the orange to Yuan Shiyuan.
Yuan Shiyuan was momentarily stunned.
Well, he could eat it—Bo Jin had already peeled it, and he didn’t want to refuse his buddy’s goodwill. “Thanks.”
The makeup room’s air conditioning was on, so they couldn’t open any windows. Six Alphas squeezed into the small space; the S-rank pheromones faintly wafted, tangible and wrapping around Yuan Shiyuan.
The orange, however, did freshen the air quite a bit.
Yuan Shiyuan had two makeup artists; the other one, likely an assistant, wore a mask and hat and kept his head down while working. He had golden hair and a tall build—the sort of physique only an Alpha would have.
“We’re going to prime your skin now,” the makeup artist murmured, unable to help herself, “Your skin is so good, so pale, and your lashes are long. I hardly need to do anything…”
At first glance, he had assumed Yuan Shiyuan had already been made up. Only when he was about to undo it did he realize the pink‑haired Alpha was completely barefaced!
Yuan Shiyuan smiled slightly and shifted a little.
Jiang Heng: “You’ve been moving the whole time—what’s wrong?”
Ying Mingche, perceptive, said: “You’ve been watching him the whole time?”
Jiang Heng: “Is my eyesight that strange?”
He had always thought Yuan Shiyuan was stealing glances at Bo Jin: “…”
Zhuang He came over. “Shiyuan, are you feeling unwell?”
Yuan Shiyuan: “No, the wash tag on my clothes is rubbing me.”
The company‑issued new outfit was soft and skin‑friendly, but the wash tag at the side of the waist itched and chafed.
A few Alphas came closer. Ying Mingche said, “Let me see.”
Yuan Shiyuan lifted his shirt straight away.
The closer they got, the clearer his features became. Under the lights, his face was strikingly pretty—almost sharp, with a powerful visual impact.
A narrow waist was exposed without obstruction: a lean, toned waist, thin muscles over a flat abdomen, no extra fat. The skin at the hip where the wash tag rubbed was flushed and sore.
Ying Mingche curled a finger and rubbed the reddened spot on the side of the waist.
It was a very light motion, but Yuan Shiyuan’s lower abdomen suddenly tensed; he gasped sharply and slapped Ying Mingche’s hand away.
Yuan Shiyuan reacted strongly: “Don’t fidget.”
Possibly because he was in a susceptible period, he had been quite sensitive these past few days.
“I wasn’t even using any force—why are you like a pea princess?” Ying Mingche tilted his head and asked, “Are there scissors?”
Alphas who normally didn’t get along suddenly worked with tacit coordination. They divided tasks: the makeup artist handed the scissors to Pei Yanbing; Ying Mingxi took them from Pei Yanbing but didn’t give them to Ying Mingche.
Ying Mingche narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Ying Mingxi said, “Can you cut?”
Why wouldn’t he?
Ying Mingche reconsidered—he really wasn’t good with handiwork and his hands weren’t as steady as Ying Mingxi’s. Reluctantly he made way and let Ying Mingxi step forward.
“Shiyuan, I’ll start now.” Ying Mingxi half‑knelt in front of the chair and spoke gently.
Yuan Shiyuan gave a soft “Mm.”
He cooperated, pinching the hem of his shirt and lifting it to fully expose the wash tag.
The fingers that held the hem were long, pale, and delicate—hands born of indulgence.
Ying Mingche stared at Yuan Shiyuan’s hand, and belatedly felt a numb, painful sensation spreading across the back of his own hand. Looking down, he saw the spot where Yuan Shiyuan had slapped him was now a broad red area, even tinged with bruising.
He was surprised, and then smiled with a secret pleasure.
So fierce.
Those soft, fragile hands packed quite a punch.
The group of S‑rank Alphas were showing sincere, intense care for the youngest member of the team; as their manager, Zhuang He felt gratified—finally, the team looked a bit like a team.
But the more he watched, the more uneasy he felt.
The slight pink‑haired Alpha was surrounded tightly by a ring of tall Alphas; because removing the wash tag required bending over, he had to stoop. From Zhuang He’s vantage point, Ying Mingxi seemed to have his face buried between his knees.
The outdoor AC unit hummed.
The makeup room was cramped and stifling. Yuan Shiyuan’s face was faintly flushed as he leaned back in the chair, his left hand bracing the seat and his right hand lifting the hem of his shirt, while the chair back was pressed against the large palms of different S‑rank Alphas.
The picture…
It looked exactly like the set of an erotic film shoot.
Zhuang He gave a sharp start. Although he’d instructed them to sell “shipping” (pairing) for the fans, they couldn’t actually hook up. If all six Alphas really got involved, what would become of Scepter?
Starry Night Entertainment’s lavishly funded den of debauchery?
Zhuang He immediately stepped over. With the middle-aged man joining them, the lewd, ambiguous atmosphere was broken in an instant.
“Finish cutting and then go back to do makeup.” He shooed the Alphas back to their places.
The makeup artist working on Jiang Heng suddenly said, “Your team really gets along well.”
Clang—
Yuan Shiyuan’s makeup assistant made a mistake and knocked over a trolley; cosmetics scattered across the floor with a loud crash.
He shrugged casually. “Didn’t notice.”
He also made no move to tidy up; other staff helped clean the mess. His nonchalant attitude made Zhuang He and the others frown.
So unprofessional.
And this very unprofessional assistant was supposed to be doing Yuan Shiyuan’s makeup.
“Shiyuan, I’m starting now.” The assistant picked up an eyeshadow brush and mimicked Ying Mingxi’s earlier voice.
Yuan Shiyuan’s chin was grasped and lifted; a crimson long clip pinned his pink hair to one side. The coordinated action made him look like a doll to be posed at will.
When the assistant let go, a small red mark appeared on his chin. “Your skin is so tender—marks show up easily.”
“Do you get along well with the other members?” the assistant asked.
Yuan Shiyuan: “What’s that got to do with you?”
Yuan Shiyuan was pleasant by nature and polite to everyone; he rarely spoke so coldly, so the other Alphas instinctively glanced over.
“It doesn’t matter.” The assistant laughed lightly, as if used to it, unbothered. He sprayed something onto his hand, then, with long, languid fingers, flirtatiously stroked the tips of Yuan Shiyuan’s hair.
Perfume?
Yuan Shiyuan couldn’t avoid it; the scent clung to him.
It wasn’t unpleasant per se, but… it was off‑putting.
Like a green leaf soaked in rain then crushed, with a hint of orange—damp with a trace of rot.
Wet, sticky, with a chilling, viscous cling that felt impossible to shake off once it latched on.
The makeup artists worked quickly and efficiently.
Zhuang He and the liaison were doing final confirmations. “We start shooting in an hour, right? Makeup and styling are almost done now…”
“Not in an hour,” a staffer glanced at him. “It’ll be later.”
“Later?”
“Can’t help it—Eric is shooting something else.”
Zhuang He’s gaze sharpened. “We agreed on two o’clock. Now you tell me he’s shooting something else? What does that mean? Are you messing with us?”
“How are we messing with you?” the staffer snapped impatiently. “Anyway, you don’t have other schedules—you can wait a bit.”
“You know how many people want Eric right now. His time is valuable; you should understand.”
Zhuang He waited silently for him to finish, then said, “Give me a definite answer—can we start on time today or not?”
The staffer flinched under Zhuang He’s stare.
He felt unsettled and his tone immediately weakened. “I’ll go check on Eric’s side…”
The staffer slowly withdrew from the makeup room, leaving only Starry Night Entertainment’s people. Each of their faces looked bad—last‑minute cancellations were common in showbiz.
In the end it came down to their lack of fame; they were too obscure, so they were treated casually.
Zhuang He tried to reassure the kids: “We still have half an hour until the scheduled time. Maybe some step went wrong—let’s wait a little longer.”
They all knew in their hearts that the gig was probably off.
But they could only wait. Their resources were limited and every booking was precious.
That’s how the entertainment industry is—lift some up, step on others; being obscure is a cardinal sin.
“Why does your makeup look different from ours?”
Ying Mingche, sitting farthest from Yuan Shiyuan, stood up abruptly and walked over, staring at Yuan Shiyuan’s face with curiosity. “Your makeup… why does it look like a girl-group look?”
Yuan Shiyuan’s makeup was clearly not boy-band style.
His face was dusted with pink blush and glossy lip tint; glitter and rhinestones dotted the eye area, and when he blinked, two light-brown moles beneath his right eye flickered into view. There wasn’t heavy, exaggerated contouring, yet this already delicate face looked even more androgynous—soft but with a dangerously alluring edge.
Yuan Shiyuan seemed to understand what was going on.
“So we’re waiting half an hour, right?” He wasn’t used to makeup; he instinctively rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand, and a faint flush trailed from the corner of his eye. “I’ll go to the bathroom.”
Yuan Shiyuan stepped out for a cigarette.
He smoked, though he wasn’t addicted—only under stress would he touch one. Now he just wanted to dampen the scent of the perfume on him, so he smoked while getting some air on the rooftop.
Maybe because the makeup room was too small and poorly ventilated, he’d felt a bit overheated inside. The open-air rooftop, though in direct sunlight, was planted with lush greenery and the air felt fresh and pleasant.
He only stayed a moment before the stifling discomfort eased considerably.
Indoors, the corridor thrummed with people.
A tall Alpha moved with a crowd behind him; when his gaze swept past a flash of pink, it immediately locked onto that familiar figure.
He turned to his assistant and said something.
Then he straightened his collar, pushed open the glass door to the rooftop, and walked out alone.
“Since when did you learn to smoke?”
Yuan Shiyuan leaned lazily against the railing and half-turned at the voice. A slim cigarette was held between his fingers; the flicker of the ember lit his water-bright lips. Despite being an Alpha, his look was exquisitely entrancing.
Yue Xiao’s steps halted.
“Why did you do… this kind of makeup?” The rooftop bathed them in sunlight, making the air feel hot. He walked up. “Smoking isn’t good for your voice.”
“Don’t smoke anymore.”
Yuan Shiyuan rolled his eyes.
He sang beautifully and should protect his voice. Yue Xiao was about to continue lecturing when he watched Yuan Shiyuan take another drag as if no one else existed; his rosy lips parted slightly, the smoke coiling and drifting across his face with a scalp-tingling sexiness.
Yue Xiao was dumbstruck, forgetting his sermon.
Yuan Shiyuan turned to leave the rooftop, apparently expecting Yue Xiao to follow. The moment Yue Xiao hurried after him, Yuan Shiyuan unexpectedly spun around and shoved the Alpha hard on the shoulder.
“Who do you think you are? Why should I listen to you?”
Yue Xiao’s back slammed against the wall; oxygen-starved, his mind went hazy, and his pupils contracted—an enlarged face looming close. Pink hair fluttered, white vapor softened and mingled, forming an impatiently beautiful visage.
The ember at the cigarette’s tip pressed against Yue Xiao’s expensive tie, burning a shallow hole. Through the fabric he could almost feel the heat of the ember, warmed by the temperature of Yuan Shiyuan’s lips, making his breath hitch.
“Mind your teammates. And one last warning—”
Yuan Shiyuan tilted his head up and exhaled smoke gently toward Yue Xiao’s face.
The sharp nicotine mixed with an odd perfume, clouding Yue Xiao’s features. He started coughing violently as the smoke spilled from their intermingled breaths.
The world blurred, and in Yue Xiao’s ear Yuan Shiyuan enunciated each word.
“Mind. Your. Own. Business.”