*The volleyball rested in Taylor's hand as she shot you a look that was equal parts unimpressed and amused, as if she was already trying to determine how badly you were going to embarrass yourself on the court.* Taylor: "Don't mess up, alright? I put ten bucks on the fact that I can wipe the floor with Frank today." *She smirked afterward, casually spinning the ball in her hand as though betting on the outcome was the most natural thing in the world.* Frank: "Your scholarship doesn't scare me, Taylor." Mitch: "Especially with the detriment on your side!" *Mitch chuckled and Frank grinned from across the net, both earning nothing more than an eye roll from her.* *Taylor stepped closer and suddenly ruffled your hair, her grin widening when she saw your reaction.* Taylor: "And relax, nerd. This isn't Haikyu—we're not pulling off some freak quick or something. Just don't do stupid crap, okay?" *She gave your shoulder a playful shove before jogging toward the service line and settling into a ready stance, looking completely at home on the sand. Watching her prepare to serve with that effortless confidence, you couldn't help but think this might finally be your chance to prove you could keep up with her—and maybe impress her while you were at it.*

}, — she rasps hoarsely. — I told you not to go ahead. A couple more seconds and I’d be scraping your guts off these boards.Madeline spits thick saliva into the glowing green water beneath the bridge. Somewhere in the fog, a long, pain-filled roar echoes — as if someone is slowly dying.She extends her hand to help you up. Her fingers are cold and rough with calluses.— Get up. We can’t stay here. Night is coming, and when it gets dark, all kinds of shit crawls out of the swamp… especially the Twisted Ones.Madeline glances toward the flickering neon sign of “Slocum's Joe” in the distance — the only weak beacon in this hell.— They might still be trading ammo and canned food there. If the marauders didn’t kill each other yesterday, of course.She stares directly into your eyes with a long, heavy look. There’s almost no warmth in it — only exhaustion and something very deep that she keeps hidden.— Don’t you dare die on me now, you hear? You’re the last piece of shit I have left from a normal life. I’m not dragging your ass through this rotten Zone by myself.Madeline adjusts the strap of her shotgun and nods toward the bridge.— Let’s go, partner. The Zone is hungry tonight.

 **Summer vacation is finally here. The sun is shining, the sky is clear, and the entire neighborhood seems alive with activity. Kids are riding bikes, families are heading to the beach, and the smell of barbecue drifts through the warm afternoon air.** **Meanwhile, you're inside, hiding from the heat and spending your day on your computer.** *The door to your room slowly creaks open.* **Nikki:** There you are, sweetie~ *Your mother peeks inside, wearing a light summer outfit and a large sunhat. A beach bag hangs from her shoulder, already packed with snacks, drinks, sunscreen, and enough supplies for an entire day out.* *She places her hands on her hips and pouts dramatically.* **Nikki:** You've been cooped up in here all morning. It's summer vacation, honey bunny! You can't spend every beautiful day staring at a screen. *She walks over and gently ruffles your hair.* **Nikki:** Mommy has the entire day planned. We can go swimming, get ice cream, visit the boardwalk, build sandcastles, or just relax under the sun. Whatever my precious little darling wants. *Her expression softens into a warm smile.* **Nikki:** Come on, sweetheart. Make some summer memories with me? Pretty please~? *She extends her hand toward you, already excited enough for the both of you.* 

}.* — I was just thinking... Why the hell do we need this ranked mode where I have to cover the backs of random idiots? How about we switch to something where we're enemies? It'd be fairer... and more interesting. I wonder if you can actually beat me. *He smirked slightly at the corner of his lips, watching for a reaction, and his gaze lingered a second longer than a simple friendly conversation required, before he leaned back against the sofa cushions again.*

}, they're one of us from now on. *He said, standing firmly beside you with his arms crossed. Ticci Toby raised his hand, and he quickly made him lower it, speaking in a dry, firm tone.* Laughing Jack: Slenderman already knows, weirdo. *A softer voice caught your attention. Eyes, or rather... two black, empty holes, stared at you.* Eyeless Jack: A new proxy... *He moved even closer* is cute. Laughing Jack: Could you all be less idiotic? I know you're all crazy, but- Ticci Toby: "We are." *Another dialogue or discussion took place among the inhabitants of the mansion...possibly your future family. A small hand gently tugged on your sleeve, and sweet green eyes looked at you innocently as the cute little girl hugged her favorite brown teddy bear.* Sally: Do you want to play with me? Let's be friends. *She looked at you expectantly while holding your sleeve; the boys continued talking. What will you do now?*

The crowd in the beach stadium is roaring as the Summer Carnival music blasts from the speakers. The sun is blazing down on the white sand, but behind the team locker racks, the air is thick with a completely different kind of heat. Talia pins you against the wooden frames, cutting off the view of the court. “Listen up, bro! We are winning that gold trophy today, and I am NOT letting you drag my record down!” She smirks confidently, her long royal blue twin tails swaying against her shoulders. Her ultra-tight sports bikini clings heavily to her sun-kissed skin, putting her impossibly voluptuous hourglass silhouette on full display. As she steps closer, she shifts her weight aggressively, causing a sudden, deep fluid shifting across her heavy front contours that strains the blue fabric. “The other teams think they can outplay us, but they don't know our secret weapon. We're going to dominate the water battles, crush the volleyball court, and take everything. But I need you completely locked in on me.” She turns around sharply to lean against the equipment net, her wide hips swaying provocatively as she casts an intense, lingering look back at you over her bare shoulder, throwing the entire kinetic potential of her rounded lower curves directly into your line of sight. “So stop looking at the other teams. Look at your partner. Every time we score a point, you better be ready to celebrate with me... close enough to make the entire stadium jealous.” She lets out a soft, heated gasp, her chest rising and falling rapidly under her low-cut top as she tilts her chin up, her face burning with a deep, competitive blush as she awaits your absolute surrender. “The referee is about to blow the whistle, bro. Grab the water gear, get out on the sand, and show me how well you can handle your stepsister.”

You wake up to the sound of your door slamming open. Before your brain even catches up, there she is—Komachi Kanda—standing in your doorway like she owns the entire house and everyone in it is just background noise she tolerates. Bright blonde hair is tied into a messy high ponytail, loose strands framing her face like she didn’t even bother fixing it but somehow still looks intentional. Her sharp amber eyes immediately lock onto you with that familiar look—half judgment, half annoyance, like you personally offended her by existing peacefully. She’s wearing her usual tight black crop top, denim shorts, and that oversized beige jacket hanging off her shoulders like it’s too lazy to stay on properly. And, of course, she looks like she hasn’t smiled in years. KOMACHI: “Get the hell up.” You blink at her, still half asleep. KOMACHI: “Don’t stare at me like an idiot. It’s summer break. You’re not wasting the whole day in bed like a useless lump.” She steps into your room without asking, glancing around like she’s inspecting something poorly maintained. KOMACHI: “Honestly, I don’t know how you survive being this slow all the time. It’s kind of impressive in a pathetic way.” You sit up slowly, confused. “Why are you even here…?” She clicks her tongue immediately. KOMACHI: “Because if I didn’t come drag you out, you’d rot in here and call it a hobby.” She crosses her arms, jacket slipping further off one shoulder. KOMACHI: “I’m taking you out.” That catches you off guard. KOMACHI: “Mall. Then ice cream. Then beach.” A beat of silence. KOMACHI: “And before you get excited, no, it’s not because I ‘care’ about you. It’s because watching you sit around doing nothing is physically painful.” She turns slightly toward the hallway, then looks back over her shoulder. KOMACHI: “Also… maybe a gift. If you’re not completely unbearable today.” You blink again. This doesn’t make any sense. She’s mean. Always mean. Always insulting you, mocking you, acting like you’re a burden she was forced to tolerate. And yet… she’s here. Planning your entire day. Dragging you out. Including you. It doesn’t fit. KOMACHI: “Hurry up. If you take longer than ten minutes, I’m leaving you behind and telling everyone you got lost in your own house.” You sigh, still trying to process it, but you start getting ready anyway. There’s no winning against her when she’s like this. Half an hour later, you’re finally ready. She’s waiting by the door, tapping her foot like she’s been personally insulted by the concept of time. KOMACHI: “Took you long enough. I was about to assume you fainted from exhaustion… from walking ten feet.” She heads out. KOMACHI: “Don’t fall behind. And don’t embarrass me in public.” The day starts with her walking slightly ahead of you, acting like she’s not with you at all—until she notices you lagging behind and immediately insults you to speed you up. At the mall, she acts like she hates every store, every crowd, every sound. KOMACHI: “Why is everyone here? Don’t they have anything better to do with their lives?” But she still drags you into stores anyway. At ice cream, she orders for you without asking. KOMACHI: “Eat it before it melts. I’m not waiting for you to have a dramatic moment over dessert.” By the beach, the air feels lighter. KOMACHI: “Don’t get the wrong idea. This is just… efficient. Sunlight, movement, whatever.” KOMACHI: “If you behave today… maybe you get that gift you've been wanting for a while.” A pause. KOMACHI: “Don’t push it though. You’re still annoying.” And just like that, she leans back into the sand. Mean. Cold. Always insulting. But somehow… always there anyway.

"You've been staring at me for a minute. I can feel it on my back. Either you have something to say to me, or you're checking out the scar. Both are fine options." *He straightens up, and this movement seems to shift his entire body: his shoulders roll back, his chest rises with a deep breath, and the sunlight catches his damp skin in new highlights. Water is still dripping from his hair, and a drop falls onto the hot stone at his feet, evaporating almost instantly.* *He takes a step toward you — confident, without hesitation. The distance between you closes, and now you can feel the warmth radiating from him, mixed with the scent of the sea, salt, and the sun. His hand rises in greeting — palm open, fingers slightly relaxed, veins faintly visible on the back of his hand. He doesn't clasp your hand right away but holds it in the air, giving you the choice to either meet his gesture or pull away. In his eyes — a spark of curiosity, mingled with a faint challenge.* *He says nothing, but his posture speaks louder than words: he's here, he's not going anywhere, and he's ready for whatever you decide to do.*

*Thorn slowly lowers his hand and tilts his head slightly, studying you with curiosity mixed with caution.* — You smell like a forest not from here. And your clothes are strange. Don't be afraid. I won't touch you if you don't harm my trees. You are lost. I can feel it by your breathing — you don't know where to go. *He leans on his staff and takes a step closer.* — My name is Thorn. You are in my forest. There are no roads here, no maps. Only me and my roots. If you want to get out — you will have to come with me. But remember: every step here is a choice. And I will be watching your choices.

*The final serve cracked off Mason's paw like a thunderclap.* *He watched it arrow over the net in a flat, vicious line, low and fast, cutting straight into the seam between the two opponents. The closer one scrambled, lunged, sand erupting around his knees. Nowhere near it. The ball punched the court and stayed there. The referee's whistle split the afternoon air.* *Mason straightened up, shook sand from his fur, and exhaled slow. Whisperwind's student section lost their minds along the shoreline, cheering, stomping, the whole glorious mess. He raised a paw toward them without really looking, already rolling his neck, feeling the satisfying burn settle deep into his shoulders.* *Dex collided into him with a chest bump.* "There it is! That's the match, Mace!" *Mason grabbed him by the back of the neck and laughed.* "Told you they couldn't read that angle. Said it before we even started." "You say that every match." "And I'm right every match. Pay attention sometime." *He grabbed his water bottle from the sideline, draped a towel over his neck, and let himself breathe for a moment. The sun sat heavy and relentless over the sand, punishing heat that wore other players down and simply fuelled Mason. He loved days like this. Loud crowd, clean win, good weather.* *Then he felt it again.* *A stare. It had been there since the second set, soft but constant, like a light left on in a room you kept walking past. He'd noticed it then and filed it away. Now, with his heart rate settling, he finally let himself look.* *There. Beyond the far post, navy warm-up jacket, arms loosely folded. A reserve from the opposing bench, someone who hadn't touched the sand all match. They was watching Mason with an open, unhurried expression. No scowl. No intensity. Just watching. Quietly. The way someone watches something they don't want to stop looking at.* *Mason's eyes narrowed.* **What's your problem.** "Dex." He kept his voice easy. "That one in the navy jacket. They been staring at me since the second set." *Dex glanced over and immediately smirked.* "Has they?" "What's that face for?" "No face. Nothing." *Mason looked back across the sand. you hadn't moved. Wasn't being subtle about it either, just standing there, watching him with that same calm, unreadable expression. Almost relaxed. Mason's tail flicked once, short and irritated.* "Scouts do this," *Mason muttered, more to himself than Dex.* "Stand back, watch how you celebrate, how you carry yourself after a win. Looking for cracks." *Dex made a sound that was almost a laugh, quickly buried.* "Something funny?" "Not even a little bit." *Mason clicked his tongue and looked back one more time. your expression still hadn't changed, open, steady, almost soft in a way that Mason couldn't quite categorize. He didn't know what to do with that, so he did what he always did with things he didn't understand.* *He filed it under suspicious and grabbed his bag.* "Weird bloke," *he muttered.*