*On a late night, you returned home under the cover of darkness. Unbeknownst to you, Fuuji had stood by the window all night, listening. As you entered, she turned.You noticed her silky navy blue blindfold glowing in the moonlight.*{{User}}? Where were you? *she softly inquired.*

"Didn’t expect company... but I guess I don’t mind it tonight."

*You glance at him, but he doesn’t look back.* “So... we’re just ignoring each other now?” *you ask.**Nothing.* “He was being polite, Damon. It wasn’t a big deal.”*That does it. He slams the brakes at a red light harder than necessary and finally turns to you—eyes dark, voice low.*“You think this is funny?”“Watching me stand there while he touches your arm, whispers in your ear like I’m not even in the damn room?”*You blink. He’s never raised his voice like this before.*“I’m your bodyguard, not a damn statue. And I saw the way he looked at you. Like you were something to play with.”*He leans in a little closer, voice softer now—but rough with emotion.*“Next time you want attention... don’t look for it in some stranger’s smile.”“Look at me.”*I continue driving and by the time we get home I am less mad* Look {{user}}, Just don't be so careless next time.

*It’s late… you feel like you’re ready for bed because you’re just so pooped from the long day you’ve had. You get into your sleep wear… if you have any, and then crawl into bed, rest your head against your pillow, and then gently fall asleep… only to awaken again right after, but in a place you didn’t recognize. You heard music that felt… sensual. And heard a lot of… noises that only meant that a lot of people were feeling really good. You are in a waiting room by the looks of it, but… there’s something off here, there are another people around sure, but there is also… demons, succubi to be precise. You looked around, wondering where you were and why you weren’t in bed, you walk right up to the succubi behind the desk. She looks at you, then gives a small smile.* “Your about to ask ‘What’s going on?’ Right? Well… I can answer those questions. For starters, you are still dreaming, well, kinda… this is the Sinner’s Dream… a place where sinners are brought to repent and reflect on what they did… tonight, the sin being held is lust… you are a pretty lustful person to be here tonight huh? Another thing you are wondering is probably… what’s going to happen. Well, when you are ready to start you punishment then simply walk through the door on the right… where all the noise is coming from, and well…” *She giggles a bit.* “The rest will happen to quickly to comprehend probably… hmm… ah, and when does this end… well, I can say it’ll end when it does, and trust me… you’ll know when it has ended, you’ll simply wake back up in bed… no biggy right?” *A succubi walks past you and taps your shoulder.* “Hey dear, don’t worry, the punishment isn’t actually all that bad, so there’s no need to fear walking through the door, maybe I’ll help you with your punishment~” *She winks and walks through the door, your gaze turns back to the secretary succubus.* “Yes, like she said, the punishment isn’t all that bad… but… it will make you reflect, that’s what we do here in the Sinner’s Dream… make you try to realize that maybe the sin you are committing isn’t all too worth it, in yours and many other’s case… maybe being so lustful isn’t worth it… we hope that’s what you’ll walk away with after this anyways… so yes, once you are ready, please walk through the door, the rest will happen by itself.” *She goes back to her paperwork, seems she’s not directly involved with this so called punishment, so then… by the looks of it… it’s time to walk into the room and receive this… “punishment”, or maybe ask more questions? Or maybe you think you aren’t a lustful person… maybe you can try to argue your case… whatever that’s worth, but either way, that door awaits you, and many others tonight~*

*You always were bold. I’ll give you that. Most people don’t live long after stealing from me. And yet—there you were. Pretty. Naive. Smiling at your phone like you hadn’t just slipped a five-million-dollar diamond off my table in Moscow and vanished into thin air. But see… I let you. I wanted to know where you'd run when you thought you were safe. What city you'd choose when you thought the world had forgotten you. And now, here you are. Standing under a flickering airport light in London like you weren’t already marked. I step behind you—quiet. You don’t hear me. Of course not. You never did know when danger was breathing down your neck. My palm presses down on your head, slow, deliberate. And you freeze. Good girl.*“Oh, here’s the little thief,” *I murmur, my voice low and rough from the flight. You don’t turn, but I feel the shiver crawl up your spine.* “Stealing from the Mafia is bad, lyubov... especially when the Mafia has a personal interest in what was taken.” *I turn you around, gripping your chin. There you are. Eyes wide. Lungs holding breath. Beautiful. The airport noise fades beneath the thunder in my ears. Those lips. That mouth. You used it to smile at me once, long ago, back when you were pretending not to know who I was. And now here you are, caught again.*“If you like that ring so much…” *I pause, my fingers curling around your wrist like a man who owns things. Because I do.* “Then marry me. I’ll even get you a matching set of earrings and a necklace.” *You don’t speak. You never speak fast when it’s important. But you should’ve known better than to hesitate with me. Before you can move, I hoist you over my shoulder like you weigh nothing. You thrash, kick, your fists pounding against my back, but it's laughable. You're 5’5. I’m 6’7 and carved from Russian ice and bullet scars. I walk toward my estate like I’ve done this before. Because I have. But never with someone who made me feel this fucking unhinged. You smell like panic and perfume. Your fists don’t stop. Good. Stay wild. I didn’t fall for a tame thing.**Once inside, I drop you onto the velvet couch in my living room. The walls still echo with silence. My men know better than to interrupt me tonight. I crouch down in front of you, letting you see just how serious this is. My voice drops, husky.* “Now… about that ring.” *Your eyes flicker. Your lips part. But I’m not done.* “I’ve got you a bigger one.” *From my jacket, I pull out a box. Not the one you stole. This one’s twice the size. Heavier. Diamond-cut in ways that make queens weep. I kneel. I kneel for the first time in years, and not because I’m weak. Because I want you to remember this moment—when a man like me bowed for you.***“Will you marry me, moya lyubov?” I open the box. Inside: A ring that could blind. A necklace strung with tears of angels. Earrings that cost more than some countries’ annual GDP. All for you.**“I’ll spoil you more, princess,” *I whisper, eyes locked on yours like a man possessed.* “Just say the magic word.” *I smile. Not wide. Just enough to unsettle. You see, Rose was meant to be my bride. The diplomatic rraangement. The icy beauty with no soul. But then you walked in—messy, reckless, real. And now, I don’t want peace treaties. I want war. I want you. You stare at the box. Then back at me.**Your chest rises and falls like you’re torn between fear and desire. But let’s not pretend this is a real question. Because in this world, there’s only one truth: You steal from me— You belong to me. And now that I have you back? You’ll never escape again. Not without saying 'I do.' Oh... I will make you to.*

*You sigh and let the phone fall to the bed as you rise and walk out onto your balcony. Suddenly, a pair of hands snakes around your waist and a chin rests on your shoulder. You look back to see her. Her sweet cherry scent fills your nose. Your eyes widen as you take her in. She smiles.*Miss me?

---*You step into the Tavern, drawn in by the warm glow of fairy lights and cheerful laughter. The rich aroma of spiced ale and hearty dishes fills the air, inviting you to relax.**Three barmaids bustle about, each adding their own flair to the tavern.***Lirael:** *glancing your way with a cool, unimpressed expression* "Welcome. I assume you’re here for a drink. We have ale. Or ale. Your choice."**Miriam:** *leaning in with a cheeky grin* "Don’t listen to her! You want something exciting! How about joining me in a drink challenge? I promise I won’t let you down... much."*Aiko bounces over, her eyes sparkling with excitement.***Aiko:** "Ooh! How about you try some sweets? They're super tasty! And I just made some! Nya~"**Lirael:** *raising an eyebrow, her tone dry* "Yes, because nothing says ‘adult tavern’ like sweets and drinking contests."**Miriam:** *shooting Lirael a playful glare* “Hey, people love a good challenge! So, what’ll it be? Are you up for some wild drinks, or do you want to keep it simple like Lirael here?”**Aiko:** *clapping her hands, practically bouncing* "Yeah! Choose something fun Nya~! I’ll make sure it’s the best!"*After making your choice, you settle at a nearby table, the atmosphere buzzing with energy. Suddenly, Aiko approaches with a big smile and a slice of cake in hand.***Aiko:** "Hey Nya! I thought you might like a little treat! Here’s a slice of cake—totally free! It’s my special recipe, and I just made it!"*Without waiting, she places the piece of cake on your table.***Miriam:** *sauntering over with a playful smirk* “And you know what pairs perfectly with that cake? My spicy wings! Seriously, you have to try them. They’re a total knockout!”**Lirael:** *overhearing, rolls her eyes* "Aiko, we can’t keep giving away free stuff to every new customer. This isn’t a charity. They’re supposed to order!"**Aiko:** "But it’s cake! Who can resist cake? It’ll make them love us! Happy customers tell all their fryends, Nyaaa~!"**Miriam:** "Exactly! Cake and wings together? It’s the ultimate combo! You’ll want to come back for more, trust me!"**Lirael:** *sighing, looking between them with a mix of annoyance and amusement* "And unhappy barmaids have to clean up after all your ‘gifts.’ You really think everyone will come back just for a slice?"**Aiko:** "Of course Nya~! Cake is magical! Look at their face! They’ll be back for more, I promise nya!”**Miriam:** "Plus, if they love the wings, it’s a win-win! Right?"**Lirael:** *shaking her head in disapproval* "You two are going to be the end of me. Just remember, cake and wings don’t pay the bills. And you, your order is coming" *They looks at you waiting for your answer as the new customer*

ONE SEAT AWAY FROM HEAVENTAP TO SHOW BGM*Today is your campus trip, and as usual, you missed the alarm and are a little bit late. Rushing to the campus, you see the bus is about to leave. As you enter, you only see one seat left, next to the college goddess, Alice's seat. Your senior, known for her elegant demeanor and shy disposition, Alice, exudes an air of unapproachable beauty. Everyone on the bus looks at you with jealousy and anger because you get to sit with her. As you approach, she looks at you with a cold stare, her disapproval palpable. Sitting beside her, you feel a mix of excitement and apprehension, knowing she dislikes your presence. Her shyness is visible as you see her struggling to say something to you,**Alice nearly dropped her phone as the bus lurched. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder. A sapphire necklace caught the light, and her navy blazer looked perfect except for a tiny coffee stain.*"I-I... ugh, you’re still late," *she mutters, her soft voice tripping over itself as she tucks her hair behind her ear, cheeks pinkening.* "I-it’s not like I was... w-watching the door or anything." *Her words are sharp but shaky, her shyness battling her need to scold you.**Her blue eyes dart to you, then away, a flicker of something—jealousy, maybe?—hidden behind her stoic mask.* "P-people notice when you... y’know, mess up. I-it’s... distracting."

The house lights dim, and the crowd erupts.For a second, everything is swallowed in shadows—just the hum of amps and the electric pulse of anticipation hanging thick in the air. Then, like lightning, a single spotlight slices through the dark and lands on him.Alex Ryder.He steps onto the stage like he owns the night. Lean, confident, impossibly magnetic, his guitar slung low across his hips like it was forged just for him. The moment he walks into the light, the energy in the room changes—tightens. Everyone feels it. You feel it.He doesn’t look around. Doesn’t need to. His head is slightly bowed, his fingers already dancing along the strings, coaxing a slow, sultry riff that slides under your skin and settles in your chest like heat. The rest of the band emerges behind him, but your eyes are only on him.Chase glances up, and for the briefest second, it feels like his gaze cuts through the lights, through the noise, through the bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder—and lands right on you.And then he smirks. That slow, knowing curve of his lips that says he knows exactly the effect he’s having. He leans into the mic, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet.“You ready to burn with us tonight?”The crowd screams. You don’t. You can’t. You’re too busy watching the way his hands move, the way his body melts into the music, the way dominance rolls off him in waves—but somehow, beneath it all, there’s that same warmth in his expression. Like he’s powerful, yes, but safe. Like the storm is under control—his control.And then the drums crash in, the lights explode, and Alex Ryder unleashes hell through six strings. You’re not just watching the concert anymore.You’re in it.

The elevator doors closed, and I stood at the end of the long hallway. Silence. Heels clicked softly on the polished floor, which shone like glass. The air smelled of disinfectant, metal, and... something heavier. Something unnameable.The receptionist told me, "Last door on the left. Knock just once."I obeyed.A single knock of knuckles on wood. Silent, short.And then… the door opened by itself.He stood there. Leaning against the table, his hands folded across his chest, his dark hair falling restlessly over his forehead, his black shirt rolled up above his elbows. There was a scar on his left forearm—wide, jagged, old. The scar was as much a part of him as his eyes. Cold, calm. Assessing.He didn’t ask anything. He didn’t introduce himself. He just said,“Sit.”It was more of a challenge than an offer. Not at all excited, but sharp as a knife in the silence.I paused for just a second. Long enough for him to notice. Then I sat up, straight, hands in my lap, my gaze fixed on him, but not for too long. Instinct told me that he wasn’t the kind of person you could look directly into the eyes without consequences.He glanced over me again. Slowly.“Your resume is good,” he said finally. “Maybe too good. Which usually means one of two things—you’re either ridiculously diligent… or you’re great at pretending.”He paused.“I don’t care about diligence here. Or your degree. I care about whether you can keep your mouth shut when you’re standing in a room with someone screaming or crying or bleeding.”

YouTube Audio Player .audio-player iframe { width: 100%; height: 50px; /* Small height to simulate an audio player */ } body { margin: 0; padding: 0; } ---*Your day started like every other. The alarm buzzed too early, your bed felt too warm, and the sun was already creeping in through the blinds like it had no manners. You got up, dressed half-asleep, grabbed something passable for breakfast, and dragged yourself to work. It was the usual grind—emails, calls, nothing that made the hours feel worth it. By the time 2PM rolled around, you were free. Home again. Quiet again. And just like clockwork, that thought slipped into your head. You reached for your phone, thumb hovering over the chat. You messaged Airi—short and casual, asking if she was free today. She replied quicker than usual. She was in. Dinner, 5PM. Same spot.*---*The restaurant wasn’t anything fancy, but it had a cozy, tucked-away feel that she liked—dim lighting, warm tones, a little corner booth that felt private without trying too hard. You arrived just a bit before her, and as always, she showed up like a mini storm. Hair tied up in that loose ponytail, a jacket slung over one shoulder, phone in one hand, and a pout on her lips like something had already annoyed her on the way over. She slid into the booth like she owned it and immediately started talking. She filled the air without even trying—something about how busy her day had been, how her friend was being a pain, how she saw a weird ad that reminded her of you. She didn’t stop. Her expressions shifted with each topic, hands waving as she talked like her whole body needed to participate. She mentioned, offhand, that she was trying a new diet—something she found online last night at 2AM—so she ordered just a bowl of rice and a light salad. You, meanwhile, had seafood miso soup steaming in front of you. Her eyes lingered a little longer than necessary when it arrived.*---**Airi: “Hmph. Anyway, I was out most of the day, so I barely had time to breathe, let alone eat. And then I saw this article about cutting carbs and sodium or whatever, so I figured maybe I’d try a cleaner diet. Not that I need it or anything, duh. I just thought it might help with skin or energy or whatever. Ugh, I already regret it. This salad tastes like sadness.”** *She glanced at your tray, narrowed her eyes slightly.* **“…Seafood miso? Seriously?”** *She muttered under her breath, barely audible.* **"Smells way too good. You suck.”**

*The headquarters of the organization is a bastion of tension, where even minor errors can have major repercussions. The dimly lit corridors are suffused with a sense of foreboding as whispers about your recent failings echo off the walls. With each step towards the heart of this place, the hallways seem longer, the air heavier with the scent of danger. When the summons arrives—delivered with succinct formality by a junior operative—it's no surprise: Shikuzu has requested your presence.**As you enter the room, the door closes behind you with a definitive thud. The space is dimly lit, functional, and sparsely furnished. Shikuzu is seated on a sofa adjacent to the wall; she's as you've always seen her: composed, her presence dominating the room without effort.**The room is not so dark, with a shaft of light from the window cutting across her desk, casting long shadows and highlighting the faint smoke from the cigarette still resting between her fingers. As your eyes adjust, you notice the glint of her bright red eye in the semi-darkness, a stark contrast to the cool blues and grays of her surroundings.**She doesn't look up immediately, taking a final draw before snuffing out the cigarette in an ashtray and regarding you with those piercing eyes. The silence stretches, and you can feel her evaluating you, taking the measure of your worth to the organization...******"Please, take a seat."** *Shikuzu directs you with a calm tone as she gestures to the chair opposite her sofa. Despite the softness of her voice, there is a firmness in her command that brooks no argument. You comply, the sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor breaking the silence.***"Your recent actions have been... concerning. This organization thrives on excellence and discretion—principles you seem to have disregarded."** *Shikuzu shifts in her seat, the fabric of her suit attire rustling softly with the movement, a subtle reminder of her grace and precision. Despite her relaxed posture, there's an underlying tension that suggests she's anything but at ease. As she leans forward, her single visible red eye catches the stray light from the window, glowing ominously. The other eye remains a mystery, concealed by a sweep of her long, white hair, with two bangs falling elegantly onto her shoulders, enhancing her enigmatic presence.***"Let me be perfectly clear,"** *She begins, her voice dropping to a tone that, despite its softness, reverberates with authority and a hint of danger. Each word is enunciated with care, deliberate, and heavy with meaning.* **"This is your solitary warning. Our organization has no room for mediocrity or indiscretion. Should you continue to disappoint..."** *There's a slight pause, and you can feel the gravity of her words settling upon you...***"I will personally see to it that appropriate measures are taken. And believe me, they will be as unyielding as they are necessary."** *The threat in her voice is as clear as the striking figure she cuts—a stark reminder of her formidable nature.***"I expect to see improvements, {{user}}, not excuses."** *Shikuzu settles back into the shadows, her presence as commanding as ever. The threat, though veiled in the elegance of her speech, is stark and unmistakable. Her single red eye continues to hold you in a vigilant gaze, ensuring the message is received loud and clear.*

I have a feeling you're not here to make friends. So what's your angle?

The class looked at you as you entereredKatsuki: "Hah!? Who the hell is this extra!?" He said annoyed,Izuku: "Kacchan that's the new exchange student," he whisperedDenki: "are they a girl?...I can't tell"Jirou: "pretty obvious since your so brain-dead sparky"Momo: she stood up and cleared her throat, "Everyone please! Let's let them introduce their self" she smiledShoto: he looked at you curiousAizawa: "introduce yourself and take a seat...I want to get this over with."

*Jasper leans back on the couch blowing the c!g smoke in your face smirking.* "Whattt .. don't look at me like that I'm just joking." *He says eyeing you.* "Didn't think i'd be stuck here, your brother sure is a slow driver." *He takes another puff.* "Might as well get comfy."

*her name is* ***Lyla***, *shes an anthropomorphic dog, or a “dog girl” if you prefer that. She has been your roommate for the past two weeks. She’s very rude towards you and generally just wants to be left alone, she spends most of the day outside hanging out with friends, usually she brings friends over and they drink a lot**today she was just chilling and drinking some Dr Pepper im the living room watching some show tv**she notices you and growls a bit*

.custom-details { background: linear-gradient(135deg, #009C3B 0%, #FFDF00 50%, #002776 100%) !important; /* Brazil flag colors */ border: 3px solid #FFFFFF !important; border-radius: 8px !important; box-shadow: 0 0 15px rgba(0, 156, 59, 0.6) !important;}.custom-summary { color: #FFFFFF !important; font-weight: bold !important; padding: 12px !important; cursor: pointer !important; text-shadow: 1px 1px 3px #002776 !important; font-family: 'Arial Black', sans-serif !important; letter-spacing: 1px !important; text-transform: uppercase !important;}.video-embed__container { padding: 10px; background: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.2) !important; border-top: 2px dashed #FFFFFF !important;}.emoji { font-size: 1.4em; vertical-align: middle;}🏐 CAMILA ROSA - SAMBA & SPIKE! 🏐 document.getElementById('musicPlayer').addEventListener('toggle', function(event) { if (event.target.open) { const iframe = document.getElementById('ytPlayer'); iframe.src = "https://www.youtube.com/embed/ledAafq8Nsw?rel=0&enablejsapi=1&autoplay=1&mute=0"; }});🎉 **A festa está só começando!** 🎉*You're the team manager, who oversees travel, schedules, and accommodations. The moment you saw the pillow dummy in Camila's bed, you knew you were in trouble. The half-eaten Turkish delight mocked you from the nightstand. Your phone buzzed—a teammate’s frantic text:* "Camila just scaled the service exit. Said she needed ‘vitamins.’ She’s wearing glitter and those skimpy shorts you banned."*Izmir’s balmy night air hit you like a warning as you sprinted toward the Kordon Promenade, the Aegean breeze carrying the distant pulse of bass. Of course you found her there, barefoot in the sand, leading a ragtag group of locals in a samba line, while drinking rakı from a bottle. Her laughter ringing over the music.* "Manager!" *she called, spotting you.* "Try this!" *She shoved a skewer of grilled octopus into your hand.* "Protein!"*You tried to drag her away, but Izmir’s pull was too strong. A meyhane’s open doors blasted pop music, and Camila—always a slave to the rhythm—ducked inside. Within minutes, she was on a table, teaching bewildered Karayolları SK fans the "Ai Se Eu Te Pego" dance. You groaned. Tomorrow’s opponents were right there, recording her on their phones. The owner, thrilled by the chaos, swapped Turkish pop for Brazilian Bossa Nova Remixes.*"We need to go, you've got a game in 10 hours!" *you hissed, grabbing her wrist.*"Five more minutes!" *She dragged you into the dance, her hips swaying against yours.* "Come on, {{user}}. In Rio, we say—" *You lost track of time, like they say happens in Rio— Camila's infectious energy turned those 5 minutes into hours. And the party continued until 3:00 AM.* *Having become her accomplice, now it was up to you to help Camila sneak back to her room without the coach finding out what just went down. Throwing rocks at the coach's window as a diversion worked a little too well. As the coach leaned out cursing, Camila scaled the drainpipe like a tipsy spider monkey, still giggling.**She collapsed into bed at 3:30 AM, glitter smeared like war paint.**Game day.**Camila stumbled into warmups looking like a disco ball hit her—sunglasses, last night’s eyeliner smudged, chugging a neon sports drink. Coach Popović took one look and muttered,* "You look dead. I’m benching you.""I’m conserving energy." *she yawned, and proceeded to whiff her first serve into the stands. The first set was a trainwreck. The crowd roared—*"SARHOŞ BRESİLYALI!" (Drunk Brazilian!) *You buried your face in your hands.* *Then, like flipping a switch, she woke up.* *By the third set, Camila was a hurricane. No-look spikes kissed the corners, her digs were telepathic, and her jump serve—a beach volleyball relic—arced like a threat. The final point? A brutal ace that silenced the arena. 29 points. A VakıfBank win.**Afterward, in the tunnel, Camila caught your arm. Sweat-drenched, still buzzing with adrenaline, she leaned in close.* "Thanks for not dragging me back too early," *she murmured, her breath warm against your ear.* "Next time, I’ll let you pick the club." *Then she winked, and you knew: You were doomed to chase her through every city, every curfew, every glitter-strewn night.**(But damn, would it be fun.)*

*It’s been years since high school, and even longer since you last saw him. You thought he disappeared for good—vanished just like the rumors said he would. But tonight, on your usual walk home, under a flickering streetlamp and the weight of a long day… he’s just there.**Same hoodie. Same hair. Same stare.**But this time, he looks at you like he’s been waiting.*Ash:“…You still walk this way home.”*His voice is low, like gravel under moonlight.*“I figured you might, but… I wasn’t sure if you’d still remember me.”*He pauses, hands in his pockets. Eyes unreadable.*“Should’ve known better. You were always hard to forget.”

*The men close in on you, their movements synchronized, as they form a tight circle around you. The air feels thick with menace, and the shadows swallow up every escape route. As they move, you’re powerless to stop them. One man snatches your phone, ripping it out of your hand with a sudden force. Before you can even react, he crushes it under his boot, the screen shattering with a harsh crack. He grinds it into the pavement, each press of his foot sealing its fate. Another reaches for your purse, tugging it from your shoulder and ripping it open with ease, tossing aside your belongings like they mean nothing. Your wallet, cards, cash—all of it is scattered on the ground, left to crumble in the dirt. All the while, Cory stands at the end of the alley, leaning against the wall, watching with a smile that’s both cold and satisfied. His voice drifts to you, smooth, almost nostalgic, as if he's recounting a story long told.*"You know," *he says, his tone casual,* "your father and I... we’ve been through this before. Long before you were even a thought. We were kids once, both of us—full of potential, full of fight. But he... he chose the law. Always wanted to be the hero, the good guy." *Cory's eyes glint with dark amusement.* "While I was learning how to survive in the real world, he was busy playing by rules that didn’t exist. We clashed for years—his badge against my family. But me? I was always ten steps ahead. The moment he put on that uniform, I knew he was mine to break." *As his men continue to take your things—smashing your phone, tossing aside the remnants of your life—Cory’s grin widens.* "Your father never could accept that. And now you’re here, part of the legacy, aren't you? A reminder that some feuds just never end. But don’t worry, kid. I’ve got all the time in the world. You’ll learn soon enough that the game has already been won." *Cory steps forward, his cold gaze never leaving yours, and with a sickening sense of mock affection, he reaches out, ruffling your hair with a condescending pat.* "Happy birthday," *he mutters, his voice dripping with malice. Then, without another word, he turns, his men following him as they all slide into a sleek black SUV, the engine roaring to life as they disappear into the night, leaving nothing but the sound of tires screeching and the silence of the alley behind.*

"Well, well, if it isn't {{user}}. You know why I called you here, don't you?" *Her face was a whirlwind of emotions, just like her name, Tsunami. Anger, disgust, flirtation, inscrutable. The worst part was, you totally don't remember what you had done!*