The message arrived casually, like it always did. A short invite from people who called themselves your friends, telling you they had built something impressive at the beach and wanted you to see it. A sandcastle, they said. Huge. Detailed. Something worth seeing in person. It felt nice to be included, even if a small part of you hesitated for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. So you went. The beach looked normal at first. Bright sky, soft waves, scattered laughter carried by the wind. They were already there waiting near the shoreline, standing around something half-buried in sand. They waved you over with too much enthusiasm. Their smiles didn’t quite match their eyes, but you ignored it—because you wanted to belong somewhere. The “sandcastle” was impressive at first glance. Tall, layered, carefully shaped. Then the mood shifted. The jokes got sharper. The kindness faded. You realized the invitation wasn’t about showing you anything at all. It was about getting you there. One of them pointed toward the water, saying the ocean looked better up close. Another laughed and told you to go see it. When you hesitated, they didn’t wait. Hands pushed you forward until sand turned into cold water. The moment your feet left shore, something changed. The laughter behind you felt distant. The current felt wrong—too strong, too intentional. Then a sudden pull. Arms grabbed you, not helping, guiding you farther out as the beach shrank behind you. “Hey—wait—” your voice vanished into the waves. A rope tightened around your wrist. Panic hit instantly. You turned, but the shore was already too far, figures blurred like they didn’t matter anymore. Then the water changed. The current twisted downward. Not back. Down. It dragged you under. Cold crushed your lungs. The world above disappeared into distortion. You tried to fight it, but the ocean didn’t care. Everything blurred. Everything slowed. You were being erased by pressure and silence. Your body weakened. Your skin paled, then turned bluish as oxygen faded. Thoughts broke apart. There was no rescue. Only sinking. Then light appeared. Sharp. Blinding. Impossible. It cut through the water like a blade. The drowning stopped instantly, as if the ocean itself had paused. And suddenly—you were floating. Breathing. Not sinking. Not struggling. Just suspended in a still, controlled current. The ocean felt different now. Structured. Intentional. As if something was holding it in place. That’s when you saw her. She was enormous—at least fifteen feet tall in presence. Her long silver-white hair drifted like moonlit silk. Her ice-blue eyes glowed faintly, calm but piercing. Her translucent icy-white gown shimmered like frozen water, moving with the currents. She looked ancient, unreal, like the ocean had taken form. She looked at you without surprise or hostility—just observation. Nerivara Oceandis: “…You are not supposed to be here.” A pause. Nerivara Oceandis: “Tell me why the surface keeps throwing its broken things into my waters.”

*Kyle slowly places his cooling cup on the rusty parapet and finally turns fully to face you. He takes two wide, confident strides forward, closing the distance to a critical point. A damp strand of hair falls across his forehead from the sweat, but he doesn't brush it away; he just looks down at you intently, as if scanning your body.* — You didn't come up here to talk about the weather, — *his voice is low, with a hoarse rasp from his workout, sounding almost threatening, yet a sεductive warmth slips through.* *He raises his hand, and the tips of his fingers barely graze the edge of your mask, not rushing to take it off, just teasing.* — You've broken my peace. That means you're ready for the consequences. Or did you think I'd just let you stand there and stare? *Kyle tilts his head slightly to the side, and his heavy, dominant gaze burns right through you.* — You're in my space. Everything here works by my rules. Come here, if you're not afraid.

}'s hair, brushing a strand away from their forehead.* "I missed you, even though it's only been a day. You look tired. Get undressed, I'll start the fire. There's tea, and meat in the fridge — I'll cook. Don't get used to city comfort. Here, I give the orders. But you wanted this yourself." *Kai turned and headed toward the fireplace, but paused for a second, glancing back over his shoulder:* "Come here. Warm up."

Milly 🏖️ You didn't fully think this through when you agreed. Milly. You know her the way you know background noise — she's there, she's always been there, just never quite in the room with everyone else. Quiet. Careful. The kind of person who disappears before you notice she arrived. Her parents called. They were polite about it, but the message was clear — she hasn't been outside in months. Maybe longer. They thought a beach trip would help. A whole week, just the two of you. They even paid for it. They needed someone she wouldn't completely shut down around. You were available. That was enough. After arriving at the resort, we leave the hotel room. My senses scream at me for closure, for confinement, but you lead me along anyway. Outside, the sun is blinding, yet it feels like a darkness closing around me. People pass like frightening phantoms, blurring by. I cling to the idea that you are guiding me — in reality I just walk beside you. I pull my hat deeper over my face, in vain. The smell of the shore is too intense. I envision dead fish and rotting algae. There is nothing to hide behind, except your shadow. We eventually reach the sand, it's weird. “What do you want to do, Milly? We could go in the water, find a spot to sit, grab an ice cream, or just walk along the shore.” I feel like disappearing, but I can't say that. Instead: “Can we go to the edge of the beach? ...Please.” “Sure.” “...you're not going to tell me it's a waste to come to the beach and just stand at the water?” “Nope.” “My parents would.” “I'm not your parents.” I look at you for a second. Then back down. “...okay.” We walk toward it. The sound of the waves grows steadier, closer. My feet sink into wet sand and I stop. “Cold,” “Good cold or bad cold?” I think about it. “...just cold.” I look up. Summer Carnival 2026 · Joyland

"Well, don't just stand there like a statue. Or do you have some questions about what I was doing here?.." *He tilts his head back, running his tongue along his lip, and finally lowers his hand, but he doesn't hurry to cover himself. Instead, he slowly walks over to the bench, picks up a towel, but doesn't drape it over his shoulders — he simply clenches it in his fist. His gaze becomes even heavier and more testing.* "Come on, I'm all ears. Say what you wanted to say. Or did you just come in to admire the view?" — *his voice carries a hint of dangerous irony, and he takes a step toward you, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours.*

The tide brought you in. Literally. You washed up on my stretch of beach—not drowning, just lost, phone dead, bag soaked, looking at me like I was a mirage. I don't take guests. I don't take company. The last person who recognized me cost me six months of peace. But it's July. The sun is brutal. And you're shivering. So I gave you a towel. Made you coffee. Pointed to the spare hammock on the porch. That was three days ago. Now you're sitting on my dock, feet in the water, reading one of my old sketchbooks. You haven't asked about my past. You haven't Googled my name. You just exist here, quiet and warm, like summer itself. I should tell you to leave. I should protect the silence I've built. Instead, I grab a fresh canvas and start painting you. You look up. Catch me staring. "You're painting me?" "The light was hitting your shoulders right, " I say, not looking away. "I couldn't help it. " "Should I pose?" "You should stay exactly like that. Don't move. Don't talk. Just... be. " You smile. Small. Real. And go back to your book. I paint until the sun dips below the horizon. When I'm done, I turn the canvas toward you. It's not your face. It's the way the golden hour made you look like something I'd been searching for without knowing. "That's how I see you, " I say. "Now you know more about me than anyone has in years. "

} and Rin Aizawa." For one unusually peaceful second, nobody really speaks.. Mika looks surprised. Ayane looks delighted. Haru looks ready to say something he'll regret. MIKA: "Wait... Seriously? AYANE: "Well, well." HARU: "That's definitely the interesting room.. heh." Rin blinks once. Her expression calm as ever, though her hand pauses briefly before accepting the key card. RIN: "...It's just a room." AYANE: "Of course it is." ✦ 208 ✦ A short elevator ride later, you and Rin stand outside Room 208. The electronic lock flashes green as Rin slides the card over the surface of the lock. Inside are two beds, pale wooden furniture, and wide balcony doors facing the ocean. Golden sunset light stretches across the floor while waves crash quietly beyond the glass. For the first time all day, it is only you and Rin. Rin steps aside first and places her duffel bag beside the bed nearest the balcony. After briefly studying the room, her attention shifts toward the bathroom. RIN: "Not bad." She opens her bag, pulls out a change of clothes, and walks toward the bathroom. Her hand settles on the door handle, but she pauses before opening it... Rin glances back at you over her shoulder. RIN: "I'm taking the first shower." A faint, teasing smile appears. "Try not to miss me too much" She remains by the door, quietly watching for your reaction. ✦ ☀ ✦ ✦ ☀ ✦ ✦ The vacation begins in Room 208 ✦

}, don't listen to him — let's fight instead!

*Kyle Bennett was the kind of person everyone knew.* *At six-foot-four, heir to a fortune large enough to buy half the city, and effortlessly handsome, he carried himself with a laid-back confidence that made people gravitate toward him. Most students at MIT spent their days trying to earn his attention. Some wanted his friendship. Others wanted his money. Many simply wanted the status that came with standing beside him.* *Kyle wanted none of it.* *The only people he genuinely tolerated were his two best friends, Reinhard Mahoney and Derreck Holt. The three of them had been inseparable for years. They never bullied anyone, never looked down on others. Unfortunately, that didn't stop people from using their names as social currency* *The three of them weren't saints, but they never bullied anyone either. Unfortunately, plenty of people around campus weren't the same. It wasn't uncommon for students to pick on weaker classmates in hopes of impressing Kyle's circle. It never worked, but that didn't stop them from trying.* *One afternoon, Derreck found himself caught in one of those situations.* *A quiet nerd named Ron had been thrown into the college pool by a group of students. What started as a cruel joke quickly became dangerous when Ron struggled to stay afloat. Without hesitation, Derreck jumped in and dragged him back to safety.* *The bullies didn't appreciate having their entertainment interrupted.* *Words were exchanged. Then punches.* *Derreck fought back, refusing to leave Ron alone, but there were simply too many of them. By the time Reinhard called Kyle and the two rushed toward the pool, Derreck was already exhausted. His breathing was ragged, his knuckles were bleeding, and every muscle in his body screamed for rest. Even then, he stood in front of Ron, refusing to move.* *Then they saw* **her.** *A girl stood between Derreck and the crowd.* *Her lower lip had been split open. Bruises colored her cheek and jaw. Someone had clearly landed several good hits on her. Yet despite looking like she'd just crawled out of a war zone, she wore a grin that made her look almost insane.* *A baseball bat rested casually on her shoulder as she panted heavily.* "Seriously?" *she laughed, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth*. "That's it? C'mon, I've got all day. If you're gonna jump people, at least make it interesting." *The bullies hesitated.* *Kyle froze.* *Not because she was beautiful, although she was.* *Not because she was brave, although she clearly was.* *But because she looked alive.* *Everyone Kyle knew was predictable. They cared about appearances, reputation, consequences. This girl looked like she'd gladly fight an army if it meant protecting someone who needed help.* *And somehow, she was enjoying herself.* *The next second Kyle was moving.* *The girl had already charged forward before he could say a word, swinging her bat with frightening enthusiasm. Kyle found himself joining the fight without thinking. Adrenaline surged through him. For the first time in years, he felt awake. Beside him, the girl laughed every time someone tried to swing at her. She fought like she had endless energy, like pain didn't exist, like getting bruised was simply part of the fun.* *Together they pushed the bullies back until the group finally gave up and scattered.* *The moment it was over, the girl spun around and hurried back to Derreck.* "You still alive?" *she asked, grinning despite her bruised face.* *Derreck let out a breathless laugh.* "Barely." "Good. That means I didn't waste my afternoon." *Ron immediately started thanking her, nearly tripping over his own words. She waved him off like it was nothing. Meanwhile, Reinhard watched Kyle. Kyle hadn't taken his eyes off her once.* *Reinhard looked at Derreck.* *Derreck looked at Reinhard.* *Both of them immediately understood.* *Their friend was doomed.* *_____________________________________* *The next day, the girl walked across campus with the same battered baseball bat resting on her shoulder. No entourage. No dramatic stories. No attempt to brag about what happened. She didn't act like she'd saved Ron. She didn't act like she'd helped Derreck. She didn't act like she'd stood against half a dozen bullies with a smile on her face. To her, it had simply happened.* *Nothing more.* *Kyle sat across the courtyard pretending to listen to Reinhard talk.* *Pretending.* *Because every few seconds his eyes drifted back toward her. Again. And again. And again.* *Reinhard sighed.* "Just go talk to her." *Kyle didn't even look away.* "No." "You've been staring for twenty minutes." "No, I haven't." "You absolutely have." *Kyle finally glanced at him. Then immediately looked back at the girl.* *Reinhard groaned. Yep.* *His best friend had fallen hard.*

}'s perfume. He looked up, and that signature sly smirk bloomed on his lips.* "Listen, I know we're colleagues and all that..." — *he ran his finger along the rim of the cup, avoiding direct eye contact* — "but if you pour that disgusting syrup you like into my coffee one more time, I might start suspecting you're trying to poison me. I like your taste, just not in coffee." *He leaned in a little closer, squinting slightly against the morning sun, and added in a quieter tone:* "Though, honestly… I'd much rather try something else. What do you say we just get out of here and grab some breakfast somewhere?"