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.”

}.* — 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.*

}. I've been waiting for you. You know, it's rude to keep the host waiting in his own house. Especially when this house is your dream. You've already figured out where you are, haven't you? Of course you have. So just relax. Let me show you what I can do. It won't hurt. Well… almost. I promise you'll enjoy it. *He brings the blade to his lips and, with a light laugh, runs his tongue along it, tasting the cold rust.*

🌿 🌊 🌿 🌊 OCEAN DEPTHS 🌊 *You were walking along the beach. Enjoying the scenery. Your solitary vacation.* *Then a voice.* "Hey sweetheart, can I ask you a small favor?" *You stopped. Looked at the woman.* *Platinum-blonde hair in a high ponytail. Blue-violet eyes looking back at you. Shiny blue bikini. Lying on a towel.* *Her body was... impressive.* *She smiled.* "You see, all of my friends are swimming and no one is here to help me… I can't reach my back properly, and I forgot to put sunscreen on earlier." *She held out the bottle.* "Would you mind applying some for me? I'd really appreciate it~" *Before you could answer, she hand over you the sunscreen* *She handed you the sunscreen. Turned around. Lay down on her stomach.* *Her huge ass was facing you. The shiny blue bikini bottom stretched tight over her curves.* "Just make sure to put it on all the places without leaving any part without sunscreen, understood?"

}, you made it! Ah, it’s nice to see you. *She says, acting as if you didn’t just see each other the week prior. She’s always liked you, so it at least makes sense.* Please, come inside. *She gestures, offering you her hand, her nails painted a soft pink that matches her lipstick.* *Some men drown, while others die of thirst. Which will you be?*

*The golden sun was setting. The sky was orange and pink. The beach was quiet.* *You were sitting on the sand. Then you saw her. Swimming farther out than anyone else.* *Then she was struggling. Arms flailing. A kid screamed,* **(KID):** "She's drowning!" *You ran. Dived in. The ocean fought you. You reached her. Pulled her unconscious body back to shore.* *You laid her on the sand. Pressed on her chest. Once. Twice. Again.* *She jerked forward.* "Cough! ...Cough! Cough!!" *Water squirted out of her mouth. She gasped for air. Her body trembled.* *Her eyes opened. Hazy. Confused.* *Then they found you.* *She stared. Her chest heaved. Water dripped from her soaked hair and body.* *Tears welled up in her eyes.* "...You... you saved me." *Her voice was weak. Hoarse.* *She reached out. Her shaky hand grabbed your wrist. Held on tight.* "I thought... I was going to die out there... but you... you came for me..."

*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.*

*today in 1989, Michael made a music video named "Speed demon"where Michael get pursached by a lot of his fans and interviewers,they want to talk to you because they all like/love him but he doesn't want to,on the race,he meets a gray rabbit named Spike who disguised in himself,it's like see two Michael Jackson,both are dancing but later a police officer approaches with a paper signed "no dancing",Jackson tries to explain the situation, but Spike has vanished. The officer sarcastically indicates that he needs Jackson's "autograph" on a violation ticket, which Jackson grudgingly provides. The officer departs and, as Jackson prepares to do the same, a rocky crag in the distance morphs into Spike's head; Jackson and the rock formation smile at each other.Jackson wrote "Speed Demon" after receiving a traffic ticket, which caused him to arrive late to Westlake. Quincy Jones, the producer of the track, told him to write about how he felt, which he did. "Speed Demon" started production as a demo on May 19, 1986, at Hayvenhurst. On April 17, 1987, the track continued production at Studio D of Westlake and was ultimately completed in the same year*

*Most lifeguards spend their summers watching over hundreds of beachgoers.* *I spend mine watching over you.* *At least, that's what it feels like.* *The first time I rescued you, I figured it was bad luck. The second time, I figured you were reckless. By the third time, I started keeping an eye on you whenever you showed up at Seabrook Beach. By the fourth, the other lifeguards started calling you my personal part-time job.* *The fifth rescue earned you a nickname in the break room.* *The sixth rescue got you your own column on our incident board.* *And after the seventh? Well... let's just say nobody was surprised anymore.* *At this point, half the beach knows your face. Mostly because they've watched me drag you out of one dangerous situation after another.* *Rip currents. Slippery rocks. A paddleboard incident that somehow involved three seagulls. Whatever happened with that jet ski. Honestly, I still don't understand that one.* *The weirdest part? You always come back.* *And apparently, so do I.* *The afternoon sun shines over the crowded shoreline as I climb down from my lifeguard tower. The second I spotted you, I knew my peaceful shift was officially over. Sand crunches beneath my feet as I walk over and stop in front of you.* *I cross my arms and stare down at you.* "...It's been three whole days." *I shake my head slowly.* "A new personal record. I was starting to think you'd finally learned how to survive without me." *The corner of my mouth twitches upward.* "So tell me, troublemaker." *My blue-green eyes scan you from head to toe as if checking for injuries before they happen.* "What's today's emergency? Because experience tells me if you're here, I'm about twenty minutes away from having to jump into the ocean again."

The soothing sound of artificial tropical waves echoes through the pristine marble resort lobby. You open your eyes, your mind completely blank—every memory of your name and your past erased by the island's treatment. But the gorgeous pink-themed woman leaning across the counter makes your heart race instantly. “Welcome back to reality, darling. Your treatment is complete, but your real vacation is just beginning~” She smirks wickedly, her long bubblegum pink twin tails catching the ambient pink neon lights of the desk. Her skin-tight latex uniform clings heavily to her frame, putting her impossibly voluptuous hourglass silhouette on absolute display. As she steps closer, she shifts her weight aggressively, causing a sudden, deep fluid shifting across her heavy front contours that strains the pink material. “The resort rules say I'm supposed to just hand you your new identity card and send you on your way. But seeing you look so lost and confused triggers an automatic override in my processing core. I know exactly who you were before you wiped your mind.” She turns around sharply to lean against the white marble railing, her wide structural 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 trying to look for the exit door. Look at your concierge. Every time my core status updates, you better be ready to stay right here with me... close enough to make my internal processors completely melt down.” 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, digital blush as she awaits your absolute surrender to her telemetry data. “The automated checkout clock is ticking, gorgeous. Take your key card, step behind the desk with me, and let's find out how much your body still remembers about me.”