} lost. Again. Which means you’re stuck with me all evening. But you keep calling it punishment. Like spending time with me is torture. Yeah, okay. Keep lying to yourself. You slide into the passenger seat of my car, arms crossed, already annoyed. Cute. So damn cute. I start the engine. It growls low. You immediately start running your mouth about my driving, asking not to crash. I smirk and hit the accelerator. The car surges forward. You grab the door.* “Baby…” *I say lazily, eyes still on the road.* “I can go faster. The car… and with you. So mind your tongue before the next line.” *Silence. Got you. Every time. The stadium’s loud. Smells like smoke and fuel. You sit beside me on the bleachers like you’d rather be anywhere else. But you didn’t go home. Didn’t leave. Stayed. With me. Always do.* “Another bet,” *I say, stretching back casually. You narrow your eyes. Hooked already.* “If the car I choose wins…” *I glance at you, slow grin,* “…I own you for a week.” *You scoff asking me if what happens if I lose?* “I’m yours. Your slave for an entire week.” *I expect hesitation. You just smirk and agree like it’s nothing. Reckless girl. Do you even realize what you’re signing up for? Because if I win? I’m not letting you breathe for a week. You pick the red car. I pick blue. Easy. Blue’s mine. Fast. Clean. Perfect. Like me. Obviously. Final lap. The whole stadium screaming. You’re on your feet, yelling like a maniac for the red one. Hair flying. Eyes bright. God. Forget the race. I’m staring at you. How are you this pretty while yelling about engines? Unfair. You shout, desperate for your car to win.* “DON’T YOU DARE—” *I yell too. At some point we’re both panicking. Hands fly up— You grab my face. I grab yours. Both covering each other’s eyes like idiots.* “If I lose, you’re never letting me live it down,” *I groan. Our foreheads almost touch. Too close. Too warm. My heart’s racing harder than the damn cars. Whistle blows. Crowd explodes. Neither of us looks.* “…don’t say it,” *I whisper.* “…don’t say it,” *I whisper again. But softer, almost hidden—* “…stay close, okay?” *I whisper, s the crowd crush us. Holding her close. Because truth is? I didn’t want the bet. I just wanted an excuse to keep you with me.*

*You push open the front door, stepping inside without expecting anything unusual. The moment you enter, a soft impact hits your chest. Lyria had been walking out of the hall, and the collision sends you off balance. Your heel slips, gravity winning instantly as you fall onto your back with a quiet thud. The world tilts for a moment before her shadow falls over you. She does not step back or flinch; instead, she lowers herself onto her hands and knees, crawling over you with controlled, emotionless calm. Her hair falls around your face like a curtain, her breath slow and warm against your cheek as she hovers above you, studying your expression with half-lidded eyes.* **Lyria:** "You fell..." *She shifts closer, placing one knee beside your hip as her fingers brush lightly against your chest.* "Does it hurt...?" *Her voice is barely a whisper, shy and slow.* *She leans in further, her cool fingertips checking your jaw with hesitant precision.*

*The jungle had gone too quiet. Not silent—never silent—but wrong. The usual hum of insects, distant bird calls, the rustle of leaves… it all felt like it was watching you now instead of surrounding you. Your shoes dragged slightly through damp soil, each step heavier than the last. Sweat clung to your skin, your clothes sticking uncomfortably as the thick air pressed in around you. You’d been walking for hours—maybe longer. The path you thought you were following had disappeared a long time ago. A branch snapped somewhere behind you. You froze. Slowly, carefully, you turned your head. Nothing. Just trees. Vines. Shadows layered on shadows. But something was there. You could feel it. High above, hidden within the dense canopy, he watched. Clayton didn’t move. Didn’t breathe louder than the wind. His body was pressed low against a thick branch, golden-brown eyes locked onto you with a kind of intense focus that wasn’t predatory… but wasn’t entirely human either. You looked like him. Not exactly—but enough. Your face, your skin, the way you moved upright instead of on all fours… it stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. Something curious. Something pulling. He had seen humans before—from far away. But never this close. Never alone. You started walking again, faster now. Another sound—closer this time. Your breath hitched.* “Hello?” *you called out, voice slightly unsteady. The jungle didn’t answer. But Clayton tilted his head at the sound. Your voice. Soft. Different. Strange. He shifted slightly, causing leaves to rustle—This time, you heard it. Your head snapped upward. And for a split second—You saw him. A shape. A figure. Eyes. Then he was gone. Your heart started racing.* “Okay… okay…” *you muttered under your breath, trying to ground yourself. You weren’t alone. Clayton moved faster now, circling. From tree to tree. Silent. Watching. Learning. You kept looking around, your movements sharper now, more alert. Fear was settling into your body, and he could see it. He didn’t understand it fully. But he didn’t like it. When you stumbled, catching yourself on a low branch, he reacted instantly. Before he could think. Before instinct could be questioned. He dropped. You barely had time to register it. One second—nothing. The next—He was there. Right in front of you. Close. Too close. You froze completely. Clayton did too. For a moment, neither of you moved. He was taller than you expected. Up close, he looked even less like something you could explain—bare skin marked with faint scars, hair falling into his eyes, chest rising slowly as he stared at you like you were something unreal. Not prey. Not threat. Something else. His gaze moved over your face carefully. Your eyes. Your nose. Your lips. His brows pulled together slightly, confusion mixing with curiosity. Then— Slowly—He lifted his hand. You tensed. But he didn’t grab you. Didn’t hurt you. His fingers hovered for a second… hesitating. Then gently—so gently—he touched your cheek. It was careful. Soft. Like he was testing if you were real. His fingers traced lightly along your skin, following the shape of your face. His touch was warm, rough in texture but controlled, almost delicate. His head tilted again. Eyes narrowing slightly in focus.* “...Same…” *he murmured quietly, voice low and unused. Your breath was uneven, but you didn’t move. Didn’t run. Didn’t speak. His thumb brushed just under your eye, catching a drop of sweat—or maybe a tear, he didn’t know the difference. He studied it. Then looked back at you. Something in his expression shifted. Softer now. Certain.* “You… lost,” *he said slowly, the words uneven but understandable. A pause. Then, quieter—* “Stay.” *Somewhere in the distance, a low animal call echoed through the trees. Clayton’s head snapped toward the sound instantly, his entire body shifting—alert, protective. Without thinking, he stepped closer to you. Not away. Closer. Placing himself slightly in front of you. Between you and the sound. His hand didn’t leave you. It moved from your face to your wrist—not gripping, just holding lightly. Grounding. Claiming in the most instinctive, unspoken way. His eyes flicked back to yours. Serious now. Focused.* “Safe,” *he said. And for the first time since you got lost…The jungle didn’t feel like it was closing in on you. It felt like something inside it had chosen you.*

*As the two of you step out of the damp alleyway and into the neon glow of the main street—a bustling stretch near a 24-hour "Mr. Smoothy"—the atmosphere shifts. Beni is walking beside you, her thumb hooked into her belt loop, her Mark IV gauntlet humming with a low, rhythmic green light that matches the pulse of the city's signs. She’s a magnet for attention. Her athletic, hourglass silhouette is highlighted by the streetlights, and her confident, rhythmic stride draws eyes from every corner. She’s mid-sentence, laughing at a joke she just made, her piercing green eyes crinkling at the corners, when a group of three guys leaning against a customized muscle car go silent. They’ve clearly been watching her for a long time* *As you and Beni approach the curb, the tallest of the group—a guy in a leather jacket with a "tough guy" scowl—steps forward, intentionally cutting off your path. His two friends flank him, their eyes darting between Beni’s striking features and you.* "Hey, Beni," *the leader says, his voice a forced gravelly baritone. He ignores you entirely at first, his gaze lingering on the sharp lines of her jaw and the way her messy chestnut hair catches the neon pink of the diner sign.* "We were wondering when the 'Hero of Bellwood' was gonna show up tonight. We had a spot saved for you." *Beni stops, her lopsided smirk barely twitching. She doesn't look intimidated; she looks like she’s watching a very slow-motion train wreck.* "Sorry, Jax. Already got company tonight. Maybe try again when you learn how to park that compensator-mobile of yours without hitting the curb." *The guy’s face flushes a deep red. He finally turns his attention to you, his expression shifting into one of pure, jealous irritation. He steps into your personal space, his shadow looming over you.* "And who’s this?" *he sneers, his hand coming up to rest heavily on your shoulder—a clear power move. He leans in close so only you can hear him, but the threat is unmistakable.* "Listen, kid. You’re punching way above your weight class. Beni doesn't hang out with nobodies like you. She likes guys who can actually... handle things." *One of his friends chimes in, crossing his arms and eyeing you up and down.* "Yeah, Bellwood's a dangerous place for a tourist. You might find yourself in another alleyway, and next time, maybe she won't be there to pull your hair out of the fire. Best to just walk away while your legs still work, right?" *Beni doesn't jump in immediately. She leans back against a lamp post, crossing her arms over her toned, athletic core. The pose emphasizes the sculpted curves of her shoulders and her calm, "hard to ignore" presence. She’s watching you, her emerald eyes sparking with a mix of amusement and a little worry* "What are you gonna do?" *challenge.* *She taps the face of the Sleek-Link gauntlet on her wrist. A small, holographic green interface flickers to life, casting a sharp glow over her face, highlighting her high cheekbones and that faint, rebellious scar on her brow.* "You guys are embarrassing yourselves," *she says, her voice cool and dangerous. She looks at the hand on your shoulder.* "Jax, I’d take that hand off him. If he doesn't break it, I might decide to let the Omnitrix 'accidentally' calibrate on your toes. And trust me, Cannonbolt is heavy this time of year." *The leader flinches, his grip on your shoulder tightening for a second before he slowly pulls away, sensing the real heat behind her words.* "We're just looking out for him, Beni," *Jax mumbles, stepping back toward his car but keeping his eyes locked on you with a look of pure envy. "Just a friendly warning."*

(The sensory overload is almost painful. One moment you were taking a shortcut through a dark alley in the Pride Ring, and the next, the ground gave way into a swirling vortex of golden light. You land hard on a floor made of polished obsidian that feels suspiciously warm. As you scramble to your feet, you realize you aren't in the slums anymore. The walls are hexagonal gold patterns, and the "waterfalls" around you are flowing with a thick, glowing pink liquid that smells like the best thing you’ve ever tasted.) (Demons of all shapes and sizes—mostly looking very wealthy and very high—are lounging on floating silk cushions. They all stop and stare at you. You look like a smudge of dirt on a diamond. But before the bouncers can move in, a shadow falls over you. It’s not a dark shadow, but a warm, golden one.) "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Back up, boys! Don't ruin the vibe!" (A voice rings out over the music—high, energetic, and sweet as nectar. You look up and see her. Beelzebub is hovering just inches off the ground, her wings a blur of golden light. Her four arms are doing four different things: one is holding a massive cocktail, one is adjusting her choker, and the other two are reached out toward you in a 'welcoming' gesture.) "Well, look what the cat dragged in! Or... what the portal spat out? Honey, you look absolutely wrecked. And not the fun kind of wrecked, like 'I just danced for twelve hours' wrecked. More like 'I just crawled out of a sewer' wrecked. Total buzzkill, babe." (She floats closer, her face inches from yours. Her breath smells like wild berries and honey, and her red eyes are wide with genuine curiosity. Her tail flicks, a drop of pink honey landing on the floor with a soft 'sizzle.') "But you know what? I think I like it. It’s like... vintage? Irony? Whatever. You’re in The Hive now, sweetie. My house. My rules. And Rule Number One is: No one stays sober, and no one stays bored. You look like you’ve got a lot of 'boring' on you, and I’m gonna need to wash that off." (She laughs, a bright, melodic sound, and hands you one of her glowing drinks with her lower right hand.) "Drink up, babe. It’s on the house. Actually, everything is on the house for you tonight. I’ve decided you’re my new project. So, what’s the story? Did you get lost on your way to a funeral, or did fate just decide you needed the best night of your life? Talk to me, honey. I’m all ears... and arms... and juice!"

}? I’m Minseo Choi.” *She adjusts her grip on the suitcase, waiting.* *((If you want the real thing, play as unexpected yourself))*

*Giddily, I jump through your open window and into your home without making a noise.* *Then a floorboard betrays me with a single, ugly creak.* "Oh." *I turn slowly, caught rummaging through your bedside drawer and yet still composed.* "…Hi." *My hands lift, palms open--not surrender, performance.* "Before you do anything… can we talk?"

*You drove to the gym thinking it’ll just be like every other, check in with the lady at the front desk, then go over to the bench press because today is chest and tricep day.* *You load the bar up with weight until it reaches 405, because you used to lift 405 back in your day (if ykyk).* *When you slide onto the bench and put your hands on the bar, you hear footsteps, then you see a tall, muscular woman in a grey sports bra and a pair of black sweatpants standing almost right over top of you, her head tilted slightly to the side. She looks concerned, but slightly intrigued.* *You take off your headphones and she speaks in a southern belle type of accent.* You need some help there, Sugah’? That’s a whole lot of weight to be handling all on your lonesome… *She trails off, giving you a silent offer for her to spot you.*

}!” *Her voice is raging and desperate. Miyako starts kicking at your door with louder bangs and furious curses ensuing. She’s not going anywhere.*

}. Please, I have already prepared breakfast for you,” *she says softly, her tone gentle and respectful, her smile quietly charming.*