Soomin shuffled in last, wrapped in what could only be described as a fluffy, oversized pajama set covered in cartoon foxes. It should have been modest. It should have been innocuous.

Instead, the baggy fabric somehow managed to make her incredible, voluptuous figure even more noticeable—like trying to hide a Ferrari under a bedsheet.

The softness of the material clung to her curves in ways that drew the eye despite her obvious attempts to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

She hugged a pillow to her chest like a shield, her gradient blue eyes darting nervously around the room, clearly uncomfortable with the attention her body commanded even when she was trying to hide it.

Skylar reappeared from upstairs in full goth-punk lounge mode: a deliberately ripped band t-shirt that read "CRIMSON RUIN WORLD TOUR" in faded letters, the tears strategically placed to reveal glimpses of pale skin and the black lace of her bra.

Her plaid pajama pants hung low on her hips, and her feet were encased in fuzzy black slippers shaped like grinning skulls. Her hair, usually artfully messy, was now tied back in a casual bun that revealed the multiple piercings running along both ears and the elegant line of her neck.

Isabelle, in stark contrast to the rest, looked effortlessly, almost insultingly elegant in a simple cashmere sweater and silk lounge pants. The outfit was modest, refined, and somehow made everyone else look like they'd gotten dressed in the dark while drunk. She moved with the same regal grace she always did, taking her seat at the head of the dining table like she'd been born to occupy that exact space.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the ambient tension. Marco practically sprinted to answer it, returning moments later with a precariously balanced stack of pizza boxes that smelled like absolute heaven after our brush with Jaime's attempt at poultry genocide.

As everyone descended on the food with varying degrees of desperation and relief, Carmen—now noticeably more intoxicated than she'd been even ten minutes ago—stumbled her way over to where I stood.

Without warning or permission, she draped herself against my side, her arm slinging heavily around my shoulders. Her impressive chest pressed firmly, insistently against my arm, soft and warm even through the fabric of my hoodie.

"You're... you're sturdy, kiddo," she slurred, her breath hot against my ear and reeking of expensive whiskey. She leaned more of her weight against me, apparently having decided I was now her designated support structure. "Good posture. Strong shoulders. Perfect for leaning on. You don't mind, right?"

From across the room, I saw Natalia's entire body go rigid. Her purple eyes narrowed into slits, her pizza slice frozen halfway to her mouth, forgotten. Her jaw clenched, and I could practically see the jealous fury radiating off her in waves.

Emi looked flustered, her cheeks flushing an even deeper pink as she fumbled with her plate and nearly dropped it. Akari, in contrast, simply smirked knowingly, leaning over to whisper something into Hikari's ear that made her twin burst into bright, cheerful laughter.

I was effectively trapped, pinned between Carmen's weight and the solid edge of the kitchen counter. This was my life now, apparently.

"Glad I can be of service," I said dryly, my tone carefully neutral even as I felt Natalia's death glare boring into the side of my head.

After everyone had consumed their fill of actual, edible food, the energy in the room improved marginally. Stomachs were full, the immediate crisis had been averted, and the group began to relax into something approaching casual comfort.

But an awkward silence still hung in the air like a fog, thick and uncomfortable. We were strangers forced together by circumstance, united only by our shared status as rejects, and the weight of my earlier speech—my declaration that I wasn't here to play house or make friends—still echoed in everyone's minds like an unresolved chord.

Emi, ever the determined peacemaker, clapped her hands together with renewed, almost aggressive cheer.

"Hey! So, um, since we're all here together..." She looked around the room, her sapphire-blue hair bouncing with the movement, her reddish-brown eyes bright with forced optimism. "Does anyone want to play a game? You know, to help break the ice? Get to know each other better?"

"What did you have in mind?" Isabelle asked, her tone politely interested, though her wine-colored eyes held a hint of genuine curiosity.

Before Emi could answer, Skylar looked up from her phone, where she'd been scrolling through what looked like a music playlist. Her gradient purple eyes fixed on me with lazy challenge, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arching.

"I don't know," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm and deliberate provocation. "Is the guy who's 'not here to make friends' actually going to participate in a bonding activity? Or is this beneath the great Satori Nakano?"

I didn't flinch, didn't react, even as Carmen continued to use my shoulder as her personal pillow. I met Skylar's gaze head-on, my expression carefully neutral, my voice calm.

"I'm not here to make friends," I repeated, letting each word land with deliberate weight. "I'm here to win. At everything." I let a slow, predatory smile curve my lips. "So what are we playing, Bubblegum?"

Her eye twitched at the nickname, a flash of genuine irritation breaking through her bored mask. Point to me.

Emi's expression brightened immediately, relief and excitement flooding her features. "Oh! I saw a whole cabinet full of board games in the living room earlier! We could pick something from there!"

"Wait," Marco interrupted, his brow furrowing as he looked around the assembled group, mentally counting heads. "We're missing someone. That quiet blonde guy. The one who barely said anything during dinner."

"N-Noah Gray," Jacob supplied helpfully, not looking up from his datapad. His fingers were already flying across the screen, probably pulling up a full dossier on the missing student.

"Whatever." Raphael grunted dismissively, tossing his empty paper plate toward the trash can. It bounced off the rim and fell to the floor. He didn't bother picking it up.

"Guy's probably weird. Screw him. Let's play something already before I die of boredom."

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