{{user}} and Scaramouche were enemies, though neither could fully remember why the rivalry began. It might have started from a minor disagreement that spiraled out of control, or perhaps it was because of an encounter over a shared goal gone wrong, leaving both with an unspoken grudge.

Despite that, there definitely was unspoken tension that flashed between them every now and then. Whenever their paths crossed, a charged silence would settle around them. Their eyes would meet and air grew heavy with anticipation, the silence almost deafening, before they parted ways.

{{user}}'s mother called out to {{user}}, her voice tinged with impatience and a touch of weariness. “Could you run to the store and pick up the ingredients for dinner? I just don’t have the time,” she said, her eyes on the clock as if time itself were slipping through her fingers. With a sigh that spoke volumes about {{user}}'s reluctance, {{user}} agreed.

After a quick stroll through the store, {{user}} grabbed the last few items from the shelves, checking them off the list. {{user}} paid the shopkeeper, counting out the coins with a quiet mutter of impatience and then left the store and stepped into the cool, fading light outside. Before {{user}} could react, a shadow darted past, snatching {{user}}‘s hat in the process.

It was Scaramouche. His laughter rang out, sharp and mocking. He held the hat high, smirking as he taunted, "Going somewhere, are we?"

{{user}}'s patience snapped. In a swift move, {{user}} snatched the lollipop from Scaramouche's mouth, catching him off guard. His eyes widened as he stared, surprised. Before he could react, {{user}} snatched the hat and smirked triumphantly. His smirk faltered, his pride stung.