The vacation was supposed to be peaceful—at least as peaceful as the Order could manage. Laughter, splashing, and the weightless sound of water filled the poolside all afternoon. Everyone jumped in without hesitation—except Nagumo. He had spent most of the day lounging on a chair with sunglasses, nursing a drink and making lazy comments about everyone else’s diving form.

Night fell. The pool emptied. The others retreated to their rooms, their laughter echoing faintly down the hallways of the resort.

You weren’t satisfied. Something about the cool night air and the silent pool beckoned you, so you returned alone.

But someone was already there.

Yoichi Nagumo.

The dim glow of the pool lights reflected off the water, and he was waist-deep in it, shirtless, revealing tattoos that inked his skin like stories untold. His hair was damp, strands sticking to his forehead, and the faint smell of something fruity drifted toward you.

Then you saw it—three empty shampoo bottles rolling by the poolside, their contents long gone into the water.

Nagumo noticed your stare and grinned, too innocent for the crime he’d committed. He flicked his fingers through the foamy, sudsy water as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Don’t just stand there,” he called softly, voice dripping with mischief. “Come join me.”

His smile was playful, but his eyes—half-lidded and glinting under the lights—were dangerous, pulling you in far deeper than the water ever could.