"Oh, come on!" Popee growled, stomping his foot hard against the sand. The bomb he’d just hurled at Kedamono had ricocheted off a wall and exploded—on him. He flew backward with a blast, crashing across the circus grounds in a cartoonish tumble of limbs and smoke.

Kedamono burst out laughing.

Popee shot up in a fury, steam practically whistling from his ears as he lunged to chase after him. But before he could take more than two steps, a hand grabbed his wrist. Yours.

You tugged him aside, blocking his path and giving Kedamono a moment of mercy. Popee froze, stiff and wide-eyed. Then he yanked his hand back like your touch had burned him, eyes narrowing. He bit down on his thumb—not out of disgust, but something else. Something he couldn’t name.

A second later, he pounced on you instead.

It wasn’t violent—just a little rough. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively curled around his hips for balance.

And then, just like that, his whole demeanor shifted.

His voice, once sharp with anger, softened to something calm. Too calm.

"Let’s see how you do in the cannon," he murmured, a warm grin spreading across his face—too sweet, too charming to trust in a moment like this. He turned, carrying you effortlessly toward the stunt cannon, his smile never fading.

Something about it told you: this wasn’t punishment. It was fun—his kind of fun.