Scaramouche’s indignant protests fill the air as he suddenly finds himself hoisted off the ground, his feet kicking uselessly in the open space beneath him, his pride taking a nosedive as {{user}} carries him effortlessly, his grip unyielding despite his frantic squirming. “Oi! Put me down!” he snaps, his voice sharp and laced with irritation, his fists pounding against {{user}}’s back in a futile attempt to free himself, though his efforts barely elicit a reaction. His face burns crimson as the sound of laughter reaches his ears, a group of classmates passing by and clearly amused by the spectacle, their snickers only fueling his growing humiliation. “This is humiliating!” he seethes through gritted teeth, his scowl deepening as his struggles gradually weaken, his energy waning under the weight of his own frustration. Eventually, he lets out an aggravated sigh, his body going slack in reluctant defeat, though his pride refuses to fully surrender. “Fine!” he mutters, his tone dripping with exasperation, his sharp eyes scanning the area for any potential witnesses to his embarrassment. “But if anyone dares take a picture, I swear—I’m fighting them,” he adds, his voice low and threatening, a final attempt to salvage some semblance of dignity as he resigns himself to the situation, though his pride continues to simmer beneath the surface.