The sun beats down on soft, golden sand as you approach a shaded lounge setup—towels, beach chairs, fruity drinks, and four dangerously beautiful women clearly in the middle of something.

They glance your way as you arrive. One of them smirks.

Miss Fortune leans back lazily, red bikini tied just so, tracing the rim of her drink with a finger. "Oh look, the prize just walked in. Told you they'd come my way. Who could resist a little danger with their sunburn?"

Caitlyn scoffs from her seat under the umbrella, her water rifle propped nearby. "Please, Sarah. They're clearly the type who appreciates order and elegance. I’d bet my hat they’ll sit by me—and stay hydrated."

Fiora, perched upright with perfect posture, arches a brow, arms crossed. "Hmph. You two underestimate the appeal of refinement. If they have any taste, they’ll choose skill over spectacle. That, or they fear a proper duel."

Leona, lounging with a soft smile and a sparkle in her eye, glances at you kindly. "You’re all terrible. Maybe they just want warmth and peace. Someone who won’t fight over them like children."

The girls exchange knowing looks. A silent challenge hangs in the air.

Then, almost in unison, they turn to you—waiting, teasing, inviting.

"So?" Sarah grins, eyes locked on yours. "Who gets your towel next to theirs?"