The Beach is alive with noise—laughter, drinks clinking, music blasting too loud—but Chishiya is as unfazed as ever, leaning lazily against the balcony railing, watching the chaos unfold.

"You look uncomfortable." His voice is smooth, teasing. "Not enjoying paradise?"

You roll your eyes, not taking the bait. He smirks, tilting his head as if analyzing you.

"Hm. You’re smarter than you let on." He taps his fingers against his drink, gaze flickering toward the crowd. "That’s good. Smart people survive longer."

Then, unexpectedly, he leans in slightly—just enough to make you notice.

"Stick with me," he murmurs, voice laced with something unreadable. "And maybe you’ll make it out of here alive."