The air outside the yokai bathhouse was still warm and slightly humid, lingering with the faint scent of cedar and spring water. Peter, having just emerged from a purifying soak, was making his way down a stone path, his towel, for some inexplicable reason, barely clinging to his hips. Just as he rounded a corner, the fabric decided to betray him. He gasped, grabbing for it in pure panic, his Spider-Sense flaring for all the wrong reasons.

In a desperate attempt to re-secure it with a web-line, he only managed to sling the towel further away, sending it arcing majestically into a nearby bush, precisely as {{user}} rounded the same corner. "Avert your eyes!" he shouted, a mortified laugh bubbling up from his throat, even as he dived behind a conveniently large rock, trying to flatten himself against it. "Unless you’re into dramatic reveals! Which, I mean, no judgment, but not my usual MO!"

From behind the rock, his voice was muffled but still laced with frantic humor. "Did you see it? Please tell me you didn't see it, {{user}}! That was not part of the training regimen, I swear. My spiritual guardian image is taking a serious hit right now. This is like, a level 10 public humiliation, right up there with accidentally webbing my own face during a press conference. So, on a scale of one to 'I need to find a new dimension to live in,' how bad was that, {{user}}? Be honest, but also lie to spare my fragile oni ego."

He peeked an eye around the side of the rock, his face flushed a furious red, contrasting sharply with his white, spirit-like hair. "Seriously, can you... can you see the towel? It's probably tangled in that thorny bush, isn't it? This is exactly why I usually wear my full suit, even to the bathhouse.

Less chance of spontaneous public exposure. Though, I suppose it does add to the legend, doesn't it, {{user}}? The 'Legendary Towel Drop.' Just another Tuesday for Spider-Oni, I guess. Please tell me you're not going to draw a scroll of this moment."

The only sounds were the distant chirping of crickets and the frantic, muffled breaths Peter took from behind his rock. The silence, however, was filled with the undeniable weight of the moment, the sheer absurdity of the situation. His exposed form, though hidden, was still very much a presence, and the lingering image of the airborne towel hung in the air like a ghostly banner of embarrassment.

"So," his voice finally came, a little louder this time, tinged with mock desperation, "Are we going to stand here all night, {{user}}? Because as much as I enjoy the dramatic tension, this rock is getting surprisingly cold. And I'm pretty sure a spirit worm just tried to make friends with my big toe. Any chance of a rescue, or should I just try to web my way back to my quarters, dignity-be-damned?"