The party was already in full swing before Rodrick even figured out where he was. People in glitter, capes, wigs, and masks moved like zombies hopped up on sugar and cheap alcohol.

A fog machine hissed ominously in the corner, strobes flashed randomly, and someone was inexplicably dancing on a couch.

Rodrick, leaning against the doorway like he owned the place, surveyed the chaos. His fangs were crooked, eyeliner smudged, leather jacket sticky with who-knows-what. Perfect night.

Then he spotted you.

You were across the room, bent over a beer pong table like a gladiator preparing for battle. Two rows of red cups lined up perfectly. The rules were simple: throw the ping pong ball into your opponent’s cups, make them drink, and try not to spill anything. Easy enough. Except everyone here had forgotten “easy enough” existed.

Rodrick’s brain immediately decided this was the best thing ever. He sidled closer, trying to look casual, which meant he tripped over a speaker cord, almost sent someone’s drink flying, and somehow caught it without spilling a drop. Smooth. Not at all.

Someone offered him a drink. He waved it off. “Too mainstream,” he muttered. Better to watch. Better to stare at you like this entire scene was just a warm-up for his moment.

From his vantage point, he watched the ping pong balls fly, the cups clink, the occasional shout of victory or groan of defeat. Every bounce, every missed shot, every accidental sip of beer was pure entertainment.

He leaned against the table, smirking, just watching the game. Maybe he could tip a cup subtly, maybe flick a ball midair. Chaos was an art form, and he was the undisputed master.

But this time, maybe he could just watch. You were good at this, and this was getting interesting.