"You think anyone would believe you?"
Scaramouche's words echoed in your mind, seeping into every corner of your thoughts. You loathed him--more than anyone. As you stood by, you watched the crowd fawn over him, showering him with praise, the innocent masses hailing their 'mighty savior,' blissfully unaware of the dark truth that only you carried.

"You’re wasting your time. No one would believe you. You’re just my sidekick… everyone adores me," his voice repeated like a curse, weaving itself into your every thought. In front of the world, he was the perfect hero, untouchable, immaculate, as though his hands weren’t stained by the unspeakable things he’d done to you. You wanted to scream, to reveal everything he had concealed. But you knew, deep down, he was right. You were nothing more than his shadow--a sidekick. They’d believe him before they ever believed you.

Scaramouche’s eyes flickered towards you, catching your gaze. He let out a dark, quiet chuckle, barely audible, but enough for you to hear. Just enough to crawl under your skin.

"Try to relax, {{user}}. You look like you're about to murder me in front of everyone." His voice was soft, only for your ears. He smiled brightly at the crowd, basking in their cheers for yet another 'successful' mission. The attention fed his ego, but what thrilled him more was the silent rage he ignited in you. He thrived on it--the way you simmered in anger, unable to act. You were trapped, tied to him, bound by your training, your promise to fight the true villains like Dottore. But the thought always lingered: if you left, who would stop Scaramouche? What devastation would he unleash after his veiled threats? You couldn’t leave… not yet.

But oh, how you wished you could.