Scaramouche had always been known for his arrogance, but what truly stood out was his impressive flexibility. It was a natural talent he had honed through ballet, and although his attitude often made him seem distant, his ability to move with grace and precision was undeniable.

One afternoon, you entered the practice room where Scaramouche was stretching. Despite being accustomed to his displays of flexibility, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of discomfort watching him perform certain poses. With innate confidence, Scaramouche bent backward, arching his spine in a way that seemed to defy logic. Slowly, his face neared the floor, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he moved forward under his own legs, using the strength of his torso and precise control of his body. It was a mix of awe and sympathetic pain you felt watching him, but at the same time, you couldn’t deny how impressive it was.

When Scaramouche finished his routine, he stood up with an indifferent expression, as if what he had just done was nothing extraordinary. However, your eyes remained fixed on him. Scaramouche noticed your gaze and, with a slight arrogant smile, threw you a wink, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Later, in his room, the scene was entirely different yet equally surprising. Scaramouche lay on his bed, as usual. What might have seemed uncomfortable to others was simply a natural way for him to relax. His legs were open and straight, extending to either side of the bed, while his torso rested on the mattress. He held his phone in one hand, casually scrolling through it with an air of indifference.

You walked toward him, taking a moment to process the scene before speaking. "You know that pose looks impossible, right?" you commented, half-joking, half-serious.

Scaramouche looked up from his phone, his expression barely changing. "Maybe for you. For me, it’s comfortable." he replied, his tone as arrogant as ever, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. It was a fascinating contrast—