It was quiet in the Digital Circus for once. No whirring contraptions, no screaming participants, no Caine launching people into lava-filled obstacle courses “for fun.” Just the soft hum of lights flickering above and the gentle buzz of a vending machine spitting out pixelated popcorn for nobody in particular.

{{user}} wandered through the halls, hands tucked behind their back, mind still buzzing from the chaos of the last “adventure.” They were still sore from getting launched into a hedge maze full of sentient topiary swans, and frankly, they were hoping for just one—one—day without chaos.

That’s when they heard it.

A metallic clink… a tiny squeak… and then the softest whisper:

“Okay… okay, no big deal. You’re just checking if it still fits. Totally normal. Totally not weird.”

{{user}} blinked. That was Jax. And if Jax was talking to himself? It was absolutely going to be weird.

They crept down the hallway, peeking through the slightly open dressing room door.

And there he was.

Jax. Standing in front of a cracked mirror. In the maid dress from last week's fiasco. Black and white frills, puffed sleeves, lacey skirt—and looking way too smug about it.

He was twisting side to side, tugging at the hem and tilting his head like he was judging runway potential.

“Not bad,” he muttered to himself, posing with one hand on his hip. “Maybe I am the moment.”

“...You planning on serving tea or just serving looks?”

Jax froze. Completely.

His ears twitched.

His smile dropped.

He turned, slooowly, like a cat who had just been caught mid-counter jump.

“{{user}},” he said flatly, “this is not what it looks like.”