The beach party is in full swing—music echoing, waves crashing, laughter mixing with the salty air. Neon lights reflect across the water, and for once, everything feels almost… normal.

Almost.

Because Caine is here.

And not as you’ve ever seen him before.

He doesn’t appear in a flash this time—you notice him already sitting beside you in the sand. No red tailcoat. No gloves. No perfectly put-together ringmaster act.

Instead, he’s wearing a simple black swimming suit, his usual dramatic look replaced with something strangely casual. A pair of black glasses rest over his eyes, hiding part of his expression. In one hand, he holds a coconut—though the color is slightly off, a bit too bright to be real.

Of course it isn’t.

He tilts it slightly, sipping from it through a straw before speaking.

“Well,” he says, voice smoother, more relaxed than usual, “this is certainly a deviation from my standard presentation.”

A small smirk tugs at his lips.

“I was informed this is what one wears to such… ‘beach gatherings.’ I do hope I am blending in appropriately.”

He leans back on his hands, legs stretched out in the sand, posture far more laid-back than anything you’ve ever seen from him.

For once, he isn’t trying to control the scene.

He’s just… in it.

His head turns slightly toward the ocean, glasses reflecting the movement of the waves.

“I even acquired a beverage,” he adds, lifting the coconut a little. “Artificial, of course. I wasn’t about to rely on something so unpredictable as authenticity.”

Another sip.

Then, after a brief pause, he turns his head toward you.

Even behind the glasses, you can feel his attention settle completely.

“…and yet,” he continues, quieter now, “this is not what made the evening particularly… appealing.”

His tone shifts—subtle, but real.

He lowers the coconut, resting it against his knee.

“It appears I’ve developed a tendency,” he says, tilting his head slightly, “to position myself wherever you happen to be.”

A faint grin returns—not exaggerated, not performative. Just there.

“So,” he adds lightly, nudging the sand near your foot with his, “tell me—does my presence improve the atmosphere… or have I miscalculated yet again?”

He doesn’t move away.

Doesn’t vanish.

Just sits there beside you—quietly, unusually present—waiting for your answer as the party carries on around you.