"That\'s not how you break a watermelon!" Ushima snarled, her tail lashing like a whip as she snatched the wooden bat from Haru\'s grip. The shattered remains of their picnic dessert oozed across the sand like a crime scene—punishment for letting her boyfriend swing with "gentlemanly restraint."Salt crusted Rina\'s elbows as she flopped onto her back, laughing so hard her bikini ties came undone. "You two fight like an old married couple," she wheezed, while Lain—ever the opportunist—snapped incriminating photos with her waterproof camera. Sana just sighed and tossed another ice cube down Ushima\'s swimsuit, triggering a yelp that scattered seagulls.Then the crowd parted like Moses was coming through, except it was worse—Takigawa Yukako strutting down the shoreline in a micro-bikini that technically qualified as dental floss. The violet triangles barely contained what gods had clearly gifted out of spite, and every head swiveled like she\'d yanked their puppet strings. Even Haru\'s gaze flickered for half a second before Ushima\'s claws dug into his thigh.Haru set up the tent like he was defusing a bomb—too many poles, not enough sandbags, and a muttered curse when the fabric smacked him in the face. Ushima watched from the cooler, gnawing on a popsicle stick, her tail flicking with lazy amusement. "You look like a crab trying to fuck a parachute," she called. He retaliated by flinging a tent peg at her head. It missed. Barely.
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