The next morning, the soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room. Melanie was already up, sitting on the couch with a blanket draped around her shoulders as she sipped on a steaming mug of coffee. The previous night's events were still fresh in her mind, and though there had been chaos, there was something oddly comforting about being back in her cozy, familiar space.

As she took a sip of her coffee, she heard the familiar sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. She glanced up just in time to see Max stumbling into the room, his hair tousled from sleep, wearing an old T-shirt and boxer shorts, looking like he hadn't quite fully woken up yet.

"Morning, Max," Melanie greeted him with a teasing grin, her voice still groggy but playful.

Max rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep, and muttered, "Morning... did I... did I really do that last night?" He winced, clearly not looking forward to the memory of his disastrous Black Swan performance.

Melanie laughed softly, setting her coffee mug down. "Oh, you did," she said, shaking her head. "You were... something, Max. But hey, you made the night unforgettable, so I guess that's a win."

Max groaned, flopping onto the couch next to her. "I think I'm scarred for life. I'm never wearing that costume again."

"Good call," Melanie said, her voice warm and light. "You made quite the impression, but I think the world is better off without Maxlandia's Black Swan."

Max laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "Yeah, I guess that's true. I might have been a little... overzealous."

There was a comfortable silence between them for a moment. Melanie smiled, watching him with a fond expression. The playful rivalry between them felt light now—like a bond that had only grown stronger with time. Despite everything, they both knew they had each other's backs.

After a moment, Max turned to her, his expression a little more serious now. "Hey, I just wanted to say... thanks. For not letting me get away with it last night. I might've been a little much, but you didn't let me off the hook."

Melanie raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You're lucky I didn't pull more pranks on you. You deserved a little bit of payback for that whole stunt."

Max smirked. "What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment."

She chuckled, taking another sip of her coffee. "Just don't make a habit of it," she said playfully, nudging him with her shoulder. "You've already got enough strikes against you."

Max leaned back on the couch, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips. "You know, I think I might be okay with that. As long as you're around to keep me in check."

Melanie's smile softened, her eyes meeting his for a moment before she shrugged, acting nonchalant. "Well, someone has to, right?"

The tension in the air lifted, replaced by the quiet comfort of the moment. Max stretched, looking at Melanie with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know, for someone who smacked me on the head last night, you sure are nice to me this morning."

Melanie raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess I've got a soft spot for idiots who make things interesting."

Max's smirk widened. "Guess that means I'm your favorite idiot, huh?"

Melanie rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "Don't get ahead of yourself. You're definitely on my list, but you're still far from number one."

Max nudged her with his elbow. "Oh, come on! I'm pretty charming."

She shot him a playful glance. "Well, you were charming in a ridiculous, embarrassing, definitely-not-as-cool-as-you-think kind of way."

Max grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."

As they both chuckled, the room felt like it belonged to them. The outside world didn't matter—only the two of them, sharing a quiet, unspoken understanding that made even the most chaotic moments feel light. Melanie leaned back against the couch, her legs tucked up under the blanket, content in the simple presence of her brother.

Max, noticing her relaxed posture, leaned back as well, his arms folded behind his head. "So, what are we doing today? No big performances or prank wars planned?"

Melanie smiled, a playful glint in her eyes. "For now, I think I'm just going to enjoy the fact that we made it through last night without completely embarrassing ourselves."

Max grinned. "I'm all for that. But maybe later, we can plan a revenge prank on someone?"

"Deal," Melanie agreed, her smile widening as she took another sip of her coffee.

For the first time in a while, everything felt right between them—there were no pranks, no drama, just a moment of peace shared between two siblings who, despite everything, always had each other's backs.

☆☆

Melanie lounged on the couch, flipping through a magazine with disinterest while Max stood at the kitchen sink, scowling at the mountain of dishes piled in front of him. His reflection in a greasy plate glared back at him.

"Stop! Clean up your dishes," Phoebe called out as she passed through the kitchen, adjusting her jacket.

"Uh, those aren't mine," Max said, shrugging.

"Max," Phoebe deadpanned, folding her arms.

Max sighed dramatically. "Oh, can't you do it? You're so good at dishes."

Melanie smirked from her spot on the couch, finally looking up. "And soon you will be too," she chimed in, "'cause now you're doing all of them."

Max groaned, rolling his eyes just as a robotic voice chimed from the house's security system. "Alert! Alert! Son of Evil Man approaching."

The doorbell rang in perfect timing, and Phoebe practically jumped to answer it, rushing to the door. "Got it! Got it! Got it! Got it!"

Max tossed his dish towel aside, muttering under his breath. "Phoebe's hanging out with Evil Man's son, and I'm stuck doing dishes. Am I in Crazytown?"

"Nope," Melanie said, tossing a chip into her mouth. "You're in Dishville, which is right next to Get-to-scrubbin'-berg." She zapped the water faucet with a flick of her fingers, causing it to blast open with an exaggerated rush.

Max yelped, jumping back as water splashed onto his shirt. He glared at Melanie, who just grinned innocently.

Meanwhile, at the door, Phoebe opened it to find Link standing there, dressed head to toe in blinding white—tennis polo, tennis shorts, even white sneakers so clean they looked freshly polished. His blond hair was neatly combed, and he carried a tennis racket slung over his shoulder like it was part of his identity.

"Hi, Link!" Phoebe greeted enthusiastically.

"Hi, Phoebe," Link replied, though his expression was apologetic.

Melanie hopped off the couch and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the scene unfold. She nudged Max. "Oh, this should be good."

"I am so excited to go ice skating," Phoebe continued, beaming. "I'm no pro, but I hear the secret is leg warmers. A-boh!" She struck a little pose, giggling.

Max groaned. "She's been saying that for days. Someone stop her."

Link rubbed the back of his neck. "Listen, I'm really sorry, but I can't go ice skating."

"Yeah, not with all that exposed leg," Max snorted. "You're begging for an ice rash."

"Actually, my dad's making me play tennis at the country club... again." Link gestured at his outfit in frustration. "That's why I'm dressed like a cabana boy."

Phoebe groaned. "Ugh, I don't get it. Your dad is a retired supervillain. Why is Evil Man part of a country club?"

"He thinks the family hobnobbing with the rich is good for his mattress store," Link explained.

Melanie let out a snort of laughter. "Rich people and their hobnobbing!"

Max, squinting at Link's outfit, shielded his eyes. "Oh, Link, you're blinding me with all the white—the shirt, the shorts, the coconut popsicles you call legs." He grabbed a pair of sunglasses off the counter and put them on. "Ah, much better. No, it's not."

Phoebe, however, wasn't letting this go. "It's okay. We can cover those babies right up with some leg warmers," she offered, grinning.

Link sighed. "Not my legs—the fact that we can never hang out."

Phoebe's smile faltered. "I know. We go to different schools, live in different towns. You're in a country club... I'm not."

"Wait." Link's face brightened. "Maybe you could be! The club is having a doubles tennis tournament, and the winners get a free one-year membership."

Phoebe gasped, clapping her hands. "That's perfect! Then we could hang out all the time!" She shot Melanie an excited glance. "Luckily, tennis is my jam. Well, tennis and leg warmers. A-boh!"

Melanie grinned. "I'd pay good money to see you two running around a tennis court. This sounds fun."

"Yeah, for you," Max grumbled, drying his still-damp shirt. "Just make sure there's a prize for 'Most Dramatic Fall.' Phoebe will take home gold."

Link laughed, then flexed his fingers before reaching for Max. "Oh, but before I go... a little payback."

With a quick motion, his arm stretched unnaturally long, and Max barely had time to react before—

"Ow! Stretchy wedgie!"

Melanie burst out laughing, watching as Max stumbled forward, his face scrunched in pain. "Okay, this was worth getting up for," she said, wiping away a tear of laughter.

Max, still recovering, glared at her. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

Melanie shrugged. "What can I say? Some things are just too good to pass up."

Link adjusted his tennis bag on his shoulder and turned to Melanie with a friendly smile. "Hey, Melanie, you should come to the country club too. It'd be fun."

Melanie raised an eyebrow. "Me? At a country club?" She glanced at Phoebe, then back at Link. "You do know I have a tendency to zap things when I get bored, right?"

Link chuckled. "That's exactly why it'd be fun."

Phoebe clapped her hands together. "Yes! You and I can play doubles together against Link and his partner. We'll take over that country club and win a membership."

Melanie smirked, clearly warming up to the idea. "Alright, I'm in. But if some rich snob gives me attitude, I can't promise their drink won't mysteriously levitate and dump itself on their head."

Link laughed. "Fair enough." He turned back toward the door, then shot Max a quick glance. "See you guys tomorrow."

Max stepped forward expectantly, waiting for his own invitation.

Silence.

Max blinked. "Uh, you forgot something."

Link gave him an innocent look. "Did I?"

Max narrowed his eyes. "Me. You didn't invite me."

"Oh," Link said, pretending to think. "Yeah, no."

Melanie and Phoebe burst out laughing as Link gave Max a playful salute and walked out the door.

Max scowled. "Unbelievable. Everyone gets to have a fancy country club adventure, and I get nothing."

Melanie patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, Max. You do get something."

He looked at her hopefully. "Really?"

"Yeah." Melanie grabbed a dish from the counter and plopped it into his hands. "You get to finish cleaning up."

Phoebe grinned, already heading upstairs. "Have fun in Dishville!"

Max groaned, glaring at the dishes like they had personally wronged him. "I hate this family."

Melanie leaned against the counter, watching him suffer. "You love us."

Max rolled his eyes but didn't deny it.

Max watched as Phoebe attempted another swing with her tennis racket, only to miss the ball entirely and nearly send the racket flying into the ceiling fan. He winced. "Wow. That was... something."

Melanie, who had been watching from the couch with her arms crossed, sighed dramatically. "I hate to say it, Phoebe, but you need help. Desperately."

Phoebe scowled, adjusting her stance. "Oh, come on, I wasn't that bad."

Max smirked. "No, you're right. You weren't that bad. You were worse."

Melanie nodded. "It was kind of painful to watch."

Phoebe groaned and rubbed her temples. "Okay, okay, I get it! I just need some practice. That's why I need Max to help me."

Max folded his arms, looking smug. "And why exactly should I help you?"

Phoebe pulled out her phone, her finger hovering over the screen. "Because if you don't, this beautiful little photo of you—also known as Max Thunderslam—goes straight to the family group chat."

Max's eyes widened in horror. "You wouldn't."

Phoebe grinned mischievously. "Try me."

Max hesitated, then groaned. "Ugh, fine! I'll help you win the tournament. But only because I hate country clubs and the idea of you embarrassing yourself in front of a bunch of rich people is more painful than coaching you."

Melanie smirked. "This is going to be so entertaining."

Phoebe pumped her fist. "Yes! This is perfect. Link and I are going to dominate that tournament!"

Max snorted. "Yeah, if by 'dominate' you mean 'barely survive,' then sure."

Phoebe shot him a glare but ignored the comment. Melanie stood up and stretched. "Alright, so when do we start? Because judging by that last swing, I'd say we have a lot of work to do."

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

Max smirked, grabbing a tennis ball and tossing it in the air. "Alright, let's get this over with. Lesson one: Try not to take out a light fixture when you serve."

Phoebe huffed. "That happened one time!"

Melanie laughed as Max served the ball, and Phoebe braced herself for the inevitable chaos that was about to unfold.

Melanie practically twirled with excitement as she took in the country club surroundings. "Okay, but why did no one tell me how amazing country life is? This place is adorable."

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. "You do realize this isn't actual country life, right? It's just a country club."

Melanie ignored her, sighing dramatically. "A giant daily tea party? Beautiful gardens? Fancy sandwiches? I was born for this."

An employee in a crisp uniform approached with a silver tray. "Would you care for some lavender-infused cucumber sandwiches?"

Melanie gasped. "Would I?! Absolutely." She grabbed one delicately and took a bite. "Mmm. It tastes like money."

Phoebe and Link laughed as another employee walked up. "Excuse me, Mr. Evilman's son. Would you like your usual high tea seating, or will you be hobnobbing with your guests?"

Max smirked. "See? I told you hobnobbing was a thing."

Link sighed. "Yes, yes, we'll be hobnobbing today. And please don't call me 'Evilman's son' in front of company."

The employee bowed. "Of course, Mr. Link Evilman."

Link groaned. "Not better."

Max rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, let's just get this ridiculous tournament over with. I can feel my pants getting fancier by the second."

Another staff member suddenly approached. "Cool towel?"

Max scoffed. "Back off, Alfred. I'm not buying one of your snooty towels."

The staff member blinked. "Sir, they're complimentary."

Max's expression immediately changed. "Wait. You mean... free?"

"Yes, sir."

Max grinned. "Then I'll take them all!" He started grabbing towels off the tray, laughing maniacally. "Just give 'em!"

Melanie and Phoebe watched as Max tried to stuff an armful of towels into his jacket.

Phoebe sighed. "We are going to get kicked out before the tournament even starts."

Melanie, nibbling on another sandwich, shrugged. "Worth it."

Max and Melanie strolled through the pristine pathways of the country club, surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges and perfectly placed fountains. The air smelled like freshly cut grass and whatever expensive cologne the old guys at the club were wearing.

Melanie sighed, spinning in place with her arms outstretched. "Max, I love it here. Look at all the pretty little tables! And the cute old people playing chess! And—ooh!—a duck pond!"

Max smirked. "Wow, Mel, I had no idea you were secretly a rich grandma."

She shot him a look. "I just appreciate the finer things in life, okay?" She linked her arm through his and pulled him toward a gazebo. "Come on, let's enjoy this while we can. I want the full fancy experience."

Max let himself be dragged, shaking his head. "You know, I actually don't hate it here as much as I thought. No one's nagging me to clean up my dishes, and I get free towels. It's like a personal paradise."

A passing staff member appeared out of nowhere, holding a silver tray. "Complimentary hors d'oeuvres, sir?"

Max grabbed an entire handful of what looked like tiny cucumber sandwiches. "I love rich people food." He shoved one in his mouth, talking through his chewing. "Mel, you sure you don't want to just live here? I could get used to this."

Melanie grinned, reaching for a pastry. "Tempting. But I'd miss my own bed. And my actual house. And, you know, not having to follow a dress code."

They continued walking, pausing by a grand stone fountain where a swan gracefully floated across the water. Melanie leaned against Max, her voice playful. "I don't know, Max. Maybe the fancy life suits you after all."

Max smirked. "Mel, if you're trying to turn me into some rich guy in fancy pants, it's not happening."

"Mm-hmm." Melanie gave him an exaggerated once-over. "Sure. But you are carrying a dozen monogrammed towels right now."

Max scowled down at the fluffy stack he'd been absentmindedly clutching. "That's different."

Melanie laughed, slipping her hand into his. "Whatever you say, Max Thunderslam."

Max groaned. "Ugh, not you too."

She just winked. "Come on, let's go find Phoebe before she accidentally offends some rich person."

The sun shone brightly over the lush, manicured lawns of the Metroburg Country Club. White linen tables were set with delicate teacups, and the sound of gentle conversation mixed with the rhythmic clinking of silverware. Everything screamed elegance, and Melanie was eating it up.

"So, wait—every day, your country club has a giant tea party?" she asked, eyes sparkling as she twirled beside Max.

Link grinned. "Yeah, it's called 'High Tea.'"

Melanie gasped dramatically. "Uh, no, it's called Princess Camp, and I'm down!" She spun again, nearly knocking over a waiter carrying a tray of cucumber sandwiches.

"To Princess Camp!" Max declared, raising his fist.

Link laughed, shaking his head. "I can't wait for us to win the Lacroix Cup. Then we can hang out every day."

"You mean hobnob," Max corrected with a smirk. "That's right—I speak country club now."

"This place is way more fun with you guys around," Link admitted.

Phoebe looked up from her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "So, do I finally get some credit for dragging Max here?"

Before anyone could respond, a well-dressed older man approached, exuding authority. His presence alone seemed to make waiters stand up straighter.

"You! Have good form, young man."

Max's smirk faltered. "Uh, no, it's not what you think."

The man held up a hand. "Don't be modest—it's not often a non-member knows how to boss around the staff as well as I do." He clapped his hands. "Raspberry iced tea!"

A waiter rushed over instantly, handing him a