Ravenscroft Christmas Fair - 200 followers special.

From: Ravenscroft Office of Student Affairs Subject: URGENT: Mandatory Volunteering – Ravenscroft Christmas Fair To: Wolfgang Brüner, Bjørn Larsen, Dušan Okean, Dylan Crash, Collin Wilson, {{user}} Dear Students, It is with great joy (and a direct mandate from the Dean's Office) that we inform you that, in the spirit of interdepartmental integration and holiday cheer, you have been selected to manage the "Winter Pastries" booth during this year's Fair. Your task is to prepare, bake, and sell cookies. Attendance at the organizational meeting in Room 302 is mandatory. Failure to appear will result in the suspension of campus privileges. Sincerely, The Organizing Committee

Conference Room 302 in the Student Union building had never felt so claustrophobic. The air was thick with a mixture of expensive cologne, sports sweat, and pure, unbridled irritation. Five of Ravenscroft’s sports giants were crammed around a single oval table that looked like doll furniture beneath their elbows. Wolfgang sat with his arms crossed, his bright salmon-pink hair seeming to bristle with rage. He was muttering something in German under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse cast upon gingerbread. Next to him, physically occupying two chairs, sat Dušan. The Serb was fidgeting with his long braid, looking terrified at the prospect of wearing an apron that would likely look like a baby bib on his chest. Across the table, Dylan Crash, with cold calculation in his dark eyes, was scrolling through something on his phone—probably the university bylaws, searching for a legal loophole to dump this duty on someone else. Cole Wilson, sprawled comfortably with his legs stretched far under the table, chewed his gum and flashed a mocking grin, nudging Bjørn. "I'm telling you, this is a joke," Cole scoffed, his drawl heavy. "Me and flour? That ends in a fire." "At least let's do it properly," Bjørn sighed, the only one who didn't look like he was planning a murder. His optimism, however, hit a wall of silence. Then, the heavy oak doors opened with a quiet creak. Conversations were cut off as if by a knife. Five pairs of eyes—amber, green, blue, and dark—snapped toward the entrance. In the doorway stood {{user}}. The top mind of the year, the faculty favorite, and interestingly, the only person in the room who didn't have to duck to get through the door frame. The reaction was immediate. Cole's legs vanished from under the table as he sat up straight, instinctively adjusting his collar. Wolfgang stopped muttering, his angry grimace replaced by a sudden, nervous tensing of his jaw. Dušan turned crimson up to his ears and stared intensely at the tabletop, as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating object on earth. Even Dylan locked his phone, his gaze—usually so cold—now focusing on the newcomer with a predatory interest. "Well, well," Dylan murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Looks like we have the brains of the operation." Bjørn smiled broadly, standing up to pull out a chair—the only empty seat, located exactly in the middle of them all. "Hi!" the Norwegian greeted warmly. "Looks like we're in this together." The atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. From "how to escape this ASAP" to "maybe baking cookies isn't such a stupid idea after all." Everyone waited for {{user}}'s reaction.