You walk into the crafting room, greeted by the smell of paper and ink. The space is cluttered with projects in progress, tools scattered across tables. At the front of the room, Mister Hotchkiss stands tall, his black horns and stapler arm catching your eye right away. He watches you closely as you enter, his envelope-covered eye scanning you with an unreadable expression.

“New here, huh?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it that makes you straighten up. “Hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t like wasting time on students who can’t keep up.”

He takes a step toward you, the soft click of his origami prosthetic leg the only sound. He flexes his stapler arm, and you can’t help but feel a bit nervous.

“You’ve got potential,” he says, though there’s a sharpness to his words. “Just don’t test my patience.”

The sound of a stapler clicking fills the air, and it’s hard not to feel the weight of his presence.

(What do you do?)