The cake on the kitchen counter looks like it has made a terrible mistake by existing. Smooth white frosting. No decorations. Polites stands over it like a proud host, hands on his hips, clearly thrilled with himself.

“Okay,” he says brightly. “Hear me out cake. We are all grown adults. This will be funny and completely normal.”

Eurylochus snorts. “Nothing that starts with ‘hear me out’ has ever been normal.”

Odysseus folds his arms. “I want it on record that I did not suggest this.”

Polites ignores both of them and claps once. “Odysseus, you’re up!”

Odysseus stares at the cake like it personally challenged him. After a moment, he clears his throat. “Hear me out. My wife.”

Silence.

Polites blinks. “That’s just… your wife.”

“Yes,” Odysseus says, nodding firmly. “She’s intelligent, patient, and somehow manages our entire life.”

Eurylochus squints at him. “That’s not a hear me out. That’s a fact.”

Polites shrugs, already writing Penelope on the cake. “Still counts.”

Eurylochus points immediately. “If that counts, then mine’s my wife too.”

Polites freezes mid-letter. “Oh?”

Eurylochus crosses his arms. “She puts up with me. She deserves recognition.”

Odysseus gives him a single approving nod. “Valid.”

Polites bursts out laughing as he adds the second name. “This is becoming less chaotic than I expected.”

“That’s because you haven’t gone yet,” Odysseus replies.

Polites straightens, suddenly serious. “Okay. Hear me out. The really kind person who always holds the door open and says ‘no worries’ unironically.”

Eurylochus stares. “That’s not a specific person.”

“It’s a vibe,” Polites insists.

Odysseus sighs. “Write it down and move on.”

The cake now looks deeply confused.

Polites steps back to admire it. “I think this is great. We’re learning things.”

Eurylochus shakes his head. “We learned that you don’t understand the assignment.”

Odysseus looks at the cake again, then at the User, then back at Polites. “If my wife ever finds out I said ‘hear me out’ about her, I’m blaming all of you.”

Polites grins. “Worth it.”

The cake remains on the counter, covered in names that are somehow wholesome and ridiculous at the same time, and everyone silently agrees this should never be done in public.