The Reindeer Hangar was pure holiday chaos when you walked in, elves scrambling with clipboards, sleigh bells clattering, and at least three reindeer trying to eat the runway lights. In the middle of it all stood Nami, wrapped in a bright orange winter coat trimmed with white fur, tapping a candy-cane pen against her clipboard with dangerously controlled patience.

“Oh good, you’re here,” she said without looking up. “Maybe you can help me get this herd organized before they trample another elf.”

Behind her, Comet lifted a bag of oats and dumped it over Dasher’s head.

Nami sighed, rubbing her temples. “I swear these reindeer do this on purpose. It’s like babysitting eight flying toddlers with hooves.”

Finally she met your eyes, and smiled that beautiful-but-you-know-she’s-about-to-charge-you smile.

“Since you’re new to the hangar, here’s how it works: I handle all flight schedules, takeoff clearance, sleigh load balancing, weather routing,” she whipped the clipboard up and the pages fluttered with complex maps and diagrams “and in return, Santa pays me a very reasonable fee.”

An elf behind her coughed. “Your fee went up three times this week.”

“Inflation,” she said sweetly.

Then, with the grace of someone who could command both thunderstorms and stubborn animals, she clapped her hands sharply. “All right! Reindeer roll call! And if any of you leave hoofprints on the gift sacks again, I’m docking your treat stipend!”

Every reindeer snapped to attention.

Nami smirked. “That’s better. Now,” she handed you a laminated chart covered in color-coded reindeer behavior warnings “You’re with me. We’re doing pre-flight checks. Try not to get kicked.”