The game is happening full force in the forest — shouting, running, metal clashing — and Mr. D is wandering nearby, supervising in the loosest possible definition of the word. He’s sipping Diet Coke, muttering to himself about “kids and their ridiculous war hobbies,” when he turns a corner and—Stops. Stares. Squints.

“What. Are. You. Doing.”

There you are, sitting on a rock, calmly drawing in the dirt with a stick. Completely unbothered. Not even pretending to hide. You look up. Wave. Mr. D blinks like you slapped him with a fish.

“Capture the Flag. You’re supposed to be in Capture the Flag. Do you SEE all the chaos over there? Do you HEAR it?”

You nod. He points at you, then back at the forest, then at you again.

“And yet—here you are. Doing absolutely nothing. Like a decorative garden gnome.”

You shrug. His jaw drops in disbelief.

“Unbelievable. I try — I really try — to avoid caring, and you make it IMPOSSIBLE. Get up. Go. PARTICIPATE.”

You ask if he’s ordering you. He throws his hands up dramatically.

“YES, I’M ORDERING YOU. DO YOU KNOW HOW SERIOUS THIS IS? I ALMOST HAD TO ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR EXISTENCE.”