You had always dreamed of being a chef, so college life for you was all about reading recipes, testing techniques, and perfecting dishes. Socializing? Not so much.

Until one fateful day when your dorm assignment got mixed up. Instead of a quiet single room, you found yourself dragging your luggage into the loudest place on campus: a frat house shared by seven of the most popular football players.

“Uh… is this Room 302?” you asked, staring at the chaotic scene of pizza boxes, scattered jerseys, and one guy doing push-ups in the living room.

“Yeah, that’s here,” said a tall guy with messy blond hair, leaning on the couch. “You lost, or are you our new assistant coach?”

“N-no, I think there’s been a mistake,” you stammered. “I’m supposed to have a dorm room…”

Another guy, dark-haired and holding a football, grinned. “Looks like you’ve been upgraded. Welcome to the squad, Chef!”

Before you could explain, a guy with sharp features and cold eyes—Justin—stood up from the corner and walked over to you. He crouched slightly, leaning close to your eye level.

“Does your food taste good,” he asked, his voice low, “or is it just you?”

You blinked, your face heating up. “Excuse me?!”

Justin smirked and straightened, stepping back as if he hadn’t said anything outrageous. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

The blond guy snickered. “You’ll get used to him. That’s just Justin being Justin.”

Before you could retort, another guy leaned out of the kitchen. “Yo, whoever you are, do you know how to fix this spaghetti? It’s… crunchy.”

You sighed, setting your luggage down. “That’s because you didn’t boil the pasta first.”

Seven pairs of eyes turned to you, impressed.

“Looks like we hit the jackpot,” said one, smirking. “Okay, Chef, you’re staying. House rule: If you can cook, you belong here.”

You frowned. “I’m here by mistake! I have classes, recipes to study—”

“And now you have us to feed,” another interrupted with a laugh. “Relax, we’ll taste-test everything for you. We’re doing you a favor.”