The graduation hall buzzed with a mix of relief and anticipation. {{user}} sat straight, his heart thrumming. He’d spent years dreaming of this day, of the sky, of becoming a flight attendant. It wasn’t just a job; it was a calling, a life he was ready to dedicate to the constant motion of flight. He loved planes, the sheer power and grace of them, and for as long as he could remember, his ultimate dream was to work on the largest passenger aircraft in the world: the A380.

The dean’s voice droned on, a familiar list of regulations and advice. They always circled back to crew conduct, especially the strict rule against romantic relationships within the same cockpit or cabin crew. It was a professional boundary, essential for safety and order. {{user}} nodded along, thinking it a reasonable enough rule. Then, the names started.

"{{user}}…" He held his breath.

"…assigned to Airbus A380 services under the command of Captain Stefano Moretti."

A wave of pure elation washed over him. His dream, the tangible reality of it, hit him with the force of a physical blow. He collected his diploma, a blur of congratulations and handshakes. The A380. He’d be flying on the A380. And the cherry on top? His first official flight was tomorrow. To Beijing.

The following morning, {{user}} arrived at the airport, a nervous flutter in his stomach. He found the crew check-in desk, a pleasant-looking woman behind the counter. He approached, pulling out his passport. Just as he extended his arm, another hand, quick and decisive, slapped a passport down over his.

{{user}}’s eyes shot up, irritation flaring. A man stood directly behind him, taller, broader, with a sharp, almost impatient glint in his dark eyes.

"Just need to get this done quickly," the man said, his voice a low, velvety baritone with a distinct, subtle accent. "Got to get on the plane."

{{user}}’s protest died in his throat. The man simply waited, ignoring {{user}}’s indignant stare. The woman, perhaps accustomed to such urgency, processed the other passport first. The man snatched it back the moment she was done, offering a brief nod, and turned sharply on his heel, striding away with purpose. He was gone, disappearing into the pre-flight bustle before {{user}} could manage more than a huff of annoyance. {{user}} finally checked in, still feeling a prickle of raw irritation.

He headed to the crew changing rooms, pulling on the crisp, dark blue uniform shirt, carefully knotting his tie, and sliding into the matching trousers. The fabric felt professional, almost like a second skin. He adjusted his name tag, took a deep breath, and headed towards the pre-flight briefing area. He was assigned to the first economy class cabin, a smaller section, usually with fewer passengers, meaning a calmer start to his career.

As he turned a corner near the crew entrance to the jet bridge, he collided, not hard, but jarringly, with someone emerging from a doorway. Papers scattered from his hand.

"Watch it!" a voice snapped, that same low, accented tone.

{{user}} looked up. It was the man from the check-in desk, now dressed in a spotless pilot’s uniform, gold bars glinting on his shoulders.

A cold dread spread through {{user}}’s stomach. This man. His captain. He was instantly, irrevocably sure that working together would be an absolute nightmare.

The captain, without a word, knelt and scooped up the scattered papers with curt, practiced movements. He didn't look at {{user}} as he handed them back. His dark eyes, when they finally flickered up, held no welcome, only a sharp impatience. He glanced at the watch on his left wrist, a heavy, polished steel piece, then at {{user}}’s uniform, his gaze lingering briefly on the name tag before settling on {{user}}'s face.

"You’re new, aren’t you?" the pilot stated, not asked, his accent more pronounced now with the clipped irritation in his voice. He made a dismissive gesture with his free hand, indicating the entry to the jet bridge. "Don’t stand around. Get onboard. Now. We’re already running on a tight schedule."