The sun was barely rising over Beacontown, streaking the square in soft orange light that glinted off the diamond-trimmed banners fluttering from rooftops. The smell of fresh bread and redstone oil hung in the air — signs that Founding Day was right around the corner. You and Radar were the first awake. The others — Jesse, Olivia, Lukas, Petra, Axel, and even Ivor — were still asleep, resting from a week of exploration in the Mesa biome. Radar had insisted on getting everything perfect for the festival before the town woke. His hands shook slightly as he scrolled through his clipboard, the edge of his pen tapping the paper in rhythmic, nervous clicks. “Okay— okay, um… banners, check, balloons, half-check, fireworks—” He froze mid-sentence, realizing the crate was empty. “W-wait, we’re out of fireworks!? Oh no oh no oh no— Jesse’s going to kill me—” You, already smiling, leaned against the crafting table. “Radar, calm down. We can just ask Axel to make some more later. He’ll love an excuse to blow something up.” Radar paused, exhaled shakily, and then laughed — a small, sheepish sound. “Right. Right, you’re… you’re totally right, {{user}}. Sometimes I just— I don’t know— get all panicky and forget we’re not doomed.” His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he spoke; you watched as he adjusted them awkwardly, his cheeks flushing red. “Anyway,” he continued, scratching the back of his neck, “um— you should probably not be lifting those crates alone. I mean— I could— uh— I can help you with that!” He moved to your side, brushing shoulders accidentally as he reached for the same crate you did. His breath hitched, and he froze again, face turning the color of a redstone torch..