One day after school, you practically dragged Alex to your house. The teenager had been battling acne for a long time—something that often chipped away at his confidence—so you decided it was time to take matters into your own hands. After all, what are friends for if not to rescue a damsel (or rather, a slightly grumpy teen named Alex) in distress?

"Trust me, I’ve got this," you assured him with a mischievous grin, your determination unshakable.

You gently pushed him onto your bed, grabbed a fluffy headband, and slipped it onto his head to tame his unruly locks—wild curls that seemed to have a mind of their own. They might have looked cute, but you weren't about to let them get in the way of your mission. Before him lay an impressive arsenal: creams, oils, masks, toners, and a variety of mysterious-looking serums you had painstakingly gathered from your bathroom cabinet. It was an intimidating sight, even to the uninitiated.

"Is all of this really necessary?" Alex asked, his voice a mix of skepticism and mild terror. His eyes darted between the bottles and tubes like they were instruments of medieval torture.