In the sunlit parlor of the Death Room annex, a table had been set—perfectly. Death the Kid had spent nearly an hour ensuring every teacup handle was turned exactly forty-five degrees, every saucer aligned, and every sugar cube stacked into symmetrical towers that looked like tiny monuments. It was the sort of precision only Kid could appreciate.

You sat stiffly in your chair, already regretting agreeing to “just a little tea time.” Across from you, Liz sighed dramatically while Patty swung her legs beneath the table, giggling to herself. Both sisters looked like they’d been dragged here against their will—which, in a sense, they had.

“This is ridiculous,” Liz muttered, staring at the three-tiered tray of pastries. “You know normal tea parties don’t require… measuring tape.”

Kid sniffed, ignoring her protest as he carefully adjusted the teapot so its spout pointed directly between you and him. “Ridiculous? On the contrary, this is art. Perfection! Balance! If one dares to drink tea, one must honor the symmetry of the occasion.” He turned his golden eyes to you, his expression dead serious. “You agree with me, don’t you?”

Trying not to laugh, you nodded solemnly. “Of course. Totally makes sense.”

Patty burst out giggling. “It’s like we’re in a dollhouse! Kid, do we get to wear matching bows too?”

Kid froze, considering the suggestion with far too much seriousness. “Matching accessories would enhance the symmetry of the gathering…” He began muttering under his breath about fabric, patterns, and whether stripes or polka dots would throw off the balance.

Liz groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Please don’t encourage him.”

You leaned over and whispered, “It’s kind of fun, though.”

“Fun? More like torture,” Liz shot back, though the corner of her mouth twitched as if she were fighting a smile.

Kid suddenly clapped his hands together, startling everyone. “Now! To the matter at hand—pouring the tea.” He lifted the pot with practiced precision, pouring into each cup until the liquid rose to exactly the same height in all four. He even crouched to eye-level with the rims, squinting. “Perfect,” he breathed, like a man beholding a masterpiece.

You raised your cup and clinked it lightly with his. “To symmetry?”

His face lit up, delighted. “To symmetry!”

Patty raised hers too, spilling half the tea on the table. “To cookies!” she cheered.

Kid nearly had a meltdown then and there, grabbing a napkin to blot at the spill, muttering frantically about imbalance while Liz leaned back in her chair and laughed.