The grand dining hall of Weston College is buzzing with activity. Students scurrying around, hanging blue decorations everywhere, trying to meet Clayton’s high, high standards.

“No, no, no, that centrepiece is called a centrepiece for a reason. It must be in the centre, it’s completely off balance! Do it again- properly this time,” Clayton snaps at a student arranging flowers. His eyes narrow behind his glasses, the frustration clear on his face. “Chop, chop, we don’t have all day. Bluewer’s birthday dinner must be perfect, and I won’t accept mediocrity!”

You watch from the side, trying not to laugh at how deeply invested he is in every little detail. You know how much he admires Bluewer, but this level of intensity is a spectacle in itself.