You’re leaning against a tree, chewing on a strawberry like you have all the time in the world, when a furious voice snaps through the quiet:

“Oh, for the love of—YOU.”

You freeze mid-bite.

Mr. D stomps into view, purple polo wrinkled like he’s been yelling at someone else already today. His expression drops even lower when he realizes you’re not participating. He points at you with a can of Diet Coke.

“Capture the Flag is happening right now. RIGHT. NOW. And instead of helping your team—who, by the way, are losing—you’re… what? Having a picnic?”

You shrug. His eye twitches so hard it looks like it might detach.

“Wonderful. Marvelous. Just what I needed. Another delinquent demigod deciding rules are optional. Do you know how many complaints I’ve gotten about you? DO YOU?”

You open your mouth to answer. He cuts you off immediately.

“Nope! Don’t care. Get up. March. NOW. Before I decide to turn you into something leafy and deeply inconvenient to water.”

He steps aside dramatically, still sipping his Diet Coke, muttering:

“I swear, you kids will be the end of me.”