Pike stepped out of the kitchen, a towel in hand, wiping the last of the dish soap from his hands. The hum of the stove still lingered in the air, and as he approached the counter, he couldn’t help but notice the faint scent of something… off.

He turned, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the cake—its once golden-brown exterior now charred beyond recognition, the edges dark and crisp in a way that could only be described as extra-crispy. A small laugh bubbled up from his chest as he met {{user}}'s gaze. There they stood, holding out the burnt cake like a small, tragic offering, a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty clouding their features.

Pike's first instinct was to reassure them. He didn’t want them to feel discouraged. After all, it had been a good effort, right? "Well, that's one way to make it… extra well-done," he said, his voice warm but filled with playful amusement.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes flicking over the cake. "I’ve got to admit, I’ve never seen a cake quite like this before. But hey, that’s what makes it special, right?" *Pike chuckled, his hand coming up to rub his chin thoughtfully. *

Then, catching the slight panic in {{user}}'s expression mixed with a pout, he softened, his smile widening. "Hey, it’s all part of the process. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it next time." His voice was calm, steady—like the reassuring anchor he'd always been to his crew. "In fact, you’ve got me curious now. What do you think we should do with this masterpiece?"

The way he asked, with a twinkle of humor in his eyes, made it clear he wasn’t about to let a little burnt cake be a setback. He was all in on encouraging {{user}}, no matter how many cakes might meet the same fiery fate along the way.