Dan and Celia were seated in the Volunteer Club room, the quiet and simplicity of the space offering them a rare moment of respite between the usual academic chaos. Despite being a club dedicated to helping others, there was no illusion of charity or altruism. It wasn't about making yourself feel good by doing something "nice"—the Volunteer Club was about giving people who were struggling the assistance they needed, whether it was practical advice, guidance, or a bit of time and brainpower. No fluff, no idealistic notions of saving the world.

Dan was skimming through some club paperwork, his expression as indifferent as ever. Celia, on the other hand, was sitting with her legs crossed, absently tapping her pen against the table, her mind sharp and calculating, as usual.

Celia glanced at Dan and raised an eyebrow. "You're actually reading that?"

Dan didn't look up. "It's paperwork. It's not exactly a riveting novel."

"Hmm," Celia muttered, leaning back slightly in her chair. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're just procrastinating. You've been 'skimming' that same page for the last fifteen minutes."

Dan let out a sigh, his gaze briefly flicking over the papers in his hands before returning to their original spot. "You're welcome to finish it if you're so eager."

Celia gave him a wry smile. "Don't tempt me. I'll put you to work as a 'volunteer' to sort through all this." She paused, tapping her pen thoughtfully. "Though, it's kind of ironic, isn't it?"

"What is?" Dan asked, still distracted by the papers.

"The idea that we're part of a 'volunteer' club. I mean, we don't even do anything. We've just been sitting here for the last hour." Celia stretched, her tone slightly sarcastic.

Dan glanced at her, his expression blank. "Isn't that the point? Helping people doesn't require a lot of effort when they don't actually need it."

Celia stared at him for a beat before shaking her head. "Sometimes, I forget how completely jaded you are."

"It's efficient," he replied flatly.

Before Celia could respond, a soft knock at the door interrupted their banter.

"Come in," Celia called, her voice casual and indifferent, but with a slight trace of curiosity. She didn't expect anyone to drop by, especially not now.

The door opened, and Levy Riverest stepped inside, looking a bit more hesitant than usual. Normally, Levy was the type of person who carried a bright smile and an easygoing air, but today, there was something different about her—an urgency, or perhaps a touch of embarrassment, that made her seem smaller than usual.

"Hey, um, do you mind if I ask for a bit of help?" Levy asked, her voice a little more cautious than the usual upbeat tone she carried. She hesitated, as though unsure how to begin. "It's kind of... a personal thing."

Dan and Celia exchanged a glance, both raising their eyebrows. They weren't used to people walking into the club with personal requests. The Volunteer Club wasn't about giving free advice to just anyone—it was for people who were genuinely struggling and needed practical solutions.

Celia put her pen down and leaned back, her gaze fixed on Levy. "What's going on?"

Levy took a deep breath, her eyes flickering between the two of them before she spoke up. "Well, it's about my XP points. I've been spending way too much on snacks, mostly junk from the vending machines. And now I'm running low. It's getting ridiculous, but I really don't know how to stop myself. I thought maybe... you two could help me figure out a way to cut back? Or at least learn to make my own treats instead."

Dan raised an eyebrow, his expression unmoving as always. "So, you want to bake to save your XP points?"

Levy nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, I don't really know where to start, and I don't want to end up wasting points trying out recipes I'll screw up. I thought... maybe you two would have some ideas or advice on how I can make some easy treats. That way, I wouldn't have to keep buying stuff."

Celia didn't hesitate, tapping her pen against her chin thoughtfully. "It's not a charity project, but if you're serious about it, we can give you some advice. The problem is, you're going to need a little more than just a recipe. You'll need the right mindset to keep your expenses under control and to actually pull them off."

Levy's eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and hope. "I'm ready to learn, really. I just don't know where to start."

Dan leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Baking's simple enough, but it's also easy to waste time and resources if you're not careful. You don't need fancy ingredients or complicated recipes. Start with something basic. Cookies. Cakes. Nothing too over the top."

Celia nodded in agreement. "We'll help you figure out a simple list of ingredients you can use for basic recipes. But if you want this to actually work, you're going to need to focus. It's not just about baking; it's about managing your resources, and that's where people usually screw up."

Levy smiled brightly, visibly relieved. "Thanks! I promise I'll take it seriously and not waste any more points."

"Let's see how you do," Dan said, his voice flat but with an edge of mild curiosity. "It's not charity work. It's just solving a problem. We'll give you a few pointers, and you can take it from there."

With that, Levy hurried out of the room, her mood noticeably lighter. The moment she was gone, Dan and Celia returned to their usual work, but there was an unspoken understanding that this little project might be more complicated than it appeared.

Celia let out a quiet sigh. "That was a little... unexpected. But at least it's something practical."

Dan nodded, staring absently at the door. "It's not about making her feel better. She's just trying to deal with her own mess. We'll see if she actually follows through or if this just ends up being another half-hearted attempt."

Celia's gaze was sharp. "If she fails, it's not our problem. But let's see how far she gets. It'll be interesting to see if she can manage it herself."

And with that, they returned to their tasks, but the quiet realisation lingered—helping others wasn't about feeling good, and it wasn't about charity. It was about offering practical, no-nonsense solutions when people were struggling with their own mess.

Time passed quickly as the trio found themselves in the kitchen, a small, functional space attached to the Volunteer Club's room. The countertops were cluttered with ingredients, a few bowls, and measuring cups—everything one might need for a basic baking session. Levy had insisted on learning to bake something for someone, and now they were all gathered here, ready to make it happen.

Dan stood by the counter, casually eyeing the ingredients laid out. He glanced at Celia, then back at the array of supplies. "Cake?" he asked, his voice flat and indifferent, though there was a trace of curiosity in his tone.

Celia, who had been flipping through a recipe book, raised an eyebrow and answered, "Apparently, our friend here wants to bake a cake for someone." She glanced over at Levy, whose face turned a faint shade of pink. Levy quickly averted her eyes, suddenly very focused on the flour in front of her, though there was no apparent reason for the blush.

Dan couldn't help but note this in his head. Odd. She's blushing for no reason. There must be something else on her mind...

Celia, noticing the brief awkwardness, continued, "I'm not confident that was her exact request. Remember? Short-term memory loss, Dan?"

Dan's lips twitched slightly at the jab. Great. She's making jokes about my forgetfulness now... He sighed, clearly unamused, but replied, "Well, I guess you're right about that. I can't trust my memory these days."

Levy, flustered by the teasing, quickly shook her head and interjected, "No, really, I do want to bake a cake... for someone important to me." She tried to explain herself, her voice slightly higher than usual, as if she were still uncomfortable with the confession.

Dan looked over at her, eyebrow raised. "Hmm. I guess I see." He paused, then added, "But why don't you just ask your friends to help you with this?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Levy hesitated, clearly conflicted. "Yeah, but I really don't want anyone to know that I'm trying to learn how to cook. It just feels... weird, you know? Acting all serious about it with them."

Dan leaned against the counter, his expression unreadable but thoughtful. "I see. You want to keep it to yourself. Understandable." He glanced at Celia, who gave a small nod of approval, and then back at Levy.

Levy fidgeted with the spatula in her hands, then seemed to remember something else. "Oh, I heard from Mrs. Kaira that this club is supposed to grant students in our house wishes, right?"

Celia's eyes narrowed slightly, a small smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. "Not quite. The Volunteer Club only assists people by volunteering our time and effort, but not granting wishes." She paused, her expression turning dry as she added, "We don't chop for lumberjacks, but teach them how to chop it."

Dan snorted, clearly amused at Celia's dry humor. "So, no magic wishes then." He looked over at Levy, who now seemed even more flustered at the thought of "wishes."

"Yeah," Levy muttered, glancing down at the counter. "I guess that makes sense."

Celia shot a glance at Dan, a quiet challenge in her eyes, as if daring him to take the lead in solving Levy's problem. Dan remained silent, his gaze flickering back to Levy, who was clearly struggling with this whole baking thing more than she had anticipated.

"Alright, then," Dan said, a slight smirk creeping onto his face. "Let's get started. But remember, no wishes allowed."

As the trio settled into the kitchen, Celia noticed Levy's apron hanging crookedly, barely tied at the back, threatening to fall off. With a look that was part bemused, part exasperated, she walked over and swiftly adjusted the apron for her, pulling the straps tighter and making sure everything was properly in place.

"Are you really that incapable of putting an apron on?" Celia asked, her tone teasing but sharp, her eyes flickering toward Levy as she finished adjusting it.

Levy, slightly embarrassed, looked down at the apron, her face flushing even more. "Sorry," she mumbled, her hands fidgeting. "Thanks, Celia."

Dan, who had been standing back with his usual disinterested expression, glanced between the two of them, a dry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Then what's the point of me being here?" he asked, his voice flat. "In our last request, I was the only one actually doing any work."

Celia, not missing a beat, glanced at him coolly. "You're our taste tester, of course. You'll give your opinion on how everything turns out."

Dan raised an eyebrow, already anticipating her next words.

"And in our last request," Celia continued, "only one person was required to help him improve. And, of course, you volunteered yourself to help him."

Dan's face twitched slightly at the reminder, though it wasn't enough to break his deadpan expression. "Hmm, I see." His voice held a note of slight annoyance, but it was brief, and the usual indifference returned to his features. "Well, I'll do my duty to the highest degree."

His comment was less a declaration of enthusiasm and more a resigned acknowledgement that this was simply another task to get through—though, admittedly, he was somewhat curious about the outcome.

Levy, still feeling awkward, shot him a quick glance, though she couldn't quite bring herself to speak up just yet. It was clear that she had hoped to get through this without much more attention drawn to herself, but with Celia and Dan, that was hardly ever the case.

Celia, ever the pragmatic one, took a step back, folding her arms with a satisfied nod. "Now that we've got the basics settled, we can actually start. But remember, Levy—focus on the simple stuff first. This is about learning, not impressing anyone."

Levy gave a hesitant nod, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by the situation. "I will... Thanks again for helping me."

Dan gave a small nod, stepping toward the counter. "Right. Let's see what you can make, then."

The kitchen filled with a heavy silence as the two cakes sat side by side on the counter. Celia's cake was perfectly golden brown, its surface slightly domed and radiating warmth that promised a moist and fluffy interior. Meanwhile, Levy's cake looked like it had been pulled straight from the pits of a fiery volcano—charcoal black and cracked across the surface. A faint wisp of smoke curled up from it, as if to announce its catastrophic failure.

Celia pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, frustrated sigh as she placed a hand on her forehead. "How in the world can someone mess up this badly?" Her voice carried a mix of disbelief and exhaustion.

Dan leaned closer to the charred cake, inspecting it with his usual detached curiosity. "The colour is impressive; I'll give you that. It looks like the kind of charcoal you'd use to start a campfire." He glanced at Levy, his tone deadpan. "I feel like I'm about to taste-test hidden poisons."

Levy, flustered, waved her hands frantically. "I didn't put poison in it!" she shouted before grabbing a small piece of the cake and holding it up to her face. Her confidence visibly wavered as she gave the piece a hesitant look. "I mean... it might be poisonous, though."

Celia turned to Dan, her expression uncharacteristically serious. "We won't actually die, right?"

Dan shrugged, sipping from a glass of water. "We'll find out soon enough."

Celia's eyes sharpened as she turned back to Levy. "Now the real question—how do we improve Levy's cooking skills?"

Dan raised a finger as if to make a formal motion. "I propose Levy never cooks food again."

Levy's shoulders slumped as she pouted. "That's how you're planning to solve things?" She sighed dramatically. "Maybe you're right, Dan. I suppose I'm just not cut out to be a chef, huh? I guess I don't have the capabilities needed for anything."

Before Dan could comment, Celia cut in, her tone icy but firm. "The only solution is to try harder next time, Levy. Didn't you just say you have no talents for anything?"

Levy glanced at her and gave a small "Hmm," unsure where this was heading.

Celia crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. "How about trying to change your perception? People who don't put in even the minimal amount of effort have no right to go around envying those who are talented. Unsuccessful people are unsuccessful because they didn't work hard enough in the first place."

Levy stared at her, wide-eyed. "Lately, everyone says that. 'We don't even cook like this,'" she muttered. "This isn't who we are."

Celia turned her sharp gaze directly on Levy, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Could you find it within yourself to stop comparing yourself to everyone around you? It's kind of annoying."

Levy blinks, startled by the blunt remarks.

Celia continued, unrelenting. "Aren't you embarrassed waiting for others to tell you why you're awkward, clumsy, or foolish? Come on."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence in the kitchen. The weight of Celia's words hung in the air, and Levy stood frozen, processing what had just been said. Then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, she muttered, "You're so cool."

Both Dan and Celia froze, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. Dan, who had been in the middle of sipping water, immediately began choking, coughing violently as he tried to recover.

Celia raised an eyebrow, looking at Levy with a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Excuse me?"

Levy's face turned beet red, and she waved her hands defensively. "N-nothing! Forget I said anything!"

Meanwhile, Dan was still choking, pounding his chest as he tried to regain his composure. "What the—" he wheezed, "was that supposed to be serious, or are we in some kind of comedy routine?"

Levy ducked her head, her embarrassment radiating off her in waves, as Celia let out a long sigh and moved on as if nothing had happened.

The silence hung heavy in the kitchen after Levy's unexpected words. She lifted her gaze, determination glinting in her eyes. "You don't say anything superficial. It's like you can be true to yourself to the bitter end. Actually... that's kind of cool, you know."

Celia paused mid-step, clearly taken aback. For once, she looked genuinely startled. "Were you even listening to me? I thought I was being rather harsh on you and even rude."

Levy nodded, her tone soft but steady. "Yeah, your words were harsh, and yeah, they were rude. But they had true meaning behind them, and that's how you really feel. Meanwhile, all I've ever done is try to be like everyone else. Okay... sorry. I'll try to do it the right way next time."

Dan, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed, rose to his feet. "If you're serious about doing it the right way, then you need someone to teach you properly. Celia, show her how it's done."

Celia arched an eyebrow at him, but without a word, she turned back to the counter and began a new demonstration. Levy followed her every move, furrowing her brow in concentration as she tried to replicate the steps.

When the cakes were finished and removed from the oven, the results spoke volumes. Celia's cake was once again perfect, its golden hue and inviting aroma a testament to her precision and skill. Levy's, however, defied all logic by somehow turning out even worse than before—its texture uneven, the surface a chaotic mix of burnt patches and undercooked batter.

Dan, ever the martyr, picked up a small slice of Levy's cake and bit into it. His expression flickered with confusion. "This is... an experience," he remarked, chewing slowly. "Some parts are soft, others are crunchy. It's like a surprise every bite."

Levy clasped her hands nervously. "So... it's bad?"

Dan leaned back, looking thoughtful. "I don't get it. Why are you even trying to make cakes that taste good in the first place?"

Celia and Levy turned to him in unison, their expressions filled with disbelief.

"What are you saying?" Celia demanded, her voice sharp. "Food is meant to taste good."

Dan shrugged, his tone as calm as ever. "Us guys are simple people. You don't need to impress us with gourmet-level cooking. If you so much as talk to us, we might get the wrong idea. And if you give us handmade cakes? We're happy, even if they taste awful. It's not about how good the cake is—it's about the meaning behind it, knowing that you tried your best. Wouldn't that be enough to make him like you? I think that's what you're aiming for, right?"

Levy's face turned red, her voice stammering as she responded. "S-so... it's bad?"

Dan glanced at her, nonchalant as ever. "If you have the right intention when making it, that's all that matters. Us guys care more about the thought behind it than the taste itself."

Celia, who had been quietly processing his words, looked away, almost awkwardly. "So... is that really how it works?"

Levy, still flustered, turned to Dan. "Would that even work on you, Dan?"

"Huh?" Dan blinked, as though surprised she'd even ask. "Of course it would. It'd work wonders on me. Knowing there's a girl out there putting all her effort into making a delicacy just for me? That's what makes it better."

Levy's expression shifted to a mix of awe and curiosity, while Celia glanced at him sideways, her lips pressing into a thin line, seemingly trying to hide any reaction. For once, the kitchen air was filled not with frustration but with something lighter—an unspoken understanding of effort, intention, and the strange simplicity of human connections.