Dorm Me Once, Shame on You – Let the Wars Begin

Let's get one thing straight: I never declared war. I barely declared breakfast. Yet somehow, the Dormitory Peace Accord—signed in jam, mind you—was shattered. And me? I was caught in the diplomatic crossfire of a full-blown inter-dorm meltdown.

Reader, I blame the spoon.

Not metaphorically. Literally. One suspiciously enchanted, probably sapient, definitely smug spoon.

Five Hours Earlier – Dormitory Common Room, aka the Pre-Battlefield

My inner voice: You made it four whole days without a magical incident. You were so close, Kael.

Outer me: trying to maintain neutral expression while sipping tea with the serenity of a hostage politely negotiating their release.

Belladonna: standing atop the armrest like a military general mid-coup. "House Thorn demands reparations! Someone from House Echo violated our sacred kitchen truce!"

Seraphina: twirling a gleaming silver spoon with the elegance of a swordmaster. "There were fourteen dumplings. We received twelve. What else am I to assume but sabotage?"

Mirielle: calmly blessing the perimeter with softly glowing wards. "Let's remember what happened the last time someone got hexed over soup."

Aureline: clutching her clipboard like it was a shield. "As Dormitory Mediator, I formally request Kael explain why the sourdough was weaponized."

Me: "It was self-defense. The yeast… it achieved sentience."

My inner voice: It also called me 'Father.' That part was deeply unsettling.

Tension crackled like overcooked mana-flakes. I stood between dorm leaders, the Switzerland of Suffering, wearing my least flammable robe.

"We could talk it out?" I offered.

Belladonna: "I have a cursed rash from your exploding marmalade."

Seraphina: "We duel. At dawn."

Me: "Using actual weapons, or—?"

Seraphina: "Spoons. Naturally."

Three Hours Earlier – Dueling Grounds of Doom and Cutlery

Welcome to the Spoon Tournament. No rules. No mercy. No idea how this got Academy Council approval.

A crowd had gathered. Banners waved. Bet lines formed. Fluffernox—yes, that Fluffernox—sat in judgment wearing powdered wig and monocle.

Me: "Why is this happening?"

Mirielle: applying enchanted lemon balm to my forehead. "Because someone awakened the custard golem again."

Aureline: sighing. "Because Dorm Law hasn't caught up to culinary warfare."

Belladonna entered the arena like a vengeful pastry. Seraphina followed, all divine poise and deadly etiquette.

The air shimmered with spells, spice, and sparkles. Always sparkles.

"BEGIN!" someone shrieked—possibly me.

And just like that, war erupted.

Dramatic Interlude: The Spoon War Code of Honor

Passed down from the Ancient Order of Gourmet Battlemages:

No stabbing. This is a spoon duel, not a skewer skirmish.

First to disarm or dessert the opponent wins.

Dramatic commentary is mandatory.

I, of course, was commentator.

"BEHOLD!" I announced, voice echoing through a floating orb. "In the left corner: Belladonna the Ruthless, armed with a ladle rumored to deflect hexes! In the right: Seraphina the Untouched, wielder of the Celestial Spoon of Saint Gaspard!"

Belladonna opened with a barrage of flaming custard spheres. Seraphina pirouetted through the air, parrying with divine disharmony. A soup geyser exploded behind them.

Mirielle raised scorecards. Aureline documented potential war crimes.

Halfway Through: Emotional Damage Bonus Round

Belladonna: "You read the prophecy and didn't tell me."

Seraphina: "You blew up my bed!"

Me, from the commentary box: "This is not the trauma processing venue!"

My inner voice: Oh no. They're dueling over me now.

And then—Seraphina disarmed Belladonna in a blinding flash. The spoon flew, spinning majestically… and landed squarely in front of me.

They both turned.

"Kael," Seraphina said solemnly. "Catch."

Reader. I. Caught. It.

Crowd: GASPS IN SEVERAL LANGUAGES.

Spoon Transfer = Consent to Duel.

"I AM A PACIFIST!" I shrieked.

Belladonna: "You're our pacifist now."

The Chaos That Ensued Will Be Studied for Centuries

What followed cannot be described so much as survived.

Spells clashed with spoon-jitsu. Fluffernox declared me "Kael the Soupbreaker." I lost my pants twice—don't ask.

Mirielle's wards spontaneously combusted from accumulated emotional stress. Aureline's cease-and-desist notices caught fire midair. A tomato elemental briefly joined the fray.

And then—covered in jam, pride, and jellyfish-grade regret—I stood atop the arena podium.

"I DECLARE… A TIE."

Cheers. Or seizures. Hard to tell.

Seraphina bowed. Belladonna grumbled. Mirielle handed me a healing cookie. Aureline shoved a treaty in my face.

Peace: Technically Achieved. Dignity: Not So Much.

Later That Evening – Dorm Lounge of Trauma Recovery

The lounge was quiet. Too quiet. Everyone nursed emotional hangovers.

I cleared my throat. "So… dumplings next week?"

Belladonna smirked. Seraphina sighed. Mirielle smiled like the apocalypse was quaint. Aureline handed me a legally binding 'Condiment Non-Aggression Pact.'

My inner voice: Sign it. Smile. Pretend jam never happened.

I signed.

Next Time on Kaelverse:

The dorms may be calm, but the System Tribunal looms.

Will Kael survive divine audits, glitch interrogation, and an unfortunate mirror that shows emotional truths?

Spoiler: Nope.

Pack your emotional support spoon. We're going in.