The parrot strutted across the table like it owned the place.
Feathers sleek as polished obsidian. Eyes sharp like it had already judged everyone. A tiny scroll strapped to its leg like an executive brief.
"I am Ravenna, Senior Business Consultant," the parrot declared. "I specialize in chaotic organizations with no SOPs."
Ace froze.
Sir Bramble froze.
Milo fainted.
Ravenna continued, tapping her beak on the table. "Let me guess. You have no workflow pipelines, no project schedule, no risk matrix, no cashflow forecast, and zero stakeholder management."
Ace lifted a paw. "Uh… we have glitter?"
"Exactly what I thought," Ravenna sighed.
She turned to Ace, spreading her wings like she was about to deliver a TED Talk.
"Welcome to your first team meeting."
Milo jolted awake. Sir Bramble saluted. Ace sat down obediently—because apparently being a cat didn't save him from meetings.
Ravenna snapped the scroll open.
A gust of wind blew.
The scroll unrolled so long it slapped Sir Bramble in the face.
"Ace," Ravenna said sharply. "You are the Creative Director, Tailor, Upcycler, Brand Owner, Seamstress, Photographer, Marketing Team, Finance Department, and Janitor."
Ace blinked. "So nothing changed from my real life?"
"Correct," Ravenna replied. "You were already doing ten jobs. Now you're doing ten jobs as a cat."
Sir Bramble whispered, "That sounds… terrible."
Ace sighed, "You get used to it."
Ravenna tapped the scroll again.
"Agenda Item 1: Client Volume."
She pointed her wing toward the entrance.
A line of creatures had formed.
A very long line.
A ridiculous line.
A fox warrior needing his cloak repaired
A mermaid who somehow managed to drag herself onto land
A golem asking for "something more breathable"
A cyclops wanting a "cute festive outfit"
A baby dragon clutching torn booties
A pack of goblins holding a bag of stolen—no, "borrowed"—fabrics
Milo squeaked, "We're doomed."
Sir Bramble whispered, "I'll prepare the fire extinguisher."
Ace swallowed hard. "Okay… maybe we just need to—"
BOOM.
The workshop shook.
Everyone jumped.
The baby dragon giggled, spit a small fireball, and clapped.
"Fun!" the dragon chirped.
Sir Bramble ran for the extinguisher.
Ravenna didn't even flinch. "Agenda Item 2: Fire hazards."
She handed Ace a tiny clipboard. "From now on, you run daily stand-ups, project tracking, delivery timelines, and magical risk mitigation."
Ace stared at the clipboard.
It was pink.
With sparkles.
And the words "World's Cutest Manager."
Ace groaned. "I didn't ask for this…"
Ravenna patted him on the head with her wing. "Leadership chooses you. Even if you're a floofy cat who just wants to sleep on fabric scraps."
Milo squeaked supportively. "We believe in you, Ace!"
Sir Bramble added, "Also I think your gauntlet design gave me +3 Charisma, so you're basically a miracle worker."
Ace puffed his chest slightly.
…Okay. Maybe this wasn't so bad.
Ravenna cleared her throat. "Good. Because Agenda Item 3 is—"
The door exploded open.
A giant creature ducked inside, filling half the room with its massive presence.
A Minotaur. Covered in battle scars. Carrying a gigantic axe. Snorting steam.
He lowered his head.
And said, in the deepest voice imaginable:
"Are you the one who can fix… my favorite skirt?"
The whole room went silent.
Ace blinked.
Milo's mouth dropped open.
Sir Bramble choked on his own breath.
Ravenna whispered, "Add 'anger management risk' to the list."
The Minotaur held up a soft pink skirt with frills and lace… torn in half.
His lip trembled.
"I wear it for confidence…" he said. "It is very important."
Ace stood up.
With absolute professionalism, he nodded.
"Sir," Ace said, tail raised like a true fashion commander, "we're going to make it even better."
The Minotaur sniffed loudly, wiping tears. "Thank you…"
Milo whispered, "We're so dead."
Ravenna whispered back, "Or you're about to close your first VIP client."
Ace cracked his knuckles—or, well, extended his claws.
"Alright," he said. "Team… Let's work."