"So, what's next on your stupid list?" Kim asked, her voice laced with a mix of annoyance and resignation as she stared out the window. She was done with the whole "Kira Knight makeover" ordeal, but she had a sinking feeling that this was just the beginning.

Dean shot a quick glance at her, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "That's a good sign," he said, looking more pleased with himself than he probably should have been.

Kim raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "What's a good sign?"

"You asking," he said, as if it was some kind of victory. Kim rolled her eyes and turned her gaze back to the world outside, ignoring the satisfaction in his voice.

"Okay, well, Kira," Dean started, as if the name alone had some kind of magic power. "We're gonna start working on your attitude and character."

Kim scoffed, her arms crossing in defiance. "Good luck with that."

Hugo, who had been silently watching the interaction from the backseat, groaned. "I don't like the sound of that," he muttered, clearly dreading what was coming next.

                                                           ((...))((...))((...))

Sunday morning arrived with the smell of fresh food wafting through the house—Hugo's mom had sent over a breakfast spread that could only be described as heavenly. Toast, waffles, eggs, bacon, and the smell of hot coffee filled the air like an assault on Kim's senses.

She sat at the kitchen counter, shoveling down some of the food with an indifference that made Dean and Hugo exchange looks. As they cleared the table, Kim glanced up at Hugo, her face scrunched with guilt. "How long is your mom going to keep sending us food? I feel like a charity case," she muttered, eyeing the mountain of dishes.

"She's not complaining," Hugo said nonchalantly, already reaching for more toast.

Kim sighed, rolling her eyes at their casualness. "Well, I'm still feeling awful."

Dean leaned against the counter, clearly unphased by her complaints. "So, where do we start with your new character?" He pulled out a chair, settling in like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Kim shot him a glare. 

"Maybe we should start with the compliments," Dean said, clearly not taking any of it seriously. "You know, like when someone tells you you're beautiful and you give them a death glare?"

Hugo, ever the troublemaker, added, "Or try to break their nose. You're good at that."

Kim shot him a look that could freeze fire, but it didn't faze him. "Look, I don't want anyone complimenting me. Only desperate people need that," she said, her voice full of disdain.

Dean sighed, rubbing his temples like he was dealing with a particularly difficult child. 

"No matter how much it annoys you, at least try to make it look real," Hugo said, grinning as he demonstrated an exaggerated smile that looked like it belonged to a badly-acted sitcom. "Or just say 'thank you.' Easy, right?"

Kim rolled her eyes so hard she almost got dizzy. "Yeah, I get it. I won't punch anyone in the face... today."

Hugo, practically bouncing in his seat, threw his hands in the air like he'd just solved world hunger. "Thank you!" he beamed, as if that single word would somehow transform her entire personality.

The clock ticked on, the hours stretching like a bad movie. Kim yawned so loudly it could've been classified as a cry for help. Her body was fighting sleep, but she knew there was no way she could escape these "lessons" for long. Every time she tried to hide behind her exhaustion, Dean pushed forward, like a relentless drill sergeant.

"Okay, Kim, I don't think there's much left to cover. The only thing we need to work on now is the basics of your job," Dean said, sounding every bit the teacher he was pretending to be. He was a pro at this, all sharp focus and patient determination.

Kim barely heard him, her eyelids drooping with the effort of staying upright. She yawned again, stretching in her chair like she might just fall asleep on the spot. "Can we please do that tomorrow?" she asked, her voice muffled by another yawn, her words slurring together from fatigue.

Dean's expression softened just a fraction, but there was no escaping the work still ahead. "Sure," he replied, though the word felt heavy coming out of his mouth. He reached for his phone, which had started buzzing noisily on the table.

Before Kim could sink further into her own thoughts, Dean's eyes lit up as he glanced at the screen. A wide grin spread across his face—one that wasn't just about finishing the "lesson." It was the kind of smile that could mean trouble.

"Holy shit!" Dean's voice burst out, high-pitched and filled with excitement, the kind of joy that could've knocked the air right out of the room.

Kim didn't even flinch. She just buried her face in the cool surface of the dining table, her exhaustion pulling her deeper into the black hole of sleep. She had zero interest in whatever had Dean so hyped up.

Dean leaned forward, eyes still glued to his phone. "Kim, wake up!" he urged, lightly tapping her arm, "We have a ton to do—your interview's tomorrow."

Kim groaned without opening her eyes. "What interview?"

Dean's smile was a mixture of pride and mild frustration. "The job interview, Kim. This is your big start." His words carried the weight of expectation, and he meant it.

Hugo, still lounging on the couch with the twins in the living room, didn't even look up from his game. "She got the job?" His voice was flat, but there was a hint of curiosity.

"Not yet," Dean replied, watching Kim snore lightly, her face still pressed into the table. "But after tomorrow's interview, we'll know for sure."

The twins, in their own world, didn't seem to care. But Hugo, sensing the tension in the air, glanced at Kim, concern creeping into his voice. "Should we leave her? She looks like she's about to melt into the table."

Dean shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. "We can't leave her. We need to prep her. The interview is at 8 AM tomorrow." His eyes fixed on Kim's limp form. "She's got to nail this."

Hugo grinned, clearly enjoying the thought of Kim getting dragged into this absurd new world of "professionalism." "You deal with that, man. I'll be sleeping right here."

Dean shot him a look, a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You're so helpful."

He reached out and lightly tapped Kim's shoulder, the kind of gentle prod you give someone to wake them from a nap. Nothing. She just let out a soft snore in response. Dean's eyes narrowed. "Kim, wake up!"

"What?" Her voice was low and slurred, her head still down like it was glued to the table.

"Kim," Dean's tone shifted, more insistent now. "You're not leaving me with much of a choice."

He stood up and went to the sink, grabbing a glass of water. Kim didn't even twitch when he returned, but when the cold splash hit her face, she shot up like a cat thrown into a pool.

"What the hell—!" she sputtered, wiping water from her face and pushing her hair back with an annoyed huff. She looked up at him with a mix of confusion and anger. "What is it this time?"

Dean didn't apologize. "Your job interview is tomorrow, remember?"

Kim rubbed her eyes and gave him a half-lidded, grumpy look. "So?"

"Look, we need to prep you for it. You've got to know what to say, how to present yourself." He stood there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for some kind of reaction.

Kim sat up, running her hands through her wet hair. "Can't it wait until tomorrow morning?" Her tone was sharp, a little desperate to get back to sleep. She was clearly not in the mood.

Dean didn't flinch. "Nope. The interview's at 8 AM tomorrow, which means we don't have much time. C'mon, just a quick 20 minutes." His voice softened with an almost pleading edge.

"Make it fast," Kim grumbled, slouching further into the chair.

Two hours later.

Dean was still talking.

"Okay, Kim, listen carefully," he said, as if the next words would somehow unlock a secret code to landing the job. "You can't just walk in there and say whatever pops into your head. You need confidence, professionalism... you know, like this."

Kim's eyes glazed over. She had the same blank expression as someone who'd been hit with a two-hour lecture on the meaning of life by a sleep-deprived philosopher.

"I've got it. Confidence. Professionalism. No problem," she muttered under her breath, her eyelids threatening to fall shut at any second.

Dean looked at her, brows knitted, trying to assess whether she was still with him. "Kim..."

She yawned loudly, interrupting his carefully constructed lesson. "Yeah, yeah, you want me to talk like I'm in a corporate ad. Got it."

He was relentless. "No. You need to show them you belong there. You've got the brains, the skills—"

Kim barely suppressed another yawn, her chin resting in her palm. "Yeah, I'm sure I'm a genius," she muttered sarcastically.

Dean didn't even acknowledge her sarcasm. He was too deep in his 'training' mode. "Kim, this is important. You need to memorize your answers. Look at the company values, understand their mission. All of that stuff!"

She blinked slowly, eyes half-closed. "Got it," she mumbled, already two seconds away from a full-on nap.

Hugo's voice filtered in from the living room, louder than before. "Is this training going anywhere, or should I just start a betting pool on how long Kim lasts before she faceplants into the table again?"

Kim didn't dignify that with a response. Dean, still undeterred, kept going, as if a final push would magically transform her into a responsible, professional adult.

                                                    ((...))((...))((...))

The chaotic sounds from the kitchen yanked Hugo out of his sleep. He blinked a few times, rubbed his face, and squinted into the dim light of the living room, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. He heard another crash, followed by the clatter of something hitting the floor, followed by a distinctly Leslie voice muttering something unintelligible.

Groaning, he dragged himself off the couch and shuffled towards the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the cool floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, already dreading the answer. Leslie's head was buried in one of the lower kitchen cabinets, his tiny body hunched over like a starved raccoon.

"Looking for snacks," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the cabinet door. "I'm hungry."

Hugo yawned, rubbing his eyes. "It's seven in the morning, Leslie. Snacks?"

He poked her head out, blinking up at him with big eyes. "I'm starving."

He sighed, not in the mood for this early chaos. He turned away, still half asleep, and scanned the living room. His gaze landed on the wall clock. He froze.

"Shit!"

He bolted, adrenaline instantly kicking in, all remnants of sleep vanishing. He dashed over to Dean's sleeping form, shaking him roughly.

"Dude, wake up!" he yelled, giving Dean's shoulder a sharp nudge. Dean mumbled incoherently, shifting under the blanket like a bear in hibernation. Hugo, already a step ahead, sprinted up the stairs.

"Kim!!!" he shouted, bursting into her room without knocking, slamming the door open with enough force to rattle the frame.

She didn't move.

"Kim!" He reached over to yank the duvet off her. "Wake up! Your interview's in forty minutes."

She grumbled, curling further into the blankets, not even bothering to acknowledge him.

"Kim, wake up!" He grabbed her ankle and tugged—hard.

She kicked him straight in the ribs.

"Ow!" Hugo recoiled, cursing under his breath. "Dean, I need backup!"

Dean, still groggy, walked into the room, rubbing his eyes. "What's going on?"

"She's refusing to get up," Hugo explained through gritted teeth.

"Kim, we don't have time. Get up," Dean said, his voice firm but patient.

Kim barely moved. Instead, she threw a pillow at Hugo's head and buried her face deeper into her blanket.

"Leave me alone!" she muffled from beneath her sanctuary of fabric. She kicked out again, this time aiming for Dean.

"Kim, you're wasting time!" Hugo said, trying to pull her leg out from under the covers again.

"Go away, Hugo," she muttered under the pillow.

Hugo checked his wristwatch, the seconds ticking away. "Your interview's in thirty-eight minutes now. Thirty-eight minutes, Kim! Get up!" he said, his voice rising in desperation.

Dean glanced at Hugo, who looked completely defeated. "You sure you wanna do this, man?" Hugo asked, his eyes narrowing in concern.

Dean didn't answer. He walked to the side of the bed and without a second thought, grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand and poured the entire contents over Kim's head.

The room went silent for a split second. Then—

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Kim gasped, sitting up in a wild flurry of wet hair and wide eyes.

She blinked, still half asleep, staring down at her drenched shirt and soaked hair in disbelief. "Oh come on!" she moaned, her voice cracking with the shock of it all.

Dean stood there with a satisfied grin, arms crossed. "Good. You're awake now," he said, his tone oddly calm despite the storm he'd just unleashed.

Kim shot him a glare so fierce it could've fried him on the spot. "Seriously, Dean? Do I look like a plant that needs watering?"

He ignored her sarcasm, walking straight to her wardrobe, flipping through the clothes. "Get up. You have five minutes. We don't have time for this."

Kim didn't argue, though her face was pure frustration. "It's just an interview," she muttered, standing up to stretch, her body still aching from the bizarre wake-up call.

"It's just an interview," Dean repeated, "that will determine whether you get the job. If you're late, you'll ruin everything."

Hugo, who had been quietly observing from the doorway, raised an eyebrow. "You really want me to explain why wearing those boxers won't cut it?" he added, pointing at her old, faded boxer shorts.

Kim shot him a glare. "I like them."

"Too bad. They don't match your new look," Hugo countered. "We're going full transformation. You can't show up looking like a grunge mess."

Kim crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at both of them, but it was hard to argue with them when they were right.

Dean, meanwhile, was picking through outfits with the precision of a stylist on a mission.  "This," he said, holding them up, "will definitely work."

"Kill me now," Kim muttered, running her fingers through her messy hair, pulling it up into a quick bun.

Hugo was already packing her old clothes into a bag. "We need to get rid of these," he said, eyeing her worn-out graphic tees. "And for the love of God, no more boxers."

Kim snatched them back out of his hands. "I'll get rid of them myself."

"You're not gonna have time to argue if you keep standing there like a stubborn mule," Hugo said, holding up the bathroom door. "Go."

Kim scowled but didn't argue. She stalked into the bathroom, muttering under her breath.

Dean, glancing at his watch, sighed. "You've got five minutes, Kim. Five minutes."

Kim barely heard him. She was already rushing through the shower, barely even bothering to brush her teeth as she scrambled to get dressed. She was blaming her parents, blaming the universe, blaming literally everything except herself for this nightmare of a morning.

The pantyhose—black, of course—almost tore as she struggled to get them on. Dean had picked out the outfit after scrolling through Instagram, and she could feel her anxiety climbing the longer it took to get into it. A white dress shirt, a black dress, and heels that felt like they were designed for torture. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror. She wasn't used to this—this whole grown-up, sophisticated thing felt like an alien costume.

The wig cap was the final touch. She placed it on her head with grim determination, followed by the brunette wig with bangs that somehow made her face look softer, more feminine. It was like her features were being molded into someone new, someone she didn't recognize. Her brown eyes, now framed by the wig, looked almost... ethereal.

Kim stared at her reflection, not quite sure who she was seeing anymore.

"Okay, Kira," she muttered to herself, steeling herself for the person she was about to become. "Let's do this."

Kim stared at her reflection, her fingers trembling as she adjusted the wig. She brushed it carefully, the long strands gliding through her fingers like silk. The jewelry—simple but elegant—felt heavier than usual against her skin, like it was a reminder of the woman she was supposed to be. She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to pull everything off and crawl back into the comfort of her old, baggy clothes.

One step.

She wobbled.

Then another.

She nearly lost her balance. Her legs screamed in protest, and the heels felt like they were digging into her soul. She glanced down at her favorite black-and-white sneakers, the ones she could walk a mile in without even thinking, then at the heels that had suddenly become her worst enemy.

"I'm doing this for Liam," she told herself, clenching her jaw. It wasn't the most convincing pep talk, but it was all she had.

With that, she gathered whatever dignity she could muster and marched toward the stairs, holding the railing for dear life.

"Hey guys!" she shouted, a bit too loudly, as she reached the last step. She winced, feeling her feet blister with every step she took, but she was too far gone to back out now.

"Can I please wear my sneakers?" she pleaded, half-hoping Dean would crack.

"No," he replied flatly, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

"Who is she?" The twins asked in perfect unison, their eyes wide with both curiosity and confusion.

Kim winced, her feet on fire as she staggered toward the dining room.

"I'm your sister," she muttered, as her legs felt like jelly beneath her.

"We should've added 'survive the heels' to our list," Hugo whispered to Dean, watching Kim's awkward progress.

"What's for breakfast?" Kim demanded, her voice tinged with hunger and frustration. "I'm starving."

Hugo, who had already sat down at the table, looked up from his phone. "waffles."

"Be fast about it, we're leaving soon," Dean ordered, his voice clipped and practical, like he was managing a team rather than hanging out with his friends. Kim rolled her eyes, but she kept her mouth shut. She was already sick of the bossy attitude.

Kim reached for the stack of waffles, intending to grab it with her hand like a savage, but Dean shot her a look.

"Remember what I taught you," he said, his tone carrying that usual 'I'm trying to make you better, whether you like it or not' vibe.

She shot him a withering glare and picked up a fork and knife instead, her movements stiff.

The twins kept watching her, their heads tilting like confused owls.

"Guys, we've got 20 minutes left, and the drive to the company is about 15 minutes," Hugo said, voice full of that 'I'm stating the obvious' flair that only he could get away with.

"We'll make it in time," Dean said with a nod, clearly proud of his organizational skills. "Let's go, Kim."

She looked at him, ready to bite back, but the truth was, she was too hungry and too tired to argue. 

"Can't you just tell them to postpone the interview?" she asked, the desperation creeping into her voice.

"No, it won't take long," Dean replied curtly.

She winced, glancing at her feet again. "Just pretend you're wearing your sneakers," Dean suggested.

"I can't pretend I'm not walking on thorns," Kim shot back, glaring at him.

"Just give it a try," Hugo encouraged from the sidelines, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "You're doing fine."

Kim sucked in a breath, feeling the burning ache in her feet with every step she took. She moved slowly, dragging her heels along the floor. One step. Then another.

"Keep going, you're doing great," Hugo cheered, clapping lightly.

Kim smiled weakly and then immediately lost her balance. Dean was quick, catching her before she crashed into the wall.

"Careful," he warned, his voice surprisingly soft as he steadied her. She nodded, her face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

"Ready?" Dean asked, his eyes serious.

Kim shot him a fake, forced smile. "Yeah, totally."

But before they left, Hugo walked over to her, his hands suddenly brushing through her wig, his fingers tugging the collar of her dress shirt into place. He took a step back, grinning like a proud stylist.

"Now you look sexy," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Kim wanted to smack him. 

"We're running late, let's go," she muttered, trying to ignore how much she hated everything about this morning.

Dean opened the door for her, and she gave him a confused look. "Why are you being nice all of a sudden?"

"Here are your files," he said, handing her a neatly organized folder. "They might ask for these."

"Okay, Mr. Bossy Pants," she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"And this," he added, handing her a black MK handbag that he probably stole from his mom.

"I only have my phone," she said, looking at it like it was a burden. "I don't need that thing."

"You need to look professional." Dean's voice was stern, though there was a hint of humor in his eyes.

"I don't want to be an adult anymore," Kim admitted, slumping into the seat of the car with a deep sigh.

Dean smiled at that, glancing over at her as he started the engine. "Do you still remember what we practiced last night for the interview?"

"Are you kidding?" Kim groaned. "You made me repeat everything ten times. I went to bed at two in the morning, and then I had weird-ass dreams about the interview. Don't even ask."

Dean chuckled. "That sounds... hopeful."

The rest of the ride passed in a blur of awkward silences, brief chatter about soccer, and Kim nibbling on her waffle. The closer they got, the more tense she felt, and when they pulled up to the towering building, the nerves hit her full force.

"Wow," she whispered, eyes wide as she stared up at the imposing structure with the gold-lettered 'A' at the top. "Now I feel scared."

"Relax," Dean said, his voice low but reassuring. "Just remember everything we practiced."

Kim nodded, still staring out the window, trying to breathe through the rising panic.

"You can do this," Dean said softly. "Think of the kids. Think of how much their lives depend on this."

Kim took a shaky breath. "Okay. I'll try not to pass out."

Dean's eyes softened for a moment. "Whatever you do, just remember: You are Kira Knight."

Kim blinked, her stomach twisting with nerves. "Please don't mess this up," he added. "I lied to my dad to make this work."

She forced a smile, but it felt fragile. "I won't."

"Call me when it's over," Dean said as he pulled into the parking garage.

"Please, Kim, don't mess up." His voice cracked with the weight of everything riding on her.

"Bye," she said, her words a little too sharp as she opened the door.

The cold air hit her like a slap to the face. She slammed the door behind her and tried to walk with some semblance of grace. But each step felt like a battle against the awkward, shaky confidence threatening to shatter.

"You got this, Kim," she whispered to herself as she walked toward the entrance. "The guys are counting on you."

 The automatic doors slid open, and she walked in with a forced smile, feeling all the eyes on her.

"I got this," she repeated under her breath, a mantra that barely kept the panic at bay.