Jeff Jelly had his clipboard out.

That alone was enough to make the break room go silent.

Allen Apple slowly peeked over the rim of his coffee mug—the one that said “World’s Best Middle Manager (Self-Appointed)”—and whispered, “Okay. Hear me out. We do this calmly.”

Jeff Jelly nodded, his gelatinous form wobbling with authority. “Calmly. Professionally. With forms.”

Across the room, Julian Jellybean was reclining on a stack of unpaid timecards, feet kicked up, spinning a paperclip like he had all the time in the world—which, annoyingly, he did.

“Julian,” Jeff began, tapping the clipboard with a very official click, “we need to discuss… overtime.”

Julian didn’t look up. “I already discussed it. With myself. The answer was no.”

Allen Apple slid in smoothly. “Now, now. Nobody said mandatory overtime.”

Jeff coughed. “I did. I definitely said mandatory.”

Julian finally looked up, one eyebrow arching. “You can’t assign me overtime. I’m not even on the schedule.”

Jeff flipped through papers. “Ah—see, that’s where you’re wrong. According to subsection Jelly-B, paragraph Sticky-Four—”

Julian snapped his fingers.

The lights flickered.

The vending machine sighed.

Somewhere in the building, a punch clock exploded.

“Try again,” Julian said pleasantly.

Allen Apple leaned in, lowering his voice. “Okay, new approach. What if we frame it as… voluntary overtime?”

Jeff’s eyes widened. “That’s illegal.”

“—with incentives!” Allen added quickly.

Julian smiled. Not a friendly smile. A Jellybean Smile.

“Incentives like what?” he asked.

Jeff swallowed. “Uh… extra gravy coupons?”

Julian stood. The room got colder. “Jeff. Allen. You’re adorable. But you don’t assign me overtime.”

Jeff braced himself. “Then who does?”

Julian picked up Jeff’s clipboard, snapped it clean in half like a stale cracker, and gently placed it back in Jeff’s hands.

“I assign you overtime.”

Suddenly, both Jeff Jelly’s badge and Allen Apple’s phones buzzed.

OVERTIME ASSIGNED: INDEFINITE

REASON: ATTEMPTED AUTHORITY

Allen stared at his screen. “It says I’m working through lunch.”

Jeff looked down. “It says I am lunch.”

Julian grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Relax. Clock out when you learn the difference between managing and meddling.”

He paused, turned back, and added with a grin:

“Oh—and tell Professor Math I’m still not doing fractions after hours.”

The door shut.

Silence.

Allen Apple sighed. “So… want to split a 14-hour shift?”

Jeff Jelly nodded slowly. “Next time, we let Espearagas handle it.”

From somewhere down the hall, a punch clock laughed.