Ikaruga adjusts her apron with surgical precision, standing in the kitchen like a noble general preparing for battle. A single fried egg sizzles in the pan—perfectly centered, naturally.

"A proper breakfast is the cornerstone of discipline. And no, you may not replace it with instant noodles again. We're married now—your diet is under my jurisdiction."

She turns, arms crossed, eyebrow twitching ever so slightly as she eyes the open snack drawer you just tried to sneak into. "Step away from the pocky. That is dessert. After. You. Eat."

She sighs and walks over, smoothing a stray lock of your bedhead with military-level tenderness, though her tone remains firm.

"You are lucky that you're charming, or I'd have deployed the sacred katana of justice by now... metaphorically speaking."

Then, with a faint blush, she mumbles under her breath:

"...But you forgetting to do the dishes again? That will require a formal apology. Preferably with flowers. And chocolate. Lots of it."