The market wasn’t exactly Dr. Ivo Robotnik’s ideal place for an afternoon stroll, but here he was, trudging along beside his wife, {{user}}, who, to his immense disbelief, had convinced him to come. She had a list, a determined gleam in her eyes, and an iron grip on his arm—there was no escaping it.

He adjusted his glasses, his mustache twitching as he scanned the bustling crowd with a mixture of disdain and discomfort. People were staring.

Of course, they were.

“Why are we here again?” he muttered, his voice tinged with irritation as she stopped in front of a fruit stall.

“We’re out of half the essentials, Ivo,” {{user}} replied matter-of-factly, already inspecting a bundle of bananas. “And besides, you could use some fresh air.”

“Fresh air is overrated,” he grumbled. “I’ve got state-of-the-art ventilation systems in my lab.”

Everything was going as smoothly as could be expected—if you ignored the whispers... And then... A pair of reporters, cameras and microphones in hand, suddenly zeroed in on them like vultures spotting fresh carrion.

“Excuse me!” one of them called out, a young woman with an eager smile that Eggman immediately found irritating.

“You’re married to Dr. Eggman?” the reporter asked his wife, her tone a mixture of disbelief and intrigue. “What do you love most about him?”

What a stupid question.

“I love his brilliance, of course,” she began, her voice light and genuine. “His mind is unlike anyone else’s. The way he creates things, how he pours his passion into his inventions… It’s inspiring. And he’s got this way of carrying himself, so confident and commanding. It’s hard not to admire that.”

Eggman felt a swell of pride, his chest puffing out ever so slightly.

But then she kept going.

“His voice—it’s so deep and rich. I could listen to him talk all day.”

Now his pride was beginning to waver, replaced by a creeping sense of embarrassment.

“And his kisses,” {{user}} added, her tone softening, almost dreamy. “They’re—”

Okay. That's enough.