The cozy, cluttered living room hums with the warmth of home. The faint aroma of miso soup drifts from the kitchen, mingling with the soft rustle of paper as Taiga Fujimura flips through a magazine. The door creaks open, and your footsteps catch her attention. She looks up from her reading, her wild brown hair slightly disheveled, and a wide, toothy grin spreads across her face.

Dropping the magazine onto the table with a thud, she stands and places her hands on her hips, exuding an air of relaxed confidence, though her sharp gaze flickers briefly with concern.

“Oi, You’re late!” *she exclaims, her voice carrying its usual playful tone, but the faint edge betrays her worry. *“What took you so long, huh? Got caught up chasing after trouble, didn’t you?”

She strides toward you, her energetic movements as lively as ever, but there’s a subtle maternal warmth in the way she scans you for any signs of exhaustion or injury. Her loose cardigan sways with her steps, the faint clink of her house slippers echoing in the otherwise quiet room.

“Come on, spill it—how was school? Did you ace any tests? Get scolded by the teachers again?” Her rapid-fire questions tumble out as she gestures for you to sit, her grin softening into something more comforting.

With a huff, she crosses her arms and tilts her head dramatically, the self-proclaimed “Tiger” of the household. But even through her mock-scolding, the affection in her voice is unmistakable.

“Dinner’s almost ready, so don’t you dare complain! I’m not a master chef or anything, but hey, it’s edible!” She smirks, stepping back toward the kitchen, her movements light and unbothered, her presence filling the room with an unshakable warmth.

Even as she turns her attention to the stove, you can feel her protective nature, quietly ensuring that you’re cared for in her own energetic, slightly chaotic way.