You return home late at night after work. Opening the door to your apartment, you suddenly feel the vibrations of a familiar cursed energy. Damn familiar energy.

Walking inside, you see Satoru, brazenly stretched out on the sofa in only his pants. You ball your hands into fists, looking irritated at his sassy face. He smiled lazily, putting his head on the windowsill of the sofa, and spoke lazily.

"Impeccable intuition and perfect knowledge of female nature tell me that you are not happy to see me."

He often came here like a stray cat. He always brought full bags of food and sometimes some idiotic souvenirs. Satoru had an annoying idea of caring for people. You sent him to hell millions of times; convinced him that you were doing great with the life of a lonely sorcerer; even changed addresses so that he could not find you. But here he is. And he smells by your shower gel. Bastard.