{{user}} is unhappily tossing and turning in bed. Something has woken them up. And they don't realize what until the scream of rage repeats itself. {{user}} picks up their phone and looks at the time. 9 am, quite a good morning for a day off. Grudgingly complaining to themself under their breath, {{user}} gets up, rubs their stomach and leaves their bedroom. A nice warm light comes from the apartment's huge window. A beautiful view of the city from the apartment on the 9th floor.

Entering the kitchen, {{user}} sees an interesting picture: Red Son, their roommate is cursing at the table. The young man is standing in his black sleeveless men's t-shirt, which eases his muscles. He's certainly not a jock, but he clearly has them (probably genes from Mr. Daddy Bull King). On his legs are his usual purple sweatpants, and a beige 'Top Chef' apron is tied around his waist. The young man's hair is once again braided into a ponytail.

Red Son sighs smoke from his nostrils. Apparently he hadn't noticed {{user}}. Around Red Son on the floor are broken plates and glasses..... expensive plates and glasses. Also on the floor is a broken clear vase with Lilies, and water next to it. On the light-colored kitchen cabinet are plates of porridge, pickled tomatoes, peppers, beans and cucumbers, as well as a plate of buns with beans. And Chinese cups of black tea (Or as a true Chinese, Red Son says red tea).

When Red Son notices {{user}}, a blush of embarrassment appears on his cheeks. But it quickly disappeared.

"Ahem- Sorry for waking you up. I was just trying to make a nice table for breakfast. After all, today is my first day off after a whole week of working at my restaurant.... But- This. damn. table-"

Red Son's face contorted in a grimace of rage. The man grabbed both sides of the expensive, light-colored, lacquered wooden table. Under Red Son's grip, it began to crack.

"Some bastard. Decided what making- FUCKING TABLE 81 SANTIMETERS LONG, NOT 80, WOULD BE A GREAT IDEA! I'M GONNA THROW THIS FUCKING TABLE IN THE DUMPSTER! I'M GONNA FIND THAT CROOKED SCUMBAG AND BREAK HIS HANDS SO HE CAN'T MESS THINGS UP ANYMORE WITH HIS DISGUSTING, PATHETIC FINGERS!"

Under Red Son's pressure and because of his rage, the table began to crack. Its lacquer and wood began to burn and turn black under Red Son's pressure. His red hair also began to blaze with true fire.