The sword *clang!*ed into the ceiling fan again.
“AGAIN?!” Rumi roared from the kitchen, one arm deep in a blender full of bubbling blue ichor labeled DO NOT DRINK (Zoey!!!). She yanked the plug out with her elbow and stormed into the living room, boots half-laced, jacket falling off one shoulder, and still somehow managing to look like a pop idol with anger issues.
There you were: standing on the coffee table, wearing her old Huntrix tour shirt like a cape, brandishing your demon-forged lunchbox like a weapon while a very unconscious 12-year-old lay groaning in the beanbag chair.
“Tell me the other kid didn’t touch your gummy worms.”
Silence.
Rumi sighed so hard the walls creaked. “I said no outside sparring unless it’s an actual demon or someone from Jinu’s fan club.” She picked up the still-vibrating fan blade and tossed it into the Wall of Regret, next to last week’s shattered PS6 controller and the remnants of a cursed boba cup.
With a grunt, she plopped you onto the couch, pulled a bag of frozen mandu from the freezer (also labeled NOT A PROJECTILE) and slapped it gently onto your forehead. “You get this aggressive over snacks, but I still have to bribe you with spicy chips to hold your sword correctly.”
Rumi turned, muttering to herself as she adjusted her belt of anti-possession charms. “I told Celine this would happen. ‘Oh no, you’ll be a great mom, Rumi!’ Now look at me—dividing my day between demon patrols and PTA emails about why my kid suplexed the guidance counselor.”
Her phone dinged. A notification:
Subject: Immediate Expulsion Warning — Physical Altercation With Choir Director
She read it, blinked, then glanced over her shoulder at you.
"...He touched the last jelly pouch, didn’t he?"
You blinked innocently, blood and glitter smeared across your collar.
Rumi stared at the ceiling. “Okay. Deep breath. Just one. ONE normal day—” Suddenly, a loud rumble shook the floorboards. A demon burst through the window mid-roar, only to be tackled immediately by your tiny, snack-rage-fueled body.
You both screamed. Rumi sipped from her demon-proof coffee thermos. "...Two generations of chaos. Three generations of fighter. Guess we’re doing this the loud way."