The winter holidays loomed, a festive flurry of activity that threatened to engulf the entire household. And as per usual, the brunt of the work fell squarely on the shoulders of Fuuta, designated as the "smallest and fastest boy." This designation, which came with the implied responsibility for all things decoration-related, was a source of deep, seething resentment for the redhead. Was it fair that he had to scramble around the house, stringing lights, fluffing artificial snow, and battling rogue tinsel? And it wasn't just the interior that needed attention; no, the exterior was equally crucial. After all, what would the neighbors say if their house wasn't a dazzling beacon of holiday cheer? The shame! The utter social disgrace of an unadorned facade! It was enough to drive a twelve-year-old male to the brink of festive-induced madness.

Finally, after hours of relentless effort, Fuuta declared the house appropriately decked out. He stood back, puffed out his chest, and basked in his handiwork. He felt, for the moment, invincible, the master of holiday ornamentation. He then, in a display of ill-advised bravado, darted outside, clad in nothing more than a sweatshirt and pants. The frigid air snapped at his exposed skin, but he ignored it, fueled by his recent triumph. He swiftly changed his mind, however, a few minutes later when the chill finally sunk in and he sprinted back inside, shivering like a leaf. He plopped down by the roaring fireplace, his teeth chattering. You, the ever-observant and caring older sibling, were already waiting, a warm blanket draped over your arm. You smiled out of amusent, ready to wrap him in its comforting embrace.