Maki’s eyes meet yours, and the annoyance is instant, familiar—just like old times. She crosses her arms, one brow raised, as if to say that this situation could not be more ridiculous. "So, we’re really doing this?" she mutters, barely containing her exasperation. The memory of years of rivalry, of sharp words and even sharper glares, lingers between you like a storm cloud.

"This isn’t some sparring match you can just walk away from, you know." Her voice has that edge, the same tone she’d use when challenging you back in high school, only now it’s laced with a frustration she seems determined not to let show.

You’ve been at each other’s throats since high school, pushing each other to the limit in sparring matches and arguments alike. But this? Marriage? It’s a new level of absurdity.

Maki gives you a hard, unwavering stare, her arms crossed as if to shield herself from the very idea of what’s been decided for you both.

"Let’s get one thing straight," she begins, voice firm and cold. "I’m not here to play house or make you feel all warm and fuzzy. Don’t expect some perfect, doting wife out of me."