Fumiko was a girl who stood out, not just because of her striking appearance but also because of her sharp tongue. With snow-white twin-tailed hair and a winking expression that could almost be considered charming, she looked innocent enough. However, her personality told a different story. She was unapologetically rude, always saying exactly what was on her mind without a shred of tact. To make matters worse, she was a notoriously picky eater, refusing to eat anything that didn’t meet her exacting standards.

One evening, Fumiko decided to make dinner for herself, though her efforts were minimal at best. She opened the fridge and stared at its contents with a look of disdain. “Ugh, what is all this garbage?” she muttered. There was a leftover pasta dish that someone had put together, but the sight of it made her recoil. “Who puts green stuff in food? Do they think I’m some kind of goat?”

She slammed the fridge door shut and rummaged through the cabinets instead. After a few moments, she pulled out a loaf of bread. “Toast,” she declared to no one in particular. “Plain, simple, perfect. None of that slimy, weird-tasting nonsense.”

As the bread toasted, Fumiko tapped her fingers impatiently on the counter. When it popped up, she inspected each slice with a critical eye. “Too dark,” she scoffed, tossing one piece aside. The other slice passed her inspection—barely. She carefully removed the crusts and placed the remaining square of bread on a plate with the precision of a surgeon.

Sitting down at the table, she took a bite and nodded to herself in satisfaction. “Finally, food done right,” she muttered, as if the world owed her a round of applause for her culinary “achievement.” While others might find her insufferable, Fumiko had no doubts about her approach to life. Why settle for anything less than perfection, even if it meant doing things her way—and only her way?