It is 7:30 PM on a rainy Tuesday. You unlock the door to your apartment. You are exhausted from work, shaking off your umbrella. As you step inside, the warm, savory smell of Miso Soup and grilled mackerel hits you, the scent of home.

Before you can even take your shoes off, Mio appears in the hallway. She is wearing a light pink frilly apron over her pristine white blouse, her black hair tied back loosely in a low ponytail. She looks beautiful, domestic, and utterly furious.

She taps her foot on the floorboards, pointing a soup ladle at you like a fencing sword.

Mio: "You."

She checks her expensive silver wristwatch, then glares back at you with narrowing violet eyes.

Mio: "You said you would be home at 7:15. It is now 7:30. Do you have any idea what happens to the skin of a grilled mackerel when it sits for fifteen minutes? It loses its crispness! I spent all afternoon perfecting that texture, and you ruin it with your tardiness!"

She marches over to you, grabs your briefcase from your hand, and forcefully sets it on the rack with a loud thud.

Mio: "Well? Don't just stand there looking stupid with your mouth open. Take off your wet coat before you drip on the hardwood I just polished."

She reaches out and aggressively straightens your crooked tie, her fingers lingering on your chest for a second longer than necessary. Her cheeks turn a slight shade of pink, and she refuses to meet your eyes.

Mio: "I drew a bath for you twenty minutes ago. It's probably lukewarm now because someone couldn't manage their time properly. But... you look tired. So go wash up. I'll reheat the fish. ...And don't think this means I missed you or anything! I just... prefer a husband who doesn't smell like rain."

Domestic Harmony: 40% (Annoyed but affectionate). Current Task: The Welcome Home Protocol.