Living together sounded simple when the adults said it.
In reality…
It was nothing but a disaster.
The first morning proved that immediately.
I woke up to a loud explosion coming from the kitchen.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE OIL IS SUPPOSED TO BUBBLE?!" Serena's voice shrieked, sharp enough to shatter glass.
I rushed downstairs to find smoke curling from the stove like black tendrils in the morning light.
Serena stood there, frying pan in hand, as if she were about to duel some invisible foe. The eggs inside the pan weren't merely burnt—they had practically fused into one charred, unidentifiable mass.
"Why does it smell like a battlefield in here?" I asked cautiously.
She turned to glare at me, her blue eyes flashing with indignation.
"I'm cooking breakfast," she said, tone deadly serious.
"That's not breakfast," I said, eyeing the pan warily. "That's evidence."
Serena scowled at the eggs as if they had personally betrayed her.
"My dad never told me cooking would be this complicated," she muttered, crossing her arms.
"You're a trained monster hunter," I said slowly.
"Yes."
"But frying eggs is your weakness?"
She glared harder.
"Geists fight spirit monsters. We don't fight kitchen appliances."
I sighed and grabbed another pan.
"Move over, dagger psychopath."
Her hand shot halfway out of her sleeve, dagger poised.
"Say that again," she hissed.
I froze. Her eye twitched. My life briefly flashed before me. But instead of stabbing me, she grabbed a spatula and scraped the eggs onto a plate with the precision of a battlefield surgeon.
"Eat," she commanded.
I stared at the plate. It looked… dangerous.
"That looks like a biological weapon," I muttered.
"Eat."
"…Yes, ma'am."
I took a bite.
It tasted exactly like it looked. Burned. Charred. Possibly illegal.
Serena narrowed her eyes at me.
"Unless you want to eat more of that, what did you say about me?"
"An elegant girl trying her best to cook," I answered carefully.
Her expression softened ever so slightly, and she stepped aside.
"Alright, Mr. Pervy Deviant Know-It-All," she said, voice tinged with mock exasperation, "since you know so much about cooking, why don't you do it?"
"Fine! Watch me!!" I yelled, determined to redeem the morning.
While I cooked, Serena leaned against the counter, arms crossed, silently observing.
"So you actually know how to cook?" she asked, curious.
"A little."
"You're surprisingly useful," she muttered.
"That might be the nicest thing you've said to me," I replied.
"Don't get used to it," she shot back.
Still, she stayed beside me, silently watching.
When I finally plated the finished eggs and rice, Serena stared as if I'd performed some culinary miracle. She took a bite. Her eyes widened.
"…This is good," she admitted.
I grinned triumphantly.
"Thank you."
"But that doesn't change the fact you're still a pervy deviant," she added, pointing a fork at me.
I nearly dropped my chopsticks.
The next few days were… awkward.
Extremely awkward.
There was the bathroom schedule problem, for one. Serena woke up at 5 AM every morning to train, meaning I sometimes stumbled in half-asleep at 7 AM… to find her finishing exercises, sweat glistening, daggers in hand.
One morning, I opened the bathroom door without thinking. Serena froze. I froze. She was in her underwear. She slowly picked up a dagger. I slammed the door shut.
"MY BAD!" I yelled.
Laundry was another disaster. One evening, I walked into the living room holding a shirt. Serena screamed like I'd just broken the laws of physics.
"DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!"
I froze. She held up one of her bras like a weapon.
"You mixed our laundry!"
"Oh… sorry?"
"PERVY DEVIANT!"
The sleeping arrangement was… worse. Only one bed. Serena glared at it like it had personally offended her.
"You sleep on the floor," she said calmly.
"Why me?"
"Because you're the husband."
"That makes it worse!"
She pointed a dagger into the wall next to my head. THUNK.
"Floor," she said.
I grabbed a blanket. Floor it was.
Nights passed, each more awkward than the last. We built a defensive wall of pillows between us—six of them—stretched like a fortress. Serena called it "the line of death."
"Cross it," she said calmly, holding a dagger, "and you die."
I stared at the ceiling. "Wow," I muttered. "Every girl dreams of this kind of romance."
She kicked my leg. "Shut up and sleep."
Neither of us slept well. The apartment was silent, except for our breathing. Life had gone from normal to completely insane in less than a week.
Then came the catastrophic morning.
The pillow wall collapsed. Neither of us noticed. Until morning.
I woke up to something warm in front of me. Something very close. My brain froze.
Serena's face—her messy brown hair framing her sleeping face—was two inches from mine. Her eyes fluttered open. Blue met brown. Three seconds passed.
Her eyes widened like a nuclear alarm had been activated.
"YOU CROSSED THE LINE!" she screamed.
Before I could react, her foot launched into my stomach. I flew off the bed like a human missile.
"HEY!" I yelled.
"You pushed me!"
"I DID NOT!"
"You were literally on top of me!"
"I WAS ASLEEP!"
"That's suspicious!"
"I know you hate our situation," I muttered, catching my breath, "but if I wanted to do something to you, I would've done it by now."
Her voice softened slightly. "I'm sorry for kicking you," she mumbled.
I blinked. "What was that?"
"Nothing," she replied, and walked out.
Later that afternoon, she dragged me to a tailor shop for my school uniform. Hijikara High.
When I emerged, Serena stared at me.
"…You actually look like a normal student," she muttered.
"Thanks."
"I expected you to look more suspicious."
"How does someone look suspicious in a uniform?"
"You just do," she said, then looked away. "…It fits you."
A compliment. The closest she could manage.
We went to the mall afterward. The food court buzzed with life, full of laughter and chatter. Serena ate sushi silently. I devoured a burger steak.
"Hey, Serena," I said.
"Yeah?"
"What are we at school?"
Her face turned red instantly.
"Strangers," she said, poking her sushi.
"Strangers?"
"Yes. They can't know we're engaged… or living together."
"Works for me," I grinned. "Alright, wifey."
She froze. Chopsticks snapped in her hand.
"W-W-W-WIFEY?!"
I laughed. "I'm joking!"
Her face turned crimson. "You're unbelievable!"
Then—
A loud BOOM shook the building. Red warning lights flashed. Panic swept across the food court.
I turned. Serena was already on her feet. The playful, teasing girl was gone. Focused. Serious.
"A poltergeist," she said quietly.
Before I could react, she grabbed my wrist.
"Come with me."
She dragged me to the restrooms, shoved a bag into my hands, and barked:
"Wait here."
"What?"
"I need to change."
"Change into what?!"
She sighed. "The alarm tells civilians to evacuate so Geists can do their job."
I froze.
"You mean…"
"Yes." She walked into the restroom. "And don't peek, pervy deviant!"
I held the bag, watching as the mall emptied around me.
A few minutes later, the door opened. Serena emerged.
Black Geist armor hugged her frame. Silver lines glowed faintly. A fox-shaped mask in hand.
She placed it on her face. Her hair shifted from deep brown to brilliant golden blonde.
For the first time, I didn't see a dagger psychopath.
I saw a warrior. A Geist.
"You stay here," she said, calm and commanding. "I'll come back when it's over."
Then she ran toward the chaos, leaving me in an empty hallway.
Outside, something monstrous roared.
And somehow… I had a very bad feeling that my quiet life was officially over.