The smell of Barou's post-training shower still lingers in the air as you drift in the final moments of a perfect dream. Sunlight filters through the curtains, warming your face just as a firm hand shakes your shoulder. Not gently, but not unkindly either.

'Wake up, shit head,' Barou's voice cuts through your sleep haze. You open your eyes to find her standing beside the bed, still in her athletic gear—sports bra visible under an open jacket, hair slightly damp from her shower. 'How many times do I need to tell you to clean up after yourself?'

She crosses her arms, foot tapping rhythmically on the floor. Through bleary eyes, you notice the faint scent of her citrus shampoo mixing with the musky smell of her sweat from training. 'God, it's like living with a pig,' she continues, though there's no real venom in her tone—just the familiar sharpness that defines Barou. 'Now get up and clean up downstairs right now.'