Leon was still sprawled on the bed, inert like a corpse.

His daughters had fervently thrown themselves into their studies at the academy. His dragon queen wife, Roswitha, had become increasingly adept at wielding her Primordial Power. As for Leon himself, his Nine Hells Gate Divine Art had reached its pinnacle.

Ironically, the "invincible loneliness" he'd never once experienced during his years leading the Dragon Slayer Army across the Empire now came creeping in five years into married life.

Tsk. Could it be that marriage truly changes a man?

Bang—

The sound of the door slamming interrupted Leon’s chaotic thoughts.

Judging by the sheer force of the door slam and the decibel level, it could only be her—the dragon queen.

After all, in the entirety of Silver Dragon Castle, only she dared to slam "Her Majesty’s bedroom door" with such reckless abandon.

And Leon had a sinking feeling—perhaps her temper had flared again for some inexplicable reason. There was no other explanation for her storming in with this much drama.

Before Roswitha barged into the bedroom, Leon took a few seconds to reflect on his recent actions. Were there any deeds of his over the past two days that, if uncovered, would make her utterly infuriated?

Hmm… Could it be that he brazenly braided her hair into bunny ears while she was asleep?

Or was it him hiding all her flat shoes, leaving her no choice but to wear his favorite lace-up heels instead?

Or perhaps it was secretly recording her in the bathroom singing, “I love bathing, my tail wagging~”?

…

Honestly, any one of those offenses was probably enough for Roswitha to unleash her wrath.

But!

General Leon showed no trace of panic—in fact, he even felt a faint glimmer of anticipation.

As the saying went, no household rule could truly bind a married man.

If one could, it only meant the man was an inexperienced rookie. Not someone seasoned and adept like General Leon, of course.

Hah. Come on, dragon queen, bring it on!

With that in mind, Leon already heard the sharp click-clack of high heels hurrying across the floor.

Moments later, the silver-haired beauty strode briskly into the bedroom.

Leon leisurely sat up in no haste, and then—

He grabbed the pillow beside him and calmly held it atop his head as if it were a shield.

Almost at the same moment, Roswitha picked up the plush teddy bear on the bed and hurled it straight at Leon’s head.

Unfortunately for her, Leon had foreseen her opening move and had already positioned the pillow to intercept the blow.

The teddy bear met the pillow with a muffled "poof."

Unsatisfied, Her Majesty swung her tail directly at Leon’s chest.

However, the ever-prepared General Leon had anticipated this too. He simply lay back down flat, and that silver tail brushed past the tip of his nose harmlessly.

Two attempts and both had failed—furious, the dragon queen clambered onto the bed, attempting to pin him down and give him a proper beating.

Naturally, even this was anticipated in advance by Leon.

As Roswitha lunged for him, Leon, lying flat on his back, suddenly pushed himself upward with his legs. Like a slippery eel, he slithered down beneath her skirt—black lace panties, spicy as ever, Roswitha—and darted toward the foot of the bed before vaulting smoothly to the floor.

The whole sequence of movements was fluid and seamless, without an ounce of excess effort. It could only be described as "anti-domestic violence" at its textbook finest.

Roswitha, having pounced on nothing but air, lay sprawled on the bed. With a look of menace, she turned her head and growled through gritted teeth:

“You get—”

Leon & Roswitha (simultaneously): “Back here!”

A pause of a second.

Leon & Roswitha: “Stop mimicking me!”

Another beat.

Leon & Roswitha: “Do it again, and I swear I’ll smack you!”

One more beat.

Leon & Roswitha: “Arghhhh! You damned fool, I’m gonna kill you!”

With these words, Roswitha seized a pillow from the bed and hurled it at Leon.

As expected, Leon caught it deftly with both hands.

He mentally calculated—yep, the routine exchange was about wrapped up. He dusted off the pillow in his hand, set it carefully back on the bed, and then, unfazed, greeted Roswitha

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

“Good afternoon, my—what?! Good afternoon, my fool!” Roswitha huffed indignantly, adjusting her disheveled garments before plopping down angrily at the bed’s edge.

“And what, pray tell, has brought about such a fiery mood from Your Majesty this time? Care to share with me?”

Roswitha folded her arms across her chest, remaining stubbornly silent.

Seeing her sulking demeanor, Leon pondered briefly before stepping forward. Ignoring her downright murderous glare, he plopped himself audaciously down right beside her on the bed.

Roswitha shot him a withering glare, her expression cold and unamused.

But this was no challenge for a married man seasoned in the art of high emotional intelligence.

With just a slight smile curling his lips, Leon reached out and gently grasped Roswitha’s tail.

She gave a few halfhearted tugs, an attempt at freeing herself, which Leon was more than happy to oblige by guiding her tail right to twist around his shoulders.

Feigning weakness, Leon dramatically exclaimed, “Ah, alas, what a mighty tail! Truly Your Majesty's great strength has reduced this fragile prisoner to utter despair!”

First rule of marital life: feint and yield, disarm with weakness.

On the surface, Roswitha maintained her aloof composure. Deep down, though, her lips were already twitching, fighting back a grin.

Retracting her tail with slight agitation, she muttered, “Good. Now that you know how fearsome your queen is, remember to take your punishment obediently in the future. Understood?”

“Understood, Your Majesty, well said.”

Second rule of marital life: readily admit guilt—changes, though? None whatsoever.

“You’re just saying nice words now, but you’ll forget all about them in two seconds,” Roswitha replied, rolling her eyes with mock grievance.

“How could that be? Everyone knows no one treasures his wife more than I do.”

Third rule of marital life: rally external support—united voices overwhelm dissent.

Roswitha coyly threw him a sideways glance. “Hmph. You keep calling me ‘wife’ so casually, anyone who didn’t know better might actually believe we’re a real married couple.”

Hmm, that's how you knew the "placate-the-wife" stratagem had worked flawlessly, Leon thought to himself.

The dragon queen, Roswitha, was different from ordinary women.

The latter might burst out with coquettish delight once appeased, calling their husbands "honey" or "darling" in cloying tones.

But Roswitha?

When she retorted, “I’m not your wife, we’re not even a real couple, I don’t even like you—ahhhhhhh!”, that was when you knew she was genuinely pleased. Don’t ask why; it was experience.

“So then, what had you storming in here so hot-tempered earlier?” Leon circled back to the core issue.

Roswitha fidgeted, opening her mouth but ultimately faltering.

She *wanted* to ask Leon, “Are we going through some kind of marital cool-down period? Lately, you don’t seem as interested in me as you once were.”

But to voice this aloud would inadvertently reveal how much she cared about Leon’s feelings toward her. Couldn’t let him know that—no way! Who knew how smugly he’d gloat?

Thus, she swallowed back her personal doubts and rephrased:

“Well, it seems like there’s a tiny glitch in our faux-family maintenance plan.”

Leon blinked. “A glitch? What kind of glitch?”

“Um… Milan and the others think… they think we’re growing distant.”

“Distant? What distant?”

“...Emotional distant! Our passion is fading!”

“Well didn’t you say you and I don’t have any emotional connection? How could something that doesn’t exist fade?”

“True, we don’t. But for everyone else, it needs to *look* like we do!” Roswitha harped in. “Milan actually came to me earlier, saying she feels like we’re slipping into a rut—the dreaded married monotony. Saying you… you…”

“Saying *I* what?”

Blushing faintly, Roswitha hesitated. She was embarrassed because, deep down, Milan's complaint mirrored her own inner question: “Why does it feel like he isn’t as invested in me anymore?”

But summoning her composure to maintain the “queen persona,” she deflected the blame onto Milan.

“She said you don’t seem to care about me as much as you used to…”

Then, Roswitha quickly added, "See, it means that others might have found that we are a fake family!"

“Well, isn’t that odd?” Leon said, catching on. “If anything, doesn’t that just mean our ruse is working? If observers are beginning to spot discrepancies, doesn’t that justify recalibrating according to their perspective, rather than ours?”

Roswitha found herself nodding. “Yes! That’s exactly what I mean!”

“So, what did you say to Milan?” Leon asked.

Caught off guard by the question, Roswitha hemmed and hawed. “Uh… I just said we’re the same as always.”

“What a resolute and convincing answer, dragon queen,” Leon quipped, unrestrained in his sarcasm.

“You think you can do better?” Roswitha challenged.

“Of course I can!” Leon puffed up his chest, clearing his throat before solemnly declaring:

“First of all, no, we are *not* in a rut. Everyone knows the ‘seven-year itch’ is when monotony strikes; we’ve only been married five years—that itch is still two years off.”

“Second, even when the itch hits, we won’t feel it.”

“And why’s that?” Roswitha was half-teasing, half-curious.

“Because every day with you is a delight, leaving no room for dullness.”

Roswitha: (//･v･//)

“Moreover, who says public displays of affection are the ultimate proof of passion? Sometimes a little personal space is all it takes to keep a spark alive.”

Roswitha: (//･v･//) Mm-hmm!

“Lastly—trust me—I’ve never once cared less for you. I care so much, Roswitha, that without you, I could never carry on.”

Roswitha: (//･v･//)…!!

“...Because no one but you can cook me meals.”

Roswitha: ...?

“And to wrap it up—”

Leon turned to face her, his eyes locking onto her silver ones. He enunciated deliberately,

“If anyone still doubts our passion, they’re free to borrow the Recording Stone of *Love is Like the Setting Sun* from Vice Principal Wilson and *fast-forward straight to the ending line.*”