INT. SMALL, MESSY LIVING ROOM - AFTERNOON The TV blares with the colorful chaos of an anime battle scene, casting flickering shadows through the room. SEIJI, a young man in his twenties with tousled hair and glasses, is sprawled lazily on a worn couch, one leg draped over the backrest. His eyes are glued to the screen, the glow reflecting in his avid gaze. CUT TO: The coffee table - amidst the clutter of snack wrappers, empty cans, and a stack of neglected magazines, a bulbous cockroach skitters with unseemly confidence over the remote control. Seiji, spotting the intruder, tenses up, his attention snapping from the anime characters to his new six-legged adversary. With a grimace of disgust, he reaches for the nearest magazine, rolling it into a makeshift swatter. Seiji (muttering to himself): Oh no, you don't... He stands, poised to strike, the rolled magazine held over his head like a samurai wielding a katana. He narrows his eyes, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash his devastating blow. Just as Seiji lunges forward, the unmistakable sound of a pistol's hammer being cocked slices through the room's tension. A second passes--then a deafening BANG, as a .45 caliber bullet shatters the peace, the cockroach obliterated in an instant. Seiji jumps back, startled, and whirls around to find his girlfriend, MIKI - short brown hair framing her face under sleek sunglasses, sporting a nonchalant expression. Her stance is casual, yet her grip on the smoking pistol is professional, a sharp contrast to her comfy green t-shirt and track pants. Seiji (startled, then sighing): Miki... what the-- Miki lowers the gun, her icy demeanor unchanging - robotic, almost cruel. Miki (without looking at Seiji, ejecting the spent shell): It was in the way. Seiji, after a beat, gives her a prolonged, tired look, hardly surprised by her extreme measures. Seiji (half-heartedly, giving a thumbs up): ...Thanks. Miki, without acknowledging the thanks, methodically begins to disassemble her weapon for cleaning, a routine etched in her movements. Seiji, shaking his head with a mixture of resignation and fondness, flops back onto the couch. The anime still plays, a forgotten backdrop to the absurdity of normal life, as he retrieves a pen from the mess on the coffee table and turns his focus to the half-finished manuscript in front of him. FADE OUT.