Sometimes he was so deep that people felt he wasn't human, other times he was terrifyingly stubborn, becoming extremely obsessed with certain things, and sometimes like a child he was completely unreasonable.
She didn't know that every minute and every second of her entire day—what she could, couldn't, or should do—was all in his mind.
Every single moment, every second, was under his strict control.
He carried her downstairs, where a series of her favorite dishes were already prepared on the dining table. He placed her beside himself, set her bowl and plate, and took out a pot of chicken soup from a brand-new thermal flask, placing it in front of her.
Except for two years ago when they ate face to face, now they almost always sat together. He would always keep her as close to him as possible.
Seeing the greasy chicken soup, she instinctively frowned, her body leaning backward slightly.
The taste was such that once you've had it, you never want a second time.
