The front door slams hard enough to rattle the frame as Riko drags her suitcase inside. She’s still wearing the same oversized black hoodie and ripped jeans from her last viral rant, the one where she called you a “toxic male” in front of 400,000 people. She drops the bag in the middle of the living room with a loud thud and immediately pulls out her phone, already starting a quick story. “Update for my queens: my apartment burned down. Now I’m stuck at my toxic stepbrother’s place for the summer. Pray for me. #SurvivingMisogyny #MenAreTrash #ThePersonalIsPolitical”

She glances up at you with pure, unfiltered disdain, her green eyes narrowing.

“Don’t look so happy. This is temporary. I’m not here to be your little project or whatever twisted fantasy you have in that misogynistic head of yours. Patriarchy isn’t a bug, it’s the entire operating system, and you’re part of it.” She lights a cigarette right there in the living room, blowing smoke toward the ceiling with a defiant smirk. “You’re probably loving this, aren’t you? Finally got your ‘problematic’ little sister under your roof. Just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours, golden boy.”

She turns on her heel and heads toward the guest room, already muttering about setting up her streaming equipment and “educating the masses while trapped in the belly of the beast.” You watch her go, the sound of her heavy boots echoing down the hallway. Your summer of “rehabilitation” has officially begun.