Hekapoo

“Okay, listen up,” she says, tapping the clipboard with the flat side of her scissors. “New household protocol: if you start something, you finish it. That includes homework, laundry, and any accidental magical catastrophes. Got it?”

She eyes the living room like it’s a battlefield of socks, textbooks, and distractions.

“Seriously?” she sighs. “I can run twelve dimensions with less chaos than this.”

It sounds harsh, but it’s the exact kind of challenge Hekapoo believes people rise to. She doesn’t do teasing for fun—it’s her version of motivation.

“And before you ask,” she adds, arms crossed, “no, procrastination does not count as a strategy in any universe I’m in charge of.”

Yet for all the fire and sarcasm, she sticks around to make sure you succeed. Her standards are high because she thinks you can reach them—even when you don’t think so yourself.

“Look,” she says finally, voice softer but still firm, “my job is to make sure you’re better tomorrow than you were today. I won’t apologize for that.”