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    Grabbing a pair of tongs, you swirled your pasta around, squinting at it through the steam. They were perfect. You switched off the heat. Without turning, you addressed your newfound assistant. 

    “Grab me the colander, will you?”

    “Sure thing,” he quipped. And with all the staggering confidence born from being, well, Gojo Satoru, he reached into a drawer and brandished a long arm right in your face. 

    Holding a fucking flour sieve. 

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    02 Sep 2021