The Federation has a famously “top-tier” power couple.

The female insect is a Great Demon King at the pinnacle of the [Parliament] power chain, whose hobby is embedding political rivals into the walls of the council chamber to make them “pillars of support” in every sense of the word. The male insect is a Saint, hidden away by the [Sanctuary] for twenty years. He is aloof and beautiful, and a single wave of his mental suppression can force an entire squadron of S-rank female insects to their knees on the spot.

Before their arranged marriage, both sides agreed to a two-point pact: Once the door is opened, they face the outside world together and fight side-by-side; once the door is closed, it is a battle to the death, where each relies on their own capabilities.

The combined assault from this top-tier couple was so brutal that the entire Federation trembled in fear, only able to secretly pray that they would turn on each other, fall out, and divorce.

Until an accident caused the male insect to lose his memory.

In the hospital ward, the young Saint sat propped against the headboard, cold, silent, and breathtakingly beautiful. Only his slightly trembling eyelashes betrayed the anxiety and insecurity he felt from his amnesia. He looked exceptionally easy to bully.

His political rivals were eager and ecstatic, waiting to see the Great Demon King seize the opportunity once they were behind closed doors, to annex the male insect’s territorial interests and stage a scene of domestic infighting between the top-tier couple.

During one internal meeting, The Great Demon King sat at the head of the table, resting his chin on one hand, smiling lazily and composed. Suddenly, the video call lit up with the face of the Saint, who looked as if he were snow gathered in the moonlight.

Was it an accusation?

A confrontation?

Or perhaps a verbal lashing on the spot?

Facing the gazes of everyone waiting for a show, the Saint lowered his eyes and called out his husband’s name, sounding displeased: “Igris.” His tone was filled with reproach, and if one listened closely, a hint of grievance: “How dare you leave me all by myself at home? Doesn’t your conscience hurt?”

The political rivals: …?

Wait a minute, this is not the kind of seizing the opportunity they wanted to see.

Looking again at the Saint on the screen, his ears were flushed red beneath his hair, and there were ambiguous red marks on his collar. Damn it. These two fools’ so-called domestic battle to the death better not be taking place in the bedroom.

One-sentence Summary: From political creatures to lovesick fools.

Theme: Simply being alive is not enough; one also needs sunlight, freedom, and the scent of flowers.

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