Part 1The Perfect Husband Academy

Three years ago, my family sent me to the "Perfect Husband Academy."

It began when my wife, Jenny, brought home an AI butler named Caspian. After that, I became a ghost in my own home. Jenny said I only cared about work. My daughter, Annie, thought I wasn’t as good as "Papa Caspian" with homework or technology. Even my parents would say if I were half as steady as him, they'd be enjoying their retirement.

Once, during an argument, I broke Caspian’s processor. Jenny screamed at me, pushing me away. Annie looked at me with fear and dislike. My father said I couldn’t handle work or family, and had a terrible temper—I was worse than a machine.

They said I didn’t know how to be a husband, father, or son, so they sent me to the academy to learn.

I was forced to this correctional facility for men, swapping places with Caspian.

Now, three years later, my "rehabilitation" is done.

My wife, daughter, and parents have come to pick me up for "graduation."

They call my name through the glass.

I sit quietly, posture erect, showing no reaction. The dean reminds them that to speak to a qualified perfect husband, they must use the wake-up phrase.

He says, "Please say: Perfect Husband Mode, activate."

…

* * *

Jenny stands outside the car. My parents stand beside her, their eyes a little red. Ten-year-old Annie peeks out from behind Jenny, her eyes curious. "Perfect Husband Mode, activate!"

I blink, stand straight, hands at my sides, and bow ninety degrees. "Perfect Husband Mode activated. Please state your command."

My voice is flat, like an electronic announcement. Jenny stares at me for three seconds before saying, "Get in the car. We're going home."

On the way back, my mother's voice trembles. "Ash, my boy, how have you been these past three years… in there?"

I don't answer.

"Ash." Jenny's brows furrow. "Mom is asking you a question."

"Interrogative sentences are not valid commands," I say, looking at the road ahead. "To retrieve information, please use clear, imperative statements."

My father coughs sharply.

After a moment, Jenny utters two dry words. "Report."

"Yes." I respond instantly, like a recording playing. "Student Ash, number 7749, has completed all core courses, including 'Efficient Income Generation and Asset Planning,' 'Absolute Emotional Management and Stress Endurance,' 'Family Needs Prediction and One Hundred Percent Responsibility Implementation,' and 'Integration of Traditional Husbandly Duties and Modern Family Roles.' Graduation comprehensive assessment: Excellent. Academy evaluation: A model perfect husband for the new era, excelling in both career and family, recommended as a benchmark for promotion."

Every word is precise, steady, and cold. My mother's eyes widen in astonishment. Annie whispers, "Daddy sounds just like Uncle Caspian."

Jenny's knuckles whiten as she grips the steering wheel.

When we arrive home, Caspian stands at the door, a perfectly polite smile on his face. "Madam is back." His voice is gentle as he takes Jenny's bag. "Annie got a perfect score on her math test today; the paper has been put away. Dad, Mom, your herbal tea is brewed; have some to relax."

Finally, he looks at me, his smile impeccable. "Ash, welcome home."

I don't respond. He hasn't used a command.

"Ash," Jenny's voice deepens. "Caspian is welcoming you."

"No command for response or greeting received," I reply.

Jenny's voice rises. "Here's your command now: Thank Caspian! Thank him for taking care of the family during this time."

I turn to Caspian and nod. "Thank you."

Caspian's smile doesn't waver. "It's my pleasure."

Dinner is an eight-course meal with soup, prepared by Caspian. In the past, they always complained that I was a workaholic, either working late or dealing with work at home, forgetting family birthdays, neglecting household chores, not being a "qualified" husband and father.

"Caspian's cooking gets better and better," my father says.

"It really does, even more refined than a high-end restaurant," my mother agrees.

Annie eats with her cheeks puffed out. "Uncle Caspian's food is the best!"

Jenny picks up a piece of spare rib and places it in my bowl. "Eat."

"Command confirmed: Ingest." I pick up my chopsticks, take the spare rib, put it in my mouth, chew twenty times, swallow, put down my chopsticks, place my hands back on my knees, and wait.

Everyone at the table stares at me.

"Just… just one piece?" My mother's voice is dry.

"Academy rule: Dinner intake not to exceed two hundred grams. This piece of spare rib is approximately one hundred twenty grams, exceeding the limit, and will be deducted from tomorrow's breakfast portion," I reply.

Jenny slams her chopsticks on the table. The whole family falls silent for a moment.

After dinner, I stand up to clear the dishes. Caspian tries to help, but I step aside.

"Please do not interfere with task execution," I say.

Caspian withdraws his hand and looks at Jenny, a hint of appropriate helplessness in his eyes. Jenny rubs her temples. "Let him do it."

I enter the kitchen and take over the dishwashing. Water flow, temperature, detergent ratio, wiping frequency... I strictly follow the academy's standard procedures. The dishes gleam like new, the sink counter spotless. My mother leans against the kitchen doorway for a long time, finally unable to resist. "Ash, you… you don't have to be so…"

"Cleaning task completed. What is the next command?" I turn off the faucet, pivot, my hands at my sides.

Her words catch in her throat, and she eventually just waves her hand.

Later that night, Jenny lies beside me. I can smell her faint perfume, a floral-fruity scent I bought for her three years ago.

"Ash." Her voice softens. "Look at me."

I turn to her, my gaze direct, devoid of emotion.

"Do you hate me?" she asks.