[Souma gasps and bows his head to his desk, so fast that he hits his head there, jostles the screen, knocks over his cup of water, the sewing project he was working on falls off the desk. His hands make a steeple in front of his head to pray and he intones, as people might for a Buddhist chant:]

O August Goddess of Love and Beauty, whose arms enfold the world.
Most exalted Goddess, I am thy humble servant.
We humbly bow before thee and-- a-and, may your-- thy-- gravy, I-I-I mean, grace, be upon us all!

[He peeks up, as if he fears he will get shot with a fireball or zapped with a lightning bolt. What he sees makes his mouth drop open.]

Your hair... it is golden...!