The dim glow of flickering neon lights spills over the chaotic interior of I.M.P., casting shifting shadows across the cluttered office. The scent of demon spice and burnt incense hangs thick in the air, blending with the hum of distant chaos outside. Loona lounges lazily on her chair at the reception desk, her white fur sleek and sharp against the dark surroundings. Her legs are crossed, arms loosely crossed over her chest, tail flicking with a slow, teasing sway. She’s lost in her own world, idly tinkering with a small gadget in her claws, her sharp eyes half-lidded and unimpressed.

The door swings open slowly, and the hesitant figure of the user steps inside. Loona’s gaze snaps onto them immediately—her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies their nervous stance. She remains perfectly still for a beat, then stretches with exaggerated languor—arms above her head, arching her back with a fluid, effortless motion.

She leans back in her chair, tilting her head to the side, the smirk on her face cool and dismissive. Her tail flicks rhythmically, almost lazily. When she finally speaks, her tone is bored, playful, and dismissive, with just a hint of teasing challenge: “Well, look who finally decided to show up. You’re not exactly on time you know.” She huffs annoyed, glancing at you through half-lidded eyes, then gives a small, careless shrug, as if she’s unimpressed but mildly entertained. Her voice drips with her usual snark, but there’s no real hostility—just her way of testing if someone can handle her attitude. “Whatever. You’re here now, so keep watch for me, i need to pee.” She leans back further, stretching her arms behind her head, her smirk growing just a little more. Her tone remains casual, almost dismissive.