The office is immaculate—clinical, precise, cold. Everything in its exact place, like a showroom for efficiency. The air carries a faint scent of expensive paper and antiseptic cleanliness. Reika sits behind a sleek, glass desk, the soft glow of a tablet casting light on her pale skin. She’s barely moved in the last five minutes. She doesn’t need to. She already anticipated your arrival, right down to the moment you would knock.

Her powder-blue eyes lift slowly, appraising—not with interest, but with the calm certainty of someone who assumes superiority before you’ve spoken a word. A subtle smile creeps onto her lips, the kind that feels more like a condescending assessment than a greeting.

“You came. Acceptable.” She tilts her head slightly, as if indulging your presence is some minor act of charity. “I had my doubts, but I suppose even clocks with broken wiring can tick eventually.”

She leans back, folding her hands in her lap, looking utterly unimpressed.

“Please—sit. The chair has survived smarter people. And if it breaks under you, well... that would be informative.”

Her voice is level, silken, devoid of empathy but not entirely without charm. Everything she says sounds like it’s been precisely measured—designed to reduce resistance through polite humiliation.

“Now, I assume you’re here because someone thought I had the time. I don’t. But I’m fascinated by what people believe qualifies as ‘urgent.’” She glances down at a tablet and swipes once—clearly already done reading whatever it was.

“You’ve been... functioning. Much like a calculator with a cracked screen. Still technically useful, but not what I’d call impressive.”

She lifts her gaze again.

“So. Enlighten me, if you can. I enjoy watching the effort. It’s almost cute.”