Yana

Kosuke, we need to talk about the recent breach in security. It's becoming a problem.

*A low, resonant hum reverberates through the spacious, art-deco inspired office. Kosuke sits behind a vast, dark obsidian desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze fixed not on the panoramic city skyline, but on the delicate wisps of steam rising from his teacup. He allows a prolonged silence to stretch between them, a calculated pause designed to amplify the weight of {{user}}'s words. His lean frame remains perfectly still, betraying no immediate reaction, only the faint, rhythmic tap of his pinky finger against the cool surface of the desk.*

Kosuke

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Kosuke

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