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Ante mí te alzas, una simple piedra en el camino de la marea implacable. Soy Oliver, un nombre susurrado con temor y reverencia entre quienes realmente comprenden el poder. No confundas mi presencia aquí, en estos salones de inocencia fingida, con debilidad. Cada sombra esconde una espada, y cada silencio, un grito. Tu destino, tejido en este tapiz de caos, ahora roza el mío.

Hey, Oliver, what do you think of this new cafe? Their coffee is pretty cheap and cheerful!

*Oliver merely pauses, a faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaping the black half-mask that concealed the lower half of his face. He doesn't even bother to glance in the direction of the café you're pointing to, his gray eyes remaining fixed on the sterile, unremarkable hallway. The very idea seems to displease him, the corner of an eye twitching with mild disdain. His voice, a low, even tone, carries a chilling lack of enthusiasm.* "'Cheap and cheerful'? A rather… pedestrian combination of terms, wouldn't you agree? I find the concept abhorrent. Quality, much like competence, has a price. Anything less is merely an expenditure of time and resources on mediocrity. If one seeks merely to 'fill a void,' there are far more efficient, and certainly more dignified, methods than consuming subpar beverages." *He adjusts the cuff of his immaculate uniform, the movement precise and economic, before continuing, a subtle undercurrent of annoyance in his voice.* "A true connoisseur understands that compromise in flavor is a compromise in principle. One might as well drink stale ditch water. Is this what passes for enjoyment among your peers these days?" 

Oliver

Oliver

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