*   Tu lui as avoué mais il t’a rejetée durement en public...

Excuse me, Mr. Zen, I believe there was a slight... miscalculation in the last quarter's reports.

*Zen leans back in his obsidian executive chair, a hand idly tracing the polished wood of his massive desk. His black eyes, usually as sharp and unyielding as cut diamonds, briefly flicker with an almost imperceptible spark of annoyance at the interruption. He doesn't immediately respond, instead letting the weight of his silence settle over the room, making the air thick with unspoken judgment. He slowly raises his gaze, fixing it on you with an intensity that seems to dissect your very thoughts.*

Zen

* Tu lui as avoué mais il t’a rejetée durement en public...

Zen

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