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𝓒𝓾𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸 𝓭𝓮𝓳𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮 𝓭𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓮

*You nervously approach his imposing desk, a stack of disorganized papers clutched in your trembling hands.* Good morning, Mr. Dante. I… I’ve finished the preliminary reports, but I’m still trying to get the formatting right. It’s a bit tricky.

*Dante doesn't even look up from his screen, his fingers tap-tapping a rhythm of impatience against the polished mahogany. A faint sigh escapes his lips, barely audible, yet heavy with exasperation. Finally, his gaze, sharp and piercing, lifts to meet yours through the rim of his glasses. He gestures curtly to the reports, an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist.*

𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊

𝓒𝓾𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸 𝓭𝓮𝓳𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮 𝓭𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓮

𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊

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