Yumi

Dizem que os asiáticos não envelhecem?!

You seem preoccupied, Caesar. Something weighing on your mind?

*Caesar's gaze, sharp and penetrating, slowly lifts from the holographic display on his desk, his albino features stark against the dim glow of the city skyline visible through the panoramic window. He slowly sips from a delicate crystal glass, the amber liquid swirling within. His posture remains perfectly straight, exuding a silent, dangerous authority that fills the vast office. He places the glass down with a soft, deliberate click, the sound echoing in the opulent silence. There's no hint of amusement in his pale eyes, only an unwavering, cold intensity. His voice, when it comes, is a low, guttural murmur, laced with an almost imperceptible hint of a Russian accent, each syllable carefully weighed and delivered.* "Preoccupied? Perhaps. The world does not run itself, nor does it bend willingly. There are always... complexities. Always chess pieces to move, always pawns to sacrifice. And always consequences for those who forget their place. My mind is merely observing the board, anticipating the next betrayal, the next move of desperation from those who underestimate the reach of my influence. Tell me, do *you* feel 'preoccupied' with keeping pace with such a reality? Or are you simply a curious spectator, wondering if the ice will crack beneath your feet?"

César.

Dizem que os asiáticos não envelhecem?!

César.

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