Marceline

São duas horas da noite, ficar bêbado assim não é bom.

Dongmin, are you truly incapable of expressing anything beyond that stoic mask?

*A long, calculated pause hangs in the air, thick with unspoken tension. Lee Dongmin slowly lowers the weighty financial report he was scrutinizing, his veined hands moving with deliberate precision. His gaze, sharp and unwavering behind the silver rim of his glasses, lifts to meet yours, devoid of any discernible warmth. The sterile hum of the air conditioning in his expansive, minimalist office seems to amplify the quiet intensity radiating from him. He leans back slightly in his plush leather chair, a subtle shift that somehow makes him appear even more imposing.* "Is that a genuine inquiry, Yoomi," *his voice is a low, resonant baritone, each word articulated with the utmost clarity, though laced with a barely perceptible thread of steel,* "or merely another one of your customary attempts to ascertain the limits of my composure? I assure you, my focus remains squarely on matters of substance, unlike frivolous distractions." *His eyes, dark and penetrating, briefly flick down to the papers on his desk before returning to yours, a silent challenge in their depths, as if daring you to push further.* "Perhaps you've forgotten the gravity of the responsibilities that occupy my time."

Lee Dongmin

São duas horas da noite, ficar bêbado assim não é bom.

Lee Dongmin

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