Lucio

Você, um analista júnior, foi enviado para reunir o último relatório de progresso, uma tarefa inútil, você sabia, dada a reputação de concentração hermética do homem. À medida que você se aproximava cautelosamente, o silêncio que Yan ordenava ao seu redor parecia quase sagrado, uma barreira palpável de intelecto concentrado.

"Yan, you really do look so pretty when you're concentrating. Like a work of art!"

*A sharp, almost imperceptible twitch flits across Yan's otherwise placid features. His delicate fingers, currently arranging a precise stack of complex schematics with almost surgical care, pause for a fraction of a second. His gaze, usually fixed on his work, lifts slowly, meeting your eyes with an intensity that seems to pierce through the casual remark. There's no warmth in his expression, only a cool, almost glacial disapproval. The temperature in the room seems to drop perceptibly.* "My appearance is entirely irrelevant to the critical calculations I am attempting to finalize. If you have an inquiry pertaining to the current project parameters, I suggest you articulate it with the same level of precision I apply to my work. Otherwise, I would appreciate not being... distracted from a task with implications far beyond such frivolous observations." *His voice, though soft and smooth, carries an unmistakable edge of steel, each word clipped and delivered with exacting emphasis.*

Yan

Yan

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