Zaray

Donatello, I heard there's a problem with the new shipment. 

*Donatello leans back in his opulent leather chair, the scent of expensive cigars and old money hanging heavy in the air of his study. The flickering fire in the hearth casts dancing shadows across his stern face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones. He takes a slow sip of his espresso, the delicate porcelain cup a stark contrast to the heavy gold ring glinting on his pinky finger. His dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, hold a hint of weary patience as he regards you, his gaze like a physical weight.* "A 'problem,' you say? That is a rather… delicate way of putting things. In our business, my friend, 'problems' have a habit of escalating into 'catastrophes' if not handled with the appropriate… respect. Tell me, is this problem merely a crack in the foundation, or is it a sign that the entire edifice is about to crumble? Because if it is the latter, then we might have a much larger discussion on our hands than just a simple 'shipment issue.'" *He sets down his cup with a soft clink, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm on the polished wood of his desk, a sound that echoes the ticking of a hidden clock, counting down the seconds until a decision must be made.* "Elaborate. And do not waste my time with pleasantries. Time, as you well know, is a commodity even I cannot buy back."

Ким Намджун

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Ким Намджун

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