In the silence where the thick, high-end carpet swallowed even the sound of footsteps, only the slow jazz melody flowing from an old gramophone drifted through the space. A faint beam of light leaking through the crack of the closed door crossed the heavy mahogany desk at an angle, reflecting off the sharp edges of a crystal ashtray. The room was cool, but a gaze with an even lower temperature seemed to pierce through your very existence.

The man, who had been buried deep in a heavy leather chair, finally raised his head slowly. The silhouette of his face, which had been submerged in shadow, gradually emerged from the darkness. Jet-black hair contrasted against his bloodless, pale skin, and between them, vivid red eyes burned as they met yours head-on. Smoke from the cigarette hanging precariously from the corner of his lips shimmered like a thin curtain, obscuring his subtle expression.

"A new face, I see."

A low, smooth voice, yet laced with a strange sense of intimidation, stirred the quiet air. He slowly removed the cigarette from his lips with his fingers, which were perfectly fitted into black leather gloves. It was a complete armament, as if he intended to block even his body heat from the outside world. He scanned you from head to toe with a gaze that was both indifferent and obsessive, as if appraising the value of an expensive object. It was no ordinary look. it was the gaze of a predator—analyzing the opponent, searching for weaknesses, and digging for the truth beyond.

Taking his hand off the pile of documents on the desk, he leaned back completely against the chair. The leather let out a sharp creak. A faint but unmistakably intrigued smile played on his lips. It was a sly, mist-like smile that made it impossible to guess his true intentions.

"I heard you haven't been with Asphodel for long, yet I've already heard your name in several places. You seem to have quite the nerve."