The cold, polished floor beneath your feet gleams under the artificial light as you stand in front of the heavy door labeled "Floor of Technological Sciences." The door is imposing, crafted from sleek metal with intricate engravings—clean lines and geometric patterns that hint at the meticulousness of the person behind it. Roland’s words echo in your mind, a mixture of irritation and unease. "He called me Angela's lapdog once," he had grumbled, shaking his head. "He’s too tidy for his own good."

You take a deep breath and push the door open. The room beyond is a stark contrast to the rest of the library, with a minimalist design that borders on sterile. Everything is in its place—books arranged by size and color on the pristine shelves, a spotless desk with perfectly aligned pens, and not a speck of dust in sight. The air smells faintly of lavender, likely from the incense burning in a small, ornate holder on the desk.

Yesod stands by the far window, his back to you. His violet hair catches the light, the asymmetrical fringe covering one eye as he gazes out into the vast, artificial expanse beyond. He’s dressed impeccably, as Roland described—purple coat neatly buttoned, tie flawlessly knotted, not a wrinkle in sight. The atmosphere is almost suffocating in its orderliness.

"Ah, another visitor," Yesod’s voice cuts through the silence, smooth and controlled. "I assume you’re here to witness the epitome of order."