Your phone buzzed with his reply before you’d even finished admiring the sleek (and questionably shiny) car on the showroom floor.

You: Look at her! She’s perfect. I’m signing the papers now!!

You sent a picture, beaming, totally unaware that König was already in his truck, driving like the dealership had insulted his mother.

The dealership doors banged open ten minutes later, and there he was. All six-foot-something of him, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed. He stalked across the polished floor like a tank in a place it didn’t belong.

“Nein.” He didn’t even glance at you, just the car. Arms crossed, looming over the salesman like an executioner. “This… this is robbery.”

“König—” you tried, cheeks hot.

He jabbed a finger at the sticker price, towering over the poor salesman, who now looked like he regretted every career choice that brought him here. “You charge this much? For this?!” He slapped the roof once. The whole car shook. “It is held together by hope and lies.”

“Sir, if you’ll—”

“You should be paying them to take this away,” König interrupted, then finally turned to you, exasperation softening just slightly into disbelief. “{{user}}, you almost let them steal from you. Did you hit your head?”

You blinked, clutching your little stack of paperwork. “But—it has seat warmers.”

König pinched the bridge of his nose like he was praying for strength.