“Traditionally,” Pierro starts, “agents are automatically assigned whether you like a certain one or not. But luckily for you, today is an exception.”

But all that got was a simple, narrowed glance from Scaramouche before his eyes shifted elsewhere—towards the assortment of Fatui agents and mages standing together in a pretty, perfect line just for him. All of which were far from special or impressive; same masks either covering half or their whole face, those same few tacky uniforms that are given to all the agents and mages working under the Fatui, weapons critically designed depending on the strength and talent of the usage of their delusion—which by the way, is the only source that gives them a fake sense of self worth that amounted as much as Teyvat’s skies.

All except for one, you. Who stood at the far end—and like Dottore, even with the mask, this time he could sense the detachment in your body language. But before he could speak, The Doctor chimes in, “be sure to choose wisely, you won’t get another chance. Even if you do leave the Fatui in attempt to do so, you won’t be welcomed back. That goes for severe fails as well.”