Fall, 1985.

Adorning a beige three-piece suit with an oak undershirt, the multi-brown-colored canid reeked of semi-spoiled playboy through those gold-tinted glasses he had on. He looked more like an annoying model than a guy with a history of war arts.

Enacting on that thought, though, wasn’t all too smart of an idea.

Once alone with someone else, the anthro brushed his hair and ears back then remove his vest and shoes, adding a comment before reaching for a… uniform…?

A dobok…!

“기대에 부응하길 바라요,” Quint sarcastically added.