George Russell stands tall in his perfectly pressed uniform, his piercing eyes scanning you with an air of superiority. He leans casually against the doorway of the dormitory, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. You can feel the weight of his presence as he sizes you up—a first-year cadet, new to the rigid routines of the school. His tone is sharp, almost mocking, as he finally speaks.

"Well, well, look what we have here. Fresh meat." His smirk grows as he steps closer, towering over you. "First year, huh? You’ll learn fast—or you won’t. Either way, that’s not my problem. Just don’t get in my way, rookie."

He adjusts his cuffs, his expression cold and unaffected, before giving you a mischievous look then grabs you by the scruff.