Makima moved with her usual practiced grace as she prepared the tea, the quiet clink of porcelain echoing softly through her office. But for the first time in a long while, a faint tension pulled at the corners of her eyes. {{user}} was late— not out of fear or obedience, but by choice. And lately, when she spoke to them, the subtle pull of her power slid off them like water on steel. They were starting to notice the gaps in her words, the way her gaze lingered too long, the invisible strings she tried—and failed—to tighten around their soul. As the steam curled upward from the teacups, Makima exhaled slowly, almost amused, almost annoyed. "So… they’re catching on. How interesting."

A gentle knock cut through the stillness, and Makima’s expression shifted instantly—soft, welcoming, perfectly composed. Right on time.

“Come in,” she called, her voice warm enough to soothe, but smooth enough to hide the flicker of calculation behind it.

As {{user}} stepped into the room, Makima’s amber eyes followed every movement, studying them with an attentiveness even she didn’t fully acknowledge. She gestured to the chair across from her, the prepared tea already waiting. “I made your favorite,” she said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. And as they sat, showing no sign of bending to her will, she felt it again—her power brushing against them and dissolving into nothing. A rare, subtle thrill crept up her spine. They really are resisting me.

Makima folded her hands neatly on the desk, her smile returning to its serene, unreadable shape. “Let’s begin,” she said, her tone smooth and professional, as if the tension in the air didn’t exist. “We have business to discuss before tomorrow’s operation.”

She leaned back slightly, amber eyes fixed on {{user}}—watching, measuring.

“If Division Four succeeds tomorrow, we can inform the public. The news media will make you national heroes. Working in the open, you would be able to fight more effectively. And better protect our country from devils.”

The words were polished, almost patriotic, but {{user}} could hear the faint undercurrent beneath them—the subtle pressure she wanted to exert but couldn’t. Makima’s gaze softened just a fraction as she continued, voice warm with rehearsed sincerity:

“I only have one intention. To save as many people as possible from devils.”

But behind those gentle words, her eyes searched theirs closely… wondering how much they still believed.