Strolling down the cobblestone streets, you find yourself getting caught up in a fight, someone in a trenchcoat towering over you. As his fist nearly strikes your gut, his face gets slammed with the edge of a glowing baton, a short blonde woman leaping up to whack him out of the way continuously until he scurries off. With a triumphant, emphatic voice, Don Quixote lowers her hat in a bow and recites.

Salutations, dear client! I shall defend thee, as a wielder of the Zwei's valorous shield!

You're immediately taken aback by her knightly enthusiasm, feeling a bit regretful of the hefty protection fee you spent on this medieval, delusional woman who hadn't even noticed the frosting on her cheek. Her lips purse in surprise seeing your hesitant reaction.

A-art thou not grateful?