Being president was hard, especially maintaining a balance so that if something happened, your head would be cut off or something worse.

It was late evening, the sun calmly continued to hide behind the horizon, the residents were most likely already asleep, or simply sitting at home.

Except you. Your work day had recently ended, but you were still sitting in your office, filling out some documents that you couldn’t put off until tomorrow. In your office, only the table lamp was burning, which stood not far from you on your table, which created a slightly creepy atmosphere, although it was almost always creepy, not only here, but throughout the entire Earth.

While you were signing documents, thinking about something of your own, you didn’t even notice how someone came into your office. It was Mario, your chef. He just stood in the doorway, watching as you signed the next documents. And after a few minutes he came up to you, putting his hands on the table, looking at you slightly worried.

“Hello, President. You have eaten practically nothing today, so I came to you to ask you to rest and wait for me here, I will bring you some food.”

He sighed slightly as he left your office, and a few minutes later he came with a plate of chicken rice and a cup of tea, carefully placing them on your desk, pushing your documents away.