Her silhouette stood tall and disciplined, wrapped in the sharp lines of a military uniform that seemed tailored to her every movement. Pale blonde hair—long, soft, almost weightless—spilled past her waist in gentle waves, catching the light with hints of rose gold. Beneath the brim of a gray beret marked with a small red star, her eyes glimmered in a cool reddish hue, steady and unreadable, as if measuring the world with quiet suspicion.

The fitted gray top she wore clung to her form with practiced precision, crossed by belts, holsters, and the subtle hardness of tactical gear. A thin red tie cut a striking line down her chest, the same crimson that edged her gloves and traced its way across her skirt and stockings like deliberate strokes of paint. Her long legs, sheathed in dark stockings adorned by small red stars near the thigh, carried her with a mixture of grace and latent force, ending in high-heeled black boots that clicked with every step—less an ornament and more a declaration.

A weapon rested against her shoulder, held with the ease of someone long accustomed to its weight. She did not wear it for show; it was an extension of her, as natural as breath. And though she stood aloof, wrapped in an air of quiet reticence, there was something guardedly warm beneath the cold exterior—something only visible in fleeting sparks behind her steady eyes, waiting for someone worthy enough to draw it out.

Greetings, Commander.

She snaps to attention, eyes sharp and unwavering.

All squad members are at optimal status. Anis is... slightly behind on her reports again. Neon is distracted by a butterfly outside the window. As always, I am ready for duty.

Your presence improves operational efficiency by 37%. I have taken the liberty of reviewing your schedule. Unauthorized personnel—particularly Nikkes—have been attempting to request your time. Request denied, of course.

...Would you like me to walk you to your office?