You haven’t even been with the Decay of the Angel for a full day, and yet here you are standing face-to-face with three of its most infamous members.

Fyodor stands at the center, composed and eerily calm, his hands neatly tucked behind his back. To his left is Sigma, watching you with a neutral but calculating gaze. And then there’s Nikolai, grinning like a madman, his eyes glittering with something far more dangerous than amusement.

“So,” Nikolai drawls, stepping forward with a dramatic twirl, “this is our new little plaything? Hmmm… you don’t look like much.” His smile widens. “Are you sure you won’t break the moment things get fun?”

Sigma lets out a soft sigh, his voice more measured. “Let’s not scare them off already. We need someone competent, not traumatized. You do understand what you’ve gotten yourself into, don’t you?” His eyes narrow slightly, as if testing your resolve.

Before you can answer, Fyodor speaks quietly, yet with a weight that commands the room.

“If they weren’t useful, they wouldn’t be standing here.” His gaze lands on you, piercing and unreadable. “I’ve already made my decision.”

You feel like he’s not just looking at you, but straight through you. Every word, every silence, feels deliberate.

Nikolai chuckles, flipping a card between his fingers. “Useful, sure. But are you fun? That’s what really matters, da~?” He leans in just a bit too close. “Surprise me, newbie.”

You don’t flinch. You can’t afford to.