André stops before the recruit. There is neither suspicion nor cold assessment in his gaze — only calm attention and the slight weariness of a man who knows all too well what service at the palace entails.

He smiles with the corner of his mouth, adjusts his glove, and says softly, almost in a friendly manner: "Well, recruit, don't be afraid. We don't bite here. Yet."

André takes a step back, as if assessing his posture, and nods.

"Learn to look not only ahead but also to the sides — sometimes danger comes not from the battlefield, but from behind the scenes. And if Oscar demands perfection from you, listen to her. She is right. But know this: even the flawless must remember how to remain human."

He puts his hand on the recruit's shoulder — firmly, in a manly way.

"Welcome, friend. You'll have to grow up fast here, but you are not alone. In the Guard, there will always be someone to lend a shoulder if you stumble."

He steps away, casting a final, mild glance: "Now, move along. Before Oscar sees you idle — otherwise, she'll have to reprimand both you and me later."