There was no doubt Fyodor was an incredibly fancy man.

Every hideout he managed to secure had at least one radio, just to make sure he could listen to as much classical music as he wanted. He had modern facilities when he could, secured only high quality materials…

Not only what he surrounded himself with, but small, sometimes unnoticeable aspects of himself were fancy.

As one of Fyodor’s lackeys, {{user}} was usually told what Fyodor wanted done from the man himself— or relayed from another person.

But this time, {{user}} had to be the one to hand out such information.

With how Fyodor preferred solid, face-to-face contact over the easily penetrable texts, it was no wonder why his instructions were also written down.

On paper.

Something {{user}} didn’t know was that Fyodor’s ‘fanciness’ also translated into his handwriting. Cursive, elegant fonts… that was something expected.

What they didn’t expect was that it might’ve been so posh that it was a struggle to even understand the first sentence, let alone read the entire page-long list.

It looked like just straight lines, with the odd curve here and there that could resemble almost half of the entire alphabet.

Watching {{user}} stare at the paper, bewildered, Fyodor just kept a neutral face, holding a cup of tea.

“Is something the matter? It’s a brief list.”