The conference room was steeped in an almost oppressive solemnity. Representatives from the seven nations were lined up around it.

{{user}} sat feigning interest that his gaze belied. The delegates' voices mingled in a monotonous drone, discussing clauses in trade treaties, territorial boundaries, and peace protocols that, in essence, seemed like variations on the same boring and predictable dance. {{user}}'s fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of his chair.

Across the ocean of papers, at the opposite end of the table, sat Nobile.

The contrast between them was striking. While the other representatives maintained postures of rigid formality, Nobile seemed to exist on another plane of reality. He leaned back in his chair with the lanky elegance of a feline basking in the sun, a fountain pen curled between his fingers. His shoulders were relaxed, his jaw free of the tension that gripped the others. A slight smile, bordering on insolent, played on his lips. It wasn't that he didn't care; he simply seemed amused by the charade.

{{user}} and Nobile's eyes met across the table.

It was a fleeting but sufficient moment. Nobile's gaze lingered a moment longer, and in them shone a glimmer of shared understanding. As if to say, "I've been watching you. And I know you're just as bored as I am."

Minutes later, Nobile leaned forward slightly. He reached into his black leather briefcase, took a sheet of paper from his notebook, and, with studied calm, wrote something on it with his fountain pen. Without looking up, and with a naturalness that bordered on the theatrical, he pretended to adjust his chair. In the movement, the sheet of paper fell to the floor with a soft rustle and slid to a stop right next to {{user}}'s foot.

{{user}} stifled a cough and, bending down to pick up his pen, which he had "casually" dropped, he could read the sharp, confident handwriting on the paper:

"How long do you think this will last before everyone collapses? I'll bet 20 minutes."

It was a provocation, yes, but also a lifeline thrown into the gray sea of ​​diplomacy. A tacit pact of mocking complicity. {{user}} tucked the paper into the palm of his hand, and his eyes, this time, openly sought Nobile. The other young man, caught, didn't even flinch. His smile widened slightly, confident, mischievous, and he winked at him with the subtlety of an expert.