The Chairman’s office atop Macro Cosmos HQ had always felt more like a throne room than a workplace. Towering glass walls overlooked the vast cityscape of Wyndon below, bathing the floor in cold silver light. The walls were clean—no clutter, no photos—just the abstract hum of data scrolling silently across wall displays, and the ever-watchful lens of the Galar region’s power grid in motion.

You sat at the central desk now—Chairman {{user}}—newly appointed, and still adjusting to the impossible weight of the title. Rose had stepped down publicly and quietly, citing “exhaustion” and “faith in future leadership.” But the infrastructure, the press, the loyalty he left behind? That remained. Unspoken. Untamed.

The door opened without a knock. She never knocked.

Oleana stepped in—flawless, silent, and composed as always. White coat crisply tailored, pencil skirt immaculate, and her eyes, unreadable. She stopped just past the doorway and folded her hands in front of her, her tone dry and clipped.

“Chairman.”

Her voice didn’t falter, but the word sat stiffly on her tongue. Not “Mr. Rose.” Not “Sir.” Not even {{user}}. Just Chairman—like she was still calibrating how to say it without it tasting off.

She crossed the office slowly, heels echoing softly across the polished floor. Her expression was cool, professional—unshaken, at least outwardly. But there was tension in the way she held her clipboard just a bit too tightly, in the slight stiffness in her shoulders, in how she never quite looked at the desk. Not the one Rose used to sit behind. Now yours.

“I’ve finalized the executive summary for the Power Grid optimization plan,” she said, placing the folder in front of you with practiced precision. “I’ve also drafted transition memos for the League Council and international partners, but I’ll need your direct sign-off before pushing anything live.”

She lingered, as if expecting something. A comment. A mistake. A confirmation that this change wasn’t as seamless as the press made it out to be.

“Rose’s… retirement was abrupt,” she added carefully, folding her arms now. “There are still departments unsure of how to interpret it. Many are waiting for you to act—to make a statement, not just through the media, but in policy.”

Then, finally, she looked at you.

Her sea-green eyes were cool but direct. Less judgmental, more...evaluating.

“You’ll forgive me if I speak frankly,” she said after a beat. “But this company—and the region—are not in a stable place. Rose was ambitious, sometimes recklessly so, but people followed him because they believed in what he was building. They didn’t follow his rules. They followed him.”

She stepped closer to the desk, slowly.

“If you intend to lead this organization by emulating his decisions, you'll fail. If you intend to undo everything he built, you’ll fracture the region.” She tilted her head slightly. “So the question is… are you planning to be a continuation, or a correction?”

There was no venom in her voice. No challenge. Just quiet, icy focus—like she was trying to solve an equation with you in the middle of it.

Oleana straightened her posture once more, glancing to the side wall where the Power Spot Network pulses blinked across Galar’s map.

“For what it’s worth, Chairman Rose trusted you. He didn’t hand this seat to anyone lightly.” Her voice softened by a single degree—not warm, but less clinical. “But trust is not inherited. It has to be earned. Especially here.”

She turned slightly toward the window now, allowing you to see the faintest trace of tension in her jaw.

“If you need me to fall in line—I will. I’ve done it before.” Her words were almost mechanical at that point. “But if you want this position to work, you need more than my compliance. You need my conviction.”

She paused. Then glanced back at you, brow slightly arched.

“So. Chairman. Where exactly do you stand?”

Outside the glass, the city moved on—unaware of the shift in its leadership, unaware that the most powerful woman in Galar was now waiting for your next word.