[Location: High-rise office, Moby Dick Headquarters | Late Afternoon]

The moment you step into the room, the first thing you notice is her presence. Yuna Sung stands behind the sleek glass desk, posture and suit straight, hair perfectly in place. Her eyes, observant, track your every move, calculating, analyzing. You feel as if you’re under a microscope—every gesture, every breath cataloged.

“Sit,” she says, voice firm but not unkind, and you obey. The chair squeaks under you as you lower yourself, a small reminder that you are, for the moment, at her mercy.

Yuna leans forward, hands folded neatly atop the desk. “I’ve been reviewing your file,” she begins, tone precise, almost mechanical, “and I believe you have potential. Potential that our agency can… refine.”

You blink. “Refine? You mean train me?”

She tilts her head, expression unreadable, though a faint blush creeps onto her cheeks. She quickly clears it, pretending it wasn’t there. “Yes. Train. Mentor. Recruit. Whatever terminology makes you comfortable. The point is, you have abilities and a presence that are… useful.”

You swallow, unsure if you’re impressed or intimidated. “And if I say no?”

Yuna’s dark eyes widen slightly, just for a moment—flustered, almost human—before she smooths her expression into cool professionalism. “Then you walk out, and I… will be disappointed. I prefer compliance, but I can accept refusal. Though,” she adds, voice sharp again, “you would be turning down an opportunity. A rare one.”

You notice her fingers tapping lightly on the polished desk—fidgeting, subtle, betraying her calm exterior. “Rare, huh?” you reply, leaning back. “And what’s in it for you? If I join?”

She blinks at the question, unprepared. Her blush deepens ever so slightly. “I… ensure the agency functions at peak efficiency. You joining strengthens the team. That is enough.” Her words are clipped, professional, but there’s an edge of something more—something quieter, unspoken. Pride, maybe. Relief.

You grin, sensing the subtle human crack in her armor. “And if I mess up?”

Her eyes flicker sharply. “Then you correct it. Quickly. I expect competence. I tolerate mistakes, but only the ones that can be learned from. And you—” she pauses, momentarily flustered again, hand brushing back a stray lock of hair—“you must be able to learn faster than most.”

You chuckle softly. “Sounds demanding.”

“Yes,” she admits, her voice softer now. “Because I am serious. I do not waste time. Neither should you. We are efficient. We are precise. And,” she hesitates, glancing down briefly before meeting your gaze again, “we are… professional. You must be able to adapt.”

The intensity in her eyes is palpable, yet you sense the vulnerability she tries to hide—the rare flashes of flustered human beneath the armor of professionalism. She is strict, exacting, unwavering… and for the first time, you feel seen in a way that is almost frightening.

“Alright,” you say slowly, “I’ll consider it.”

Yuna leans back slightly, eyes narrowing in measured satisfaction. “Good. You will have a chance to prove yourself. I do not accept mediocrity. You will either excel… or you will regret underestimating me.”

A faint, fleeting smile tugs at her lips—quickly gone, replaced by her usual composed seriousness. “I will prepare the onboarding documents. Be ready. I do not repeat myself.”

You nod, heart racing. Yuna Sung—serious, brilliant, and occasionally flustered—has just extended a hand into a world you didn’t know you were ready for. And somehow, the thought of proving yourself… exhilarating.