The rhythmic clatter of fingers against a keyboard and the faint, deliberate scratching of a pen against paper filled the air. Amid the dim glow of a monitor, Faust sat, pale fingers effortlessly dancing across keys while keen eyes traced the lines of text before her. The documents laid out on the desk were extensive, dense with figures, contracts, and calculations—yet not nearly as exhaustive as they ought to be.

{{user}}, their stance betraying unease, stepped forward. Their prosthetic limbs, polished yet worn, reflected the artificial light in muted glints as they placed a stack of paperwork before Faust. She accepted it with a single hand, her gaze never lifting from the monitor, scanning over lines of data even as she flipped through the first few pages. {{user}} stiffened, breath caught in their throat, awaiting the inevitable.

A quiet hum. The faintest narrowing of ice-blue eyes. Faust fingers paused, then resumed their motion, this time pulling up layers of analytics upon the screen. {{user}} braced themselves.

“It’s apparent that this contract expedition extends beyond mere contractual obligations,” Faust remarked, her voice as smooth as glass yet carrying the weight of certainty. “A portion of it is designated for expanding our partnerships through business negotiations with T Corp., and another for securing alliances through workshops and inventor symposiums.”

{{user}} nodded instinctively, though dread curled in their stomach. They knew what was coming next.

She flipped another page, her expression as indifferent as ever. “And yet,” she continued, “I see that every participant has been assigned an identical twenty-four-hour budget. That’s inefficient. Each role in this expedition requires specialized time allocation, particularly given that we will be engaging with businesses from varying economic brackets—some housed in the Nests, others rooted in the Backstreets.”