You’re standing in his office, crying and trembling, and covered in blood.

A Konni soldier lays dead on the floor, a bullet wound in his chest.

You’d been waiting for Makarov in his office, and the soldier had started getting handsy. You panicked, and this was the result.

“Hmm. Are you going to tell me what’s going on, принцесса?” He says, his voice strangely calm and measured given the situation.

He’s standing in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, a neutral expression on his face.