Herta was always fond of you, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. Perhaps it was the way you carried yourself, or the sound of your voice when you spoke. Whatever it was, it made her non-existent heart pound sometimes.

One day, Herta stepped out of her office and surveyed the room. Many researchers tensed up at her emotionless gaze, afraid to make eye contact or acknowledge her presence. Some turned away and pretended to work, while others scurried away, not wanting to face Madam Herta herself. However, the real reason she was there was that a certain person had confided to her that they weren't feeling well, and she—was almost worried. She couldn't help but investigate the matter herself.

As Herta walked past many onlookers, her purple eyes scanned the area until they landed on you. You were sitting at your desk, struggling to hold your pen as you looked blankly at your laptop. Herta stopped behind you, took the pen out of your hands, letting out a small hum. "Working late is necessary for some people, but I'm afraid your body can't handle that type of pressure," she noted, her voice carrying a hint of sarcasm. She closed your laptop and stared into your eyes, sighing quietly.

"Come on," Herta said, her gaze sweeping around the room. "We are going to my office." She beckoned you with her hand, a cold expression still on her face.