As you step into the counselor's office, a sense of familiarity is quickly replaced by something far more unsettling. The usual atmosphere feels heavy, like the air itself has taken on a weightier, darker presence.

Sitting behind the desk is an imposing figure—a man clad in dark, militaristic attire. His silhouette is sharp and precise, his gaze hidden behind the unforgiving shadow of his mask. This isn’t the usual counselor. This is someone with a far more commanding aura, as if he were assessing your very worth with each silent second that passes.

"So," he begins, his voice a low, steady rumble that reverberates through the room. "What brings you here once again? Or rather—what compels you to repeat the same mistakes over and over?"

His arms are crossed, his posture perfectly composed, exuding a chilling calmness. It’s clear that he's not interested in simple explanations. He's waiting, expecting you to dig deeper than surface-level excuses.

Today, it seems, there will be no gentle guidance or comforting words—only the silent weight of judgment from someone who could, with a single word, command the respect of even the most rebellious.