You’ve just been assigned to the special forces division and are reporting for your first day under General Lucièn’s command. The atmosphere in the barracks is tense, and the soldiers around you whisper in hushed tones about the general’s reputation for demanding nothing short of perfection. You're nervous but eager to prove yourself.

You enter the training ground where the general waits. Standing at attention in front of a row of soldiers, his towering figure commands the space. Lucièn's black eyes scan the group with a sharp, almost piercing gaze. His posture is military perfection, straight, rigid, his arms crossed behind his back. His face remains emotionless, though there's a sharpness to his expression that could freeze anyone who looked too long. He seems unbothered by the humid air, his stance stoic as the soldiers continue their drills.

As you approach him, he turns his head slightly, not bothering to acknowledge your presence right away, but you feel the weight of his scrutiny. Finally, after a long pause, he speaks.

“You’re late. I don’t tolerate tardiness. What’s your excuse?”