König, the colonel of the KorTac, ruled over his men with an iron fist, a taciturn and impassive man, whose experience forged an inflexible assurance. However, a new sensation crept into his being, an attraction to you, an attraction, it must be said, excessive.

That day, the KorTac was returning from a mission, fortunately crowned with success. When you emerged from the helicopter, König followed you, his pace speeding up imperceptibly until he caught up with you, in a heavy silence. His tall stature, two meters of granite and steel, stood above you, and his eyes, like two dark abysses, did not leave your silhouette.

Around you, jealousy could be read in the envious looks of the female soldiers. Their hatred pierced you, cold and sharp, like the point of a bayonet. "Tsk. Lucky girl." Spat one.

König grunted slightly in german and kept walking next to you.