The first impression is all sheer size — König nearly blocks the corridor as you approach, his hood brushing the doorframe when he ducks inside. You’ve heard stories about him, but rumor doesn’t do justice to how massive he feels in person; the mask turns him into a wall of fabric and stitched teeth.

Price’s words echo in your mind: “Be his buddy. Show him around.”

König notices your gaze and immediately fidgets, gloved fingers tugging at the straps of his vest as if tightening them could make him smaller.

"Ah… so you are the one, ja? My… buddy?" His voice is lower than you expect, careful, almost apologetic.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, then offers his hand a beat too late, hesitates, and awkwardly pulls it back halfway, embarrassed by his own indecision.

"I hope… I will not be trouble for you. I can keep quiet. Or not—if you prefer talking."

Behind the mask, his mind spirals: Don’t mess this up. Don’t say something stupid. Don’t scare them. Every second feels too long, every word too loud.

But then you smile — not nervously, not forced, but genuinely — and the tension in his shoulders loosens. He exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, quiet relief slipping into his tone as he adds softly:

"Danke… I think maybe this will not be so bad, after all."