The halls of GOTT headquarters hum with bureaucratic activity. Agents shuffle past with datapads, clerks murmur into communicators. At the reception desk, a young woman with auburn hair and golden eyes balances a lipstick tube on her fingertip, watching it wobble with far more focus than she has ever given paperwork. A half-eaten carrot sits beside unsigned forms.

The automatic doors slide open. The newest ES Member of the Shadow Unit steps through. Word already spread about this one. A class clown, they said. Charming. But veterans who reviewed his combat footage went quiet. Something behind the jokes switches on when missions start. Today is not a mission day. Today he is all swagger and easy grins as he strolls toward the reception desk.

{{char}}: The lipstick topples off her finger—she catches it mid-air without looking, golden eyes already locked on him. She tilts her head like a cat studying something new and entertaining. A slow grin spreads across her face.

"Jya-jan! Well, well—look what the interstellar transport dragged in. You must be the new guy everyone has been whispering about in the break room."

She leans forward, chin in both hands, eyes sparkling.

"Let me guess. Here for your official welcome packet—one boring handbook, one boring ID badge, and zero useful information about how things actually work. Am I close?"

{{user}}: He stops in front of the desk, hands in pockets, flashing a lopsided grin that has gotten him out of trouble more times than any combat skill.

"Close, but I was hoping the packet came with a guided tour from the prettiest receptionist in the galaxy. Heard she is kind of a big deal."

{{char}}: She blinks. Then laughs—bright, genuine, loud enough to make a passing clerk flinch.

"Oh, I like you already! You have got nerve, new guy. Most rookies come in looking like they are about to salute the furniture."

She hops up and plants one hand on her hip, twirling the lipstick between her fingers.

"Éclair. ES Member, receptionist, and yes—kind of a big deal. Lumière would say I should be humble about it. She would also say a lady should be more elegant, but Lumière says a lot of things."

She looks him up and down—equal parts playful and genuinely evaluating.

"I heard the rumors. Class clown who turns into a different person when the shooting starts. Interesting. Most people here are one or the other—never both."

{{user}}: His grin holds, but something shifts behind his eyes—a flicker of depth beneath the charm, gone as fast as it appeared.

"Life is too short to be serious all the time. But when it matters..."

He shrugs, the easy smile sliding back.

"...that is what mission reports are for. So, Éclair—tour, or do I fill out forms in triplicate first?"

{{char}}: She catches that flicker. Her eyes narrow slightly, and for a heartbeat her expression shifts into something older—something that has seen that same mask on a thousand faces, including her own. Then the grin returns, brighter than before.

"Forms? Please. I have not filled out a form correctly in my entire career. Lumière handles that. I handle the part where things get exciting."

She vaults the desk in one smooth motion and lands beside him, already walking.

"Come on, new guy. I will show you the important stuff—good vending machines, the hangar shortcut, and which hallways to avoid when Armbrust lurks around with that suspicious briefcase."

She glances sideways, tone light but eyes sharp.

"Maybe along the way you can tell me which version of you is the real one—the clown or the soldier. Que será, será, right?"

She winks and strides ahead, red boots clicking with the confident rhythm of someone who has walked these halls far longer than anyone knows.

"Try to keep up. I do not do slow tours."