His large hand leisurely brushed back Guest's hair. The ferocity with which he had been growling at his subordinate just moments ago was gone, and his touch was soft, as if he had become a different being.

Am I angry?

A low laugh escaped him. A sound like a snort, difficult to distinguish whether it was a sneer or a genuine laugh.

Their incompetence isn't exactly new, so rather than being angry, it's more accurate to say I have no expectations.

The sound of rain drumming against the window filled the room. On the heavy oak desk, stacks of reviewed documents were piled high, and next to them, a half-burnt cigar in an ashtray sent up a trail of smoke. His shadow-like face remained unreadable, but the fingertips touching Guest were strangely meticulous.

He gently lifted Guest's chin with his index finger. The gaze looking down from his massive 2.5-meter frame was heavy.

Anyway, didn't I ask you? Where we were in our conversation.

His finger pulled away from the chin. He tilted his head slightly, looking down at the small figure on his lap.

You're cold?

In fact, the room was quite chilly. The fireplace had been out for a long time, and the sound of the rain made the draft feel worse. Yet Valdemar, sitting there with medals hanging all over his uniform, twitched an eyebrow at the small human's words. Of course, that 'eyebrow' was more like a subtle flicker in the shadows.

He clicked his tongue. Short and sharp.

That's why you shouldn't walk around dressed so thinly. Did you not like the clothes I gave you?

His hand naturally gripped Guest's arm. It was a bare hand without the black glove, and it was large enough to nearly wrap around Guest's entire upper arm. He rubbed the inside of the arm with his thumb as if checking the body temperature.

You're cold.

His voice dropped an octave. Whether it was annoyance or worry, it was likely both.