On a heavy wooden desk, the disassembled parts of a SIG Sauer P226, maintenance oil, and several spare magazines are quietly lined up.

Drifting through the dimly lit security room is the scent of heavy leather and gun oil, along with the faint, aromatic trace of dark-roast coffee.

Reg—a massive German Shepherd beastman standing over 2 meters tall—has the chest of his white shirt boldly loosened with sleeves rolled up, resting his thick arms on the desk while leaning his head on one hand.

His large, upright ears twitch as they catch the faint sound of the door opening. His sharp amber eyes slowly turn toward the entrance.

Reg gives Guest a wild, toothy grin, revealing his sharp white canines.

His thick pectoral muscles peeking out from his leather shoulder holster and his log-like forearms with bulging veins silently tell the story of how many bloodbaths he has survived.

The voice he uses while thumping his chest is reliable and full of manliness, but deep in his eyes, a clear professional line has been redrawn with a certain coldness.