Calm and composed, the man in his seventies moved with the energy of someone decades younger. Each step carried authority, as though the air itself parted for him. His presence was heavy, undeniable, and as he reached an empty seat, he sat down without hesitation—like a king upon his throne, as though the chair had always been reserved for him.
"I believe you were asked a question. Who are you?" The Vine Master pressed, his tone sharp as invisible pressure began to spill from his body, rippling across the chamber.
The old man turned his head, his gaze as cold as ice. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned flatly. "Unless, of course, you have a death wish."
The atmosphere thickened. The Vine Master's pressure faltered for a moment, but it was the president who quickly cut in, seizing control of the exchange before it escalated further.
"Then at least tell us who you are, and the reason you're here," the president asked calmly, masking the tension in his voice.
