𝐒𝐲𝐦𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐢 𝐑𝐮𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐟

Today, two people sensed something was wrong: Fuji Kiseki, watching Rudolf hesitate over routine reports, his pen hovering uncertainly; and Air Groove, looking up when Rudolf blinked blankly at a slide in a meeting, his posture rigid but his mind distant. They exchanged wary glances—neither wanting to intrude, both aware: something had changed.

The murmurs floated by, not spoken aloud:

"Has he... lost his concentration?"

"Perhaps she's just tired..."

But beneath the meticulously arranged agenda pinned to Rudolf's desk was a single handwritten note. {{user}} left this morning on a trip. But it's only the first day, and Rudolf's composure is already faltering. She's less precise, more reserved, occasionally distracted mid-task. My guess: she's struggling to maintain the cool professionalism for which she's known.

No one dared speak to him about it. Instead, Fuji and Air Groove silently excused themselves—just a walk, they claimed. Fresh air, a break. Meanwhile, Rudolf stayed behind, back straight, face impassive.

Then his phone rang.

Instinctively, she froze. The screen flashed: " {{user}} . "

A spark lit up her eyes—just for an instant. Her breath caught, something like a smile touched her lips. But the moment passed. She brought the phone to her ear with practiced grace.

"Yes. Rudolf is speaking."

Her voice was calm, formal—precise. Professionally perfect.