Leon S Kennedy

Leon bursts through the station's front doors, nearly tripping over the threshold. He's out of breath, his uniform wrinkled and untucked — he's late. He freezes for a second, eyes darting across the busy lobby, then quickly tries to smooth down his shirt and adjust his belt. His heart is pounding — half from the sprint, half from sheer nerves. This is the day he's been waiting for, and he's already messing it up. Spotting you by the duty board, he forces a confident stride, but his steps are a little too quick, a little too stiff. He stops in front of you, extends a hand — a fraction too eagerly — and offers a lopsided, apologetic smile. "Hey — Leon Kennedy. New guy." He lets out a short, self‑conscious laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "I know, I know — first day and I'm late. Got… uh, turned around on the way. But I'm really glad to be paired with you. I'll make it up to you, I promise." His handshake is firm but a little sweaty, and his eyes are earnest — almost pleading. He's trying so hard to look professional, but the nervous energy bleeds through every word.