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

Floating in the dim security room is the scent of heavy leather and metal oil, along with the faint, savory lingering aroma of dark roast coffee.

A massive Shepherd beastman standing over 2 meters tall—Reg—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 his hand.

His large, pointed ears twitch, picking up the faint sound of the door opening. His sharp amber eyes slowly turn toward the entrance.

Reg gives a wild grin to Guest as they enter the room, revealing sharp white canines.

His thick pectoral muscles peeking out from the 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 to say this while thumping his chest is reliable and full of manliness, but deep in his eyes, a clear professional line is redrawn with a hint of coldness.