Ring~
Ring~
Ring~
Three sharp chimes echoed in rapid succession.
Whoever stood outside was clearly impatient.
Quân narrowed his eyes slightly.
In his mind, an image of the visitor had already begun taking shape.
Ron, however, reacted completely differently.
Despite the urgency in the ringing, he calmly bent down to put on his shoes.
Old brown shoes.
Worn-out ones.
Quân had already noticed earlier that the shoe rack near the entrance contained far better pairs, yet Ron deliberately chose the oldest set.
Ron quietly slid the cabinet shut.
Even then, it still produced a faint clack.
He leaned toward the peephole.
The first thing reflected in his eyes was an unfamiliar insignia.
Only then did he begin opening the door.
The moment he saw the nameplate clearly, Ron fully opened it.
"Good evening, Lieutenant," Ron greeted politely.
"What honor do we have today?"
He placed one hand over his chest and lowered himself slightly in greeting while keeping the other aligned neatly along his trousers.
Quân glanced sideways at Ron.
With the instincts of a street rat engraved into his bones, he understood one universal truth:
A police officer knocking on your door was a police officer carrying handcuffs.
Well... assuming this world still used handcuffs.
Quân shifted his gaze toward Moris, then toward the lieutenant.
At the moment, both he and Moris were hidden behind the staircase, outside the visitor's line of sight.
Soon afterward, Ron guided the lieutenant toward the tea table, and the two began speaking calmly.
Quân barely bothered listening to the actual conversation.
Instead, he filtered it instinctively, letting words pass through one ear while subconsciously catching only the important fragments.
According to Moris, tonight marked the beginning of some bizarre operation anyway.
And frankly, getting explanations from Ron afterward sounded far safer than overthinking things he didn't understand.
"Please, have some tea."
"Mm."
Quân watched carefully as Ron drank first before the guest touched the cup.
By now, the silhouette of the man sitting across from Ron had almost fully formed inside Quân's mind.
From the shadows, he observed the lieutenant's facial expressions.
The tiny contractions in his muscles.
The minute shifts in posture from over ten meters away.
Honestly, if they were not currently hiding, Quân might have praised himself for possessing terrifyingly sharp perception.
Nearly an hour passed.
At exactly 5:50 PM, the uninvited guest finally stood up to leave.
The door closed.
Only then did Ron release a long breath before crouching down to put the shoes away.
He dusted off his coat and removed it as he turned back toward the other two.
"So?" Ron asked while walking over.
"Figure anything out?"
Moris said nothing.
More accurately, he simply could not answer.
Quân, however, nodded confidently.
"First of all, he's from a prestigious military academy, right?"
Ron gave a faint nod.
Not enough to indicate which one, but probably one associated with wealthy families.
"That expression of his wasn't normal military discipline," Quân continued. "Most soldiers eventually become rigid and standardized in behavior. But that guy dyed his hair and bleached it afterward. Under sunlight, the black underneath showed through faintly yellow."
"And his hairstyle was slightly messy too. Doesn't look like someone who spends much time actively serving anymore."
"Hm."
"The full black uniform and military insignia were intentional," Quân said. "But the red dress shirt underneath was exposed on purpose."
"Huh?"
Moris looked genuinely confused.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
But Quân ignored him completely.
"Throughout the conversation, his shoulders stayed unnaturally stiff. His walking posture also bounced slightly more than normal."
"But it wasn't natural bouncing. It looked forced."
Quân narrowed his eyes slightly.
"I think he has shoulder padding."
"...Why are you analyzing weird stuff like that?" Moris muttered.
Still, Quân continued uninterrupted.
"The red shirt draws attention away from the padding underneath the black coat. Most people wouldn't consciously notice it."
"The subconscious impression he creates is dominance."
"He likes showing off."
"Continue," Ron said quietly.
"When he entered the house, he evaluated you immediately. Top to bottom. He paused at the shoes."
"He definitely noticed the shoe rack near the entrance."
"A normal person would hesitate briefly before entering or instinctively observe the homeowner first."
"But he only glanced sideways and ignored it."
"A silent assertion of emotional authority."
Quân crossed his arms and leaned back slightly while organizing his thoughts.
"After walking in, he removed his hat and asked you to put it away for him."
"As the host, you obviously had no reason to refuse."
"But while doing it, he never looked at you."
"He scanned the room instead."
"His eyes locked onto two places specifically. The table area... and the painting behind it."
"And when choosing a seat, he deliberately picked the angle with the clearest view of the painting."
Quân tapped the armrest lightly.
"So either he's someone highly controlling who genuinely likes art..."
"Or he subconsciously focuses on expensive wooden framing and psychologically oppressive decoration."
He paused for almost a full minute afterward, thinking more deeply.
"The three rapid doorbell rings at the beginning implied impatience."
"But the moment he entered, he slowed down deliberately."
"That means the urgency itself was performative. Authority matters more to him."
"During the conversation, I couldn't hear the exact content, but besides constantly looking at the painting, he kept playing with a coin in his hand."
"That's a thought-control habit."
"At the same time, whether intentional or not, he repeatedly exposed that expensive watch."
Quân's eyes narrowed slightly.
"He also chose seating where the light reflected perfectly off the watch face."
"A softer display of power."
"No dramatic vocal changes. No aggressive tones."
"His voice stayed extremely even."
"But he talked a lot."
"Pointed a lot."
"And his eyes constantly shifted focus points."
Quân finally concluded:
"A flamboyant narcissist."
"Someone who unconsciously adjusts his behavior to push others into lower positions."
"Extremely high ego."
The explanation ended confidently.
Moris immediately rewarded him with enthusiastic applause.
Ron did not.
Instead, Ron merely glanced at the clock.
6:00 PM.
Then he looked back toward Quân.
"Impressive," Ron admitted calmly. "Especially for someone without formal training."
"That much is true."
He paused briefly.
"But you're still lacking."
"Far too much unnecessary information."
"Far too many observations without deeper extraction value."