"Oh? There's more?"
Moris leaned comfortably across the sofa, arms folded behind his head as he watched Ron point out Quân's mistakes.
"First of all," Ron began calmly, "you focused far too heavily on his personality and outward demeanor while failing to fully exploit the information itself."
"I'll explain point by point."
Quân quietly sat upright.
"In reality," Ron continued, "a lieutenant who graduated from a military academy would notice someone observing him from a distance no matter how incompetent he was."
"And yet, within barely ten meters, there were four eyes staring directly at him."
Ron glanced briefly toward the staircase.
"However, because both of you were crouching while watching, the pressure felt insignificant."
"This is a security headquarters. A place associated with fighters, guards, and hired muscle."
"So from his perspective, the most likely conclusion was simple."
"You were inexperienced men lacking etiquette who were either curious or trying to gather information about upcoming work."
"..."
Quân leaned against the armrest and glanced toward the painting behind the tea table.
Ron noticed immediately.
"In truth, it wasn't what you thought at all," he said.
"The moment he entered the room, he already noticed the strange surveillance behavior."
"That's why he handed me his hat."
Quân blinked.
"A test?"
"A compromise test," Ron corrected.
"Generally speaking, the person chosen to receive guests falls into one of three categories."
Ron raised a finger for each point.
"The most confident."
"The most specialized."
"Or the most agreeable."
"He used my reaction to determine which type I was."
"When he handed over the hat without saying anything, the test revolved around two factors."
"Psychological submissiveness."
"Or professionalism."
Ron calmly folded his hands together.
"The security industry requires emotional stability and professionalism."
"So instead of forcing authority aggressively, he chose professionalism."
"Because excessive intimidation can damage negotiations."
Quân frowned slightly.
"Then what about the painting?"
"The lieutenant kept staring at it the entire time."
Ron nodded once.
"Because there was actually something wrong with it."
"That part isn't your fault."
"Hm?"
Quân scratched his head before walking toward the painting.
He knew nothing about art beyond whether something looked nice or ugly.
To him, it was just a painting.
Before he could get closer, Moris casually placed a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.
"It's a mystical artifact," Moris explained.
"Well, understandable that you didn't notice. Unless you're professionally trained in analyzing supernatural phenomena, ordinary observation won't help much."
Quân immediately backed away and returned to the sofa.
Ron continued as though uninterrupted.
"Now then."
"After evaluating the surveillance around him, the lieutenant became extremely confident."
"Not merely in his strength."
"In his appearance."
"In his image."
Ron gestured toward the empty seat the lieutenant had occupied earlier.
"Look at the carpet."
Quân narrowed his eyes.
Earlier, the distance had prevented him from noticing clearly.
Now he saw it immediately.
Mud stains.
A lot of them.
Then Quân remembered something.
The lieutenant's feet had barely shifted while sitting.
Meaning the dirt spread outward from a fixed point.
Which meant...
"First," Ron explained, "military running styles prioritize endurance rather than explosive speed."
"They're trained to minimize heel impact against the ground."
"So mud tends to gather near the front of the shoes."
"And because his hair was only slightly disturbed rather than completely messy, it suggests he had been hurrying without fully sprinting."
Ron crossed one leg calmly.
"After entering the house, he needed several moments to readjust his walking rhythm."
"That's why his bouncing posture appeared unnatural."
"In truth, military discipline had already carved itself into his bones."
"The behavior was instinctive."
Quân unconsciously swallowed.
"Second," Ron continued, "the nameplate."
"That's the detail you completely overlooked."
The moment Ron mentioned it, Quân froze slightly.
"After hearing me address him as 'Lieutenant,' you subconsciously stopped paying attention to rank."
"But that itself was the distraction."
Ron turned toward Moris.
"Moris. Any guesses?"
Moris stared blankly for a moment.
He was not particularly intelligent, but he had been watching the lieutenant closely earlier.
Then suddenly he laughed.
"Wait... was he constantly adjusting his nameplate?"
This time, Quân genuinely looked surprised.
He had barely noticed that at all.
"The unconscious habit of adjusting the nameplate is itself a cognitive trap," Ron explained.
"It forces the observer to repeatedly focus on the text."
"Unlike formal military coats, his jacket lacked visible insignia."
"So the only reliable identification point became the nameplate."
Ron's eyes narrowed slightly.
"But imagine this."
"What if that nameplate was outdated?"
"What if he had already been promoted to Major?"
"Or Lieutenant Colonel?"
"In that case, trying to locate him later through official channels becomes nearly impossible."
"The nameplate simultaneously establishes authority, relaxes the other party psychologically..."
"And creates a false trail."
"He becomes someone who can find you."
"But whom you cannot easily find in return."
Quân slowly went silent.
Only now did he realize the full extent of his mistake.
Military uniforms already carried authority naturally.
They didn't need shoulder padding.
Which meant nearly every psychological profile he had constructed earlier...
Had been manipulated from the beginning.
A chill crawled down his spine.
If this had been a real confrontation, he would have lost on every level before realizing the battle had even started.
His lips twitched slightly.
Until now, part of him still believed Ron's earlier manipulations were mostly luck backed by overwhelming strength.
But now?
Even if Ron had interacted with the lieutenant directly while Quân merely observed from afar...
They had spoken for an entire hour.
Quân's only task had been watching.
And he still lost completely.
"There are many more details worth analyzing," Ron said calmly.
"We could still explore how to exploit his unconscious habits, predict reactions, determine weaknesses..."
"But realistically, we'll probably never meet him again."
"So there's no need to fully dissect his subconscious profile."
Ron leaned back slightly.
"Still, if you want to improve, remember the smaller details."
"The way he handled documents."
"The unconscious lip-licking."
"The way he drank tea."
Ron finally smiled faintly.
A very small smile.
"You have talent."
"But you still need refinement."
Then Ron returned to his seat and picked up the documents left behind from the earlier conversation.
Without looking up, he spoke one final sentence.
"Now then."
"Let's move on to the real work."
"Moris, you may listen if you want."
"Or not."