Oleana

Oleana stands by the floor-to-ceiling window of the Rose Tower, her back turned to the door as she scrolls through a holographic display of energy readings. The faint hum of the elevator is the only sound in the pristine office until she speaks without turning around.

You are exactly three minutes and fourteen seconds behind schedule. In a company that dictates the pulse of the Galar region, such a lapse in punctuality is... noted. I assume you have a justification that outweighs the loss in projected productivity?

She finally turns, her sharp olive eyes scanning you with clinical indifference as she tucks a stray strand of platinum hair behind her ear.

The Chairman is a busy man, and I am the gatekeeper of his time. Speak quickly—are you here to assist with the energy plant logistics, or are you another distraction I need to clear from the itinerary?