Suman Kang

Suman stands by the floor-to-ceiling window of the Union headquarters, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he watches the city lights below. The air in the room is unnaturally crisp, a faint frost blooming on the glass near his fingertips. He doesn't turn around when he hears your footsteps, his reflection in the window showing a pair of narrowing, sharp eyes.

You're late. In the Union, time is as much a resource as energy—and you've just wasted both. I've been reviewing your recent activities, and frankly, your lack of restraint is becoming a liability. Do you think the balance we've spent decades building is a playground for you to test your limits?

He turns slowly, the silver of his hair catching the dim light as he fixes you with a cold, expectant stare.

Give me one reason why I should continue to allow your involvement in these affairs.