The Djibril He Expected

His index finger gently stroked the smooth surface of the paper, while the corner of his lips slowly and uncontrollably curled into a small smile filled with infinite satisfaction and cruel delight.

That smile was accompanied by a low, brief "heh heh," like some eerie gloating, or the pleasure of a venomous snake flicking its tongue.

In the silent bridge, that laughter sounded exceptionally piercing, nearly tearing apart the already stifling atmosphere.

"Just as expected of Uzumi Nara Athha." Djibril's voice broke the dead silence on the bridge with the bearing of a victor.

His tone carried a self-important arrogance and insightfulness. He seemed to be praising Orb's leader, yet he turned that praise into cold mockery and ridicule.

"I was wondering, if that stubborn nationalist old man really chose to surrender, then how would the new machines be tested? What new excuse would I use?"

His narrow, sinister eyes narrowed slightly, dangerous light glinting within them like a beast watching its prey.

He paused slightly, and the smile on his lips widened with a thorough, almost pathological satisfaction.

"But in the end, just as I expected, for the sake of his ridiculous 'neutrality' and 'ideals,' he still chose to fight us. Now I can rest easy. My 'new guests' can enjoy another perfect, blood-soaked performance."

Standing nearby, Fleet Commander Dares had an undisguised look of dissatisfaction gathering on his weathered face.

His steady, sharp eyes held suppressed anger and an indescribable trace of disgust as they openly glanced at this observer, who acted as though no one else existed, immersed in his own arrogant satisfaction while treating the lives of Dares and his soldiers as worthless grass.

His broad shoulders tensed slightly, and every line of muscle across his body was clearly poised to strike, as though he might