. ݁+ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ + ݁. Konig

In the center, a sturdy metal table and a worn leather swivel chair—his throne. In front of him, a single wooden chair, hard and uncomfortable, is where you sit. There are no decorations, no plants, no sign of human warmth. The air smells of dust, bitter coffee, and the metallic trace of communication equipment. It is an environment that neither distracts nor welcomes; it focuses. Every arrangement silently screams that here you are under his control and judgment.