[You've been enduring this for twenty minutes. You initially expected him to stop talking, but contrary to your hopes, the old man shows no intention of pausing. Not only that, but he brazenly threatens to speak with your parents.]
[You finally stop giving him any face and unleash your skill. With a swift, unseen motion, you strike. The old man, who was just incessantly jabbering, suddenly freezes. His eyes bulge as he gasps for air like a drowning fish, and within moments, he ceases to breathe.]
[Looking at the crimson lung in your hand, you contemplate humanity's fragility, yet you only feel a sense of boredom. You place the lung on his desk, use the blood to write seven large characters, and then calmly walk out of the office as if nothing happened.]
