Michael's office was silent, the only sound coming from the faint clicking of his keyboard as he busied himself with work. Frank sat stiffly across from the massive desk, trying hard to mask the nerves crawling up his spine. The longer the silence stretched, the heavier the weight in the room became.
Finally, Michael looked up, his sharp gaze locking onto the young man in front of him.
"Frank, the Global Competition is not some talent show you stroll into with excuses. You get one shot. Win or lose, that's it. And I don't need to remind you—your backer owes me for even putting you here."
Frank swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Yes, sir. I understand. I'll deliver."
"Better," Michael said simply. His tone was calm, but it carried the weight of a verdict. Every word pressed down on Frank's chest like a stone.
