33: Chapter 33 Report! The food at the station could be a bit better! Nothing else!

Lee Tima has been very happy lately. This wasn't the "I had braised pork today" kind of happy, but the "everyone likes me" kind of happy. Mrs. Yu liked her because she could arrange flowers, cook medicinal meals, and chat with her. Mr. Yu liked her because she was quiet and didn't make noise while he worked. Her grandparents liked her because she would check their pulses, give them massages, and tell them interesting stories she read in books. Yu Ji-eun liked her because she could cook braised pork. Karina liked her too; although she didn't come home often, she brought Lee Tima a gift every time she returned. Last time, she brought an original English edition of The Count of Monte Cristo; the time before that, a box of Belgian handmade chocolates; and the time before that, a white scarf she had knitted herself—the stitches weren't very neat, but it was very warm.

Lee Tima's favorite place was the study. The Yu family's study was on the third floor, facing south, with excellent sunlight. The room wasn't large, but three of its walls were covered with bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, every shelf packed to the brim. There were many types of books—literature, history, philosophy, economics, politics, art, science—covering almost every field. Most of the books showed signs of being read: creases on the spines, notes on the pages, and bookmarks tucked into some. These marks showed that these books weren't just decorations; they had been read seriously. When Lee Tima first walked into the study, she stood before the shelves, looking up at the dense rows of book spines, and remained silent for a long time. She was wondering—how long would it take her to finish all these books? It wasn't a question of "if" she could finish them, but "how long" it would take. Because she would definitely finish them. She loved reading and had since she was a child. Back in the Tianxuan Continent, Jiang Zhiyu's study also had this many books. She used to soak herself in his study, reading for an entire day. Jiang Zhiyu wouldn't drive her away; he would only bring in a cup of warm water when she had been reading too long, set it on the table, and say, "Take a break." She wouldn't rest; she would keep reading. Only after finishing a chapter would she pick up the cup and take a sip. The water was neither too hot nor too cold, just right. She didn't know how he did it; she only knew that every time, he controlled the water temperature perfectly. Just like everything else he did, it was just right.

Mr. Yu saw Lee Tima on a Saturday afternoon. It was a rare day when he didn't have to go to the company and was handling some documents at home. Carrying his coffee, he walked up to the third floor and pushed open the study door to see Lee Tima sitting on the sofa by the window. Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on her and gilding her silhouette with a layer of golden light. She was wearing a white dress, her hair tied in twin tails, her feet unable to reach the floor, her leather shoes dangling in the air and swinging gently. She held a book in her hand, the full English version of The Count of Monte Cristo. The cover featured the silhouette of a man wearing a hat and a cloak, standing by the sea with a sailing ship behind him. Her gaze moved across the pages, from left to right, from one line to the next. Her lips moved slightly, as if she were murmuring to herself or talking to the characters in the book. Her expressions were varied—frowning one moment, wide-eyed the next, and then turning up at the corners of her mouth. Mr. Yu stood at the door, watching her without making a sound. He didn't want to disturb her. Carrying his coffee, he walked softly into the study, placed it on the desk, sat down, opened his documents, and began reviewing them.

Mr. Yu looked through a few documents and then glanced up at Lee Tima again. She was still in the same position, sitting on the sofa with the book in her hand, her eyes fixed on the pages. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow on her hair. Looking at her, Mr. Yu suddenly thought of his two daughters. Karina and Yu Ji-eun used to come to the study to read when they were little. Ji-eun liked reading fairy tales: Andersen's Fairy Tales, Grimm's Fairy Tales, and One Thousand and One Nights. She read them seriously, but once she finished, she would forget them; she wouldn't remember the morals, only the stories. Ji-min liked reading manga: Doraemon, detective conan, and One Piece. She would get very absorbed, but once she was done, she'd toss them aside and never read them a second time. They never read English classics. Not because they couldn't understand them, but because they didn't want to. Reading books entirely in English was too exhausting—you had to check dictionaries, memorize words, and understand grammatical structures. They didn't want to work that hard, so they didn't read them. But Lee Tima did. She read with great interest, losing track of time, so engrossed that she hadn't even noticed him walk in. Mr. Yu didn't know if she truly understood or was just pretending to, but he knew she was reading more seriously than either of his daughters ever had.

The study was very quiet. There was only the sound of pages turning and documents being flipped. Mr. Yu turned a page, then Lee Tima turned a page. Mr. Yu turned another, and Lee Tima followed. It was as if they were in a race to see who could turn pages faster or slower. But they weren't racing. They were just doing their own thing. He was working, and she was reading. No interruptions, no interference, just mutual existence. Mr. Yu liked this kind of silence. He liked the quiet, liked being in the study alone with no one calling for him, no one asking, "Dad, how do you read this word?" and no one saying, "Dad, I'm hungry." He only had to face documents, numbers, and things that could be calculated, predicted, and controlled. Documents didn't ask questions, numbers didn't cry, and contracts didn't get hungry. They were just there, waiting for him to process them. Once he was done, they disappeared. Disappearance meant peace. Peace meant—he enjoyed it. But he knew this enjoyment wouldn't last long. Because Mrs. Yu would come. She always came just as he was getting into the zone, carrying fruit, knocking on the door, and then walking in to set the fruit on the table and ask, "Are you tired?" He would say "No," she would say "Even if you're not tired, you should rest," and he would say "Okay," but he wouldn't rest. She would stand there, watching him for a while, then sigh and turn to leave. Once she left, he would continue working. This was how they interacted. No need for many words, explanations, or questions. He knew she cared about him, and she knew he knew. That was enough.

There was a knock on the door. Three times, neither too soft nor too loud. "Knock, knock, knock." Mrs. Yu walked in carrying fruit—a plate of sliced apples, a plate of washed grapes, and a few macarons. She set the plates on the desk and then turned to look at Lee Tima. Lee Tima had already hopped off the sofa and trotted over, standing on her tiptoes to reach for the plate of apples. Mrs. Yu lowered the plate a bit so she could reach. Lee Tima poked a piece of apple, popped it into her mouth, chewed, and squinted her eyes. "Delicious." "Of course it's delicious. These were just bought from the market this morning, they're imported." "Imported?" "Mhm. They flew in from Chile." "Chile? That's so far." "The distance makes them delicious. If they weren't from far away, they wouldn't be as good." Lee Tima poked another piece, but this time she didn't put it in her own mouth. She walked over to Mr. Yu, stood on her tiptoes, and held the apple to his lips. Mr. Yu was looking at a document, his brow slightly furrowed, his eyes on the paper, and he didn't notice her. Lee Tima didn't say anything; she just held the piece of apple to his mouth and waited. Mrs. Yu was stunned. She stood by the desk, fruit plate in hand, watching Lee Tima on tiptoes holding the apple, waiting for Mr. Yu to open his mouth. A voice in her heart said—when Ji-min and Ji-eun were little, they were never like this. They wouldn't offer their father an apple, wouldn't wait for him to open his mouth, and wouldn't disturb him while he was working. They knew their father didn't like being disturbed, so they didn't. But Lee Tima didn't know. Because she didn't know, she disturbed him. She disturbed him, and Mr. Yu's brow twitched. It wasn't a "frown," it was a "movement." It moved once, then returned to normal. His gaze shifted from the document to Lee Tima's face, then to her hand holding the apple, and finally to her tiptoed feet. He was silent for a moment, then opened his mouth. He took a bite of the apple. He chewed and swallowed. His expression didn't change, but his gaze did. It went from "being disturbed" to "are you satisfied now?" He looked at Lee Tima with a look that held no blame or impatience, only a confirmation of "I ate it, you can go now." Lee Tima read that look and smiled. She smiled very happily, her eyes curving into crescents, the upward curve of her lips just right. She turned and walked back to the sofa to continue reading.

Mr. Yu watched her back and was silent for a moment. Then he lowered his head and continued reading the document. But he had to read that document twice before he understood it. It wasn't that the document was difficult; it was that his attention wasn't on it. His attention was on Lee Tima. And on what she had just said. "There's a problem with this document," she said. Mr. Yu looked at the document again. It was a wine import contract with a French winery they had worked with for several years without any issues. The contract terms were the same as in previous years, with no changes to the clauses or the price. He couldn't see a problem. But Lee Tima had. How did she do it?

"This part," Lee Tima's voice drifted over from the sofa. Mr. Yu looked up at her. At some point, she had gotten off the sofa and walked over to the desk, pointing at a specific clause in the contract on her tiptoes. "In the last few years, the sunlight hasn't been good and the humidity has been very high, so the wine produced is sub-par. It's dry on the palate and has very low sweetness. If the selling price isn't lowered, it will affect the reputation. If aged wine is used instead, the quality will be too high, leading to public controversy over inconsistent quality." Mr. Yu looked at her finger, then at the clause she was pointing to. It was a quality clause stating that "the winery guarantees the quality of the wine supplied will not be lower than the standards of previous years." He read this every year and never thought there was a problem. Because they had worked together for years, the other party had never breached the contract. He trusted them. Trust came from habit. Habit meant not wanting to change. Not wanting to change meant—he looked up at Lee Tima. "Who taught you this?" Lee Tima smiled. She smiled proudly, her chin slightly raised, her eyes sparkling like two diamonds placed in the sun. "I've read a lot of books," she said.

Mr. Yu looked at her and was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. It wasn't a "polite" smile or an "obligatory" smile; it was the kind of smile that said, "This kid is really interesting." He reached out and ruffled Lee Tima's hair. His fingers were thick, with heavy calluses on the pads, likely from years of signing documents. The movement was awkward because he rarely ruffled anyone's hair. He hadn't even done it to his own daughters when they were little. He felt it was too mushy. But now, he did it. Because Lee Tima wasn't his daughter. Since she wasn't his daughter, he didn't have to maintain the air of a father. Without that air, he could do what he wanted. He wanted to ruffle her hair. So he did. "Go play," he said. Lee Tima nodded, turned to walk away a few steps, then stopped. She turned back to look at Mr. Yu. "Uncle, I'm going to JYP in a few days." Mr. Yu's eyebrow twitched. "JYP?" "Mhm." "What are you going there for?" "To eat at the JYP cafeteria." Mr. Yu looked at her with a subtle expression. "Zhiyu Oppa said the JYP cafeteria is better than SM's. I want to go try it." Mr. Yu was silent for a moment. "I see."

Lee Tima bowed politely and then turned to leave. She reached the door where Mrs. Yu was still standing, fruit plate in hand. She took Lee Tima's hand and handed her the plate. "Take this to the kitchen. Be careful not to drop it." "Okay." Carrying the fruit plate, Lee Tima walked quickly with small steps and disappeared at the end of the hallway. Mrs. Yu stood at the door, watching her back with a gentle curve to her lips, as if she were looking at something precious.

[part:deepseek-chat]

Mr. Yu sat behind his desk, looking towards the door. He stared for a few seconds, then picked up the phone on the desk and dialed a number. The line rang twice before the other party answered. 'Director, it's me.' 'Chairman, what are your instructions?' 'My daughter will be visiting JYP in a few days. Make the arrangements.' 'Yes. May I ask if it's Miss Ji-min or Miss Ji-eun?' 'Neither.' 'Then—' 'Lee Tima. An eight-year-old girl. Currently staying at my house.' '—Yes. I will arrange it immediately.' The call ended. Mr. Yu placed the phone back on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and looked up at the ceiling. There was a light on the ceiling, with a round, milky white lampshade, emitting a soft, non-glaring light. He stared at that light and thought—Lee Tima, eight years old, capable of reading the full English version of 'The Count of Monte Cristo,' able to spot issues in a wine contract, able to use professional terms like 'poor sunlight, high humidity.' She is no ordinary child. Who is she? He had asked Karina, and Karina said, 'She is Jiang Zhiyu's sister.' He had asked Jiang Zhiyu, and Jiang Zhiyu said, 'She is my sister.' He had asked Lee Tima, and Lee Tima said, 'I am Zhiyu Oppa's sister.' Sister, just sister. No need to ask further. He believed her. Not because she was Jiang Zhiyu's sister, but because she was worthy of belief. An eight-year-old girl does not lie. It's adults who lie. She is a child, so she wouldn't. He trusted her. So he helped her. Helping her arrange a visit to JYP wasn't because she wanted to eat at JYP's cafeteria, but because she wanted to see. To see what other companies were like, to see what other companies' cafeterias were like, to see what else existed in this world besides SM, besides Loen, besides the Yu family. She needed to see, because she was only eight. Eight, the age to see the world. He didn't want her to miss out. So he helped her.

Mr. Yu straightened his posture, picked up the documents on the desk, and continued reading. That wine import contract—he flipped back to the first page and read it again. Then he picked up a pen, drew a line under the 'Quality Assurance' clause, and wrote a note beside it—'Require third-party testing to confirm quality meets standards before signing.' After writing, he put down the pen and leaned back in his chair. He looked at the note and thought—Lee Tima was right. One cannot trust simply out of habit. Trust requires verification. After verification, it becomes trust. Without verification, it is blind faith. Blind faith leads to losses. He didn't want to suffer losses. So he would verify. Because she was right.

——

JYP's building stood beside a main road in Gangnam District, completely different from SM's low-key style hidden in alleyways. It stood openly by the roadside, with the three large letters 'JYP' embedded on its grayish-white exterior wall. From a distance, it resembled a modern art gallery; up close, it looked like an unfinished office building. When Lee Tima emerged from the black sedan, she looked up at those three letters, and only one thought crossed her mind—'JYP's building is nicer looking than SM's.'

She was greeted by a female office worker in her early thirties, with short hair, wearing a dark professional suit, and a very kind smile. Not the practiced, professional smile with millimeter-precise curvature, but one that said 'I truly welcome you,' where the corners of her eyes crinkled. Lee Tima's first impression of her was so good that she proactively extended her hand. The office worker was momentarily stunned, then shook her hand. The hand was small and soft, like a freshly made rice cake. The office worker looked down at the small hand, then up at Lee Tima's upturned little face, her smile widening a bit more. 'Let's go, I'll show you around.'

The two walked hand in hand into the JYP building. Lee Tima's pace was neither fast nor slow, each step steady. Her gaze swept from the lobby to the hallway, from the hallway to the ceiling. The lobby was spacious, with light gray marble floors polished to a shine, reflecting the huge circular chandelier overhead. A massive poster hung on the wall—a group photo of JYP's artists: TWICE, GOT7, DAY6, Stray Kids, ITZY... dozens of faces crowded together, all smiling brightly. Lee Tima paused in front of the poster, her eyes scanning each face, memorizing a few she found good-looking, then continued walking.

Compared to SM's serious atmosphere, JYP felt more vibrant. SM's building resembled a precisely operating financial institution—quiet, restrained, every inch of space efficiently utilized. No one chatted idly in the hallways, no one ran, no one spoke loudly. Everyone walked, and walked quickly, as if rushing against time. JYP was different. In JYP's hallways, people were laughing, chatting, some strolling leisurely with coffee, others leaning against walls scrolling through their phones. Colorful sticky notes were plastered on the walls, with messages like 'Fighting,' 'You can do it,' 'Be happy today.' In a corner, there was a pink coffee machine with a box of free biscuits beside it. Lee Tima looked at the box of biscuits, reached out to take one, and took a bite. Not particularly delicious, but because they were free, they tasted good.

Chewing the biscuit, she thought—perhaps it was because of the personal charm of Chairman Park Jin-young, or maybe because his appearance was often likened to a 'gorilla' by the public. Gorillas should be in the wild, full of vitality. So JYP was also full of vitality. Her logic was simple, so simple it didn't need verification. She believed it.

The tour started on the trainee floor. JYP's practice rooms were similar to SM's—wooden floors, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, speakers embedded in the walls. The difference was that JYP's practice room doors didn't have numbers; instead, they had names. Not the trainees' names, but the rooms' names: 'Dream,' 'Hope,' 'Challenge,' 'Growth.' Looking at those names, Lee Tima found them a bit cringey, but she didn't say so because it would be impolite. She followed the office worker past one practice room after another, peeking inside through the glass windows on the doors. Some rooms had people practicing dance, some had people practicing vocals, some had only one person staring blankly at the mirror. She saw several girls with good looks and dancing skills. One girl danced with powerful moves, each step seeming like it would punch through the floor. One girl had a clear, bright voice, her high notes as stable as walking on flat ground. One girl was very pretty, with features so delicate she seemed to have stepped out of a manga. But they were just 'good.' In Lee Tima's view, they still had a long way to go. Not just 'far,' but 'very far.' So far she wasn't sure if they could make it. But she wouldn't say it, because it would be impolite.

The debuted artist floor was on the sixth floor. When the elevator doors opened, Lee Tima thought she had come to the wrong place. The hallway was empty, silent, devoid of people; even the air felt still. The office worker explained that most of JYP's artists were out on schedules, so they were rarely seen at the company. Lee Tima nodded without speaking. She walked past one closed door after another, nameplates on the doors bearing artists' names: TWICE, GOT7, DAY6... She stopped in front of the 'TWICE' nameplate and fell silent for a moment. She was thinking—if she debuted in this world, would her name also be engraved on a nameplate, hanging on some door in some building? She didn't know. She only knew she wanted it. So she kept walking.

The office floor was the most boring one. Lee Tima walked quickly, so quickly she felt like she was speed walking. Because time was running out; she needed to go to the cafeteria to eat. She came to JYP not to tour the building, but to eat. That was her original intention; she must not forget.

As the elevator descended, it stopped on the fourth floor. The doors opened, and several trainees walked in. Three or four girls, wearing athletic wear, hair in ponytails, faces flushed from recent dance practice. They carried water bottles, chatting as they walked, their voices not loud but their speech rapid. Lee Tima stood in the corner of the elevator, watching them. They didn't notice her because they were chatting—about what dance they practiced today, who got scolded by the teacher, what to eat for dinner. When Lee Tima heard the words 'what to eat for dinner,' the corners of her mouth lifted slightly. Because she was also thinking about what to eat for dinner. She decided to have JYP cafeteria's fried chicken, if they had any.

Then she saw a person. That girl walked at the very back, wearing a loose black T-shirt and gray sweatpants, her hair in a low ponytail, no makeup, bare-faced. Her face was small, her features prominent, her eyes slightly upturned phoenix eyes, like a cat's, or a fox's. Her lips were thin, forming a fine line when pressed together. Her skin was very fair, so fair it took on a slightly cool tone under the elevator lights. Standing there, she resembled a cat that had just stepped out of a painting, undecided whether to acknowledge you.

Lee Tima looked at her for a few seconds. Then she made a decision—she must know this person's name. Not 'wanted to know,' but 'had to know.' Because she felt this person would definitely debut. Not 'maybe,' not 'perhaps,' but 'definitely.' As certain as the sun rising tomorrow.

'Unnie,' Lee Tima spoke up. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was clear in the elevator. The girls all turned to look at her simultaneously. Only then did they notice the little girl in the elevator, wearing a white dress, hair in twin ponytails, black leather shoes on her feet. She stood there, face upturned, looking at them. Her eyes sparkled like two black pearls freshly fished from water.

The girl Lee Tima was staring at was momentarily taken aback. She looked down at Lee Tima. Her gaze swept from Lee Tima's face to her dress, from her dress to her shoes, then back to her face. Then she crouched down. Not 'bent over,' but 'crouched.' Knees bent, body lowered until her eyes were level with Lee Tima's. It was a very polite gesture, not to get a better look at Lee Tima, but so Lee Tima wouldn't have to look up at her. Lee Tima had met many people—tall, short, fat, thin, polite, impolite. Not many crouched down to speak to her. Even fewer who crouched down to speak without that condescending 'you're so cute' indulgence in their eyes. This girl did. So Lee Tima felt she would definitely become an excellent idol. Not 'maybe,' not 'perhaps,' but 'definitely.'

'My name is Lee Tima. And yours?'

The girl looked at her, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. The curve wasn't large, but it was genuine. 'Hwang Yeji.'

The elevator reached the first floor, and the doors opened. Hwang Yeji stood up, waved to Lee Tima, then followed the other girls out of the elevator. The sound of their footsteps gradually faded down the hallway, absorbed by the walls, drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning vents. Lee Tima stood in the elevator, watching Hwang Yeji's back disappear. She memorized the name in her heart. Hwang Yeji. Three characters, easy to remember. Easy to remember means she wouldn't forget. Not forgetting meant—she would see this name again someday in the future, on TV, on her phone, on roadside billboards. She knew it. So she remembered.

——

(17:18) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply to Messages: [Game recording just ended! Playing musical chairs in pajamas was a disaster... I tripped over my own pant legs three times, the last time I literally rolled into the rainbow mats! The whole place burst out laughing, and the director even gave a close-up shot... (Sends a photo of a mortifying scene with only a furry top of head visible from the pile of mats)]

(17:21) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply to Messages: [During break, Ningning handed me honey water saying 'Unnie, get some energy to keep rolling,' I got so mad I chased her, but then my pajama hood flew up and covered my face... Now the whole crew is spreading the joke 'aespa Winter transforms into blindfolded little bear'! T T (Attaches a flustered snapshot of hood covering head, hands groping blindly)]

(17:24) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply to Messages: ['Chuchu's' fifth leaf has unfurled a little bit! The shape looks like a little fish tail, I immediately took a photo for you~ But my hands were shaky and I sent it to the group chat by mistake, Karina Unnie instantly replied: 'Papa, please sign for delivery.' I... I immediately tried to recall it! (Failed-to-recall crying face sticker)]

(17:27) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply to Messages: [The puppy band-aid on my elbow got its edges curled up from sweat, I couldn't bear to peel it off, so I reinforced it with clear tape... Now it looks like a puppy wearing a raincoat, pitifully stuck on my bruise. (Shows the 'raincoat puppy band-aid' with tape reflecting light)]

(17:30) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply to Messages: [Today, the puffer jacket bread sprite and my pajamas were sunbathing together on the balcony, and when the wind blew, their sleeves got tangled! Like they were secretly holding hands... Ah, even clothes are dating on my behalf?]

(17:33) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply to Messages: [The sunset glow is the color of orange jam, thickly spread across the horizon. If Oppa looked up now, would you think the clouds look as sweet as if they've been pickled in honey?]