34: Chapter 34 Report to the leader: Also, the birds in the bureau always poop on the car!

Red Velvet's comeback project was delayed. It wasn't Jiang Zhiyu's fault; he had even finished the conceptual framework for Red Velvet—shattered city mirrors, cyberpunk, Pinocchio, dark fairy tales, Alice in Wonderland. He had made a detailed plan for every concept's visual direction, clothing style, MV scenes, and album design, printed it out, bound it, and placed it on the top right corner of his desk. When Kim Young-min's secretary came to collect it, she froze for a moment at the sight of the dictionary-thick proposal. "Producer Jiang, this is—" "Red Velvet's proposal. Take it." "But the President said—" "Said what?" The secretary was silent for a moment before taking the proposal away. The next day, Kim Young-min's secretary brought it back. It was placed on Jiang Zhiyu's desk, exactly as it had been when it left the day before, with no signs of having been flipped through. "The President said the Red Velvet project is delayed." The secretary's tone was calm, so calm it was as if she were saying the weather was nice today. "Delayed until when?" "I don't know. Wait for notice."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at the proposal and fell silent for a moment. He picked up the milk tea on the table and took a sip; it was cold, but the sweetness remained. He put down the cup, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the ceiling. The broken fluorescent light tube was still flickering—flicker, flicker, flicker. In his mind, he sorted through the relationship between Lee Soo-man and Kim Young-min. Lee Soo-man was in charge of boy groups, and Kim Young-min was in charge of girl groups. This was SM's power structure, set since the day the company was founded, and no one could change it. Lee Soo-man wouldn't touch the girl groups, and Kim Young-min wouldn't touch the boy groups. The two each managed their own patch, minding their own business. But the well water and the river water were connected underground, and the connection point was interest. Where there is interest, there is struggle. Red Velvet belonged to Kim Young-min's faction, while Kim Taeyeon belonged to Lee Soo-man's faction. Lee Soo-man suppressed Kim Young-min's project to push his own. This wasn't a "company arrangement"; it was a "factional struggle." He was caught in the middle, not because he was important, but because he was useful. Everyone wants to use a useful person. Use them, throw them back, and use them again next time. He didn't want to be used, but he couldn't refuse. If he refused Kim Young-min, Kim Young-min would say, "You aren't following company arrangements." If he refused Lee Soo-man, Lee Soo-man would say, "You don't cherish the opportunities the company gives you." He couldn't afford to offend either. So he could only do it. Work on Taeyeon's album and push the Red Velvet project back.

Kim Taeyeon had to reclaim the top spot on the music charts. This was an order. Not Lee Soo-man's order, but the market's order. IU was dominating the charts; the top five were all her songs, pushing Kim Taeyeon's "prince ruperts drop" down to sixth. Taeyeon's fans were making a fuss, saying SM was doing nothing. SM couldn't ignore it; taking action meant releasing an album for Kim Taeyeon. An album needs songs, and writing songs needs a person, and that person was Jiang Zhiyu. He had written "prince ruperts drop," and he knew how to write for Kim Taeyeon. He knew how to write so she would sound good, how to write to make her voice shine, and how to write to pull IU down from first place. Not "pull down," but "push up." To push her up, that was—Jiang Zhiyu remembered the look in Lee Soo-man's eyes during the meeting. That look wasn't "I believe you can do it," but "You must do it." Not "expectation," but an "order." He didn't understand it then, but he did now. He should have guessed long ago. The internal factional struggle at SM was much more serious than he had imagined; he was being used as a gun by Lee Soo-man. Lee Soo-man was using him to hit Kim Young-min and using Kim Taeyeon to hit Red Velvet. He wasn't the gun; he was the bullet. Once fired, it's gone. After the shot, the gun is still a gun, but the bullet is gone. He didn't want to be a bullet, but he already was.

Kim Taeyeon was very happy. She sat in the recording studio chair with her legs crossed, an iced Americano in her hand, and a curve at the corner of her mouth that she couldn't suppress. Her eyes were shining—not the reflection of a light board, but truly shining. "Zhiyu, when do we start recording?" "Next week." "Next week is too late." "Then this week." "This week is also too late." "Noona, writing a song takes time." "Don't you write songs very fast?" "Even fast takes time." "Then write faster." Jiang Zhiyu looked at her and fell silent for a moment. "Noona, are you in a hurry?" "I am. I want to push IU out of first place." Jiang Zhiyu was silent again. He took a sip of milk tea and then said something that made Taeyeon's eyes brighten even more. "No need to push. I'm already writing it." The corners of Taeyeon's mouth widened even more, enough to show her teeth. She took a sip of the iced Americano and then looked at Jiang Zhiyu. "I'm treating you to dinner tonight." "No need." "I must. You're helping me write a song, so I'm treating you to dinner. It's fair." "Noona, you've treated me to enough meals." "That was before. Now is now." "What's the difference between before and now?" "Before, I wanted to treat you; now, I must." Jiang Zhiyu looked at her and didn't speak. But he smiled—not a polite, social smile, but a "fine, you win" kind of smile, tinged with a bit of helplessness and a bit of indulgence.

During the meal, Kim Taeyeon didn't pay the bill. In the past, Kim Taeyeon treated people most often; she was a wealthy woman and a Noona, rich and generous, and every time after eating, she would say "I've got this" and hand her card to the waiter. Karina was second; she was a chaebol, rich, but didn't treat often because she didn't come out to eat often. Today, Kim Taeyeon didn't say "I've got this." She leaned back in her chair, holding her water glass, and looked at Jiang Zhiyu. "Go pay." Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, then at the plates on the table that had been licked clean. "Noona, didn't you say you were treating?" "I said 'I'm treating you to dinner,' not 'I'm paying.'" "Is there a difference?" "Yes. 'I'm treating you to dinner' means I pick the place, and you pay." "..." Jiang Zhiyu fell silent. He wanted to argue, but he couldn't find a reason. Because she was right. The phrase "I'm treating you to dinner" really didn't mean "I'm paying." He had misunderstood. He had misunderstood all along. He took a deep breath, stood up, and walked to the counter. The waiter handed him the bill—he glanced at it: 400,000 won. It wasn't a small amount, but he could afford it. He took out his credit card and handed it to the waiter. The waiter swiped the card and returned it along with the receipt. He walked back to his seat, sat down, and looked at Kim Taeyeon. Kim Taeyeon was drinking water, her expression calm, but her eyes were smiling. Not an "I won" smile, but a "I know you won't be angry" smile.

Jiang Zhiyu thought, why was Noona's appetite so good today? In the past, when she ate grilled meat, she would only eat a few pieces before stopping. Today, she ate over a dozen pieces, and even added a bowl of cold noodles, a plate of japchae, and half a plate of kimchi pancakes. Her stomach was bulging; she pulled her hoodie down to cover it, thinking he couldn't see. He saw it, but he didn't say anything. Because he knew she didn't actually have a good appetite. She was retaliating. Jiang Zhiyu writing a song for IU was a "betrayal" to her. Not a real betrayal, but she felt it was. She was a depression sufferer—in other words, mentally ill. It was normal for her brain circuits to be abnormal. So she retaliated. Her way of retaliating was to have him treat her to dinner, make him pay for it himself, and then she would eat to her heart's content. This was her retaliation, the [Bill Retaliation]. Jiang Zhiyu understood, so he accepted it.

Kim Taeyeon rubbed her bloated stomach and squinted her eyes like a cat basking in the sun after a full meal. "Go pay," she said. Jiang Zhiyu stood up to pay. 400,000 won wasn't a small amount, but he could afford it. Ever since he had Lee Tima as his pillar of support, his financial pressure had lessened significantly. It wasn't because Lee Tima could make money, but because Lee Tima didn't need him to spend money. She lived at the Liu house, ate at the Liu house, used things from the Liu house, and wore clothes from the Liu house. The Liu family was rich and didn't care about one more mouth to feed. He cared, but he didn't have to care anymore. Not caring meant saving. Saving meant having more. Having more meant being able to spend. Where to spend? On Kim Taeyeon's grilled meat. 400,000—it pained him, but he didn't regret it. Because if she ate happily, he was happy. If he was happy, it was worth it.

Jiang Zhiyu's retaliation came quickly. Ever since he had Lee Tima as his core, he began to let himself go. Not "letting go," but "returning." Returning to the Jiang Zhiyu of the Tianxuan Continent—sharp-tongued, prone to slips of the tongue, saying whatever came to mind without considering the consequences, others' feelings, or whether saying such a thing would get him beaten. In the Tianxuan Continent, he didn't dare to be like this. Because he was the head of TG Entertainment, he had to be steady, mature, and convincing. Here, he didn't need to be steady, mature, or convincing. He was just a seventeen-year-old American-born Chinese boy who wrote songs, made plans, and was occasionally called by Kim Taeyeon to eat grilled meat. He could have a slip of the tongue. If he did, no one would dock his salary. So he let it slip.

Kim Taeyeon was the number one target for retaliation. Because the day after the grilled meat gathering, the two of them huddled in the recording studio to discuss the new song concept. Kim Taeyeon sat in the chair in front of the mixing console, holding the lyrics sheet with a slight frown. Jiang Zhiyu stood in front of the whiteboard, holding a marker, drawing circle after circle. The discussion was normal, from the song's theme to the emotional trajectory, from the emotional trajectory to the melodic structure, and from the melodic structure to the arrangement direction. Kim Taeyeon asked very detailed questions, and Jiang Zhiyu answered patiently. The two were like two precision instruments, gears meshing and running smoothly. Then Jiang Zhiyu took a turn—not a "turn," but a "drift."

"Noona's control over emotions is so precise." He put down the marker, turned around, and looked at Kim Taeyeon. His tone was a mutter, but his articulation was clear—so clear that every word seemed carved by a knife, sharp and precise. "Looks like it's time to treat Byun Baekhyun to a good meal."

The recording studio went quiet. Not "quiet," but "frozen." Air, sound, time—everything stopped at that moment. Kim Taeyeon's expression didn't change; she was so calm that no emotion could be seen. But her eyes changed. From "I am seriously discussing work" to "What did you just say?" From "What did you just say?" to "Try saying that one more time." From "Try saying that one more time" to murderous intent. Not "anger," but "murderous intent." Murderous intent isn't written on the face; it's written in the eyes. Her eyes were saying—you're tired of living.

Jiang Zhiyu pretended not to see. He turned around, picked up the marker, and continued drawing circles on the whiteboard. His movements were natural, so natural it was as if he were saying, "I didn't say anything, and you didn't hear anything." But his hands were shaking. Not "shaking," but "trembling." They trembled for a moment, then steadied. He took a deep breath and told himself—it's okay, she won't hit you. She can't beat you. But her gaze would make you feel like you'd been beaten. He didn't want to see that look again, so he shut his mouth.

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

Im Yoona arrived at three in the afternoon.

When she pushed open the door, she brought in a gust of wind, blowing the lyric sheets on the table onto the floor.

She was wearing a black hoodie, with the hood down, her hair loose, no makeup, and her lips were a bit dry.

Her eyes were red—not from crying, but from staying up all night.

She hadn't passed the audition.

She had succeeded in losing weight, dropping five kilograms. At 1.68 meters tall and forty-five kilograms, she was as thin as a bamboo pole.

She stood in front of the mirror, looking at herself, thinking, "This time, I'll definitely make it."

The director thought so too. She passed the first round, the second round, but at the final audition, someone else arrived.

That person was more famous than her, had better acting skills than her, and was more suited for the role.

She was cut.

It wasn't that she "lost," it was that someone else was "chosen."

There was only one role, and that person was more suitable, so that person got it.

She didn't.

She understood, but she was sad.

When sad, she came to find Jiang Zhiyu.

Because she knew Jiang Zhiyu wouldn't say "It's okay"; he would say, "I've written a script."

Jiang Zhiyu did indeed say it.

"Noona, it's okay. I've written a new script."

Im Yoona looked up at him.

Her eyes were still red, but there were no tears.

"What script?"

"Crazy Woman."

Im Yoona blinked.

"Crazy Woman?"

"Yeah. The plot is roughly about a woman hurt by love, who picks up a wood-chopping knife and kills every man she sees. The methods are cruel; she kills from Panmunjom all the way to Jeju Island."

Im Yoona fell silent.

She looked at Jiang Zhiyu, looked at his serious face—one that didn't look like he was joking—and a voice inside her head was saying: He was serious.

He had really written a script called 《Crazy Woman》, with a plot about a woman hurt by love, wielding a wood-chopping knife, killing from Panmunjom to Jeju Island.

She didn't know what to say.

Say "You're crazy"? She was no match for him.

Say "Thank you"? She didn't feel this was comforting.

Say "I don't want to act in it"? She didn't say she didn't want to act in it.

Kim Taeyeon was listening nearby, and the notebook in her hand had already rolled up.

Not just "rolled," but "rolled into a tube."

The paper tube was held in her hand like a short club.

Her expression shifted from "intent to kill" to "ready to strike."

Because Jiang Zhiyu was still talking.

"That crazy woman slits the man's throat, and blood flows all over the floor. She stands in the pool of blood, smiling brightly. Then she meets another woman, shorter than her, and crazier than her."

Jiang Zhiyu glanced at Kim Taeyeon, meaning, "Noona, this is your role."

Kim Taeyeon's eyes narrowed.

Not just "narrowed," but "slit."

Like a zipper being pulled open, the light shining through was cold.

Jiang Zhiyu pretended not to see it and continued talking.

"They swore an oath of sisterhood, calling themselves the 'Male Chauvinism End-Times Girls Group.' Why girls? The short woman said, because it was Girls Generation before, it is Girls Generation now—"

Jiang Zhiyu wiped away tears, very moved, his voice choked up, "and it will be Girls Generation in the future. The ideal is to kill all the heartless men in the world. They kill from Jeju Island all the way to Panmunjom again, killing every man in South Korea. The methods were extremely cruel, using a steamroller—do you know what a steamroller is? It's that thing used for road construction, very big, with wheels taller than a person—they drive the steamroller, screaming, laughing wildly, crushing Korean men one after another. This is the second part."

He paused and took a deep breath.

"At the end of the second part, the short woman with the bright smile, named Sunny, takes them to Japan. To kill Japanese men."

Kim Taeyeon's expression could no longer be described as "intent to kill."

It was the look of "I'm already looking for a weapon."

The paper tube in her hand was deformed by her grip—not "rolled," but "clutched."

Clutched in her hand, her knuckles were white.

Her lips were pressed into a line, pressed very tight, so tight it looked like she was biting an invisible rope.

Her eyes were fixed on Jiang Zhiyu, fixed on that mouth that was still talking, fixed on that mouth opening and closing, spitting out those words that made her want to hit someone.

The Girls Generation slogan was the thing they cherished most.

It was what they had been shouting since their trainee days, shouting for over a decade, shouting until their throats were hoarse, shouting until their tears ran dry, shouting until everyone knew, "It is Girls Generation now, it will be Girls Generation in the future, it will be Girls Generation forever."

This bastard intended to turn their national girl group into lunatics.

Not "intended to," but "already had."

In his script, they already were.

Im Yoona fell silent.

She looked at Jiang Zhiyu, looked at his serious face—one that didn't look like he was joking—and looked at his bright, sparkling eyes.

She suddenly laughed.

Not a "hehe," but a "pfft."

Like a balloon being pinched until it burst, the air all rushed out at once.

She was laughing out of anger.

Not "anger," but "amusement."

It was amusing because she thought this script was actually quite stimulating.

But she didn't want to act in it; she just wanted to watch.

Because she was cute Im Yoona, not a murderer.

However, she thought the coming scene would be even more stimulating.

Because Jiang Zhiyu was a damn bastard, and he was about to be in trouble.

"I want to act in it."

Im Yoona's voice wasn't loud, but it was very clear.

So clear that Jiang Zhiyu's mouth stopped, so clear that Kim Taeyeon's paper tube stopped, so clear that the air in the recording studio stopped.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her; Kim Taeyeon looked at her.

Both their expressions were exactly the same—stunned.

Not just "stunned," but "what did you say?"

Im Yoona's mouth turned up.

That curve wasn't a smile; it was "I'm about to start."

"I'm going to audition right now. Director Jiang."

Her voice was very gentle, so gentle it was like she was saying "The weather is nice today."

But the look in her eyes wasn't gentle; it was the excitement of "I'm about to start."

She stood up, walked over to Jiang Zhiyu, reached out, and grabbed his collar.

Her fingers were thin and long, her nails trimmed neatly.

Her strength wasn't great, but her posture was professional.

Not "professional," but "like the real thing."

Like the kind she saw in movies—a woman grabbing a man's collar, pulling him close, and then saying some harsh words.

She didn't say harsh words.

She just held his collar, looking at him, with a "you're dead" curve on her lips.

Kim Taeyeon watched Im Yoona's back, watched her fingers clutching Jiang Zhiyu's collar, watched that curve at the corner of her lips.

Her expression changed.

Not "stunned," but "hehe."

Her smile was cruel under the lights, like a female lead in a horror movie.

She stood up, switched the paper tube to her left hand, and patted Im Yoona's shoulder with her right.

"Yoona, let's do it together."

Im Yoona turned her head and looked at her.

"Together?"

"Together. 'Male Chauvinism End-Times Girls Group,' you and me."

Im Yoona froze for a second, then laughed.

"Okay."

Kim Taeyeon walked to the door and locked it.

Not "closed," but "locked."

With a "click," the door latch engaged.

She turned around and looked at Jiang Zhiyu.

Her smile hadn't changed; it was still as cruel, like a female lead in a horror movie.

But there was something more in her eyes—not "intent to kill," but "play."

Play meant she wouldn't actually kill him.

But she would make it hurt.

Jiang Zhiyu realized something was wrong.

He took a step back, his back hitting the whiteboard.

The whiteboard shook, and a marker rolled off the tray, fell to the floor, and rolled to Kim Taeyeon's feet.

Kim Taeyeon looked down, then looked up at Jiang Zhiyu.

"You can't escape now," she said.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at Kim Taeyeon, looked at Im Yoona.

The two stood side by side, one holding a paper tube in her hand, the other holding his collar.

Their smiles were exactly the same—cruel, excited, "you're dead" smiles.

His brain was running at high speed—analyzing the situation, calculating the odds of winning, looking for an escape route.

Kim Taeyeon, under 1.6 meters tall, under ninety jin in weight, no combat power.

Im Yoona, 1.68 meters tall, forty-five kilograms in weight, also no combat power.

He could take on ten of them alone.

But he couldn't fight.

Because they were women, they were seniors, people he couldn't afford to offend.

He couldn't fight, couldn't run, he could only—get beaten.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he opened his eyes and looked at Kim Taeyeon.

"Noona, go easy."

Kim Taeyeon's smile widened a bit more.

"I'll try," she said.

She would try not to beat him to death.

Lee Tima's Korean improved by leaps and bounds two months after she arrived in Korea.

Not "progress," but "a breakthrough."

It was like someone had flipped a switch in her brain; with a "pop," those previously chaotic syllables suddenly lined up and stood obediently in their proper places.

She began to write songs in Korean.

Jiang Zhiyu received the song on a Friday afternoon.

Lee Tima didn't send a message, didn't call, didn't @ him in the group chat.

She simply uploaded the audio file to his email, with the title "Take a listen."

No greeting, no signature, no "Oppa, please advise."

Just "Take a listen."

Jiang Zhiyu clicked on the file, and when the intro played, he laughed.

Not a "slight upturn of the corners of the mouth," but "laughing out loud."

He was the only one in the recording studio, but his laughter was so loud that the person in the next studio knocked on the wall, meaning "Keep it down."

The song was called 《눈물의 여왕》. Queen of Tears.

Lee Tima sang the entire demo in her own voice, but her voice had been processed.

Not "pitch-corrected," but "mimicked."

She mimicked IU's singing style.

Breathiness, breathiness, and more breathiness.

The verse part sounded like someone whispering in your ear, and the chorus sounded like shouting at the sky in an empty field.

The high notes weren't shrill, the low notes weren't muffled; every note sounded like it had been washed in water, clean to the point of transparency.

But Jiang Zhiyu wasn't listening to the voice.

He was listening to the lyrics.

Not "listening," but "reading."

Reading the words Lee Tima had written.

Every word was saying the same thing— "I am watching you. You don't know."

《눈물의 여왕》

Lyrics: Lee Tima

Composition: Lee Tima

[Verse 1]

The night you were crying

I was standing by the window

You didn't know I was there

When your tears sparkled in the moonlight

I reached out my hand

Even though I knew it was a distance I couldn't reach

[Pre-Chorus]

I am not the Queen of Tears

I am just a spectator

The person who counts the tears you shed

The person who doesn't ask why you are crying

[Chorus]

When your tears dry

I will leave

When the spot is empty, someone else will come

That person is not me

That person will treat you better than me

Because I am not the Queen of Tears

[ Verse 2 ]

The morning of the day you smiled, I stood at the door. You knew I was there. When your smile spread in the sunlight, I stepped back, because I knew it was a distance I couldn't reach.

[ Bridge ]

The Queen of Tears has no crown. The Queen of Tears has no jewels. The Queen of Tears cannot have you. The Queen of Tears is just such a woman.

[ Final Chorus ]

When your tears dry, I will leave. When the position is empty, it will be forgotten. That person is not me. That person doesn't know me. Because I am not your Queen of Tears.

[ Outro ]

I am just... someone who saw your tears. That is all.

Jiang Zhiyu finished listening, took off his headphones, and placed them on the table. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The fluorescent light was still flickering; the broken one dimmed every few seconds. He stared at that light, thinking—Lee Tima was writing about him. Not "writing about him," but "the person she wrote about, was him." The person standing by the window was him, the person standing at the door was him, the person reaching out but unable to touch was him. She was the bystander, and she wasn't. She was the one counting the tears, the one who didn't ask why he was crying. Because she knew why. She knew everything.

He sat up straight, opened his computer, and created a new project file. Lee Tima had written a song with her own voice, and he would write one too. Not "to compete," but "cannot lose." Not "cannot lose," but "wanted her to know that he was there too."

Jiang Zhiyu used Kim Taeyeon's singing style. It wasn't imitation; it was "training." He recorded his own voice and then used software to adjust the timbre to Kim Taeyeon's. He added a metallic texture to the high notes, a gritty, husky quality to the low notes, and made the breath control more lingering; every trailing note was dragged out slowly, as if waiting for someone. AI only has technique, no emotion. But it didn't matter, because he wasn't listening to the voice; he was listening to the lyrics. What he wrote was also "tears."

《Last Tears》

[ Verse 1 ]

You won't know how much I cried. You didn't see, didn't you? The moment my tears fell to the floor, because you were always turning your back to me.

[ Pre-Chorus ]

I was the collector of your tears. I collected every tear you shed, put them in transparent glass bottles, and stacked them in my room.

[ Chorus ]

The last tear is yours. It's not me, but you who must shed it. Because I won't cry anymore. The glass bottles in my room are all empty now. The tears you should take away, you shed them yourself.

[ Verse 2 ]

You probably didn't know how much I endured. Because of the tears you shed, I cried even more. Because you were always just looking ahead.

[ Bridge ]

Have you ever weighed a tear? The weight of one drop is 0.05 milligrams. The tears I collected are 1.2 kilograms. Can you bear that weight?

[ Final Chorus ]

The last tear is yours. It's not me, but you who must shed it. Because I won't cry anymore. The glass bottles in my room are all empty now. The tears you should take away, you shed them yourself.

[ Outro ]

I am now... not going to collect your tears anymore. You too... don't collect my tears.

Jiang Zhiyu finished writing the last word, put on his headphones, and listened to it from the beginning. The AI Kim Taeyeon's voice echoed in the recording studio; the high notes were steady, the low notes were deep, and every note was in the correct position. No flaws, no cracked notes, no unsteady breath. But he knew, that wasn't Kim Taeyeon. That was his voice, adjusted to Kim Taeyeon's timbre. Like an exquisite, perfect, soulless replica. He didn't care. What he cared about was the lyrics. The sentences he wrote in the dead of night, about tears, about weight, about 0.05 milligrams and 1.2 kilograms, about "I won't collect your tears anymore."

He saved the file, opened Lee Tima's email, and clicked "Reply." He typed a line— "You win." Then he thought about it and deleted it. He typed another line— "Not bad." He deleted it again. He typed another line— "Come over. I'll treat you to barbecue." Send. He leaned back in his chair and waited. Three seconds later, his phone vibrated. Lee Tima's reply— "Hanwoo." Jiang Zhiyu looked at those two words and smiled. He replied— "Okay." Then he stood up, picked up his coat, and walked out of the recording studio. The corridor was very quiet, and the light was a warm yellow, falling on the floor like a path leading to the exit. He walked along this path, his pace neither fast nor slow, the distance of every step about the same. His shadow was behind him, stretched very, very long. He thought, Lee Tima must be at the Liu residence, reading in the study. Reading "The Count of Monte Cristo," reading the original French text, reading the words she didn't need a translation to understand. She would stop when she reached a certain passage, think of him, and think of the song he wrote. She would want to know what he wrote, want to know if he won, want to know if he was hiding in the recording studio listening to music alone. She wanted to know, so she came. He waited for her.

— —

[ Lami Profile ]

Lami is a "smart companion" that integrates soft robotics technology, basic AI command interaction, and emotional appearance design. The exterior is made of semi-transparent jelly-like material, with visible precision micro-gear structures inside. It can change its form according to commands (such as trays, cushions, fans, etc.), perform simple tasks (fetching items, projection, health monitoring, etc.), and has basic voice recognition and light feedback functions. Its name is derived from the abbreviation of "Lovable AI Mini," and in the setting, it is also nicknamed "Slime companion."

The "Capricorn Special Edition · Lami" gifted this time is light purple (Kim Minjeong's personal cheering color), with built-in exclusive idol training functions such as stage simulation, health monitoring, and dance memory playback. The surface is hot-stamped with the Capricorn constellation chart; it is a training auxiliary tool customized by Jiang Zhiyu for aespa.

(18:45) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Oppa!! Lami is so, so, so, so cute!! It just helped me get an iced Americano and turned into a cushion for me to rest... I'm holding it and sending you a message now; it's soft and cool, and smells like lavender! (Sends a happy selfie with her face pressed against Lami)]

(18:48) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [All the members have fallen for it! Karina Unnie let Lami help her memorize dance formations, Ningning taught it to say "Master is the coolest," and Giselle is using it to practice Korean pronunciation... But they all said, "This is clearly a custom piece Oppa gave me"! (Blushing and covering face)]

(18:51) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Lami met the security guard uncle in the hallway just now, and it actually flashed purple light to greet him! The uncle smiled and patted it, saying, "A new little employee in our company, huh?" I was hiding around the corner watching and feeling super happy~ (Sends a long shot of Lami "on duty" in the hallway)]

(18:54) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [I've already taught Lami to identify the optimal route from the practice room to the convenience store! Next time Oppa comes, I'll have it go buy you hot milk, okay? It will definitely complete the task perfectly! (Attached is a projection photo of Lami "planning the route" on a map)]

(18:57) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [But Lami has a bug... I asked it to perform "Capricorn Majesty," and it stood up for three seconds before collapsing into a jelly, and even pitifully flashed blue light! This is definitely it imitating the way I fail when I try to act tough, right?! (Sends a continuous snapshot of Lami's "majesty collapse")]

(19:00) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Oppa, thank you for the gift you gave aespa, and thank you even more for... engraving Capricorn and the color purple on it. I will use it well, just like I cherish every season I met Oppa. (Sends a close-up of a finger lightly touching the constellation chart on Lami's surface)]