35: Chapter 35 I'm doing tons of practice problems!

January 15, 2019. The winter in Seoul was as cold as if someone had splashed a basin of ice water on you.

Jiang Zhiyu stood in the backstage corridor of the Gocheok Sky Dome, drenched in sweat.

It wasn't because of the heat; it was because he was wearing a heavy, fuzzy, big bear mascot costume that wrapped him up like a moving wall.

It was brown, with a huge belly, short hands, and clumsy feet, waddling as he walked like a bear that had just been woken up from hibernation.

His bear head was tucked under his arm, revealing his bangs soaked in sweat and a face flushed red from being stifled for too long.

He panted, looking at the little pink rabbit in front of him.

The rabbit was small, bouncing around, handing out candy to everyone she saw.

She carried a pink basket in her hand, filled with colorful candies—hard candies, gummies, lollipops, chocolate, everything.

She gave them to every staff member, every trainee, and every artist Manager who popped out of nowhere as they passed by.

She was handing them out happily, so happy that for every one she gave out, she would say, "Thank you for your hard work," in a voice as sweet and soft as rice cake soup just scooped out of the pot.

Jiang Zhiyu found it hard to understand Lee Tima's way of thinking. Or rather, he had never understood it.

Back on the Tianxuan Continent, when she was thirteen, she would follow behind Jiang Zhiyu, bowing to everyone she saw and calling out, "Hello, Sunbae," until her throat was hoarse.

He would say, "You don't have to greet everyone," and she would say, "No, it's not polite not to greet them."

He said, "You're so polite that your throat is hoarse," and she replied, "If my throat is hoarse, I can take medicine, but if I'm not polite, people will dislike me."

He had nothing to say to that.

Now she was eight years old, wearing a little pink rabbit mascot costume, handing out candy in the backstage of the Gocheok Sky Dome.

He didn't know what she was thinking; he only knew that she was happy.

If she was happy, he would accompany her. That was why he put on the big bear suit.

IZONE's debut day. Jiang Zhiyu only remembered it after they had finished handing out candy to a girl group.

That girl group walked past him—nine or ten people, he couldn't count because the bear paws blocked his vision.

Their faces flickered in front of him, and he couldn't see any of them clearly, but he did see the tallest one.

Her face was round, her eyes big, and her chin pointed. The whole person looked like a stretched-out rice cake, white, tender, and soft.

She took the candy Lee Tima handed her, looked down at the little pink rabbit, and smiled.

When she smiled, her eyes curved into crescents, and the arc of her upturned lips was just right.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, and a voice in his heart said—this person, she's going to be huge.

Not just popular. He had seen popular artists; Kim Taeyeon was popular, IU was popular, Red Velvet was popular.

But this person was different.

Her popularity was the kind where "you know she's going to be a star before she even debuts," the kind where "you stand in a crowd without saying a word, and people will still look at you."

This kind of popularity, he had only seen it in one person. Lee Tima. No, Lee Tima wasn't just popular; she was explosive. Literally explosive.

Jang Wonyoung. Jiang Zhiyu remembered the name. Not because she was an IZONE member, but because when she took the candy, she spoke Chinese.

"Thank you." The pronunciation was very standard, so standard that it didn't sound like a child who grew up in Korea.

He paused for a moment, then watched her walk away. Her back was tall and slim, her legs very long, and her ponytail swung back and forth as she walked.

Jiang Zhiyu watched her and thought—what a pity. Not "it's a pity she isn't debuting," but "it's a pity she's going to crash." A crash—not a car crash, but a music chart collision.

Kim Taeyeon's "Flipped City," dropping today.

No teasers, no pre-promotions, no "stay tuned." Just a direct appearance, a direct drop, a direct chart domination.

This was Jiang Zhiyu's strategy: blitzkrieg. No teasers, no pre-promotions, no time for you to prepare.

The song is out, listen to it. If it's good, put it on loop. If it's not, skip it. No "expectations," no "disappointments," no "I thought it would be better." Only "good" and "not good."

Kim Taeyeon's songs are never not good. So he was at ease.

Lee Tima joining JYP was something she told him last week. It wasn't a "discussion," it was a "notification."

She sat on the sofa in Jiang Zhiyu's office, her legs not reaching the floor, her leather shoes dangling in the air, swinging gently.

She held a strawberry milk tea in her hand, full sugar, with pearls, coconut jelly, pudding, and red beans.

She took a sip, narrowed her eyes, and then said something that almost made Jiang Zhiyu spit out his milk tea.

"Oppa, I joined JYP."

"What?" "JYP. The JYP of Park Jin-young." "I know what JYP is. I'm asking—how did you join?"

"Mr. Yu took me out to dinner and we met President Park Jin-young. They chatted for a bit, and President Park asked me, 'What can you do?' I said, 'I can write songs.' He said, 'Write one and show me.' I said, 'Now?' He said, 'Now.' I said, 'I don't have a piano.' He said, 'Let's go to the company.' So we went to JYP. I wrote a song, he listened to it, and said, 'Stay here.' I said, 'Okay.'"

Jiang Zhiyu was silent. He looked at Lee Tima, at her calm little face that showed no emotion, and at her sparkling eyes that seemed to say, "What is there to be so surprised about?"

A voice in his heart said—she is not a child. She is a monster.

An eight-year-old monster who could write songs, cook, give massages, take pulses, read the original English version of The Count of Monte Cristo, and be personally invited by Park Jin-young to join JYP. He was a monster. She was too. Monsters and monsters, they were siblings. Not "were," but "could be." If she was willing, he was willing. So he didn't say anything. He just nodded. "Got it."

Lee Tima joined JYP as a songwriter. It wasn't an official contract, but a "collaboration."

She wrote songs for ITZY, but it wasn't "writing," it was "participating." Participating in the debut project, participating in song production, participating in concept design.

An eight-year-old child in charge of a girl group's debut project—it was absurd, ridiculous, incomprehensible. But she was Lee Tima. She was Mr. Yu's goddaughter. That's right, she had been adopted by the Yu family. Not "adopted," but "taken in."

Mr. Yu took her out to dinner and met Park Jin-young. Park Jin-young wanted to build a relationship with the Yu family—not financial, but political friendship. The Yu family had roots in Korea, influence, and things Park Jin-young wanted.

Lee Tima was Mr. Yu's goddaughter, so Park Jin-young was polite to her, polite enough to invite her to join JYP. Not because she had talent, but because she had background. But her talent was real. So Park Jin-young didn't lose out. The Yu family didn't lose out. Lee Tima definitely didn't lose out. She won.

Jiang Zhiyu stood in the backstage of the Gocheok Sky Dome, wearing the big bear mascot costume, head tucked under his arm, watching Lee Tima bouncing around handing out candy.

He was thinking—when is ITZY's debut day? February. Early February, or mid-February.

Kim Taeyeon's "Flipped City" would dominate the charts until February. Red Velvet's new album would be after February. This was SM's layout, not his. He was just an executor.

Lee Soo-man said, "Taeyeon first," so he did Taeyeon. Kim Young-min said, "Red Velvet can't be delayed," so he did Red Velvet.

Two bosses, two girl groups, two women. He was caught in the middle, like a rubber band being pulled from both ends, getting longer and thinner, so thin it was about to snap. It hadn't snapped yet. He could still hold on. Because he had Lee Tima. Not "had," but "knew she was there." Knowing she was there, it wouldn't snap. If it snapped, she would reconnect it. She was his spare rubber band.

Jiang Zhiyu took out his phone and checked the time. 4:00 PM. Kim Taeyeon's music had already dropped.

He opened the music app and checked the charts. Number one, "Flipped City," Kim Taeyeon. Number two, "Prince Rupert's Drop," Kim Taeyeon. Third to seventh, IU. The top seven were split between two people.

The comment section was arguing, fans were cursing, passersby were watching the drama. Jiang Zhiyu closed the app and put his phone away. He didn't care about comments, didn't care about arguments, didn't care about "who is the number one female solo." What he cared about was—had Kim Taeyeon's song been heard? If it was heard, that was enough.

He glanced at Lee Tima. The little pink rabbit was still handing out candy, the basket already half empty.

There was a thin layer of sweat on her forehead, a few loose hairs stuck to her temples, but she didn't stop.

She walked up to everyone, stood on tiptoe, handed out a candy, and said, "Thank you for your hard work."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was clear, every word as if it had been washed in water.

Jiang Zhiyu watched her back and thought—she will become a very good person in the future. Not a "very good idol," not a "very good songwriter," but a "very good person."

Because she was handing out candy. When no one asked her to, she handed out candy. When no one said "thank you for your hard work," she said it. This was good. Good was enough.

Jiang Zhiyu watched the stage for a while, took out his phone, and sent a message to Yeri.

"Day after tomorrow at 3:00 PM, please have Red Velvet gather in the Red Velvet practice room. Special note: No leave allowed."

He sent it. Yeri's reply came quickly. "Received! Producer Jiang!" Followed by a string of emojis: a cat saluting, a puppy throwing flowers, a little rabbit spinning.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at those emojis, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. He put his phone away and put the bear head back on.

The world before his eyes was surrounded by brown fur, leaving only two small mesh holes. Through the mesh, he watched Lee Tima. She was still handing out candy.

He walked over and stood beside her. One big, one small, one brown, one pink, two mascots standing side by side in the backstage of the Gocheok Sky Dome. No one knew who they were. They were just a bear and a rabbit handing out candy.

————

Jiang Zhiyu pushed open the door to the Red Velvet practice room. The door wasn't locked, and no one was inside.

He stood at the door and looked around. Wooden floors, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, speakers embedded in the wall.

A few water bottles and towels were piled in the corner, and the air was filled with the smell of sweat and laundry detergent.

Like all practice rooms, there was nothing special about it.

But in this room, his heart rate accelerated.

Not because of nervousness, but because he knew she would come soon.

She would push open the door, walk in, and sit down in front of him.

She would look at him once, then look away.

She would say, "Producer Jiang," in a voice not loud, but clear.

She would reach out her hand to shake his.

Her fingers would be very cold, probably because she had just drunk an iced Americano.

He would take her hand and say, "Irene Sunbae."

He would let go and put his hands in his pockets.

He would pretend nothing had happened. He always pretended. After pretending for so long, he thought it was real.

It wasn't real. He was just lying to himself.

The first to arrive was Yeri. She pushed open the door, carrying a white plastic bag with three cups of coffee inside.

She saw Jiang Zhiyu, paused, then smiled. "Zhiyu-ah, you're here so early." "Yeah." "Did you eat?" "Yes." "What did you eat?" "Rice." "What kind of rice?" "White rice."

Yeri looked at him, silent for a moment. "You really don't know how to chat." "I know."

Yeri put the coffee on the table and sat next to him. She took out her phone and started scrolling.

After a while, she looked up at Jiang Zhiyu. "Zhiyu-ah, do you know if Joohyun Unnie is in a good mood today?" "I don't know." "How can you not know? You're the person in charge." "I'm the person in charge, not a mood detector."

Yeri looked at him, the corners of her mouth slowly curling up. "You really don't know how to talk." "I know."

The second to arrive was Seulgi. She pushed open the door, wearing headphones, humming some song.

She saw Jiang Zhiyu, took off her headphones, and bowed slightly. "Producer Jiang." "Seulgi Sunbae."

Seulgi walked to the corner, put down her bag, took out her water bottle, and took a sip of water.

Her expression was calm, so calm that no emotion could be seen. But her eyes were looking at Jiang Zhiyu. Looking at his face, his clothes, the milk tea in his hand.

She watched for a few seconds, then looked away. She was thinking—he looked the same as usual today. Just as calm, just as composed, just as expressionless. But was he really the same as usual? She didn't know. She only knew his milk tea had changed flavors. It used to be strawberry; today it was chocolate. She didn't know what this meant, she just remembered it.

The third to arrive was Joy. She pushed open the door, holding an iced Americano, with an "I haven't woken up yet" expression on her face.

She saw Jiang Zhiyu and nodded. "Producer Jiang." "Joy Sunbae."

Joy walked to the sofa, sat down, closed her eyes, and started resting. She didn't need to speak, didn't need to greet, didn't need to do anything extra. She just needed to exist. Existing was enough. Because she existed, the practice room was full. Not "full," but "alive." An alive practice room had vitality. With vitality, it wouldn't be cold. Not cold meant—she had fallen asleep.

The fourth to arrive was Wendy. She pushed open the door, holding a notebook, open.

Her gaze fell on the page, muttering to herself, probably memorizing some lyrics.

She walked to the sofa, sat down, and continued reading. Her expression was very focused, so focused that she forgot to greet Jiang Zhiyu.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't mind. He watched her and thought—she is Red Velvet's main vocalist, the best singer in the group. Her voice is warm, like a hot water bottle in winter, you don't want to let go once you hold it. He liked her voice, not "like," but "admire." Admiring someone doesn't need a reason. He admired her.

The last to arrive was Bae Joo-hyun. She pushed open the door, holding an iced Americano, with no expression on her face.

She walked in, scanned the room, and her gaze landed on Jiang Zhiyu. Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, then moved away.

She walked to the sofa, sat down, and placed the iced Americano on the table. She looked up at Jiang Zhiyu. "Producer Jiang." "Irene Sunbae."

She reached out her hand. He reached out his. Two hands clasped together. Two seconds. Not long, not short, just the right amount of time for a polite handshake.

She let go, he let go. Her hand was very cold, probably because she had just drunk an iced Americano. His hand was very hot, probably because he had held her hand.

His heart was beating fast. One hundred and thirty. Not "probably," but "at least." Shit. He cursed in his heart.

"Producer Jiang, where are we going today?"

"The cinema."

"The cinema?"

"Yes. We're watching 'Alice in Wonderland'."

The five members of Red Velvet looked at him simultaneously, their expressions varied. Yeri was smiling, Seulgi was blinking, Joy was frowning, Wendy was lost in thought, and Bae Joo-hyun was expressionless. Jiang Zhiyu offered no explanation, stood up, and walked toward the door. "Let's go."

The private cinema was tucked deep in an alley in Apgujeong. The storefront was small with no signage, just a dark wooden door. Beside the door hung a bronze plaque engraved with two characters— "Yaoyue."

When Jiang Zhiyu first came, he felt the name was too elegant, not fitting for him. The second time he came, he felt it was alright because the popcorn here was delicious—rich in cream, cloyingly sweet, the flavor he liked.

Today, he had booked the entire venue, not because he was rich, but because he needed a place where the outside couldn't hear what was said inside, the inside couldn't hear the outside, and where there would be no disturbances, no paparazzi, and no risk of being uploaded to the internet.

A private cinema was the best choice. It was more comfortable than a meeting room, more relaxing than a recording studio, and had more atmosphere than a practice room. Atmosphere was important because what he had to say today required it.

When the five members of Red Velvet arrived, Jiang Zhiyu was already sitting in the corner at the very back. That was his spot. Whether in a meeting room, recording studio, practice room, or private cinema, he always chose the corner position. Back against the wall, facing the door, his field of vision could cover the entire space. This was a habit he had cultivated over many years, one he couldn't change.

He stood up, walked into the aisle, and faced the five people filing in through the door.

Yeri was in the lead, already holding a bucket of popcorn. She hadn't bought it; Jiang Zhiyu had ordered it in advance—caramel flavored—and placed it on the front row seat, which she spotted immediately. She cradled the bucket like a trophy, her eyes crinkling into crescents as she smiled. "Zhiyu-ah, you're so nice!"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her expression, which clearly said "anyone with food is a good person," and his lips twitched slightly. "Yes, I am nice."

Seulgi followed behind Yeri, holding an iced Americano she had bought herself. She didn't like it when Jiang Zhiyu treated her, not out of politeness, but because she believed that "if you eat someone's food, your mouth becomes soft." If you eat someone else's food, you have to listen to them. She didn't want to listen to others; she wanted to listen to herself. That was why she never ate food treated by Jiang Zhiyu. The popcorn was Yeri's, not hers. She would only watch, not eat. She told herself.

Joy walked behind Seulgi, also holding an iced Americano. Her expression was calm, so calm that no emotion could be seen. But her eyes were observing—looking at Jiang Zhiyu, at Bae Joo-hyun, at the popcorn in Yeri's hands, at the iced Americano in Seulgi's hands, and at the hair tie Wendy used. Her gaze was like a scanner, sweeping over everything in the room and storing it in her brain. She didn't know why she needed to store it, but she felt she should. Once stored, it might come in handy later.

Wendy walked behind Joy, carrying no drinks, no snacks, nothing at all. Her hair was tied in a low ponytail with a black hair tie. She wore a gray hoodie with a somewhat wide neckline, revealing a small section of her collarbone. Her pace was neither fast nor slow as she walked up to Jiang Zhiyu and stopped.

"Producer Jiang, long time no see."

"Long time no see."

The two of them nodded, without shaking hands. Wendy didn't like shaking hands. It wasn't that she didn't like Jiang Zhiyu; she just didn't like shaking hands. She felt handshakes were too formal, so formal it felt like doing business. They weren't doing business; they were making music. Making music didn't require handshakes; it required nodding. So she nodded, and he nodded too. That was enough.

Bae Joo-hyun walked at the very back. She wore a long black down jacket with the zipper pulled all the way up, the collar standing up to cover half her face. Her hair was let down, the ends a bit dry and split. She was bare-faced, her lips slightly dry and peeling. She walked up to Jiang Zhiyu and stopped.

The two locked eyes for a second, or perhaps two. Silence. Then she extended her hand, and Jiang Zhiyu extended his. Their hands clasped together. Her hand was very cold, her knuckles thin, her wrist bone prominent. His hand was very warm, his fingertips calloused, his palm dry. The handshake was very brief, lasting only two seconds. Two seconds, that was enough. Enough for them to confirm each other's existence, enough to confirm that the "cafeteria body double incident" hadn't caused any impact, enough to confirm that "we are still colleagues, still partners, still people who can get along normally in the same space." Probably.

Jiang Zhiyu let go, his fingers curling slightly at his side. His expression remained unchanged, so calm that no emotion could be seen. But inside, he was not calm. His heart was beating. Not "beating," but "thumping." Thumping against his chest, one beat after another, like someone knocking on a door. He counted. One hundred and thirty. Not "approximately," but "precisely." When he was in the Tianxuan Continent, he had measured his heart rate; in a resting state, it was sixty-two to sixty-eight beats per minute. Now, it was one hundred and thirty. It had doubled, meaning his current level of tension was equivalent to being held at gunpoint by ten people. He didn't care about being held at gunpoint by ten people; he cared about being watched by Bae Joo-hyun. She wasn't looking at him; she was watching the movie. But he knew she was there. As long as she was there, his heart rate wouldn't go down. He took a deep breath, another deep breath, and one more. It was useless. His heart was still beating fast. He gave up.

The movie was "Alice in Wonderland." The live-action version, the one from 2010, with Johnny Depp playing the Mad Hatter and Helena Bonham Carter playing the Red Queen.

Jiang Zhiyu had a reason for choosing this movie. It wasn't because he liked Alice; it was because he liked the Red Queen. The Red Queen's big head, the Red Queen's irritability, the Red Queen's "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS." He liked that kind of unreasonable, crazy power that would cut off heads at any moment. He wanted to put this kind of power into Red Velvet's new album. Not "power," but "concept." A concept needs to be seen, heard, and felt. Watching a movie is the best way. It's more intuitive than reading a proposal, more vivid than looking at concept art, and more effective than listening to him say ten thousand words.

So he booked the venue and invited them to watch the movie. Not "invited," but "arranged." Arranged for them to watch, arranged for them to feel, and arranged for them to write a five-thousand-word review after watching. Five thousand words, not a single word less. In their reviews, he would find each person's positioning. Who was suited to sing the high notes, who was suited to sing the low notes, who was suited to sing the chorus, who was suited to sing the bridge. Who would play Alice, who would play the Red Queen, who would play the White Queen, who would play the Mad Hatter, who would play the Cheshire Cat. Not "play," but "sing." Sing the feeling of that character. If the feeling is right, the song is right. If the song is right, the album is right. If the album is right, he would have done right by them.

Jiang Zhiyu sat in the corner at the back, his back against the wall, facing the screen. On the screen, Alice was chasing a rabbit and fell into a tree hole. Her skirt blew up, her hair fluttered in the air, and her expression was surprised, as if she didn't know she would fall. Jiang Zhiyu watched her fall and thought—she didn't know where she would fall to. But she fell anyway. Because she was Alice, and Alice had to fall into the rabbit hole. If she didn't fall in, there would be no story afterward. The story needed her to fall, so she fell.

Wasn't he the same? He had fallen from the Tianxuan Continent into this world, from a thirty-year-old TG Entertainment team leader to a seventeen-year-old SM creator, from being a person by Wang Shuyun's side to being a person by Bae Joo-hyun's side. He didn't know why he had fallen here; he only knew that he had fallen. Having fallen, he couldn't turn back. Since he couldn't turn back, he could only move forward. Moving forward meant making the album. Making the album meant sitting here, watching the movie.

Bae Joo-hyun sat in the very center, with Wendy beside her. That was the best spot for viewing, directly in front of the screen, neither too high nor too low, neither too far nor too near. She leaned back against the chair, holding no popcorn, no drinks, no snacks. Her gaze fell on the screen, watching Alice floating in the rabbit hole. Her expression was calm, so calm that no emotion could be seen. But inside, she was not calm.

She was thinking—why did he invite us to watch a movie? Why choose "Alice in Wonderland"? Why sit in the corner at the back? Why were the corners of his mouth turned up when the Red Queen appeared? She didn't want to know the answer, but her brain was asking automatically. Once asked, she couldn't stop. If she couldn't stop, she would think too much. If she thought too much, she would—she didn't want to think anymore.

She withdrew her gaze from the screen and placed it on her knees. There were two scars on her knees, very small, not visible unless looked at closely. They were from falling when she was a child. She touched the scar with her hand, feeling the rough, uneven trace that had healed a long time ago but would never disappear. She thought, some things, once they exist, are always there. They won't disappear, only be covered up. Once covered, you can't see them. Not being able to see them doesn't mean they aren't there. They are still there. She knew. She didn't need anyone else to tell her.

Yeri was there purely to watch the movie. She held the popcorn bucket on her lap, grabbing a handful with her left hand and stuffing it into her mouth, then grabbing a handful with her right hand and stuffing it into her mouth. Her mouth barely stopped; she was either chewing popcorn, drinking cola, or chewing gum. Her seat was surrounded by snacks: potato chips, chocolate, soft candy, hard candy, lollipops, cookies, and cake.

She divided these snacks into two piles, one for herself and one for Seulgi. Seulgi said she wouldn't eat, Yeri said, "If you don't eat, I will." Seulgi said, "Go ahead and eat." Yeri said, "I'll get fat if I eat it all." Seulgi said, "Then don't eat." Yeri said, "It's a waste not to eat." Seulgi was silent for a moment, then reached out and took a piece of chocolate from Yeri's pile. She broke it in half, put one half in her mouth, and handed the other half to Yeri. "Half each." Yeri looked at that half-piece of chocolate and smiled. "Unnie, you're so nice." "Yes, I am nice," Seulgi said. Yeri stuffed the half-piece of chocolate into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. She felt like she had profited. Half the calories went to Seulgi, and half the happiness was kept for herself. She was a person who was very good at calculating, just not when it came to money.

Seulgi sat to the right of Bae Joo-hyun and to the left of Yeri. Her position was awkward; on the left was Yeri's popcorn, and on the right was Bae Joo-hyun's silence. She didn't know whether to look left or right. On the left, there was food but it would make her fat; on the right, there was no food but it would be cold. She thought about it and decided to look left. Because food could be shared in half, but coldness couldn't be shared in half. She positioned herself as "Yeri's snack supervisor." Supervising her not to eat too much, supervising her not to eat too fast, and supervising her to remember to wipe her mouth after eating. Her method of supervision was very simple—eat half of Yeri's snacks. Once eaten, there was less. With less, Yeri ate less. So she was helping Yeri lose weight. Perfect logic. She believed it, and Yeri believed it too.

Joy sat to the right of Wendy, leaning against the armrest, eyes closed. She wasn't watching the movie; she was thinking about things. Thinking about why Jiang Zhiyu invited them to watch a movie. Thinking about what it meant that he sat in the corner at the back. Thinking about what the curve of his mouth meant when he watched the Red Queen appear. She thought of a possibility—he had a conspiracy. Not "possibly," but "definitely." She hadn't known Jiang Zhiyu for long, but she knew he wasn't the type to "be good to people for no reason." If he was good to you, it must be because you were useful to him. If you were useful to him, he would be good to you. This was a transaction, not affection. She didn't like transactions, but she liked Jiang Zhiyu. Not "like" as in romantic, but "appreciate" as in admiration. Admiring his talent, admiring his efficiency, admiring how he could still smile and greet her while being retaliated against by Kim Young-min. She didn't know how he did it; she only knew she couldn't. So she was very polite to him, so polite that she wouldn't ask him, "Why did you invite us to watch a movie?" Because she was afraid to hear the answer. She had guessed the answer—there was a conspiracy. She guessed right. But she didn't want to know what the conspiracy was. Because if she knew, she would have to cooperate. If she cooperated, she would owe him a favor. If she owed him a favor, she would have to return it. She didn't want to return it when the time came. So she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

Wendy was to the left of Bae Joo-hyun. Her gaze fell on the screen; the movie was playing the scene where the Red Queen appeared. The Red Queen's head was huge, so big that her crown looked like it was placed on a globe. Her face was very pale, her lips very red, and her eyes painted with exaggerated blue eyeshadow. Her voice was very loud, so loud that the whole cinema was shaking. "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!" she shouted. Wendy looked at the Red Queen's face, twisted with anger, and suddenly smiled. It wasn't a smile of "that's funny," but a smile of "so that's it." She understood why Jiang Zhiyu had chosen this movie. Because of the Red Queen. Because of the Red Queen's big head. Because of the Red Queen's irritability. Because of the Red Queen's unreasonableness. Because all of these could be put into Red Velvet's new album. Not "put into," but "integrated." Integrated into the concept, integrated into the styling, integrated into the lyrics, integrated into every musical note. She understood, so she smiled. Beside her sat Bae Joo-hyun.

Bae Joo-hyun's expression was very calm, so calm that no emotion could be seen. But Wendy noticed that when Bae Joo-hyun looked at the Red Queen, her brow furrowed slightly. Not "furrowed," but "twitched." It twitched, then returned to normal. It returned to normal so quickly, so quickly that it was as if nothing had happened. But Wendy saw it. She was closest to Bae Joo-hyun, and she could see every subtle change on Bae Joo-hyun's face. That change told her—Bae Joo-hyun didn't like the Red Queen. Not "didn't like," but "didn't want to be compared." The Red Queen had a big head; she didn't. But fans called her "Bae Big Head." Not "insulting," but a "nickname." A nickname is still a label, and once labeled, it will be remembered; once remembered, it will be magnified; once magnified, it will be compared. She didn't want to be compared, so she frowned. Frowned once, then recovered. Recovered meant it was in the past. In the past meant she didn't care. Not caring meant—she cared. Wendy knew. She just didn't say it.

When the movie was halfway through, Jiang Zhiyu spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it was very clear in the quiet cinema. Clear enough that everyone heard it, clear enough that Bae Joo-hyun's brow twitched again. "The concept of a cake that makes you grow is very suitable for Red Velvet."

Yeri was the first to laugh.

She didn't laugh because she understood, but because she felt Jiang Zhiyu was joking.

Jiang Zhiyu joked often; she couldn't say what was funny about it, but she just wanted to laugh.

Laughter is contagious.

Yeri laughed, Joy laughed, Wendy laughed, and Seulgi laughed too.

Seulgi laughed while chewing popcorn and choked on it, causing popcorn to fall from the corner of her mouth onto her clothes.

She hurriedly picked it up and shoved it back into her mouth, chewing and laughing until tears came to her eyes.

Five people, and four of them were laughing.

Bae Joo-hyun did not laugh.

Her brows were furrowed, her lips pressed into a line, and her whole face read— "I don't find this funny."

Of course, she didn't find it funny.

Because the "get bigger" cake meant "getting taller."

Getting taller was something she couldn't do.

She was 158cm tall, and from her debut until now, haters had said it countless times.

"Bae Joo-hyun is so short."

"Bae Joo-hyun looks like an elementary school student."

"Bae Joo-hyun standing among the members looks like a bookmark stuck in a book."

She didn't care.

She told herself she didn't care, said it many times until she believed it herself.

But just because she believed it didn't mean she liked being talked about.

She didn't like it, so she didn't want to laugh.

"Be quiet."

Bae Joo-hyun's voice wasn't loud, but it was clear.

Clear enough that Yeri's chewing stopped, Seulgi's hand distributing snacks froze, Joy's eyes opened, and Wendy's smile faded.

They looked at the back of Bae Joo-hyun's head, at her split ends, at the raised collar of her down jacket.

They were all thinking the same thing—Joohyun Unnie actually dared to speak to Jiang Zhiyu in that tone.

Jiang Zhiyu was a junior, an SM producer, the person in charge of their new album.

He held their concept, their songs, and their positioning in his hands.

If they offended him, they didn't know how he might "retaliate."

Changing their parts, changing their lyrics, changing their camera angles.

They didn't dare to think about it, because thinking about it made them afraid.

If they were afraid, they wouldn't dare to come; not coming meant a breach of contract; a breach of contract meant paying damages; paying damages meant... They didn't want to pay damages.

So they didn't dare.

But Bae Joo-hyun dared.

She said "Be quiet."

Not "Please be quiet," not "Could you be quiet," not "Unnies, be a little quieter."

It was "Be quiet."

An imperative tone, unquestionable, unarguable.

Just like the Red Queen saying "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS," there was no room for negotiation.

Wendy glanced at Bae Joo-hyun.

Bae Joo-hyun's expression hadn't changed, calm to the point where no emotion could be seen.

Her gaze was still fixed on the screen, watching the Red Queen judge the innocent animals in the garden.

Her lips were pressed together, pressed into a line.

That line was very straight, with no curve, no tremor, no trace of "I said the wrong thing."

Wendy was thinking—why did Bae Joo-hyun dare?

She wasn't that kind of person.

She was polite to everyone, so polite that you'd think she was easy to talk to.

But she wasn't easy to talk to; she just didn't want to talk.

She didn't want to talk, so you couldn't hear her opinion.

You couldn't hear it, so you thought she had no opinion.

She had no opinion, so you thought she was easy to talk to.

You thought she was easy to talk to, so you did things according to your own ideas.

You did them, she wasn't satisfied, but she wouldn't say it.

She would silently change it until you had nothing to say.

Until you felt "This is her idea, not mine."

Until you felt "She is right, I am wrong."

This was her way.

Not "talking," but "doing."

Doing was more effective than talking.

Words spoken would be refuted, but things done would not.

That was why she never said "Be quiet."

She would only plug her ears.

But today she said it.

Wendy didn't understand.

She didn't understand why Bae Joo-hyun would break her own habit, didn't understand why she was so impolite to Jiang Zhiyu, didn't understand why she dared.

She didn't understand, so she glanced at Jiang Zhiyu in the front row.

Jiang Zhiyu had no reaction.

His head rested on the back of the chair, his eyes fixed on the screen, his expression very calm, calm enough that it seemed like he hadn't heard what Bae Joo-hyun said.

But he had heard.

He knew.

He was just pretending not to hear.

The movie continued.

The Red Queen was exiled, Alice returned to the real world, and the Mad Hatter said goodbye to her in a dream.

The images on the screen were moving, the background music was tear-jerking, but no one cried.

Because they were thinking about other things.

Thinking about why Jiang Zhiyu chose this movie, thinking about why Bae Joo-hyun said "Be quiet," thinking about what the new album would be like.

They thought about a lot, so much that they forgot what was playing in the movie.

Only Jiang Zhiyu was watching, watching intently, so intently that he remembered every detail.

He remembered the Red Queen's crown was gold, remembered the Mad Hatter's eyes were green, remembered that when the Cheshire Cat disappeared, its mouth was the last thing to remain.

He remembered it because he was going to use it.

Use it in these places, use it on that person.

"Big head, big head, no worries when it rains. Others have umbrellas, you have a big head... Speaking of which, Irene Sunbae also has the nickname 'Bae Big Head' among fans, right?"

The air in the cinema froze.

Not "solidified," but "turned to ice."

From the ceiling to the floor, from the screen to the seats, from Jiang Zhiyu's mouth to Bae Joo-hyun's ears, all the space was frozen in that instant.

Yeri's popcorn bucket slipped from her hand, hit the floor, and made a dull thud.

Seulgi's hand stopped in mid-air, a half-broken piece of chocolate held between her fingers.

Joy's eyes opened wide, so wide that her eye sockets couldn't contain them.

Wendy's breathing stopped, held in her chest, not daring to exhale.

Bae Joo-hyun didn't move.

She maintained her original posture, leaning against the back of the chair, her gaze fixed on the screen.

The images on the screen had turned into subtitles, white letters scrolling against a black background.

She looked at those words, but didn't read a single one.

She was listening to Jiang Zhiyu speak.

She heard every word clearly.

Big head, big head, no worries when it rains.

Others have umbrellas, you have a big head.

The corners of her mouth twitched.

Not a "laugh," not "anger," but "I don't know what expression to use."

She had no expression, so she was expressionless.

Cold.

Very cold.

Colder than the air conditioning.

The wind from the air conditioner could be adjusted; turn it up and it wouldn't be cold.

But Jiang Zhiyu's words couldn't be adjusted.

They were just there, like a welded iron block, cold and hard.

You couldn't push it, couldn't move it, could only let it stay there, freezing.

It was winter, and the winter wind was already cold enough.

Jiang Zhiyu's words were colder than the winter wind.

Yeri shrank her neck, pulled up the collar of her down jacket, and covered half her face.

She didn't want anyone to see her expression because she didn't know what her expression was.

Was it laughter?

Was it crying?

Was it wanting to say "Jiang Zhiyu, are you crazy?"

She didn't know.

She only knew that she was cold.

The movie ended.

The credits rolled, the screen went black.

The lights came on.

The five of them stood up, moving slowly.

Yeri bent down to pick up the popcorn bucket, Seulgi shoved the chocolate into her mouth, Joy finished her iced Americano, and Wendy retied her hair.

Bae Joo-hyun didn't move; she was still sitting there, looking at the screen.

The screen was black, with nothing on it.

But she watched, as if waiting for something.

Waiting for what?

Waiting for Jiang Zhiyu to explain?

He explained— "I was talking about the Red Queen, not Irene Sunbae."

She wouldn't believe it.

Waiting for Jiang Zhiyu to apologize?

He said— "Sorry, I didn't mean it."

She wouldn't accept it.

Waiting for Jiang Zhiyu to leave?

He left.

Then she wouldn't have to wait.

She waited.

But he didn't leave.

Jiang Zhiyu was sitting in the corner at the very back, not having stood up.

He leaned against the back of the chair, his hands in his pockets, his expression very calm, calm to the point where no emotion could be seen.

His gaze fell on the front row, on them, on her.

He was waiting for her to turn around.

She did.

Bae Joo-hyun stood up, turned around, and looked at Jiang Zhiyu.

Her expression was very calm, calm to the point where no emotion could be seen.

But her eyes were not calm.

Her eyes were saying— "Are you finished?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked into her eyes and understood the meaning.

He smiled.

Not an "I was wrong" smile, not an "I'm joking" smile, but an "Alright, I've had enough fun" smile.

He stood up, walked into the aisle, and faced the five of them.

"Please everyone gather in the practice room tomorrow at 8:30 AM, and submit a 5,000-word viewing summary."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear.

Clear enough that everyone heard it, clear enough that Bae Joo-hyun's brows didn't move.

"I will allocate the lyrics and character images needed for the album based on everyone's viewing summary. Thank you for your cooperation."

The corners of his mouth curled up, revealing a standard, professional, punchable smile.

"Ah, right. The minimum word count is 5,000 words, with no upper limit."

Yeri's mouth fell open.

The popcorn bucket slipped from her hand again, and this time she didn't pick it up.

Seulgi's mouth also fell open, the chocolate in her mouth melted and flowed from the corner of her mouth, but she didn't wipe it away.

Joy's mouth didn't open, but her eyes closed.

She had guessed right; he had a conspiracy.

Wendy's mouth didn't open either; she was calculating how long it would take to write 5,000 words.

She couldn't calculate it because she had never written a 5,000-word viewing summary before.

Bae Joo-hyun's mouth didn't open, nor did it close.

Her lips were still the same, pressed together, pressed into a line.

That line had no curve, no tremor, no trace of "I've been pranked."

But in her heart, there was.

She was thinking—he did it on purpose.

Purposefully chose "Alice in Wonderland," purposefully said "get bigger" cake, purposefully said "Big head, big head, no worries when it rains."

Purposefully embarrassed her, purposefully made her angry, purposefully said "5,000 words" not because she needed to write it, but because he wanted to see her write it.

She didn't want to write it, but she couldn't not write it.

Because he was the album lead, and she was a member.

Members had to listen to the person in charge.

Not listening meant a breach of contract.

A breach of contract meant paying damages.

Paying damages meant—she didn't want to pay damages.

So she would write.

The five of them left.

Yeri walked in front, Seulgi followed behind her, Joy followed behind Seulgi, and Wendy followed behind Joy.

Bae Joo-hyun walked at the very back, her pace neither fast nor slow, every step steady.

Her back passed between the rows of seats, blocked by the chair backs, then appeared again, then blocked, then appeared again.

Finally, she disappeared at the doorway.

The door closed, and the footsteps gradually faded in the corridor.

Jiang Zhiyu stood in place, looking at the closed door, silent for a moment.

Then he smiled.

Not an "I won" smile, not an "I've had enough fun" smile, but an "She's angry" smile.

She was angry because she said "Be quiet."

She said "Be quiet" because he said "get bigger" cake.

He smiled because he just wanted to make her angry.

Not "wanted," but "purposefully."

Purposefully said "get bigger" cake, purposefully said "Big head, big head," purposefully made her angry.

This kind of tactic was very childish, very much like that kindergarten behavior of "a little boy bullying a little girl to get her attention."

He was that little boy, and she was that little girl.

He bullied her not because he disliked her, but because he didn't know how to approach her.

If he approached her, he would say the wrong thing.

If he said the wrong thing, she would get angry.

If she got angry, she would ignore him.

If she ignored him, he would—he would chase.

He walked over and sat back in the corner at the very back.

The chair was still warm, the seat held the temperature she had left behind.

He placed his hand on that spot, feeling that little bit of dissipating, faint body heat that belonged to Bae Joo-hyun.

He wondered, how many words would she write?

5,000? 6,000? 10,000?

He didn't care.

What he cared about was—what she would write.

Writing about the Red Queen, writing about Alice, writing about the Mad Hatter.

Writing that she didn't like the Red Queen, writing that she didn't want to be called "Big head."

Writing what she was thinking when she heard "get bigger" cake.

She wouldn't write it, because she wouldn't tell the truth.

He knew.

He just wanted to see her write.

If she wrote, he could see her handwriting.

If he saw her handwriting, he could see her heart.

Her heart was hidden in the words, the words were hidden in the paper.

Holding the paper in his hand, he could feel the weight.

If the weight wasn't right, he could ask her "Are you just going through the motions?"

She wouldn't go through the motions, because she didn't want him to discover she was just going through the motions.

If he discovered it, he would say "Rewrite."

She didn't want to rewrite.

So she would write seriously.

Serious words allowed one to see the heart.

He wanted to see her heart.

So he made her write 5,000 words.

Not "retaliation," but an "excuse."

An excuse to see the words she wrote, an excuse to see her heart.

He didn't dare to ask directly, so he made her write.

He was a coward.

He knew.

(20:15) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply: [Practice just finished! Lami turned into a little fan and blew air at me, Ningning said "Unnie, you're laughing too wildly," but holding the cool Slime, I really couldn't help it~ (Sends a photo with hair blown messy, eyes squinted and giggling)]

(20:18) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply: [Today I taught Lami to dance the chorus of "Next Level," but it twisted itself into a pretzel... Now it's flashing yellow light and seems to be sulking! Should I feed it some gear lubricant as a placebo? (Pokes the pancake-shaped Lami)]

(20:21) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply: [Manager Unnie said "Lami is more popular than me now," because the security uncles all actively help it press the elevator button! Ah, does this count as workplace bullying? (Lami flashing purple light obediently in the elevator corner.gif)]

(20:24) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply: [Had fried chicken for dinner, Lami used "Health Monitoring Mode" to sound an alarm for my heart rate... but it clearly wanted to sneak a bite too! I saw its gear rotation speed up when it stared at the fried chicken! (Attached close-up of Lami's internal gears spinning wildly when facing fried chicken)]

(20:27) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply: [Now Lami has turned into a star-shaped night light glowing at the bedside, Ningning says it looks like a "mini spaceship." If it could fly, the first stop would definitely be to fly to someone's office window, right?]

(20:30) Minjeong Who Doesn't Reply: [Today was another day spoiled by the purple jelly and someone. Good night, existence that even the Slime is jealous of. (Sends a goodnight photo using Lami to cover half her face, showing only her curved eyes)]