47: Chapter 47 Time to Eat!

Jiang Zhiyu heard the news from a colleague at the company. That afternoon, he was sitting in the recording studio, enjoying an afternoon snack he had bought from the coffee shop downstairs. A piece of tiramisu, an iced Americano, and a strawberry-flavored macaron. He took a bite of the macaron, the cloyingly sweet almond flour melting on the tip of his tongue, mingled with the sweet and sour taste of strawberry jam.

A colleague pushed the door open, holding a coffee in his hand. He stood at the doorway and hesitated for a moment, seemingly mulling over his words. Finally, he spoke: "Producer Jiang, have you heard? JYP has set the release date for TWICE's new song for May 20th."

Jiang Zhiyu's fingers paused for a moment, then he picked up the macaron again. "May 20th?" He repeated, his tone flat, revealing no emotion. The colleague nodded: "Yes, the same day as Red Velvet."

Jiang Zhiyu stuffed the rest of the macaron into his mouth, chewed twice, swallowed, and then let out a cold laugh. The laugh was short and light, spilling from deep within his throat, carrying a sense of confirmation: "I knew it." He had thought Lee Tima would choose May 21st or May 19th; one day apart would be a provocation, two days apart would be respect, and three days apart would be awe. The same day—that wasn't a provocation, it was a declaration of war.

Jiang Zhiyu leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and took a sip of the iced Americano. It was bitter, bitter enough to make the tip of his tongue numb. He didn't frown, because he was already accustomed to the bitterness. He set the cup down, looked at the gray sky outside the window, and spoke slowly in a tone that suggested he was "evaluating something unimportant," a mix of a cold laugh and speechlessness. "A mere little love song, and it dares to be mentioned in the same breath as my Red Queen?"

He shook his head, his expression shifting from "speechless" to "disdain," and from "disdain" to "pity." "She really can't tell the difference between the small and big trump cards." He paused, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Lee Tima, she still loses because she is too young and frivolous. This child still needs to be tempered."

After saying this, he picked up his phone and took a look, confirming there were no messages from Lee Tima, then placed the phone face down on the table and continued eating the tiramisu. He scooped up a spoonful of mascarpone cheese and put it into his mouth; it was delicate, dense, and bitter amidst the sweetness. He thought—Lee Tima must be eating dessert too; she liked chocolate, the more bitter the better, she said that only bitter things were life. Her life was only nine years old, what was there to be bitter about? He stopped thinking about it.

Recently, things had been going very smoothly for Jiang Zhiyu. Not just "smoothly," but "too smoothly." Musical inspiration would pop up every two steps; it would pop up while walking in the hallway, standing in the elevator, or even when flushing the toilet. He had to carry a voice recorder with him because his phone's memo app was no longer enough.

There was too much inspiration, so much that his brain felt like an overheated machine that needed to stop and cool down from time to time. But he didn't need to stop, because his songwriting speed was faster than the speed at which inspiration emerged. One inspiration would pop up, he would write a song, another would pop up, he would write another. Write and delete, delete and write, write and delete again, delete and write again, maintaining a stable output every day.

SM's work of "killing with praise" was also proceeding in an orderly manner. His work method was very fixed: get the file, read, edit, finish, put it in the drawer, lock it, and wait until the night before the deadline to submit it. Submitting it meant "completed on time." Completed on time meant he wouldn't be nitpicked. No nitpicking meant no extra work, and no extra work meant he was free.

Moreover, the quality was exceptionally high, so high that every time Kim Young-min saw his files, he would be silent for a long time, then pick up the phone and call the secretary's office. "Jiang Zhiyu's files, no need to review them from now on, pass them directly." When this sentence reached Jiang Zhiyu's ears, he was drinking milk tea. He took a sip and didn't smile. Because he was thinking— "No need to review from now on, it means that whatever I write, you will use. Once used, I will have to write more." He didn't smile, because he couldn't smile.

Kim Young-min and Lee Soo-man seemed to have sensed something—not "seemed," but "already had." From the day they decided to "kill with praise" Jiang Zhiyu, they had been paying close attention to him. Paying attention to his output, his quality, his efficiency. They watched him handle work alone that originally required several departments to process, watched him complete projects alone that originally required several teams to finish, and watched him single-handedly fill positions that originally required several people to hold.

Kim Young-min was silent for a long time, then said— "How come I haven't encountered such a bastard genius before." Lee Soo-man didn't say "bastard," he said "useful." The difference between these two words is— "bastard" is when you want to scold him but can't bear to, "useful" is when you want to use him but are afraid of breaking him.

Neither of them said "genius," because they knew the word genius didn't do this person justice. He was a monster, a monster who didn't need to sleep to write songs, a monster who didn't need to eat to do planning, a monster who wouldn't collapse no matter how much work he faced. The good thing about a monster is that he doesn't get tired, the bad thing is that you don't know when he will get tired. By the day he is tired, you will know he has been holding on for a long time.

Kim Young-min didn't want to wait for that day, so he added more work the day before. Add a little more, then a little more, until even the monster couldn't hold on. Once he couldn't hold on, he would collapse. Once he collapsed, he could be replaced, replaced with a newcomer. The newcomer would be obedient, wouldn't sit on files, wouldn't submit them only the day before the deadline. The newcomer's quality might not be as good as his, but the newcomer would be cheap, easy to manage, and wouldn't make Kim Young-min feel like a waste.

Kim Young-min felt like a waste because Jiang Zhiyu was doing the work of an entire department by himself. He didn't want to feel like a waste, so he made Jiang Zhiyu do more. Do more, and he would make mistakes. Once he made mistakes, he wouldn't be a waste. Jiang Zhiyu hadn't made any mistakes yet, so he was still waiting.

The number of times Jiang Zhiyu was invited to dinner by middle management at the company increased significantly. It used to be once a week, now it was once every three days. It used to be barbecue restaurants, now it was Korean beef restaurants. It used to be split the bill, now the other party paid. Jiang Zhiyu never refused because he liked eating Korean beef and didn't have to pay for it himself.

At the dinner table, the leaders would always exchange pleasantries first: "Producer Jiang has been working hard lately," "I've heard Producer Jiang's new song, it's truly a masterpiece," "Producer Jiang is young and promising, your future is limitless." Then the conversation would shift— "Producer Jiang, uh, could you... just a little... go easy on us?"

Jiang Zhiyu picked up a piece of Korean beef, dipped it in sauce, wrapped it in lettuce, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "Go easy?" He pretended not to understand. The leader rubbed his hands, the sweat on his forehead reflecting under the lights. "It's just... uh... don't do it too well. Our department also has evaluations. If you do too well, the standards from above will go up. Once they go up, they won't come back down. If they don't come down, we'll be in a passive position. If we're passive, it will affect our performance, and if performance is affected, our bonuses will be deducted. If the bonuses are deducted, my wife won't let me come home."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at that sincere face and picked up another piece of Korean beef. "I'll try my best." He tried his best, but he couldn't "try his best." Because his songwriting was just at that level, not "good," but "that level." That level was the level Kim Young-min felt was "one person doing the work of a department." He couldn't lower his level, because if he lowered it, he would feel uncomfortable. If he felt uncomfortable, he would change it, and once changed, it would return to its original level. Returning to it would be a waste of effort. He didn't like doing things that were a waste of effort, so he continued to write. The leaders sighed and picked up another piece of Korean beef for him.

Kim Taeyeon's radio show made it to the hot search. The topic entry was very long— "Kim Taeyeon Radio Jiang Zhiyu Ken Tai Yang Ice Boiled Lamb Trekking to Antarctica." Clicking in, the first item was a clip of Jiang Zhiyu imitating Kim Taeyeon's voice saying, "I am Kim Taeyeon Mark II," the second was a clip of Jiang Zhiyu saying "ice-boiled lamb," and the third was a clip of Jiang Zhiyu saying "trekking to Antarctica." The comment section was laughing like crazy. Someone asked "What is Ken Tai Yang?" and someone answered "A transliteration of Kim Taeyeon's pronunciation by Chinese fans." Then they asked "What is ice-boiled lamb?" and the answer was "A traditional Northern Chinese delicacy." Then they asked "Why go to Antarctica?" and the answer was "Kim Taeyeon is too hot, she's going to Antarctica to cool down."

These clips not only became popular in South Korea but were also carried over to China. The nickname "Ken Tai Yang" given to Kim Taeyeon by Chinese fans originally came from the Chinese transliteration. Kim Taeyeon laughed for a long time after hearing it, and after laughing, she said, "I don't look like a sheep, I look like a deer." The fans said, "Deer works too," and she said, "Deer doesn't work either, I am who I am." The fans said, "Okay, Ken Tai Yang," and she said, "Yah!" The interaction was screenshotted and posted online, becoming popular for another round.

Political jokes also spread widely. Not "political," but "borderline." The things Jiang Zhiyu said sounded just funny to Koreans, but to Chinese people— "The sun in the north," "the people in the south," "where do you have to pass through to trek to Antarctica"—those who know, know. Those who understood laughed, and after laughing, they reposted, after reposting they commented, after commenting they liked, and after liking, the hot search rose another spot.

Im Yoona secretly spilled the beans to Jiang Zhiyu. When Girls Generation had a dinner gathering, Kim Taeyeon got drunk after a few drinks—not "drunk," but "tipsy." Tipsy people talk more, and when they talk more, they speak their true feelings. "That bastard Jiang Zhiyu, I'm going to suppress him." She slapped the table, her voice very loud, loud enough that the guests at the next table turned to look. Sooyoung hurriedly held down her hand, Sunny covered her mouth, Tiffany pretended not to know her, Yuri picked up her phone to record it, and Hyoyeon laughed out loud beside them.

Im Yoona sat in the corner, silently watching all of this. Once Kim Taeyeon was subdued, she lowered her head, opened the chat interface with Jiang Zhiyu, and sent a message— "Unnie says she's going to suppress you." Then she sent an emoji, an evil demon king laughing, two eyes curved into crescent moons, the corners of the mouth stretched to the ears, with a background of flames.

Jiang Zhiyu's reply came very quickly. "Noona should worry more about your flopped movie sales!" Im Yoona's smile froze. She looked at that line of text, gritting her teeth, her fingers tapping very hard on the screen, tapping until the phone case was making a sound. "Jiang Zhiyu, you—!" She didn't send it, because she didn't know what to write next. Write "You're courting death"? Too cliché. Write "Just you wait"? Too weak. Write "My movie didn't flop"? Too fake.

She deleted that line of text, opened her photo album, found a screenshot of Jiang Zhiyu imitating Kim Taeyeon on the radio, sent it over, and added a caption. "You're quite free too." Jiang Zhiyu replied— "I'm working." Im Yoona sent an "Angry.jpg," with a red face, raised eyebrows, round eyes, and an open mouth showing two rows of teeth. That was her standard angry emoji, which she had used for many years. Jiang Zhiyu replied with a "." Im Yoona threw her phone onto the sofa.

IU has been in a bad mood lately. She had only completed one-third of the 600,000 trigger-pulling lottery tasks. It wasn't her fault; she was busy—so busy that she didn't have time to pull the trigger. She had concert rehearsals, new song recordings, commercial shoots, variety show recordings, magazine interviews, and brand events to attend. Her schedule was packed so tightly that even bathroom breaks had to be booked in advance. The priority of the trigger-pulling task was so low that she had placed it after "completing all other work." But the work was never-ending, so the trigger-pulling task was always pushed to "later."

She asked many people for their opinions. Her assistant said, "Just pull it whenever you have a moment; it adds up." She tried it, pulling it once when she was free, and then immediately became busy. The director said, "This is love for the fans; you must take it seriously." She wanted to take it seriously, but she didn't have the time. The cleaning lady said, "No matter what IU does, the fans will support her." She felt the lady was right, but she couldn't just slack off because the fans would support her. She felt everyone was just brushing her off, so she asked Jiang Zhiyu.

That night, IU was lying in her dorm staring at the ceiling when a message popped up on her phone screen. Jiang Zhiyu: "Noona, just film a video and let Han Te do it. He's a grown man; he can handle it." She blinked and read it again. Jiang Zhiyu's logic was simple: You are an artist; your hands are for holding microphones, not for pulling triggers. He is a Manager; his fingers have no insurance, so he can pull it all he wants—if he breaks them, the company pays. You can let the security guard play too; he's big and strong, and his shooting skills must be great, so have him aim specifically for the 10,000 KRW grid. You can film a short video and post it online; the fans will feel sorry for you and say, "IU's hands are for singing, not for pulling triggers." Besides, compared to your unlucky hands, the security guard will hit the 10,000 KRW grid 100% of the time. Sales will double.

IU was silent for a long time after reading it. "Thanks, you're trying to make me go bankrupt. Also, what do you mean by my 'unlucky hands'?" Jiang Zhiyu replied: "Exactly what it sounds like." IU gritted her teeth, slammed her phone on the table, and took a deep breath. "Jiang Zhiyu, just you wait." She waited for a long time, but no reply came. She checked her phone: "Read."

The next day, Han Te's work accompanying the artist was suspended. It wasn't a "suspension," it was a "reassignment." From "accompanying IU on her schedule" to "sitting in a warehouse pulling the trigger." Eight hours a day, doing only one motion—holding a toy gun, aiming at the spinning wheel, and pulling the trigger—to be repeated 400,000 times. The spinning wheel was automatic, and the toy gun used infrared detection; if he hit it, the wheel would light up; if he missed, there was no reaction. Han Te pulled it for the first hour and thought it was quite fun, like playing a game. The second hour, his fingers started to ache. The third hour, the ache turned into pain. The fourth hour, the pain turned into numbness. The fifth hour, the numbness turned into a complete lack of feeling. The sixth hour, he started questioning his life. The seventh hour, he was thinking, "Why did I apply to SM?" The eighth hour, he was thinking, "Why am I a human?" When he got off work, his fingers were cramped and stiff, unable to straighten or clench, looking like chicken feet.

Han Te requested a work-related injury assessment. IU said, "I'll give you 100 KRW for every pull; 400,000 times is 40 million KRW. Do the math yourself." Han Te was silent. He did the mental math: 40 million KRW, which is about 220,000 RMB. His monthly salary was 3.5 million KRW, so 40 million KRW was almost a year's salary. He looked at his hand, then at the toy gun on the table, and sat down to continue pulling the trigger. Click, click, click. One pull, 100 KRW; click, 100 KRW; click, 100 KRW; click, 100 KRW. He imagined himself as a human money-printing machine—except he wasn't printing money, he was printing the lifespan of his fingers.

IU really did post two videos. The first video was filmed by herself. In the shot, she held up her hand, her index finger wrapped in a bandage, her eyes red, her lips slightly pouted, looking extremely pitiful. She spoke to the camera in a wronged tone, "Fans, I hurt my hand." Then she ripped off the bandage; her finger was perfectly fine, white and tender, without a single scratch. She stuck out her tongue sheepishly and smiled—a very sweet smile, with a hint of craftiness. The caption below the video read: "Fooled you, hehe." It got over a million likes.

The second video featured the security guard and Han Te. The security guard stood in front of the spinning wheel, holding the toy gun, aiming, pulling the trigger, and hitting the 10,000 KRW grid. The wheel lit up and made a "ding-dong" sound. He remained expressionless, continuing to aim, pull the trigger, and hit the target. He didn't change his expression, didn't skip a beat, as if executing a task that required no thought. The camera cut to Han Te, who was sitting in the corner, also holding a toy gun, aiming, pulling the trigger—and missing. His fingers were shaking—not just "shaking," but "spasming." His face was written with the words: "I want to go home." The caption below the video read: "Thank you for your hard work."

Fans felt sorry for IU, but they had spent money, so they could make demands. Trucks blocked the building of Loen Entertainment. On the red electronic screens, subtitles scrolled: "Please let the security guard pull the trigger when drawing the 'IUlove' wheel rewards; we want the 10,000 KRW," "IU's hands are for holding microphones, not for pulling triggers," "Sponsored by the Han Te Care Association: Han Te has unlucky hands, please don't make him do this, please." The trucks formed a circle, like they were holding a concert. The security guard stood at the entrance, watching the trucks, holding the unopened box of pain relief patches a colleague had shoved into his hand. He was silent for a long time, then opened the box, tore off a patch, and applied it to the web of his hand. Today was the first day. Tomorrow would be the second, the day after the third. Would his fingers break? He didn't know. What he did know was: 40 million KRW—worth it.

Jiang Zhiyu finished scrolling through these videos, put his phone back on the table, and took a sip of his iced Americano. The iced Americano didn't taste bitter anymore because the sweetness of the tiramisu still lingered in his mouth. The sweetness neutralized the bitterness, making it less noticeable. Less noticeable meant it was gone. Gone meant—he smiled. Not a "cold smile," not a "mocking smile," but a "finding it funny" smile. Lee Tima was competing against him, Kim Taeyeon wanted to suppress him, Im Yoona was so angry at him she threw her phone, and IU's employee was pulling a trigger. He sat in the recording studio, drinking his iced Americano and eating tiramisu. He felt like he had won a lot, and yet like he had won nothing at all. What he had won were minor matters; what he hadn't won were major matters. The major matter was: his five-year plan was still in progress. Karina, Kim Minjeong, and Ningning were still practicing desperately for their debut, Uchinaga Eri didn't know if she could fit in with them yet, Red Velvet's new album would take another month to release, TWICE's new song was releasing on the same day, and that brat Lee Tima was still competing against him. He still had many things to do, so he finished the tiramisu, finished the iced Americano, stood up, threw the paper cup into the trash can, and walked back to sit in front of the mixing console.

——

The atmosphere at JYP Entertainment was now filled with pink Bubbles floating everywhere. In the hallway, trainees walked by in twos and threes, humming the same melody. When they reached the chorus, they would unconsciously stop, cup their cheeks with both hands, eyes curving into crescent moons, and sigh, "I really want to fall in love too." This wasn't individual behavior; it was collective hysteria. No one knew the cause, no one knew the cure, and no one knew when it would end. Everyone only knew that this song was written by Lee Tima, Lee Tima was Jiang Zhiyu's sister, Jiang Zhiyu was from SM, and SM was JYP's rival. This complicated relationship made many people give up thinking. Stop thinking, let's fall in love. The power of "love declaration" spread from JYP to the employees' homes.

It is said that a male employee in the planning department turned over in his sleep late at night and mumbled, "I really want to fall in love too." His wife didn't turn over; she didn't talk in her sleep. She just opened her eyes in the darkness and slapped him across the face. The sound was loud—loud enough to scare the child in the next room into crying. The male employee woke up from his dream, clutching his cheek, and looked at his wife's glowing eyes in the dark. He asked, "What's wrong?" She said, "Who do you want to fall in love with?" He said, "I didn't," she said, "You said it," he said, "I was talking in my sleep," she said, "Sleep talk is the truth." He couldn't defend himself and suffered from insomnia the entire night. The next morning, he walked into the company with dark circles under his eyes, and the first thing he did was go find Lee Tima. He stood at the door of her recording studio, took a deep breath, and knocked. Lee Tima opened the door, looked up at him, and had a lollipop in her mouth. "What is it?" He looked at her for a long time, then lowered his head. "...Nothing. The song is pretty good." He turned and walked away, leaving Lee Tima alone in the hallway with the lollipop in her mouth, looking confused.

Choreographing the song wasn't difficult because the melody itself already carried a sense of rhythm. The choreographer took only two days to build the main framework. The dance move for the chorus was a finger heart gesture—simple, easy to learn, and catchy. This gesture wasn't the choreographer's idea; it was proposed by Lee Tima. She had drawn a diagram on paper showing a finger heart, with a note next to it: "It needs to be sweet here, sweet enough to make your throat cloy." The choreographer stared at the diagram for a long time. "Is that how you use that word?" "No, but I like it." The choreographer didn't argue because he liked it too.

Park Jin-young seemed very interested in the dance creation. He had been frequently entering and leaving the practice room for the past two days, wearing a baseball cap and sportswear, holding a notebook, stopping from time to time to write a few words. His expression was very serious—serious enough that it looked like he was composing a symphony. But his dance steps were not serious; they were like an ape moving through the jungle. Not "bad," but "too much personal style." Too much personal style wasn't suitable for a girl group. He knew that, so he just watched and didn't interfere.

Today, the entire group of TWICE arrived at the practice room. The nine of them walked in one after another. Im Nayeon walked in front, holding an iced Americano, with a sleepy, dazed look on her face. Momo followed behind, chewing on something—probably breakfast. Sana was third. Her way of walking in was unique, as if she brought her own BGM; even the air seemed to become lively. Jihyo, Jeongyeon, Mina, Dahyun, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu followed behind.

Lee Tima stood in the center of the practice room, wearing a white dress, pigtails, and polished leather shoes. She had been waiting for a while. She wasn't holding a lollipop because her persona for the day was a cold, aloof creator. Aloof people don't eat candy; aloof people only drink iced Americanos. She took a sip of the iced Americano she was holding—it was bitter, so bitter she almost spat it out. She swallowed it without frowning, because aloof people don't frown. She just placed the cup far away, somewhere she couldn't reach.

Sana was the first to rush over.

Her speed was so fast, like a launched cannonball; she rushed in front of Lee Tima, crouched down, cupped Lee Tima's face in her hands, and rubbed it vigorously.

Lee Tima's face was squeezed into various shapes in her palms—circular, oval, polygonal, irregular.

Sana's eyes were glowing, and she was shouting, "Kawaii! Kawaii! Kawaii!"

Her voice was so loud that Momo almost dropped her breakfast, so loud that Jihyo spilled a bit of the water cup she was holding, and so loud that Park Jin-young heard it from the hallway, pausing his footsteps and hesitating whether to go in now.

He went in now.

He pushed open the door and saw Sana crouching on the ground rubbing Lee Tima's face, with the other members standing in a circle watching, no one stepping up to stop her.

It wasn't that they didn't want to, but that they didn't dare.

Sana's power went without saying; no one in all of TWICE dared to provoke her.

Because she knew how to act cute, indiscriminately, regardless of the person, occasion, or time.

Park Jin-young had also been on the receiving end of her aegyo. He recalled how he, a man in his fifties, almost lost his footing when she called him "Oppa." Since then, he decided that the selection criteria for future girl groups must include one rule: "Must not be too good at acting cute."

Tzuyu dared to.

She was the type to head toward the mountain knowing there was a tiger, because she felt that the tiger wasn't scary.

The tiger wasn't scary; what was scary was that no one went to stop it.

She took a step forward.

The older sisters secretly gave a thumbs-up, full affirmation from TWICE.

Their thumbs were held high, so high it was like raising a flag.

Tzuyu's pace was neither fast nor slow, and every step was steady.

She walked behind Sana, reached out, and placed her hand on Sana's shoulder.

Sana turned back, saw Tzuyu's calm face, and her hand movements paused for a moment.

Tzuyu spoke up. "Sana Unnie, can you please not do that?" Her voice wasn't loud, but it was clear.

Sana blinked. "If you want to rub someone's face, rub mine instead." When Tzuyu said this, her expression was very calm, so calm that it was like she was saying, "The weather is nice today."

But after she finished, she blushed. The red spread from the base of her neck all the way up, reaching her ear tips and her hairline. She pursed her lips, eyes looking at the floor, not daring to look at anyone.

Everyone's gaze turned towards her. Im Nayeon's gaze held the relief of "Tzuyu, you've grown up," Momo's gaze held the admiration of "Tzuyu is so brave," Sana's gaze held the curiosity of "Tzuyu, are you serious," Jihyo's gaze held the emotion of "The leader is very touched," Jeongyeon's gaze held the affection of "How can this child be so cute," Mina's gaze held the appreciation of "Tzuyu is so gentle," Kim Da-hyun's gaze held the helplessness of "Tzuyu is too honest," and Chaeyoung's gaze held the confusion of "Tzuyu, are you stupid?"

Nine people, nine different gazes, all focused on Tzuyu alone.

Her face became even redder, red like a ripe tomato, red like her heart that was about to explode at this moment.

She took small steps to Lee Tima, reached out, grabbed Lee Tima's wrist, and rescued her from Sana's demonic claws.

The action was fast, so fast that before Lee Tima could react, she had already been pulled behind Tzuyu.

Tzuyu's back was broad—not "broad" in size, but "broad" in that it gave people a sense of security.

Lee Tima hid behind Tzuyu and peeked out half her head, looking at Sana, the curve of her lips not a "smile," but a "I won."

Lee Tima breathed a sigh of relief. She looked up at Tzuyu's face; Tzuyu was still blushing, red to her ear tips, red to her neck. "Thank you, Unnie." Tzuyu didn't answer, just nodded. Her hand was still holding Lee Tima's wrist, having forgotten to let go.

Sana crouched in place, her hands still maintaining the posture of rubbing a face, palms empty.

She looked at her palms, looked at the lines that had just been cupping Lee Tima's cheeks, and was silent for a moment. "Tzuyu-ah, what did you mean when you said 'If you want to rub someone's face, rub mine instead' just now?"

"Just exactly what it means." Sana's eyes brightened. "Then am I really going to rub it?"

Tzuyu's body stiffened for a moment, then she slowly turned her head back to look at Sana, looking at Sana's sparkling, glowing eyes, and the curve at the corner of Sana's mouth that she couldn't suppress. "... No." Tzuyu's voice was very small, so small it was like she was talking to herself.

Sana laughed, laughing until she swayed back and forth, laughing until tears came out, laughing until Momo finally finished her breakfast.

She stood up, brushed the dust off her skirt, and reached out both hands towards Tzuyu. "Tzuyu-ah, come here."

Tzuyu took a step back, retreating until she was against the wall, back against the mirror, with nowhere else to go. She watched Sana approach step by step, with only one thought in her mind: "Why did I say that just now?" She regretted it, but it was too late for regrets.

Jihyo cleared her throat, for a long time. As the leader, she needed to step up at times like this to maintain order. "Sana, that's enough."

Sana stopped and turned to look at Jihyo. Jihyo's expression was very serious, so serious it was as if she were saying, "If you do this again, I'll report you to the company president." Sana stuck out her tongue and walked back to her position.

Tzuyu breathed a sigh of relief, walked out from the wall, and returned to her position. Her face was still red, lighter than before, but still very obvious.

Lee Tima stood in the center of the practice room, tidying up her hair that had been messed up by the rubbing. Her twin tails had come undone, and one hair tie was still hanging precariously at the end of her hair.

She took the hair tie off, held it in her mouth, and re-tied her hair with both hands. Her movements were very skillful, so skillful she didn't need a mirror.

She finished tying it, patted the dust off her skirt, took a deep breath, and put on that cold, aloof expression again. Her chin was slightly raised, her gaze leveled forward, and there was no curve to her lips.

What just happened was just a small interlude; she was a cold, aloof creator, not a real-life doll to have her face frantically rubbed by Sana while being called "Kawaii."

She had adjusted herself, entered her role, and stood in the center of the practice room. Her entire aura changed from "soft, cute, milky dumpling" to "stay away from strangers."

Im Nayeon looked at Lee Tima's forced appearance and sighed. "Tima-ah, you are absolutely not the cold, aloof type."

Lee Tima's eyes widened. "I'm not suited for being cold and aloof? I don't believe it!" Her voice was loud, loud enough to echo in the practice room.

Her eyes were wide and round, reflecting Im Nayeon's helpless face in her pupils. Her mouth was slightly pouted, her whole face written with dissatisfaction, "You are questioning me." But the more she was like this, the cuter she appeared. It wasn't the cuteness of being "cold and aloof," but the cuteness of "failing to pretend to be cold and aloof."

Im Nayeon didn't continue to argue, because she knew arguing was useless. Lee Tima wouldn't listen; she would only pretend even harder. She would only stop once everyone could see she was pretending. Im Nayeon didn't want to waste time, so she shut her mouth. Lee Tima thought her silence was acquiescence, and acquiescence meant she had won. She had won, so she continued to pretend to be cold and aloof.

Lee Tima turned her gaze towards Mina. Mina stood there, hands hanging at her sides, back straight, expression calm, unable to read any emotion.

She wasn't pretending to be cold and aloof; she was truly cold and aloof. Her coldness was in her bones; it didn't need effort, it didn't need adjustment, it didn't need her to mentally recite "I am a cold, aloof person." Standing there, she was the embodiment of cold and aloof.

Lee Tima watched her and started secretly learning from her. Her ability to imitate was very strong, it had been strong since Tianxuan Continent. Jiang Zhiyu had taught her that a qualified singer must learn to imitate. Imitate others' singing styles, imitate others' stage presence, imitate others' expressions. Once the imitation was on point, then find one's own style. She had learned to imitate, but hadn't yet learned to find her own style. No, she had her own style, it was just that her style wasn't being cold and aloof.

Kim Da-hyun couldn't help but say it out loud. Her mouth was faster than her brain; the words were already out before her brain could catch up. "Tima-ah, are you imitating Mina?" She didn't mean to; she just found it funny, and when she found it funny, she wanted to laugh, and when she laughed, she wanted to talk, and when she talked, she said what was on her mind. After she finished saying it, she regretted it.

Everyone burst into laughter. Im Nayeon laughed while holding her stomach, Momo laughed until she crouched on the ground, Sana laughed until she leaned on Jihyo's shoulder, Jihyo laughed and patted Jeongyeon's back, and Jeongyeon was patted into stumbling forward a step. Mina didn't laugh; her face turned red. It wasn't the red of "shyness," but the red of "being called out." Her lips were pursed, her eyes looking at the floor, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.

Lee Tima stubbornly said, "No, this is my cold, aloof look!" Her tone was very firm, firm as if she were saying "The sun rises in the east." But her face betrayed her; her face was turning red, from her ear tips to her neck, from her neck to her collarbone. Her ears were burning, burning until she felt her hair was about to catch fire. She cursed Kim Da-hyun in her heart, "Dahyun Unnie, can you not tell the truth?" She didn't curse out loud, because she had to maintain her cold, aloof persona. Cold, aloof people don't curse; cold, aloof people only kill with their eyes. She glared at Kim Da-hyun, but Kim Da-hyun didn't receive it because she was still laughing.

Chaeyoung covered her mouth, her eyes curving into crescents, her voice squeezed out from between her fingers: "Oh—Mina Unnie, Tima says you are very cold and aloof." She didn't mean it, she just thought it was fun. It was fun so she wanted to add fuel to the fire, and adding fuel to the fire made her want to see Mina's reaction. Mina's reaction made her very satisfied—not "satisfied," but "wanting to tease her more." Mina's face turned even redder. Red like a strawberry, red like her mood that was about to start smoking at this moment. She opened her mouth to say something, but didn't say it. Because she didn't know what to say. Say "I'm not cold and aloof"? Too fake. Say "Tima isn't imitating me"? Too fake. Say "You guys stop laughing"? Too true. The truth couldn't be said, so she shut her mouth.

Lee Tima looked at Mina's beet-red face, and a voice in her heart said— "I'm not imitating you, I'm becoming you." She didn't say it, because she knew if she said it, she would be laughed at. Laughing once wasn't enough, laughing twice, laughing three times, laughing until the next time they met they would still be laughing. She didn't want to be laughed at, so she shut her mouth.

Park Jin-young stood at the doorway and watched for a long time. He saw Sana rubbing Lee Tima's face, saw Tzuyu step forward and be chased by Sana, saw Jihyo maintaining order, saw Lee Tima fail at pretending to be cold and aloof, and saw everyone laughing in a group. He suddenly felt that having Lee Tima in this group was actually not bad. Not "not bad," but "very interesting." Interesting was good. He cleared his throat and walked in. The practice room instantly went quiet, everyone stood up straight, bowed, and greeted him. Park Jin-young waved his hand, walked to the front, and concentrated all gazes on himself. He raised his right index finger, pointed to the ceiling, his voice not loud, but very clear. He had said this sentence many times, each time with the same tone, the same expression, and the same gesture. Today, when he said it, Momo was holding back laughter, Sana was holding back laughter, and Lee Tima was also holding back laughter. Because when he pointed to the ceiling, his sleeve slid down, revealing that red scratch on his arm from when his cat scratched him yesterday. The red scratch was long, from his wrist to his elbow, like a thin red snake. Lee Tima looked at that red scratch and thought in her heart— "So gorillas also get scratched by cats." She didn't say it out loud, because she had to maintain her cold, aloof persona. Cold, aloof people don't laugh; cold, aloof people only laugh in their hearts. She laughed in her heart, laughing very happily.