“The Hunan Conference,” is what she says, her eyes shifting as Luhan motions to her that he is going to step outside for a smoke, and she passes him an okay. “You might have heard us mention it once or twice before, but if not, let me explain. You’ve done walks, yeah, and even though you haven’t done many, you know what a typical showcase is like. The Hunan Conference is perhaps the largest and most risky showcase throughout the entire working year, held every year around this time. It’s not like a small showcase, where the president may be alone with his release or he may be joined by a handful of other couturiers. This is a showcase where every currently well-known, or even up-and-coming, designer faces off to earn a direct-to-press sale. What that means, in short, is that if President Wu were to be one of the chosen whilst in Hunan, he will not have to do any advertisements for his release and is practically guaranteed to sell extremely well.”

Oh. No, Zitao hasn’t heard of it before, but he understands the gist of what she is saying. If the president’s release is well-accepted by the Hunan magistrates, not only will that specific couture line earn him much revenue, but his models will get bonuses, as well as possibly getting shuffled around. “That’s when you guys shuffle staff - isn’t it? Qian mentioned the position changes before.”

Swiftly, she nods. “Many tabloids come out right after the showcase, and it is very often that they like to go in-depth on which models stole the show, and which ones sort-of, faded into the background. President Wu takes these publications very seriously and bases a lot of his own opinions on them. He requires the opinion of the professional public on what sells, as you know, and if one model does not sell as well as another, then he views them as not as capable, and they are either moved to a different coordinator or relegated. That’s how I was demoted.”

“Oh,” he comments softly, not knowing how to truly respond. “I’m sorry - I truly am. No wonder everybody wanted to slit my throat when the president stuck me in Marketing on my first day.”

She giggles, and it feels like he is slowly, steadily, coming home. “Yeah, well, can you blame them? It’s a full-on war to make it into the Marketing department, so for you to get there just by batting your eyelashes and looking cute - we swore you and the president must have been having the occasional roll in the hay.”

He cannot help the way he flushes, at that, because he used to be repulsed by the idea of becoming ually involved with the president - until he almost did. There were several stark occasions where they almost did too much, and Zitao blames himself, entirely. “So, wait,” he comments quickly, wanting to get rid of such thoughts, as now is not the proper time. “Where do I come into that plan, exactly? What’s that got to do with me?”

“Ah, right,” Minseo nods, having lost her train of thought, going off on that tangent. “Well, since you left, I was shoved into the line-up as your understudy, since this showcase is pretty much solely with the girls from the Marketing department, plus some old veterans like Sojin. Since it doesn’t include any other Recreation models, Jessica is the frontrunner, like she is every single year.”

A nod. “Okay,” he comments softly - drawn-out, almost, as though not sure of where she is going to take this. “And?”

“And, with her having been given her position back,” Minseo emphasizes, “it’s kind of like she had never been punished in the first place. Worse - she’s now your understudy. When you were fired, I was abruptly added to the lineup as your stand-in - not Jessica, and she had been so enraged about it that she had thrown a huge tantrum in front of the president and he ended up giving the understudy role to her, instead but had let me stay in the lineup as compensation.”

The thought of Little Miss Perfect settling to be level with him both intrigued him and thoroughly disgusted him - on one hand, the thought that he had been considered so talented that only Jessica could truly satisfy his empty role is quite invigorating, but on the other hand, he would never willingly stoop down to her level if he could help it. To think of them as sudden equals is rather nauseating, actually, and Zitao barely suppresses an eye-roll. “So, I see that President Wu’s taste in models died out along with his heart. Good to know.”

Minseo laughs at that, and it tugs at something within Zitao’s chest, forcing the corners of his lips to pull into a grin. “So, what I had planned, you will probably reject, but hear me out. What if - hear me out,” she presses, sensing Zitao’s increasing wariness as she rushes to the chase, “what if, just like the Shanghai show when she had sabotaged you and had taken your big debut away from you, we sabotaged her, instead?”

Ah, yes, there is the catch. Although he loves Minseo to the absolute moon and back, he goes through quite an ambiguous myriad of reactions - none of which satisfy him when standalone. His immediate reaction is confusion, as to why she would dare think of something so sinister and yet so audacious. Then, he filters through the shock, then the dismay, and thereafter, the excitement. He could finally get her back for all of the she put him through, for all of the times she disrespected not only him but Yifan’s wealth and notoriety - however, the final reaction he exemplifies, the epiphanic rationale, outweighs the thrill of the threat. “That’s a horrible idea,” he shakes his head, trying his best not to laugh. It is a hilarious idea, truly, but it is also an extremely risky one, at that. “And, if it weren’t such a bad idea, I’m not sure how this involves me, exactly.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes upwards. “Because, you’re the only one that intimidates her. None of us can even touch her, let alone try to sabotage her because she’s just too perfect and well-calculated. If somebody like myself or, like, Miyeon, or Sojin tried to do something, we would get caught. You, Tao-tao, are her only Achilles’ heel.”

Okay, fair. He may very well be the only contender strong enough to take her on headfirst, but that does not necessarily mean that Zitao is comfortable with essentially soiling an entire showcase for his social prowess. If he were to go through with this, and he failed, he would be greatly risking Yifan’s utter corporeal downfall, as well as the termination of tens of hundreds of models and interns within the firm. If he somehow succeeded, however, who is he to ascertain that Yifan would not cause a scene and would not find himself in the caustic eye of the tabloids? Or, worse yet - what if Jessica herself were to cause a scene? Zitao’s face would be plastered across every publication from here to Tianshui. 

“Do I have to?” He whines, not wanting to do it at all, yet not wholly satisfied with doing nothing, instead. If he doesn’t do something, then the president’s behavior and mistreatment are not going to improve. If he cannot straighten Yifan out and knock some sense into him, then he is not sure anybody will be able to - and certainly not his cabinet, at that. 

A snort. “Well, of course, you don’t have to, but if you don’t, I fear that we will never get the old President Wu back,” is what Minseo tells him. He doesn’t very much appreciate the ultimatum, but he knows that it is truly for the greater good. His mission is simple - to uproot Jessica from her Faberge throne and to remind Yifan that his employees are people with hearts that bleed red like the rest, and to be more humble and patient. Of course, Zitao wouldn’t exactly mind if his societal domination would come with a few perks on the side - especially if one of them happened to be having Yifan realize that having feelings for the same will not kill him. “We don’t want to quit modeling, Tao-tao - we are all still here because this is what we love to do, but President Wu does not make it enjoyable anymore. It’s torturous having to be so harshly ridiculed all the time, and for stupid little things that never bothered him before.”

“And you can’t get anybody else to do it?” He hears beside him, and Zitao chastises himself, for he had become so engrossed in his selfish thoughts that he had forgotten that his best friend was sitting right next to him. Right - Luhan doesn’t know just how smitten the president had been over him when he was Yingtao. 

“President Wu won’t take from anybody but him,” Minseo states flatly, as though it were not up for debate, and truly, Zitao knows that there is no debate. “Trust me.” 

Perhaps more thoroughly than anybody else, Zitao knows that foreign intervention would be futile. 

The idea is fabulous on paper, but this is a concept so complex that Zitao knows this could not possibly go off without a hitch - in a movie, maybe, but not in real-life. This could cost his friends their jobs, and he couldn’t possibly live with himself if he had been responsible for Minseo’s termination. If he happened to be sloppy in his execution, he could additionally risk incarceration. 

He wants to sigh, to cry, to hide away from the world and pretend that none of this had ever happened. No matter what either of them might say, this is all of Zitao’s fault. If he had just kept to himself and had not taken advantage of a traumatized man with attachment complexes, then such man would not have to lash out nor to exemplify his pain upon his staff the way he is now.

Why did it have to come to something like this? Why did he, of all people, have to play superhero and rush in to save the day? He had barely just gotten over saving himself. 

“I’m sorry,” is what tumbles out of his mouth unexpectedly, before he has the chance to ponder over a proper response, “but I cannot help you.”

“What?” Minseo hisses through her teeth, as though she cannot possibly believe what she is hearing. “Tao-tao, you have to help us. You’re the only one that he’ll listen to!”

“No, I don’t,” Zitao sighs, forfeiting his resolve. To indulge his selfishness would be fabulous, indeed, but he has already made quite the mess over at the firm and would prefer to not put only himself, but those he cares for in danger. “Look, I know that you all are having a rough time at work, but you have to understand that President Wu, himself, announced his distaste for me for all the company to hear. For me to suddenly pop back up would not instantaneously fix everything and right his wrongs. I cannot help you, other than to suggest that you stage an intervention and overthrow his principles.”

She can’t believe her ears, tears threatening her waterlines. Zitao pities her, and truly would help if he could, but he can’t. This is not his fight. After the pain and anguish that he had just survived through, and after having to cremate his mother, he cannot bring himself to pain another soul if he could help it. “I think he’s right on this,” is what is said beside him, and Zitao turns to bore holes right through his best friend’s head. So he’s not wrong for taking such a stance? “I would love to help you any way I possibly can, Minseo, because you girls are lovely and don’t deserve to be treated that way, but I do not want Zitao to get hurt. You understand.”

“I love you,” he tells her quickly before she has the chance to accuse him of false appreciation for her, “I really do, Minseo, but this is not what I would have hoped you would ask of me. President Wu and I agreed to not have any contact with each other for the time being, at least for a while.”

She won’t cry. She has cried enough over Zitao’s behalf, has cried enough wondering if he will ever be okay again and if she would ever see him again. “Alright,” she forces out, her lips tight where she presses them together in a taut line. “I understand your feelings, Tao-tao, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

Ah. “Don’t be,” he mumbles kindly, reaching out to sweetly trace one of her palms with his own, and nestles her hands within the divots of his own. “I want you to be happy just as much as you do me.”

That brings her joy and makes her smile, something tender and loving in a way that both of them need, in a way that seems to fill a small gap within Zitao’s heart. She will get through this - he knows she will. She is strong, beautiful, talented, and most of all, worthy to be employed. If anything, she deserves an immediate promotion back to Marketing after this. 

After this… 

If Yifan does not succeed at the conference without Zitao in his roster, will there even be a next time?

He does not find himself given much time to ponder such a matter when he hears the familiar click-shh of a camera’s shutter several feet away, to his right, and Minseo’s left. To be entirely honest, he was not fully certain that he had heard an actual noise - more or less, leaning heavily on the probability that he had simply grown so accustomed to the sound of shuttering camera lenses and the monotonous lull of spectators mumbling among the communal din. 

His unspoken speculations materialize with confirmation, however, as something glints within Minseo’s eyes as they hold hands, as they engage in a public display of affection - in public - and she, without missing a beat, rapidly turns her head to face the noise, causing Zitao to follow her gaze. There is a younger lady sat at the bar at the edge of the counter, facing away from the counter, rose-tinted sunglasses upon the bridge of her sharp nose, and a large, clunky camera within her frail hands, pointed at them. “Kim Minseo?” She asks aloud, and Zitao immediately distinguishes that he does not recognize that high-pitched tone. 

“God ing dammit,” Minseo hisses quietly, lowly enough so that only the three of them may hear her.

“What?” Luhan questions quietly, glancing over the girl’s shoulder. “What are you looking at? Do you know that lady or something?”

She does not answer right away, knowing very well that the lady may be able to read her lips from within this distance, and therefore, she must be choosier with her words. Filling in the blanks amid her silence, Zitao puts the puzzle back together piece by aching piece. “Tell me that’s not the paparazzi,” he hisses to her behind a shielding hand. It had been a long while since he had been greeted by a tabloid leech - perhaps, as long ago as in Shanghai, during their showcase vacation that had been ultimately ruined for him. After that showcase and up until his termination, he had kept a little bit of a lower brow at the firm, both since he never went in public, practically living with both his mother and Yifan, at that point, as well as since he was always training. To be sitting here chatting in a very public ice cream parlor, without any sort of disguises, had put them - or, at least, just Minseo - at very high risk. 

For a journalist to catch them here, of all places, together, is sure to cause quite a scandal. 

As though she had been burned, Minseo yanks her hands backward, slapping his own away in the process, and immediately digs into her purse to procure a pair of sunglasses. “Tao-tao,” she mutters aloud without facing him, continuing to stare into her purse as she speaks, and it does not take much thought for him to realize that it is to keep their conversation inconspicuous. “As much as I loved talking to you today, I need to be leaving. If they catch us looking so happy over one another, it’ll start a relationship rumor, and Mr. Wu will kill me.”

“Oh - okay,” he nods quickly, retracting his hands with an idiosyncratic pull of his sleeves over, balled fists, not wanting to stall her any further. 

“Alright, ladies,” Jessica grins, with sparkles of mischief dotting her glimmering eyes, pale fingers raking meticulously through the stack of papers she holds. “We finally have gotten our hands on the official rosters for the Hunan Conference, so I will be passing out copies to each of you to look at. These rosters will include the cast as well as our theme for this year and other information that we may deem necessary for you to know. Please stay seated while I pass them around to you.”

She wishes that she could have convinced Zitao more successfully to come back. She wishes that she didn’t have to share this show lineup with Jessica Jung, of all people in this godforsaken firm. 

The past two weeks have to have been the worst she has ever endured here, and hopefully, it will not get any worse from hereon. Not only has the president been rude and unusually harsh, but he had begun subjecting them to late-term alterations, as though to intimidate them or cause them to drop out of the running. It must have been so because two girls from the original lineup had broken down last Thursday and demanded they be removed from the show. Minseo knows she needs to grin and bear it, that she needs to brave it all the way through because if she does well at the show enough to even slightly satisfy President Wu, she will be practically guaranteed a promotion. 

With the conference mere weeks away, she sincerely hopes that her vain determination will amount to at least something. 

When she receives her roster, she feels an instinctive pull within her, as though her body were somehow trying to force-create excitement, but she doesn't feel the arousal of it. She had been asked, months ago, about an idea for the conference by the Vice President, but President Wu had not been fully satisfied with it and had requested that he trash the idea. Individuality in Black: The Crowned Jewels is printed at the top of the paper in an elegant, straight font. President Wu had insisted back in the winter that a gemstone theme was tacky, and would be laughed at by the higher-ups. Had somebody else chosen their theme for them, against President Wu’s guidance? Or had the president, for some obscure reason, changed his mind?

What does not sit properly with her, however, is the fact that she knows there to be one single gemstone missing from the roster that she, out of the kindness of her own heart, had directly requested be added to the line. “Garnet isn’t on here anymore,” she comments softly, aloud without realizing, and Jessica’s sharp eyes slide over to her as she had been passing Yooyoung a copy of the sheet. 

“We don’t need garnet anymore,” is what she says with a tight, -eating little grin, and Minseo wants to smack it right off of her face. How dare that little sneak think that this was funny? 

Hold your tongue, she reminds herself. Hold your tongue. Don’t give her the time of day. 

“As you can tell,” she continues, now that each member of the lineup is holding a flyer and can read as she speaks, “our theme for this year’s conference is gemstones, accentuated with black. Perhaps it may be obvious from her little quip, but our theme is thanks to our own Kim Minseo’s expertise and creativity, approved directly by the president through Vice President Zhang. This collection had been originally designed for twelve members, but sadly, we have had to make some alterations to the collection roster to staff for nine.”

Nine staff for the collection. President Wu ing hates odd numbers. Minseo wonders if perhaps that is why Jessica is revealing the finalized lineup to them, rather than the president himself. Only weeks away from an utmost paramount showcase, the president must be diligently tending to the micro-complexes which need correction, enough to perfect the collection for presentation. Or, worse yet, the president might be fuming away in his office over his odd number of staff, and thus, had put Jessica in charge of the collection reveal. 

“So, as you may be able to tell, ladies,” she continues, adjusting her hair where it waterfalls down her back, “you have each been assigned a gemstone, based on President Wu’s personal preference for you. These colors are those which President Wu thinks will best suit you, based on your customization palette within your employee log. The centrical, or focal point, of the entire launch, will be the color black. Each piece that will be constructed by your tastes will contain clothing painted in not only your color but black, as an accompaniment. If you have not already been approached by the presidential cabinet regarding your pieces, please expect a private assessment with the President within the week.”

Minseo grits her teeth, pursing her lips in an insipid little pout. Don’t say a word. 

Knowing very well that Yingtao could have very easily been the shining star of the conference, Minseo can hardly bear to look down at the sheet to appreciate her position, to even enjoy the inclusion. Kim Minseo, Rose Quartz. Collective Pieces: 4. 

Well, at least they hadn’t just given Yingtao’s color and collection to her, or anybody else, for that matter. Yooyoung had been given turquoise, a color that always looked rather dazzling on her skin tone of the summertime sunlight, and even Sojin had been given amethyst - her favorite stone. Sojin always wore a thinly-chained necklace with an amethyst stone engraved inside of a golden latch. She had let Minseo see it only once, as the item holds much sentimental value to her, and Minseo had let her know that it must be worth upwards of a fortune, but they both know that Sojin would never dare sell it. 

For Minseo to be given her bestselling color as well, she would typically feel overwrought with ecstasy. She would feel exhilarated, ready to take that stage by storm in dazzling blush pink, probably littered with diamonds and sequins and, perhaps, even goose feathers dyed with the pigment of beetroots. Yet, without her best friend by her side, Minseo doesn’t feel anything. She does not find herself excited for the Hunan Conference in the least and just wants Yingtao to come back and make it all better. 

It’s very lonely when she is not here. 

“President Wu, Amber, and I,” Jessica illustrates with a manicured hand upon her bosom, as self-absorbed as she can be, “made sure to sift through all of your palettes to pick out each shade that would be the best to suit your skin and features. As you may be able to tell, I, myself, will have the opalescent collection, since - well,” she smirks, grinning at the girls where they sit beneath her in the pews, as though a queen bragging to a village of impoverished merchants, “I tend to suit most colors.”

Minseo could honestly laugh, as she scoffs to herself and restrains from rolling her eyes. The only reason that Jessica had been given her Marketing position back is that Yingtao had been terminated. If they had not accidentally discovered Yingtao’s true gender, then Jessica would still be stuck in Recreation, sanitizing vanities, and learning how to attach keratin bead extensions. And now she wants to stand here - in front of eight girls, who had been worked to the bone and had been bruised and marked to remind them of their imperfections - and kiss her ?

Yingtao would have put her right in her place if she were here.

What is not fair, however, is that Jessica did not have to receive any training whatsoever. While several of them had orders barked at them from both directions and had shed tears from the unalloyed tension from the conference plan shattering at their feet, falling to shambles, Jessica had been parading around as she used to in the President’s quarters, like she were his sidekick.

Unable to stomach the thought of what had once been a cordial, hospitable company to work for, suddenly morphing into a dictatorship, Minseo abruptly stands. The chair of the pew slaps back into place with a loud thunk, drawing the attention of the rest of the cast as all eyes fall upon her. “Would you mind explaining to us why we don’t need garnet anymore,” she blurts out before she can stop herself, warning bells ringing loudly in the crevices of her subconscious, but she cannot seem to cork the waterfall, “but we need opal in the collection?”

Miyeon gasps from the chair beside her, and she’s sure that she can hear Seohyun and Yooyoung snickering and murmuring to each other, probably talking about the local Marketing Department Wannabe, but for Christ’s sake, someone had to say it.

However, Jessica only raises an eyebrow as her stance adjusts, her weight shifting onto one side as she crosses her arms over her front. “Excuse me, Miss Kim?” She asks in a saccharine tone, and God, how Minseo craves smacking her across the face and wiping that dirty ing smirk away. “Is there something that you need to share with the class?”

That’s it. “I’m not a child, Sooyeon,” she retorts sharply, and she watches as the model’s eyebrows briefly raise in surprise. That’s right, somebody else is standing up to you, . “Why don’t you tell the class why garnet is not in the lineup any longer? You know as well as I do that Amber and Photographer Park had been working on a collection for garnet all along until you decided to jump the gun and steal the missing spot.”

The air between them grows increasingly thicker with disquiet, and Minseo knows she is digging herself an unavoidable grave, but someone has to do something. 

However, all the little cow manages, without even so much as a second thought - is a smirk. “Ooh,” she coos, grinning slightly, “such tall words for such a little girl. Fine. I’ll bite,” is the response she is given, and she knows that it isn’t genuine, but they have to know just how filthy of a move Jessica had played out to use Yingtao’s termination to her advantage. “In case you haven’t heard, everyone, garnet had been taken out of the mother collection as per two weeks ago. That specific collection had been designed for a certain someone who no longer works with us, and, therefore, we had no real use for it within the launch anymore.”

The response is met with several more soft, muted gasps, and Minseo fights back the tears that threaten to fall. “How disrespectful you are,” she scoffs, struggling not to cry. This is not the time to cry. 

“Minseo, stop it,” she hears beside her, barely making out the whisper of Baekhee’s chipper voice.

“No,” she bites out over her shoulder, gritting her teeth in determination. She chose to fight this battle, and fight it, she absolutely will. “We have all been suffering behind the scenes during our rehearsals, taking ruler sticks to the legs and the knees, while you have been doing what, Sooyeon?” She declares without raising her voice. The theater is as quiet as the nighttime moon, which means that there is no chance that the girls cannot hear every last word. “Playing fetch as the President’s little lapdog? Going back to having with him so that he would give you the role of Yingtao’s understudy when it had been originally given to me? You and I both know that you only stole from me because I am technically not in this department, but don’t you dare get it twisted - I belong here just as much as any of us, not just you.”

Then - as the only sign that her composure was slipping, and that she may be losing her temper - Jessica throws the folder in her hands to the ground, the copies of the lineup fluttering out and tinkling along trails of the air as they drift noisily to the ground. “I dare you to repeat those words, Kim Minseo,” she states flatly, boldly, as though she were threatening the girl. “One more word like that, and I can very easily have President Wu remove you from this show altogether. Dare to continue?”

Forcing herself to stop, she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip as she it delicately into to chew. Don’t overstep your bounds. Don’t overstay your welcome. 

Though, without her best friend here to take the stage with, what is the point to a show at all? How fun could it possibly be when not a single one of them are happy? What would be the point to even fight for the position, at this point, when she has not one true friend to enjoy it with?

So, she does the one thing that she knows Yingtao would applaud her for - and hoists her shoulder bag up as she takes a deep breath inward, and slowly exhales. This time, she won’t back out because she feels afraid, or perhaps, intimidated. Yingtao always stood up for what she believed in, whether right or wrong, and if she can do it, then so can Minseo. “You and what army?”

It comes as no surprise to her when Jessica grins at her - triumphantly, she’s positive - and reaches to her hip for her company-issued phone - something that only the cabinet and the surrounding staff are allowed to have. “Can you find your way there alone, Minnie?” She coos in a mocking tone, something that surges anger throughout the girl’s bloodstream. “Or do I have to find you a chaperone to you there?”

Standing tall, Minseo will not let her crush her spirit and bring her down. “I know where it is.”

With that, she spins on her heel, and storms out of the theater, dozens of eyes boring holes into the back of her head and the flat of her back. Who cares if she gets removed from the show? It’s obvious already that the only thing that will come from success will be Jessica’s impending promotion if her temporary position doesn’t already count as permanent. 

If they are meant to perform when overwrought with a level of misery this high, then Minseo wants no part of it.

As she roughly slams the button to the elevator to take her to the top floor, she sheds a single, scalding tear, burning her skin where it trails down her cheek. If Jessica wants to be a conniving, conceited little cow, and ruin months of her own boss’ hard work, then so be it.

When she arrives, the president has his fingers pressed into his temple with his cell phone held perpendicular to the side of his face, as he wirelessly listens intently to a voice within it. Sheepishly, she says nothing as she enters and awkwardly fiddles with her bag, not wanting to interrupt if he had happened to be on a call. If she had thought that the President was upset with her for disrespecting authority, she certainly did not want to find out what would happen if she were to interrupt his business. 

So, she does what every other soon-to-be-terminated model does, and waits. 

However, it seems that the president has acknowledged her presence already, as he reaches up with a hand and pinches the bridge of his nose in displeasure, not sparing her a glance as he asks, “Why would you do something like that, Miss Kim?”

Her breath catches in as she stares at the profound, fraught lines which pull along his forehead from his tension. It comes as very little surprise that Jessica had already ratted her out, though she does find it a little bit fast to rat on her, considering she was in the middle of a vital speech, regarding the conference. Biting her tongue, she presses her lips tightly together as she struggles not to cry. “She already told you?” She bleats out, wringing her fingers tightly together. 

Then, the president lowers his phone from his ear, glancing at it briefly within his hands, before glancing up at her looking much less than pleased, yet not quite pissed, either. “I heard every word,” he tells her flatly, not even raising his voice. She knows that she has never gotten in trouble before - not since she had been demoted back to Recreation, but she also knows that, with the conference breathing down their necks, the president has been quite the live wire, lately, with a temper as unpredictable as the weather. 

“What?” She questions quickly, with tears glimmering upon her eyelashes. No way - there is no way Jessica had recorded their conversation. She could not possibly be that vain. “How the - how did you - ”

Swiftly, then, the president stands from his seat in one fluid, elegant straightening of his spine, brushing a palm along the front of his blouse, down the abdomen. “I am not able to leave the office much, while we prepare for the Hunan Conference, Miss Kim,” he states, still without an inkling of rage, “which means that my surrounding staff must help me with the preparations, as well as keep me updated on their progress. So,” he holds up the cell phone, the screen facing away from her as he pointedly shows her the object, “I currently have both Amber and Miss Jung wearing a wire, so that I may stay updated on what happens on the lower floors.” 

She could cry because while she knows the president to be devious and cunning when it serves his business purpose, she had not thought that he would have the gall to spy on them. “You were recording us?” She asks in awe, her lips trembling as she wars with herself. She finds herself unable to stop the single tear that trails down her cheek as the realization washes over her that the president had heard every last word of what she said before she had even arrived. Jessica hadn’t taped her without her knowledge or consent - President Wu had been listening to them in real-time. “How could you do that without telling us first?”

At that, he frowns, his brow furrowing a little. “Miss Kim,” he says, lowering his cell phone. “I know that it has been some several years since you were originally contracted to begin working here, but do you, perhaps, remember the clauses which befell your training period in order to start your work? Namely, the contract that you were required to sign.”

She tightens her grip on her thumbs, too afraid to break the eye contact between them. “Yes, sir.”

A firm nod. “And do you, perhaps, remember the material within which the contract contained?” 

Oh. “Yes,” she adds timidly, knowing very well where this conversation will evolve. “It was a… waiver.” 

He gives her a small hum of approval, and she catches the briefest of twitches upon the corner of his lips, not quite a smirk, though certainly an attempt at one before he continues with, “Very good, Kim Minseo. You, yourself, waived your general freedoms and rights within this firm, over to me upon entry, which means that, as long as I ensure your overall health and well-being, both physically and mentally, I am allowed to interrupt your privacies byways of a corporeal warrant, by any means deemed necessary.”

She could certainly retaliate and rebuke the statement, pointing out that smacking your employees with a ruler-stick isn’t exactly keeping them safe, though she is sure it will not serve for a decent curve of the conversation. With the knowledge of Soojin’s very recent termination, as well as Soohyun’s temporary suspension, due to blatant disrespect toward the president, Minseo knows better than to continue, nor berate him. It would be incredibly unwise to add fuel to the flame. 

This means, while Minseo had been brave enough to stand up for herself and her peers among their fabergé privacy, she had been, unknowingly, digging her own grave, six feet deep. “I’m so sorry, sir,” tumbles out of before she can think to stop it, “I just - I couldn’t bear to let Jessica walk all over us like that. I had to say something.” 

“Why did you do it?” He interrupts her, settling against his desk with his arms folded over his broad chest, obdurate yet rather unruffled, at that. He does not sound close to a tantrum, nor does he seem to be itching to expel her from this building. He seems to be… inquisitive, as though he was curious. Could she even call the reticent glare within his eyes a symbol of curiosity? 

She forces herself not to fall for it too candidly, however, for it could prove to be a red herring. She could very well be setting herself up for an imminent forfeiture. With that in mind, it does raise a rather associable question - how honest should she be? Surely telling her boss that she was up in arms over his ex-girlfriend would not go over well. However, if she were to lie and say it was not due to that, what, exactly, could she blame it on?

Another fallen tear serves to answer her question for her, as she sniffles and wipes it away with a tense frown as she says, “It’s not fair for everyone to pretend that Yingtao was never part of this lineup, okay?”

She manages to spot the exact moment that the president becomes aware of the culprit for her upset, for he briefly glances away and settles his tongue in his cheek as he drives a figurative, imposing wedge between himself and the topic. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, Mr. Wu,” she adds in a tiny voice as she fights the trembling sobs, seemingly unable to stop now that she has begun, “but we can’t just pretend that she never existed. She was my best friend. And Sooyeon - she’s just disrespectful and as catty as they come, and she doesn’t have a clue what type of person Yingtao even was! Stealing my understudy role like that, and then completely throwing away the collection that was given to her to wear? That’s impolite as anything, sir. She has no idea what Yingtao went through like I do. And now we - we just… suspend her part of the collection, when it had already been produced with her in mind, all because Sooyeon doesn’t want to share?”

Exhaling quietly, the president clenches his teeth behind an impartial façade and wills himself not to shout at her. “Miss Kim.”

“She was my best friend, Mr. Wu,” she laments, her frail little hands hanging idly in the frivolous air between them, without much direction, as though torn with herself. “And - and for everyone to act like she just… like she’s nothing, that ing hurts, okay? 

The president remains silent while he avoids her gaze, both out of force of habit, as well as not wanting to further upset her by accident, for he is not sure what would come out of his mouth if he were to share his opinion on Huang Yingtao. “Kim Minseo,” he mentions gently, with a voice so soft that it warrants a positively bewildered stare, of deep, espresso irises varnished with crystalline tears. “Twenty-seven years old, born on the twenty-sixth of March. The renowned princess of the Recreation Department, and the Marketing Department’s fallen star.”

Oh. “No - no, please, sir,” she wails, holding her hands out between them as an attempt to halt any sudden moves that he may make, “please don’t fire me, please. I’ll behave!” 

However, that outburst does seem to gain a fraction, as his eyebrows seem to briefly narrow downwards for just a split-second before his expression returns to being lax. Stoically, he meets her eye. “You have never been the type to cause distress, nor to interrupt a conferral session of practice.”

“I won’t. Not again,” she pleads, stumbling over her words, fractioning sentences and combining syllables. “Please, sir, I’ll be good. I hadn’t meant to cause a scene - please.”

Indeed, this is why he had never felt an attraction to Minseo. She is far too simple for his tastes - demure, ingenuous, and too obedient. There lies no challenge in Minseo’s temperament, nor a quest to be fulfilled, although, he does greatly admire her gumption to follow the rules. It is always appreciated to have an employee who does what they are told. He truly detested having an attraction to defiance; it both soured his attitude, and greatly aroused him, at that. 

With bated breath, he glances down upon her. “I know that you will behave,” he states carefully, “as you always have, before. You are not here to be punished.”

What had been hoarse, desperate sobs quickly melt away into soft, infantile whimpers as his words begin to melt into her epidermis. No. Surely the president, himself, had not just let her off of the hook entirely. “I’m… not?” She questions cynically. “But, sir, I spoke back to Sooyeon, and disrespected your orders, I deserve - ”

“Respect,” he interjects, and Minseo quiets altogether from the shock. “Miss Jung is in charge of co-directing your performance, indeed. However, I have not been all too kind to you, Miss Kim, and for that, I… owe you an apology.”

She should cry in joy, that she had finally won over her boss. She should thank him from the very bottom of her heart and kiss the ground, upon which he walked. She should be grateful, but all she manages to muster is a horrified glance, as though he had threatened her very life. “Mr. Wu,” she comments softly, the corners of her lips attempting to curl as she tries her very best to alleviate the anxiety welling up in her chest. “You’re scaring me - don’t do that.”

Frustrated, however, he sighs exasperatedly, and presses his fingers to his temples. “Why must everything I try to do properly be met with disgust and reverence?”

“Because you don’t apologize,” she deadpans, “like - ever.”  

Fair, but still judgmental. “Yes, that may be true, but I’d like to apologize now. Care to listen as to why?” He questions with a lowered tone, as though he were attempting to remain secretive, and she is quick to nod her head without fail, for if she is truly dreaming right now, she would like to savor it and prolong it as long as she possibly can. “To start, I would have preferred that you had not caused a scene until after the conference had passed, as now, Sooyeon will be expecting me to go forth with your removal. I will not be doing such, for you have worked far too hard to even be considered at equal lengths with the Marketing girls.” 

Unable to help it, she begins to softly weep once more, wiping away a delicate tear as she whispers, “Thank you so much, Mr. Wu.” She had not considered herself to be viewed as an equal by the higher-ups, since her re-evaluations had not, as of recently, resulted in re-promotion, and her spirits had quite fallen from it. “I promise that I won’t do it again.”

“Ah-ah,” he tuts softly, the corners of his lips quirking up in a tiny smirk, “I specifically told you to refrain from throwing a tantrum when a show is approaching, not to hold back the tantrums entirely. You are devoted to this field, Miss Kim, and I would very much like to continue endorsing you as so. I have no intentions to rid of you, thus far, nor do I find myself wanting to punish you. You are free to go, as long as you keep this a secret from Miss Jung.”

Having dealt with Yingtao’s acrid tears for so long, he had been anticipating the waterworks to uncork and spill forth. When she begins to bawl, with the indentations in her chin deepening, he hands her the box of tissues from his desk. 

Wordlessly, with tight sniffles and heaving breaths, she takes a tissue and softly dabs at her eyes with it, slightly more composed than her best friend had ever been. “Mr. Wu,” she comments softly, “as much as I truly thank you for your judgment, I must ask - why are we keeping this quiet from her? Hadn’t you placed her in charge of us on the floor?” 

“I had, yes,” he confirms with a firm nod, “however, she does not have the proper jurisdiction to direct punishments without my orders, though she may believe it to be so.”

Oh. She’s merely a pawn, then, Minseo concludes. She is there simply for the intimidation factor, rather than a corporeal tool. “Okay,” she nods, sniffling into the tissue. “I understand, sir.”

Then - as though she were truly dreaming it, the president does something that chills her blood and the marrow of her bones, nearly catapulting her body into shock. He takes a single, lengthy stride forward, his cold, dark eyes meeting hers with the strangest hint of nutty warmth within them, and places a broad palm upon her shoulder as he leans in to whisper, “Along with an apology, I never was able to find the words to formally address you with for keeping her safe and happy when you could, Kim Minseo, so please, think of my leniency here as a thank-you.”

To say that she found herself at a loss for words would simply be an understatement, as the tears threaten a vengeful return right on the spot. Weeping softly, she can only bear to question the very fabric of her reality as she whispers, “Who are you and what have you done with President Wu?”

The president does not give her much of a reaction, something that tells her all that she needs to know in regards to the preparations for the conference, but there is, however, something a little bit warm within his eyes. What he is unable to confer with his speech is poured thickly into the basin of his irises, dark espresso enriched with ribbons of succulent hazel, glimmering underneath the halogens with sorrow, a little bit of hope, and many promises having been withheld. Without a word, he is repenting for what he has done. 

“You said it yourself,” he mumbles to her in a tone so silent, she would not be able to hear him if they had not been within such proximity. “You had said that you knew her best - better than any of the other girls here. Why should I punish you for befriending the primary target of the whole department?”

With less than much preamble left, she bursts into harsh, frigid tears, and dives into the man’s arms without warning. 

It takes the company president by surprise as he nearly topples over where he stands, as the girl presses herself into his chest and weeps for their past employee. It has been quite a while since he had been embraced, as long a while as several months, since quite some time had passed from the time Yingtao had fallen ill, to her final expulsion. Prior, he had not affectionately held another woman, nor been held by one, in nearly a decade. 

With a quickening heartbeat and slightly-tense fingers, the president is not sure what to do next. Is he to embrace her in return? Is he to push her away and to reassert the professional air between them, and put her back into her place as his staff? No, that feels wrong to him. Does he want to put her back into her place? Does he want to remain above his staff, rather than at their equivalent level? With a terse swallow, throat parched, he finds himself unsure of what exactly it is that he wants to do. 

Before he can decide, however, he feels Minseo shift against his chest, the delicate vanilla tones of her perfume wafting between them as she sniffles. Slowly, he notices her dark, beady eyes meeting his, before she says, “He is doing much better now, Mr. Wu. You can relax.”

Instinctively, his hackles rise at the very mention of his previous affections for the model, for the alias played by a scared, desperate young man, has haunted him each night since. To bypass one’s uality byways of a simple suggestion is fabulous on paper, yet is much more difficult to execute when it comes down to it. It is certainly easy for everybody else to tell him what to do when they are not the ones having to reevaluate their personality and shape it according to their subconscious desires. 

That being said, as much as he had detested his extraneous staff bringing up their former coworker, and the modern love of his life that he is not sure he will ever be able to rekindle, it is very relieving to know that he was still okay. 

After the funeral, Yifan had been plagued with all sorts of thoughts. He had wondered if Zitao were going to spare her urn burial and allow it permission into their living premises, or if they were, perhaps, going to scatter the ashes over the sea, like Yifan had helped his mother do for his auntie when he had been a teenager. He had wondered how quickly the model would have recovered, as well, if it would be as rapid as perhaps several days, or if it would be long and extraneous, nearing months upon years. He had also wondered, against his better will during the nighttime hours, if Zitao would ever take his own life. He managed to convince himself that Zitao wouldn’t, but he never felt truly satisfied with that answer and had been a little bit antsy ever since. Having fallen for a young man, posturing himself as a distressed, dashing young maiden desperate for financial assuagement, still haunts him at night. 

Despite his stubborn silence, he is sure that his staff are not the least bit daft, and have likely picked up on his surreptitious microaggressions, and he, against his better judgment, has not been able to stop thinking about Zitao as a whole. 

Abruptly, he steps back from their embrace, not willing to stoop so low as to shove a woman. The memory of slapping Zitao across the face certainly had not faded into the abyssal fog of his memories, still very much newborn. He had not been intending to lash out or hit until his conscience reminded him that Zitao was not a woman. He would never have hit a woman, lest his sanctity remains intact. 

Now, with the aching thought of their forgotten coworker fresh in his mind, accompanied by the tendrils of yearning borne from the memory of holding and kissing said model, Yifan is seconds away from upheaving. “Return to your studio, Miss Kim,” he states in clipped tones, pressing a palm to the base of his throat to prevent himself from gagging. “At once.”

Minseo, the mannerly little lass that she is, stares at him for a simple moment longer, not daring to argue. She does not question his decision to expunge her presence from the office, nor does she press further with questions; rather, she seems to be looking into him, almost through him, and he nearly drops all composure as he realizes how transparent he must be right now. 

Nevertheless, she gives him a curt nod, a symbol of her compassion, and presses her lips together in a tight little grin. “Right away, sir. So sorry to keep you.”

Whatever it must be that she had been craving to discover today, it seems to have been found, for he had not managed to miss the glimmer of satisfaction across her face, just then. What, exactly, she had sought out, he cannot confirm, though he does have a pretty good idea, and, honestly, could he have made himself anymore obvious? In the spirit of airing his dirty laundry to his secondhand staff, however, he must admit that he would rather it be none other than Minseo, herself, who knew the truth. 

It seems inevitable, at this point, to forget about their fellow Yingtao when those around him refuse to lay her mirage to rest. If he cannot stand idly by and have her memories fizzle into the soft earth and slowly pass on, then he must become more proactive, because his staff are beside themselves with stress and worry, and with the Hunan Conference simply weeks away, he cannot have such a hindrance distract them from success.

As he sighs when the malaise quells, dragging his palm down his chin in his stress, he hears the familiar tender click of the side door as it slowly opens, and a familiar mop of dark brown hair peeks out. “Sir,” Vice Zhang says flatly. “I must speak to you about the collaborative release for the conference.”

Oh. He sighs, “Can’t it wait?”

Then, the vice president frowns, clearly displeased. “No, sir. I must make a last-minute modification, which requires your unmitigated attention.”

He immediately agrees, despite the acute headache courtesy of even a mention of the conference, one which creeps around the left side of his skull and settles itself right in. He strides confidently into Zhang’s quarters, an office smaller than his own, with cord-drawn Roman shades in a diaphanous oatmeal-beige, a delicate, kind compliment to the adjacent eggshell walls. Atop the stainless steel desk, contrary to the president’s own of whittled teak, sits an organized stack of paperwork inches thick, a singular packet pulled from the pile with the first several pages flipped open, and a sleek laptop rested in the central divot. Unlike his own, Vice Zhang’s space is coordinated and clean, a soft reminder to Yifan to make a mental note to clean off his ing desk once in a while.

Vice Zhang allows him to shut the door behind them, for it is a silent, tacit rule to never close a door for the company president without his permission. One time, several years prior, Jinah had welcomed him into the presentation room for a meeting and had shut the door beh