Chapter 20: After That

When I pushed the door open, the lights in the agency were still on.

Su Nian was sprawled on the floor in the same spot as yesterday—like a stranded fish, in the exact same posture.

Chuxue sat in a chair nearby, holding the notebook and flipping through it.

Hearing the sound of the door, both of them looked up at the same time.

“President—” Su Nian’s voice trailed off into a long moan, “you’re finally back—today was so tiring—”

I ignored her.

I looked at Chuxue.

Chuxue was also looking at me.

That look in her eyes—it was as if she were asking, ‘Where have you been so late?’

I walked over and took the notebook from her hand.

I flipped it open.

• Page one: 5-kilometer morning run, completed.
• Page two: Stretching training, completed.
• Page three: Vocal exercises; Su Nian is still out of tune.
• Page four: Dance basics, eight sets of eight beats, half completed.

It was roughly the same as yesterday.

I handed the notebook back to her.

“Continue tomorrow.”

“Ugh—” Su Nian wailed, “when can I finally debut? Ahhh~~~”

Chuxue didn’t take the notebook; she just stared at me.

“President Lin,” she said, “you came back a bit late today.”

“Yeah.”

“Did something happen?”

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

Observing.

“No.”

She gave a small smile.

That smile said—‘Who are you kidding?’

But she didn’t press for details.

She stood up and smoothed out the hem of her skirt.

“Then I’ll be heading out first,” she said. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

I nodded.

She walked to the door and placed her hand on the knob.

She didn’t look back.

“President Lin.”

“Yeah?”

“Something in your pocket is poking you.”

I looked down.

My pocket—the Ultimatum Card.

By the time I looked up again, the door was already closed.

I stood there, staring at the door for two seconds.

Su Nian was still lying on the floor, looking up at me.

“President? What is that?”

I didn’t say anything.

I walked to the window and looked outside.

The streetlights were on.

Chuxue’s figure passed below; she didn’t look back and walked into the distance.

I waited until she disappeared around the corner.

Then, I spoke.

“Your sister came to find me.”

***

One hour ago

At the hotel entrance.

Su Wanqing stood on the steps, the wind blowing through the ends of her hair.

When she handed the Ultimatum Card over, I caught it.

“Su Nian,” she said.

“Six months.”

A name and a phone number were printed on the card.

On the back, a line was written: ‘If you can’t produce results, I’m taking her back.’

“Six months?”

I looked up at her.

“Yes. Six months,” she said.

“An 800-person venue. Debut performance. It must be a success.”

800 people.

For a rookie, this wasn’t “giving an opportunity”; it was a death sentence.

“What a coincidence. I was originally planning to prepare an 800-person venue too.”

But my tone was as calm as if I were saying, ‘It just so happens that I like eating green vegetables too.’

Su Wanqing froze.

She stared at me for a long moment before slowly speaking.

“Should I say that I’m not all that surprised?”

Starting with an 800-person debut venue would be a joke to any normal person.

But she knew that this was exactly the style of Mr. Lin.

“After all, ten million has already been spent, hasn’t it?”

Her words implied that it was like someone who had spent a fortune to build a high-end computer, expecting to play a AAA game with perfectly smooth performance.

“Then it seems we’ve thought of the same thing? Was my action unnecessary?”

Su Wanqing mocked herself.

“No.”

I denied it.

“The timing is wrong.”

Su Wanqing blinked.

“…Hmm?”

What she didn’t know was—I didn’t have six months.

Recalling the experiences of these last three months: Alice had only debuted for three months, and I was already in this state.

Six months?

I would have long since been stabbed to death by some fanatic fan, lying forgotten in some corner.

So—

“Two months.”

“Heh, heh, heh—”

She laughed deeply, trying to endure it, until her laughter became distorted.

“Ha ha ha ha—”

Finally, she burst into loud laughter.

For an idol, going from training to a successful debut in one year is considered genius; two years is excellent—the norm outside of major companies.

Yet the person in front of her:

-Opened his mouth and demanded 800 people.

-Opened his mouth and demanded two months.

Su Wanqing didn’t know how many times she had revised her opinion of the man before her today.

“Two months at most. That is the deadline.”

I repeated it.

After she heard this, her gaze was like she was looking at a madman.

But in truth, she was thinking—’Is he a madman? Or does he have the skill?’

The wind blew between us.

She didn’t speak again.

She just looked at me like that.

Then, Su Wanqing pulled back her unseemly laughter, but her expression remained brilliant—full of curiosity, admiration, and playfulness.

“President Lin,” she said, “you are far more arrogant than I am.”

She flipped the card over, pulled a pen from her pocket, crossed out the original line, and wrote a new one:

‘Two months—if you can’t do it, I will personally come to take her.’

She handed it to me.

“Deal?”

I looked at her and took the card.

“It’s just the truth.”

I didn’t give her a guarantee; there was no need.

Su Nian had to surpass the “Gemstone Princess,” Alice.

I also needed her to surpass Alice.

Our goals were aligned from the very beginning.

Alice had only been debuted for three months.

If Su Nian was to shine brighter than Alice—it had to be done within two months.

Otherwise, my plan truly would be nothing more than a pipe dream.

Finally, she tactfully withdrew her hand and turned to walk down the steps.

After a few steps, she stopped.

She didn’t look back.

“Also—President Lin.”

“Yeah?”

“That idiot Charles won’t be appearing lately. Focus.”

“Thank you.”

This was the only kind word I had said so far.

I was even thinking that she wasn’t too bad.

But she immediately made me take that thought back.

“Alice… I’m very interested. Everyone is interested in the ‘Supernova’.”

***

Back in the agency

I suddenly brought up an unrelated topic.

“Su Nian, what do you think of the Virtual Stage?”

The Virtual Stage referred to the application of virtual reality technology to idol performances—3D projections, VR stages, and the like.

These people were currently known as the New School.

“I don’t like it.”

When asked, Su Nian’s reaction was cold, colder than before.

I looked into her eyes; she wasn’t faking it.

I understood that her ambition truly lay in the Traditional School of idols—like the Gemstone Princess or the Witch of Calamity.

I thought for a moment and decided to hand the card to Su Nian.

She took it, looked down, and slowly read it aloud.

“Six months…”

Then she read the next line.

“Two months. If you can’t do it, she will personally come to take me away.”

Her voice grew smaller and smaller.

I looked at her.

“Originally, she set it for six months. An 800-person venue. Debut performance.”

Su Nian didn’t speak.

“I said I couldn’t wait six months. Two months at most.”

She raised her head and looked at me.

In those dark red eyes, something was stirring.

“President…”

“Weren’t you just asking? Now you know.”

I took the card from her hand and put it back in my pocket.

“Two months. 800 people. You debut.”

Silence.

Then, just as Su Nian was about to say something, I cut her off.

“There was someone.”

“Her first debut venue was for 8,000 people.”

Su Nian’s eyes widened.

“—Who!?”

“The Witch.”

A long silence followed.

It lasted so long that the moonlight was shrouded by dark clouds, no longer shining down.

“President.”

“Yeah?”

“You believe in me.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a statement.

I looked at her.

The rims of her eyes were a bit red, but she wasn’t crying.

“Ten million has already been spent,” I said.

“Is it too late to stop believing now?”

She was stunned for a moment.

Then, she didn’t laugh.

Unlike her usual silly grin, there wasn’t a trace of a smile on her face now.

There was only—sharpness.

A brilliance identical to her sister’s.

“President,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“One month.”

I looked at her.

“One month,” she repeated.

“800 people. I debut.”

“You have the confidence?”

“I don’t.”

She looked at me.

“But I have to do it even if I don’t. You taught me that.”

I stared at her.

She stared back at me.

Those dark red eyes were shining with stubbornness.

It was completely different from that night under the streetlight, when she was squatting and writing in her notebook.

Looking at her like this, I was quite happy.

But I simply looked away.

I looked out the window.

The streetlights were still on.

The street was empty.

Then, I spoke.

“Twenty days.”

Her breath hitched for a beat.

I turned my head and looked at her.

“Twenty days. 800 people. You debut.”

“Starting from tomorrow.”

She responded.

“Yes!”

***

That night, she went back to her room.

There was no sound from the room.

But as I sat in the office, I knew through the wall that she wasn’t asleep.

The person who usually wailed about being “so tired—” didn’t say a single word tonight.

Twenty days.

Those two words were heavy, but something was pounding in my chest.

I repeated it in my mind.

Exactly twenty days.