Inside the dance studio, heavy rhythmic drumbeats roared like heartbeats, piercing through the soundproof glass and pounding against Su Yuqing’s eardrums.
She stood outside the cool glass wall with her arms crossed, like a forgotten statue, her gaze following the golden figure dancing under the dazzling lights inside.
Kasahana Chiai was currently pouring her heart and soul into new dance moves.
Every turn and every step was as precise as a fine instrument, filled with the flexibility and explosive power unique to felines.
Sweat soaked the blonde hair on her forehead, sticking it to her fair skin, yet adding a hint of nearly wild charm.
“It looks like a brand-new dance arrangement and lyrics,” Su Yuqing whispered to herself, her voice nearly swallowed by the lingering echoes of the music.
As a professional manager, her eye was keen enough to capture the differences between this rehearsal and previous ones.
The dance movements were more provocative and aggressive, and there was a dangerous sweetness in the way the lyrics were articulated, as if they were tailor-made for Chiai’s current “return for revenge” and “controlling everything” state of mind.
This caused a strange sense of unease to ripple through her heart.
“Senior! Senior!”
A crisp and somewhat urgent voice interrupted her thoughts.
Sakura Onodera, a junior makeup artist with a neat bob and pink-dyed tips, ran over clutching a makeup case, her face flushed with excitement.
“Look, look! These are the samples from the preliminary photo shoot for Zhiai’s new single! Aren’t they super—pretty! The stylist boldly used Dark Tears Diamonds and a Gothic Choker this time. The impact is incredible!”
Su Yuqing took the tablet.
On the screen, Chiai’s eyes looked directly into the camera through Glassy Colored Lenses, her gaze filled with a mix of disdain and temptation.
It was a far cry from the innocent idol image she remembered — or at least, the one Chiai presented on the surface.
Her fingertips slid across the screen.
After studying it for a few seconds, she spoke cautiously.
“Yes, it’s quite good. The look is very avant-garde and… fits her current vibe well.”
She paused, her tone shifting slightly with an imperceptible trace of nostalgia.
“However, on a personal note, I still think her promotional photos from her debut at the Stardust Small Theater were the best. They were clean, her eyes had a spark, and there was that unpolished, slightly timid sense of expectation… After all, classics are often hard to surpass.”
As she spoke, her gaze involuntarily drifted back toward the dance studio, as if she were trying to find a fading shadow of the past within that radiant figure.
“Oh—is that so—?”
Sakura elongated her words, keenly catching the subtle sentiment in her senior’s voice.
She tilted her head and asked tentatively, “Then, on the day of the performance, should I still do Zhiai’s makeup in that pure and energetic classic style?”
Su Yuqing seemed to snap out of it.
She quickly shook her head and handed the tablet back to Sakura, her face restoring its professional calm.
“Well, regarding core image issues like makeup style, I think it’s best if the makeup department strictly follows her wishes and those of the styling director. Whether it’s sticking to the previous pure style or completely pivoting to this new, more aggressive one…”
She emphasized her words with a deliberate sense of detachment.
“I think it’s best for this idol herself to make such key decisions. We… should just follow orders.”
“But, Senior.”
Sakura blinked, not quite understanding.
“You are Zhiai’s Exclusive Manager! Shouldn’t your professional opinion be a vital reference during such an important transition in an idol’s image? After all, you’re one of the people who understands her market response and development potential best.”
“Oh, Sakura.”
Su Yuqing gave a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.
She reached out and patted Sakura’s shoulder, her tone carrying a sense of weary realization.
“Who am I to think I could ever control her?”
She leaned closer to Sakura’s ear, lowering her voice to a half-joking, half-serious tone.
“Listen, Sakura. In this world, the person who can truly manage and control the Zhiai of our Xiaozhua Agency… well, I suspect they won’t even be born for another 100 years! Right now, she’s a ‘big shot’ with absolute autonomy.”
***
The high-intensity rehearsal came to a temporary halt.
The music stopped, and the lights in the studio brightened.
Chiai panted slightly as she took a towel from an assistant to wipe away her sweat, but her gaze pierced through the glass wall, locking onto Su Yuqing outside.
Su Yuqing took a deep breath, picked up a pre-prepared bottle of mineral water still dripping with cold condensation, and pushed the door open.
The dance studio was thick with the scent of sweat and the lingering heat of intense exercise.
“Here, water,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible.
“It’s fresh from the fridge.”
Chiai took it.
Her fingertips inadvertently brushed against Su Yuqing’s hand, the cold sensation making Su Yuqing flinch slightly.
Then, Chiai unscrewed the cap and tilted her head back to take a few gulps, the water sliding down her elegant jawline.
She licked her lips before responding languidly, “Thanks, meow.”
Her glassy eyes glanced sideways at Su Yuqing with the satisfaction and scrutiny of a well-fed cat.
After a brief silence, Su Yuqing decided to fulfill her duty as a manager — or at least, her surface-level duty — even though she knew the topic might trigger unnecessary trouble.
She chose her words carefully and spoke with caution.
“I heard… that you once again flatly refused Manager Huang’s suggestion for that Limited Duo Performance…?”
“That’s how it is, meow.”
Chiai answered bluntly without a hint of hesitation, her tone carrying a natural arrogance.
“And I told Manager Huang directly not to bother me with such boring things ever again, meow.”
She shook the water bottle in her hand and looked sharply at Su Yuqing.
“Why? Do you have a problem with that?”
“But these are the rules of the industry, or rather, a common operating strategy,” Su Yuqing tried to reason, her voice carrying a helpless plea.
“Newcomers need exposure; they need to ride on the coattails of others…”
“What about the rules?”
Chiai interrupted her with a cold, disdainful sneer.
“Haven’t rules been meant to be broken since the day they were born? Meow~”
Her words carried a rebellious, egoistic momentum.
“That’s not it.”
Su Yuqing shook her head, trying to make her tone sound more objective and persuasive.
She attempted to strip away her personal feelings and analyze things through industry patterns.
“The issue isn’t breaking rules, but… throughout the history of the global idol industry, almost no idol can defy market laws and stay popular forever. ‘Leading the new with the old’ and ‘driving the lukewarm with the hot’ are common practices for an agency to maintain its lifeline and spread risk.”
She looked at Chiai’s indifferent face and continued to explain patiently, as if explaining the laws of the world to a willful child who held absolute power.
“Any idol agency, even one that possesses a phenomenal top-tier idol like you, still needs to plan for the future. The decision-makers must find ways to identify and cultivate the next rising star to take the lead. This is for the agency’s long-term development, and also to… extend the life cycle of the entire idol group as much as possible.”
Su Yuqing almost said, “It’s also for your future transition,” but she stopped herself just in time.
“So what?”
Chiai raised an eyebrow with indifference.
She took a step forward, the heat radiating from her body nearly brushing against Su Yuqing’s face, creating a strong sense of pressure.
“Then I’ll just stay at my peak like I am now and keep being popular forever. How hard can that be?”
Her tone was both naive and arrogant, as if she were talking about something incredibly simple.
“That’s impossible! The life cycle of an idol follows a pattern. Market tastes change, and audiences get tired of the same thing. One day… you will—”
In her urgency, Su Yuqing’s voice rose slightly, carrying the certainty of her professional knowledge and a trace of… was it worry?
“Shh—!”
Chiai suddenly extended her index finger, moist with sweat, and pressed it gently against Su Yuqing’s lips, cutting her off.
The gesture was far too intimate and abrupt, causing Su Yuqing to freeze instantly, her remaining words stuck in her throat.
Chiai stared into Su Yuqing’s startled eyes.
A sweet yet incredibly dangerous smile bloomed on her face.
Her voice was very low, yet it carried an unquestionable authority.
“There is no such thing as ‘absolutely impossible’ in this world, my dear Manager…”
Her fingertip brushed against Su Yuqing’s lips almost imperceptibly before she slowly withdrew it.
“Don’t you forget.”
She tilted her head slightly, her glassy eyes flashing with the light of total control, like a Cat Queen presiding over her territory.
“Right now, everything in the Xiaozhua Agency — including your job, your time, and your very self — is operating around the will of this meow.”
“The only rules that can satisfy this meow’s selfish demands are the ones I approve of myself. Everything else… whether it’s so-called industry rules or market laws, if they conflict with my heart’s desire, they mean nothing. Do you understand? Meow~”
Su Yuqing looked into Chiai’s eyes, which were both all-knowing and filled with obsession.
Every argument she had prepared dissolved into the cold, moist sensation on her lips and a feeling of powerlessness that seeped into her very bones.
She understood that in this unequal game, so-called industry patterns and logic were completely pale and fragile when faced with a being like Chiai.
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