The heavy oak door of Jing Shu's studio clicked shut behind us, the sound a quiet, definitive punctuation mark on a successful, and very strange, negotiation. We had our songbird—or rather, our songbirds.
Bella, who had been a silent, coiled spring of tension during the entire encounter, finally let out a long, shaky breath. The change in her was immediate and palpable. She'd been on a razor's edge, watching Nari and me work, her mind clearly trying to keep up with the high-level psychological chess we were playing. But now, she was standing on the other side of it, a victor. She stood up straighter, the wary, resentful stiffness in her shoulders replaced by the easy confidence of someone who had just won. A triumphant, almost smug, smile played on her full lips as we walked down the sunlit path.
She'd earned it. She'd read my signals perfectly, stepping in at just the right moment with that warm, sincere pitch about family and support right when Jing, the protective persona, needed to be disarmed. She hadn't just been a spectator; she'd been a partner.
"You did amazing back there, Bella," I said, my voice a low, appreciative murmur.
She was so caught off guard by the praise that she actually stumbled a step on the gravel. She looked at me, her dark, intelligent eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a dawning, undeniable pride. "Thank… Thank you, Boss."
"I mean it," I said, giving her a small, encouraging nod. "You were a natural."
We climbed into the back of the waiting Rolls-Royce, the cool, air-conditioned leather a welcome relief. Nari and Allison were already inside, their expressions a mixture of patience and sharp curiosity. The moment the door closed, sealing us in our luxurious, private world, Allison leaned forward, her eyes shining with an eager, almost childlike energy.
"How was the meeting, Mr. Wilson? Did it go well?"
Bella, god bless her, didn't even give me a chance to answer. "It's successful," she announced, her voice ringing with a newfound, possessive pride that I found incredibly satisfying. "They're in. They agreed to work with us."
I leaned back against the plush seat, a small, confident smile on my face as I watched her. This was the Bella I wanted to see. The matriarch. The leader. "Bella's being modest," I added, my gaze shifting to her. "She did most of the heavy lifting. Her pitch on the value of a true, supportive partnership was what sealed the deal. She was brilliant."
Nari looked at Bella, a flicker of genuine, analytical respect in her cool grey eyes. "That's brilliant, Bella. Well done. A successful negotiation against a target with D.I.D. is no small feat."
Allison, her face beaming with pure, unadulterated joy, launched herself across the seat—forgetting all protocol in her excitement—and wrapped Bella in a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you, Bella!" she squealed. "That's amazing! I knew you could do it!"
Bella looked completely flustered by the sudden onslaught of praise, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. She was so unused to this kind of open, supportive environment. "I… it was nothing," she stammered, awkwardly patting Allison's back. "The Boss was with me. That's why I was able to…"
"It's your victory, Bella," I interrupted, my voice firm but gentle, cutting through her deflection. "You were in the room, you read the target, and you adapted your strategy. You earned it. You deserve it."
She looked at me, really looked at me then, and I could see the last of her internal walls crumbling to dust. The resentment, the fear of being a mere captive… it was all being replaced by a fierce, powerful loyalty. She didn't just respect me anymore; she was starting to believe in me. And more importantly, as she straightened up, a new, steely confidence in her eyes, she was starting to believe in herself.
"Okay," Nari said, her voice all business, pulling us back to the present. "Now that the Tulnool missions are officially a success, we have a flight to catch. We're heading to Finesse City, in the Nuemberg Nation."
"Yeah, you are right," I agreed, pulling out my own phone to check the flight plan Stacy had arranged.
"But why?" Allison asked, her curiosity piqued, her mind still buzzing.
Bella, now fully integrated into the "in-group," answered for her. She had read the same mission briefings I had. "We have another meeting in Finesse City," she said, her tone professional, as if she'd been a part of my council for years.
"Okay," Allison said, settling back into her seat. "So, who are we going to meet this time?"
"Sandra Karl," I said simply.
The name had an immediate, explosive effect on Allison. She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers. "Sandra Karl?!" she squeaked, her voice an octave higher than usual. "The Sandra Karl? The actress? Oh my God, I am her biggest fan! She's so talented! She can sing, she can dance, she can act… she's incredible!"
Bella nodded, her own expression one of impressed respect. "Not just that," she added, her trader's mind analyzing the asset. "She's also a brilliant director and producer. A complete powerhouse. The few independent projects she's consulted on have been critical darlings, even if they never get a wide release."
"Yes, she's an all-rounder," I confirmed, thinking of the file Anna had prepared for me. "An excellent actress, a brilliant singer, a world-class choreographer, a visionary producer and director, a poetic lyricist, and even a gifted cinematographer. She is, for all intents and purposes, a one-woman entertainment industry."
Nari, who had been listening with a quiet, analytical focus, finally spoke. "But she has only one fault."
The hook was set. Allison leaned forward, her fangirl excitement replaced by a new, intense curiosity. "A fault? What fault? She's perfect."
I just smiled, a slow, mysterious expression. "Both of you will know when you see her. For now, let's get to Finesse City."
We went straight to the airport. I had a flicker of regret, a desire to explore the beautiful, serene world of Verrine, but it was a luxury we couldn't afford. We had important things to do. The empire wouldn't build itself.
The flight was long, just over six hours. We settled into the plush, private cabin of the Phoenix Capital jet. The four of us sat together, a comfortable, working silence settling over us. After a while, Allison, her curiosity finally getting the better of her, turned to Bella.
"Bella," she began, her voice a little hesitant. "How does… how does Miss Jing Shu's disorder affect the meeting? I'm still a little confused."
Bella, who was now my resident expert on the subject, leaned forward, her voice low and informative. "It's a unique case," she explained, her own mind clearly still processing the experience. "It's like one body is being shared by two completely distinct personalities. One, Shu, is kind and serene, the very soul of the artist. The other, Jing, is powerful, aggressive, and incredibly protective. She's the shield."
Nari, who had been reading a report, looked up, her own interest piqued. "You mean you were talking to two different entities, at the same time, in a single person?"
"Yes, exactly," I said, picking up the thread. "They are both different. They share the same body, but they are two separate souls. And the unique part is how her entire demeanor and voice shift with the personality. It's an instant, total change. One second, you're talking to the gentle, reclusive artist, and the next, you're being grilled by her ruthless, high-profile alter ego. Her posture, her micro-expressions, her entire aura… it all transforms."
"It looks like Jing Shu—or I should say, Jing and Shu—will definitely be a very unique addition to the team," Nari mused, her analytical mind already processing the implications of managing such a complex and brilliant asset.
The rest of the flight passed quickly, our conversation a deep, strategic dive into the two women we had just recruited, and the new, enigmatic target that awaited us. After six hours of travel, we finally touched down in Finesse City.
The moment we stepped off the plane, the difference was palpable. Finesse wasn't a sprawling, chaotic metropolis like Grand Metropolis, nor was it the isolated, ancient paradise of Triveria. This was something new. The city was a masterpiece of green architecture. Modern, elegant skyscrapers, built from glass and clean white stone, rose up from a sea of lush, vibrant greenery. There were rooftop gardens on every building, rivers of parkland winding through the city blocks, and the air was crisp and clean, smelling of pine and damp earth.
"This city is… breathtaking," Nari said, her usual cool composure replaced by a look of genuine, profound admiration. "It's a perfect synthesis of high-tech modernity and ecological harmony. The entire city runs on clean energy. It's a closed ecosystem. It's… perfect."
Bella was equally impressed, but for different reasons. "The infrastructure is flawless," she said, her trader's eyes scanning the efficient, silent maglev trains that glided by on elevated tracks. "The people look healthy, content. This isn't a city; it's a utopia. The real estate value here must be astronomical. A completely untapped luxury market."
Allison, however, just looked happy. She took a deep, appreciative breath, a smile on her face. "It's so clean," she whispered. "It's like Triveria, but… for the future. It feels safe."
Our convoy, a fleet of silent, electric vehicles, moved through the pristine, tree-lined streets. We left the perfect city behind and drove into the countryside, a rolling landscape of green hills and quiet, ancient forests. We were heading to the address Anna had given us, the last known location of Sandra Karl.
We found her. Her house wasn't a grand estate, but it was, in its own way, a work of art. It was a simple, modern structure of glass, dark wood, and stone, built into the side of a gently sloping hill. It was a masterpiece of perfect, almost severe, symmetry, a house that didn't flaunt its wealth, but spoke of a mind that was obsessed with order and perfection. Every line was clean, every angle precise. It was beautiful, but it was also sterile. It was a prison disguised as architecture.
We walked around the side of the house, following the sound of soft, classical music. And then we saw her. She was in the garden, standing before an easel, a canvas propped up in the golden afternoon light. My first thought was that Allison's description hadn't done her justice. She was stunning, but not in the way of a supermodel like Christine or a siren like Julia. Her beauty was one of quiet, modern sophistication. She had that long, voluminous ash-brown hair with cool silvery-platinum ends that seemed to drink the sunlight. Feathered bangs rested just above her eyes, which were a deep, expressive dark brown, currently focused on her work with an almost painful intensity. She had a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and full, glossy pink lips that were set in a line of perfect, serene concentration. She wore a soft, neutral-toned artist cap, tilted stylishly, and a cozy-looking cashmere off-shoulder sweater that fell gently over her shoulders, revealing her delicate collarbone. It was an outfit of casual, alluring elegance.
She was painting the scenery before her—the rolling green hills, the quiet, distant forest, the vast, open sky. And the painting… it was a masterpiece. It wasn't just a landscape; it was a living, breathing soul. The light, the color, the sheer, breathtaking technical skill—it was flawless.
We stood there, silent, not wanting to break the spell. And then, she stopped.
Her entire body tensed. She leaned in, her gaze fixed on one tiny, insignificant corner of the massive canvas. Her face, which had been a mask of serene, creative focus, began to crumple. A look of pure, unadulterated anguish washed over her.
"No," she whispered, her voice a broken, desolate sound. "It's wrong. The shadow on the third leaf from the left… it's a millimeter off. It's… it's all wrong."
And with a sudden, violent cry that was torn from the very depths of her soul, she grabbed the canvas from the easel. She tore it, a high-pitched, ripping sound that seemed to shatter the peaceful silence of the countryside. She didn't stop. She ripped it again, and again, and again, her breath coming in ragged, hysterical sobs as she destroyed the masterpiece she had just created. She collapsed to her knees amidst the ruined strips of canvas, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her despair.
Allison gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a profound, heartbreaking sympathy. "She… she just destroyed it," she whispered. "But… it was perfect."
Bella just stared, her own face a mask of profound, utter confusion. "What the hell just happened? Why would she do that?"
Nari let out a long, slow breath, her expression a mixture of sadness and a deep, analytical understanding. "Because of a single, millimeter brush mistake," she said, her voice a low, grim murmur. "That is her fault, Allison. The fault of perfection. She isn't just a prodigy. She is her own worst enemy. She creates marvels, but she never releases them, because in her mind, if it is not absolutely, one hundred percent perfect, it is worthless. She scraps every project, every song, every film, because she always finds that one, tiny mistake. She's a genius trapped in a cage of her own impossible standards. And because of it, she's living in immense debt."
This was it. My opening. I took a deep breath, my own skills, my own kingly instincts, a calm, steady hum beneath my skin. I left Nari, Bella, and Allison in the shadows of the tree line and walked out into the sunlit garden, my footsteps soft on the grass.
"Miss Sandra Karl?" I asked, my voice calm and gentle.
She looked up, her face a mess of tears, her eyes wide with a new, panicked fear, like a startled animal. I held up my hands, a gesture of peace. "I'm Adam Wilson. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help."
I pulled out my phone and, with a few quick taps, sent a simple, one-word message to Anna: Acquire. I knew she'd understand. "I know you're in trouble, Sandra," I said, my voice full of a simple, unwavering sincerity. "I know you're in debt."
She flinched, a new wave of shame washing over her. "How… how did you know?"
"I'm not here to talk about your debt, Sandra," I said, my voice kind but firm, dismissing the entire topic with a wave of my hand. I didn't want her to feel like this was a transaction, a favor she had to repay. "It's a boring, logistical problem. And as of about thirty seconds ago, it's no longer your problem. My company, Phoenix Capital Group, has just acquired all of it. It's an investment in your talent. Consider it a signing bonus. It's gone. Forget it."
She just stared at me, her tear-streaked face a mask of pure, dumbfounded shock. Her mind, so used to agonizing over every tiny detail, couldn't process this. "But… but that's… that's over three trillion Funos! You can't just... forget it! Why? Why would you do that?"
"Because I don't care about your debt," I said, my voice firm, cutting through her confusion. I knelt in front of her, amidst the ruined pieces of her canvas. I picked one up, a small strip showing a single, perfectly rendered cloud. "I'm here for this. I'm here for the art. I'm here because you are a genius, and you're suffocating in a prison you built for yourself. I'm here to offer you a new home. A place called 'Allure.' A place with no budgets, no deadlines, and no executive meddling. A place where you will have total, absolute creative freedom to make any movie, record any album, paint any masterpiece you desire, with our full, unconditional backing."
She looked at me, a flicker of a long-dead hope warring with the deep, ingrained cynicism of her despair. "You… you don't understand," she whispered, her voice a broken, defeated thing. "You just saw it. I can't. I… I destroy everything I make. It's never… it's never good enough."
"I know," I said softly. "I just watched you destroy a masterpiece because of a millimeter mistake."
She looked away, a fresh wave of shame washing over her. "It was flawed," she insisted, the word a bitter curse.
"No, Sandra," I said, my voice firm but full of a gentle, profound sincerity. "It wasn't. You're looking for a perfection that doesn't exist. You're trying to be a machine, a flawless printer. But you're not a machine. You're an artist. And art isn't about perfection; it's about passion. It's about soul."
I stood up and offered her my hand. She looked at it, hesitant, before slowly, tentatively, taking it. I gently pulled her to her feet. "Look at that tree, Sandra," I said, pointing to an ancient, gnarled oak at the edge of the garden. "Is it perfect? Is it perfectly symmetrical? No. That branch is broken. This one is twisted. It's scarred. It's flawed. But that's what makes it beautiful, isn't it? Its flaws tell its story. The story of its struggle to reach the light." I then turned and gestured back to where Nari, Bella, and Allison were standing, watching us. "Look at my team," I said, my voice full of a fierce, proud warmth. "Do you think they're perfect? Nari is a cold, calculating genius, but she's so logical she struggles with the raw, messy chaos of human emotion. Bella is a fierce, powerful leader, but she's abrasive, cynical, and mistrusts the world. Allison has the purest, kindest heart I have ever known, but she's so terrified of that world she can barely speak. And me?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "I'm a king who used to be a coward. I'm a strategist who is driven by pure, chaotic, emotional impulses. We are a collection of the most perfectly imperfect, broken, and scarred people you will ever meet. And that… that is what makes us strong. That's what makes us a family."
I turned back to her, my gaze direct and unwavering. "That millimeter mistake you saw, Sandra? That wasn't a flaw. It was your signature. It was the mark of your hand. It was the beautiful, perfect proof that this wasn't made by a machine, but by a passionate, brilliant, imperfect human soul. Stop trying to erase yourself from your own art. The universe isn't perfect, so why should your art be? It's the imperfections that make it real, that make it resonate. It's perfectly imperfect."
She just stared at me, the tears welling in her eyes again. But this time, they weren't tears of despair. They were tears of release. A profound, shuddering sob escaped her, the sound of a cage door finally, after a lifetime, creaking open. "How…" she whispered, her voice a raw, broken thing. "How did you know?" "Because I see you, Sandra," I said, my voice a low, simple truth. "Not the prodigy. Not the failure. I see the artist. And the world is waiting for your masterpiece." She didn't say anything. She just collapsed against me, her arms wrapping around my waist, her face buried in my chest, and she cried. She cried for the years of lost art, for the pain of her own self-imprisonment, and for the simple, profound relief of finally, finally being understood. "I… I'll join you," she whispered against my shirt, her voice thick with emotion. "I'll join Allure. And I… I will create a masterpiece. A real masterpiece. For you." I just held her, my own hand stroking her hair, a quiet, triumphant smile on my face. After a few moments, I gently pulled back. "Now," I said, my voice full of a new, playful energy. "We should probably get going. We have a lot of work to do." I let my [Advanced Appraisal] skill activate, my gaze sweeping over my new, brilliant, and perfectly imperfect queen.
Status:
Name: Sandra Karl
Strength: 105
Agility: 110
Endurance: 95
Mentality: 350
Intelligence: 510
Mana: 0
Potential: SS+
Skills: [Aesthetic Intuition (Mastery)], [Flawless Performance (Mastery)], [Legendary Songstress], [Master Director], [Master Producer], [Master Choreographer], [Master Lyricist], [Master Cinematographer], [Creative Sanctuary]
Passive Skills: [Artistic Perfectionism], [The Reclusive Genius], [Self-Doubt (Diminished)], [Creative Visionary (Healing)], [Hathor]
Superpower: [None]
Soul Ledger: [Healed by the King] & [His Imperfect Masterpiece]