Part I: The Slow Burn of Vulnerability
The chaos of the dual-shadow interview had somehow, miraculously, solidified Meiyu's position. She was no longer just an assistant; she was an essential, mysterious figure who possessed the power to make celebrities speak in profound, confusing metaphors. She was now a permanent fixture in Jiang Chenxu's highly secured penthouse.
The enforced proximity was changing things.
Meiyu realized she was falling for the unfiltered Chenxu. Not the flawless idol, but the chaotic, vulnerable man who resented his gym routine, cried over animated pigs, and whose deep, honest gratitude over a bowl of bespoke noodles felt more real than any film award he had ever won.
One quiet evening, Meiyu found him sitting by the panoramic window, not looking at the glittering city lights, but staring at his own reflection.
"I don't know who I am anymore, Meiyu," he confessed, his voice quiet, devoid of the theatricality he had developed in the absence of his Shadow. "When the cameras are off, I feel… empty. Like a beautiful, very expensive doll. But when I talk to you, when I'm just telling you about my childhood obsession with collecting bottle caps, I feel… present."
Meiyu's heart ached. She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You're present because you're real. The doll was never you, Chenxu."
"Oh, the tenderness! The repressed romantic in me is swooning!" The Crane whispered in her pocket, its magical form glowing with high sentimentality. "Now, tell him his hair smells like hope and expensive shampoo!"
Meiyu ignored the Crane, choosing her own words. "You are more interesting now. More human."
Chenxu turned, and his gaze was unguarded, intense, and seeking. "You see me, don't you? The flaws, the resentments, the parts I hide. And you don't recoil."
He leaned in, and Meiyu felt the gravitational pull of a kiss that was about to happen—a kiss from the real, vulnerable, yearning man.
CRING! CRING!
The moment shattered as Chenxu's private line shrilled aggressively across the silent penthouse. Chenxu jumped back, the vulnerability instantly replaced by a deep-seated anxiety.
"That's my mother's ringtone," he mumbled, glancing at the screen, which displayed a blocked number.
"Wait, Chenxu, that's not your mother's," Meiyu said, looking closer. Mr. Kim had briefed her on all emergency contacts. "That code is for an old, secured number. A number you haven't used in years."
Chenxu swallowed hard, the color draining from his face. He picked up the phone, his hand trembling.
Part II: The Ghost of the Past
"Hello?" Chenxu's voice was barely a whisper.
He listened for a long, agonizing moment. His eyes went wide, filled not with the panic of a celebrity about to be exposed, but with the cold dread of a person reliving an emotional trauma.
He finally hung up, his face etched with pure terror.
"Who was that?" Meiyu asked gently.
"My ghost," Chenxu said, his voice husky. "It was Eun-Joo."
Min Eun-Joo. The name was legend in his tightly controlled biography. She was his first serious love, the young, ambitious writer he had dated years ago, before his fame exploded into superstardom. The official narrative was a quiet, amicable parting. The truth, as whispered by the Shadow's loneliness, was that she had used his burgeoning fame as a stepping stone, leaving him publicly to pursue a career writing for a major media outlet—a betrayal that solidified his protective shell.
"Why is she calling you now?" Meiyu pressed.
"She knows about the meltdowns," Chenxu whispered, running a frantic hand through his hair. "She said she saw the red carpet interview. She said my 'spiritual phase' looks exactly like the emotional instability she witnessed when we were together."
He clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking. "She offered to write a personal profile on my 'challenging artistic journey,' detailing my history of mental fragility—unless I agree to meet with her. Alone."
The threat was clear. Eun-Joo wanted to exploit his current, unfiltered state to catapult her own career, using his emotional history as the narrative hook.
"Melodrama level five! Repeat, melodrama level five! She's not just a reporter, Meiyu, she's a predator!" the Crane screamed in her pocket. "She's the reason the Master built the prison I escaped from!"
Part III: The Shadow's Warning
Meiyu felt a cold rage that surprised her. The idea of anyone hurting this vulnerable, genuine version of Chenxu was unacceptable.
She pulled the Shadow (Crane) and the Lens (Kwon's Shadow) out of her pocket and set them on the marble table.
"Eun-Joo is coming back," she told the Crane, her voice tight. "She threatens to expose his past emotional issues and turn his current instability into a media spectacle."
The Crane trembled, its light flickering. "She's after his image, Meiyu! But the irony is, she's actually after the truthful, vulnerable heart he has right now! She wants to own his humanity to sell her story!"
The Lens, cool and analytical, offered a strategic point. "Her strategy is to leverage emotional history. She needs proof of his current, unfiltered state. If he meets her, he will confess his entire life story, his deep-seated resentments, and his favorite childhood teddy bear—all of which she will transcribe for her article."
"We can't let him meet her alone," Meiyu concluded.
"I have to," Chenxu interrupted, having listened to the entire whispered exchange. He looked resigned. "If I don't, she'll release the stories anyway, but with a vindictive spin. I have to manage the narrative. I have to go."
"Then I go with you," Meiyu declared, her decision instantaneous.
Chenxu shook his head. "She specifically said alone. If she thinks I'm trying to control the situation, she'll release the most damaging material first."
"I can be invisible," Meiyu argued. "I can be discreet. I'll wear the darkest navy blazer I own. I'll be your shadow."
"You have my Shadow, Meiyu! That's far more effective!" the Crane insisted.
"No," Meiyu said, picking up the Shadow and holding it gently. "I need you in my pocket to advise me. But I need to be his shadow in that room. I need to be the wall between him and her manipulation."
Part IV: The Weight of Trust
The meeting was set for the next afternoon at a secluded cafe known for its discretion.
Meiyu meticulously prepared Chenxu, dressing him in a simple, expensive cashmere sweater—nothing that could be called a "power suit," but something that conveyed quiet wealth and comfort.
Before they left, Chenxu paused by the door, his hand hovering over the cold metal handle. He turned to Meiyu, his eyes dark with a mixture of fear and profound trust.
"Meiyu," he said, his voice flat with forced control. "I'm going to walk into that room without my shield. I'm going to be completely exposed to the person who knows exactly how to wound me."
He stepped closer, and this time, the tension was heavier, charged not with romance, but with the weight of his fear.
"I need you to promise me something," he continued. "If I start talking. If I start confessing something too personal, too painful—something that will genuinely ruin my life—you must stop me. Use a word. Use a touch. I trust your judgment more than my own right now."
Meiyu nodded, meeting his gaze fiercely. "I promise. I won't let her hurt this version of you."
She felt the tiny Crane pulse strongly in her pocket—a beacon of intense, vulnerable emotion. She knew the Shadow was cheering her on, recognizing that this was the moment of truth. Meiyu wasn't just protecting Chenxu's career; she was fighting for his newfound emotional freedom.
She walked out the door behind him, becoming his literal shadow, armed with a secret arsenal of celebrity secrets and a rapidly developing, fiercely protective love for the man she was tasked to save.
Part V: The Trap is Set
The café was almost empty. Eun-Joo was already seated, an elegant, impossibly composed woman in a minimalist white suit that contrasted sharply with the dark wood. She didn't look like a vengeful ex; she looked like an ambitious editor waiting for a scoop.
As Chenxu walked toward her, looking devastatingly handsome and utterly vulnerable, Eun-Joo's eyes narrowed slightly, cataloging his change.
"Chenxu," she said, her voice dripping with sympathetic concern that Meiyu instantly recognized as pure performance. "You look tired. I'm worried about you."
Meiyu slipped into a chair just two tables behind them, facing away, but close enough to hear every word. She activated the "Eavesdrop" setting on her phone and placed her hand over her pocket.
"She's using the 'sympathy attack'!" the Crane hissed instantly. "Her goal is to make him feel safe so he over-shares!"
"Eun-Joo," Chenxu began, the unfiltered honesty already creeping into his tone. "I'm not tired. I'm just… profoundly sad that I spent ten years pretending to enjoy abstract expressionist art."
Eun-Joo's smile widened, sharp and predatory. She reached across the table, her hand hovering near his.
"Oh, Chenxu. You always felt you had to hide your truth from the world, didn't you?" she purred. "Tell me, now that you're finally shedding the mask, what is the single biggest secret you've been keeping from everyone? Just tell me. As a friend."
Meiyu felt a cold wave of fear. This was the moment. The final line of defense. Chenxu was staring into Eun-Joo's eyes, his vulnerability exposed, ready to confess the most damaging, intimate truth of his life.
In her pocket, the Crane was vibrating frantically, sending a mental image of a pink flamingo.
Meiyu immediately reached for her water glass, ready to deploy the "fitness aversion" signal, but the Crane's last message stopped her.
"No, Meiyu! Don't use the signal! Tell her about the flamingo! Tell her his secret, ridiculous dream! It's harmless, but it will disrupt her professional calm!"
Meiyu didn't hesitate. She stood up instantly, walked past their table, and placed a hand firmly on Chenxu's shoulder.
"Mr. Chenxu, I just received an urgent call," Meiyu said, her voice loud and professional, cutting through the silence. "The producers need to confirm your availability for the documentary about the importance of pink flamingos in modern architecture. They say it's a passion project you've been dedicated to for years."
Eun-Joo's elegant composure cracked. She stared at Meiyu, then at Chenxu, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Chenxu, completely surprised by the bizarre distraction, simply blinked.
"Flamingos?" he muttered, the confession forgotten. "Why are we discussing my deeply personal, yet harmless, obsession with the pink flamingo motif?"
Eun-Joo's predatory smile vanished. Her professional facade had been disrupted by utter absurdity. The Shadow had won the first battle.