Part I: The Immediate Fallout
The flamingo defense had worked. Eun-Joo had left the café visibly frustrated, her elegant composure shattered by the sheer absurdity of Chenxu's 'secret' passion project. Meiyu had saved the day, but she had also painted a massive target on her back.
The proof arrived the very next morning in the form of a vicious, anonymous blog post circulating rapidly through the industry's closed chat rooms. The headline read: "The Handler: Who is the Unqualified Designer Stealing the Light from Jiang Chenxu's Vulnerability?"
The article meticulously detailed Meiyu's "humble background" (beige blouses were mentioned several times), her "unexplained appearance" on the red carpet, and—the ultimate, cutting blow—it implied she was a gold-digger trying to manipulate the emotionally unstable star. It even featured a slightly blurred photo of Meiyu touching Chenxu's arm at the afterparty.
Chenxu, who had read the article and immediately dissolved into a panic about the misuse of his arm's image rights, was surprisingly lucid about the core issue.
"This is Eun-Joo," he said, pacing his penthouse. "She can't attack my new 'profound artist' image, so she's attacking my support system."
Meiyu felt a cold knot of dread. This wasn't just about a job anymore; it was about her reputation. This is what the beige blazer was supposed to protect me from.
Part II: The Shadow's Strategy Session
Meiyu retreated to the quiet of her room, pulling the two shadows out of her pocket. The Crane (Chenxu's Shadow) was radiating indignant fury; The Lens (Kwon's Shadow) was clinically analyzing the situation.
"She called me unqualified," Meiyu muttered, holding the small figures. "How do I fight a smear campaign about my lack of pedigree?"
The Crane flared with silver light. "Fight her with spectacle, Meiyu! You need a counter-narrative! A press release confirming your deep, abiding connection to flamingo architecture! Let them think you are just as eccentric as he is!"
"Terrible advice," The Lens interjected coolly, its sapphire light steady. "Spectacle confirms chaos. Eun-Joo is using class warfare—the talented, sensitive star versus the social climber. You must counter with unimpeachable professionalism. You must become so polished, so visually essential to Chenxu's career, that removing you would cause a greater scandal than keeping you."
Meiyu chewed her lip. "So, no pink flamingo theme?"
"No pink flamingo theme," The Lens confirmed with authority. "Your revenge must be served cold, in a designer suit."
The Crane, however, had an idea that was far more personal. "She's attacking your job, Meiyu. Attack her source! She works at a major media house. She has secrets. We have two very powerful shadows here. Let's get you a dirt file on her editor-in-chief!"
Part III: The Celebrity Makeover
Meiyu decided on a hybrid approach: Professionalism for the public, and secret, shadow-driven research for defense.
First, the professionalism. Under the guidance of the Shadow Advisory Council, Meiyu underwent a transformation that was both hilarious and empowering.
Lesson 1: The Power Stare."Never look nervous! Look like you know where the nearest camera is, and that you find the entire event mildly disappointing," the Crane instructed.
Lesson 2: The Designer Aura. The Lens advised: "Your clothes must not scream 'expense,' they must whisper 'irrelevance.' Eun-Joo attacked your background. You must make your future look so exclusive that she can't afford the fabric."
Meiyu was taken on a dizzying, frantic shopping trip (paid for by Mr. Kim, who was desperate for her to stabilize the narrative). She emerged in flawlessly tailored separates—deep emeralds, rich blacks, and sharp ivories. No beige. Ever.
Lesson 3: Public Persona. The Crane, seeing the romantic potential, demanded: "When you are near Chenxu, you must look like his emotional sanctuary! Maintain close, but platonic, eye contact! Look like you are the only person who understands his current state of profound sadness over the quality of modern bread!"
The resulting public appearances were a masterclass in controlled ambiguity. Meiyu, now impeccably dressed, moved with a calculated cool that made her look like Chenxu's secret strategist, not his lackey. The press started calling her 'The Architect.'
Part IV: The Hidden Hand
While Meiyu was polishing her public image, the Shadows got to work on Eun-Joo.
Meiyu brought in a list of names connected to Eun-Joo's media company. When she touched the names, the two Shadows could occasionally "read" a sliver of suppressed emotion attached to them.
"This one," The Lens confirmed, pointing at Eun-Joo's powerful editor, Lee Sae-Ron. "There is a massive surge of unresolved artistic jealousy. He secretly resents his career and desperately wants to write a graphic novel about futuristic space goats."
"Space goats? That's gold! He has a creative outlet his company would find utterly shameful!" The Crane chortled gleefully.
The Shadows had identified the pressure point: Lee Sae-Ron's suppressed creative life.
A few days later, just as Eun-Joo was preparing to release a follow-up article on Meiyu's "suspicious silence," a simple, elegantly wrapped package arrived at Lee Sae-Ron's office. Inside was an anonymous, bound manuscript: a perfectly translated, highly complimentary fan-fiction critique of his (secretly published) graphic novel about goats, accompanied by a note asking if the world was truly ready for "Unfiltered Vision."
The editor, completely unnerved that his secret passion had been exposed by an unknown source, immediately spiked Eun-Joo's article on Meiyu, citing "a need to re-evaluate our commitment to authentic creative voices."
Eun-Joo was furious, baffled, and stalled.
Part V: The Shared Secret
That evening, Meiyu sat in the penthouse kitchen, exhausted but triumphant, eating an unglamorous bowl of instant ramen. Chenxu was in the next room, rehearsing an acceptance speech.
She held the two Shadows in her palm, both radiating a satisfied warmth.
"You two are terrifying," Meiyu said, but she was smiling. "We used a repressed love of space goats to derail a multinational media conspiracy."
"It was a team effort," the Crane said, its light warm and comforting. "We protect the Master's heart, and you protect my Master's image. It's a symbiotic relationship."
The Lens added, with rare warmth, "You are a surprisingly capable operator, Meiyu. Perhaps your beige past was simply a necessary camouflage."
Chenxu walked in, seeing Meiyu holding the two glowing paper figures. He didn't ask what they were—he was used to the routine. He simply sat down next to her, looking at the ramen.
"Instant ramen?" he asked, his voice honest. "But Mr. Kim said it causes 'image toxicity.'"
"It causes profound contentment," Meiyu corrected, looking at him. "You want some?"
Chenxu leaned over, his eyes searching hers, no longer with the raw vulnerability of fear, but with the quiet intimacy of shared secrets. "Only if you promise to keep teaching me the power stare."
Meiyu laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound. She knew the job was impossible, the magic absurd, and the danger real. But with the vulnerable man and his two manipulative shadows on her side, she wouldn't trade her chaotic, colorful new life for all the beige blouses in Seoul.