🧊 Part I: The Calculated Approach
Meiyu led Chenxu to Mr. Kim's private office. The walk felt like crossing a vast, silent glacier. Chenxu, still in his controlled state, was utterly oblivious to the true purpose of their visit.
"Mr. Kim has informed me we need to finalize the quarterly expenditure forecasts," Chenxu stated, his voice a smooth, robotic baritone. "I believe his methods are the most fiscally rigorous."
"His methods are flawed, Chenxu," Meiyu replied, her voice low. She didn't look at him; she couldn't risk revealing the turmoil in her eyes. "He is prioritizing profit over the long-term sustainability of your soul."
Chenxu blinked, struggling to process the non-financial terminology. "Soul sustainability is not tracked in the current spreadsheet models."
"The Master is a loss, Meiyu. Focus on the target," The Lens instructed from her pocket, its sapphire light vibrating with immense tension. "Kim's mind is a firewall of logic. We need a virus of pure, unadulterated absurdity."
They entered Mr. Kim's office. The room was immaculate, every document filed, every pen aligned. Mr. Kim sat behind his desk, equally immaculate, a man sculpted from expensive suits and controlled ambition.
He looked up, offering a polite, practiced smile. "Meiyu. Chenxu. I was just reviewing the legal expenses. A brilliant outcome, Meiyu. Your fiancée role proved remarkably effective."
Meiyu shut the door firmly. "The charade is over, Mr. Kim. Where is the Crane?"
💰 Part II: The Pragmatist's Defense
Mr. Kim's polite smile didn't waver, but his eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't deny it.
"Ah, the magical paper figure," he said, tapping a perfectly manicured finger on his desk. "I have secured it in a far more appropriate location. One where its... volatile nature cannot compromise the structure we have spent a decade building."
Chenxu frowned, finally sensing the conflict, but his mind couldn't grasp the magical core of the problem. "Compromise what structure, Kim? We are discussing revenue optimization, are we not?"
"I am discussing risk mitigation, Chenxu," Mr. Kim corrected, his tone paternal and firm. He looked solely at Meiyu. "You are reckless, Meiyu. You embrace the chaos of his vulnerability. You encourage him to voice opinions on animated pigs and outdated architecture. That is not a strategy; that is professional negligence."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a reasoned, confidential pitch. "I am the only person dedicated to protecting the profitable Chenxu. With the Shadow sealed, he is focused, disciplined, and predictable. That stability is worth billions. I took the Crane to ensure your reckless 'love' doesn't destroy the product."
"You stole his heart!" Meiyu accused, her voice rising.
"I stabilized his investment," Mr. Kim countered coolly. "He is happier, wealthier, and safer this way. He is exactly what the world, and his mother, requires him to be. And you, Meiyu, you are a temporary threat, easily managed."
🤯 Part III: The Chaotic Algorithm
Meiyu knew he was right about one thing: Mr. Kim's fortress of logic was unbreakable by typical arguments. Meiyu's usual 'Architect' persona, which relied on cold logic, was useless against this ultimate pragmatist.
She clenched her pocket, appealing to her only remaining ally.
"Lens, I need help. I can't break him. He's too sound."
The sapphire light of The Lens pulsed violently, recognizing the existential threat posed by such pure, unadulterated control. It was the antithesis of Kwon's messy, authentic artistic suppression. The Lens finally understood: logic itself had become the enemy.
"Meiyu, listen carefully! Conventional pragmatism is futile! We must deploy emotional entropy! Attack the foundation of his system!" The Lens declared, its voice surprisingly fierce. "You cannot argue with his spreadsheets; you must make him realize the spreadsheets are meaningless!"
"How?" Meiyu demanded.
"Kim worships the schedule. He worships control. Chenxu is his masterpiece of organization. He must be shown that absolute control leads to absolute destruction! We must introduce maximum, unpredictable, personal disruption!"
The Lens gave Meiyu a single, shocking piece of advice, a deep secret it had gleaned from years of observing Chenxu and Kim's volatile professional relationship: "Chenxu has a mandatory, three-day promotional trip to Tokyo scheduled for tomorrow. This trip is the centerpiece of Kim's Q3 plan. Tell him Chenxu has a sudden, unfiltered, profound realization that he cannot fly on commercial airlines due to an existential fear of turbulence and the inadequacy of airplane snacks! Demand he cancels the entire trip now, publicly! Blow up the schedule!"
💥 Part IV: Deploying Emotional Entropy
Meiyu stared at Chenxu, the perfectly controlled celebrity, and then at Mr. Kim, the perfectly controlled manager. This was insane. But it was the only way to shatter the logic.
Meiyu took a deep breath, turning to Chenxu, adopting the frantic, high-drama tone of a concerned, yet utterly bizarre, lover.
"Chenxu, darling, you can't go to Tokyo!" Meiyu cried, rushing to his side and clutching his arm with a desperate, theatrical grip.
Chenxu, confused by the sudden breach of protocol, tried to pull away. "Meiyu, I must. It is a mandatory appearance. It is designated as high-yield in the Q3 revenue model."
"No!" Meiyu insisted, looking him intensely in the eyes, willing the suppressed Crane to hear her. "You have just admitted to me, in the deepest confidence, that you cannot board a commercial jet! Not after that prophetic dream you had about inadequate tiny airplane spoons and the terrifying structural integrity of the wing fasteners!"
Mr. Kim shot out of his chair, his eyes wide with genuine panic. This was not a financial problem; this was an unplanned, existential crisis that threatened the entire Q3 launch.
"Chenxu, that is not in your psychological profile! You must fly!" Mr. Kim spluttered, abandoning his calm facade.
Chenxu, hearing the frantic conflict, looked utterly bewildered. He struggled with the new, chaotic information. "I... I don't recall this fear. But Meiyu seems profoundly distressed. The inadequacy of the spoon is a valid aesthetic concern..."
Meiyu doubled down, channeling the spirit of the absent Crane, injecting pure, unadulterated sentimentality into the financial structure. "And your travel agent confirmed you can only travel by train, Mr. Kim! A highly scenic, slow-moving train where you can fully appreciate the natural decay of the landscape! It is critical for your emotional narrative! If you force him onto that plane, you are destroying his artistic future!"
Mr. Kim was hyperventilating. The sudden, catastrophic cancellation of a mandatory, multi-million dollar trip was the ultimate display of chaotic unprofessionalism—the exact thing he lived to prevent. His entire system was collapsing under the weight of a fabricated, philosophical fear of cutlery.
🗝️ Part V: The Retrieval
The sheer, unfathomable absurdity of the situation had broken Mr. Kim's control. He was now a panicked man, driven by the instinct to save the schedule.
"The train! Tokyo by train is impossible!" Mr. Kim shrieked, clutching his head. "The press! The sponsors! We must contain this!"
Meiyu pressed her advantage. "I will manage the press, Mr. Kim! But only if you give me the one thing that will calm his internal aesthetic crisis!"
She pointed a rigid finger at a discreet, high-tech safe embedded in the wall behind his desk. "The box, Mr. Kim. The metal box. Give me the artifact that contains his only true emotional anchor!"
In his panic, Mr. Kim couldn't resist the demand. Saving the schedule, even partially, was his prime directive. He fumbled with the safe's combination, his perfectly controlled hands shaking.
He ripped open the safe and pulled out the metal box. "Take it! Just fix him! Get him on that plane, Meiyu!"
Meiyu snatched the box, her heart pounding against her ribs. She gave Mr. Kim one final, icy look.
"You stole the most valuable thing he owns for money, Mr. Kim. That is the definition of professional incompetence."
She grabbed the confused Chenxu and pulled him toward the door, leaving Mr. Kim hyperventilating amidst his perfectly filed Q3 reports.
In the corridor, Meiyu didn't hesitate. She unlocked the box, reaching inside. The instant her hand touched the small, cold origami Crane, she felt a powerful, chaotic surge of silver light flood her senses—a desperate, profound warmth. The emotional anchor was back.
Chenxu gasped, stopping in his tracks. His eyes, the cold mask shattered, looked at Meiyu, suddenly filling with the genuine, terrifying vulnerability she loved.
"Meiyu," he whispered, his voice thick with suppressed feeling. "I feel… profound gratitude. And a sudden, overwhelming urge to buy you a high-quality, non-airplane-grade spoon."
He was back. And he remembered everything.