In the aftermath of that chaotic welcome-not-so-party at the restaurant, Qin Yuan requested a private conversation—just between the two of us.
"Please take a seat, sir. It is an honor to meet you," I greeted with a respectful nod, doing my best to appear calm and confident.
"You don't have to be so formal. You and I are on the same level, Sir Endo," he replied.
"Yeah… right," I murmured, a sweet smile playing on my lips.
As we talked about the adaptation, I couldn't shake the feeling—something about him felt... off. Later on, Qin Yuan mentioned a part of me that wasn't on my resume.
I wondered… how did he know that?
"Sir Endo? Is something wrong?" he asked gently.
"May I take a visit into your art room?" he then requested.
"Oh—sure. I'd love to."
As we stepped into the art room, his eyes lit up—shining like stars reflecting a long-lost memory. He wandered silently, admiring each brushstroke, until his gaze froze.
"Why… why does that painting look like me?" he asked, his voice uncertain, almost afraid to believe it.
I turned to him, slightly taken aback. "What do you mean by that?" I asked, my brows knitting in confusion.
His eyes didn't move from the canvas.
"That guy… he looks like me…" he whispered, almost to himself.
I hesitated, then let out a soft chuckle, trying to mask the ache behind my words.
"Oh, maybe you're just imagining things. I painted that… for someone who left me."
"Someone who left you?" he echoed softly—and then, silence.
Have I met him before? I wondered.
That painting wasn't even finished.
In fact… maybe it never will be.
I wasn't painting Qin Yuan.
I was painting a memory I thought I'd lost.
That night, I fell asleep quickly—too quickly.
"Can't you remember me, Calyx?" a familiar voice asked.
"Do I know you?" I wondered.
"Not now… but maybe soon. I've been giving you signs. Why can't you—"
The dream cut off.
Because my alarm just had to ruin it.
It pissed me off.
Meanwhile…
"Shion! Shion!" Acsephius whisper-yelled from behind the photocopier, like a budget spy in a corporate drama.
"What now? Did someone steal your lunch again?" I muttered, turning around with a pen still in my mouth.
"No! Well… yes. But more importantly—here!" He shoved a folder into my arms with the subtlety of a ninja tripping over a cat.
I blinked. "What's this?"
"Information about Qin Yuan. Hope it's enough," he said, puffing out his chest like he just cracked a top-secret government file.
I flipped it open. "...This is just a printed Google Doc with dramatic red underlines and a doodle of a suspicious-looking duck in the margins."
"That duck is symbolic!" he defended.
I sighed, but smiled. "Thanks, Ace. For your heroic efforts, here's a reward."
I handed him a snack voucher I found under my keyboard last week.
"Oh my god. Is this… cheesy garlic siopao combo #3? You're the best, man!"
"Treat yourself, bro."
He ran off like he just won a reality show.
(Shion, internally): I'm more curious about Qin Yuan now. Who are you, really?
I walked into Calyx's office.
He was sitting in his chair—head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, spoon in hand, halfway to a yogurt that had been untouched for ten minutes. He looked like someone trying to astral project to escape taxes.
"Calyx?" I asked cautiously.
No response.
"...Calyx?" I repeated, louder.
Still nothing. The spoon was now trembling slightly.
"You zone out more than usual. It's weird. Even for you," Kant piped up from the couch, munching loudly on chips. "Did someone steal your last brain cell?"
"Ha-ha. I'm just thinking," Calyx replied, still staring into space like the spirit of sad poets past.
"Thinking? You've been blinking at that yogurt like it just proposed to you."
"It's a very emotional yogurt," Calyx mumbled.
"What's going on with you lately?" I asked, folding my arms.
"He's probably in love," Kant teased. "Or haunted. You know, same energy."
"I am not in love," Calyx snapped, finally setting the yogurt down. "And I'm not haunted."
"Oh really?" I smirked. "Then explain why you've been sighing dramatically every five minutes, walking around like a Studio Ghibli character in existential crisis."
"Maybe I'm just… inspired," he said, eyes narrowing like he was in a shampoo commercial.
"Inspired by a man who looks like he fell out of a romance novel and landed in your painting?" I raised an eyebrow.
He groaned. "That won't work."
"What won't?"
"Looking at his pictures. It won't help."
"What if I Photoshop a mustache on him and add cat ears?" Kant offered.
"No."
"What if we give him a villain arc? I can add evil red eyes and a 'to be continued' filter."
"Kant."
"What if we cosplay as his past memories and see if he reacts?"
"KANT."
"Alright, alright," Kant backed off, hands raised. "But you've got to admit, this is the most plot twist-y thing that's ever happened around here."
Calyx just sighed again and swirled the yogurt.
"See? That's the sixth sigh in ten minutes. That's basically an SOS."
I leaned forward. "Calyx. You either know this guy… or your heart does."
He finally looked up.
"…That was cheesy."
"I'm trying to be poetic. Let me live."
Later that day, I went into the archive room—dusty, dim, and undisturbed. I wasn't sure what I was looking for. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
I sifted through old files and manuscripts. Most of them were familiar—failed drafts, forgotten pitches.
Until I found one.
No title. No author.
But the margins were filled with notes—delicate, slanted handwriting I hadn't seen in years.
And on the last page, a comment:
> "You always overwrite your emotions. —Yuan."
It hit like a quiet echo. A faint knock from a past I hadn't opened the door to in years.
Then—
A flicker.
A memory, almost out of reach.
Rain. A train station. A manuscript slipped into my bag without a word.
I never turned around.
I never read it—until now.
Back in my office, I opened the link Qin Yuan had given me.
The second site was... different.
Organized, but deeply personal.
Plot outlines. Character sketches.
Then—
A name.
Lyx.
I froze.
That was me. Only me.
My pen name from high school.
Buried. Erased. Forgotten—on purpose.
Only one other person had ever known.
And I never told them.
My heart pounded. My hands hovered over the keyboard.
Then, I typed:
> "Who are you really?"
The response came instantly.
> "I was waiting for you to ask, Calyx wu zhian."
There was no profile photo.
No typing bubble.
Just the weight of those words on the screen.
Then—
The page blinked.
The site was gone.
Link expired.
And in its place, on my desktop—
A single file.
Untitled.
Unopened.
Waiting.