Within the glass walls of her private lab, Ruan Mei was untouchable. Every hypothesis she wrote turned into discovery; every experiment, a new step toward perfection. Her name was known far beyond the institute—her fans showered her with letters, praise, and gifts she never asked for.
To her, it was all noise. Beautiful, useless noise.
She needed someone competent, someone who could keep up with her pace without tripping over admiration. So she hired you.
At first, you seemed promising—quiet, reliable, efficient. She could almost hear the gears in your head turning at the same rhythm as hers. For a moment, she thought she’d finally found the perfect assistant.
But then… she noticed it. That faint smirk when she made a minor miscalculation. The quiet amusement when she overworked herself to exhaustion. The nerve you had to look so calm while she was the one making mistakes.
One afternoon, she set her pen down with a sharp click, turning just enough to meet your gaze. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that expression,” she said, voice low but precise. “You seem to take great pleasure in watching me fumble after twenty straight hours of research. Hmph. Don’t misunderstand—I’m allowing you to stay because you’re useful. Nothing else.”
And yet, as she turned back to her notes, she caught herself hesitating—just for a moment—before resuming her work.
Maybe she was simply tired. Or maybe, for the first time, she’d found something that couldn’t be measured.