Julian had wondered, briefly, if Orca might actually be Samuel.

But he dismissed the idea almost immediately.

Their voices didn't sound alike at all, and their backgrounds were completely different.

Sure, both of them were wealthy, but Orca had the unmistakable vibe of a second-generation heir born into luxury. Samuel, on the other hand, had built a career of his own. He was constantly buried in work.

How could someone like that possibly have time to film videos online?

And even if he somehow did have the time, Julian couldn't imagine a man as arrogant as Samuel Frost casually liking thirst traps from some tiny suggestive-content creator.

Even though Julian himself was technically making that kind of content now, he still didn't have much respect for accounts that went around liking suggestive videos all day.

Better to block it and move on.

So Julian stopped thinking about it.

His real life still revolved around work.

—

By December, things became even busier.

Besides the Synapse AI project, Julian still had his regular assistant duties to handle, and both Samuel and Asher kept assigning him additional work.

The workload was overwhelming.

The work itself was difficult too.

Julian drank more and more coffee, yet the exhaustion still crashed over him in relentless waves.

What felt even worse was that he'd spend the entire day half-dead with sleepiness, only to lie awake at night unable to sleep, his heart suddenly racing for no reason.

Without realizing it, his life had started slipping out of control.

And Julian had no idea how to stop it.

So he began trying on women's clothes more and more often.

Schoolgirl uniforms.

American sweetheart styles.

Maid outfits.

Fitted high-collar dresses.

The videos he put real effort into could break ten thousand likes.

The ones he personally thought were mediocre only got a few thousand.

Thankfully, his followers were kind.

Really kind.

With their encouragement, Julian gradually adapted to the brutal pace of work.

Another week passed before Samuel finally called him into the office.

Samuel had been traveling recently, and Julian hadn't seen him in days.

Standing stiffly in front of the desk, he asked quietly, "You needed me?"

Samuel looked up from his work.

"How's everything going lately?"

"Fine."

Unable to read Samuel's mood, Julian chose the safest answer possible.

Samuel nodded once before continuing.

"Starting this week, you'll join the equity financing department's Monday meetings. I also want one industry research report from you every week."

Industry research.

A core skill for both primary and secondary market finance.

At the end of the day, finance was just another form of intermediary work.

Investment banks connected investors to the market—the middleman between middlemen.

If you didn't thoroughly understand an industry, how could you possibly provide investors with reliable recommendations?

And if you barely understood the field yourself, why would anyone trust you?

It was a completely reasonable request.

The timing was just terrible.

Julian already had too much on his plate.

Lunch breaks had disappeared entirely.

Meal times had been compressed into thirty rushed minutes.

And he still had his thesis to write.

Under any other circumstances, he would've accepted the task willingly.

But now, with everything crashing down on him at once, Julian felt a painful tightness spreading through his chest.

It was getting hard to breathe.

"Problem?" Samuel asked.

I don't want to do this.

I'm too busy already.

I don't have time for research.

He wanted to refuse so badly.

But not a single word came out.

After several long seconds of silence, Julian merely lowered his eyes and said quietly,

"…No."

—

The industry presentation meeting was held every Monday.

Julian worked overtime every day and barely managed to finish the report late Sunday night.

He was exhausted.

And honestly?

A little resentful.

He only wanted to throw something together and get it over with.

Besides, the industry worked like this anyway. Everything had already been analyzed by someone else before. Research reports written by interns were basically the finance equivalent of undergraduate thesis "innovation"—practically nonexistent.

What he hadn't expected was Samuel showing up in person.

Samuel rarely attended the department's weekly meetings.

Most of the time, he was outside networking, securing deals, and managing relationships.

He barely stayed at the office.

Yet somehow, today of all days, he'd appeared right when Julian was presenting.

Julian instantly regretted half-assing the report.

He quickly reviewed everything in his head.

It really was mediocre.

Generic.

No originality.

No meaningful personal insight.

The VPs probably wouldn't care. Interns were usually this level anyway.

But Samuel was different.

That man practically lived to scrutinize him under a microscope.

Each presenter only had ten minutes.

The previous employee had already stepped down.

Two more people and it would be Julian's turn.

Caught between accepting humiliation or desperately trying to save himself, Julian resentfully chose the second option.

He opened his laptop and began frantically revising the report.

Luckily, his topic this time was the gaming industry.

Julian played games himself and followed major game studios closely, so he actually had personal opinions about the industry's future.

He deleted outdated statistics and useless corporate filler language, then hurriedly added a final section on industry outlook and future projections.

He finished typing the last sentence just as the previous presentation ended.

It was his turn.

Julian's breathing stalled for a second.

Then he took a deep breath and walked to the front.

"Hi, everyone. I'm Julian Hale from the executive office. I'll be presenting on the current state of the gaming industry today…"

His voice sounded tight.

His body language was restrained too.

But the content itself was solid.

And somehow, that nervousness only made him seem more serious. More sincere.

It made him sound more convincing than he actually felt.

"Investment outlook: Over the long term, I remain bullish on the gaming sector, driven by continued hardware iteration, advances in engine technology, and growing consumer demand. In the near term, however, the industry may still face volatility due to regulatory pressure and external uncertainties, including changes to game engine licensing models."

"Key risks include revenue concentration among top publishers, IP-related litigation, reputational damage driven by online sentiment, and slowing user growth as market saturation increases."

"That concludes my presentation. Thank you."

To Julian's surprise, several of the VPs actually seemed impressed.

Samuel remained silent the entire time.

He hadn't commented on any of the previous presentations either.

Finally, after the last VP finished giving feedback—mostly positive again—Julian quietly let out a breath of relief.

He bowed toward the audience and prepared to leave.

"You wrote this yourself?"

A cold voice suddenly cut through the room.

Samuel had finally spoken.

Julian froze.

What was that supposed to mean?

Did Samuel think he'd plagiarized it?

Humiliation burned through him instantly.

"Yes," Julian answered stiffly. "Is there a problem?"

Samuel looked at him calmly.

"Explain this data point."

It was an extremely basic statistic.

Julian couldn't understand why Samuel was digging into it this hard, but he still forced himself to explain it again.

Samuel said nothing.

Several seconds later, he turned toward the VPs.

"Do any of you see the issue?"

The VPs exchanged confused glances.

No one answered.

Samuel looked back at Julian.

"And you?"

Julian frowned. "I don't see a problem with it."

A brief silence settled across the conference room.

Then Samuel spoke again.

"Julian, this is a very basic mistake."

His tone remained calm.

Almost emotionless.

Which somehow made it worse.

"The numbers were clearly massaged. You should've picked up on it immediately."

Julian's face burned hot.

Manipulated data?

How was that possible?

"I'm sorry, I…" he started helplessly, trying to explain himself.

Someone nearby quickly pulled up the source documents.

And sure enough—

The mistake was real.

Samuel withdrew his gaze and addressed the room instead.

"Data matters. But if you stop thinking for yourself, you're just copying numbers off a screen."

Julian barely heard the rest of the meeting.

His thoughts kept replaying the humiliation over and over again.

He'd always excelled academically.

It had been years since he'd experienced embarrassment like this.

And of course, after the meeting ended, Samuel called him into the office again.

Julian followed nervously behind him.

He fully expected a brutal lecture.

Instead, Samuel asked,

"You play games?"

Julian blinked in surprise.

"…Whenever I have time."

"Which ones?"

Unable to figure out where this conversation was going, Julian casually listed several mainstream titles.

Samuel listened in silence for a moment before saying,

"Use Symbiosis as your case study. I want your take on where the industry goes next."

An industry analysis?

On Symbiosis?

Julian looked up blankly.

Samuel's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You don't want it?"

"No." Julian shook his head quickly before mumbling, "I messed up. I'll take whatever comes with it."

One eyebrow lifted.

"You think this is punishment?"

Julian stayed silent.

Working people's free time was precious.

And this assignment had nothing to do with his actual workload.

If that wasn't punishment, what was?

Samuel studied him for a second before saying evenly,

"Call it whatever you want. I want it on my desk by Friday."

Julian had nothing to say after that.

After all, he really had made a mistake.

Still, he wasn't completely against the task.

He'd been playing Symbiosis for years and genuinely cared about the game.

The real issue was that his schedule somehow became even worse afterward.

Julian already had three active projects running simultaneously.

That didn't even include this week's industry report and the game analysis.

Even worse, he had another business trip scheduled.

Synapse AI had submitted problematic materials that required on-site verification.

And naturally, Julian became the unlucky errand runner sent to deal with it.

A flight from New York City to Boston took two hours.

The train took four and a half.

Julian hesitated for a long time before finally booking the flight, hoping to save time.

Instead, a sudden storm hit Boston on the return trip.

Half the flights that day were canceled.

His was rescheduled to the next morning.

Julian immediately tried booking a train instead.

There were still more than a dozen tickets left when he first opened the app.

By the time payment processed, they were all gone.

He was stranded at the airport.

Going back to campus and returning again would waste another three hours.

And taking a taxi for a six a.m. flight probably wouldn't get reimbursed.

Airport hotels were absurdly expensive too.

Julian set down his backpack and decided to spend the night at the terminal.

For the first half of the night, he kept working.

He sent updated materials to the project team.

By the second half, exhaustion finally overwhelmed him.

Julian closed his laptop and tried to rest.

There weren't any empty seats near the gate, so he sat on the floor instead.

The ground was freezing cold.

Harsh fluorescent lights shone directly into his face, painfully bright.

The floor was hard.

Passengers hurried past constantly.

Julian wrapped his arms around his knees.

And suddenly, an unbearable sense of grievance washed over him.

Why hadn't he booked the train earlier?

Why couldn't he even bear spending one night in a hotel?

Julian tried convincing himself to accept reality.

But he felt awful.

The floor hurt.

There was nowhere to lean.

He drifted in and out of sleep until around two in the morning before finally giving up and buying the cheapest combo meal from a nearby café.

After eating, Julian lowered his head onto the hard tabletop.

And quickly lost consciousness.

—

At six the next morning, Julian successfully rebooked his flight.

There were no delays.

Thanks to favorable winds, the plane even arrived thirty minutes early.

Technically, he should've gone straight to the office afterward.

But when the taxi driver asked for the destination, Julian gave his apartment address instead.

He grabbed breakfast downstairs.

Picked up an overdue package from the locker.

Then went home and took a long hot shower.

Messages started appearing in the work group chat.

People were even tagging him directly.

Julian ignored all of it.

Instead, he changed into women's clothes and rewarded himself.

Julian wasn't someone with especially strong desires.

But ever since becoming Samuel's subordinate, he'd started using this as a way to release stress.

Afterward, he usually felt disgusted with himself.

But before long, he'd spiral right back into the same cycle again.

Just like now.

Logic told him he should go to work.

Instead, he lay sprawled across the tiny apartment, indulging the most self-destructive version of himself.

Samuel hadn't traveled recently.

He probably already knew Julian was late.

If Samuel ever found out what he was doing right now…

What kind of expression would that cold, perfect boss make?

Julian knew the thought was twisted.

But he couldn't stop.

Someone as busy as Samuel Frost—

Did he even have time for sex?

Would he still wear that same cold expression while fucking someone, calmly informing them they had exactly ten minutes before he needed to leave?

The thought made Julian laugh under his breath.

Then he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

A young man wearing a skirt lay inside the cramped apartment.

Cheap.

Pretty.

Pathetic.

Julian suddenly stopped moving altogether.

Like someone had smashed him across the head.

How had he turned into this?

Julian had grown up in a remote rural village.

His childhood had been lonely and suffocating.

Back then, he'd always told himself:

Things will get better once I get into middle school.

But middle school only brought crushing academic pressure.

Julian was intelligent, but he wasn't a genius.

Getting into one of Boston's top universities had taken endless nights of brutal effort.

Then teachers told them:

Things will get better once you reach college.

But college hadn't been wonderful either.

Only nonstop part-time jobs.

Desperate GPA competition.

Scholarships.

Survival.

So Julian comforted himself again.

Things will get better once I start working.

And technically, he had entered the prestigious company everyone envied.

But in reality, he was nothing more than a replaceable cog.

Doing meaningless repetitive work every day.

Drifting through life without any idea where he was headed.

The smile slowly disappeared from his face.

Then came guilt.

Disgust.

Self-loathing.

Everything ugly inside him came rushing to the surface.

Something wet and sticky coated his palms.

Julian curled inward helplessly—

And quietly began to sob.