"It has been an honor to lead this project and to spend this meaningful year with all of you," Samuel said, his voice a low, steady vibration that commanded the room's silence.

"I have learned much from this team, and I look forward to our future collaborations." He looked ready to step down, but then his eyes swept across the crowd, locking onto Julian with surgical precision.

Julian's heart skipped.

"But there is one person," Samuel continued, his gaze never wavering, "whom I want to thank specifically."

Nearly every head in the ballroom turned.

"He is young. He has been with Apex Capital for less than a year, and this was his first IPO. But his growth has been extraordinary." Samuel began to descend the steps, moving through the crowd toward Julian like a predator claiming its own.

"While I was under investigation, he shouldered responsibilities far beyond his rank. He managed the pressure, the late nights, and even faced a direct threat to his life. Without him, this success would not have come so easily".

The description was too pointed to be anyone else. Julian felt the weight of the room's attention, but he couldn't look away from Samuel. As the man closed the distance, Julian's lungs felt tight, his breath hitching in his throat.

Samuel stopped directly in front of him. "Julian. Thank you."

The ballroom erupted. The applause came in waves, punctuated by the whistles and cheers of the other analysts who had seen Julian's "suicide mission" in the canyon. It was a roar of recognition Julian had never known.

His chest burned. A strange, light buoyancy took hold of his limbs. This was it—his highlight moment.

He tried to find a professional response, a "thank you, sir," but his throat was a knot of raw emotion. As he opened his mouth, the first tear escaped.

Julian was a creature of low expectations. He had grown up in the margins, an outlier who never expected to be the center of anything. To stand here, bathed in this kind of validation, was more than he could process.

His quiet sobbing triggered a chain reaction; several other trainees nearby wiped their eyes, moved by the sudden, intense sincerity of the moment. The senior staff looked on with a rare, sentimental softness.

"I'm sorry," Julian choked out, swiping at his face. "I... I'm just overwhelmed..."

"Don't apologize."

A sudden, large warmth settled on the back of Julian's head. Samuel's palm was heavy, his fingers sliding into Julian's hair in a slow, grounding rub. It was half-comfort, half-reward.

The sensation of Samuel's hand triggered a shiver that raced down Julian's spine, settling into his very bones. Julian froze, his mouth hanging open in a small, stunned 'O.'

Samuel was rubbing his head.

Julian looked up, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, looking small and entirely vulnerable.

Samuel gave his head another firm, affectionate mess-up. "Good kid," he said, his voice dropping into that private, protective register. "You did brilliantly".

Good kid.

The words hit Julian like a tidal wave. For a boy raised under the suffocating weight of "repressive education," this was the holy grail. He had spent his entire life running, studying, and perfecting himself just for this—to have someone finally see the effort, recognize the struggle, and tell him he was enough.

Julian's lashes fluttered as he tried to mask the sheer, earth-shaking impact of those two words.

Just this once, he promised himself. This is the last time.

He told himself this would be the final moment he sought his identity in the eyes of another. He wouldn't obsess over external validation anymore. Everything that had been broken or missing in his upbringing had just been cauterized and healed by Samuel Frost.

From this moment on, he was ready to live his own life.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The celebration gala ended in a blur of white spirits and neon lights. Julian didn't crawl out of bed until the following afternoon.

The National Day break was a mercy; he spent the first two days doing nothing but sleeping, finally shaking off the bone-deep fatigue of the Synapse AI project.

On the third day, Julian started a deep clean of his duplex. When he opened his closet, the rows of silk and lace caught the light. He hadn't worn a dress in three months. The frantic need for external validation that had once driven him to post had vanished. The magic had evaporated. A dress was just a dress.

He considered simply letting the account go dark, but it felt like a betrayal to the followers who had helped him through his lowest points. He decided to film one final video—a formal farewell to his followers.

Since Jordan was in town and needed help with a cosplay suit, they arranged to meet at a shopping center.

"I tried a ready-made suit," Jordan complained the moment they met. "It was a disaster. No texture, no silhouette. I need something bespoke." Jordan was a top-tier influencer now; he could afford to invest in his craft.

"Where are we going?" Julian asked.

"This place," Jordan said, pointing toward a discreet, high-end storefront. "Word is the tailor used to design for the major houses in Europe. They usually only serve a private client list. I spent weeks networking just to find a contact who could get me an appointment."

Julian stared at the shop. It was the same atelier where Samuel had taken him months ago.

The "way in" turned out to be a dead end. They waited in a nearby cafe for an hour, but Jordan's contact never arrived. Jordan hung up his phone, his expression sour. "He's out of the country. He can't help."

"Can he call the owner?" Julian suggested.

"He refused," Jordan scoffed. "He's probably just some trust-fund kid talking big. He doesn't know anyone."

Julian looked at the shop window. He saw the old tailor inside. "Wait here," Julian said. "Let me try."

Jordan watched through the glass as Julian spoke to the staff. Two minutes later, Julian stepped back out. "We're in."

"How?" Jordan was stunned. "Did you bribe them?"

"No," Julian laughed. "Remember my boss? He's one of those 'private clients.' I've been here with him before. The manager recognized me."

Jordan clapped Julian on the shoulder. "My man! I knew I kept you around for a reason."

Jordan went into the back for measurements. Julian sat on the plush velvet sofa, scrolling through his phone. He was debating whether to text Samuel about the visit when the bell over the door chimed. Samuel walked in.

Julian stood up instantly, his heart doing a familiar, frantic trip-step. "Samuel."

Samuel stopped. He looked surprised to see him. "Julian? What are you doing here?"

"A friend needed a suit. The owner recognized me from when we came last time, so he agreed to help."

Samuel's gaze sharpened. "A friend?"

"My college roommate. He's starting grad school here. You met him at graduation," Julian explained.

Samuel hummed a low note. He didn't leave. He sat across from Julian, his presence filling the small room. Occasionally, he would look up from his phone to glance at Julian.

Heat crawled up Julian's neck. "Are you getting something made, sir?"

"No," Samuel said.

Julian went quiet. He didn't know what else to say.

Jordan emerged a few minutes later. Julian introduced them. "Sir, thank you for the help," Jordan said, following Julian's lead. "You're a lifesaver."

"It's fine," Samuel said, his dark eyes fixed on Julian. "Any friend of Julian's is a friend of mine. You're welcome here anytime."

As they left the shop, Jordan looked back at the storefront. "Your boss is... something else. No ego at all."

"He's a good person," Julian agreed. "He's helped me more than I can say."

Jordan hesitated. "Julian."

"Yeah?"

Jordan remembered the way Samuel had looked at Julian—the possessive, heavy weight of it. It hadn't looked like a boss watching an analyst. "Just... be careful out there, kid. Look out for yourself."

Julian blinked, confused. "What?"

Julian spent the evening filming his final video. He put hours into the shoot, making sure every frame was perfect. It was a funeral for a version of himself he no longer needed to be. Just as he finished, his phone buzzed. A message from Orca.

@Orca: Can we meet during the holiday?

Julian didn't hesitate. It was time to end that chapter too. He needed to be clear.

@WorkIsKillingMe: Okay. Let's talk.