“Calm down, Senior Sheffil. I wasn’t calling you.”
Yang He spoke slowly, as if she’d fully expected Sheffil’s reaction.
“It’s just that the author’s pen name happens to be Sheffil.”
“Pen name?”
“Yes. Is that so strange? After all, for someone who draws that kind of content, it’s pretty normal to not want to use their real name, right?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean… you actually approved that pen name?”
“Senior Sheffil, that’s something you should take up with the HR department. Not me.”
“Besides, authors have the freedom to choose their own pen names. As long as it’s within our guidelines, we’ve never placed restrictions on creators.”
Yang He rolled her eyes at Sheffil, clearly scolding him for making a fuss.
Her tone practically dripped with smug satisfaction.
She had been waiting for this moment.
Ever since she’d met her—that senior who would call this man “Sheffil” so affectionately—she’d been consumed with jealousy.
She didn’t know what kind of feelings the senior had for this man, but that only made it worse.
When that woman first proposed using the name “Sheffil,” Yang He had wanted to say no.
But then she imagined the awkwardness that would unfold with two Sheffils in the same meeting… and reflexively agreed.
“Is that so?”
Sheffil, unmoved by her explanation, dropped into his seat with a thud and replied coldly, “Then tell me, who exactly is this ‘Sheffil-sensei’? May I see them?”
The room fell utterly silent.
His sharp gaze swept across everyone present, and not a single person dared to look up and meet his eyes.
No one answered.
Not that he expected them to.
“So it seems ‘Sheffil-sensei’ didn’t show up today either.”
Yang He let out a sigh as she spoke, casually drawing a circle in her notebook.
“Let’s move on, then. Senior Sheffil, if you could please be quie—”
“Is it really just today, Yang He?”
Sheffil cut her off mid-sentence, his words slow and deliberate, each syllable laced with accusation.
A playful smile curled on his lips.
But the look in his eyes burned like molten lava—hot enough to sear through her skin.
“I’m asking you, Director Yang He.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it struck with the weight of a judge’s gavel, echoing through the hearts of everyone in the room.
There were fourth- and even fifth-tier powerhouses present, and yet not a single one dared to stand up and question why Sheffil had so brazenly derailed the meeting.
“Let me guess. This ‘Sheffil-sensei’—they’ve never actually shown up, have they?”
An ordinary enough question.
But it carried a pressure that defied description.
Don’t get the wrong idea.
Sheffil had no particular grudge against Yang He or Dorothy Byrne’s little fan club.
He was just… worked up.
And when Sheffil got worked up, he tended to do things he wouldn’t normally do.
Everyone knew about the rare species of iron-eating beetles found in the Roaring Forest of the southern Chixia Empire.
When well-fed, they were more docile than oxen, even more diligent in tilling soil.
But once hungry, they’d devour every living creature within a hundred miles.
Even the region’s most brutal apex predators would instinctively steer clear of a foraging beetle swarm.
Sheffil loved the look of those insects—and perhaps, admired their temperament too.
Just like now, when he felt he was close—so very close—to catching the fox that dared to use his name.
His blood stirred, and he could practically feel his fangs grinding against each other in anticipation.
Though, to be fair, this fox was bolder than he expected… and its true motives far murkier.
Still, he’d get what he needed—from Yang He’s mouth, if necessary.
“…Sheffil-sensei is a freelance contributor. It’s perfectly normal for them not to attend…”
Yang He’s brows were tightly furrowed, her silver teeth clenched as she forced the words out, each syllable like a needle dragging through her throat.
Her entire being resisted the man sitting there so nonchalantly.
Yet somehow, she found herself yielding to him.
Why?!
A wave of nausea churned in her gut.
This kind of involuntary submission—she had only ever felt it once before, in the presence of her beloved and detestable father.
But Sheffil?
Just a man she despised, who was barely a year or two older than her?
She, a highborn noble of the imperial capital, being forced to bow her head like this?
Unforgivable.
If she didn’t push back now, all the authority she’d painstakingly built within the fan club would—
“Is that so?”
Just like always, she reached for the dignity of her office—
Smack.
A rough hand clamped down on her shoulder.
She instinctively turned—
No.
Her neck muscles locked up like they were frozen in place.
Not even a millimeter of motion was possible.
A searing fear surged from the tips of her limbs to the crown of her head.
What’s happening?!
“Then let’s compromise, shall we, Director?”
If it had been anyone other than Sheffil, that hand probably would’ve found its way to Yang He’s slim waist by now.
But Sheffil was different.
He was the partner of the woman destined to be the protagonist’s future lover.
Touching the heroine’s people on a whim would draw all kinds of reader complaints.
Besides, Sheffil liked to think of himself as the protagonist’s ally—an ally of justice.
He wasn’t the type to stoop to such lowly tactics.
He still wanted to live long enough to enjoy retirement.
“I just want to have a little chat with this Sheffil-sensei.”
He leaned in toward the trembling girl, lips almost brushing her ear, breath soft and cruel.
“You can make that happen, right?”
Ts tuff..