“Oh! Editor-in-Chief, you’re back!”

Team Leader Louis jumped up and greeted Gray loudly as he entered.

“It’s been a while. Everything alright?”

Gray felt a burning sensation on the back of his head. When he turned around sharply, he caught Debbie glaring at him before quickly lowering her gaze.

He had expected Debbie to resent him for disappearing on the day Lorraine was kidnapped, but still, the glaring felt somewhat unfair.

Louis hurriedly followed behind him and respectfully presented last month’s magazine—published during Gray’s absence—with both hands, his eyes seemingly begging for praise.

“You may go now.”

As soon as Louis left the editor’s office, Gray tossed the magazine onto a corner of his desk and collapsed into his chair.

“Whew.”

He sighed and looked at the magazine.

‘I just want to sleep.’

Though he didn’t particularly want to examine it, he needed to evaluate how well the remaining team members had performed during his absence.

It was adequate. The feature articles were neither particularly interesting nor disappointing—just average content that felt vaguely familiar, like something he’d seen before.

Then he came to the problematic column. A vein immediately bulged on Gray’s forehead as he read it.

“A Glamorous and Dangerous Night with a Bartender.”

The title alone was unpleasant.

According to his security officer’s report, Debbie had entered La Vie en Rose bar after work and didn’t emerge until morning.

‘A bartender? I persuaded her so earnestly to write her column based purely on interviews, but she ignored my advice and went for another direct experience?’

His lips suddenly felt parched. Gray’s vision blurred, so he removed his glasses, placed them on the desk, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

Sigh. Sigh.

It was just a two or three-page article, but he felt reluctant to read it. Still, as editor-in-chief, he had a duty to verify what had been published.

Debbie had told him before: work is work, and personal life is personal life. She had asked him to clearly distinguish between the two.

“…Cross one doorway and another world unfolds. Though dark and hazy, golden lighting awaits.

The tables are bathed in a crimson hue different from the evening sunset, and the bottles in the display case behind the bartender’s shoulders glow purple. And there he is, the kind one.

‘Who I am doesn’t matter.’

With a look suggesting he understands how hard Debbie worked today, he invites her to take a seat.

Though comfortable seating with backrests is available, she approaches the bar where she can make eye contact with the bartender.

After chatting for quite some time, finding his conversation fascinating, Debbie realizes she’s the one leading the dialogue.

He merely smiles and listens quietly, but having just one person who will listen to her stories makes her whole body relax, like sinking into a plush sofa.

Before long, their gazes become more intense.

His eyes linger on her lips, while hers travel to his hand unfastening a button on his tightly closed shirt.

Gray exhaled sharply through his nose.

Individual tables and sofas with a bar tended by a bartender. Golden lighting at the entrance, crimson lighting inside, and purple lights illuminating the display case—no matter how he looked at it, this was clearly describing “La Vie en Rose,” the bar where Allen worked.

Though he had resolved not to read too much into Debbie’s overnight stay at La Vie en Rose, his face flushed when he encountered these familiar descriptions.

He could vividly picture Allen casting a lecherous gaze at Debbie while she tossed flirtatious smiles his way.

“And finally, I allowed his touch.”

RIIIP!

Without realizing it, Gray tore the magazine in half.

‘This isn’t torture—I could simply stop reading.’

Gray’s breathing quickened.

‘How could she with Allen…’

To think she would throw herself around so carelessly just to write a column.

Weren’t she and Allen not even dating?

He glared at the torn edge of the magazine, breathing heavily. The torn magazine seemed to writhe on its own.

‘Even in the column criticizing me, she said she didn’t want a relationship without love.’

She had betrayed his trust. Debbie had.

He stared at the magazine with hollow eyes, like someone who had lost everything, before rage finally caught up with him. He tore the halved magazine into unrecognizable shreds.

* * *

“Over here, over here!”

Jane raised her hand excitedly. Debbie barely managed to squeeze through the crowded restaurant to reach her.

“Jane! I was looking all over for you. I almost missed this place completely.”

“I told you, just follow the crowd where most people are heading.”

Jane, who had become comfortably familiar like an old friend, handed Debbie a menu.

“Since you’re treating me to something expensive, you really don’t have to…”

Debbie grumbled as she took the paper.

“I love the food here. It’s cheap, generous, and delicious. That’s why it’s so packed.”

Jane proudly scanned the restaurant.

“I was surprised when I arrived. The line outside was so long, I thought the entire lunch hour would pass while waiting.”

Jane smiled shyly at Debbie’s comment.

“I made a reservation in advance because I’m a regular. They normally don’t take reservations during this time.”

“That’s lucky. Can you recommend something? What’s the best dish here? Everything’s so affordable I could probably buy the entire menu.”

“No, save your money. We’ll be too full to eat everything anyway. For someone visiting this place for the first time, I’d recommend…”

“I have plenty of money! I told you I want to thank you properly. This is hardly enough!”

Debbie looked at Jane apologetically. Jane waved her hands in protest.

“All I did was share a few experiences. That’s something I could do over a beer to pass the time. If you pay me for the interview, it would feel like I sold my experiences, which doesn’t sit right with me. This kind of thank-you is perfect. By the way, how was the response to the magazine?”

Jane asked carefully, her cheeks turning pink.

“Fortunately, the response was good. They said it was romantic.”

“Romantic?”

Jane burst into laughter. Their ordered dishes began arriving one by one.

The bread with baked cheese and ham looked deliciously harmonious, and the large, golden chicken dish smelled truly fragrant.

“So, are you officially dating Allen now?”

At Debbie’s question, Jane blushed to her earlobes and demurely lowered her eyes, though the corners of her mouth curved up happily.

“I’ve left my toothbrush and some basic belongings at Allen’s place.”

“That’s wonderful, really.”

Debbie smiled, genuinely happy for her. She had sought out Jane in desperation, clutching at straws.

She had conducted the interview nervously, worried that Jane might be offended at having her s*xual experiences treated cheaply, but Jane had responded positively.

‘Thanks to her, I survived and made the deadline safely.’

Becoming friends with Jane was an added bonus.

“Since coming to the capital, I’ve always had to eat alone, so I’m happy to eat with you.”

“I heard you’re learning self-defense these days?”

“I just invest 30 minutes right after work. Fortunately, the gym isn’t far.”

“So, what’s happening with Lorraine’s case?”

“They’re demanding physical evidence. They say testimony isn’t reliable. They threatened me, saying I should remember how severely perjury is punished.”

“Ugh. How frustrating.”

Jane stuffed her mouth with meat, venting her frustration. She mumbled something unintelligible while chewing.

When Debbie looked at her, Jane was quietly swallowing her tears.

“She was such a dear friend to me too.”

Jane murmured weakly.

“Enough of that. If Lorraine were here, she’d probably tell us to eat, gather strength, and use that energy to uncover the truth. So let’s stop with the weak talk.”

Debbie deliberately stabbed her meat with her fork.

“You’re right. That’s exactly what Lorraine would say.”

Debbie continued eating while listening to Jane’s memories of Lorraine, making sure to jot notes in her notebook occasionally.

…Before Lorraine is forgotten by everyone, I’ll capture in writing how people remember her. At least in writing, she’ll remain vibrantly alive.

* * *

“Team Leader Louis will be responsible for interviewing and photographing theater actor Cassel Avioli, Mr. Benjamin Pellet will handle the review of new s*xual lifestyle products, and Ms. Debbie Jones will cover the drag queen contest. Don’t forget to bring back results.”

After the planning meeting for next month’s magazine ended, Debbie got up to retrieve the studio costume props she had sent for alterations.

While descending the stairs from the third floor, Ashley burst out of the second-floor studio.

Seeing her with swollen eyes, ignoring Debbie’s greeting as she rushed past, something serious had clearly happened.

Debbie peeked into the partially open second-floor studio and made eye contact with Emil, the proofreader.

“What happened? The atmosphere seems chaotic.”

“Something did happen, but… I’m not sure if I should say.”

As Emil hesitated, photographer Black spoke up.

“Ashley submitted an entry to Lime Publishing’s literary contest but was rejected. She received harsh criticism telling her to relearn the basics of writing. Then, a story with a similar theme to Ashley’s novel was published and immediately became a bestseller. She reported it as plagiarism, but the verdict came back that it wasn’t plagiarism because the original work was ‘of too poor quality.’ She’s furious.”

“What? How is that possible?”

“Ashley has plenty of passion, but her writing is a bit of a mess. Still, the main plot was nearly identical, which makes no sense. On top of that, she was criticized for her original work being ‘too low quality to be considered a novel, more like prose,’ so she’s understandably shocked.”

“Who’s the author of this bestseller?”

In response to Debbie’s question, photographer Black picked up a book from the desk.

“This one.”

Debbie was stunned to see the author listed as “Ailey Fleur.”

‘Not content with stealing my poem, she’s now stolen Ashley’s novel too.’

The publication date showed it was from a year ago.

The scattered “lawsuit documents” on the desk showed how hard Ashley had been working to reclaim her stolen work.

“Could I see Ashley’s original manuscript?”

Black shook his head.

“Only Ashley would know where she put it.”

Debbie unfolded a crumpled newspaper fragment lying nearby. It displayed a beautiful photo of Ailey Fleur.

“Final Verdict: Genius Literary Figure Cleared of Plagiarism Accusations.”

“…Not everyone who writes can create a novel. At the very least, one should master basic grammar before writing. How can you compare that to mere practice writing? Similar plots are everywhere, and we shouldn’t hold back a promising creative talent with a bright future.”

Debbie’s brow furrowed as she read this.

“Lime Publishing has a terrible reputation in the industry. They announce contests but routinely steal ideas from novice writers and then discard them.”

“How can they do that?”

“I heard the president of Lime Publishing’s brother is the Minister of Education. That’s how it goes when you have protection from powerful people.”

Photographer Black shrugged helplessly.

“Hmm…”

Debbie felt upset about Ashley’s situation as though it were her own.