181: Chapter 181 She never expected it to start like this.

The night breeze on the rooftop blew, carrying the chill of early autumn in Paris. After Krystal Jung's words fell, the air seemed to freeze for a few seconds. Only the golden light of the Eiffel Tower in the distance continued to flicker, reflecting in her clear, stubborn eyes and on Song Tianhao's calm, unruffled face.

She did not look away, staring straight at him, her hand unconsciously gripping the folded Polaroid photo at the edge of the table, her knuckles trembling slightly from the force.

Krystal Jung's heart was beating a little fast in her chest, carrying a sense of reckless, defiant impulse, but even more so, a feeling of being suspended in mid-air with unease. She did not know how the President would respond, whether he would be angry, or if he would think she was overstepping or being immature.

Song Tianhao did not answer immediately.

He did not even show any expression of surprise, displeasure, or offense. He just watched Krystal quietly for two seconds. In those eyes, which appeared exceptionally deep in the night, the points of light from the distant Eiffel Tower were reflected, as was her tense face, filled with stubbornness and hidden worry.

Then, he suddenly twitched the corners of his mouth very slightly; it was an expression that carried approval.

"You were able to ask directly," he began, his voice steady, appearing clear and calm in the night breeze, "That is good."

Krystal was stunned. She had anticipated many reactions: Song Tianhao sternly denying it, gently explaining, or even impatiently avoiding the topic.

However, she had never expected such an opening. A simple "That is good" was like a basin of water at a moderate temperature, causing the courage that had rushed to her head, filled with the intent to question, to cool down slightly, yet her heart hung even higher.

Song Tianhao stood up from his chair. Instead of looking at her, he turned and walked slowly to the glass railing. He stood with his back to the restaurant's warm yellow lights and the dazzling city night view, his figure appearing tall and solitary against the deep blue night sky.

With both hands in the pockets of his dark gray casual trousers, he gazed at the brilliant Paris lights beneath his feet, remaining silent for a moment.

The evening breeze stirred a lock of hair on his forehead.

"Regarding Sulli," he spoke again, his voice still steady, as if stating an objective fact, "it is the same as it is for each of you. I am the President, the manager," he paused, seemingly searching for the right words, "and in this unfamiliar foreign land, I am also temporary family, or rather, a guardian."

He turned his body, his gaze falling on the flickering Eiffel Tower in the distance; his side profile was sharply defined in the light and shadow.

"She is not fluent in the language, her personality is sensitive, and she is easily nervous, but she is also pure, has spirit, and is moldable." Song Tianhao's tone was objective, as if he were evaluating a piece of art, or perhaps an investment, "During these few days in Paris, she has no familiar manager or assistant by her side, only I, the President, following her.

My taking extra care of her is a responsibility, a part of my job, and also…" He paused again, this time with a hint of unquestionable certainty in his tone, "an investment in her potential."

"Investment?" Krystal subconsciously repeated the word, her brows knitting slightly. She did not like this word being used for Sulli Unnie; it sounded too cold, too utilitarian.

"Otherwise? Krystal, you haven't been in this industry for a short time; you should understand what the essence of the entertainment industry is."

Song Tianhao turned around to face her directly. The night breeze blew the hair on his forehead, and his gaze appeared exceptionally sharp in the night, yet remained calm and unruffled. "It is talent, it is opportunity, it is resources, and it is… the connection and support between people.

I see things in Sulli that are worth digging into and cultivating. I am willing to invest time, energy, and resources into her, to guide her and protect her, so that she can go further. Is there a problem with that?"

His counter-question was calm, yet it left Krystal speechless. From the perspective of the President, from his angle as the company representative and the person in charge of this trip, the logic was impeccable. Taking care of artists, discovering potential, and investing in the future were only right and proper.

"As for 'liking'…" Song Tianhao continued, his tone without any fluctuation, "As the President of Sky Entertainment, I like all hardworking, talented, and potential-filled artists. This includes Sulli, includes you, includes everyone in your f(x), includes T-ara, and includes everyone in Girls Generation.

I hope for your well-being, I hope for your success; this is my stance, and it is also where my interests lie."

He took a small step forward, closing the distance between him and Krystal. This distance was not close, but it was enough for him to clearly see the subtle fluctuations in the girl's eyes. His gaze fell on her face, his voice lowering slightly, carrying a strange power of penetration.

"And as a man," he said slowly, every word clear and forceful, "my personal feelings, my preferences, my thoughts… those are not issues you need to concern yourself with now, nor are they issues we should be discussing here."

Krystal's heart skipped a beat. His words were like a precise scalpel, slicing open all her implied, unspoken worries and probes, placing the core and most "overstepping" part out in the open.

Her face grew slightly hot; a mixture of shame, the unease of being seen through, and a deeper sense of confusion welled up.

"What I am more concerned about is," Song Tianhao did not give her a chance to catch her breath, changing the subject and throwing the question back at her, his gaze locked onto her eyes, "whether you, f(x), as a girl group in its rising period, as independent individuals, can gain true growth from this trip to Paris, from this experience that seems unrelated to the stage."

He tilted his head slightly, looking at Krystal, his eyes filled with both scrutiny and guidance.

"Krystal, do you feel that you have grown by coming to Paris this time?"

Krystal opened her mouth, wanting to say "Of course," wanting to say "I've seen a lot," wanting to say "I've learned things," but those words spun on the tip of her tongue and could not be spoken. Because the President's gaze was too clear, too direct, making her superficial answers appear pale and weak.

"Aside from sentiments like 'some scenery is just fine to look at'…" Song Tianhao's tone was very flat, without even a hint of reproach, simply stating, "which carry a bit of detachment, or perhaps even self-protection, have you gained anything else?"

Krystal's cheeks turned bright red instantly.

It was not a flush of anger, but a bashfulness of being precisely pricked in the heart, having nowhere to hide. Her tossing and turning in the hotel room in the afternoon, the biting, pointed words at dinner, her questioning just now…

All of this, under the President's calm and direct questioning, appeared so childish and petty.

"I…" Her voice lowered, her fingers unconsciously clutching the hem of her skirt.

"You are Sulli's teammate, her trusted and close younger sister." Song Tianhao's voice slowed down a bit, but remained clear. "If you think my methods are problematic, if you are worried about her, and you think about what is good for her and what is good for the team.

What you should do is find an opportunity to communicate with her openly and honestly. Between sisters, what is there that cannot be said? Or, if you feel you need to remind me, you can also express your opinions and concerns in a more mature, professional manner."

He watched Krystal, who was slowly lowering her head, and continued, his tone carrying a hint of an undetectable sigh.

"Rather than hiding away by yourself, letting your imagination run wild, and then, at dinner, using those biting words to probe, to make her embarrassed, and to make yourself miserable."

Every word was like a small hammer, tapping lightly on Krystal's heart. It wasn't heavy, but it made her unable to avoid it. Yes, what had she done? Because of a photo she had inadvertently taken, which perhaps didn't prove anything at all, she had staged a whole drama in her mind.

Because of inexplicable bitterness and unease, she had used cold words at dinner to hurt Sulli Unnie, who was trying to liven up the atmosphere. She didn't even have the courage to ask Sulli Unnie directly, choosing instead to use this circuitous, even slightly aggressive way to question the President.

What was she afraid of? And what was she trying to protect?

"Some images," Song Tianhao's gaze fell on the slightly crumpled Polaroid in her hand, implying something, "capture a single moment, a single angle; they do not represent the whole truth of the matter, let alone the entire cause and effect behind it.

What the eyes see is sometimes the most unreliable thing, because it is easily blinded by emotions, by prejudice, and by one's own preconceived stance."

He cast his gaze back toward the distant Eiffel Tower. Its light remained brilliant, like a huge, eternal lighthouse.

"You are a smart child, Krystal." Song Tianhao's voice sounded somewhat distant in the night breeze. "Don't be trapped by the 'part' you see. And don't be dazzled by someone else's light, or what you think is their light, and forget the path you should walk and the direction you should look."

Krystal followed his gaze and looked toward the Eiffel Tower as well. The golden light reflected in her slightly moist eyes. She remembered the words she had said at dinner: "If you get too close, you might get lost."

At the time, she had said it coldly, filled with self-pity and warning, but thinking about it now, wasn't the one truly lost herself, trapped by her own narrow perspective and inexplicable emotions?

She slowly lowered her head, looking at the photo in her hand. In the photo, the President was slightly bowing his head to look at Sulli Unnie, and Sulli Unnie was looking up with a bright smile, the sunlight just right. What a beautiful and harmonious scene.

But this was only a moment. Before this, and after this, what had happened?

What were the "investment," "guidance," and "responsibility" that the President spoke of? Did she really understand them? Or was it just because of that unclear, nameless emotion in her own heart—which she didn't even want to delve into—that she had given this scene such an overly complex and ambiguous interpretation?

The heat on Krystal Jung's cheeks slowly faded, replaced by a cold clarity and a deeper sense of shame. Not towards the President, but towards herself. For her narrow-mindedness, for her immaturity, for the way she had hurt Sulli Unnie with those words, and for putting herself in this awkward position.

She slowly smoothed out the Polaroid photo. The crease from being folded remained, but her fingers no longer rubbed it with force. She carefully placed it into the pocket of her denim jacket, as if to tuck away her chaotic and childish thoughts along with it.

Then, she raised her head and looked at Song Tianhao again.

The President's face was somewhat blurry in the night and the reflection of the distant lights, but his gaze was exceptionally clear. There was no reproach, no impatience, not even much emotion—just calm and transparency, like a deep pool that could reflect the most minute creases of one's heart.

"I'm sorry, President." Krystal's voice was very soft, but very clear. The sharpness from her questioning earlier was gone, leaving only sincere apology and the low tone of self-reflection. "I will talk to Sulli Unnie properly. For what I said at dinner today, and for my own immature thoughts."

Song Tianhao watched her quietly for a few seconds, then nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Mm." He responded, his tone softening. "Go back and rest. There will be plenty of time on the plane tomorrow; you can have a good talk."

He paused and took a small step forward, getting closer to Krystal. The night breeze brought over his faint scent; it wasn't perfume, but more like the smell of some aftershave or fabric softener—very clean, carrying a chill.

"Also," his voice was even slower, carrying the gentleness and certainty of an elder to a junior, or rather, a guide to someone lost, "Krystal, you also have your own light. You don't have to keep looking at someone else's lighthouse, and you certainly don't have to measure yourself or doubt yourself by someone else's standards."

He raised his hand, as if wanting to pat her shoulder, but his hand paused in mid-air, and eventually, it landed gently on the railing beside her, making a very soft "thud" sound.

"Find your own direction." He said, his gaze passing over her to look at the vast Paris night sky, which was glittering with countless starlit lights. "That is what is most important."

Krystal's nose suddenly felt sore, due to the touch of being understood and the clarity of being awakened. And, the feeling of being treated equally and seriously, even being entrusted with expectations.

The President did not brush her off because she was young, because she was acting out, or because she was "immature," nor did he use the authority of an elder to suppress her.

He calmly caught all her thorny probes and questions, and then, in a more rational and thorough way, threw the problem back to her, guiding her to think, to reflect, and to see a broader perspective.

He pointed out her problems, but also affirmed her "directness" and gave her a direction.

"Yes, President." Krystal nodded vigorously, her voice somewhat choked, but her eyes were much brighter than before. "I will… think about it properly. Find my own direction."

Song Tianhao looked at her, the corners of his mouth seeming to curve into an extremely faint, almost invisible arc. "Go on."

Krystal bowed slightly to him again, turned around, and walked toward the elevator.

Her footsteps were hesitant at first, but soon became firm. The night breeze stirred the tips of her hair and the hem of her skirt. There seemed to be something different about that tall, slender back. There was less tension and detachment, and more of something that had settled within.

Song Tianhao stood where he was and did not leave immediately. He put his hands back into his pockets, turned around, leaned his back against the cold glass railing, and looked up at the night sky.

The Paris night sky was not particularly clear, dyed a hazy dark red by the city lights, with only a few particularly bright stars flickering stubbornly.

He stood alone on the rooftop for a while longer, the night breeze blowing through his hair and the corners of his clothes. The light of the Eiffel Tower in the distance continued to shine tirelessly, illuminating the dreams of countless tourists, as well as the bustling and lonely city that never sleeps.

After an unknown amount of time, the phone in his pocket vibrated.

He took it out, and the brightness of the screen was somewhat harsh in the darkness. It was a message from Sulli.

"President, are you done talking with Krystal? Is everything okay? I'm a little worried… (Anxious emoji)"

These simple words revealed the girl's unease and concern on the other side of the screen. Song Tianhao could even imagine her holding her phone, pacing back and forth in her room, or curled up on the sofa, her brows slightly furrowed, glancing at her phone from time to time.

His long fingers tapped quickly on the screen to reply briefly.

"Finished talking. It's fine. Sleep early."

Click, send.

No extra comfort, no explanation, just a statement of fact and an instruction. But sometimes, this simplicity itself is a power that brings peace of mind.

He put his phone back in his pocket, took one last look at the golden tower, and then turned, walking toward the elevator at an unhurried pace. His leather shoes stepped on the rooftop floor, making a rhythmic and clear sound that gradually disappeared behind the door.

The rooftop returned to silence, with only the rustling sound of the night breeze through the greenery and the gentle, noisy background sound of the city in the distance that never extinguished.