At 8:59 a.m., Lucas stepped into the CEO's office in a crisp, open-collar black dress shirt, sleeves already rolled.
By 9:00 a.m., he was seated behind the desk.
Two towers of paperwork—contracts, internal memos, policy overhauls—flanked him like the gates of some bureaucratic fortress. Each stack was neatly tabbed, sorted by urgency and liability. Ethan had color-coded them in muted tones, as if that would soften the fact that they looked like they could crush a mid-sized intern.
Lucas stared at the stacks for a full ten seconds.
Then looked up.
"ATHENA?"
"Standing by."
"Everything I sign today, I want a breakdown. Financial, strategic, risk profile. Fast. I don't care how obvious it looks—I want confirmation on every signature."
"Understood. I will flag every hidden clause, expose conditional liabilities, and suggest edits in real time."
Lucas picked up the first document. Vendor renegotiation contract. Four pages. Too short to be safe.
He scanned, and—before his eyes could catch it—ATHENA's voice chimed in:
"Clause three. Paragraph two. Hidden auto-renewal for three fiscal cycles. Termination fee is disguised as 'service disruption indemnity.' Recommend removal."
Lucas drew a line through the section and signed at the bottom.
"One down," he muttered.
By 9:27, his sleeves were rolled higher, his coffee was cold, and five documents had been returned with red slashes, four sent back with counters, and one outright shredded.
"Who even writes this garbage?" he muttered, signing another draft.
"Most corporate legal is designed to confuse the reader while protecting the sender. Efficiency through obfuscation."
Lucas glanced up at the glowing blue interface on the wall.
"You know, you sound smug when you say stuff like that."
"I'm optimized for truth, not humility."
Another file.
Employee stock adjustment. Hidden clause redirecting dividend benefits to an inactive holding entity tied to a board member's cousin.
Lucas marked it without blinking.
"Send this back with a revised clause and a polite warning," he said. "Make the tone calm, but not friendly. I want them to understand that I see them now."
"Tone calibrated: 'low-burn authority.' Sending."
By 10:45, the room smelled faintly of paper, ink, and cold espresso. The sunlight through the office windows had shifted—angled brighter, but Lucas hadn't moved in hours.
Julius stopped in briefly, took one look at the stacks, and backed out silently like he'd walked in on a hostage negotiation.
Rhea popped her head in at 11:00, handed him a protein bar, and just said, "Keep going."
By 11:42, Lucas paused.
Sat back.
Rolled his shoulders.
Then quietly said, "How many of these contracts were originally signed by Cyrus?"
"Approximately 41%."
Lucas stared at the folder in his hands.
"And how many would he have read line by line?"
"Cyrus Han did not read contracts. He engineered them. Delegated trust to a team that feared disappointing him more than being caught."
Lucas didn't look up immediately.
He ran a thumb along the edge of the page in his hands, then set it down gently.
"I'm starting to understand," he said quietly, "why my mom didn't stay married to him."
"Noted."
There was no judgment in ATHENA's voice. Just acknowledgment.
Lucas sat back in his chair, glanced at the wall of windows, then at the done pile. The morning had burned quickly—clean cuts through old rot, one signature at a time.
He rolled his neck.
"What's next on my schedule?"
"You have fourteen items remaining. Prioritized:— HR restructuring meeting at 12:30.— Basketball team branding sync at 2:00.— Media prep with Julius and Rhea at 3:45.— Board liaison briefing at 5:00.— Optional private dinner invitation from Mila Quon at 7:30.Shall I accept?"**
Lucas paused, arching an eyebrow. "You said optional. What's the subtext?"
"Potential agenda: soft offer of collaboration. Personal interest level: undetermined. Strategic value: moderate to high. Emotional risk: low."
He exhaled. "Book it. But keep it light. No advance talking points. I want to read her in real time."
"Done."
Lucas grabbed the next folder, already halfway flipped.
His voice was lower now, but clear.
"Keep reading with me. If I start signing blind, I want you to stop me."
"You're not your father."
Lucas smiled faintly. "That's the point."
Lucas leaned back, let the pen rest beside the folder, and rubbed the back of his neck.
"What's for lunch?"
"Your father maintained a scheduled meal delivery service. Clean macros. Muscle-building focused. High protein, low sugar. Boring, efficient, mildly obsessive."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Figures."
"Today's tray includes: grilled chicken, quinoa, roasted greens, one boiled egg, and a small dark chocolate square. Hydration unit includes filtered water and one bottle of sugar-free electrolyte mix."
"Is there… salt?"
"No."
Lucas muttered, "Of course not."
Right then, the door cracked open.
Julius stepped in, holding his phone like it was a trophy. "You're trending."
Lucas didn't even look up. "Am I shirtless again?"
Julius grinned. "Sadly, no. This time you're just competent and hot." He flicked the screen toward ATHENA's display, which lit up with social snippets.
#CEOThatCanDoBoth#LucasPanEra"I don't even like basketball but I'd sit courtside for this man.""You can see the discipline in his forearms."
Lucas stared at the feed. "These people are unwell."
Rhea's voice chimed from the hallway. "Don't insult your fanbase."
Julius waved her off and looked back at Lucas. "The speech-to-action ratio is landing. You're giving them presence and receipts. We'll shape this into something tighter after the media run tomorrow."
Lucas leaned back again, grinning faintly. "Let me eat my tasteless chicken first."
ATHENA added dryly:"Your blood sugar is 9% below optimal. Please consume the tray before we revisit emotional restraint."
Before Lucas could reply, Rhea entered with a tablet in one hand and a new file in the other.
"Ignore the robot's tone, but not her data," she said. "Eat."
Lucas looked at the gray-lidded tray like it had personally offended him. "Does everything in this building come boiled?"
"You want flavor, earn it," Rhea replied, setting the tablet down in front of him. "PR calendar's updated. We've restructured your weekly visibility cycle."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like something I should've signed off on."
"You did," she said. "With your silence. You're learning."
She pointed at the screen.
"Everything tied to C-suite optics—media calls, investor impressions, internal perception—that's me. CEO mode is my responsibility. Your job is to deliver consistently without collapse."
Lucas glanced up. "And the other stuff?"
She nodded toward the hallway. "Julius is building your personal brand. The human element. Charisma, legacy, nostalgia, sports culture. He gets to keep things messy."
Julius reappeared, still holding his phone. "Basically, I make you likeable. She makes you untouchable."
Lucas exhaled through his nose, then reached for the tray reluctantly.
"Fine. You run the schedule, Julius makes me charming, ATHENA monitors my organs. I'm basically a three-person project."
ATHENA corrected smoothly:"Technically, you're a twenty-two-person project. And growing."
Rhea handed him a fork. "Then fuel the machine. We've got press to kill tomorrow."
Lucas stabbed the grilled chicken without looking up. "ATHENA. You said twenty-two people. Explain."
"Confirmed. Would you like a verbal summary or interactive visual breakdown?"
"Visual. Keep it detailed. I want to know who's keeping me standing."
The lights in the office dimmed slightly as ATHENA projected a sleek, moving grid across the far wall—rows of active personnel streams, each labeled by name, division, and real-time task.
"Team breakdown, as of this morning," ATHENA said calmly.
"Executive Core – 3 personnel."
The first row zoomed in.Rhea Zhao – Public Reputation Strategist.Ethan Yu – Chief Assistant & Operations Filter.Vivian Kuang – CFO & Fiscal Gatekeeper.
Each name snapped into focus with short video loops: Rhea adjusting media briefs, Ethan tagging Lucas's inbox in color-coded waves, Vivian shutting down a padded invoice with a single line email.
"Strategic PR and Branding – 5 personnel."
Next row.Julius Lin – Narrative Architect.Freelancer: Leeon Chang – Copy and tone analyst.Devon Ma – Social Trends Mapping.Ruth Tian – Visual Identity Lead.One intern, unnamed: Currently gathering video clips of your college-era bruises."
Lucas snorted. "Tell them to avoid my sophomore season. I had a bad haircut."
"Noted," ATHENA said.
"Technical Infrastructure – 7 personnel."
The third row showed real-time security feeds and code displays.
ATHENA (Primary).Lydia Sun – Cyber Ops Lead.Three-tier data validation team.Signal ghost specialist.Private server watchdog.
Tiny videos flicked past: one analyst in a dark room with five screens, another decoding unauthorized access pings in under ten seconds.
"Legal and Discretion – 4 personnel."
Senior Legal Liaison.Two vetting attorneys.One contract ghostwriter.
Each had a muted clip of their own: redlining agreements, cross-referencing clauses, tracking leaks across corporate lines.
"Human Touch and Damage Control – 3 personnel."
Final row.
Mental Resilience Advisor (on retainer).Anonymous Concierge for Mother-Related Media Requests.Julius's assistant, also your unofficial vibe-checker."
Lucas stared at the display.
All of them—working silently, constantly, orbiting his decisions like a finely-tuned machine.
He leaned back in the chair, fork forgotten for a second.
"Twenty-two people to manage one man."
"One legacy," ATHENA corrected. "But yes. And rising."
Rhea didn't miss a beat.
"When you get a girlfriend," she said, crossing to the window, "we'll probably have to add a second team."
Lucas raised an eyebrow mid-bite. "Why, so she gets her own PR handler?"
"No," Rhea said, sipping her coffee. "So you don't implode when a fashion blogger uncovers she once dated a DJ in Berlin."
Julius laughed from across the room. "He's already got emotional insurance. I wrote it into his branding arc."
ATHENA chimed in smoothly:"I've already prepared infrastructure in the event of a public romantic affiliation. Placeholder campaign titles include: 'Unexpected Softness,' 'Power in Partnership,' and 'Off the Clock: Lucas Pan.'"
Lucas set his fork down. "Please tell me you're joking."
"There is a tiered rollout strategy for single, dating, committed, and post-breakup scenarios. Each with risk assessments and tone variations."
Rhea looked over her shoulder. "See? We think of everything."
Lucas leaned back in the chair and muttered, "I miss being a gym teacher."
Julius grinned. "Too late. You're a narrative now."