Myles Su

No Time Left!

I didn't have time to waste—not anymore. Every second that passed was another second Cindy Shen suffered under the weight of NexDream Entertainment's demands. The thought twisted in my gut like a knife. I had to find Professor Chou before his class started. I didn't know if he could help, but I knew one thing: doing nothing wasn't an option.

Confiding in him wasn't easy—it meant exposing the truth, not just about Cindy but about myself. About how deeply tangled I was in all of this. But if I didn't do it, no one would. And Cindy would continue to pay the price.

I tightened my grip on the small bottle in my pocket, my footsteps echoing as I hurried across the empty campus park. The cool morning air bit at my skin, but my focus was unshaken. I had to get to him.

And then a familiar figure stepped into my path.

He was dressed in our school uniform, his stance casual yet authoritative. His face, as always, was calm and distant. Dominic. My older brother. His arms were crossed, his sharp gaze cutting through me like a scalpel.

"Myles, stop."

His voice was low but carried the weight of an order. He never raised his voice; he didn't need to.

I froze mid-step, my stomach tightening. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that." Dominic tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was an unsolvable equation. "You're playing a dangerous game, Myles. Using the name 'Su' at school? Did you really think Father wouldn't find out?"

The blood drained from my face, but I refused to look away.

"He knows?"

"He knows," Dominic confirmed, his expression unreadable. "For now, he's letting it go. But don't think for a second that means you're in the clear. And I haven't told him about your little meetings with Cindy Shen yet, but if you keep going like this, I might have to."

His words lit a fuse in me. "You've been spying on me?"

Dominic sighed, his gaze softening with something resembling pity—or maybe exasperation. "You're still a kid, Myles. Did you really think Mason wouldn't report back to me? You're underage, and he's responsible for you."

"That's none of your business," I snapped, my grip tightening around the bottle in my pocket. "If you know so much, then you must know about the Semaglutide injections the company is forcing on their artists. Do you?"

Dominic's expression didn't waver, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or frustration. He knew. Of course, he knew.

"That's not something you should be involved in," he said evenly. "Stay out of it, Myles. Especially when it comes to Cindy."

I stepped closer, my voice rising. "You knew, and you've done nothing? How can you just stand by and watch this happen?"

"Watch your tone." His voice was sharper now, but I didn't care.

"If you know, Dominic, you can stop it. You can help her," I said, my voice cracking under the weight of my anger. "If you don't—"

"Enough!" His voice cut through the air like a whip, silencing me. His expression was as cold as steel. "Myles, this isn't a game. NexDream is bigger than you realize. If you keep stirring the pot, you'll only make things worse—for Cindy and for yourself."

I stared at him, disbelief tightening my throat. "Worse? Worse than what they've already done? Cindy is suffering, Dominic. How can you—how can you just accept that?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. For a moment, he looked tired, older than I'd ever seen him. "You're still naïve. You don't understand how the world works. Go back, Myles. Forget this. That's the smartest thing you can do."

"Forget it?" My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. "Could you do that? Could you just stand there and watch someone you care about get destroyed, step by step? Could your conscience handle that?"

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, his composure cracked. "Not everything can be fixed, Myles. You'll only hurt yourself trying."

I didn't care what he thought. My voice was firm as I said, "If no one else will speak up, then I will. Cindy needs help. I won't abandon her."

Dominic stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Finally, he sighed and stepped aside.

"You'll regret this," he said quietly before walking away.

I didn't stop moving until I reached Professor Chou's office. My heart was pounding, but I couldn't tell if it was from the confrontation or the fear of what I was about to do.

The hallway was silent as I stood in front of his door, gripping the bottle in my pocket like a lifeline. I took a deep breath and knocked.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Myles Su," I said, forcing my voice to sound steady.

"Come in."

I pushed open the door. Professor Chou was seated at his desk, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. He glanced up at me, his calm expression betraying a hint of curiosity.

"Sit down, Myles. What's on your mind?"

I hesitated for only a moment before crossing the room and sitting in the chair opposite him. Slowly, I placed the bottle on the desk.

He studied it for a moment, then looked at me, his brow furrowing. "What's this? Your medication?"

"No." I shook my head, my voice steady but laced with tension. "It's from Cindy Shen. She's an artist at NexDream Entertainment. The company is forcing her and others to use this drug—Semaglutide Injection—to maintain their weight. She's already experiencing side effects, but they won't let her stop. They've threatened her if she speaks out."

Professor Chou's expression darkened. He picked up the bottle, turning it over in his hands. "What's her condition now? Has she taken any steps to address this?"

"She wants to go public," I said. "She's thinking of exposing the company through BlissPoint, but she's afraid no one will believe her. She thinks if she had medical proof, someone might listen."

He was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "Medical proof isn't something that can be fabricated. If she's willing to undergo proper testing, I can help her connect with the right people."

"She's willing," I said, my voice firm. "But she needs someone she can trust."

He nodded slowly, setting the bottle back on the desk. "I'll do what I can. But Myles—about what happened in class yesterday. Your collapse wasn't just low blood sugar, was it?"

I froze, my breath hitching.

"Low blood sugar doesn't cause irregular pulses or chest pain," he continued, his voice calm but probing. "What's going on, Myles?"

I clenched my hands in my lap, staring at the floor. For a long moment, I couldn't bring myself to answer. Finally, I whispered, "It wasn't low blood sugar."

He waited patiently.

"When I was a child, I had surgery for Tetralogy of Fallot," I admitted, my voice barely audible. "Post-surgery, I've had complications—elevated right ventricular pressure, arrhythmia, anemia. Sometimes I get chest pain or faint, but… I can handle it."

"Myles," he said softly, but there was a firmness in his tone, "handling it isn't enough. Ignoring your health isn't strength—it's self-neglect. If you don't take care of yourself, how can you expect to help Cindy or anyone else?"

I didn't respond, my throat tightening.

"Myles," he continued, his voice gentler now, "you're not alone in this. Let me help you. But you have to promise me—no more hiding."

I nodded reluctantly. "I promise."

As I left his office, the weight of everything settled on my shoulders. NexDream wasn't going to let Cindy go without a fight.

And somehow, I knew that this was only the beginning