The attack came at 6:12 AM sharp.
A glossy morning feature, dripping with false concern:
"Is Lucas Pan Just A Face? Sources Reveal Emotional Volatility, 'Unfinished Past'"—anonymous quotes from a "long-time associate" claim Lucas was "more athlete than executive," prone to "irrational decisions," and "dangerously sentimental."
Lucas read the article in silence from the penthouse table, coffee still warm in his hand.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't even sigh.
Rhea, seated across from him in running clothes, dropped her phone with a scowl. "It's clumsy. Obvious. And effective if we don't answer fast."
"I don't plan to defend it," Lucas said.
She blinked. "What, then?"
"I plan to outshine it."
By 7:40 AM, Julius Lin was already working in the temporary PR suite on the 19th floor—laptop open, four screens running, and a growing library of old press clippings, video files, and grainy footage from Lucas's basketball years pulled out of digital retirement.
A highlight reel played in the background—Lucas on the court, commanding without arrogance, talking to kids post-game, laughing with assistant coaches, even answering questions about failure with brutal honesty.
"You were already building a brand and didn't know it," Julius said, scrolling through timestamps. "Your past isn't deadweight. It's human. It's earned."
Rhea leaned in behind him, watching the cuts.
"That interview," she murmured, pointing to a local TV segment from seven years ago. "You were talking about team losses and gave half the credit to the water crew."
Julius nodded. "People remember that humility. It stuck."
Rhea turned to Lucas. "Your friend's good."
Lucas smirked. "I know."
She looked back at Julius. "You freelance?"
He shook his head. "Only for him."
Rhea extended a hand. "Still. Welcome to the fight."
He grinned. "Pleasure to finally meet the one who makes him sound smarter than he is."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You're fired."
Julius shrugged. "Already on payroll?"
Lucas walked to the desk, opened a file, and signed it. "Now you are. Full-time. You're in charge of basketball image, athlete partnerships, and team culture rollout."
"Title?"
"Whatever makes you harder to replace."
Julius grinned. "Chief Narrative Officer?"
Lucas looked at Rhea.
She shrugged. "Sounds annoyingly modern. I like it."
By noon, Julius's campaign was already live.
#LucasWasHere trended on Weibo.Archived interviews resurfaced with new captions.Former teammates chimed in with posts about his character, his work ethic, his quiet support. Even an old coach shared a clip of Lucas staying after practice to help a freshman finish free throws.
The smear article was swallowed in the algorithm by something louder, sharper, and real.
And Frances?
She didn't respond.
Because for the first time, she had nothing left to say that didn't sound like jealousy.
Back in the war room, ATHENA displayed real-time sentiment data.
"Public confidence recovery: +22%. Campaign effective. Enemy maneuver neutralized. Relevance index now higher than Frances Luo's for the first time since transition."
Lucas exhaled slowly, leaned back, and turned to Julius.
"You ready for the next phase?"
Julius smiled. "Yeah. Let's remind them that building empires can still look like fun."
Lucas exhaled slowly, leaned back, and turned to Julius."What's the plan?"
Julius didn't miss a beat.
"I'm not just rebuilding your image. I'm shaping your arc."
He spun his laptop around to show a timeline of overlapping content categories—press pieces, visual media, community events, brand partnerships, and personal storylines.
"Phase One: reintroduce you through memory. We build the narrative backward—college dreams, community roots, on-the-ground hustle. We remind people who you were before the title."
He clicked a tab.
Up popped an old, grainy photo of Lucas in college—warm-up jersey half-zipped, laughing with a teammate under cheap gym lights.
"You were already a symbol before you had power," Julius said. "And people love a symbol they helped build."
Rhea leaned in, reading quickly. "This is tight. Human-focused. Not overly polished."
Julius nodded. "Exactly. No corporate myth-making. We start with the dream."
He turned to Lucas. "Let me guess. First dream of going pro? Somewhere around age ten?"
Lucas paused.
Then gave a faint nod. "Yeah. More or less."
Julius tilted his head. "Your dad ever take you to a game?"
Lucas was quiet for a second longer. "Just once. I was maybe seven? It was loud. Red lights everywhere. I remember… hot dogs, I think."
Rhea looked over. "That's it?"
Lucas shrugged. "I wasn't used to seeing him in public. I don't even remember who played. Just… the sound."
A soft chime interrupted them.
ATHENA's voice, calm as ever:
"Footage located. Game: Crimson Tigers vs. Shenzhen Blaze. Date: July 3rd. You were seven years and four months old. Your father attended under corporate pretext."
Lucas sat up. "You have it?"
"Loading now."
The wall screen lit up.
Grainy. Flickering. Stadium cameras.
And then—there they were.
Cyrus Han in a slate-gray coat. A young boy beside him. Restless, fidgeting, stuffing a hot dog into his face while the man beside him barely looked away from his phone.
Lucas froze.
"That's… me."
The camera zoomed slightly. The boy looked up at Cyrus. Said something. Cyrus glanced down. And—briefly—smiled.
Not the fake smile. Not the one for cameras.
Just a moment. Real. Small.
Gone in seconds.
But caught forever.
Julius didn't say anything right away.
Then, gently, "That's the opening."
Lucas blinked. "What?"
"That," Julius said, pointing at the screen. "That's how we start. You—the boy who sat next to the man the world feared, and somehow turned into someone warmer. Sharper. Human. Capable."
Rhea nodded. "It's unexpected. Honest. Can't be faked."
Lucas sat back, still staring at the screen.
"You're not just your father's son," ATHENA added. "You're the only one who made him look back."
"You're not just your father's son," ATHENA added. "You're the only one who made him look back."
Silence followed. The screen still flickered with that single moment—Cyrus, glancing down at a hot-dog-smeared, squirming Lucas. A flash of something like pride. Or maybe regret.
Rhea stepped forward, arms crossed loosely.
"That's your cold open," she said. "But we frame it right. The contrast. The child who wasn't supposed to inherit anything becomes the man who controls everything. Visual storytelling. Use the footage, voiceover, maybe news clippings. Taglines like 'He never needed the legacy—he became it.'"
Julius let out a low breath. "It's good. It's slick. It's also a little too slick."
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You're selling myth again," Julius said, hands moving as he paced in front of the screen. "It works for shareholders. It doesn't work for fans. You want them to trust him? Show the awkward kid. The one who nearly missed the bus to his own championship game because he forgot his shoes. Show him real, not reverent."
Lucas looked between them. "You're both circling the same point."
Rhea folded her arms. "Which is?"
"That the story can't be told about me," Lucas said. "It has to come through me."
He stood and walked toward the screen. "Use the footage. But start with the voiceover in my voice. No polish. No punchline. Just: 'I don't remember this day clearly. But I remember the sound.'"
Julius gave a crooked smile. "There he is."
Lucas glanced over. "You still holding on to that highlight reel from the college days?"
Julius grinned. "Every missed free throw, every dumb quote."
Rhea turned toward him. "How do you have all this stuff?"
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Because he was always filming. And half the time I was too dumb to notice."
Julius leaned casually against the counter. "Also… he came to my PR 204 class."
Rhea blinked. "Wait—what?"
Lucas sighed. "It was for a girl."
Julius cackled. "Sat in the back like he belonged there. Did her homework. Annotated my slides."
Rhea raised both eyebrows. "Hold on—you did PR homework for a girl?"
Lucas nodded. "Smart girl. Way out of my league. I was trying to impress her."
"Did it work?"
Julius smirked. "Let's just say… you'd be surprised who "she" are."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Julius."
Julius winked. "I'll let her reintroduce herself."
Rhea looked between them. "Am I the only one who's extremely uncomfortable with how connected this is suddenly becoming?"
ATHENA's voice chimed in, unbothered.
"I have a list of 143 women who attended PR 204 during that period. Would you like me to start narrowing them down?"
Lucas groaned. "Do not run that search."
"Already done. Four high-profile matches. Two currently in Shanghai."
Julius laughed. "I love her."
Rhea looked at Lucas. "Your past is going to make this whole rollout very complicated."
Lucas exhaled. "Good. Let's make it interesting."
ATHENA chimed in immediately."Two candidates match the class year, course schedule, and current high-profile social visibility. Displaying profiles now."
Two glowing screens projected into the room: one showed Selina Du, fashion label heiress and current reality show darling; the other, Vivienne Bai, low-profile, old money, now quietly running three nonprofits and sitting on two discreet tech boards.
Rhea stepped closer, blinking slowly. "You dated both of them?"
Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. "It wasn't serious. Just a few dates."
Julius smirked. "Selina made him go to a pop-up flower market in a bowtie. Vivienne asked him to debate Confucian ethics over cocktails. He didn't make it to dessert."
Rhea turned, eyes narrowing in mock disbelief. "Two heiresses. AM. And you were what—on a dorm ramen budget?"
Lucas gave a wry shrug. "My mom had a good job. I had scholarships. I wasn't broke—I was just… not private plane rich."
Julius leaned back on the counter, arms crossed. "And still, somehow, they called him back."
Rhea turned, folded her arms, and gave Lucas a long look.
"What was the angle?"
Lucas looked her dead in the eye. "I listened. And I didn't pretend to be richer than I was."
Rhea blinked, then gave a short nod of approval. "Alright. That tracks."
Julius squinted at him, then suddenly frowned.
"Speaking of angles—man, are you always walking around shirtless now?"
Lucas blinked. "What?"
Julius turned toward ATHENA. "Pull up the fan cam from last week. The one outside the gym."
"Footage located," ATHENA said without hesitation."Time stamp: 6:47 a.m. Exterior camera. No shirt. Sweat. Two fans filming from across the street."
The screen lit up again—grainy, yes, but unmistakably Lucas, fresh out of a run, wiping sweat from his face, unaware of two women in the corner filming like they'd discovered a mythological creature.
Rhea squinted. "Wait—this is already on the internet?"
ATHENA confirmed."It has over 96,000 shares across three platforms. Caption variations include: 'Is this the CEO or a Marvel audition?' and 'Lucas Pan, please ruin my life respectfully.'"
Julius was doubled over laughing.
Lucas groaned. "You're all the worst."
Rhea tapped her chin, visibly amused. "We may need to schedule more early morning 'coincidences.'"
Lucas grabbed a towel from the back of his chair. "I hate you both."
Julius grinned. "You can hate us on the way to becoming a PR phenomenon."
Julius leaned on the table, eyes narrowing with something between teasing and honesty.
"I think they were in love with you," he said.
Lucas blinked. "What?"
Julius shrugged. "Selina, Vivienne... maybe not long-term, but come on—remember that time outside the campus arena? You walked out with a busted lip and still stopped to help a lost freshman find her dorm?"
Lucas muttered, "She was crying."
"She filmed a TikTok about it two years later and called you the nicest person she ever met."
Rhea looked between them. "Okay, now I'm genuinely curious. What was so good about you?"
Julius turned to ATHENA.
"Play the reel. First year. Postgame."
"File retrieved. Footage: Lucas Pan, 19, AM vs. Tianjin Tech. Postgame footage. Local news interview and recovery warm-down."
The screen lit up.
Lucas, younger, sweat-soaked, a towel draped around his shoulders. Slightly bruised face. Shirt clinging to his chest. Laughing as he answered questions with unexpected sincerity—talking about the loss, the team, giving credit to the bench.
Then the clip cut to a moment just off-camera: Lucas, slipping away from reporters to carry someone's crate of gear off the court.
Rhea squinted. "That's you?"
Julius grinned. "At his peak. Not that he's not peak now. He's been working out. A little too hard, actually."
Rhea tilted her head toward Lucas. "You know… there's a fine line between 'dedicated' and 'trying to outrun emotional trauma.'"
Lucas rolled his eyes. "This again?"
Julius pointed at him. "Stop the 4 a.m. runs, man. You're turning into a motivational poster."
ATHENA added dryly:"The fan cam analytics agree. Emotional projection rate spikes when you sweat and look lonely."
Lucas grabbed a pen off the desk, pointed it at the wall. "One more word and I'm putting you all in a wellness app."
Rhea just smiled. "You want people to believe in you? Give them this version. The guy who worked, fell, and helped someone up before checking his own injuries."
Lucas looked back at the frozen frame on the screen.
Younger. Less guarded. Less calculating.
But still him.