"Let go of me! Moran, you'll regret doing this!" the reporter shrieked as he was hauled away by the bodyguards. But no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't break free from their iron grip and could only be dragged out of the office, all the way down the hall.
Even after they had hauled him far away, his furious shouting could still be faintly heard, until it finally vanished with the descent of the elevator.
Once they reached the company's front doors, the bodyguards threw him out unceremoniously. To make sure he didn't try to come back in, they stood on either side of the entrance, sneering at him with mocking expressions.
He was just a reporter—no matter how sharp his words or powerful his pen, it had nothing to do with them. They weren't afraid of him at all. Especially since, even if something did go wrong, their boss was the one who would have their backs.
People inside the building, not knowing what had happened, ran out to watch the commotion. When they heard the bodyguards pass along Laila's instructions to the reception desk, the crowd slowly began to piece together what had gone down. Thanks to the bodyguards throwing in a few extra jabs for the reporter's humiliation, everyone quickly understood: some lunatic of a journalist had actually dared to raise his voice at Laila—maybe even tried to get physical.
Trying to lay hands on their boss inside Dragon Soul Company?
If they hadn't seen it with their own eyes or heard it with their own ears, no one would have believed it.
And to do it right under their noses, no less—did that guy think the people at their company were just decorations?
Once the truth came out, the bodyguards didn't even need to keep an eye on the guy. The crowd of employees surrounding the entrance would've been enough to keep him pinned with their eyes alone.
The reporter took one look at the situation and started to panic. Furious and humiliated, he spat out one last threat—"You'll all regret this! This isn't over!"—and then bolted from the scene of his disgrace.
He was genuinely afraid that if he stuck around any longer, those crazed employees might actually rip him apart like a pack of hungry wolves.
But what he didn't know was that, when it came to "this isn't over," Laila was feeling the same.
She turned her gaze toward the photographer and the assistants—who were now frozen stiff, unsure whether they should leave or not—and let out a light chuckle.
"No need to be so tense. I don't bite."
"…You may not bite," they all wanted to say, "but you're even scarier than someone who does."
Still, they could only plaster on awkward smiles.
"You're joking. What happened just now was entirely our reporter's fault. He must've been drunk—or ate something that scrambled his brain. We sincerely apologize on his behalf."
Laila waved a hand dismissively.
"No need for apologies. Besides, apologies are not something that can be made on someone else's behalf."
Not on someone else's behalf?
Was that her way of saying she intended to pursue this to the end?
The photographer and assistants were on the verge of tears. They genuinely wanted to complete their assignment well, not lose their jobs over some inexplicable disaster. Why did this have to happen?
"We'll be sure to report the entire incident to our editor-in-chief," the photographer promised quickly. "I'm confident he'll provide you with a satisfactory response."
But even as the words left his mouth, he instantly regretted them.
Wait, did that sound like a veiled threat?
Laila chuckled.
"Go ahead. But since the troublemaker's gone, aren't you planning to finish the interview?"
"Ah?" They all stared blankly, not quite sure what she meant.
She wanted to continue the interview?
But the journalist had already been thrown out—who was supposed to do the interviewing now?
The photographer instinctively looked to the assistants. With the reporter gone, he was now the most senior among them. But the assistants? They were used to carrying equipment, adjusting lighting—not interviewing someone like Laila Moran.
Still, if they just left now, the story would blow up into something ugly—possibly into a full-blown fallout between Laila and Time magazine. If the other media outlets got wind of it, who knew what kind of twisted stories they'd invent?
But if they managed to finish the interview, it would reframe the incident as a personal conflict between Laila and the one problematic journalist. That wouldn't damage Time's reputation. At most, it would just reflect poorly on their judgment in sending the wrong person for the job.
After weighing the pros and cons, the photographer made a decision.
"Tommy, give it a try," he said, turning toward one of the assistants after careful thought. He'd worked with the group long enough to know their strengths. While all of them were journalism majors, Tommy stood out as the most dedicated, most focused, and also the boldest.
Just look at their reactions after Laila made her suggestion—every single assistant had instinctively shrunken back, except for Tommy.
In the photographer's eyes, if you didn't even have that tiny bit of guts, what business did you have calling yourself a journalist?
Tommy, stunned at being chosen, turned first to the photographer, then to Laila, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Really? I… Can I do it?"
Laila found his reaction amusing and smiled as she threw the question back at him.
"I think that's something you should answer. Do you think you can do it?"
"I can!" he answered without hesitation. "As soon as we got the assignment, I started preparing an interview list. I believe my questions are the kind of things the public would truly want to hear. Please give me a chance to prove myself!"
Opportunity is a wonderful thing—but unfortunately, not everyone gets one. And when it does come, it only falls into the hands of those who are ready for it.
Tommy was a diligent and sharp young man. Even though he knew there was only a tiny chance—maybe less than one percent—that his notes would ever be used, he still prepared them every time. For every assignment, he imagined himself in the role of the lead journalist, considering how best to carry out an excellent interview.
He'd worked with top reporters before and had learned a lot from them. While others fooled around at work, Tommy studied and thought. When others hit the bars or went on dates, he was gathering material and refining his notes.
And so, when this unexpected chance fell from the sky, while the other assistants shrank away in fear, he stood tall—eyes blazing, expression firm—and caught the opportunity as it landed in his lap.
Laila had always liked ambitious people. She might not have said it publicly, but those who knew her were well aware.
So when she saw the fire of ambition in Tommy's eyes, she had already made up her mind to give him this chance.
"Mr. Tommy, I look forward to working with you." She extended her hand.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!" he said excitedly, shaking her hand before immediately pulling out a well-prepared notebook.
The photographer was shocked to see the kid actually pull out a real notebook—no matter what was written in it, even if it was just doodles, at least it proved one thing: he had come prepared.
And that alone made it impossible to accuse him of being unprofessional.