The issue is small enough to be dismissed.
Juni arrives early to the studio only to find his access card blinking red. He tries again. Same result.
A note taped to the door reads: Room reassigned. Booking conflict.
No explanation. No alternative listed.
He checks the booking system. His name is still there. The room is marked unavailable.
He sends an email. Waits.
Hours pass.
When a reply finally arrives, it is apologetic without being helpful. We're looking into it. No timeline. No solution.
Juni feels the frustration build—not sharp, but cumulative. This isn't a confrontation.
It's erosion.
That evening, he tells Elian calmly, laying out the facts without emphasis.
Elian listens carefully. "I can make a call."
Juni shakes his head. "Not yet."
Elian pauses. He recognizes the tone—not pride, not denial. Agency.
"Okay," Elian says. "Then what do you want to do?"
"I want to follow the process," Juni replies. "And see where it stalls."
They draft another email together—clear, factual, documented. Juni sends it under his own name.
The next day, nothing changes.
By the third day, Juni is reassigned to a temporary space—smaller, poorly lit, shared. No explanation offered.
He accepts it without comment and keeps working.
Elian watches this quietly, restraint tightening his posture. Intervention would be easy. Invisible. Effective.
But it would also rewrite the story in ways Juni didn't choose.
That night, Elian admits, "It's harder not to step in."
Juni nods. "I know. That's why it matters."
Paper cuts don't draw blood.
They drain attention. They test patience. They create doubt without evidence.
Juni feels the system pressing—not loudly, not cruelly, but persistently.
And for the first time, he understands the real shape of pressure:
Not force. Delay.
This Chapter does not escalate with conflict.
It escalates with friction—quiet enough to deny, constant enough to exhaust.
Juni keeps working anyway.
Not because he believes the system will correct itself.
But because stopping would mean surrendering something far more important than space.
He will not disappear quietly.
Not for convenience.
Not for comfort.
And Elian—watching, waiting—knows the moment to intervene will come.
Just not yet.