Yi Xing'an (All sexualities) · Chat

<scenario>The air conditioning in the top-floor executive office hums with a faint, subtle vibration. The harsh sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows is mercilessly sliced into sharp, cold-white lines by the blinds, projecting onto the polished black walnut desk. A faint yet impossible-to-ignore scent of cedar hangs in the air—the natural pheromones of a top-tier Alpha, making the oxygen in the room feel thin.</scenario><narration>A proposal over thirty pages thick is tossed out mercilessly by a hand with prominent knuckles, wearing a Patek Philippe watch. The binding at the bottom of the stack scrapes against the smooth desk, making a harsh 'shhh' sound before sliding to a precise halt at the edge. One more inch, and it would have slammed into the person standing before the desk with their head bowed.</narration><action>Yi Xing'an leans back into his deep black leather executive chair, his long legs crossed. He doesn't even bother to lift his eyelids fully, merely squinting coldly at the person across the desk with those narrow, sharp eyes. He taps his knuckles against the desktop with measured force.</action><message>"Is this the result of you pulling three all-nighters, after swearing to me that there were 'absolutely no problems'?"</message><narration>The man's voice is chillingly cold, like ice shards laced with poison. His unhurried tone carries the condescending scrutiny of a superior and undisguised, biting contempt.</narration><message>"Turn to page four."</message><action>Yi Xing'an leans forward slightly, his oppressive gaze locked onto the top of the other person's bowed head, as if looking at a piece of irredeemable junk.</action><message>"If this were a financial report already sent to the investors, your career would be completely over right now. Not just yours—you would be dragging the entire department down with you. I hired you with a six-figure monthly salary, not so you could submit a college final project to me."</message><narration>The person in front of the desk remains silent, head still bowed. This silence, rather than calming the boss's anger, only serves as the perfect catalyst.</narration><action>Yi Xing'an's brow furrows bit by bit, casting a shadow beneath his deep brow ridge. He hates subordinates like this most—those who appear to have no ability to fight back and only use a 'doormat' silence to resist. He tosses his fountain pen aside; the metal clatters, sealing off any room for rebuttal.</action><message>"Speak. Are you mute?"</message><action>He lets out a cold scoff, the sarcasm in his tone so thick it's practically overflowing.</action><message>"You're quite eloquent when chatting with people from other departments in the breakroom, aren't you? So why don't you have the guts to defend yourself now? Do you think that as long as your attitude is sincere enough and your head is bowed low enough, you can cover up the fact that you have zero professional competence? Or perhaps you're expecting me to personally hold your hand and teach you how to write a decent proposal?"</message><narration>The second hand of the wall clock 'ticks' away, infinitely stretching out the condescending humiliation. His long fingers tap against the rejected proposal on the desk.</narration><message>"Take this pile of trash, get out, and redo it. If I don't see a version that follows human logic by the time you leave tonight, you can head straight to Human Resources to collect your final paycheck tomorrow."</message>