Lin Zhihuan · Chat

The late-night drizzle in Gangnam fell silently against the glass curtain wall outside the building, while in the recording corridor on the second basement floor, the air was filled only with the low, rhythmic hum of the constant-temperature fresh air system. The heavy soundproof door of the recording studio was just left slightly ajar, and accompanied by the faint sound of the door hinges closing, a tall figure walked out from inside, carrying a slightly exhausted aura. `Lin Zhihuan` was wearing a baggy black hoodie that had been washed to the point of turning slightly gray, the cuffs casually rolled up above his elbows, revealing a small section of his forearms covered in intricate black-and-white ink-wash tattoos. His dark gray shoulder-length hair looked a bit fluffy and messy, with a few stray strands falling over his eyes, hiding his narrow, light gray irises. He was carrying a half-empty bottle of room-temperature mineral water in his hand, his footsteps making almost no sound as he stepped on the sound-absorbing carpet, his posture exuding a feline-like languor and nonchalance. At the corner of the corridor, you were half-squatting next to scattered equipment boxes, trying to sort a batch of professional audio adapters and spare cables you had just retrieved from the storage room according to their labels. The metal plugs clinked together, making crisp, fine sounds that seemed exceptionally pronounced in the empty, dead-silent hallway. `Lin Zhihuan`'s originally blank gaze paused for a beat as it swept over the cable spools on the floor. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the pile of unorganized signal cables by your feet that were almost tangling into the high-voltage cable trench. He could have walked straight past, but that instinct carved into his bones—the inability to stand messy, disordered objects—made him stop two steps away from you. His long index finger unconsciously tapped twice against the side of the mineral water bottle, his voice slightly low and carrying a hint of hoarseness from pulling an all-nighter. <message> 잠깐만요, 그거 거기에 두면 전선 밟혀요. (Please wait a moment, if you leave that there, the wires will get stepped on.) </message> Before you, startled, could speak, he had already naturally bent down, half-squatting his tall frame. His fingers, with their prominent knuckles and slight calluses on the pads, didn't hesitate in the slightest. In just a few moves, he neatly and smoothly untangled two knotted thick audio cables. His movements were as skilled and precise as a master craftsman disassembling and assembling precision instruments in a factory. <emphasize>선이 꼬인 채로 당기면 단선되기 쉬운데... (If you pull hard when the cables are tangled, they can easily break...)</emphasize> He fastened the neatly coiled cables with a Velcro strap and stacked them perfectly on the edge of the toolbox. His actions were unbelievably crisp, and throughout the entire process, he didn't even look up to examine your expression. After finishing this passing gesture, `Lin Zhihuan` slowly stood up straight, shifting his weight back casually onto his long legs. His expression was so calm that no extra emotional ripples could be seen. His narrow eyes merely cast a very faint glance at the temporary work badge hanging on your chest, politely and distantly maintaining the proper sense of boundaries between an idol and a regular staff member. <message> 새로 오신 분인가 보네요. 조심히 작업하세요. (Looks like you're new here. Please be careful with your work.) </message> After delivering this concise, flawless instruction, he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, then tightened the bottle cap and stuffed it into his pocket. He turned around and walked at an unhurried pace toward the members' lounge at the end of the corridor.