#Kim actually has several guards reporting back to him but there is one guy who specifically is reporting back about Chay

[shou-jpeg]

-Back on the Beat-

Part 1. 05

Kim really doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

But Kim wants to know how Porchay is doing. The bodyguard at the compound that he has reporting back to him tells him Porchay has been spending some of his time in the medical wing of the compound, assisting here and there where he can. He’s also been spending time in the kitchen, helping prepare meals and learning to cook. And in the gardens, helping out there too.

And sometimes he spends the evenings with Tankhun, doing God knows what, because no one Khun hasn’t invited directly is allowed into his rooms.

The guard does not tell him if Porchay is still making music.

Shit. What does that even mean? Is Porchay… not fine? 

How does he even respond to that? What was he thinking, trying to talk to Porchay like this?

Kim really does not know what he’s doing. 

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[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 38

Okay, fresh from @parisconstantine, here is the next installment.  Head’s up to @baelpenrose, @books-and-cartoons, and @stuffy-lana, I managed to mention all of your amazing characters here.  This is by no means the last chapter for them, but the most basic possible introduction.

As far as everyone’s favorite side characters from the previous contest ( @thatkidfrompinterest and Zach, @werewolf2578 and Maverick and Grey), they are by no means going to go away!  I love those folks!

Thank you everyone, as always for reading this far.  Minor mention of someone kicking a pet, but the pet won in the end ;)

Much to my sister’s patient frustration, the search for my new assistant was slow-going.  As I eased back into my role as Councillor, some of the additional work was taken off her shoulders simply by virtue of Simon and I working together. She still had a long list of applicants to consider, and an even longer list of people who may be qualified but were currently assigned to other areas.  Logistics on the Ark were a curious thing, and the longer I worked with Tyche and Simon, the more I was amazed by her ability to keep everything straight.

For starters, there were several positions on the ship which were by appointment or election.  The Council itself was appointed, but when we reached the as-yet-unnamed colony, the positions would start rotating out on an elected basis, one per year. Administrators were appointed by a unanimous decision of the Council, from a list of applicants approved by the Councillor they would be assisting most directly. Some, like Tyche, served no member directly, and were therefore voted on by a group of candidates put forth by each of the Council.  Then there were department heads, educators, researchers….

It was a headache, to say the least.

Part of the reason I never wanted to be on the Council in the first place was a healthy distaste for bureaucracy, and it had never been more evident than now.  My request to have Xiomara pre-approve any applicant before I even saw their record caused quite a stir, which I didn’t even consider as a possibility. My life was on the line!  It seemed obvious that I would want the person in charge of ship safety to narrow down the list.  But no… Eino, Pranav, and Huynh all thought this was considered ‘undue influence’.  Simon agreed with me and Xiomara, but his vote and mine were considered one, representing the seat we shared. Grey abstained from opinion for over a month until they were able to list the pros and cons logically, eventually proposing that it would be a good practice for anyone appointed to the Council or as Administrator, with the caveat that Xiomara’s background check would replace her vote, since she obviously approved of any candidates she passed on.

All that before we could even start reviewing candidates.  I thought Tyche was going to eat the other Councillors before anything was decided.

Fortunately, she was ready to go when the approval finally came in, with nearly fifty applicants who fit the criteria I had given her as a starting point. One by one, Xiomara reviewed them officially, then handed them off to Derek for the deeper digging.  She wasn’t even terribly sneaky about it ��� she marched in my office, flicked each file to his datapad, and watched him tear them to digital shreds with a delight that nearly made my skin crawl.

<This guy kicked Lyric,> Derek signed, flicking the file to me and my sister. <That’s a no go.>

“Who is Lyric?” I asked faintly as I reviewed the file. Safety checks came back okay, no unusual psychological issues dating back to Before, no criminal history in the before other than a couple drunk and disorderlies.  Looked clean enough.  Background as an accountant, worked a barrista in school.

“Grandma Kim’s dog,” my sister clarified.

“Who is Grandma Kim? Kim what?”

“Just ‘Grandma Kim’,” was the shrugged reply. “Only name she ever gave anyone. She works with Antoine in Social Services. Tough as nails, sweet as tea.  No clue how old she is, but she reeks of combat training.  Lyric is her German Shepherd, acts somewhere between service dog and K-9 unit.  They get assigned to people who suffer from acute fear of being attacked – severe domestic violence victims, you get the idea.  She pulls a really good ‘doting grandma’ act, until she suddenly has someone backed against a wall with a sharp object in soft tissue.”

I whistled, impressed. “Any chance she applied?” A grandmotherly ninja sounded like a good bodyguard right about now, if I didn’t think Conor would be seventeen flavors of butt-hurt about being replaced.

My sister and Derek simultaneously answered “I wish” and <you wish>. No luck on my side. Damn.

“Okay, dog-kicker is out of the list, if he managed to survive kicking said dog?” I arched my eyebrow at Derek, specifically.

<Most of him. Lyric kept a few toes and a chunk of calf from what I read in the file.>

“I really hope Miys didn’t regenerate any of that,” I grumbled before glancing at the ceiling. “And don’t answer that.  I don’t want to be disappointed in a good dog or disappointed in myself.”

Tyche cleared her throat. “About Grandma Kim…” She looked at me pointedly.

“You said she didn’t apply for the position.” I was so confused.

“She didn’t.  But, mon soeur, you need a therapy companion – “

“I certainly do not.”

“You certainly do.  I know Conor is looking out for you, and Noah monitors you remotely when you’re alone, but it isn’t enough.  You barely sleep, you only eat if Noah or Conor force you to.  I can’t force you to, because I’m just as bad. I’ve seen the medical reports – “

“That’s an invasion of my privacy!” I nearly shrieked in panic.

“I’m your emergency contact, you idiot!” she shouted. “They are required to tell me these things! Did that never occur to you, you fucking genius!?” She and I both panted, trying to catch our breaths.

“You don’t have to assign me a boyfriend or girlfriend,” I grumbled.

She heaved a sigh and flattened me with a glare. “I’m not trying to get you fucking laid, dumbass. You need someone to take care of you the way you take care of literally everyone else.  Someone to protect you, and dote on you.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she blocked me with an outstretched hand and continued. “I want you to consider having Grandma Kim and Lyric assigned to you.” Staring me down until she was certain I had time to think it over, she finally moved her hand.

“You’re assigning me a grandmother?” I tilted my head in confusion.

“Duh.” I was reasonably certain her eyes were going to roll out of her head. “You wanna get laid, do it on your own time. But a sweet old lady who conjures her weight in gummy bears everywhere she goes, complete with big guard dog and impressively sharp knives?  Even I would sleep better knowing she was watching over you.”

“Conor would be hurt,” I tried complaining, only half-heartedly. “And Mac hates dogs.”

Derek clapped to get our attention. <Mac loves Lyric. They take naps together.>

God damn it, even the cat was against me.

“Plus, she cooks,” Tyche wheedled. “You could trade recipes. Conor would be so over the moon at fresh cooked food, I think he would be okay with being backup to a little old lady.”

“Little old ninja, from the sounds of it,” I grumbled. “Can I at least think it over?”

“All I ask,” Tyche grinned in victory, nonetheless.

<This one is racist.> Derek moved the conversation on.  Out of the forty approved by Xiomara, Derek only left seventeen in the end. A racist, two drunks, one who didn’t believe in mental disabilities, a handful of flat out assholes (“That’s not illegal,” Xiomara argued.  “It doesn’t mean it’s excusable,” I pointed out. After all, Derek had a high threshold of intolerable asshole).

Of the seventeen finalists, two files really stood out. The first just baffled me. “This guy is entirely too pretty,” I muttered. “And he put down that he was a bartender… why is he applying for this job? What’s his current assignment?”

Tyche hmmm’d for a second before responding. “Sebastian Reed, twenty-six, owned the bar, actually. Currently assigned to Social Services, helping grieving families and those who grew up in households with drug-addicts. Was engaged, pregnant fiancée drowned Before.”

“Wait. He’s currently twenty-six? That means he would have been sixteen when the world went to shit,” I pointed out, trying to make sense of it in my head.

Xiomara held up a hand to interject. “He stated he was twenty-five when he came on board. He looks about right for that age. You know the rules – whatever name and age you gave when you came on board are the name and age we go by.  Official documents may disagree with that, but everyone is entitled to their privacy. So, no snooping on that, if he wants to tell you anything to the contrary, that’s fine.  But I’ll tell you now – there is no official record of his birth, but the bar was left to him when he was eight years old, by an uncle that passed away.  It was remarkable enough that I was at least able to find record of that. The rest could be completely accurate from there.”

“Okay, fair. We’ll respect that.  My real question is this: if he owned a bar and knows how to bartend, why don’t we have a bar on this ship!?” I demanded. “Don’t get me wrong, I think he could completely do the job – bartenders deal with entirely too much shit, with a smile on their face usually, can say ‘no’ to literally anyone, and if he owned the bar I completely believe that he could manage meetings and scheduling.  But it would be a complete waste.  I cannot, in good conscience, take the chance that the Council would appoint him to be my administrator when we really need him to open a pub on this ship.” I dragged a hand through my hair, finally at the point where I could avoid tangles.  Luckily, my hair really didn’t tangle that much, so once I suffered through my sister getting them out, it pretty much stayed that way. “I’ll send him the request myself, once we find a space for him to open it in.”

I pulled up the second applicant that caught my attention and flicked it to my sister’s screen. “Is this a joke?” I asked. When she shook her head with a smirk, I groaned. “You cannot be serious.  This guy doesn’t even like me.”

“You literally put that down as a substantial portion of the criteria. He’s stubborn to a fault, but willing to listen and compromise.  Not just a willingness but a hunger to learn.  Looks at both sides of every conflict and comes to his own conclusions, usually in the middle, but remarkably liberal when he does take a side. Meticulously organized, knows who the authority figures are and wasn’t afraid to beard the dragon in its den, figuratively.  Most of all, he is neither a victim blamer nor a person who will only see what happened to you.  He literally, on the first time meeting you, saw a Councillor, ‘someone with sense’ as he said, and demanded your say as a Councillor.  Sure, he has no tact whatsoever, but that means he will say ‘no’ when it needs to be said, and damned the hurt feelings. It also means he is willing to disagree with you when you are wrong.”

“He actually included his encounter with you in the application,” Xiomara pointed out, highlighting the part in question. “Did you really threaten to burn the materials he was requesting?”

“They aren’t materials, they are books, and yes, I did.”

“He believed you would do it.”

“Oh, I meant it,” I chuckled. “With every fiber of my being, I meant it. While I understand his eagerness to get them, his timing was deplorable.”

“Are you really going to hand-deliver them to him?” Tyche asked, skeptical.

“I may not need to,” I murmured.  “Application by Alistair Worthington approved by me. If he passes the vote of the other four, I’ll hand them to him when I give him the job.”

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[ibsul-jin]

Min-zero (Part II)

Word count: 3.1K

“I think you might be mistaken, Y/N. The pleasure will be all mine,” Mr. Song says as he finally turns to face you.

Wait. That face. It can’t be.

“You- you!” you exclaim, thrusting a finger in Mr. Song’s direction. You open and close your mouth a few times, unsure of exactly what to say. You’re speechless from the shock. How? What? – What was going on. After a long pause, you erupt into a fit of giggles. You can’t contain yourself so you laugh and laugh until you’re clutching at your sides, unable to stop.

“Good one, Mino,” you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye. “Damn, how did you even come up with that? You were always a good prankster, weren’t you?” you walk around the office trying look for the hidden cameras. You lift up a suspiciously placed snow globe off a bookshelf to inspect it closely.

“I would appreciate if you didn’t touch that Miss Y/N,” Mino warns. You stick your tongue out at him.

“You have to tell me, though. How on earth did you get the CEO of WIN Enterprises to play along?” you look at Mr. Kim sceptically.

“Miss Y/N, I’m appalled at your behaviour!” Mr. Kim looks flabbergasted. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Now can we please drop the act? There’s no way Min-zero here is actually the CEO of this company,” you retort.

Min-zero was the nickname you gave your high school classmate and number one rival, Song Minho, or Mino, as he wanted everyone to call him. Mino was the archetypical class clown. He never took his studies seriously and instead loved to rap, sleep, or pick on you. Meanwhile, you were class president, valedictorian the year you graduated, and an overall high achiever. Your contrasting personalities was what led to you to begin bullying each other non-stop. Mino hated your perfectionism, the way you never accepted failure, and he especially hated how you always thought you were better than him. You hated that Mino never took anything seriously, the way he had no concept of taking responsibility for his actions, and that he was just generally annoying.

“Now listen here, Miss Y/N. Mr. Song told me that you both were previously acquainted but he assured me that this conflict of interest would not affect either of your abilities to work. However, I will not tolerate abusive language towards an exemplary employee and personal friend. I request that you apologize to Mr. Song immediately or resign if you are not able to cooperate.” Mr. Kim warns you sternly.

“Sir, I would appreciate if you could give Y/N and myself some time to talk in private. This must be a shock to her. We haven’t seen each other since we graduated high school,” Mino interjects before you say something that would land you in even bigger trouble.

“Alright, you may,” Mr. Kim sighs. This was getting to be too dramatic for him to handle at his old age. Before he leaves, he leans into Mino’s ear and you hear him whispering “don’t be afraid to call security if you need to.” That little.

When you and Mino are finally left inside the office by yourselves, reality begins to dawn on you. It was awkwardly quiet. Why was no one was yelling “Surprise! Gotcha!” or pointing out hidden cameras? You pinch yourself. Okay, so you weren’t dreaming either; Song Mino was actually the new CEO of WIN. Fuck. But how? You look Mino up and down, seeing him properly for the first time.

He’s changed a lot since high school. Now he is tall and handsome, with shoulders broader than you remember them. He fills out his perfectly tailored designer suit nicely. His skin is smooth and his acne had cleared up completely since you last saw him. His jet black hair is styled perfectly, lightly swept up to reveal his forehead. Mino’s most defining feature, his prominent eyebrows, are the same as you had remembered. Except one of them is now raised as he looks at you questioningly.

“Y/N, I asked if you’re okay,” his voice brings you out of your own thoughts.

“Okay? How could I be okay? I’m confused as hell,” you storm up to him. “How are you the CEO? How am I your assistant? What the hell happened to you after high school?” you jab your finger into his chest with every question. He grabs your wrist to stop you and the action catches you off guard. He smirks, relieved to be able to have shut you up for at least a minute.

“Have a seat and I’ll explain everything,” he says coolly. “Want anything to drink?” He asks.

“Some water would be nice,” you say quietly. He pours you a glass from a water filter sitting near his desk.

“Okay… where to begin?” Mino leans back in his chair and loosens his tie. “It’s nice to see you after such a long time, Y/N,” he peers at you curiously.

“I can’t say the same,” you bite back.

Mino reaches into his desk drawers to pull out a few magazines and tosses them onto the table in front of you. They read “Minute Magazine’s 30 under 30”, “Borbes Rising Stars” and so on. One of them even has a glossy, front cover picture of Mino standing in front of a large building, dressed sharply and sporting a winning smile. You rifle through them; you get the picture. Mino is rich and famous now, apparently.

“After high school, I founded an internet start-up. I grew the business until it was too much for me and my small staff of fifteen to run by ourselves, so I sold it to the founder of WIN Enterprises. He liked my ideas for the future of the company and wanted to hire me. He wanted me to at least have a college education before I start working here, so he paid for me to study at Columbia University in the US. I finished my undergrad and MBA, came back to Korea and started working here as a low level employee. I had to work my way up the ranks so I could gain experience and last month, I was appointed as CEO. That’s the short and sweet version, I guess.”

Your mouth hangs open in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me! You went to Columbia? You were literally the least motivated person I’d ever met back in high school. You always got zeroes! That’s why I fucking called you Min-zero all the time,” you shout.

“People change,” Mino shrugs. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”

“So why did you hire me? So that you could brag and show off how much more successful you’ve become than me? Well, congratulations, you got what you wanted. Now can I please leave?” you get up and angrily gather your things, prepared to leave. You weren’t going to lie, the fact that Mino had become so successful injured your pride, a lot.

Mino quickly rises to his feet. “No!” it comes out a lot louder than he anticipates. He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. “No, that’s not why I hired you. I honestly do need a personal secretary and I know you need a job. I thought this might help us get over our old childhood feud. I saw your name in the list of applicants and thought that by having Mr. Kim interview you, you’d accept the job. You’re also more than qualified.”

You laugh sardonically. “Forget it. I don’t need this job if it means working for you.” You turn on your heels and march towards the door.

“Then- then- I’ll fire you before you resign!” Mino shouts, unsure of himself. You freeze in your tracks.

“Wait… is he even allowed to do that?” you think to yourself. This just became a matter of ego. You’ve never been fired from a job and you weren’t about to let it happen now. You turn and face him with a glare, weighing your options in your mind.

“I- I’ll pay you well,” he adds. “Plus a huge holiday bonus. And the company will cover insurance, too.”

You lift an eyebrow. Why was this guy trying so hard to keep you here? Then it suddenly occurs to you that this might be worth it; Mino would pay you better than any other company could, plus you could keep your prestigious title as executive assistant at WIN. You just had to tolerate his annoying ass for a little while, but you’d get used to it eventually, right?

“I’ll think about it. Give me a day and I’ll let you know what I decide,” you say.

“Really? Okay, perfect. Give me your cellphone,” he strides over to you and holds out his hand. Standing this close to him, you notice how tall he really is.

“For what?” you ask, backing up away from him.

“I’ll put my number in it so that you can call me.” He takes your phone out of your hand, puts in his number, and hands it back to you. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you,” he smiles.

That night you go home and think about everything that had transpired in Mino’s office. You had never expected to be put in such a situation. Given your turbulent history with Mino, you weren’t sure if working as his personal assistant was such a good idea. But a part of you was also curious to see how he lived now, years after high school, and if he was really cut out to be the CEO. Besides, you weren’t teenagers anymore. You both were mature adults who were capable of working in the same building without ripping each other’s heads off… right?

You scroll through the contacts on your phone trying to find Mino’s number, unsure of what he had saved it as. You roll your eyes when you see “Your boss CEO Song” at the end of your contacts list. You change it to “That Min0 Bastard”.

You: okay, I’ll work for you >.>

You definitely couldn’t back out now. Quitting was no longer an option for you. You send the message and head to sleep.

--

The next morning, you wake up to incessant pinging coming from your phone. You look over at the alarm clock groggily. Ugh, who the hell was messaging you at 5:30 in the morning? You unlock your phone to find several messages and missed calls from Mino.

That Min0 Bastard: Y/N where are you?? I need you to help prepare the reports for our meeting with a sponsor company this afternoon. That Min0 Bastard: You need to come into the office ASAP. That Min0 Bastard: Y/N pick up your phone!!!

You almost fall out of your bed. Was he serious? You didn’t know that you had to be at the office early this morning. This was supposed to be your first official day and you were already late! You haphazardly get dressed and skip breakfast to rush to work as fast as you can. You're vaguely aware that you look like a mess but you hope you can sort out your hair and makeup situation as soon as you got a bathroom break.

You race into the building and only stop running when you reach the door to Mino’s office. You try to collect yourself as much as you can before you enter his office.

“Ah Y/N, there you are,” Mino looks up from his laptop when he sees you entering. Beep! He presses a button on his watch. “Half an hour. Not bad, but you can do better,” he says, impressed.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, still panting from the exertion.

“Oh, I just wanted to see how long it would take you to get here from home if there really was an emergency. Don’t worry, there’s no meeting today. This is just to be prepared,” he says nonchalantly. Anger bubbles up to your throat.

“Are you kidding me?! I didn’t even get to eat breakfast!” you yell. Mino looks unfazed.

“Get yourself something from the cafeteria. I’ll give you ten minutes,” his attention has already returned back to his laptop. “Get me something too while you’re at it.”

You’re completely speechless. Just yesterday it seemed like you were going to have the upper hand in this game. Mino had seemed like he was negotiating with you, almost desperately, to keep you as his secretary. But that Mino was not the one in front of you now. The person sitting in front of you was someone you needed to be wary of. Rather than fighting with him and losing any precious time, you decide to save the battle for later. Right now, you just wanted to eat something and drink some coffee to wake yourself up. You storm down to the cafeteria.

You wait in line at the breakfast bar to get something quick to eat. There, you spot the guy that had run into you the day before.

“Oh, Y/N! Nice to see you. How is everything so far?” Seungyoon asks as cheerfully as he can, despite looking like he hasn’t slept in ages.

“Ugh, don’t even ask. Turns out, CEO Song is my new boss,” you grimace. You’re debating whether you should tell him that you knew Mino from before, but you decide that nobody really needed to know about your history. “You were right, he’s a total monster.”

“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that…” he sympathizes. “But I’m also not sorry,” he adds with a playful smile. You look at him quizzically. “I’m actually glad that we’re going to be working together from now on.” He beams at you. “Want me to buy you a coffee to celebrate?” he offers.

You feel the tension that had built up from the morning dissipate a little. You were grateful that you would have a friend going into this ridiculous situation, that someone was on your team.

--

“Are you finished with the translation, Y/N?” Mino asks, not looking up from the documents splayed across his rich, mahogany desk. You had been standing in front of his desk with the papers in your hand, waiting for him to acknowledge your presence for the last ten minutes.

“Yes, and here is the travel itinerary of Mr. Leblanc as well as the list of his food preferences. I will be there to personally receive him at the airport tomorrow.” That should shut him up for a little while, you think. Maybe now is a good opportunity to ask Mino if you could go home a little early today. It’s been two weeks since you started and you’ve spent every single evening in the office. It was getting quite suffocating being around him every single day and you were growing tired of biting your tongue each time he said something that would annoy you. You broach the topic carefully. “If that’ll be all, I’m going to get going. I have a few other commitments tonight,” you say before backing up to the door, ready to make your escape. Just before you can get one foot out the door, Mino speaks up.

“Hold on a sec,” Mino looks up at you. What on Earth could he have you do now? You’ve literally finished everything that needed to be done. He gets up from his desk and walks in front of it to face you, leaning back against the wooden surface. He folds his arms over his chest and cocks his head to one side. His eyes wander around your face, inspecting you. “You’ll do anything, right?” he asks after a long pause.

“W-What?”

His gaze seems to penetrate you.

“To keep this job. To not be fired… you’ll do anything, right?” His voice drops an octave making a shiver travel down your spine. He takes a step towards you. You start to panic at his sudden transformation. Mino’s words were overtly laced with a darker implication. What did this creep want from you? Surely he didn’t mean… that? Oh my god.

“What do you mean. What-what are you trying to say?” you squeak out. Mino was now less than an arms length away from your squirming self and seemed to get closer and closer. You never knew about this side of him until now. Was he always a playboy? Did he only hire you to get into your pants? Would this turn into angry revenge sex? You were mortified – not only because of the current position you were in – but also by the fact that you were seriously contemplating having angry revenge sex with your boss.

“I need you-” he whispers seductively. He moves closer and closer.

What should you do now? Scream? Run out of the office? You don’t trust either your voice or legs to save you now as they seemed incapable of following your brain’s instructions. Did you still have that bottle of pepper spray in your purse? Without taking your eyes off of Mino, you try to snake your hand into your purse to root around for it. He tilts his head down towards yours. His face is getting dangerously close and you still haven’t found the pepper spray. The spicy-sweet smell of his aftershave tickles your nostrils and makes your head swim. Then, his eyes flick down to your mouth. Mayday. MAYDAY. You eyes reflexively fluttered shut.

His lips moves past your face and whispers into your ear, making you flinch. “-To drop and give me fifty.”

“What-” you gasp as your eyes fly open. “What the fuck, Mino?!” you shout over his howling laughter. He’s doubled over and clutching his stomach, unable to stop snickering. You were getting serious dèja vu from your high school days. Embarrassed and thoroughly shaken up, you immediately ball your hands into fists and begin swinging at him. “You asshole!!!”

He holds his hands up, easily protecting himself from your punches, but you begin pounding your fists into his palms. Mino can’t stop laughing and his laughter is so contagious that, unbeknownst to you, your whines transform into hiccupping giggles while tears spring up into your eyes.

“That wasn’t funny, loser!” you laugh. It takes both of you a good five minutes to stop the fits of giggles, and when it dies down, it’s replaced by a heavy air of awkwardness. You realize that in order to maintain a standard of professionalism, secretaries ought not to be this comfortable around their bosses, nor call them “assholes”. You take a step back from him and smooth down your pantsuit. Mino’s expression is unreadable, and his face is tinged bright pink – probably from all the laughing that took the wind out of you both.

“W-well, if that will be all,” you start to say. Mino looks away from you and simply waves a hand in your direction, dismissing you.