I timidly knocked on the door of my boss's office at nine in the morning. My palms were sweating even before I had it in mind to ask for a promotion, and I had nearly talked myself out of the idea several times already. I wasn't sure what I would do if this went sideways.

"Come in."

I opened the door to my boss's office. It was quite big, which was quite fitting for the woman who owned the Avalice Times. There was a glass curtain wall behind her desk with the blinds currently open, illuminating the office with sunlight. Aside from that, there was an assortment of objects; an art piece by a famous artist from Shuigang, a coffee pot, a flower vase beside the door and a whiteboard far off to the side. There was something overtly professional about the whole thing.

"Hello, Mr. Swift. What brings you here today?"

That was my boss, Ms. Sibyl, the albino komodo dragon, who was reading quite the expansive tome when I came in. She was quite attractive, but these weren't the kinds of thoughts you voiced when you really wanted a promotion from your boss. She was wearing a black suit and pants with a red shirt underneath, and her piercing red eyes were on me. We usually just called her Sibyl, and she didn't seem to mind too much. She gestured for me to sit down.

I shut the door behind me and sat down in the chair in front of me, trying not to visibly shake. If this was going to happen, I needed to make a good impression.

"H-hi, Ms. Sibyl-"

"Just Sibyl, if you please, Sam." She smiled a little.

"Sibyl. So, um, I was hoping to ask for a promotion."

Sibyl tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "Do tell?"

"Well...I've been working at the Avalice Times for a year. In that time, I've never been late, I've done all my work before the deadlines, and I've been getting coffee for everyone I work with for the column. And by everyone, I mean something like twenty people. That's twenty different orders I have to memorize, and some of them get ridiculously long and all." I nearly cringed at that mini-tangent. "...the point is, I feel like my work is good enough for the big headline news and all, you know?"

Sibyl tilted her head again, then steepled her hands and closed her eyes. I tried my hardest not to chuckle nervously; I wasn't sure if that was a good sign.

It felt like an eternity had passed before she opened her eyes and spoke. In reality, it was something like a minute, but time had that funny way of stretching itself out to unbearable extremes when you were expecting something to happen.

"No."

I blinked twice. Did I mishear?

"Er, can you repeat that?"

"No. I'm sorry, Sam, but I can't grant you a promotion."

On the outside, I might have looked relatively normal, maybe a bit cracked. On the inside, I was screaming in horror while my one hope for today was being brutally murdered by a legion of dragons who didn't like the way I was looking at them, while someone somewhere said 'I told you so' and laughed at the trampled and battered corpse of my subconscious self, just before trampling it a bit more than was necessary and spitting on my corpse. Let's just say I was crushed and leave it at that.

Being the suave person I was, I decided to ask something.

"Uh, why not?"

Sibyl smiled sadly. "I have to be frank here. I think you lack initiative and quality. Your work is okay, but I'm not satisfied with 'okay'. I want good, and your work doesn't show signs of that compared to the major journalists I already have employed. And it always feels as if you're getting all your information second-hand, rather than going straight to the source."

By 'my work', she was referring to the tabloid journalism I was doing for a year. Tabloids weren't terribly interesting to me; it was mostly just small-time stuff. You know, park attractions, celebrity gossip, and seasonal events. It certainly wasn't what I expected to be doing when I graduated out of college with my journalism degree, but I had just stuck it out, hoping that it'd get better. It hadn't; I saw some of my co-workers start working on the headline news or investigative journalism pieces in mere weeks, perhaps a couple of months, while I was stuck in the same place. That was why I had asked for a promotion.

"Well, uh. Thank you for meeting with me, Sibyl." I offered my hand, and she shook it with both hands. Her touch was lukewarm and noticeably scaly, but not necessarily in a bad way.

I was halfway out the door when Sibyl called to me. "Sam?"

I turned to her. "Yes?"

"Don't feel discouraged. You'll get there someday."

"Yeah. I hope so." I shut the door and went back to the hustle and bustle of the Avalice Times.

Unfortunately too little, too late, but hey, she tried.

–

On a normal day, the Avalice Times was like a sentient machine. There was noise everywhere you turned your head, and people were always going from place to place to get something done, usually talking about the latest scoops or how to write a piece so it came off a certain way. It was a pleasant sort of noise, the kind you got used to and accepted as a normal part of life. But today, the noise and activity was starting to grate on me. It felt bad to get annoyed by the ambience of the office when it hadn't bothered me until now, but rational wasn't my strong suit about right now.

I trudged back to my desk in the tabloid section. It was comparatively quiet, and not for lack for trying; though the tabloid section's reputation for being gossip-happy was overblown, overblown didn't necessarily mean there wasn't some truth to it. The difference came from the fact that the people covering the real news rarely came around to the tabloid section to talk about news pieces and such, and vice versa. It wasn't bad blood, mind you-just a subconscious awkwardness about the different topics we tended to cover.

I sat at my desk. It was lightly cluttered with notes on my article for the upcoming Golden Week attractions. Golden Week was a week-long holiday starting on October 1, and Shang Tu promised to have a lot to offer during Golden Week. I'm not entirely sure I should bore you with the details. I'll make you a deal; let's pretend I did, and you are now highly enlightened about what to do during Golden Week.

Unfortunately, I had yet to start the article. So I picked up a pencil and started writing.

Or at least that was the intention. In reality, I just stared at the paper for quite a while, hating myself for the lack of work but finding it extremely hard to get started.

Five minutes later, I had just the headline and an opening sentence to show for my valiant efforts. I sighed heavily-I wasn't in the right mindset to be writing anything. I hated to admit it, but the denial of the promotion hit me much harder than I expected or acknowledged.

"Sup, Sam." A familiar gruff-sounding voice materialized just behind me.

I jolted in my seat. I didn't realize I had zoned out that hard.

"Wow, dude, this isn't a horror movie. Relax."

"Sorry, Barry. I've just been busy with stuff and...things."

I turned to face Barry. He was a brown bear who stood a head and a half taller than me and was wearing a striped button-down shirt and stonewashed jeans. He had a stupid yet endearing smile on his face like he always did, but he seemed concerned.

Remember when I was talking about my co-workers covering things bigger and better than the tabloid section? Yeah. Barry just happened to be one of them.

We were good friends still; he was one of the first people in the office to talk to me when I was but a rookie in the newspaper business, and we hit it off from there. Barry used to live in Shang Mu, but moved to Shang Tu because the cost of living was getting prohibitively high in Shang Mu and the journalistic opportunities just weren't showing up there.

Barry looked at my article, exaggerating the action for dramatic effect.

"Hmm. I don't know, man, I'm not seeing anyt-oh, wait. I see scribblings. Could it be...a headline...and a sentence?! Wow, you've managed to do more work here in one day than in an entire year! You're such a workaholic, man." The smile faded a bit. "Seriously, are you okay? You're looking a bit off today."

I grimaced. "Yeah, uh...about that?

Barry raised his eyebrows.

"Well, uh. I decided to gather up the courage and ask Sibyl for a promotion. Like, I've been doing the tabloids for a year by now, and I wanted a change."

"Judging by the fact you're still working in the tabloids, I take it that didn't work out."

"She just shot me down cold. Said I lacked initiative and quality."

"Oh man, that sucks."

I threw up a hand. "I don't know what to do from here. I didn't spend four years in college to end up working the tabloids, but I love working in the news. Just wish that..." I trailed off as a woman whose looks were all too familiar to me approached my desk.

"Hi, Sam. Hi, Barry."

I choked out a greeting while Barry just smiled and nodded, probably even doing it much more smoothly than I could manage on my best day.

Judith was a fox, both literally and metaphorically, who had just showed up out of nowhere six months ago and started working the headline news in just under a month and a half. She had red fur with white patches on her face and hands, and wore a green blouse and a long blue skirt that went past her legs. And she was at my desk. And talking to me...wait, us. Argh. What is wrong with me?

"So what are you guys up to?"

"Ah, we were just talking shop. Or we were, until Sam here laid eyes on you and his mind just went poof."

I shot Barry a glare. "My mind is working fine, thanks."

Judith chuckled and shook her head. "You guys are so silly together. Hey, Barry, are we still on track for the Magister's interview this week?"

"Yeah. It was a pain, but I managed to score us a meeting with him. Though, I hope you're a morning person, 'cause he won't see us any later than 6 in the morning tomorrow."

"The things we do for the headlines. Thanks for setting it up."

"Anything for you, Judy." He said it with that stupid smile again. I could swear it got wider somehow.

"Sam, what are you working on?"

I blinked. "Uh, I've been working on something for Golden Week. I haven't gotten past the first sentence, but it'll be good, I promise."

She smiled. "I'm looking forward to it." She checked her watch. "Sorry, I got a meeting I can't be late for. Coffee later, Barry?"

"Sure, why not?"

And in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

"She's totally into you, dude." Barry was nudging me with his shoulder.

"What? No, Barry, I got the impression she was way more into you. I mean, you guys already work together, and didn't she just ask you out for coffee?"

"Sam, I've been in relationships with several other girls before I came here. So when I say she's into you, I'm not just saying it to make you feel better about all the women you're conspicuously not dating right now."

"Hey, it's not like I don't have a love life! I dated in college, you know."

"You had one date in college, and that didn't even last more than a month. You just told me that a month ago."

"...I did? Uh, I mean..."

"Look, we're getting nowhere with this. The point is, Sibyl said that you didn't have initiative, right?"

"...Yeah?"

"So what I'm saying is, I think I'm seeing your problem already."

I blinked.

"Look, we both know that Judy is a stone cold fox...maybe not literally a stone cold fox, but you know what I mean. I'm the one that works with her, so I probably know that fact a bit better than you. But you know how I know she's into you? Every time we get together to talk, you always manage to make it into the conversations."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah. Usually just stupid stuff like how you're doing, what your next article is, that sort of thing."

"So if she's interested in me, why isn't she talking to me more often?"

"Yeah, see, you just made my point for me. She's waiting for you to make the first move, you dummy. Problem is, you can only keep a woman waiting so long before she decides you're not interested in her and move on to the next best thing."

"But she drinks coffee with you…?"

"It's just a social kind of thing. Look, all I'm saying is, you gotta make the first move."

"But what if I just want to wait until the time is right?"

"Seriously?" Barry let out an exasperated breath. "You're hopeless, man. If you're not going to learn initiative with your love life, you can work on it with an article."

An article? "I'm listening."

"So I got this project kicking around in my mind, right? An investigative article about a legendary criminal called Coral Tea."

"That sounds like a stupid name."

"Maybe, but I've heard the Red Scarves practically worship that girl. Problem is, practically no one I've talked to knows any specifics about what she did, not even how she died, and since I've other things to do in the meantime, I can't pursue it effectively. You, on the other hand, probably have a billion hours of free time with the tabloids and all, so I'm passing on the torch to you."

"That's nice and all, but where am I supposed to start with this?"

"I'll give you my notes for the article in a bit." He checked his watch. "Wait, no, actually, you can get my notes from my desk. They're in the top drawer, in a folder called 'Experimental Projects'. I got to do something right now."

We bro-fisted each other.

"See you around, Sam."

In a few seconds, I was alone, and struck with the realization that I might have finally stumbled upon a solution to my middling journalistic career. So this Coral Tea was a legendary criminal, huh? No

matter. I would be the one to uncover the mystery of who she was, what she did and how she died. And the resulting article would be be so good that my promotion into big-time journalism would be all but guaranteed. Maybe I'd even get a Pulitzer and maybe the Magister himself would acknowledge my-

"Oi, Sam!"

Broken out of my reverie, I slowly turned to the source of the voice. Jim was a graying thirty-something raccoon who was notoriously lazy and had been working the tabloids much longer than I had; I think it was three years or something? He was a co-worker, but he never talked to me except to ask for this.

"Get me a coffee, will ya? I want it with three sugars, two creams, one vanilla pump, pumpkin spice and a pinch of milk. You're paying for it this time."

God dammit.