You'd think that getting the PinkCorals to sign on as Coral Conservation Ambassadors would be the end of my problems, right?
Wrong.
The next morning, I was called into the MECCP head research department office. And, let's just say, it wasn't to "congratulate" me.
A warning letter from the entertainment agency that manages the PinkCorals was waiting for me. Apparently, I'd "overstepped my boundaries" as an intern, and the head of the department was all too eager to remind me of that.
When the head of the department at the research center called me in, I had no choice but to hang my head in silence.
I wanted to explain myself, but I barely got a word out before he continued. "You can't just approach high-profile clients like the PinkCorals without going through the proper channels! Do you have any idea what kind of liability you've put on the department?"
I found out that right after my conversation with the PinkCorals, their manager overheard everything and wasted no time reporting it to the agency.
The agency wasn't thrilled, to put it mildly.
According to them, I had absolutely no right to negotiate directly with the PinkCorals members. Apparently, I'd broken several entertainment industry rules by bypassing the agency entirely and talking to the artists without an official appointment.
I got a formal warning, along with strict orders—I was banned from contacting or communicating with the PinkCorals in any capacity. I even had to delete every conversation, image, and video related to them from my Mythica-issued phone—no exceptions.
"MECCP doesn't run on fame and good intentions, Carl. We have protocols for a reason!" the head researcher barked, as if the entire weight of the world had been placed on my shoulders. "Delete any contact records, photos, or videos you've taken. Immediately."
And yes, that included my selfie.
There went my one memento—my precious selfie from backstage, the one with a barely visible glimpse of the concert stage behind me. I'd thought it was harmless, just a personal memory, but apparently even that was deleted.
So much for keeping a memory of that night.
My hands were still shaking from the meeting with the head department. I'd been reprimanded, my warning letter delivered in a tone sharp enough to cut through steel.
My head buzzed with a cocktail of regret and frustration. How was I supposed to know the entertainment agency would be this strict about rules?
I mean, the whole point was to save the coral reefs, right? But now, it felt like my genuine attempt to make a difference was being used against me, a tool for leverage in a business deal.
I walked out of the office with my head down, feeling like the ground had just been ripped out from under me.
It wasn't just a warning—it felt like a slap in the face.
I thought I was making progress, doing something worthwhile. Instead, I'd nearly jeopardized my position—and worse, the entire department's reputation.
But why did it feel so wrong to leave things as they were? I'd seen how the coral reefs were suffering. If getting the PinkCorals involved wasn't the right step, then what was?
When I stepped into Dr. Philippe's office, he was already pacing. Papers fluttered from his desk, caught in the breeze from his frantic strides. His hair stuck up in tufts, as if his frustration had seeped into every strand. The moment he saw me, his eyes zeroed in like a predator ready to pounce.
"What were you thinking?!" he barked.
I felt his grip clamp down on my shoulders, and the weight of his glare was enough to pin me in place. "Do you know they threatened to pull our research funding because of your stunt last night?"
I tried to form a coherent response, but the words got tangled up. "I— I'm sorry, sir, I was just—"
"And you used MECCP's name to get backstage access to the PinkCorals' concert! What were you thinking, Carl?" His voice was sharp, the kind of tone that made you feel small, like a bug under a microscope.
My shoulders slumped, the full impact of my actions hitting me like a tidal wave. I'd risked Dr. Philippe's project funding, the research I had been so eager to be a part of. This was my first real assignment after passing probation, and already, I'd messed up.
Dr. Philippe's eyes narrowed. He pushed his glasses up his nose, suspicion written all over his face. "Don't tell me you used MECCP just to get backstage for PinkCorals. Are you... are you a PinkC??" His voice was incredulous, like he was accusing me of a crime.
"What?! No!" I blurted, my cheeks heating up. "I'm a BLINK!" (Confession: Ahem… Your boy also stans ARMY. Yup, I said it. Honestly, I pretty much stan most K-pop groups. So, there it is. Satisfied?)
Dr. Philippe's brows furrowed. "A what?"
I cringed inwardly. "I'm a BLIN— never mind that." I waved it off, hoping he'd drop the subject.
"Look, I wasn't there as a fan. I was trying to help! When I realized that PinkCorals were the main cause behind the coral reef damage, I figured the best way to solve this was to get them involved as conservation ambassadors. You know, make them the face of the movement, turn the tide against over-tourism."
Dr. Philippe let out a long, tired sigh. "You think you're the first person to come up with that idea? We tried something similar when there was a threat of oyster extinction after one of the PinkCorals members mentioned loving pearls."
He gave me a look of pure exasperation. "Unlike you, we went through the proper channels. We set up meetings with the agency, followed the protocols."
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "But this is different! This isn't just about oysters. This is about the entire coral reef ecosystem—"
Dr. Philippe held up a hand, cutting me off. "Carl, it's not just about the PinkCorals. There are many stakeholders here—businesses, entertainment agencies, the city council of Atlantis. They're sharks, and they're not interested in anything that doesn't boost their profit margins."
His words hit me like a slap. "So... what? We just let the reefs die?"
"No." His voice softened, but his expression remained firm.
"But you need to understand that Atlantis is a place run by capitalists. Those people out there? They're sharks, and we're swimming in their waters. If you want to make any progress, you have to navigate the politics, the business interests, the entertainment contracts. It's not just a matter of getting PinkCorals on our side. That's the tip of the iceberg."
My hands curled into fists. "But if we can't even get the PinkCorals to back us up, how do we stand a chance against all of them?"
Dr. Philippe looked at me with a mix of sympathy and determination. "We need a plan, Carl. A real plan. Something that shows these stakeholders that there's profit in preservation, that the coral reefs are more valuable alive than dead."
"Okay, but what's the angle?" I asked, feeling the flicker of determination reignite. "How do we get them to see that?"
Dr. Philippe pulled out a map of Atlantis and the surrounding reefs, pinning it to the wall. "We start by investigating what made the reefs dying, and what led it to be so popular in the first place. What's the real source of this coral craze?"