Chapter 13: The 4 Elements Table Read
The Idol Factory conference room smelled of old coffee and new ambition. Polished mahogany reflected the glitchy images on the presentation screen—a rotating logo for Four Elements that cast watery blue light over the assembled faces. Y/n sat at the head of the table, a strategic position that allowed her to watch everyone without seeming to stare. Her throat felt scraped raw, a phantom sensation from the rasp of sound she’d made less than an hour ago.
Khun Niran sat to her left, silently nursing a thick ceramic mug of black coffee, a cigarette already tucked behind his ear for later. His sharp eyes tracked the room, missing nothing.
The cast was a study in contrasting energies. Apple, bright and alert, doodled in a notebook. Engfa and Charlotte sat together, speaking in low tones, their posture that of old friends. Namneung and Noeys were a quiet unit, observant. And then there was Becky.
Becky sat diagonally across from Y/n, looking effortlessly elegant in a cream-colored blouse. She was listening to something Apple was saying, laughing softly, but her gaze kept drifting, like a compass needle, back to Y/n. There was a question in her brown eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Y/n straightened her spine, the professional armor locking into place. She tapped the table once, a soft thud that drew the room’s attention. All conversation died. She picked up her phone.
The synthesized voice was calm, authoritative. “Thank you for your time. We have significant updates. The script is stronger.” She paused, letting the translation of her typed words fill the space. “The central four are no longer sisters. They are cousins. This gives us closer age range, more flexibility in conflict. More natural rivalry. And alliance.”
Nods around the table. Engfa leaned forward. “More fun to fight with family you choose, right?”
A few chuckles. The mood lightened.
Y/n continued, her phone narrating her notes. “Character assignments.Apple. You will play Din.” She gestured to the screen, where a mood board appeared: sun-drenched fields, baskets of vibrant vegetables, a rustic farmhouse. “Din is the owner of an organic vegetable farm. Practical. Grounded. She is the childhood friend of Mim’s character, Rose, who is an heiress. Their history is the bedrock. Their future… we will see.”
Apple grinned, punching Mim’s shoulder lightly. “You’ll have to get your hands dirty, na.”
Mim smiled, a little wistfully. “I think I’d like that.”
“Engfa.” Y/n’s app voiced. The screen changed to sleek high-rises, boardrooms, a skyline at night. “Your character is Apo. A high-level executive for the luxury hotel at the center of the story. Ambitious. Strategic. You see the world in numbers and opportunities.” Engfa’s expression shifted, adopting a cooler, more calculating mask instinctively.
“And my love interest?” Engfa asked, a playful eyebrow raised.
“Is Charlotte.” The screen split: one side showed a glamorous charity gala, the other a drab hotel lobby desk. “Charlotte, you are Lada. The secret daughter of the rival tycoon family. You pose as a receptionist at Apo’s hotel to gather intelligence. Your conflict is professional, personal, and deeply intimate.”
Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “So we’re lying to each other. Professionally.”
“Constantly,” Y/n’s phone confirmed. “The tension is in the deception. The romance is in the moments the mask slips.”
Becky was watching Y/n intently now, her earlier curiosity sharpened into focus. She saw the way Y/n’s fingers moved over the phone, not just typing, but punctuating. She saw the slight tension in her jaw, a new vulnerability beneath the control.
Khun Niran took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking between Becky and Y/n. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips before he hid it behind the mug.
“And us?” Becky asked, her voice softer than usual, cutting through the speculative chatter between Engfa and Charlotte. “Freen and me?”
Y/n met her eyes. The air in the room seemed to thin. She typed deliberately. The robotic voice said, “Freen and Becky’s storyline is interconnected with Namneung and Noeys. It is the emotional core of the second half. It requires… a separate breakdown. More nuance. We will address it last.”
It was a deflection, and everyone knew it. But it was a professional one. Becky held her gaze for a heartbeat longer, then nodded, accepting the delay but not dismissing it.
The meeting moved into logistics—shooting schedules, costume fittings, the intense two-week workshop that would precede production. Y/n managed it all with her usual silent efficiency, her notes app firing off instructions, answering questions, delegating tasks.
But her mind was split. One part was here, in the details of set design and character motivation. The other part was back in her quiet office, feeling the ghost of a vibration in her throat. The memory was a live wire. It made her feel simultaneously powerful and terrifyingly exposed.
During a break as people stood to stretch and grab water bottles, Becky lingered by the window. Y/n found herself there too, pretending to examine the view of the clogged Bangkok traffic below.
“You seem different,” Becky said quietly, not looking at her.
Y/n turned, pulling her phone from her pocket. She typed one word. Oh?
Becky finally looked at her, searching her face. “Not bad different. Just… present in a new way.” She hesitated, her confidence wavering for a second. “After the last meeting, with that question you asked… I’ve been thinking.”
Y/n waited, her heart a drum against her ribs.
“I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” Becky said, the words rushing out as if she’d been holding them back. “To ask us that. To make us look at the truth of what we’re selling.”
The compliment was a blow to Y/n’s defenses. She looked down at her phone, her thumbs hovering. She didn’t know what to say. Thank you felt inadequate. I’m not brave felt like a lie.
Khun Niran appeared beside them, a fresh cigarette now between his fingers, unlit. “The brave ones,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, “are always the most scared. Otherwise, it’s just stupidity.” He gave Y/n a knowing look. “The workshop starts Monday. Eight AM. Don’t be late.” He walked away, leaving them in a bubble of charged silence.
The meeting reconvened. Y/n steered the discussion to Namneung and Noeys’ storyline, a complex tale of reincarnation and forbidden love that had the room captivated. But her endpoint was approaching.
Finally, as the afternoon light began to bleed orange through the slatted blinds, she brought the room to attention one last time. The screen went blank.