"Get up."
The blanket was yanked away, and Bai Zhu buried his head in the pillow.
"Today's a bad day to go out."
Piyu stood beside the bed with a neatly pressed suit in her hands. Next to her was a stylist whose pinky stuck out whenever he moved.
"You're entering the experimental zone at nine. It's seven forty."
"It's barely past seven... I was studying Kidō until midnight. I'm tired."
"You fell asleep halfway through counting your money last night. You drooled all over the deck."
Bai Zhu poked half his face out from the pillows. Sunlight streamed through the porthole; he raised a hand to block it and groped around the bedside with narrowed eyes.
"Where's my little skullcap?"
"Locked in a box."
"What gives you the right to lock up my hat?"
"That hat looks like a pickle that's been soaking for three years. If you wear it, do you think the First Queen will fancy you or sort you with the trash?"
"It's called personal style."
Piyu ignored him and tossed a shirt, tie, and vest onto the bed one by one.
"Put your style away. Once you're inside, remember every car parked outside, every painting on the walls, and everyone who gives you a second look. Organize it all into intelligence when you get back."
Bai Zhu sat up, his hair sticking out in every direction.
"I'm just selling blood, collecting my money, and doing a little sightseeing. Isn't intelligence your job and Morel's?"
"You're walking in with a forty-nine-and-a-half-billion contract in your pocket. You'll be the center of attention. Who else would they watch? I've got other things to do, so I won't be tagging along as your third wheel. Don't think I missed the way Unma looked at you yesterday."
"If I'm their