[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary

Neville’s fingers fidgeted against his knee. He had rehearsed roughly fourteen versions of his opening line in his head by now. But every single one of them sounded like something a middle-aged reporter would ask at a press junket.

Chronos, for his part, looked so relaxed. He sat with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, a glass of something clear and probably non-alcoholic on the armrest beside him.

The low amber light caught the sharp line of his jaw. Up close, though, there was a softness to him that the cameras never quite captured.

Neville swallowed hard, decided that the fourteenth version of his opener was still garbage, and threw it all away. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"I should probably confess something," he said, his voice pitched low enough that only Chronos could hear. "I haven’t actually been a fan for very long. A few months, really. So if I say something stupid about your discography, please don’t take it to heart. I’m sure older fans knew about this more than me."

He braced for the polite, slightly distant smile that celebrities usually gave when confronted with awkward honesty.

Instead, Chronos tilted his head, and the corner of his mouth curved upward.

"A few months? That’s fine. A new fan is still a fan." He paused, then lightly said, "Besides, most of my older fans have terrible opinions about my discography anyway."

The tension on Neville’s shoulder eased so fast it was almost embarrassing. A laugh escaped him, bright and unguarded, giving Chronos a pleased expression.

"I’m catching up, though," Neville said, a little too earnestly.

"I’ve been going through your solo releases chronologically. The production on the third album is—" He stopped himself, waved a hand. "Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about work at a friend’s gathering."

"I don’t mind."

"Then—"

Neville hesitated, turning the question over in his mind before deciding to just ask it.

"How do you still make time for yourself? With your schedule, I mean. Your comeback was only three weeks ago, and you’ve already done what, four variety shows and two magazine shoots? When do you just... sit down?"

Chronos’s brow arched higher and teased, "You sound like one of those reporters."

Neville instantly burned with embarrassment. He quickly sputtered out a response so fast his tongue nearly tripped over itself.

"I didn’t—that’s not what I—I was just genuinely curious, I swear I’m not trying to interview you or anything, I just—"

"I’m just kidding." Chronos held up a hand, and there it was again—that quiet, amused expression. "Relax."

Neville pressed his lips together and exhaled through his nose. But the redness on his face took time to recede.

Chronos took a sip of his drink and contemplated for a little bit before answering his question.

"Most of the content you see in the mainstream was already recorded at an earlier date. Variety shows, interviews, behind-the-scenes reels—all of it gets banked weeks in advance. So what looks like a packed schedule right now is actually me cashing in on work I already finished."

He set the glass down.

"And honestly, at this point in our careers, the group has a stable enough fanbase that the members are more inclined to think about their own individual schedules. We’re past the stage where we need to be everywhere at once."

"But you’re the most popular member," Neville pointed out before he could stop himself. "Shouldn’t you be busier than the rest of them?"

Chronos didn’t exactly feel offended. But there was a brief, weary expression, as if this was a question he had answered a hundred times before. Then he shrugged lightly.

"I want to choose my own work at my own pace," he said simply. "As long as I’m not losing money, I don’t mind not making more of it either."

Neville blinked. This answer was so devoid of the usual celebrity response that it took him a second to process. Then, he was filled with admiration and respect.

"That makes sense," he said quietly.

"It’s better to think about what you want than what everyone else wants from you." He paused, then added, almost to himself, "It makes us fans happy to see our idols happy, too."

Chronos looked at him for a moment, then inclined his head.

"Thanks for being a healthy fan." He said with a smile. "Enough about me, though. I heard something about a cooking robot?"

As soon as "cooking" entered the conversation, Neville’s demeanor completely changed.

The nervous fan evaporated. In his place sat a man whose spine straightened, whose eyes sharpened. His voice dropped into the crisp, measured cadence of someone discussing their life’s work.

"Oh, the cooking robot already reached ninety-three percent similarity to my own cooking," he said.

"The latest calibration batch brought the texture replication up from eighty-nine, which was the main bottleneck. Flavor profiles were already at ninety-six, but the mouthfeel on certain proteins was lagging behind because the thermal cycling algorithm wasn’t accounting for the—"

He caught himself, cleared his throat.

"Sorry. The short version: ninety-three percent. Close, but not quite there yet."

Chronos’s mouth twitched. "I haven’t actually tasted your cooking before, so I have no frame of reference for how impressive that number is."

Neville blinked, and then he reached for the small bag he had brought with him, tucked on the side. He unzipped it, rummaged for a moment, but in reality, he was getting it from his inventory and produced a sealed pouch of cookies.

"Here." He held it out. "They’re a recent batch. Nothing too experimental—just a base flavor I’ve been refining."

Chronos accepted the pouch so nonchalantly that it would have fooled anyone watching from across the room.

But it did not fool his stomach.

For the better part of the day, his insides had been at war. The nausea had started during the drive over. It had been hiding a low, persistent queasiness that made the very idea of being near the alcohol bar’s elaborate cocktail menu nauseatingly offensive.

He had been managing it with careful breathing, the non-alcoholic drink, and sheer force of will because he did not want to show weakness that would send him to the hospital and risk his pregnancy being discovered.

But something strange had happened the moment Neville entered the premises.