Chapter 15

by starlightnovelsclub

The rest of Wednesday passed with all the urgency of a melted clock.

Risa stared at her screen, cursor blinking patiently in an email draft she had started twenty minutes ago and had not progressed past the phrase:

Hi Team,

The Moon That Connects My Fate To You Ad

She considered ending the email there and sending it as a statement piece. A minimalist cry for help. A modern art installation.

Instead, she sighed and kept typing.

Her brain, however, had clocked out emotionally several hours ago.

This was what… the second week? Third week? Of being hunted down like she was preparing for the Corporate Olympics of Product Knowledge?

She glanced at her calendar.

Two months and two weeks.

That was how long she had been at Shizz.

Two months. Two weeks.

Rachel, however, had a very interesting relationship with time. One that involved rounding numbers upward like she was inflating corporate quarterly projections.

“You’ve been here for over three months,” Rachel had said during their last meeting.

Risa wondered if Rachel believed that.

Or if she just liked how it sounded more severe.

It would honestly be worse if she believed it.

Throughout the day, Risa attended several cross-team meetings, most of which consisted of people speaking in vague corporate dialect while spreadsheets were shared like sacred texts.

Rachel attended two of them.

And even through the thin veil of professionalism, Risa could feel the passive aggression radiating from her like low-grade background radiation.

Nothing direct.

Nothing reportable.

Just… energy.

Sophia caught it.

Evelyn definitely caught it.

During one call, Sophia glanced at Risa through the tiny Teams camera grid and raised her eyebrows in a silent, “You okay?” expression.

Risa smiled brightly.

The universal corporate code for: I am absolutely not okay, but we will not unpack that here.

That evening, Risa collapsed onto the dining chair at her parents’ house like she had just completed a marathon in emotional quicksand.

Her mom slid a bowl of soup toward her with surgical precision.

“You look like you fought God and lost,” her mom observed.

“God has better management skills,” Risa muttered.

Her dad choked slightly on his drink.

Risa recounted the latest saga—the Power BI argument, the twenty-minute circular debate, the escalating feeling that she was defending her existence rather than her work.

By the time she finished, both her parents looked concerned in that very calm, deeply calculating way Filipino parents had perfected over generations.

“…Should I talk to the director?” Risa asked finally.

The room went quiet.

Her dad leaned back slightly.

“That’s… complicated,” he said.

Her mom nodded slowly. “There’s a risk.”

“What kind of risk?” Risa asked.

“You could be seen as bypassing your manager,” her dad explained. “That can make workplace politics messy.”

Risa groaned and dropped her forehead onto the table dramatically.

“Everything is messy,” she said into the wood.

Her mom reached over and patted her shoulder.

“But,” she added, her tone sharpening slightly, “if you keep letting yourself get walked over, people will think you’re an easy target.”

Risa lifted her head.

Her mom met her eyes steadily.

“You’re already at a disadvantage,” she said gently. “You’re a minority in a white-majority company. And you’re the only non-white person on your immediate team, right?”

Risa nodded slowly.

“People don’t always mean to,” her mom continued, “but they often expect minorities to stay quiet. To be agreeable. To not make waves.”

“Standing your ground doesn’t mean being disrespectful. It means advocating for clarity.”

Risa sat there, absorbing that.

“So you’re saying… I should talk to him?” she asked cautiously.

“We’re saying,” her dad said carefully, “that you need to decide whether protecting workplace etiquette is more important than protecting yourself.”

Risa stared at her soup.

Then she nodded once.

“…Okay.”

She pulled out her phone.

Opened Teams.

Stared at Brad’s name for a solid thirty seconds while her fight-or-flight response tried to convince her to move to another country instead.

Then she typed:

Hi Brad, do you have time tomorrow to chat? I have a couple questions I’m not sure how to approach.

She hovered over the send button.

Then pressed it.

There.

No take-backs.

The next afternoon, Risa joined the call with Brad feeling like she was about to attend a performance review for a performance she didn’t know she was performing.

Brad appeared on screen, calm as always.

“Hey Risa,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Risa inhaled.

Carefully.

Strategically.

“I wanted to ask for guidance,” she began. “I’m not sure how I should proceed with product knowledge expectations. I’m having trouble understanding how much I need to know before it’s considered… enough.”

Brad nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair.

Risa continued, words measured, tone deliberately neutral.

“I’ve been reviewing the catalog extensively. I know most of the product lines—like YOLO, HydraFlex, SilkRoot, the thermal protectant series, and the volumizing sprays. I’m comfortable explaining their general functions and target uses…”

Brad nodded again, occasionally asking small clarifying questions.

They even drifted into a brief, normal conversation about the differences between two styling products—something that felt shockingly… educational. Collaborative. Human.

When Risa finished, she sat quietly, waiting for judgment to fall from the sky.

Instead, Brad folded his hands thoughtfully.

“I can see you’re in a tight spot,” he said calmly.

Relief flickered briefly in her chest.

“But,” he added gently, “it’s generally not ideal to bypass your direct manager and come straight to me.”

Risa nodded immediately.

“I understand,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. I just… didn’t know how to resolve it otherwise.”

Brad studied her for a moment, then nodded slightly.

“That’s fair,” he said.

Then he leaned forward slightly.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, “most people aren’t tested on product knowledge like that.”

Risa blinked.

Her shoulders dropped about half an inch in pure, exhausted validation.

“I’ll talk to Rachel during our next one-on-one,” Brad continued.

“Thank you,” Risa said quietly.

When the call ended, she sat back in her chair, feeling… lighter.

Not safe.

But lighter.

The next several days passed quietly.

Brad, apparently, hadn’t spoken to Rachel yet.

So Risa worked.

Answered emails.

Wrangled SAP.

Prepared for first-of-the-month reporting chaos like a soldier reinforcing defensive walls before an inevitable siege.

The following Tuesday, her phone rang.

Rachel.

Risa answered, bracing herself.

When Rachel’s camera turned on, Risa noticed something immediately.

Rachel looked… less intimidating.

Not drastically.

Just… slightly deflated. Like someone had gently let a little air out of her authority balloon.

“Hi Risa,” Rachel said.

“Hi Rachel.”

Rachel clasped her hands together.

“Brad spoke to me about the product training situation,” she said.

Ah.

There it was.

“I may have come off a bit strongly,” Rachel continued. “But I do believe product knowledge is very important for your role.”

Risa nodded politely.

“I understand,” she said. “I also treat it as important. That’s why I’ve spent a lot of time memorizing the products.”

She seized the moment carefully.

“I’m actually pretty confident with most of them now,” she added. “For example—” she began listing several product lines and their functions.

Rachel listened, her expression shifting slightly.

“…If I knew you knew this much,” Rachel said slowly, “I wouldn’t have gotten as upset as I did last week.”

Risa paused.

“…I did know this last week,” she said gently.

Rachel frowned.

“…I don’t think so,” she said.

Risa stared at her screen for a split second.

Then, very wisely, decided to let it go.

Sometimes survival meant choosing which battles were worth oxygen.

“Either way,” Rachel continued, “I want to be clear. I’m a perfectionist. I hold myself to very high standards. And I’m not going to lower the standards I expect you to perform at.”

Risa’s internal monologue immediately lit up like a fireworks show of quiet disbelief.

Demanding everyone be a perfectionist feels… slightly unhinged.
Is perfection contagious?
Is there a vaccination schedule?

Outwardly, she smiled.

“I understand,” she said. “I’ll continue working hard to improve.”

Rachel nodded, satisfied.

A few more polite, corporate-flavored closing remarks followed.

Then the call ended.

Risa lowered her headset slowly.

She sat there, staring at her screen.

And for the first time in weeks…

The product knowledge issue was over.

Probably.