18 The New Head of the Family's Secretary

Although Rachel politely declined the offer of the pudding egg tarts, as she was leaving Morning Dew Manor, a male android standing at the door—meticulously dressed from head to toe—handed her a dark-colored package.

The sealing strip on the package was applied with great care. When Rachel returned to her dormitory and opened it, she found that the two pudding egg tarts were carefully packaged, each in its own box, cushioned with sponge padding to prevent movement. This meticulous packaging had preserved the tarts beautifully, keeping them as fresh as if they had just come out of the oven despite the journey.

These were not the multi-layered puff pastry egg tarts Rachel had imagined. Instead, the crust was a thin cookie shell, with edges forming almost a ninety-degree angle with the base. Compared to the slightly deeper traditional tart crust, this design could hold more filling. Rachel carefully took one of the pudding egg tarts out of its small box, examining its size with a soft click of her tongue in thought.

Mr. Sunday appeared slender; his tailored suit fit him perfectly, but it was surprising to learn he could eat quite a bit… and that he preferred such rich, high-calorie treats as pudding egg tarts. She wondered if he ever faced the dilemma of suit vest buttons refusing to close.

But then again, Pinocconi was a world of dreams, where food contained no calories—so it didn’t really matter.

Rachel held the tart, its surface dotted with browned spots from baking, topped with an extra layer of dense, fragrant vanilla custard, and bit into it.

Expensive things truly are better. Her teeth smoothly slid through the custard and pudding layers, while the rich, buttery aroma of the cookie crust instantly filled her mouth.

It was incredibly delicious—perhaps the best pudding egg tart she had ever tasted in this life… or maybe even a past one.

Licking the pudding residue from the corner of her mouth, Rachel hesitated momentarily before deciding to eat the remaining tart as well.

Though pudding egg tarts in dreams never spoil, for someone with her appetite, one was merely an appetizer.

How on earth did Sunday manage to eat just one pudding egg tart?

Rachel quickly finished the second tart, then opened her textbooks and course slides.

Though Sunday’s lessons were still a week away, classes truly began tomorrow. It was best to review last session’s material, preview the next, and if she found she already knew the upcoming content, she could begin self-studying further ahead.

Always be one step ahead, always first—she refused to miss the opportunities that were rightfully hers.

*

Campus life was utterly ordinary.

Rachel’s assignments consistently earned the highest scores in every class—top marks not only in her class but across the entire academy. She maintained her unofficial crown and preserved her qualification to tutor Sunday.

She didn’t believe that if the top scorer in the entrance exam saw their grades slip in subsequent tests, the Oak family would continue to grant that person such a prestigious work-study opportunity.

She had been given a chance, a path to success, and Rachel resolved to grasp it firmly.

Every week, she prepared her lessons meticulously and listened attentively to every word Sunday spoke. Anything that slipped from the lips of a superior could become her opportunity.

After smoothly cutting off the familiar song “YMCA,” which she had heard so often her ears nearly grew calluses, Rachel glanced back as if she had eyes on the back of her head.

“Mr. Sunday.”

Sunday smiled. “Did you hear my footsteps, Miss Rachel? I thought I was walking quietly.”

From the sound of his footsteps, Sunday was indeed silent—so much so that even a cat might make more noise. Yet the subtle acoustics were surprisingly pronounced.

Rachel didn’t follow up on his comment but took the initiative: “I researched the company you mentioned last time. They made quite a profit after leveraging a short sell. Thank you.”

Sunday’s pace of learning never slowed. Almost every lesson left about half an hour for casual conversation. Rachel had asked if he wanted to shorten the lessons, but Sunday said he enjoyed these chats, even though his work was quite demanding.

Their conversations covered many topics, sometimes including matters about Pinocconi. For example, a company run by some Pipsi people relied on products made of memory substance. Most visitors to Pinocconi came from regions where memory substance was scarce, making it difficult to judge product quality. This allowed counterfeiters to flood the market. Sunday lamented that the Pipsi people had only shallow purple clover coins left in their hearts, with no room left for conscience.

Rachel looked into the company afterward. As expected, since Sunday was aware of its problems, he would have acted to manage it. She found the official notice of punishment issued on Pinocconi’s government website.

She also gathered information about the company’s competitors—both had been fiercely battling in the same sector. This company had taken the lead by slashing prices quickly.

The rival company wouldn’t just sit idly by and wait for the inevitable public relations crisis to pass—true competitors never let a good crisis go to waste.

Watching others make money while she lost out was worse than losing money herself. That was the essence of business battles. Didn’t they understand?

In short, after learning all this, Rachel decisively chose to intervene, and the outcome was indeed very favorable.

Normally, such things weren’t worth sharing with others, but Rachel thought Sunday might prefer hearing about her less private endeavors from her.

He was likely a person with a strong desire for control, as evidenced by his exacting standards for his own attire. The Oak family members were all testament to this trait. After all, her information came from him.

Both logically and emotionally, she ought to share.

Perhaps there would be similar opportunities in the future.

Sunday said, “Very good, Miss Rachel. Congratulations. No need to thank me; this is your ability earning you the reward.”

His praise was sincere and heartfelt, inspiring genuine joy in those he complimented. Rachel was no exception. Even though she probably would never fully embrace self-discipline—like perfectly centering her tie, since she preferred a bit of asymmetry in fashion—that didn’t prevent her from gradually realizing Sunday was a capable leader.

He continued, “By the way, are you interested in taking on another job? Recently, I’ve had little leisure to continue studying dream-building knowledge.”

Unemployment?

Rachel immediately grew alert. Though she had just gone all-in and, thanks to Soha’s success, risen into the middle class among all the university students, she absolutely did not want to lose this work-study position.

The lady who had brought her into this hall was right—this job was less work and more like climbing a ladder to the top. Why would anyone give up such a good thing once they had it?

From Sunday’s perspective, he saw Rachel’s eyes widen suddenly—those green eyes resembling a tabby cat hearing that canned food was off the menu today, tomorrow, and every day thereafter. She seemed to freeze from a GIF into a JPEG.

Sunday: “…Hmm.”

He smiled faintly and then reassured Rachel, “It’s just a temporary change in the job format. Nothing else will change.”

Rachel: 0.0

Rachel: “Oh, oh.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course, I don’t mind staying at Morning Dew Manor seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. The academy allows me to take online classes anyway.” Even if theoretically it shouldn’t be so flexible, once the professors saw her in-class performance and after-class grades, they all became remarkably understanding.

Nowadays, no teacher disliked a smart student.

Sunday: “It won’t take that long, but… online classes would be best.”

He raised his hand to rub his brow, looking genuinely troubled.

“The Harmony Festival is approaching, and there’s a shortage of staff everywhere.” Sunday’s hand rested on the edge of the city model. “As you can see, I don’t have a permanent secretary unless things get very busy.”

Rachel understood. “Now is a very busy time.”

“No…” Sunday said, “Now is an especially busy time.”

Rachel laughed, “Okay.”

Sunday’s occasional dry humor hidden in the corners was rather amusing.

“The previous secretary who assisted me for a while has been reassigned to the Grand Theater to help prepare the Harmony Festival. Like me, she’s stretched too thin. Other family members capable of independent work are also occupied. Miss Rachel, after reviewing everyone available to me, I realized you are the best candidate I can find.”

“You have ambition, and this job suits you well. When Mr. Goffywood was still head of the family, I served as his secretary for a time. During that period, I encountered many areas I hadn’t before. At least for me, it was a greatly beneficial experience.”

He paused and looked at Rachel.

Rachel was decisive. “I have never considered refusing you, Mr. Sunday. This time is no different.”

To rise so far in one step—what else could she say? Not seizing such a great opportunity would be a waste beyond words.

She went back and carefully ironed all her clothes. No, she would buy two new formal outfits to ensure every tie hung perfectly down the center and every seam on her skirts aligned naturally with her middle finger.

In short, she would do this job well!