The silence outside the captain's office was suffocating. Not peaceful, not the hush of calm seas or a quiet night but sharp, heavy, final. Ruby stood frozen outside the door marked Captain A. Evander, her duffel bag hanging from one arm like dead weight.
She hadn't asked Carla for details. The look on her face had been enough. And after the last twenty-four hours, Ruby didn't need much imagination.
When the door finally opened, Captain Evander stood there, tall, unreadable.
~ Evander: "Miss Walker. Come in."
Her throat went dry. She stepped inside, clutching her bag against her chest. The office was just as immaculate and precise as she remembered: brass, leather, maps, and cold professionalism.
~ Evander: "There's been a change in your status."
Her heart stopped. Her pulse was a roar in her ears. She braced herself for the words she thought would come. "You're dismissed. Disembark at the next port."
~ Evander: "You're staying."
She blinked. Her mouth parted slightly.
~ Ruby: "I... I'm what?"
He leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk, eyes hard.
~ Evander: "You're not being terminated. You'll remain aboard the Ocean Odyssey."
Relief burst through her, fast, involuntary. But before she could fully feel it, his tone snapped it out of her chest.
~ Evander: "Let's be very clear, Miss Walker. This is not my decision. If it were up to me, you would have been removed from this ship yesterday. No hesitation."
Her stomach dropped. The room seemed to grow colder, narrower.
~ Evander: "This reprieve...,and I use that word deliberately, is only happening because Mr. Wen has intervened. After your… spectacular mishandling of last night's event, I assumed, rightly, that he would demand your immediate dismissal."
Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came.
~ Evander: "Instead, he requested that you stay. Not out of mercy. Not out of confidence in your abilities but because firing a young, inexperienced woman who publicly apologized would, and I quote, 'look bad for everyone involved.'"
The shame hit her like a wave. Her cheeks burned. Her throat clenched.
~ Evander: "So you're staying. But there are conditions."
He opened a folder on his desk, glancing briefly down before speaking again.
~ Evander: "You are to organize a new cultural presentation about Taiwanese culture. And this time, with no ambiguity. It will be filmed, edited and hared on our public channels. And it will explicitly present Taiwan as a sovereign and independent nation."
~ Ruby: "But won't that...?" her breath caught
~ Evander: "Yes. It will offend Chinese guests. It will stir up controversy. It may even threaten contracts we've had for years. But Mr. Wen has made it clear: if we refuse, he walks and takes his money and reputation with him."
He looked up again, eyes steely.
~ Evander: "So congratulations. You've managed to stay but not because you earned it. Because you've become a pawn in a diplomatic mess you helped create."
She flinched. Her throat tightened.
~ Evander: "And let me be perfectly blunt, Miss Walker. I do not trust you. I do not believe you're prepared for the responsibility you've just inherited. And I am appalled that you submitted that content without approval, without research, and without the basic awareness of global politics expected of anyone in this role."
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. Her nails dug into the strap of her duffel.
~ Evander: "If you fail again, if there's even a hint of controversy or incompetence, you'll be dismissed, and I'll personally ensure your file reflects exactly why."
He closed the folder and leaned back, final and unbending.
~ Evander: "You're dismissed."
The redhead didn't speak. She turned slowly, feet like lead, and stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind her with a soft, sharp click.
She wasn't fired. But it didn't feel like staying. It felt like a test with no margin for error, like walking a tightrope above a storm.
And the world was watching.
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🛳️ 🛳️
🛥️ 🛥️
⛴️ 𝑵𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒓 ⛴️
🚢 🚢
⛴️ ⛴️
🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️
She sat alone in her cabin, the walls closing in around her. The duffel bag lay half-unpacked on the bed, a silent testament to the uncertainty that had gripped her life. Her mind replayed Captain Levander's words, each one a dagger to her confidence.
She stared at her reflection in the small mirror above the desk. The woman looking back at her seemed like a stranger: eyes hollow, shoulders slumped, the spark that once defined her dimmed.
The assignment loomed over her: organize a cultural event celebrating Taiwan as an independent nation. The political implications were a minefield. One misstep could ignite backlash from Chinese clients, jeopardize the cruise line's reputation, and end her career definitively.
She opened her laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Researching Taiwan's culture was the first step, but she needed to tread carefully. The event had to honor Taiwan's rich heritage without overtly antagonizing other stakeholders.
Her thoughts drifted to her sister, Natalie. What would she think? Now, she felt like a failure, clinging to a job she barely held onto.
But she can't let this define her. So, she began outlining ideas. She thought about Culinary Showcase. This would Highlight Taiwanese cuisine, focusing on traditional dishes and their historical significance.
Or maybe an Art Exhibition featuring works by Taiwanese artists, emphasizing cultural identity and heritage. Or even Music and Dance Performances, showcasing traditional Taiwanese music and dance forms, celebrating the island's diversity.
Each idea was a thread, weaving a tapestry that celebrated Taiwan's culture without overt political statements. She aimed to create an experience that educated and entertained, fostering appreciation without controversy.
As she delved deeper into planning, a sense of purpose began to replace the despair. This was her chance to prove herself, to show that she could navigate complex situations with grace and intelligence.
The road ahead was uncertain, but Ruby was determined to walk it, not just for her career, but for her own redemption.
🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️
🛳️ 🛳️
🛥️ 🛥️
⛴️ 𝑵𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒓 ⛴️
🚢 🚢
⛴️ ⛴️
🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️
She sat alone in her cabin, the walls closing
The young woman spent the next morning in the staff library, hunched over a table in a quiet corner, her laptop open, papers spread out like a fragile safety net. She had barely slept the night before. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Evander's face: stone cold, lips pulled into a tight, disappointed line, voice like ice as he reminded her that if it were up to him, she'd already be gone.
She didn't blame him. She had made a mistake. A huge one. And now she had to make something brilliant out of the wreckage. Not just to keep her job, but because she couldn't go back to who she was before this ship. The woman who quit without a plan. The woman who woke up in the dark with nothing to fight for.
Natalie had believed in her. Even when she didn't deserve it. Even when she didn't believe in herself. Now it's time to show that she's not a failure, that she worth it and can overcome any situation.
"You don't get to fall apart. Not again." she muttering to herself
Her fingers moved slowly over the keyboard as she scrolled through Taiwanese history, cultural archives, academic articles, tourist guides. She learned about the Hakka people, about betel nut culture, about the indigenous tribes that had called the island home long before it was ever caught in geopolitical crossfire.
But the deeper she read, the tighter the knot in her chest grew. How could she celebrate Taiwan's rich, complicated culture without sparking political backlash? The cruise line hosted Chinese guests every week. She'd already made one international mess. Evander might not wait for a second.
She chewed on the end of her pen, staring blankly at the screen. One wrong word, one misplaced phrase like "Taiwanese independence," "nation," "sovereign state" could start a fire she wouldn't be able to put out.
And yet... if she watered it down too much, Mr. Wen would see it. He was watching. Waiting. Probably itching to pull his funding at the first sign of weakness.
She exhaled shakily and sat back in the chair. She needed to thread an impossible needle: create something beautiful and respectful, grounded in truth, but careful enough to survive scrutiny.
And she had to do it fast. She started outlining again, slower this time, more deliberate: Theme: "Island of Culture: Taiwan's Living Heritage"
She avoided using political keywords. No mention of "independence," no bold declarations of sovereignty. Instead, she focused on what no one could argue with, what was real, tactile, beautiful. The irrefutable parts of Taiwanese identity: its food, its art, its music, its language. The living heartbeat of a people, not the battle over their borders.
Each cultural station she planned would highlight a different thread of that heritage:
The first would be a tea ceremony and calligraphy experience, hosted by a retired couple from Taipei who had volunteered to participate. Ruby had approached them with a mix of nerves and hope, and they had agreed enthusiastically, touched by her sincerity. They would demonstrate how to steep traditional oolong tea, how the brush flowed on rice paper, and talk with guests about how both art forms were tied to values of patience, intention, and quiet strength.
The second station would showcase traditional Taiwanese puppet theater. Ruby spent hours researching and curating a series of video clips: hand-carved wooden puppets, dressed in elaborate silk costumes, performing centuries-old folk tales. She would set up a small screen with a looping video, along with written translations and background on the origins of the practice, from its roots in Fujian province to its modern home in Yunlin County. It would be immersive, hands-on. Guests could even try manipulating sample puppets she had requested from the cultural office in Kaohsiung.
The third would be a street food tasting corner, designed with care to feel as close to a Taiwanese night market as a cruise ship could get. She worked with the catering team to source ingredients for lu rou fan, braised pork rice, crispy scallion pancakes, taro balls, and of course, fresh boba tea. She wrote placards for each dish with stories: where it came from, who ate it, and why it mattered. Food, she knew, was where memory lived. And culture, too.
She didn't want this event to just impress Mr. Wen. She wanted it to me something. For the Taiwanese guests to feel seen, not politically, but personally. And for every other guest to walk away knowing just a little more than they did before.
Even if she had to balance on a razor's edge to make it happen.
She drafted emails to guest services, to Carla, to catering. She asked for advice, permissions, materials. For once, she double-checked every line. She wouldn't make a single move without someone signing off on it.
The pressure was suffocating. Every word she wrote felt like a loaded weapon. But somehow, through the anxiety, she started to feel something else, too: pride. What she was creating wasn't just safe. It was good.
Still, the fear never left her. Even as she typed and planned, she kept replaying worst-case scenarios. What if a guest read between the lines? What if Mr. Wen changed his mind and demanded something more overt? What if Carla didn't approve of the design? What if Evander found one line too risky and used it as the final reason to cut her loose?
And beneath all of it, the quiet voice she hadn't been able to silence since the beginning: "What if you're just not good enough?"
She closed her laptop and rested her head in her hands. The ship hummed beneath her, steady and indifferent, carrying her forward whether she was ready or not.
But she wasn't going to break this time. She couldn't afford to. She just had to keep going. She can do it. Because this time she will be prepared. She won't let her ignorance affecting her whole life or the future if the cruise. She will do better and would make sure that she earns her place on this ship. That she deserves this second chance. She won't blow it this time.