# "Su Yao's Dazzling Counterattack" Chapter 4
Paris greeted Su Yao with a drizzle that hung in the air like a silken veil. The taxi from Charles de Gaulle wove through cobblestone streets, past cafés where patrons huddled under striped awnings, their espresso cups steaming like tiny volcanoes. When they rounded a corner, the Eiffel Tower appeared—a steel ghost rising through the mist—and Su Yao pressed her palm to the taxi window, its cold surface fogging under her breath.
"First time in Paris?" the driver asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. His accent was thick, but the system's translation module kicked in seamlessly. Su Yao nodded, and he grinned. "You picked a good week. The city's dressing up for fashion week—like a bride in her veil."
L'etoile's Paris headquarters occupied a 19th-century mansion on Rue Cambon, its facade draped in ivy that curled around a wrought-iron balcony. Inside, the atelier was a study in contrast: polished oak floors clashed with neon-lit worktables, and a chandelier made of recycled glass droplets cast rainbow prisms over racks of unfinished gowns. Alain stood in the center, directing a team of seamstresses like a conductor leading an orchestra.
"Su Yao! Mon petit prodige!" He swept her into a hug that smelled of tobacco and bergamot. "Look what you've done to my metal fibers—they dance now!" He gestured to a mannequin wearing a floor-length coat woven from the seaweed-reinforced material, its surface rippling like water as a fan blew across it. "The critics will lose their minds."
Her triumph was short-lived. Later that afternoon, as she sorted through fabric swatches in the sample room, Sophie appeared in the doorway, her arm linked with Pierre's. The older man's gaze slid over Su Yao's outfit—a simple linen dress she'd packed, paired with the iris brooch—before settling on the coat mannequin.
"Alain's gone soft in his old age," Pierre said in English, loud enough for the nearby interns to hear. "Letting a foreigner play designer with our legacy." He plucked a thread from the coat, His fingernails got caught in the fabric.. "This? It's a gimmick. Recycled trash masquerading as art."
Sophie tittered, adjusting her diamond bracelet. "At least *someone* remembers what luxury means. My uncle's collection for next season—silk, cashmere, real craftsmanship—will put this… *experiment* to shame."
Su Yao's fingers curled into fists. She wanted to snap back, to list the hours she'd spent testing the fabric's durability, the way it had withstood rain and heat and even a coffee spill in Milan. But instead, she turned back to her swatches, stacking them neatly. The system's interface flickered: "Ignore distraction. Critical task: Finalize coat design for runway fitting—6 hours remaining."
That evening, Lise appeared at the atelier with a camera slung over her shoulder, her usual cheer dimmed. "I just got off the phone with my editor," she said, slumping onto a stool. "He wants me to shoot Pierre's collection instead of ours. Says 'traditional luxury sells better than…'" She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the metal coat.
Su Yao frowned. "But Pierre's using child labor in his Uzbekistan silk farms. You told me that yourself."
Lise groaned, burying her face in her hands. "No one cares about that when the dresses are pretty. 'Plausible deniability,' he called it."
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the whir of a sewing machine from the next room. Then Su Yao stood, grabbing her sketchbook. "What if we don't shoot the coat in a studio? What if we take it where it belongs?"
Two hours later, they were standing in a bustling market in Le Marais, where vendors shouted over pyramids of strawberries and wheels of brie. Su Yao had slipped into the metal coat, its surface now dotted with pins holding back excess fabric, and Lise was kneeling on the wet cobblestones, her camera pointed upward. A cheese monger paused to adjust Su Yao's collar, his hands rough from decades of wrapping wax paper. "Ça brille bien," he said, grinning—"It shines nice."
A group of schoolchildren crowded around, pointing at the coat's shimmer. One little girl, her pigtails tied with pink ribbons, reached out to touch it, then gasped. "Maman! It's soft!" Her mother, a harried woman with a basket full of baguettes, smiled at Su Yao. "Where did you get it? My husband's a mechanic—he'd never believe metal could feel like this."
Lise's camera clicked frantically. "This is it," she muttered. "The *soul* my editor wanted. Real people, not models. Proof that fashion can be for everyone."
Back at the atelier, they found Alain poring over Pierre's collection sketches, his brow furrowed. "Silk, silk, silk," he muttered. "As if the planet has endless silk to spare." When he saw Lise's photos, his eyes lit up. "This is what I've been trying to say! Luxury isn't about exclusivity—it's about *connection*. A coat that makes a mechanic feel proud, a dress that lets a market vendor shine—that's the future."
The next morning, chaos erupted. The front page of *Le Figaro Mode* featured Pierre's silk gowns, but buried inside was a spread of Lise's market photos, with a headline that read: "L'etoile's New Vision: Fashion for the People." By noon, social media was ablaze—some calling the metal coat "revolutionary," others dismissing it as "a stunt."
Pierre cornered Su Yao in the hallway, his face red. "You think you're clever, stealing my spotlight?" He jabbed a finger at her chest. "Enjoy it while it lasts. Tonight's runway show—my collection will close it. Yours? It'll be lucky to get a spot in the first half."
Su Yao held her ground. "Fashion isn't about spots, Monsieur Dubois. It's about stories. And mine—about a girl who believed metal could be soft, who thought workers deserved beauty too—that's a story people want to hear."
As the sun set, casting the atelier in golden light, Su Yao stood backstage, watching models line up. The metal coat hung on a rack beside Pierre's silk creations, its surface catching the light like a second skin. Lise squeezed her hand. "Ready to make history?"
The system's chime sounded softly in her mind: "Main mission updated: Showcase the coat at Paris Fashion Week. Success criteria: Audience standing ovation. Reward: Global textile partnership network access."
Su Yao took a deep breath. Somewhere, a violin began to play. The first model stepped onto the runway, and the crowd erupted in applause. But Su Yao's eyes were fixed on the wings, where the metal coat waited—for its turn to tell its story.