Wincent Sullivan was briefly scorched by the audacity between her brows and quickly looked away, pouring himself a glass of water and gulping it down.
He set down the glass and said, "Hmm."
"Although the research institute conducts group assessnts every month, usually only the results of the December group assessnt are considered. The results of the December group assessnt also determine who can use the 8-level laboratory next year."
He guessed that as a rookie, Nathalie Quinlan might not yet understand what having access to the 8-level lab for a whole year ans, so he patiently explained it to her.
"The 8-level laboratory contains data and information on high-level projects at the institute, and you also get the opportunity to observe the 8-level lab mbers doing research. You might even encounter the head of the 8-level lab, the deputy director of the institute. Everyone dreams of seeing Mr. Saban conduct experints firsthand; such an opportunity is rare and coveted, which is why everyone wants to fight for this chance."
"If you happen to catch his eye, the future prospects are limitless."
Nathalie Quinlan understood. She rested her elbow on the table, having barely eaten, striking a rather boss-like pose, and concluded, "Oh, so it’s just a fight for a chance to be an errand runner."
Wincent Sullivan: "..."
Agnes Baker: "..."
Wincent Sullivan was silent for two seconds, then upon thinking it over, couldn’t help but find it amusing. He nodded in agreent: "What you said isn’t wrong."
They were just the younger generation entering the institute, all obsessed with the honor of coming into contact with the 8-level laboratory.
In reality, Nathalie wasn’t wrong. It’s indeed just an opportunity to observe and help out, serving tea and water to the 8-level lab mbers.
It doesn’t seem all that prestigious.
Nathalie Quinlan acknowledged it with a hum, and just then her phone rang.
She took out her phone for a glance. It was Stephanie Tanzil calling.
Stephanie Tanzil never seeks her out without reason.
Since she was calling, there was likely sothing up.
She picked up her phone, stood up, and told the two people in the private room, "I’ll step out to take a call."
"Alright, go ahead." Wincent Sullivan nodded.
Nathalie Quinlan pulled out her chair and walked out first.
...
Outside in the corridor.
The girl hadn’t gone far, just found a relatively quiet spot to answer the call.
"Hello."
The voice was rather hoarse, yet polite.
On the other end, Stephanie Tanzil thought the phone might not have been with her and was about to give up when she heard the girl’s voice through her headset.
She imdiately pulled her car over at the roadside, opened the car’s Bluetooth, eyebrows gentle, and said, "Nathalie, are you at ho? I’ll co over to see you."
Nathalie Quinlan leaned against the wall, head tilted, pulling her duckbill cap low, and the corridor’s light cast shadows across her nose.
She lowered her eyelids and nonchalantly replied, "I’m not ho, is there sothing you need?"
Stephanie Tanzil was close with Shawn Norton.
Nathalie had interacted with her a few tis; they weren’t particularly close, but got along fine.
"Oh, I see." Stephanie Tanzil was a bit disappointed but quickly perked up, saying with a smile, "It’s like this, a friend of mine abroad is interested in the ’Nirvana’ sound source, and he wants to use your sound source for an art short film. Are you interested in promoting it? The price is negotiable."
Nathalie Quinlan humd a response, not even considering it: "Not selling."
Money, she wasn’t short of.
She never considered her music as a commodity transaction, and none of the sound sources she uploaded on Platforms had any paid tracks.
There’s certainly no need to comrcialize it now.
"I’m just playing around, it’s just a hobby. If soone listens to them and develops an interest in traditional instrunts, that’s great. If they don’t understand, it’s okay, as long as they get acquainted with our traditional music. As for other things, I haven’t considered it."
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