Silence. Utter silence. The only sound in the room was the relentless clicking of caras in the midst of the storm.
No one expected this—not at all.
No one anticipated that Anson, who had always been rebellious, carefree, and youthful, would possess such an innate sense of elegance and nobility. It was a surprise, a pleasant one at that.
After all, Anson had always been seen as a representative of the "grassroots" crowd.
More accurately, rather than nobility, it was the air of a scholarly family, a depth honed by the passage of ti. It had nothing to do with wealth, titles, status, or class—it was a kind of inherent refinent.
Undoubtedly, this was a side of Anson that had never been seen before, not even at the Dior fashion show. Once again, he managed to take everyone by surprise.
No one expected that Anson's rock spirit, deeply embedded within him, would also shine so brilliantly in Chanel. The choice of a black-and-white checkered tweed jacket alone was enough to upend all the rules of n's fashion.
Underneath that elegant deanor, he confidently showcased his physique and masculinity. It was bold and bright, yet carried a warm, jade-like quality.
Indescribable.
Not just bold, but outright crazy.
The impact was so intense and fierce that the entire press corps temporarily forgot to react. One by one, they rely pressed their shutters on reflex, their minds going blank.
From *GQ* onward, every ti Anson made a formal appearance, it brought about a shockwave and innovation. So, how many more surprises did this treasure have in store?
It wasn't just the dia—Anna Wintour was once again stunned by Anson.
Thump. Thump.
Her heart raced uncontrollably, a kind of indescribable, inexpressible fervor surging within her. Now, Anna was finally able to confirm with absolute certainty:
He's the one.
History was changing. Everything was happening.
And she would seize the opportunity once more.
Head held high, she strode forward, taking the initiative—sothing rare for her—to extend her right hand and invite Anson. The notorious editor-in-chief, who seldom smiled, offered a confident grin, welcoming him in full view of everyone.
And then…
The reporters finally snapped back to reality, their shouts exploding with astonishing energy.
"Anson!"
"Anson! Anson! Anson, ah!"
"Over here, Anson."
Undoubtedly, this was a historic mont, whether it was Anson's appearance or Anna's reception. It was a rare and significant event.
No one should miss it.
The storm ignited, and the overwhelming energy shook all of Paris. It was hard to imagine that just 48 hours ago, Paris didn't know who Anson was.
But now?
Anson was startled—
He didn't hide it.
Anson admitted that he had no idea the scene would be this frenzied. Reflexively, he turned to Edgar, seeking an explanation, but noticed Edgar pausing slightly as he stepped out of the car.
Stunned!
The surging heat wave hit them like an avalanche.
It seed Edgar hadn't anticipated this either.
Anson couldn't understand and looked toward Anna approaching him. "What's happening?"
In the overwhelming noise and chaos, Anna waved her hand, refusing to answer. She wouldn't stoop to shouting in such a graceless manner.
Anna made a welcoming gesture, leading Anson onto the red carpet.
"Ah, ah, ahhh!"
"Boom!"
The surging heat wave continued to roll on, its intensity felt on the skin like the scorching sun of midsumr. Yet all Anson could see was a silver curtain of light and an endless sea of dark, crowded figures.
Anson: What on earth happened in Paris in the last 24 hours?
The frenzied shouts ca in wave after wave, with everyone trying to capture Anson, to immortalize this mont on film, to make a fleeting instant last forever.
A short red carpet walk seed to stretch endlessly, with every step t by photographers' desperate pleas from all directions, enveloping him in a 360-degree barrage.
Literally, everyone wanted a piece of Anson.
It wasn't until Anson and Anna entered the venue that the roaring wave of noise began to subside, just a little. The amount of film used today could probably fill the Seine River.
The roaring heat wave, like a dragon, crashed into the tent, stirring up ripples in its wake.
Then, Anson saw Anna's slight smile. "You've made it."
Anson blinked, "Huh?"
Anna didn't explain further. She simply gave Anson a once-over, her gaze, hidden behind dark sunglasses, betraying a hint of admiration—
Magnificent!
Even soone as seasoned as Anna had to admit that Anson had truly delivered a surprise. It wasn't just about mixing styles or breaking boundaries; it was about injecting new energy into traditional won's wear, bringing an entirely different texture to n's fashion.
Perhaps the most eye-catching elent was the jacket, but in Anna's view, the real masterstroke was the removal of the tie. By simplifying the look and stripping away any excess, the jacket beca the focal point. anwhile, the fully buttoned-up shirt, which clung closely to Anson's body, conveyed a sense of aristocratic restraint, a stark contrast to his look at the Dior fashion show two days earlier.
That, she thought, was the truly brilliant part.
Even when expectations had already reached new heights, Anson continued to bring more surprises.
Anna nodded to herself, thinking, *"You should enjoy the monts that lie ahead."*
Before she could finish her thought, Anson noticed the multitude of gazes converging on him from all directions—eyes that looked at him like wolves eyeing Little Red Riding Hood.
One after another, people ca forward to greet him—
Actors. Directors. Designers. Editors-in-chief. CEOs of film companies. Presidents of multinational distribution companies. Heirs of luxury brand conglorates. Tech moguls. Nobility.
Just monts ago, the third son of the Louis Vuitton family approached Anson with a model on his arm, engaging in a lively conversation and even inviting Anson to join them for skiing in Switzerland over Christmas.
It was overwhelming.
And then Karl Lagerfeld appeared.
"Haha, I've already heard," Karl leisurely made his entrance before the crowd, stopping a few steps away from Anson and Anna. The murmuring around them gradually quieted, as if the buzz was fading into the distance. All eyes turned to Karl, and the room held its breath.
All attention was now focused on this mont—
At this very minute, Karl should have been backstage preparing for the fashion show, far too busy to entertain even the Queen of England. Ensuring the perfection of the upcoming show was his top priority.
However!
Karl had erged.
He had left the backstage and temporarily set aside the preparations to personally greet Anson, a gesture of unprecedented significance.
In an instant, envious, jealous, and hateful gazes consud Anson.
But there were also a few who watched with a hint of schadenfreude, clearly aware of what was happening. They didn't believe Karl's appearance was a re gesture of respect for Anson but rather—
To hold him accountable.
Karl tilted his head slightly. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, making it impossible to read his expression, but a smile played on his lips—a smile that was playful yet inscrutable. "Soone has altered my design."
The air froze in an instant.
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