Inside the orange truck, Bobby was bouncing in his seat from excitement, unable to tear his eyes away from Zeno. He leaned forward, his hand pressed to his chest like a proud parent.
“How are you made so well?” he asked, awe-struck as he stared at Zeno. “Can you call your parents later and ask them what gene sequence they used? Or maybe the position during copulation? I want to use it for my next kid.”
“You don’t need another kid in this economy,” Zeno muttered before leaning against the door and running a hand through his softly tousled hair. His suit moved with his movement—a black suit that opened ever so slightly at the chest, revealing smooth skin and a glint of a silver pendant.
“You’re being dramatic again,” he added.
“I’m not exaggerating. After my wife, you might be the most well-made human I’ve seen in my lifetime.”
Except, Zeno wasn’t human.
“I don’t have a wife, so I can easily say that you’re the most well-made!” Moby exclaimed from the driver’s seat.
Zeno scoffed, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
“We’re here,” Moby finally said.
“Make sure to leave an impression. Although, you wouldn’t have to as much—”
Zeno did not let Bobby finish his statement, so he got out without a word and closed the truck door behind him.
Moby’s eyes widened because he was supposed to open the door for him like other artists!
However, Zeno was already out.
And at that moment, it felt like the world paused.
The noise and chaos dulled for just a second as he stepped down from the truck.
The red carpet swallowed sound before flashes finally erupted.
A reporter near the entrance was caught mid-sentence, and the microphone was lifted to a K-pop group, which instantly turned their heads.
A few steps away, the cast of Stars in My Ordinary Sky was in the middle of filming a TikTak challenge—some trending dance that Jordie had been perfecting all week. But as Zeno came into view, Jordie completely forgot the next move.
“Is that…” Jordie whispered, gaping.
Shelly and Jaehyun, who had started dating after the drama, also turned in the direction of the entrance.
Then, they turned to each other with wide eyes.
“Why is he even hotter than before?” Shelly exclaimed.
Jordie’s manager hissed at them to get back into formation, but even the staff were squinting toward the truck.
Meanwhile, among the actors who hadn’t worked with Zeno before, murmurs spread like wildfire.
“That’s Zeno Han?”
“No way. That’s the man from Lucy’s Game?”
“He looks like a magazine cover,” another muttered.
“He looks like a poison that I want to consume,” someone added, clutching her chest.
But it wasn’t just the actors. Even the influencers had grown still. They stared with wide eyes and camera phones lifted silently toward the man who had somehow frozen the storm.
Just like that, the invisible line that had always existed—between the actors and the influencers—blurred. All it took was one unbuttoned shirt, a silver chain, and, of course, the most important factor—Zeno Han.
Further down the carpet, Phoenix was mid-interview.
“So,” the interviewer began, forcing a smile, “you’re nominated for—uh…”
Her eyes drifted past Phoenix’s shoulder before her mouth parted slightly.
Phoenix turned, just a fraction, to follow her gaze. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes did.
Zeno was walking past the barricades now.
People parted before him. His skin caught the light in all the right places. His hair, a little messy from the ride and from the constant running of his fingers through it, made him look unfairly effortless. He appeared cool and unbothered but not arrogant.
Phoenix’s jaw clenched.
The interviewer tried to regain her bearings. “I—uh, I mean, how do you feel about your nominations this year? Do you think—”
Phoenix couldn’t focus on her words as he felt undeniable rage. On the outside, though, he merely sighed.
It was the first time he had seen Zeno Han in real life.
And already, he didn’t like him.
Meanwhile, Zeno breezed through the red carpet, eager to enter the venue as soon as possible.
The flashes hadn’t stopped since he stepped out of the truck, and the reporters’ microphones had lowered instinctively, their voices faltering as they attempted to interview him but ultimately failed.
Zeno felt out of this world to the point that they were intimidated to even strike up a conversation.
With that, Zeno passed by lines of influencers still frozen in awe, actors pretending not to stare, and idols elbowing each other to catch one more glimpse. Yet no one dared to approach.
Not one reporter stepped forward with a question. Not one influencer offered a TikTak collab. Not even the most clout-hungry rookie dared break the spell. Zeno’s presence was magnetic but also, somehow, untouchable.
Near the entrance of the arena, a huge mechanical camera device sat near the end of the carpet. It was shaped like a flower, its robotic arms extending and retracting at a very quick pace.
It was the PRYSM360, a feature that came from Hollywood award shows and had now come to the Triple-A.
It was designed to capture artists in a slow-motion sequence from every angle. 1
And standing by it—arms crossed, face twisted in disdain—was Kim Kim, one of the most-followed fashion influencers in Korea.
She watched the playback on the big tablet mounted beside the machine and felt her heart drop.
“I wasn’t looking into the camera,” she muttered.
The video was too zoomed out, and the wind hit her at a weird angle. She tapped angrily through the settings, but it wouldn’t budge. The watermark stamped across the bottom: ONE TAKE ONLY. PRYSM360 by Luvid Labs.
The man operating it stood a few steps away, smugly sipping from a branded thermos. Older, wiry, with an unfortunate goatee and a T-shirt that said Tech is Art. He smirked when Kim Kim turned to him.
“Reset it,” she demanded.
“No can do. One per artist. That’s the policy,” he said, still sipping. “This is expensive, you know? Imported straight from the United States with parts from China.”
Kim Kim pursed his lips. “I’m an influencer and an actress,” she calmly said.
He merely shrugged. “Then it should’ve turned out better.”
Her nostrils flared. “This will go viral for the wrong reasons. I look ridiculous.”
“That’s the point,” he said calmly, his smirk deepening. He loved it when they got bad takes because people would go ahead and make those ‘Top 5 Worse Prysm360 takes.’ It brought bad rep to the artist but very good engagement to the machine.
Before Kim Kim could argue further, the goatee man had already found his next target. His eyes brightened when he saw the handsome man walking swiftly toward the entrance.
He couldn’t miss this opportunity!
“Zeno Han!” he called out.
Zeno, who had already walked halfway past the display, paused.
“Come and try this device out!”
Glambot inspired