Chapter 343: Role Play

Taking a deep breath, Steven tried to calm himself, though it wasn’t easy. The restraint and formality of the fashion show bound him tightly, even more so than an awards ceremony. Sitting in the front row, under the gaze and flashes of cameras, he felt completely out of place.

It was torture.

Pure and utter torture.

Then Tom’s voice reached his ears, prompting Steven to adjust his posture, sitting up a bit straighter. He gathered his scattered thoughts, and before he even looked at the runway, his ears caught a sound.

Hmm?

As a director, Steven was highly attuned to the three-dimensional experience created by the collision of visuals and sound. This was the unique allure of film.

And here, in the fashion show, it was no different. He immediately noticed the hypnotic, dazzling electronic drumbeat in the background music—it was mesmerizing.

“Welcome to your life, there’s no turning back. Even while we sleep, we will find you acting on your best behavior, turn your back on mother nature…”

Steven froze. This…

This was “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” released by the rock band Tears for Fears in 1985. Even now, it remains one of the greatest and most iconic songs of the 1980s.

Sure enough—

“Everybody wants to rule the world…”

The song, in its upbeat yet dreamy way, expressed inner madness and the fear and fragmentation behind it, conveying a sense of unease and anxiety about the Cold War era. Although the lyrics contained no provocative language, the sadness was fully realized within the light, bouncy chaos of the melody.

Steven hadn’t expected Hedi Slimane to choose this song as the opening background music, immediately setting the tone for the entire show.

Then the models took the stage—

Slim, tall.

Towering, upright.

Today, there was no raised runway at the Dior show. The models and the audience stood on the same level, with the audience not having to crane their necks to look up at the models. Yet, under the cold ivory light, that figure emerged from the hazy shadows, slender yet towering.

Black suit, black trousers, white shirt—

Cliché?

No, not at all.

The suit and trousers were made from draped silk fabric, flowing down the body like water, soft and snug. It wasn’t entirely form-fitting, yet it precisely outlined the body’s proportions, with the shoulders, arms, waist, and thighs clearly defined, subtly exuding a mix of elegance and fragility.

The shirt was no exception, without a collar, with the neckline rolling up like waves, the buttons undone, lightly fluttering with each step, revealing glimpses of the body’s lines. But it didn’t feel sexy—more like a rebellious nonchalance.

Though it was the simplest, most basic suit, it carried a rock ’n’ roll vibe, devoid of seriousness or rigidity. Instead, it distilled the purity and simplicity of youth, blooming in the black chrysanthemum pinned to the left chest—cool and melancholic, romantic yet wild, noble yet ambiguous, swaying gently to the hypnotic electronic rock melody.

With one entrance, the model easily captured all attention.

Even Steven, a complete outsider to fashion, could sense something different, a quality he didn’t like, even sneered at, but couldn’t help being drawn to—a magnetic aura that was impossible to ignore.

Step by step.

The figure approached, light and shadow naturally flowing over his face, highlighting the sharp contours of his features. His icy, aloof blue eyes gradually brightened through the mist, as if he were the only person in the world.

—Anson Wood.

Steven blinked, his mind momentarily freezing, almost unable to process what he was seeing.

Was that really Anson?

It was different—completely different. This was not the same person he had met in the studio or during dinner. The aura he exuded now was utterly distinct.

His coldness and defiance, his fragility and loneliness, his detachment and rebellion—all quietly hidden beneath the deep blue ice, yet mingled with a kind of innocent purity and simplicity. There was an alluring quality to him, infused with a distinctly French essence, making him seem almost unreachable.

Could this really be Anson?

"... There must be a corner where the light can't touch, where you and I, fingers intertwined, watch the world collapse, and I'm by your side when things fall apart. I'm grateful we finally made it, but it's a shame that everything will eventually fade away. Everyone wants to rule the world."

The music whirled and leaped, the whole world spinning along with it, so crazy and so brilliant, yet uncontrollably melancholic—

As if Anson was facing the whole world alone.

Eyes, ears, breath, heart, everything collided, dragging Steven slowly down, his brain dizzy.

It was only now that Steven remembered that Anson's mother was French, just like Frank Abagnale Jr.

Anson walked alone on the runway, gathering the world's attention, his thin shoulders seemingly unable to bear the weight any longer.

However, his steps were so firm, his back so straight, the tenacity and uprightness radiating from within held the reins tight, and before everything fell apart, he held the world together by himself.

Just like Frank Abagnale Jr.

This flawless version is available on [移除了无效网址]! 6=9+shu_ba is the first to publish this novel.

He was just a kid, hiding his vulnerability and pain in that empty, nihilistic brilliance, running and running and running, not knowing when to stop or where to go.

The coldness and stubbornness in those eyes quietly overlapped.

Steven was completely stunned.

Anson just walked past him, all the way to the end of the runway, the cold light stretching his figure long and thin.

Then, finally!

A second figure finally appeared on the runway, joining Anson.

Red.

A dazzling and enchanting, flamboyant and unrestrained, brilliant and wanton red appeared, entering this black and white world in an unreasonable way, igniting all the energy in an instant against the backdrop of the frenzied music.

This...

Generally speaking, fashion design is often presented as a series, with different designs derived under similar settings, and many times color is the most intuitive commonality; however, Eddie broke the rules this time.

One red, two reds, three reds.

A whole series of red suits followed, with similar cuts to Anson's but different details, surging forward like a red tide.

The intention could not be clearer.

Not only crazy, but also flamboyant, unrestrained, and surging. The rolling red wave clawed and followed, rushing towards Anson.

That touch of black stubbornness and vulnerability burst out with incredible power at this moment. Even though more and more models were appearing on the stage, everyone's eyes were still involuntarily drawn to Anson.

Including Steven's.

Under everyone's gaze, Anson finally turned around and faced the red tide head-on.

(End of chapter)