1795-1797

Chapter 1795: An Adventure 

“…Move, move, I need to get out of here!” 

“Damn it, we all need to leave the airport, okay?” 

“I’ve got work to do; I don’t have time to waste here.” 

“For God’s sake, clear the way!” 

“I don’t care who’s here. John Lennon could rise from the dead, and it wouldn’t matter—I just want out of this circus.” 

“Are you all insane?” 

“Sorry, my luggage—hey, hey, that’s mine!” 

“Please, can you just move? Have some awareness in a public place!” 

Grumbling, complaining, chaos. 

Clearly, the atmosphere wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy. Even Anson Wood couldn’t win everyone’s affection—he wasn’t a universally adored golden ticket. 

When the entire baggage claim hall was packed to the brim and the exit from the arrivals area was blocked, the passengers trying to leave the airport lost it. 

They didn’t care about Anson. They had their own lives, their own messes to deal with. These Hollywood stars could all buzz off. Sure, this wasn’t the scene Anson wanted—heck, he was a victim of it too—but they didn’t care. Anson was to blame. 

Cursing, tension rising, the air grew taut, with a whiff of gunpowder starting to spread. 

Anson got it. 

He completely understood their frustration. In his past life, he’d been through this more than once—rabid fans swarming the airport to escort their idol, waddling like a mama duck protecting her ducklings, only to cause chaos and delays for everyone else. 

So, how to handle this situation? 

This wasn’t Anson’s first rodeo with a crowd. Typically, the industry consensus was for the celebrity to leave the scene quickly. Once the star was gone, the fans would lose their target and disperse, problem solved. 

But here’s the hitch. 

Could a celebrity really just slip away easily? 

Surrounded by layers of people, pushing through could spark more chaos, even injuries. 

Crowd crushes were far more dangerous than most realized. One wrong move, and the celebrity could get trapped, leading to a total collapse. 

When the chaos broke out, Anson quickly assessed the situation. Sprinting out of Heathrow like a 100-meter dash was far less likely than the entire scene spiraling into a hurricane-level disaster. He made a snap decision to stop and try to control the crowd from the start. 

One step at a time, no rushing. 

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Finally, Heathrow’s security team arrived, their eyes locking onto Anson, ready to whisk him away. 

But Anson spoke first, addressing them directly. “Let’s clear a path over there so passengers with their luggage can leave smoothly. First, we stabilize the situation.” 

Will O’Connell, the on-duty head of Heathrow’s security team, stared at Anson, dumbfounded. 

“Uh… what about you?” 

Anson spread his hands. “Everything’s off-script. There’s no car waiting for me outside. Until the airport arranges a vehicle or a taxi shows up, standing outside would just draw the crowd into open space.” 

Normally, that’d be a solid plan. But what if open space attracted more people? Would this snowball into an avalanche? 

The thought alone sent chills down Will’s spine. He glanced up at the surging crowd filling every inch of his view and shuddered. 

Without hesitation, Will looked at Anson. “What do we do?” 

Anson raised his voice. “Please move inward to clear a path for those exhausted from long flights. Nobody wants to be a punching bag for tired commuters—trust me, I’m protecting you all.” 

The first half of his sentence made people think he was talking about himself, but then it flipped—suddenly, the chaotic crowd was the scapegoat. 

And the kicker? They couldn’t argue, because they were the ones causing the mess. 

With a mix of humor and sass, the tension in the air lightened. 

Even the grumpy passengers felt it. 

Still fuming, unsure where to direct their anger, they saw the dense crowd shift toward one side of the baggage claim, opening a narrow path near the exit. 

It wasn’t wide, but it was enough. 

Confused and disoriented, the passengers shuffled forward, then spotted Anson directing traffic like a cop. The shock hit them hard, leaving them too stunned to react, mechanically dragging their luggage forward in a daze. 

Anger, irritation, and anxiety didn’t vanish entirely, but the surprise and absurdity of the moment shifted something. The overwhelming information pouring in changed how they looked at Anson, their expressions softening ever so slightly. 

That shift, though, felt too awkward to admit. So they hurried off, heads down, as the negative vibes in the air slowly dissipated. 

Among the passengers leaving the terminal, one couldn’t resist their curiosity. They stepped out of line, heading toward Anson for a high-five. 

Anson shook his head. “We need to avoid clogging the flow again. Keep it moving, keep it moving.” 

The person’s hand froze mid-air, their face a mask of disbelief. 

A beat later, they noticed everyone else staring, and the crowd burst into laughter. The atmosphere buzzed with energy as the person sheepishly retreated, rubbing their nose. 

Anson turned to the throng still surrounding him. 

“We need to clear out here too. I don’t want Heathrow shutting down because of me—that crown’s too heavy for my shoulders.” 

Haha, hahaha— 

Laughter rippled through the crowd. 

Anson raised his right hand, high-fiving the eager fans one by one. 

“Thanks.” 

“Have a great day.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know this isn’t ideal.” 

“Unexpected encounter.” 

“Oh, welcome to London.” 

High-fives and banter flowed, each brief interaction sparking laughter. Then, he guided them past him, straight out of the baggage claim. 

Will couldn’t believe his eyes, jaw dropped at the scene. He’d never known a celebrity frenzy could be handled like this. What could’ve been a disaster turned into a “high-five meet-and-greet,” with smiles lighting up every face. 

Will had worked at Heathrow for twenty years— 

Flight delays, cancellations, schedule changes, bad weather, accidents, lost luggage, security checks, passenger conflicts, ground crew issues—the list went on. This was one of the worst, most miserable work environments among global airports, where smiles were rare. 

Complaints were sky-high! 

Literally, no exaggeration. 

But today, a potential catastrophe transformed into an unforgettable adventure. Who knew Heathrow could actually be a place for smiles? 

Chapter 1796: Superstar Charm 

Chaos. Confusion. Disaster. 

When Will got wind of the situation, he was beyond irritated, even privately blaming Anson— 

Why play the “regular guy” card? It’s hypocritical, performative. 

If you’re a top-tier superstar, just take a private jet and use the VIP channel, slipping in and out without disrupting ordinary people’s lives. Instead, Anson had to act like he was blending into the crowd, only to cause trouble—potentially even a disaster. 

God, as if airport security didn’t have enough on their plates. When would these Hollywood stars stop with this self-deluded nonsense? 

Damn it! 

Fuming, Will stormed toward the baggage claim, hoping to resolve the mess quickly— 

But based on past experience, that was likely wishful thinking. 

And now? 

A vibrant, orderly scene unfolded, with a massive crowd presenting an entirely different picture. 

Will and the entire security team were left standing on the sidelines, completely irrelevant. This had to be the easiest, most relaxed job of Will’s career. 

He felt like a mall security guard, barely needing to shout to maintain order. 

Was this normal? 

Will couldn’t wrap his head around it. He glanced at Anson again— 

Focused, busy, enthusiastic, genuine. 

Will had no idea how many high-fives Anson had given—eight hundred? At least five hundred. Even Will, just standing nearby, was sore and sweaty. Looking ahead, the endless stream of people showed no sign of thinning, and he felt dizzy. 

Whether it was acting or sincerity, Anson’s dedication was undeniable. Being a superstar clearly wasn’t something just anyone could pull off. 

Joy, happiness, excitement, cheer. 

Laughter filled the air, accompanied by cheers and shouts of delight. The atmosphere was electric, as if a Disney movie had cast a spell, transforming everything the eyes saw, the ears heard, and the skin felt. 

“Will…” 

Will froze, not even registering who was calling him. 

“Will?” 

A beat late, he realized it was Anson and hurriedly turned to look. 

“Will, where’s the car the airport arranged?” 

Anson had initially suggested a taxi, but Will had other concerns. 

A taxi could still cause chaos, and Anson’s hotel in London might leak to the press. With the British paparazzi already racing to Heathrow, an inexperienced taxi driver could face serious risks. 

So, Will had recommended the airport arrange a VIP vehicle to escort Anson to his hotel. 

Anson had followed Will’s professional advice and was waiting for the car. 

But now, half an hour later, there was still no word from the airport. 

Anson looked at Will with a hint of exasperation. “This situation needs an end, doesn’t it?” 

Will followed Anson’s gaze and immediately understood: 

Planes kept landing, and waves of people kept flooding the baggage claim. Despite Anson being there for over thirty minutes, the line wasn’t shrinking. Add in the curious onlookers drawn by the commotion, and this impromptu high-five meet-and-greet might never end. 

Will slapped his forehead, slightly annoyed. “Sorry, I’ll get you out of here now.” 

Anson was surprised. “Now?” 

“Oh, give me thirty seconds.” 

Thirty seconds? What did Anson need thirty seconds for? 

Before Will could react, Anson took a half-step forward, high-fiving and greeting the next three people in line, then flashing an apologetic smile at the next person, mouthing, “Please wait.” 

Then, he lifted his chin slightly and raised his voice. 

“Sorry, I have to go.” 

A collective sigh of disappointment rippled through the crowd. 

Anson shrugged lightly. “I know, but honestly, this unexpected encounter has gone on long enough. Cinderella has to leave before midnight, or everything you see now will vanish. Trust me, you don’t want to see the harsh reality.” 

Hahaha! 

The crowd erupted in laughter. No one expected Anson to poke fun at himself so effortlessly, gesturing to his face and outfit: 

This polished exterior could disappear any moment. 

And if he went further, his friendly “mask” might not hold much longer, revealing a fiercer side. 

The joke landed perfectly with the British crowd, who roared in response. 

“Thank you, thank you to everyone who, at the end of a long, exhausting journey, still took the time to line up here. I know not everyone knows me—you, yes, you, sir, you’re probably wondering who this guy talking is and why everyone’s queuing up.” 

Haha! 

“Okay, I’m Anson Wood, an actor. I hope one day soon we’ll meet again in a different setting—at the cinema. Come watch my movies, whether you like them or not. I’m sure the memory will add a unique flavor to today.” 

“I just hope you won’t think the guy on the screen is way more handsome than the stranger at Heathrow. That’d be a PR crisis.” 

Hahaha! 

Laughter rolled through the crowd, unrelenting. The high-five meet-and-greet had turned into a stand-up comedy show in a matter of seconds, the atmosphere buzzing with energy. 

Short, light, perfectly timed, knowing when to stop. 

Anson didn’t linger. He prepared to leave, but the small group at the front, who were next in line, showed clear disappointment, their calls for him still caught in their throats. Then, Anson paused, turning back, causing them to swallow their words. 

“Oh, and thank you for such a warm welcome. I always thought London was pretty cold.” 

A playful jab—or perhaps a provocation—sparked grins across the crowd. One by one, they started to chime in— 

“Stereotype!” “No way!” “Absolutely not!” “What are you talking about?” “Now we know you’re not British!” 

The chatter was lively and spirited. 

The atmosphere lightened once more. 

But Anson had already turned, decisive and without hesitation, patting Will on the shoulder. Surrounded by the security team, he strode forward. 

Will, witnessing the entire scene, couldn’t believe his eyes. Anson had complete control, effortlessly commanding the room. When he finally walked away, the crowd surged forward a step or two but didn’t follow. 

The air buzzed with excitement and energy, yet there was no chaos or crowding—everything was remarkably orderly. 

It was like magic. 

How did this even happen? 

Then, a shout rang out from behind, earth-shattering, like a bolt from the blue. 

“Anson!” 

“So, ‘Sunflower’ or ‘Sailing’?” 

Chapter 1797: Effortless Charisma 

“Anson!” 

A thunderclap exploded out of nowhere. 

Will’s heart clenched, alarms blaring as he snapped into full alert mode. The unexpected had happened, the situation unavoidable. In an instant, he embodied professionalism, his mind clearing like a hedgehog bristling with spines, trained and agile. 

The next second— 

“So, ‘Sunflower’ or ‘Sailing’?” 

Will: Huh? 

Frozen mid-alert, his head filled with question marks, his poised stance rigid. His brain stalled, unsure how to respond. 

Not just Will—Anson was caught off guard too. This was an ambush he hadn’t seen coming. He paused, turning to look back. 

Whoops and cheers erupted from every corner, the atmosphere buzzing with joy. Faces lit up with excitement. 

Of course, there was confusion too. 

Not everyone kept up with trends or stayed glued to the internet. For many, the youngsters’ “meme” was foreign. Hearing such a question out of the blue, their puzzled expressions and bewildered looks gave them away, question marks abounding. 

Anson took it all in. 

He could’ve turned and left—no need to entertain the question. But he could also embrace the moment, joining the crowd in celebration. 

A smile crept onto Anson’s lips. He didn’t speak but met their gazes with bright eyes, connecting one by one. 

Then, he raised both hands, clapping a rhythm. 

Clap. Clap. Clap-clap-clap. Clap-clap-clap. 

The steady, forceful beat fell like raindrops, striking the heart. 

The baggage claim crowd was drowning in confusion, clueless about what was happening or what to do. But the young ones knew. Bathed in Anson’s gaze, they mimicked him, raising their hands to clap along, rallying others to join. 

The “raindrops” multiplied, grew denser, faster, evolving from a spring drizzle to a summer downpour. 

Clap! Clap! Clap-clap-clap! Clap-clap-clap! 

A simple clap unleashed a surging, unstoppable force, sweeping the room in an instant. 

No exceptions! 

Even those clueless about the question or the scene didn’t need to understand. Just raise your hands and join in. Set aside burdens, stress, and the world outside the airport. Immerse in the moment. 

A basic action—clapping—accessible to all, no skill required. Yet the rhythm and pulse sparked heat in their palms, tingling and electric. Adrenaline surged, joy and euphoria swelling in their chests. 

Boom! 

Passion and fervor burst free, breaking through veins and spilling out, forming a tornado that rose from the ground floor, climbing to the second and beyond, spreading relentlessly. Not just the baggage claim—other areas were swept up too. 

Will stood dumbfounded, watching the tidal wave unfold. 

Even travelers leaving the baggage claim paused, some gawking in shock, others eagerly joining in. 

It was wild, scorching, electric—culminating in the slight, confident curve of Anson’s lips, blooming proudly. 

All of it, effortless, natural. 

Anson took a deep breath, raising his hands like a conductor signaling a rest, then bringing them down firmly. 

“Sailing!” 

The crowd roared. 

Anson hadn’t spoken, but the young fans, caught in the rhythm’s pulse, found their answer. The passion in their souls broke free, uncontainable, erupting under Anson’s lead, all their energy colliding in a thunderous shout. 

A glint of mischief flickered in Anson’s eyes, clearly pleased with the wave he’d created. 

With a turn, he strode off, this time without stopping, head high. 

Will: ?? 

What just happened? 

Even having witnessed it, Will was lost in a fog, slow to realize he’d been left behind. He hurried to catch up, instinctively glancing at the face so close—too close. 

They’d reached the arrivals hall outside, where layers of fans mixed with paparazzi wielding cameras. Flashbulbs erupted, a relentless barrage. 

Screams. Shutter clicks. Chaos. Noise. 

It crashed over them like a tidal wave. 

But Anson didn’t flinch. His lips curved into a faint smile, nodding calmly at the crowd and photographers, his grin radiant. 

Will stood beside him, watching that profile. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but Anson seemed to glow, the chaos and noise fading into the background. Everything blurred, the focus solely on Anson. 

So, this was a superstar’s aura? 

Behind them, the wave rolled on. Even as Anson left, the clapping echoed, and a group of young fans belted out lyrics with abandon. 

“Maybe I should cry for help, maybe I should kill myself, blame it on my ADD, baby.” 

Ahead, the flames roared, rushing toward Anson, the rising din pushing ears to their limits. 

“Maybe I’m a freak, maybe I don’t listen enough, blame it on my ADD, baby.” 

Noise. Chaos. Frenzy. Heat. 

The air itself seemed to burn, the world spinning faster, Heathrow transforming into a Nürburgring rock festival in a second. 

Will, despite his seasoned experience, was swept into the storm, unable to break free. 

What was that? What was happening in the baggage claim? What were those sung melodies? What was all this? 

The carnival atmosphere—how had it erupted? Should they join in? Stop it? Was this good or bad? 

Not just Will—the media and onlookers outside noticed too. 

How could they not? 

Even through the walls, the waves of sound—rhythm, melody, and song—surged out. No visuals needed to feel the fervor. 

Yet they stood, jaws dropped, peering back, straining to see through the automatic doors’ opening and closing, catching glimpses of the chaos and heat. Necks craned, toes tipped, they edged closer, faces drawn to the warmth, their spirits melting in the blaze. 

For a moment, they forgot the star before them, their souls captured by the revelry behind, lost before they even realized.