881-885

*Chapter 881: The Outfit Dilemma*

The reasoning was simple.

Anson had collaborated with Dior for an entire year, turning Dior menswear into an industry leader. Whether in sales or brand image, they were far ahead of the competition.

This was great and important.

But all of that was in the past.

Dior no longer believed Anson could take their brand to the next level, or perhaps they believed he could, but Anson decided to end the partnership. Therefore, their marketing strategy had to change, seeking new promotional avenues.

As a result, Anson was no longer a priority.

If Anson chose to wear Dior to important events, they’d welcome it. But if he didn’t, they wouldn’t be upset.

After all, it was just business.

As the brand’s design director, Eddie was doing his best to sell his design concepts and the added value of Anson’s image, but his reasoning was purely artistic.

Even though Eddie tried to emphasize how important this step was for the future, Dior’s executives believed they had already fully exploited Anson’s value. Now it should be Anson hoping to wear Dior to Cannes, not Dior begging him to choose them.

Eddie’s efforts were unsuccessful.

Eddie looked at Anson, who had a slight smile on his face, and couldn’t hide his frustration.

“Anson, I’m sorry.”

Anson laughed, “Haha.”

“Eddie, tell me, why are people so afraid of wearing the same outfit as someone else?”

Not just celebrities, but in everyday life too.

Eddie was confused, not sure why Anson had brought this up out of nowhere.

Anson continued.

“Essentially, people are afraid they’re not unique enough.”

“On one hand, it might make them feel like they have bad taste, the same as everyone else. Everyone wants to have something unique.”

“On the other hand, they’re afraid of exposing their weaknesses. Some people fear being called copycats, some worry they’ll be seen as lacking taste, and some are concerned they’ll be compared unfavorably to others.”

“There are many possible reasons. Everyone has their own insecurities, but ultimately, it all boils down to the fear of not being special enough.”

“Isn’t that an interesting paradox?”

“The essence of fashion trends is that everyone follows them. When I wear a shirt and everyone else starts wearing it, that’s when it becomes a trend. But at the same time, people fear getting lost in that trend, desperately trying to maintain their individuality.”

“So, it creates this contradictory situation.”

“We’re always making things harder for ourselves.”

Eddie paused, his tension easing. He couldn’t help but smile. “Anson, do you think everyone is like you?”

“Most people don’t even realize this, let alone think about it. Not everyone is confident enough to believe they’re making the right choices. They fear being compared and exposing their true selves.”

Anson snapped his fingers, “Exactly, that’s the right answer.”

“Whether it’s confidence or insecurity, the fear of matching outfits is really the fear of comparison.”

“Take a simple t-shirt and jeans. Some people can wear it and look fresh and natural, while others just blend into the crowd. That kind of stark contrast in matching outfits is terrifying.”

“Insecure people fear comparison; confident people reject it.”

“On the red carpet, everyone wants to be the unique star of the show, so they’ll do whatever it takes to avoid matching outfits.”

“And in daily life, bumping into someone with the same outfit can make whoever is insecure feel awkward.”

It was all so complicated, yet so simple.

Eddie didn’t respond immediately, pondering for a moment before hesitantly asking, “So, what are you saying?”

Anson spread his hands, “If we match, we match. I’m not afraid, and I’m not embarrassed.”

Eddie: …

He was speechless. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you saying you’re okay with matching outfits with Monica Bellucci?”

Anson smiled, “Technically, it’s matching colors, but that’s not the point.”

Eddie was so surprised, he couldn’t react for a moment. A smile crept onto his face.

“You’re saying you want to go head-to-head with Monica Bellucci and see who pulls it off better?”

Anson was calm, “I think it’s an interesting idea.”

“Look, she’s a woman, I’m a man. She’s in a dress, I’m in a suit. She’s the host, I’m the guest. We’re competing on different tracks, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Anson’s reasoning calmed Eddie down a bit.

“A head-to-head competition?”

“Hmm… that could work. Maybe you could even outshine Monica Bellucci. I might need to come up with some bold designs.”

“And then we’ll end up offending both the Cannes Film Festival and Dior, right?”

Eddie shook his head, exasperated at the thought of going toe-to-toe with Monica.

If they lost, they’d be media fodder. If they won, Cannes and Dior would be furious.

In other words, it was a no-win situation. No matter the outcome, Anson would lose.

But Anson didn’t seem to care, laughing openly. “Haha, relax, Eddie, it’s Cannes, not the end of the world.”

Eddie took a deep breath, then another, regaining his composure.

“Anson, we need to strike back.”

Sure, they might not be able to fight against the power of capital, but in the world of art, other things can shine brightly.

Like talent.

“The good news is, we still have a second, third, and more options.”

Since the strategy was to build Anson’s fashion image, Eddie naturally had backup plans.

Anson blinked, “So, what’s the bad news?”

Eddie replied, “You’ll need to try on more outfits.”

Anson let out a groan.

But Eddie wasn’t listening—or maybe he was but didn’t care. He was already scanning Anson, his mind racing with ideas.

For Eddie, this was a challenge, a provocation, an attack, a sign of disdain. Sure, in the face of capital, they were just pawns. They couldn’t even speak up, let alone fight back. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t make some noise.

And he was going to make sure they heard it, in his own unique way.

Now fully in battle mode, Eddie’s creativity was burning bright.

Watching this, Anson exhaled deeply.

Though he wasn’t particularly bothered by matching outfits, or whether the fashion image plan met 100% of expectations, he was satisfied with where things stood. After all, he was here for the Cannes Film Festival, and the premiere, the red carpet, and the outfits were secondary. The movies were what excited him most.

But now, seeing Eddie’s enthusiasm, Anson decided to put aside his laid-back attitude and fully cooperate.

With a friend so eager, how could Anson say no?

So, they might as well take the risk.

---

*Chapter 882: A Disruptive Appearance*

The 56th Cannes Film Festival officially kicked off the day before yesterday in 2003.

This annual film extravaganza draws global attention, with all eyes on the event.

On the red carpet at the opening ceremony, the jury for the main competition made a dazzling appearance.

This year, the jury president is French director Patrice Chéreau. Back in 1994, he won the Cannes Jury Prize with La Reine Margot and is highly respected in France. In 2001, his film Intimacy took the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival, and earlier this year, Son Frère earned him the Best Director award at Berlin once again, proving he's still at the peak of his career.

Thus, Cannes invited Patrice Chéreau to preside over this year’s jury, which includes many familiar names: directors, writers, and actors from around the world.

Among them are Chinese actor Jiang Wen, American director Steven Soderbergh, and American actress Meg Ryan.

The red carpet sparkled with stars.

This year’s host, Monica Bellucci, stole the show. The actress, who charmed European cinema with Malèna, was in her prime, and everywhere she went, she became the absolute focus of attention.

Monica appeared in a moon-white, form-fitting lace gown, embodying both the elegance and poise of a Greek goddess, while exuding a ripe, peach-like allure. Her mix of different styles sent the red carpet into a frenzy.

If Cannes wanted to create buzz with Monica’s presence, they definitely succeeded. Not only did she shine on the red carpet, but her appearance during the opening speech at the Palais des Festivals also received a standing ovation. The applause thundered through the room.

It was an unprecedented spectacle.

In comparison, this year’s opening film Fanfan la Tulipe seemed a bit underwhelming.

This French film was written and produced by the famous Luc Besson. After making a name for himself on the international stage with films like Léon: The Professional, The Fifth Element, and The Big Blue, Besson announced he would only direct ten films before retiring, causing a wave of sighs and regrets.

In recent years, Besson founded his own film company and didn’t rush back to directing. Instead, he focused on writing and producing. The success of the Taxi series at the box office brought him even more attention, and Fanfan la Tulipe was one of his new projects.

The film’s lead actress was Penélope Cruz, who had been rising rapidly in both Hollywood and Europe in recent years. Due to rumors involving Matt Damon and Tom Cruise, Penélope temporarily left Hollywood and returned to Europe. Even though she hadn’t yet turned 30, she remained one of the top young actresses.

Having a Penélope Cruz-led film as the opening movie at Cannes was yet another big opportunity for her.

On the red carpet, the competition between Penélope and Monica was undoubtedly a hot topic. Unfortunately, the film itself didn’t live up to the hype.

Fanfan la Tulipe was met with a wave of criticism, if not outright ridicule.

Many questioned why Cannes would choose such a film to open the festival.

While last year’s opening film, Hollywood Ending, wasn’t exactly brilliant, at least director Woody Allen knew how to make fun of himself. Its light, artsy tone was passable, but this year’s film was nothing short of a farce.

However...

This is Cannes—

It’s all about the movies.

No hiding, no sugar-coating, no polite chit-chat. If it’s good, it’s good; if it’s bad, it’s bad. Praise is given generously, but criticism is just as brutal. The sharp reviews from the media ensure that, for ten days, this small town oscillates between heaven and hell.

At the very least, the buzz, the spotlight, and the heat are there.

Cannes has already won half the battle, proving once again why it’s the best at generating excitement among Europe’s top three film festivals, especially in this age of information overload.

However, after the opening ceremony, the entire Cannes crowd was talking about one person—

Anson Wood.

Even the well-traveled Emmanuelle had to admit that Anson came prepared.

Even though anticipation had already peaked before the festival opened, and despite Anson having wowed audiences at various premieres before, this time at Cannes was still different.

Emmanuelle could still recall the moment with crystal clarity when her breath was taken away.

Dressed in all black, Anson donned Dior's spring/summer collection. But the black was far more than just black.

A black shirt, black pants—tailored to perfection. Too loose would be sloppy, too tight would be suffocating, but the soft, delicate fabric wrapped his body perfectly, revealing his sleek figure while maintaining clean, sharp lines.

He paired this with black military boots and a black leather jacket, shattering the formal restraint of the shirt and trousers and showcasing a bold, wet, and bloody sensuality with a rebellious edge.

Finally, a silk rope cinched into a unique belt, subtly accentuating his physique, pushing his proportions to their absolute peak. He didn’t just look like a vampire; he resembled a dark angel drenched in blood.

It’s hard to believe, but even though he wore only black, there wasn’t a single monotone. Instead, it created depth and dimension, evoking endless possibilities and imagination. The only highlight was his bright, slightly curled, golden hair—wet, loose, and lazy, concealing the dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Lethal.”

That was the only word Emmanuelle could think of, smashing through all logic and willpower, leaving her easily lost in his mysterious, seductive gaze, with her heart shattering into a million pieces.

No wonder!

No wonder Anson had been hiding under various hats since arriving in Cannes. It was all part of a secret—a secret that shocked all of Cannes.

Stunning? That doesn’t even begin to describe the impact and awe of his red carpet appearance.

In one moment, he effortlessly stole all the focus, as if a god had descended.

Maybe he was Lucifer, maybe Apollo, or perhaps Icarus.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Anson took everyone’s breath away.

Monica Bellucci? Penélope Cruz?

All faded into the background.

Even Meg Ryan and the jury led by Patrice Chéreau were overshadowed. No one could compare. No one even came close.

Bold enough, daring enough, and arrogant enough, yet undeniably lethal, Anson hijacked the entire Cannes conversation in true Hollywood fashion.

And even now, thirty-six hours after the opening ceremony, the buzz remains the same.

Listen.

“…My God, I still can’t believe Anson.”

“How would I describe him? Handsome? No, I think he’s beyond that. Even charm doesn’t quite capture his uniqueness.”

“I thought Alain Delon was the peak of beauty, but clearly, I was naive.”

“Anson… is just Anson.”

“Wow, that outfit—I can’t imagine anyone else pulling it off.”

The whispers won’t stop.

Even the festival has become secondary.

But Emmanuelle doesn’t blame her colleagues or the other attendees. It was the same for her. Anson’s appearance…

It was disruptive.

Yes, disruptive—Emmanuelle couldn’t think of a better word.

*Chapter 883: Two Extremes*

The film festival's red carpet has always been a place that showcases diverse personalities and colors.

Unlike award ceremonies or premieres, the film festival's red carpet allows guests to take risks, be bold, adventurous, and even unconventional.

After all, in the world of art, it's foolish to bind oneself with rigid constraints.

Over the years, countless guests have walked the Cannes Film Festival's red carpet, leaving behind many breathtaking, awe-inspiring, and memorable moments. Yet, all of them seem to fade in comparison to one image—

Anson Wood.

A fatal attraction that sweeps through and destroys all reason and perception.

Unbelievable!

And it lingers.

It’s well-known that at the Cannes Film Festival, films are the only thing that truly matter.

Of course, Cannes, being the most commercially welcoming of the three major film festivals, embraces mainstream market trends. On one hand, this is due to the film selection committee's openness to allowing commercial films to use Cannes as a global platform. On the other hand, it's because of brand sponsorship, attracting idols, celebrities, and social media influencers to seek the spotlight. This has become part of Cannes' scenery.

But no matter what, people's attention remains on the films—refusing to be distracted or have the focus stolen by other things.

Those social media influencers might win the cheers and screams of their fans online, with some tearfully proclaiming their idols' presence at Cannes; but in the real Cannes, no one cares about them.

No one.

There's not even time to sneer, criticize, or attack, because time is precious, and no one wants to waste it on them.

They’re simply not worth it.

The gap between the online world and reality forms a stark contrast. Cannes gets its attention, influencers get their moment, and everyone’s happy as long as they don’t interfere with each other.

However, this year brought a surprise—

As usual, the annual Cannes Film Festival kicked off, and the films in the main competition category started screening according to schedule. In the past thirty-six hours, four films from the main competition and several from other categories have premiered, becoming the center of discussion.

Films should be the main focus, and they are supposed to be.

But amidst the bustling conversations, Anson's name keeps cropping up.

Unforgettable. Unshakable.

Even in Cannes, where the journalists and critics have seen it all, they can't help but occasionally relax and find that his image surfaces in their minds, like an addiction that can't be shaken off.

As Emmanuel said:

It’s disruptive.

It wasn't until now that people began to realize Anson was becoming a fashion icon, leading trends in men's fashion with his unconventional style.

This transformation didn't happen overnight. After two years of groundwork, particularly during the promotion of "Catch Me If You Can," a sustained build-up was felt. And now, it seemed the turning point had arrived at Cannes.

It’s not just about films or fashion anymore; this could easily be considered a cultural phenomenon, playing a key role in shaping the post-millennium cultural wave.

Thirty-six hours in, and Anson is still the hottest—perhaps the only—hot topic in Cannes.

This is unprecedented. A first for everyone involved.

Yet, extremes often breed their opposites, and every phenomenon has two sides.

Along with the praise, amazement, and hype, comes inevitable controversy and criticism—

Just a pretty face?

Hmph.

This is Cannes, where the festival welcomes movie lovers and filmmakers from all over the world. They even extend a warm welcome to talentless idols who rely solely on their looks to chase fame.

After all, these celebrities use Cannes to boost their profiles, and Cannes in turn uses them to generate buzz. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.

But beyond that, can't these pretty faces fade from sight and let people enjoy their films?

The festival has started, yet everyone’s talking about Anson’s red carpet look?

A red carpet? An outfit?

Outrageous! It's utterly absurd, a sign of Cannes' decline.

Fashion icon? Cultural phenomenon? What a joke. These trivial things don’t deserve the spotlight.

True fashion is cyclical; in five or ten years, no one will remember Anson's Cannes look. What defines culture and a generation shouldn’t be a red carpet outfit, but works of art—true artistic works. So this spectacle should end already.

Disdain. Contempt. Anger.

As the discussion heats up, so does the accumulation of these negative emotions.

Could Anson just leave Cannes already, and return some peace to the film lovers? If he wants attention, he should head back to Hollywood.

These emotions and energies are brewing amidst all the buzz.

Then, amid this backdrop, "Elephant" is about to premiere.

On the third day of Cannes, at 6 p.m., the main competition entry, Elephant, will have its world premiere.

—Perfect timing.

All the frustration, discontent, and anger have reached a peak. People have been eagerly waiting for this moment—for answers.

They want to see what kind of film Anson, the "pretty face," has brought. If it's not as stunning as his red carpet look, it would be laughable. Ideally, Anson will screen his film, then leave Cannes and restore peace.

And how will Anson appear on the red carpet for the premiere?

If it’s less impressive than his opening night look, the criticism will surely rise. If it’s even more spectacular, the backlash might hit an all-time high.

“Stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

This is Anson’s predicament—trapped, with no easy way out.

On one hand, every eye is on his red carpet look, waiting to pick it apart; on the other, a sense of superiority and scrutiny surrounds his film.

In short, Anson is under siege, surrounded on all sides, walking a tightrope where every step is perilous.

So, what did Anson do wrong?

The answer is: Anson ignited the media frenzy at the Cannes Film Festival with his red carpet look, causing the entire entertainment industry to explode.

Pioneers often bear the burden of pressure, criticism, and prejudice, walking a difficult path alone.

To wear the crown, one must bear its weight.

If Anson wants to truly become a superstar, this is the road he must take, though no one expected this moment to happen at Cannes.

But upon reflection, it makes sense—a pretty face idol bringing their film to the Cannes main competition, storming south through street performances with an indie band, and finally standing in the spotlight, under the world's gaze.

Perhaps Cannes is the perfect stage. No place could be better suited.

And so, it happened.

Chapter 884: Beyond the Limits

"Boring. Boring. Boring."

"Gus Van Sant isn’t bad, but... he's predictable; plus, he's past his creative peak, so there's no need to expect too much."

"Honestly, I'm surprised Gus Van Sant even chose Anson Wood. Wasn't the lesson from Keanu Reeves back in the day enough?"

"I just want to see how this film made it into the main competition."

"Heh, Anson must be regretting it now. He showed off too much during the opening ceremony, and now his own movie premiere might get completely overshadowed."

"I wonder what look Anson will go for tonight. Maybe he should just show up wrapped in a newspaper, haha. That would definitely go down in Cannes history."

All around, conversations buzzed.

The late afternoon sun trickled down, slowly transforming from a pale golden light to a bright orange, lazily and warmly spilling over the Palais des Festivals. There was no more of the midday heat, but the constant hum of activity along the seaside boulevard continued without pause.

Gradually, people gathered toward the Palais, waiting for the 6 PM screening of "Elephant."

Emmanuelle was among them.

The festival had just begun, and the faces around her were still fresh and energetic, not yet touched by fatigue or weariness.

Whether they liked it or not, whether they were supporters or critics, no one could deny one thing:

All eyes were on him.

At least thanks to Anson, this year's Cannes coverage and attention had exploded, reaching new heights across the internet.

Even the media buzzing around right now were no exception—every third sentence somehow led back to Anson.

Emmanuelle took a deep breath, trying her hardest to keep control, but her heart still pounded, almost ready to leap out of her chest.

Excitement.

Unlike the others, this was her only feeling. Cannes had only entered its third day, and Emmanuelle had already found her main focus—

Anson Wood.

While everyone else's attention was on Anson's show-stopping appearance at the opening ceremony, Emmanuelle had been tracking his movements for the past three days.

There were interviews, sponsor parties, and casual outings.

Each time he appeared, it was nothing short of stunning, like scenes straight out of a high-fashion campaign.

Especially when Emmanuelle learned that the U.S. edition of Vogue had sent a professional team to Cannes to shoot a feature on Anson, she was 100% sure that Anson came fully prepared.

As for "Elephant," Emmanuelle wasn’t an expert, so she couldn’t judge. But at least in terms of fashion, she was expecting surprises tonight.

No matter what others said, Emmanuelle believed Anson had a plan.

The focus was exactly here.

On the day of the opening, Anson had already set the bar so high. How could he possibly top it?

For the first time, Emmanuelle realized her imagination was too limited. She had no idea how Anson would present himself tonight.

Would he wear Dior again? Rumor had it that Hedi Slimane had personally come to Cannes to style Anson, but how could Hedi surpass the opening night look?

Other brands, other designers? Was there anyone in the fashion world who could top Hedi in menswear?

Everything was uncertain.

But it was precisely because of this uncertainty, this unpredictability, that Emmanuelle felt even more thrilled, more excited, more eager.

She took another deep breath, and yet another, looking down at her still trembling right hand, and couldn't help but laugh at herself. Was she getting too excited?

The buzz around her grew louder—

"He’s here. He’s here!"

Emmanuelle snapped out of her thoughts and immediately raised her camera, adjusting the focus and aperture with the practiced ease of a seasoned photographer.

At a typical film premiere, actors and directors usually arrived one by one, gradually building the atmosphere to a peak.

But Cannes was different. The entire film crew walked the red carpet together, presenting themselves as a group, all basking in the flashes of the cameras.

Of course, once they stepped onto the carpet, the actors and directors would spread out for individual and group photos. But the group entrance had become a Cannes tradition.

So, when someone shouted, "He’s here!" it meant the entire "Elephant" crew had arrived on the scene—

Right on time.

It was indeed an indie film crew, no diva attitudes, no grandstanding. Everything was coordinated perfectly with the festival organizers, and the schedule proceeded smoothly.

The entire crowd focused their attention.

Emmanuelle could almost feel the air around her fall silent. The murmurs evaporated in the heat, as everyone instinctively held their breath, all eyes turning in the same direction.

No matter what they had said before, their bodies betrayed their excitement.

A black Mercedes arrived. Then another black Mercedes pulled up behind it, both stopping at the start of the red carpet.

So, which one was Anson in? The first car or the second?

He must be in the second, right? After all, Anson was the only superstar in the "Elephant" cast.

More accurately, based on the cast list so far, Anson was the only actor, standing out as if this were some kind of experimental film crew.

It made sense that Gus Van Sant would be in the first car, with Anson in the second.

As the security guards approached to open the car doors, time seemed to freeze. The entire crowd held its breath, fingers poised over the camera shutters—

Just a brief pause.

Snap.

The door opened.

A figure in red appeared.

Red?

Wait, red?

Before her brain could process it, Emmanuelle's instincts as a photographer took over, and she reflexively pressed the shutter.

Click, click, click...

In a brief moment of surprise and shock, the photographers at the entrance of the Palais realized that Anson had indeed arrived.

Indeed!

Once again, caught completely off guard. But their muscle memory kicked in faster than their minds, trained to handle surprises better.

Click, click, click!

Shutters fired in rapid succession.

When Emmanuelle's eyes finally adjusted to the light, and she saw the figure standing confidently at the start of the red carpet, she, along with everyone else, was struck dumb, jaws dropping in astonishment. For a split second, even their fingers forgot to move, leaving only the sound of camera shutters filling the air.

All the anticipation, all the provocations, all the criticisms—both positive and negative—vanished in that instant, swept away like dust. Everyone, without exception, was drawn into the storm, their souls trembling in awe, momentarily lost for words.

What was this scene?

Gasping, Emmanuelle finally willed her fingers to move.

Click, click, click, click...

Like thunder, the sound of camera shutters echoed everywhere. The entire world seemed to dissolve into a cascade of flashing lights.

History would remember this day.

More precisely, this year's Cannes would be immortalized.

*Chapter 885: Angels and Demons*

The red carpet guide clearly stated: Red is not suitable.

The reason is obvious—when wearing red on a red carpet, even with different shades, it becomes difficult to stand out. If you're not careful, you might blend into the background.

This is basic knowledge, something anyone can figure out without needing expert advice.

And this is especially true for men. Besides black, white, and gray, only blue is somewhat safe. Any other color is risky.

Red?

Of course, some brave souls try to dazzle by breaking the mold, but reality is often harsh. More often than not, it ends in failure.

A total disaster.

That’s why wearing red on the red carpet is such a challenge. It's not a strict taboo, but it's a risky move for the pioneers daring enough to try.

You either astonish everyone or end up looking awful.

There’s no middle ground. Every person who dares to try is a warrior.

Sadly, there aren’t many warriors.

That was true until tonight.

Emmanuel realized for the first time how red could be so bold yet so elegant, so passionate yet so cool, so vibrant yet so calm. Contradictory words collided, creating an emotional explosion.

And then, it destroyed reason.

A red shirt. A red suit. Deep rose-red—intense and pure—yet, because of the tailoring, lines, and the model’s aura, it took on a different vibe.

A slim-fit blazer paired with flat-front trousers. The lightweight fabric clung perfectly to the body, almost as if you could feel it softly brushing against the skin, exploring every contour. Despite being fully covered, there was an undeniable sense of nakedness that left you feeling breathless.

The sharp, straight lines contrasted with the texture of the silk shirt, creating a tension. The severe, buttoned-up look gave off a restrained, almost ascetic vibe, while the casual softness of the shirt’s fabric hinted at vulnerability, disturbing the peace like a ripple on a pond.

Close your eyes, and you can almost imagine the silky smoothness of the skin beneath the fabric.

Then, the red slim tie and red canvas shoes added an odd yet subtle twist, breaking the seriousness of the suit. There was an unstoppable youthful rebellion leaking out from beneath the formal attire.

And—

Black hair.

Anson had dyed his hair jet black, the pure ink color adding a touch of cool aloofness to his already sharp features. His deep, striking facial features became more understated, and a serene, distant air settled over his expression.

The cast of Elephant had been maintaining a low-key, minimalist style. So far, the movie had released no information except for a single poster—

Anson, with blond hair, slightly tilting his head upward.

That was it.

So when Anson walked onto the red carpet at the opening ceremony with blonde hair, everyone assumed it was part of the film’s promotional look.

Bright gold—a color that could be garish—somehow worked on Anson.

However, that color lasted less than 36 hours. Upon arriving in Cannes, Anson changed his hair color for the second time.

Low-key, pure.

This version of Anson was unlike anything anyone had seen before—innocent, quiet, like a character straight out of a manga.

And yet, he paired it with a red suit.

The collision of colors and contrasting qualities on Anson resulted in a kind of alchemy.

The rose-red was so bold and brilliant that it made the sunset seem pale in comparison. Yet, because of Anson’s reserved elegance and calm demeanor, the flamboyant energy was completely contained, like a storm held in the palm of his hand.

Breathing stopped in an instant.

Unbelievable.

That was the only thought in Emmanuel’s mind. Even though everyone was prepared, even though expectations were sky-high, and even though people were eager to witness the spectacle, when the moment arrived, the mind went blank.

Anson had arrived.

He stood there, smiling faintly, his eyes bright as he looked out at the crowd. He gave a slight nod but didn’t hurry to move on. He lingered.

At that moment, all eyes in the world were on Anson.

The red sea beneath his feet quietly lay before his canvas shoes like a gentle stream. Behind him, the deep blue sky had turned into a magnificent, burning orange, crimson flames flickering without a sound, fading into the background behind Anson.

Every inch of the surrounding red filled the view, yet the only focus was on that rose-red suit—

Quiet yet strong, elegant yet bold, carefree yet untamed.

Uncontrollably, hearts started to race.

Words?

In that moment, words ceased to exist. Just like when standing before the majesty of nature, the human mind doesn't seek language to describe it—it just takes it in, listens, feels it with the body.

You experience it, immerse in it, remember it.

Words become useless, unable to capture the essence of the moment.

And so it was.

Emmanuel simply followed instinct, pressing the shutter, trying to capture the light and shadows, attempting to freeze the moment in time.

Two days ago, he wore black—sexy, like a devil.

Two days later, he wore red—elegant, like an angel.

Emmanuel wasn’t sure if anyone had done this before, at least not in his memory. But now, Anson had fully displayed it—

A deadly charm that took your breath away.

The crowd was silent, except for the sound of camera shutters.

Click. Click. Click.

The symphony of clicks built up like waves crashing on the shore, echoing in the air. The world spun faster, adrenaline rushing, roaring in the ears.

Until Anson turned—

That man looked at the scene before him. Only the sound of shutters remained, no shouting, no screaming, no other sounds. His smile bloomed fully.

Then, he waved.

Suddenly, a wave of excitement surged, and the crowd lost control. Screams and roars erupted like a stampede.

"Ah, ah, ahhh!"

The entire venue exploded.

The second black Mercedes had just stopped at the beginning of the red carpet. Gus Van Sant opened the door, ready to step out, when the roaring heatwave almost swallowed him whole.

Gus paused, pulling his leg back in, cautiously peeking out with a confused, startled look, like a prairie dog.

Anson saw this and burst into a full smile. He stepped forward, extending his hand, “Director, it’s okay, don’t worry.”

Gus widened his eyes, glancing around, “Are you sure?”

Anson nodded, “One hundred percent.”

At that moment, the media and spectators on either side of the red carpet realized that Anson had been waiting for the rest of the Elephant cast to arrive. The mystery surrounding the film was about to be unveiled.

But the main question remained: who was in the cast that made Anson arrive first and wait so patiently?

Though people knew Anson didn’t care much about red carpet order, curiosity couldn’t help but rise.

The shutter clicks and cheers rose another notch, turning the Palais des Festivals into a sea of fire, rolling waves of heat crashing over.