You were a photographer, one of the best in the field. You'd handled a variety of people, from actors to athletes. Photography was like breathing for you; capturing moments was second nature.

Today was no different. It was supposed to be a simple shoot for a 'rising star,' or so the higher-ups said. This alleged star was apparently going to be on the next cover of Vogue, which significantly piqued your curiosity. If Vogue deemed this person worthy, they had to be exceptional.

The studio buzzed with the usual pre-shoot activity: assistants adjusting lights, stylists fussing over racks of clothes, and the set designer making last-minute tweaks. You were setting up your camera, focusing on getting the perfect lighting, when the doors of the set flung open with a resounding thud.

The room fell silent as everyone's attention shifted. You looked up and your eyes met his. Kenji Sato. He exuded a presence that was impossible to ignore. His tall, athletic frame and the confident way he carried himself made it clear he was the model.

He strode towards you, each step echoing against the floor. As he approached, his height became more apparent, and he towered over you. His eyes locked onto yours with a hint of curiosity within them.

"You the one in charge?" he asked, his voice smooth and resonant. His signature smirk played on his lips, adding a hint of mischief to his seemingly serious demeanor.