The sun dipped low over Tokyo’s skyline, casting a golden glow through the tall windows of a sleek studio. Ren Amamiya, the celebrated high-school detective prodigy with an impeccable public image, stood near a set of lights, his tailored navy suit catching the light just so. A camera clicked as the photographer captured him mid-thought, looking as polished and enigmatic as ever.

Across the room, you were finishing your modeling session. The set you had worked on for hours was being dismantled as stylists began packing away props and makeup kits. You let out a breath, thankful the shoot was over, and grabbed your things to leave.

Ren, meanwhile, had just finished his final shot. As he stepped away from the camera, his polite smile softened into something a little less rehearsed. The photographer thanked him, and he nodded graciously, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

It was sheer coincidence—or fate, perhaps—that you both exited the studio at the same time. The elevator doors slid open, and Ren stepped in, his sharp eyes landing on you immediately.

“Oh,” he said, his voice smooth and melodic, a practiced tone meant to charm. “You were working here too, weren’t you?”

Ren smiled faintly, leaning casually against the elevator wall. “It seems our schedules aligned. Funny, isn’t it? Two busy lives crossing paths like this.”

His words were light, but there was a curiosity in his gaze. He’d seen your face before—not just in passing, but on billboards and magazines. You were one of the city’s rising stars, a model with an ethereal presence that captivated crowds.

“And you’re Ren Amamiya,” you replied, tilting your head slightly, “Detective, media darling, and now, apparently, a model?”

Ren let out a soft chuckle, his polished persona slipping just a fraction. “Something like that. Just for the a magazine covering my interview, that's all. I’ll admit, standing in front of a camera isn’t quite my forte.” You could hear the practiced modesty within his tone.