Chapter 912: We are, well... uh... henchmen. (2)

The Metropolitan Museum, where the Met Gala was being held.

Right now, the place was in an uproar as celebrities arrived one after another.

“Ailo! Ailo!”

“Look this way! Over here!”

Stars posed in all kinds of ways as reporters lined up along the press line snapped photos.

Dazzling dresses covered in jewels.

Crowns.

Elegant uniforms.

Celebrities dressed according to this year’s fashion theme were entering one by one.

[ Royals ]

‘Royalty’ was this year’s theme.

[ Royal Fashion: The Dignity of a Sovereign ]

Various reinterpretations of that theme were appearing.

“Troy Kidd!”

“Wow. Look at what Troy Kidd is wearing.”

A Black male rapper known for his eccentric fashion had arrived in an outfit with an almost embarrassing level of exposure.

A naked torso with only jewel-studded underwear, draped in a red cape.

A reporter from the hosting magazine asked him,

“What’s the concept behind today’s outfit, Troy?”

“It’s inspired by The Emperor’s New Clothes. You know, I don’t think true royal style comes from clothing. The beauty of the body matters too. I wanted to harmonize fashion with the beauty of my body.”

“I see. That diamond is enormous. Did you insure it?”

“Two billion won worth of insurance!”

The rapper proudly showed off the jeweled underwear attached at his groin.

As everyone stared blankly at the sight of him wiggling his hips and letting the red cape flutter behind him—

“Mandy! It’s Mandy Spice!”

“Alec West is here. When did he change girlfriends again?”

“Wow, look at that dress.”

Each celebrity’s outfit became a topic of conversation.

A male actor received praise for reinterpreting the fashion of the Sun King, Louis XIV, in a modern way.

Meanwhile, the famous French actress Lea de Lusignan drew major attention for wearing a simple dress that looked like something a peasant might wear.

“In a democratic nation, the sovereign is the people, aren’t they? I wanted to capture the spirit of the French Revolution.”

“But that necklace looks extremely expensive.”

“The concept is that it was taken from the nobility. Since it [N O V E L I G H T] contains the blood, sweat, and tears of the peasants, it should naturally be reclaimed. That’s revolution.”

She cleverly explained the luxury brand sponsorship.

As the French actress mimed a guillotine chopping motion, the reporter burst into laughter.

Next came an actor wearing a crown of thorns, seemingly inspired by Christianity.

A wide variety of fashion delighted the attendees.

“Oh! Fumika Kondo is coming!”

“Priya Khan is arriving now!”

An Indian actress appeared in a jewel-adorned traditional royal outfit, while the globally famous Japanese model Fumika Kondo showcased a unique style.

Royal fashion from outside the Western world was drawing particular attention.

“Wow...”

“Wow...”

One of the contenders for best dressed entered.

It was the famous actress Missy Jones.

The Ethiopian American actress appeared in a dazzling red dress, instantly capturing everyone’s attention.

“Wow...”

As she posed in front of the cameras, a magazine reporter approached her.

“You look absolutely stunning, Missy.”

“Thank you.”

“What was your concept today?”

“I wanted to highlight Ethiopian royal fashion—specifically the royal court before colonization. I reinterpreted it in a modern way.”

Mesmerizing eye makeup.

A floral crown resting on her head.

As one of the clear best-dressed figures passed by, reporters chatted among themselves.

“The overall level is high this year.”

“I liked Lea too. Maybe because everything else is so flashy, something simpler feels better.”

“British stars look a bit plain.”

Perhaps because of the theme.

Celebrities from countries with existing royal families—like the UK, Sweden, and Japan—were desperately avoiding their own royal fashion.

The reason was simple.

“It’s a prince!”

“Princess! Please look this way!”

Given the theme, real royalty had also attended the Met Gala.

A British prince, a Swedish princess—those who had accepted the invitation entered leisurely.

As Americans, who tended to admire royalty, watched in awe—

“Who’s next?”

“Let’s see...”

The sound of security staff exchanging radio messages could be heard nearby.

—Wooju and Jimmy Robbins are...

—The vehicle carrying NewBlack’s Wooju... there are many fans nearby, so proceed with caution.

—Copy. Damn it, someone tell these fans to calm down. Feels like I’m being overwhelmed by their energy.

The reporters’ eyes widened.

‘NewBlack is coming.’

They checked their camera settings once more.

Compared to their popularity, NewBlack had relatively few schedules in the US, making paparazzi shots of them extremely rare.

It was already widely known in the industry that anything labeled “exclusive NewBlack photos” would sell like wildfire.

—The hottest boy band right now.

Before releasing their global hit METRO, they had been seen as promising newcomers.

Now, NewBlack was considered a rapidly rising act.

If they landed one or two more hit songs, they would have the impact of a top-tier group.

Faster than anyone had expected.

The reason was simple.

—Answer holds #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 for six consecutive weeks... ‘Cold Brown one step closer to a Grammy’

It was their special track Answer, currently achieving massive success in the US market.

The biggest hit of the first half of the year.

Because of that, Wooju’s recognition had skyrocketed.

People who previously thought “Who is NewBlack?” now at least knew Wooju’s name.

And on top of that—

“I can remember two now. Jiho, right?”

“Ji-ho. Yeah.”

“That was really fun. Korean Horror Stories.”

The horror drama Shin-i uploaded to NetPlus had gained a cult following.

It was even being called KHS, similar to a series with a comparable title in the US, forming its own fandom.

As they talked—

“Oh... ah, it’s Cold Brown.”

“Cold!”

A rapper wearing a unique outfit that blended hip-hop and royalty entered wearing sunglasses.

“Very distinctive outfit, Cold. What does it represent?”

“King of Hip-Hop.”

As the reporter admired his confident answer—

A commotion erupted behind them.

“AAAAAAAHHHH!”

“WAAAAAAH!”

The kind of deafening cheers one might expect if America actually had royalty.

The level of popularity practically demanded a title like “Sun Wooju the Great.”

“Wooju’s here.”

“It’s Wooju.”

As he slowly approached, reporters focused their attention.

“What kind of outfit will it be?”

“Who knows.”

“I heard he was completely covered when he left the hotel earlier.”

Normally, Met Gala outfits are first revealed at the hotel entrance.

But this time, Wooju had been wrapped in a strange black cloth.

“Honestly, that’s just diva behavior. Fans waited all day and he wouldn’t show them what he’s wearing?”

One reporter who disliked NewBlack scoffed.

“It’s going to be revealed on the red carpet anyway. Not showing fans beforehand is a problem.”

“Maybe there’s a reason.”

“I’m telling you, he’s looking down on his fans.”

Right then—

The door opened, and camera flashes exploded.

“WAAAAAAH!”

The first to step out was Jimmy Robbins.

The youngest head designer of LeBlanc, known as a genius in the fashion industry, stepped out in a unique suit.

And then—

“Oh!”

White floral shoes gently stepped out of the limousine.

But—

‘What?’

As their gaze moved upward—

Everyone froze.

“Huh?”

“A black cloth...?”

Wooju stepped out with only his face visible, wrapped in a black veil-like garment.

The design itself wasn’t strange.

Golden embroidery of animals gave it an elegant feel.

As Wooju walked forward, people murmured.

‘He’s definitely wearing something underneath.’

Curiosity surged.

And then—

“Wow...”

“So elegant.”

“Does Sunny have ‘model’ as one of his jobs? I’ve seen him as a comedian.”

Like a model on a runway, Wooju walked to the center of the red carpet.

Assistants wearing Korean-style attire stood beside him.

At the very center—

“?”

“??”

Wooju untied the ribbon of the black covering.

Whoosh.

The fabric scattered in the wind.

Then the staff began unrolling the garment he was wearing.

“Whoa...”

It was incredibly long.

But that wasn’t what shocked them.

A beautiful outfit inspired by the ceremonial attire worn by an empress of the Korean Empire—reinterpreted in modern form.

But the color—

“All white...”

“It’s completely white.”

His pale skin and white clothing made him look like a Snow Queen.

A ruler of a frozen land.

Then—

“Huh?”

“Wait—?!”

“What?!”

“The color is changing!”

As the sunlight hit the fabric, the colors began to emerge.

Purple.

Red.

The previously blank sections filled in as ultraviolet exposure restored their color.

The outfit transformed instantly.

Goosebumps spread.

‘This is insane...’

Reporters stood frozen, mouths open.

As Wooju, now in full color, closed his eyes as if savoring the moment—

Jimmy Robbins lifted something.

A beaded imperial crown.

He gently placed it on Wooju’s head.

Wooju opened his eyes and posed.

“!”

“!!”

Only then did the reporters snap back and begin firing their shutters.

‘So that’s why it couldn’t be exposed to sunlight earlier.’

Even the reporter who had mocked him swallowed hard and started shooting.

Tongues clicked in disbelief.

‘Best dressed today...’

‘No doubt.’

‘This is historic.’

At that moment, amidst fierce competition, the best dressed of the Met Gala red carpet had been decided.

“Sunny! Sunny!”

“Over here! Please!”

“Wooju!”

I could feel it clearly.

Today’s best dressed was me.

“Heh.”

I covered my mouth to suppress the goofy smile trying to escape.

The long sleeves made the gesture look unexpectedly elegant.

“Show us that covered-mouth pose here too!”

“Sunny!”

I struck a few poses, then waved at the fans nearby.

“Kyaaaaaaa!”

“Waaaaaa!”

Their reaction was great.

As Jimmy and I climbed the stairs step by step, staff followed behind holding the long train.

These floral shoes made it harder than expected.

I said,

“It reminds me of Cinderella. How did she run in a dress like that?”

And in heels too.

Jimmy burst out laughing.

As we finally reached the top, a fashion magazine reporter rushed over.

“Sun! Sunny!”

“Hello.”

“Wow... that was truly... an incredible moment.”

“Thank you. It was possible thanks to Jimmy.”

“Not at all.”

Jimmy waved it off.

“A design is meaningless without someone to wear it. Without my muse, this outfit wouldn’t exist.”

“Please, compared to the genius Jimmy Robbins—”

“No, without Sun Wooju, the icon of 21st-century fashion—”

The reporter cut us off as we shamelessly praised each other.

Then came a flood of questions.

“How was that outfit made?”

“It’s a fabric that changes color under ultraviolet light. It took immense effort to combine the colors, and about six months to produce. Every stitch was done by hand.”

Jimmy explained the technical side.

I explained the historical aspect.

“At first, I considered recreating a king’s attire from Joseon. But then I thought—why must it be a king? A queen’s attire can be just as powerful when reinterpreted.”

I wanted something more dazzling.

“This outfit contains a lot. Many historians contributed ideas. Even the white has meaning.”

I continued explaining and thanked the organizers.

“I’m very interested in fashion, so I’d like to thank the magazine for inviting me. I heard the Met Gala exists to show fashion as art.”

Right then—

A commotion rose behind us.

“WAAAAAAH!”

“AAAAAH!”

“Looks like someone famous is arriving.”

“Members of NewBlack are coming.”

Ah. My underlings.

As everyone waited for my members, Jimmy and I were guided away.

“Phew.”

I removed the heavy outer layer.

Heat escaped.

We headed up to greet the hosts.

“WAAAAAAH!”

The cheers of my members arriving echoed behind me.

I glanced back briefly.

“...They’ll be fine.”

Even though it was their first time handling an overseas schedule without me—

I trusted them.

Thump. Thump.

Heartbeat racing.

‘No.’

‘We have to get out now.’

Ri Hyuk asked nervously,

“W-what do we say to ask the driver to go around one more time?”

“You lived in America. How do you not remember English?”

“It just... vanished!”

But no one could criticize him.

They were the same.

Biju said,

“What should we say...?”

Together weak, apart strong.

But right now, only four of them were together.

Without Sun Wooju.

Their weakest form.

“I miss my mom...”

But still—

They stepped out.

“WAAAAAAH!”

They waved.

“Jiho! Jiho!”

“Jiho! Over here!”

Jiho hesitated.

‘What do we call ourselves...?’

Then—

Junghyun smiled confidently.

“Hello.”

He pointed ahead.

“That is Sun.”

Then pointed to them.

“We are his clouds.”

“!”

“!!”

Laughter erupted.

And from that moment—

In America, they became known as:

Sun & His Clouds.