Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

The place was nothing like what Park’s memories had promised.

They had left Aurora’s great central towers behind a long time ago, running south through district after district until the capital’s glittering heart gradually loosened its grip and another kind of city began taking shape around them.

RoraWood:

A glittering beast that fed on talent, spat out legends, chewed through pretty people by the thousands, and occasionally kept the bones around as cautionary decorations for the next generation.

The packed commercial districts had thinned as they approached it, but the buildings had somehow become more expensive. Colder too, taller, cleaner, and far more naked about why they existed.

Entertainment companies occupied towers with entire walls dedicated to upcoming films.

Music labels had their names hanging forty floors above the streets. Production houses owned blocks instead of offices, and several filthy-rich entertainment moguls who had apparently been quietly refused entry into the Crown District had responded to the insult by coming out here and building their own little kingdoms out of spite, glass, and enough money to make rejection look financially embarrassing for everyone involved.

Around those towers sat private condominiums and celebrity residences, some modest enough to merely cost a fortune, others designed for people whose bank accounts could silence a landlord, buy the building, and remove the original landlord from the problem before dinner.

’The Entertainment Industry fuck-you money.’

A wide river cut RoraWood away from the rest of Aurora proper and separated one world from another, and Park watched the water slide beneath the Alphard as they crossed the long bridge.

’New zone,’ he thought, resting his cheek lightly against one knuckle. ’Different soundtrack and higher-level enemies.’

On the other side, the world changed again.

The first thing Park noticed was movement.

Everywhere.

Glass towers stood over the roads with their skins alive:—

—entire façades running trailers, luxury advertisements, music videos, interviews, film posters, award campaigns, and enormous beautiful faces that watched traffic pass beneath them like digital gods demanding tribute.

Some buildings had screens attached to them while others were practically made of screens.

Park watched a trailer explode across thirty storeys of glass before dissolving into a perfume commercial, only for the actress in the perfume advertisement to blink slowly at half the district and become somebody else’s movie poster ten seconds later.

Between all that aggressive modern wealth, a few old mansions had somehow survived:

Stone houses, long lawns, old gates and private trees large enough to remember when half this district probably had dirt roads and 0ld money refusing to die properly, Park decided, holding onto the edges of RoraWood like ghosts whose eviction notice had been repeatedly returned to sender.

(IMAGE FOR RORAWOOD)

Then one face appeared again, and again and again:

Park straightened slightly.

Three separate buildings along the same street carried her image, each version at least six storeys tall. In one advertisement she wore black and looked over her shoulder beneath falling rain. In another she stood in white beside some luxury watch large enough to finance a small town. The third was a film poster, her face clean and still beneath a title Park only caught for a second before Mick drove past.

’Celine Snow.’

Park knew that name even without digging through borrowed memories.

Everybody did.

She was one of NX Arc’s biggest actresses, and not biggest in the cute agency-promotion way where management slapped top star onto anybody whose latest drama had survived cancellation. Celine Snow was genuinely enormous; an actress whose name appeared above the title and could fill theatres before audiences knew what the damn movie was about because enough people would buy tickets simply to see what she had chosen to do next.

Park leaned toward the window and tipped his head back as another massive version of her disappeared above them; he could probably spend the next two years working at NX Arc without breathing the same conditioned air as someone at that altitude as her.

The thought sounded strange but he was right.

That little bitter weight from the boy who still remembered standing outside casting rooms while famous people entered through separate doors; the boy who had once known the names of stars who would never know his and had spent years staring upward at careers so far beyond his own that even envy eventually became embarrassing.

Park looked at six storeys of Celine Snow smiling down at traffic.

’Endgame content.’

His mouth twitched.

’Locked area, requirements unknown and probably need a raid group, three legendary items, and somebody’s blessing.’

Mick took the last stretch fast, cutting through a line of black cars before turning onto the road leading directly toward NX Arc.

The agency building rose ahead of them and Park barely had time to properly take it in before the Alphard rolled to a stop near the entrance.

Then another vehicle slid in behind them.

A Rolls-Royce but not the kind Park had seen businessmen arrive in either. This one had the stretched, absurdly polished proportions of a celebrity custom build, the sort of car that did not merely announce money but seemed mildly offended that anyone might have needed the announcement.

Its rear door opened.

The crowd outside NX Arc detonated.

"ALEX REED!"

The name came out of what sounded like two hundred throats trying to win the same argument.

Phones shot upward in a black glittering wave before people surged against the barriers. Several girls screamed loudly enough that Park felt the vibration through the Alphard window, while male fans shouted over them and security immediately began expanding around the new arrival like some extremely stressed human shield.

Park had not even seen them until they screamed and Mick was out of the driver’s seat before Park had even unbuckled.

Park stared after him, Mick walked faster and then actually jogged.

Park’s eyebrows rose.

’No fucking way.’

His Runner had abandoned him; for a celebrity.

He watched Mick disappear toward the crowd with the naked urgency of a man who had suddenly remembered there was a person on Earth whose autograph mattered more than his professional dignity.

Park glanced at the unopened passenger door beside him.

’Rude.’

He waited another second.

’Extremely rude.’ before he opened the door for himself. ’I’m reporting this to the guild.’

The noise struck him immediately after he opened.

Park stepped onto the pavement with the notebook tucked beneath one arm and watched the circus unfolding a short distance away. He had spent enough years being ignored by crowds that seeing one nearly break containment over a single man should probably have inspired something noble.

It did not.

Mostly, he found it fucking fascinating.

Alex Reed was impossible to miss even without the fans announcing his location every three seconds.

The man was Twenty-five and nicknamed the Box-Office Prince

Alex Reed’d nickname was no an exaggeration; the man had four major films and every single one had crossed seven hundred million Cels (700) domestically, which was already obscene before the international market came in and multiplied those numbers into something Park’s old bank account would have considered a personal attack and not less than 2 Billions Cels internationally.

The public version of Alex Reed was almost annoyingly lovable; soft interviews, sasy smiles, self-deprecating jokes about forgetting lines, stories about his mother still telling him to eat properly.

The kind of carefully relaxed charm that convinced billions of people they would probably be friends with him if circumstances were different.

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