The assistant thought the worst had passed.
Not because the internet forgave him, but because the noise had finally thinned out. The first apology had been swallowed by other trending stories, the reporters stopped camping outside his building, and his phone only buzzed sometimes now instead of every five minutes. It felt like the kind of calm that comes after a storm, the kind that tricks you into believing the sky is safe again.
That morning, he told himself he would do something normal. Just once. He wore a cap low, pulled his hoodie on, checked through the peephole, saw nothing, and exhaled.
He opened the door.
He barely stepped out before the hallway filled.
Not one person. Not two.
Eight. Maybe ten.
Reporters surged forward like they had been waiting for that exact click of the lock. Cameras lifted. Microphones pushed into his space. Somebody called his name like they were calling a criminal to the stand.
"Sir!"
"Over here!"
"Have you seen the new clip?"
