Standing in front of the main building of Kap Co. Models, the whole situation felt absurd, like some kind of bad joke.
Was it possible that Zarah hadn't forgotten me all this time?
When Jason finished reading, the shock spread across his face. He knew the name Zarah. He followed the fashion world, simply because I had decided to step into it. It took me long minutes to explain everything that had happened, and how that woman had completely changed my view of the world.
Jason got a little upset that I hadn't told him, but then I pulled the anxiety card and he went quiet. He curled back into his cocoon of sleep, covering himself from head to toe and passing out.
I, on the other hand, barely blinked the entire night.
I had been standing in front of the building for a few minutes now. Long enough to feel like my footprints would be etched into the concrete.
With a sudden surge of confidence, I climbed out of my pit of self-pity and walked toward the entrance. With its revolving door, the place exuded wealth. The main hall was filled with plants everywhere, contrasting against the white walls. The polished floor made noise under my steps, almost making me slip.
When I looked around, I saw… women. Many of them, all with different appearances. Every single one had a dreamy look on their face, staring at a piece of paper in their hands. From what I could tell, there was a line leading straight to the main desk. Maybe I should join it too?
I did, timidly. My confidence vanished the moment I stepped inside. There was a very real chance everything would go wrong, and I didn't think I could live with the embarrassment.
As I approached the line, I received several confused looks from the women there. Honestly, I couldn't blame them. This was a female agency. In all its history, there had never been a man. How had Zarah managed to change the narrative so much?
"Hey, you know this is a female agency, right?" a small blonde girl asked when I finally stood at the end of the line. "I don't know who put that idea in your head, but I recommend you leave. You know… to avoid embarrassment."
Passive-aggressive tone. Wanted to be rude, but didn't fully commit.
I didn't respond. Just looked at her with an empty expression, making my lack of interest obvious.
Her face turned red. She probably thought she'd been humiliated. So full of herself. But when she glanced at something behind me, an emotion flickered across her face. She stiffened and turned forward again, ignoring me completely.
I didn't understand—until I turned around.
Han Porfoilt. One of the agency's main leaders, and also a scout. She was responsible for finding and managing new talent. She was walking toward the line with irritated steps, phone pressed to her ear, clearly arguing with someone.
"No, Zarah, I already told you he's not here. Hah… fine, I'll go later… I got it!" she said, getting closer. "I've searched the entire place in case he got lost, but I didn't find him! It's not my fault, dear…"
When she finished, she turned to me.
No… she turned directly to me.
At first, her expression didn't change. But within seconds, it twisted into confusion.
"What the hell are you doing here? Do you know how long I've been looking for you? When did you get here? Hah… you're already giving me work."
She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the line. In those few seconds, I glanced at the blonde girl, whose jaw had dropped so far it might dislocate.
"Ah, Quil, right? Or was it Stephanie?" Han said, glancing at her. "Careful with your jaw, dear. Too many expressions cause wrinkles."
And as if she hadn't just made the snobbiest comment in existence, she dragged me forward, past the main desk. The receptionist didn't even look at us.
Still pulling me along, we reached the elevators in silence, her pace rushed. But once inside, she spoke:
"Why did you take so long? Zarah was already complaining to me… what a hassle."
Why did a model have that much influence with an agency leader? Models weren't like K-pop groups. They worked separately. The product. The agency was just the seller. I'd never seen one so close to management.
We walked through wide corridors until we stopped in front of a wooden door. At the top, it read: "Han Porfoilt." Her office.
"Come in."
She crossed the room quickly and sat in her chair.
"Let's get straight to the point. Sit down. I'll show you the contract and what we expect from you."
Wait… this fast?
I barely had time to react. She already had papers in hand, waiting.
I sat.
"Zarah recommended you some time ago. We've been looking for you, and when we found out you'd been fired, it was perfect timing," she said casually. "We're looking for people with talent, who know how to carry themselves. A new brand, Blackouts, sent us a briefing a few days ago. They want to expand their horizons—a male division."
I was shocked. I knew Blackouts. I had bought clothes there for my mother when she was still alive. If I really had the chance to represent something like that…
A familiar pain surfaced in my chest.
"So we decided to expand as well. You will be that expansion." She handed me a paper, which probably was the contract. "We have high expectations for you, Noah."
The paper suddenly felt heavy.
But something still didn't feel right.
"But… do I really not need to go through a test first? Why do you trust me this much?" The doubt crept back into me. Why try so hard? Why me?
"Because Zarah asked us to. She wanted to give you a chance," she replied, simply.
"Does Zarah have that much influence in the agency?"
"You'll find out if you sign. Oh, and make sure to read it carefully."
The suspicion and sense of unease didn't disappear, it was merely set aside as I read through the contract.
The main difference between this and my previous job was the commission percentage.
The agency took 25% of my earnings, which, to me, was practically heaven. My old job took 50% of my gross pay. Which, yes, was absurd… but I needed it. I couldn't afford to complain.
I read through some of the lower clauses again, and there were a few morality clauses stating that if anything related to my image were to negatively affect the agency, they would have full freedom to terminate me immediately, which didn't surprise me. I expected something like that.
With a deep sigh, I placed the paper that held my future on the table, picked up the pen provided to me, and signed my name.
With every letter I wrote, my heart skipped a beat, and my hand trembled.
When I finished, I looked up and saw Han smiling at me, her hand extended toward me, inviting.
When I took it, her warm smile twisted, turning into something that sent shivers down my spine.
"Well, Noah Alisson… welcome to hell."
I didn't flinch.
"It's a pleasure to be here."
***
That whole day felt like one long dream, crazy and completely random. Had I really gotten a job at Kap. Co. Models? It all felt too strange to be real. But I was happy. It had been a while since I'd felt that way.
I smiled as I got on the bus, smiled when I took the train, and was still smiling when I arrived home.
What scared me the most was how easy it had been. Zarah had really saved me again.
I was walking into my house when my phone beeped again, the sound of a new notification echoing through the walls. When I checked, I realized it was Han.
[Hey, I already selected you for the briefing. Fill the info and print it. They'll ask for it at the casting.]
Then another message came:
[The location is 12 Courtland Street, B. Very close to where you live. Your look for the casting needs to be simple and clean. The evaluator has to see you as a hanger, a mannequin. If you show up overly styled, your look will compete with the brand's. No one wants that. Zarah told me she's heading to your place to give you better instructions. Be ready. Oh, and please don't cause a scene with my daughter.]
What?
Zarah was coming here? And what was that about a daughter?
My mind started overheating. The information flooded in so fast I thought I might pass out.
Okay. Zarah. She was coming here.
I changed as quickly as I could, tidying up the living room, bedroom, and every other space she might even remotely step into.
I tied up my hair, which had been prickling the back of my neck, and threw on an oversized shirt. I was sitting on my couch waiting when the sharp doorbell rang. I had never felt so nervous in my life. With stiff movements, I opened the door and came face to face with Zarah.
Her face was the same as it had been three years ago. Of course, I knew that—I'd been keeping up with her whenever I could. But in person, she seemed to shine a little more, her wide smile almost blinding me.
"Kid! You've grown! You're already taller than me." She hugged me tightly before pulling away to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I can't believe I saw you when you were so small…"
"Zarah, you're only five years older than me. When I met you, you were twenty, and I was fifteen."
"That doesn't matter, killjoy. Grumpy as always, huh?" She brushed past me, bumping into me lightly as if teasing. "What do you have to eat here? I'm starving. The photoshoot drained all my energy. Do you know what it's like to be on your feet for almost seven hours straight? I've been up since six in the morning!"
Zarah walked into my house as if she'd lived there for decades, heading straight for the kitchen.
Seeing that, all I could do was laugh as I closed the door, then followed after her.
"There's cake and beer in the fridge. Help yourself."
"I can't drink, I have an appointment tomorrow. My reputation's been too good these past few years for me to ruin everything like that. I can't relax for even a second."
"Well, here you can."
She fell silent and, in the end, refused the drink. But she said she'd come back to have one with me someday. Soon, she said.
"Anyway, I heard you finally got into Kappy."
"Kappy?"
"Kap. Co. Models. I prefer Kappy, and eventually, I got all the other models I know at the agency to call it that too. My aunt doesn't like it, and I enjoy irritating her," Zarah admitted with a mischievous smile, and I returned one of complicity.
"Aunt? Han is your aunt?" I finally voiced the doubt that had been on my mind for a while.
"She adopted me after my mother died. She considers me her daughter, but… for some reason, I just can't call her 'mom.'" Her expression darkened as she stared blankly at the floor.
I decided to change the subject.
"So, about the casting… Han said you'd give me more information." It wasn't one of my best attempts, but Zarah seemed relieved and grateful.
"Oh! Right! The casting! I completely forgot!" She dropped her fork just as she was about to bring a piece of strawberry cake to her mouth. "Anyway, I recommend a white T-shirt and regular jeans."
She wiped her mouth before continuing.
"As you probably already know, a casting is when the brand organizing the event selects its models based on a briefing they've sent to a few agencies. The agencies then send the models who match the criteria described in the document."
She explained calmly, pausing now and then as if mentally shaping each sentence.
"You're not what they want to see. They want your body. Your aura. You're just the hanger, the mannequin," she repeated what Han had said in the message, and suddenly, I realized where Zarah had learned everything she knew. "But a hanger can be different. A mannequin can be unique. In an entirely white world, a black dot stands out. You need to make the evaluators look at you. Draw all their attention in."
"And how do I do that?"
"By using your… individuality." She gestured slightly before finally finding the word she wanted. "Yes. Individuality. Remember the 'raw' we talked about earlier? I told you I have the ability to let emotions run freely when I'm on the runway. That's my individuality. Emotion. You just have to find yours. What makes you… you. Of course, without literally showing yourself. Tell your story without words. Show the concept of what makes you who you are."
"My concept…"
Her words sank into me, echoing in my mind. But… what am I?
"Noah, how about showing me… you?" Zarah said when I stayed silent for a while, pulling me out of my daze.
"W-what? What are you talking about?" I had never blushed so much in my life. I really wasn't ready for that question. "Ah, right…" I replied when I finally understood what she meant.
"You should've seen your face… the disappointment," she said, holding back a laugh.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Hah… anyway. Walk for me."
There? In that closed space? Just in front of her? How embarrassing.
"I don't know…"
"Go on."
There was nothing else to do. I stood up, shaking my head, and walked toward the door. It was the farthest point I could get, enough to create a long "runway."
"Theme?" I asked, standing at the start of it. My God, this is embarrassing.
"Hmm…" She thought for a few seconds, looking at the ceiling before turning back to me with an expression that said she had an idea. "Snobbish. A luxury brand asks you to walk with a snobbish context. The outfit you're wearing exudes superiority, power, dominance."
Okay. I can work with that.
Superiority, power, and dominance.
With her phone, Zarah played a typical runway track. The music itself already dictated the rhythm of the walk and the impact it should have.
"Start however you like."
And with those words, I began.
As I started walking, a universe of possibilities opened in my mind. I pictured myself on a luxury trip, above all those who had looked down on me. I wanted to pour all that resentment and that sense of irrelevance I felt toward people into my every movement.
I wanted the audience to feel just how high I stood above them. With each step I took, it felt like a sea parted beneath my feet, leaving only drowning for those below me. Dust.
The subtle yet heavy music made my body tremble, and I loved that sensation… of being in another world, a completely different universe, of not really being myself.
I risked a glance toward Zarah and saw that her expression was completely serious, which sent a chill down my spine. I kept walking, pouring everything into it, so that anyone watching could see it. Feel it.
When the music cut, I stopped moving as well, exactly where I had started.
"So?" I asked cautiously. Maybe I had done a terrible job, and she would simply leave without looking back.
Her face was still serious, and when she looked down, it seemed like she was evaluating something.
"You… are still you."
My world collapsed.
"No, it's not bad."
My world came back together.
"But no matter how much emotion you put into it— and I noticed that—you were still you. I just can't understand how that's possible. Somehow, I could still recognize you… it's fascinating."
"Do you think I have a chance of getting cast?"
"Look, I'm sure you have a chance, but you don't feel like a mannequin. For some reason, the story became entirely about yourself, and I can't quite grasp it."
A second later, Zarah's phone rang, and after reading the message, she stood up quickly.
"I have to go, I've got another… hah… photoshoot." She moved fast, taking the now-empty plate to the kitchen. I was still thinking about what she'd said when she hugged me and headed toward the door.
"Are you coming back here again?" I asked, distracted.
"I promised I'd have a drink with you, didn't I?" she replied with a smile.
"Then it's a deal."
And she left.