The young man walked straight ahead, stopping in front of the tall figure. He looked him up and down. Dressed entirely in black—no distractions—black shirt, black suit, exuding an unapproachable aura. Just standing there, the space around him automatically cleared.
"If you dress like this, you're practically begging for attention. You're anything but low-key, almost as if you're afraid no one will notice you."
Lucas Wood remained expressionless, placing down the sign that bore his name, "Lucas Wood," as he glanced at the young man.
"No luggage?"
As he spoke, Lucas naturally took the young man's backpack.
The young man nodded. "Edgar sent it back. I'm traveling light, easier to escape if I need to."
Lucas sarcastically remarked, "Still haven't ditched that movie habit? Always ready to run, huh?"
The young man was about to snap back when he noticed a subtle change in the atmosphere. More and more people began glancing their way, quietly eyeing them up and down.
Feeling slightly anxious, the young man lowered his head, using the brim of his baseball cap to cast a shadow over his face.
"See? It's all because of you. Standing here like Lucifer, you're a magnet for attention."
Lucas, unfazed, met the stares head-on. One sweeping glance from him, and all eyes turned away, as if Medusa herself stood before them.
"I stand here to draw attention away. Now everyone's focused on me."
"And if I stay stern and intimidating, no one dares make eye contact. They won't have the chance to examine your face closely and recognize you."
Ah, now it made sense.
No wonder he chose an all-black outfit today.
The young man relaxed slightly, casually scanning the area. Sure enough, the onlookers shifted their gaze elsewhere. Despite standing right there, no one dared to look directly at them—
It was a clever trick, but one that only Lucas could pull off.
"Honestly, you didn't need to come pick me up. If you hadn't shown up, I could've quietly landed, slipped over to your apartment, and no one would've noticed."
Lucas raised an eyebrow, "You sure?"
The young man frowned, "What do you mean?"
Lucas replied, "Are you sure you wouldn't have drawn any attention?"
The young man: …
Feeling a bit guilty, he recalled how he'd almost been recognized by a short-haired girl earlier.
Lucas didn't push the issue, calmly continuing, "If you come to San Francisco and I don't pick you up, if Mom finds out, we won't have peace for the next three months."
"Just don't tell her."
"…"
The young man looked up at the stone-faced Lucas and gave up, sighing, "Let's just leave quickly before we cause a scene."
Lucas didn't object.
The two quietly left the arrival hall. It wasn't until they got into Lucas's car that the young man finally took off his baseball cap, revealing his handsome face—
It was none other than Anson.
The huge success of the flash mob event was a good thing, but it also brought a serious problem: Anson's face had become widely known. His recognition level had skyrocketed, comparable to Leonardo DiCaprio at his peak five years ago.
There was also another issue—"The Boy Who Cried Wolf."
Even though Anson and DreamWorks announced that the flash mob events were over and there would be no more surprise appearances, no one believed them. Everyone treated Anson like the boy who cried wolf, expecting another surprise.
As a result, the attention on Anson remained intense.
Anson stayed in New York for two days, but his downtown apartment had already become a gathering spot for paparazzi and fans. Crowds followed him wherever he went, making even simple walks in Central Park or breakfast at a corner café impossible. Even shopping at the grocery store became a hassle.
It wasn't just Anson who was affected; others around him were feeling the strain as well.
Anson didn't dare return to his main home, worried he'd expose his parents' lives to the chaos, disrupting their peace.
Initially, after the promotional tour, Anson had planned to stay in New York for a while. With Christmas and New Year's having been so hectic, he wanted to use the break to spend time with his family.
But with all the commotion, peace was impossible.
So, with Edgar's help, Anson made his escape from his apartment and flew to San Francisco to lie low for a while.
The Wood family would also be heading to San Francisco the next day, where the four of them could enjoy a short vacation together.
Everything had gone smoothly, except for the fact that Anson had almost been recognized at the airport. Thankfully, his quick thinking and calm demeanor helped him avoid causing a scene at San Francisco airport.
Rubbing his head, finally loosening the tension in his stiff neck, Anson slumped into the passenger seat, practically collapsing.
Lucas glanced over, "Did you grow that scruff on purpose as part of your disguise?"
His tone was flat, but Anson could sense the teasing smile beneath the words.
Anson rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble. "Don't underestimate this bit of scruff. It was my main disguise on the plane."
Lucas didn't respond.
Anson sighed softly, "Go ahead, laugh. Holding it in isn't good for you."
Lucas's mouth curled slightly, but before he could retort, he noticed Anson had already drifted off to sleep.
Anson was clearly exhausted.
He'd been on the go nonstop for days, barely having time to eat or sleep, constantly traveling or attending movie screenings. Even Steven Spielberg had suggested scaling back the later stages of the flash mob event—either by simplifying it or by having himself and Tom Hanks help with the promotion.
But Anson had declined.
"I'd love for you guys to join anytime. But this was my idea, and I'm responsible for seeing it through."
"Not just for the crew, but for the fans. I need to be there."
Finally, the promotional whirlwind had ended, but Anson had still been unable to find peace amidst the constant attention. Even sleep had been elusive.
Lucas examined Anson more closely now, noticing the dark circles under his eyes—clear signs that he hadn't rested properly for a while. No wonder he'd fallen asleep in less than 30 seconds after getting into the car.
Turning on the heater, switching off the radio, and slowing the car's pace, Lucas ensured a smooth, quiet ride as they drove through the foggy streets of San Francisco. The world outside seemed to calm down with them.
Eventually, Anson woke up—because he was hungry.
Groggy and half-awake, he followed the soft yellow glow of the desk lamp and saw Lucas's profile, busy at the desk. Then he glanced at the clock on the wall:
9:23 p.m.
Sitting up and stretching, his joints cracked, alerting Lucas.
Lucas waited patiently for Anson to finish his stretch. "I thought you'd sleep until morning."
Anson waved it off. "My body clock's still messed up. Can't sleep too long. Plus, I'm starving. Got anything in the fridge?"
Lucas's eyes softened with a touch of concern. The glitz and glamour of being a star were far from as glamorous as they seemed. "It's all frozen food. Let's eat out. There's a seafood place nearby that's great."
"Seafood?"
Anson's eyes lit up instantly.
Lucas chuckled. "Freshen up, and we'll head out."