The world outside Leo's apartment building had transformed into a relentless, buzzing hive. News vans, their satellite dishes gleaming under the indifferent sun, lined the street like metallic beetles. Reporters, clutching microphones like weapons, paced the sidewalk, occasionally lunging at bewildered residents entering or exiting the building. Paparazzi, cameras poised, staked out every angle, their flashes occasionally popping like distant fireflies even in broad daylight. Leo watched it all from behind the drawn blinds, the sheer volume of people and equipment a horrifying testament to his lost anonymity.
His phone, blessedly silenced by Sam, still vibrated with a terrifying persistence on his coffee table. Each pulse felt like a direct assault on his nervous system. Calls from numbers he didn't recognize flashed across the screen; messages from national news outlets, morning shows, and lifestyle magazines piled up, all desperate for an exclusive. Social media was a wildfire. Every platform was ablaze with his name, his face, theories about his motivations, and countless re-shares of Valeria's triumphant reveal. He was the day's main course, devoured by the public eye.
Leo: (Muttering, pacing a worn path in his living room) "It's insane. This isn't… this isn't me. I just wanted to share good food."
Sam, who had practically moved in, was perched on the edge of the sofa, scrolling grimly through his own phone. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by a taut intensity. He looked up, his eyes tired but determined. Sam: "I know, Leo. I know. But it is you now. At least, it is to them. You're the story."
He put his phone down. Sam: "Look, we've got two options. Option one: You never leave this apartment again, order all your food, disconnect from the internet, and live like a hermit. Option two: We figure out a way to manage this. To take some control back."
Leo stopped pacing, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. The thought of permanent isolation was suffocating, but the idea of facing that ravenous horde outside was equally terrifying. His introverted nature, once a gentle preference, now felt like a debilitating weakness. He longed for the quiet solitude of Umi's before the lines, the peaceful anonymity of The Tea Leaf Corner. Those memories felt like distant dreams, tainted by the harsh reality of his present.
Leo: "Control back? How? They have my face, Sam. My name. She just… she opened me up for dissection." His voice was raw, a mix of fear and a deep, simmering anger at Valeria. The feeling of violation was profound, as if his very essence had been stolen and paraded.
Sam: "We don't have to give them everything. But we have to give them something. If you stay silent, they'll just fill in the blanks. They'll invent a story, and trust me, it won't be the one you want. People love a mystery, but they also love a narrative. And right now, Valeria's writing yours."
He got up and walked to the window, pulling back a tiny corner of the blind. A reporter, mid-interview with a baffled neighbor, glanced towards their window, momentarily catching Sam's eye. Sam quickly dropped the blind.
Sam: "See? They're not going anywhere. We need to define who PalatePilot is, now that he's Leo Ishikawa. Before someone else does it for you. We need to decide what you want to say, how you want to say it, and who you want to say it to."
Leo turned away from the window, walking to his kitchen. He opened the fridge, then closed it. Food, his lifelong comfort, now felt abstract, distant. He couldn't even imagine cooking. The simple pleasure was gone, replaced by a dull ache of loss.
Leo: "But what if I mess it up? What if I say the wrong thing? I'm not... I'm not a public person, Sam. I write. I observe. I don't perform."
Sam: "You don't have to perform. You just have to be yourself. The real you. The guy who writes about chocolate bars and quiet tea shops. That's why people loved PalatePilot in the first place, remember? Not because you were some polished TV personality. Because you were genuine."
He walked over to Leo, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Sam: "This isn't about beating Valeria in a popularity contest. This is about taking back your life. About showing them that Leo Ishikawa isn't just a face on a screen, but the person who created all that magic."
The idea was daunting. Terrifying, even. But as Leo looked at Sam's determined face, and then back at the relentless notifications on his phone, a tiny, flickering spark ignited within him. Hiding forever wasn't an option. The choice wasn't if he'd face the public, but how. The storm was raging, but perhaps, just perhaps, he could learn to sail through it, instead of drowning.