I jogged down the street, hoodie half-zipped, hair a disaster, and dignity hanging by a thread. The sky looked like it hadn't decided if it wanted to be morning or dramatic background lighting for a breakup scene.
"Morning shift," I grumbled. "Because clearly sleep is optional and so is happiness."
My stomach growled like a dying raccoon. I clutched it.
"Relax. I'm getting food. Just don't eat me."
I turned the corner and spotted the familiar red-and-yellow sign of my favorite cheap breakfast stop — Sunny Grill. No, it wasn't named after me. Yes, I pretended it was every time I went.
I walked in, still half-asleep, and that's when I heard it.
"Yo, handsome!"
I blinked. Did someone just—
"Yeah, you! You with the messy hair and hoodie that says 'don't talk to me, I'm poor'."
I looked up. The cashier — a girl with a high ponytail and sparkly nails — was grinning at me from behind the counter.
"…Hi?"
"You look like you belong on a drama poster," she said, leaning on the counter. "Like, someone who has a tragic backstory but also rich parents."
"That's oddly specific." I raised an eyebrow. "And I'm tragically broke."
She laughed. "What can I get the Main Character this morning?"
"Just a breakfast sandwich. Extra eggs, please. I've got work."
"Coming right up, Heartthrob."
I stood there awkwardly while she made my order, unsure if I should be flattered or concerned that someone called me Heartthrob before 9AM.
When I got the sandwich, I nodded a polite thanks and stepped out into the street, warmth from the egg and bread fogging up my soul.
Then I reached into my pocket to check the time.
And froze.
Left pocket? Empty. Right pocket? Lint. Back pocket?
Nothing.
I patted myself all over like I was being frisked by invisible cops.
"…No way. I left my phone. At home."
I stared into the void.
No messages. No music. No memes. No maps. No Daniel sending me cursed photos of Pheno. I was offline. Like a peasant.
I looked around. "Alright. Guess we're LIVING in the moment today. Gross."
I took a dramatic bite of the sandwich and walked toward the quiet side of the street, sulking like a teen in an indie film.
[POV Shift: Jackson Schneider]
Jackson Schneider stepped out of his private car with a precision perfected over years of wearing overpriced suits and sipping overpriced opinions.
His glasses gleamed. His posture screamed "executive." His hands were tucked neatly in his coat pockets as he prepared to enter Raxem HQ.
Then he saw him.
Across the street, standing near a lamppost, eating a sandwich like it owed him money, was a boy.
White hoodie. Tousled hair. Unbothered expression. Like he didn't even know he was drop-dead gorgeous.
Jackson's eyebrows rose behind his frames.
"There he is," he whispered. "That's the face."
He took a step closer.
"That's the look. Effortlessly stylish. Sad eyes. Street-boy charm. Sellable."
The boy bit into his sandwich with absolutely no emotion.
Jackson's lips curled.
"I'm hiring him."
[POV: Sunny]
Okay. Sandwich = amazing. Street = peaceful. Life = still mildly annoying without my phone, but manageable.
Until I noticed the man.
Across the street. Standing. Staring. Dressed like he was about to fire someone politely.
He didn't blink.
"…Um?"
I shifted uncomfortably. He was still staring.
"Great. Just what I needed. Stalked by a bootleg Agent Smith."
He started crossing the street toward me.
"Nope. No way. If this man tries to sell me vitamins, I'm throwing my sandwich."
He stopped in front of me and nodded once like he was examining a sculpture.
"…Okay," I said, taking a step back. "Is this a prank? Did Daniel put you up to this?
He adjusted his glasses.
"What work do you do?"
"…Excuse me?"
"Occupation," he said, straight-faced. "Your job."
"I'm a cashier," I replied. "Why?"
He extended his hand. "Jackson Schneider. I'm a talent scout and creative director for Raxem Corporation."
"…Never heard of it."
"We're a fashion and clothing company. You're exactly the kind of face we need."
I just stared.
"…Do I look like I iron my socks?"
He didn't laugh.
"I'd like to offer you a modeling position."
"…You're serious."
"Completely."
"Look," I said, stepping away, "I've had two sips of water and one sandwich today. I'm not emotionally equipped to be discovered right now."
Jackson's jaw tensed. Then he tried another route.
"It pays well."
I stopped walking.
"…Define well."
"Five figures. Per campaign."
I blinked.
He leaned in, voice silky. "Weekly pay. Bonuses. Free clothes. Full credit. Recognition. Instant income."
I blinked again.
"…Where's the car?"
...
"WHERE THE F**K IS HE?", says Lehya who has to overwork because of Sunny.
[Raxem HQ – Cloud-White Chaos]
I swear I could hear the building before I saw it. Raxem HQ was massive, sleek, and all white like it was built by angels with a furniture budget.
As soon as we walked in, people nodded to Jackson like he was royalty.
"Good morning, Mr. Schneider."
"Sir!"
"Who's the pretty one with him?"
Jackson grinned. "New face. You'll see him on posters soon."
I don't know what's going on. "Hi, I'm... still not sure this is real."
We took the elevator up. The doors opened into a pristine studio space—lights, mirrors, racks of clothes. Everything smelled like expensive detergent and ambition.
Four people were already inside, chatting near a coffee machine.
Jackson clapped.
"Everyone — this is Sunny."
They turned.
"Yo!" said a guy with curly hair and a nose ring.
"Fresh meat," said a girl in a black leather jacket with perfect eyeliner.
"Nice aura," said another girl in a soft sweater. "You look chill."
I blinked at all of them.
Jackson introduced them with one hand while sipping his smoothie.
"This is Jobe, Brock, Raven, and Delilah. They're your co-models."
Brock — a tank of a man who looked like a protein shake turned human — waved, then knocked over a lamp.
Raven smirked. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Earthquake."
"I'm not even trying!" Brock whined.
Jobe high-fived me. Delilah offered me an actual cookie.
"This place is weird," I muttered.
"You'll get used to it," Raven grinned.
[Photoshoot Mayhem Begins]
Jackson tossed me a simple white tee and jeans. "Put these on. We're going natural first."
I changed behind a screen and walked out.
Camera guy adjusted the lens. "Just stand there."
I did.
"Perfect."
Click.
Flash.
"Don't pose."
"I'm literally just standing here."
"Exactly."
Raven whispered, "He's got dead eyes. I like it."
Delilah nodded. "Effortless melancholy. Can we keep him?"
Brock added, "He hasn't smiled once. That's power."
Meanwhile, I was just trying to figure out when lunch was.
[Lunch Break – Welcome to the Freak Show]
We sat in the break room, everyone eating either kale or air. I had another sandwich.
"So," Jobe asked, "how'd they find you?"
"Was eating breakfast," I replied.
"Classic," Brock said, sipping from a gallon of protein sludge.
"Do you even digest that?" I asked.
"No idea. Haven't felt my intestines in months."
Raven laughed. "So, cashier to catwalk. How you feeling?"
"Dead."
Delilah smiled. "You're doing great. You have this... aloofness."
"I think that's just me being lost."
"Well," Jobe said, raising his glass, "to getting lost and paid for it!"
[End of the Day ]
As we walked out, Jackson handed me an envelope. I peeked inside and nearly passed out.
"This is... my three months pay."
"Consider it your starting bonus."
I blinked. "This morning I was broke and sandwich-hungry. Now I have a modeling contract."
Jackson laughed. "Welcome to Raxem."
I stepped outside and sighed.
"…And I still don't have my phone."