And so the golden carpet came into full, magnificent, completely unhinged swing.
Nobody topped Jonathan and Odette. That was simply a fact, established and accepted within the first five minutes of the evening. But some came admirably, impressively close — and the younger generation of entrepreneurs and business owners, many of whom were attending for the first time and were deeply, acutely aware of it, had arrived with a singular collective mission.
Impress.
And their primary vehicle for impressing?
Fashion.
All of it. Every fashion week on every continent, distilled into one gold carpet on one evening. The energy was extra in the most complete and committed sense of the word — and this author says that with full respect and zero criticism, because extra, executed with conviction, is its own art form.
One arrived in a Robert Wun couture gown — that specific, magnificent nightmare fuel piece in deep red, complete with the sculptural mannequin draped over the shoulder like a declaration of war against subtlety. Conceptual. Arresting. The kind of piece that makes you stop mid-sentence.
Another swept in wearing Vivienne Westwood — a gown with a train so gloriously, obnoxiously, magnificently long that it could, in an emergency, function as a parachute. If one ever decided to serve looks before jumping off a cliff — and honestly, worse decisions have been made — this train was ready. Fashion that kills, in the most literal and most complimentary sense.
And the men.
The men.
The younger generation had looked at the standard suit-and-tie format, assessed it, and decided it was a starting point rather than a destination. They brought capes. Dramatic long coats and robes with actual intention behind them. And most revolutionary of all —
Color.
Men, wearing color. Real, deliberate, committed color. Not just black everything with a pocket square for personality. One arrived in the 2023 Dior Men's red puffy coat with the plaid lining — wearing it with the easy confidence of someone who had looked in the mirror, seen exactly what they wanted to see, and walked out the door.
The carpet was alive in a way it hadn't been in years.
And then a princess arrived.
Princess Alesha of Morocco's royal family stepped onto the gold carpet in the lava gown — the one made famous by Miss Universe winner Catriona Grey — except that Princess Alesha had taken it, made it entirely her own, and reminded everyone present what it looked like when a person was simply born for a garment.
The fitted silhouette moved with her like it had been poured on. Demure and quietly devastating at the same time. Her piercing eyes doing the work that needed no assistance — commanding attention the way royalty commands it, which is to say without asking for it and without needing to.
The camera clicks came like rainfall. Like rapid fire. Like everyone present had simultaneously decided that this was the moment and were racing to capture it.
Every head turned.
"I'm sorry princess," this author would like to say directly. "You are breathtaking. You are royalty and you know it and you wear it beautifully. But sweetheart, you are going to have to share the spotlight tonight, because what just pulled up behind you is something that requires everyone's immediate attention. You understand. You're a princess. You're used to all eyes on you — give the rest of us a chance, okay? Mwah. We love you."
Because pulling up to the Sparrow Charity Ball —
Was a bus.
Not a car.
Not a limousine.
Not a fleet of luxury vehicles in coordinated arrival.
A bus.
A whole, full-sized, luxury bus. Arriving at the gold carpet of one of the most prestigious high society events of the year, completely unbothered about what that said, apparently having made its decision and committed to it fully.
The carpet went momentarily, collectively speechless.
****
And as the doors of the bus opened, one by one they stepped out, and chaos immediately erupted.
Who are they? LEAVEN, of course.
Each one looked devastatingly dapper, All of them. Dressed to the absolute tens. Not the nines — the tens, with extra credit on top. Ensembles deeply connected to their roots.
Monarch wore a modernized barong Tagalog, regal and sharp enough to make politicians weep. Yone, Ryu, and Corsair wore sleek contemporary kimonos paired with tailored trousers that screamed elegance with just a hint of "I could ruin your life emotionally." Jordan wore a flowing hanfu-inspired top with clean trousers, looking like he walked straight out of a historical fantasy drama with a billion-dollar budget.
Nox, being Greek, wore a single-shouldered draped Grecian top with flowing fabric cascading from his left shoulder, paired with light trousers that made him look less like a celebrity and more like an ancient deity who accidentally discovered modern fashion week.
And then there was Eli.
Because of course there was.
The man showed up in an all-white ensemble adorned with the sun and three stars motif from the Philippine flag, paying homage to his adoptive parents' country. Sweet, heartfelt, respectful. Beautiful.
But naturally, Eli cannot do anything normally.
For his top? A white blazer. And absolutely nothing underneath.
No shirt. No tie. No shame.
This man was out here serving pectoral cleavage to the masses like it was community outreach. Paired with that sun-kissed skin and that carefree smile? Yeah. Nobody was complaining. In fact, several people probably forgot their own names for a solid minute.
August, Ahn Jae, Silas, and Kang Ian all wore modernized hanbok-inspired ensembles. And August, being literal sunshine in human form, decided that his outfit needed every shade of yellow known to mankind.
Pastel yellow. Golden yellow. Lemon yellow. Bright yellow. Yellow so aggressive it probably had vitamin D in it.
Too much? Maybe.
Does he care? Absolutely not.
Does anyone else care? Also no. And if you do, August will probably smile at you so brightly that you'll suddenly start reconsidering your entire stance on yellow as a color. Besides, he looked happy, radiant even, so frankly, sucks to suck. Blehhh 🤪
Isaac kept things classy in a comfortable turtleneck layered beneath a blazer, looking effortlessly expensive. Leo, meanwhile, arrived carrying the colors of Brazil on his back like a final boss entrance. The outfit looked like he'd stepped straight out of a video game cutscene.
You know what? It was giving Neuvillette energy. Dramatic. Elegant. Extra for absolutely no reason.
Naturally, it worked.
Nikola was dressed entirely in black, paired with a cape-like coat that radiated elegant vampire aristocrat energy. Victorian allure, but make it German. Add in that permanently amused smirk resting on his face and suddenly the urge to both slap and kiss him becomes deeply concerning.
Slap. Kiss. Slap again. Kiss again.
An endless ouroboros of poor decision-making.
And honestly? That perfectly summarizes whatever cursed charm Nikola brings into a room.
Mika, representing Australia, wore a suit woven with intricate patterns resembling spider silk, inspired by the terrifyingly fascinating phenomenon of Australian spider storms. Tiny jeweled spider ornaments decorated the entire ensemble, glittering under the lights.
It was breathtaking.
And mildly horrifying.
Which, honestly, feels very Australian.
And of course, we cannot forget the Kweens.
The Kweens arrived, and they came to absolutely annihilate.
They came. They saw. They slayed.
Pink appeared in full drag, draped in a stunning gold gown with a dangerously high slit. The heels? Lethal. Makeup? Flawless. Wig? Laid with military precision.
Aqua incorporated elements of Thai fashion into his ensemble with intricate embroidery and elegant embellishments, while pairing it all with deadly heels and a dramatic train. Masculine and feminine energy danced together so perfectly it felt unfair to everyone else present.
Kitty was entirely, unapologetically pink.
Not just pink.
PINK.
A power suit paired with skyscraper pumps, makeup that probably took two hours and several divine blessings to perfect, sleek hair with intricate swirled detailing, and nails so sharp they looked capable of opening letters, ending careers, and slitting throats simultaneously.
And finally, Javi delivered pure Puerto Rican island glamour. Breezy, tropical, elegant, effortlessly seductive. The kind of look that makes you want to quit your job and book a beach vacation immediately.
And yes.
The heels were also fabulous.
Together, they looked so breathtaking that even the high profile people already walking the gold carpet stopped to stare.
Including the Princess of Morocco.
Who was absolutely, catastrophically fan-girling.
Remember Hyouka's interview in the earlier chapters about a certain royal being a massive Kang Ian and Mika stan?
Yep.
Her.
An ultra hardcore LEAVEN fan.
It took every ounce of strength in her body to maintain her dignity and not immediately collapse to her knees sobbing at the sight of her biases in real life. She was practically digging her nails into her poor bodyguards' arms just to stabilize herself and stop herself from losing her entire damn mind.
Which was becoming increasingly difficult.
At this point, one foot was already over the threshold. One more glance from Kang Ian and international headlines would start reading:
"Moroccan Princess Found Screaming, Crying, Barking at Charity Ball."
Because that is simply the natural lifecycle of a fangirl encountering her bias.
All marbles must be lost. Every single one.
And before anyone asks, yes, Mikko and Louie were already inside the venue.
Remember, their involvement with 4 of Scones is still being kept hush-hush. So while the rest of LEAVEN were outside serving face, fashion, and emotional destruction, those two were already inside attacking the buffet like seasoned professionals.
****
And so, LEAVEN walked the golden carpet together, maximizing their joint slay to catastrophic levels. Every single one of them was deep in their main character era, making everyone else around them look like NPCs accidentally spawned into the wrong cutscene.
The Kweens, especially, took to the carpet with a mission.
They strutted with intention. Every step calculated. Every turn deliberate. Slow dramatic head turns for maximum impact. Tiny pauses just long enough for cameras to combust.
And when they posed?
They POSED.
Not normal celebrity posing either.
Avant-garde. High fashion. Vogue editorial spread found abandoned in an art museum at 3 AM type posing.
One hand-on-stomach, hunched-back pose that screamed fierce stomach ache couture. Another pose served high fashion migraine realness. Then came the asymmetrical hand-on-hip pose, a timeless classic that somehow always works because gay people collectively decided it does.
The Kweens were given an opportunity to slay and immediately grabbed it by its metaphorical balls and sprinted with it in six-inch heels.
And if that somehow was not enough chaos for the media to process, Bobby and Lili finally arrived on the carpet, stepping out of a bulletproof Benz like they were entering the final act of a romance drama.
Why were they arriving separately from the others, you ask?
Classified information.
For now. Hehehe.
Bobby embodied polished English elegance, while Lili radiated effortless Parisian sophistication. Their ensembles complemented each other perfectly in soft baby blue tones. Bobby wore a sleek trench coat paired with matching trousers and polished dress shoes, while Lili wore an off-shoulder gown that whispered understated elegance so loudly it became impossible to ignore.
Together, they looked like wealth, romance, and expensive brunch reservations personified.
And what caught the media's attention even more was how painfully unsubtle the two of them were being.
Because subtlety had apparently packed its bags and gone on vacation.
The lingering glances. The closeness. The way Bobby instinctively leaned toward her every few seconds. The way Lili smiled at him like she already knew every thought in his head.
And then, just to absolutely execute whatever remained of plausible deniability, they walked the carpet hand in hand.
Like.
Holding hands.
In public.
On camera.
At that point, any remaining relationship rumors basically exploded into confetti. Because if that was not a hard launch, then honestly nobody knows what is anymore.
Soon enough, they caught up with the rest of LEAVEN, moving together once more as the beautifully chaotic mega-group they were.
Once they reached the center of the carpet, LEAVEN had their very first interview as a complete group.
"2, 3," Yone signaled.
"We are LEAVEN!" they introduced in perfect unison, their greeting practically roaring through the venue like thunder and instantly pulling everyone's attention back toward them.
"Hello, hello, LEAVEN!" the interviewer greeted brightly. "First of all, I just have to say, you all definitely know how to make an entrance."
"Thank you," Yone replied smoothly, naturally taking the role of spokesperson. Leader duties and all that. "We always try to give it our all."
"That, you absolutely did," the interviewer laughed. "And can we please talk about these outfits?"
The cameraman immediately panned across each member.
Some members used the opportunity to aggressively aura farm.
And by "some," it was mostly the Kweens serving editorial-level poses like their rent depended on it.
Others simply smiled and waved warmly at the cameras.
Honestly, LEAVEN really was the perfect mix of personalities. There was always someone for everybody to stan.
"May I ask who you're all wearing tonight?" the interviewer asked.
"We're incredibly privileged to be wearing custom El'Tamora tonight," Yone answered gracefully. "We'll always be thankful to El'Tamora for believing in us from the very beginning and for allowing us to become their muses."
The moment he finished speaking, the Kweens immediately broke into synchronized finger-and-nail clapping.
"El'Tamora really do be making us slay ridiculously hard," Aqua said with complete sincerity.
"Amen to that!" Pink exclaimed dramatically, making the rest of the members laugh.
"Amen indeed," the interviewer agreed instantly. "You all look absolutely fabulous tonight."
"So," the interviewer continued, "what are you all looking forward to the most this evening?"
"First and foremost, helping raise support for tonight's incredible charity," Yone answered eloquently. "As artists ourselves who were given a life-changing opportunity through LEAVEN, we hope more young people, especially less fortunate artists, are also given the chance to pursue their dreams."
The interviewer looked genuinely impressed.
"Very well said."
And thank God Yone was the one answering.
Because I love every single one of my babies dearly, but if literally anybody else had grabbed that microphone first, the interview would have derailed into a public relations disaster within thirty seconds.