Aivmey

Night fell over Olympus District.

Located atop the mountain peaks, this was the place on the Star of Art closest to the stars. it was a dream for countless people, a place whose mysterious veil most could never lift in their entire lives, much like the dwelling of the gods in Greek mythology. Many great artists whose names resonated throughout the universe and left profound marks on the history of the Star of Art were born here.

An invisible hand gently wiped the shadows from the canvas of the starry sky, brushing away the dark clouds and wielding a brush to splash silver moonlight across the mountains and forests, coating the tranquil night in a dreamlike hue.

The lake’s surface resembled a massive piece of blue crystal, clear and transparent, reflecting fragmented moonlight from within the half-shrouded deep forest. It called to mind the Kastumansos Spring, the fountain of the gods situated at the peak of Mount Olympus, considered the source of wisdom and art. Bards and artists from all over the world would give everything they owned for a chance to draw inspiration here and create a masterpiece.

A young man slowly rose from the lake. His robust body possessed the golden ratio pursued by countless artisans; every muscle line was perfectly defined, with water flowing over them like a work of art meticulously carved by a master sculptor.

Water droplets fell from his perfectly proportioned frame, making splashing sounds as they danced lightly upon the lake's surface.

By the shore, a girl had already been waiting for a long time. She wore a small, tight-waisted brown vest over a white shirt with neat buttons. Beneath a light-gray striped pleated skirt were her straight legs, tanned to a healthy wheat color.

A painter-style beret and a pair of round-toed Martin boots added a touch of vitality and nimbleness to her aura.

"Ah, what a beautiful scene. So full of poetic sentiment, a vision that makes one want to lose themselves in it."

The young man, imitating a talented poet, recited a tune filled with deep emotion before turning to the girl with a slight smile. "I wonder if my little assistant can understand my current mood?"

The young man stood naked in the middle of the lake. The girl looked at his completely exposed body, which seemed to be glowing under a divine light, and remained silent for a moment before clicking her tongue. "Please put your clothes on before you speak, Mr. Aivmey."

Aivmey spread his arms wide, water droplets falling from his wet, rose-red hair. "This flawless body of mine, this beautiful face—I was born to be the ultimate work of art."

"And works of art should be displayed for others to appreciate."

Seeing that the assistant made no effort to hide her disgust, Aivmey finally held up his hands. "Just a joke."

He threw on the long bathrobe she handed him, and the two walked through the mountain forest, screened by dense trees, for a short distance until they reached a small, detached villa.

The villa was built against the mountainside, a pearl nestled in nature's embrace, accompanied by the symphony of clear springs. Carved pillars that would take several people to encircle supported a prism-shaped granite platform. Clear water flowed from lion-headed spouts at the edges of the granite, gathering in an artificial fountain below. The transparent bottom of the pool was paved with countless emeralds. To describe this scene in the mountains as merely luxurious would be too simplistic; it was like a fairyland on earth, the culmination of the blood and wisdom of countless craftsmen and architects.

The first-floor foyer of the villa was wide and bright. In the center stood a large marble round table, surrounded by several neatly arranged carved chairs. The floor was covered with a thick, snow-white plush carpet.

This was not where Aivmey lived; he would never tolerate confining himself to such a small villa. To be precise, this entire building was merely his workshop, the place where he usually designed and tailored clothing.

Because it hadn't been tidied in a long time, the entire first floor looked somewhat messy. Evening gowns, dresses, suits, trench coats, and wool jackets—all sorts of garments he had been satisfied with in the past—were draped over mannequins.

But now, the mannequins were knocked over everywhere. These priceless, expensive clothes were left to gather dust, lying in intimate contact with the floor.

Aivmey didn't mind. He stepped over a fallen mannequin. He didn't suffer from any obsessive-compulsive disorder; on the contrary, this messy feeling was exactly to his liking. A wild and uninhibited environment allowed him to constantly burst with novel inspiration for his fashion designs.

"It's as messy as a pigsty," the assistant behind him grumbled.

"I heard that, Little Assis. No need to be so self-deprecating," Aivmey said.

The assistant’s face soured at the retort. Finally, she huffed and muttered, "I have a name."

"I’m going to change. Wait for me a moment," Aivmey said as he headed toward the second floor.

The assistant really wanted to ask why he had suddenly dragged her out of bed in the middle of the night and rushed to the mountain studio without a word of explanation, but she knew that even if she asked, she wouldn't get a straight answer.

This boss of hers was as inexplicable as they came. His behavior was unpredictable; if she asked, he would only brush her off with nonsense about 'great art.'

He was the type who could go three days and nights without eating when his inspiration dried up, just to push himself to the brink of survival. He could also cancel all fashion design commissions for a given period just because he found a particular client's request pleasing to the eye, even if they paid nothing, thereby offending many powerful people.

There was often only a thin line between an artist and a madman. Perhaps it was because of this that he had become the preeminent fashion designer on the Star of Art, a guest of honor for countless members of high society.

Innumerable artistic garments had been born from his hands. Almost all high-end fashion brands on the Star of Art had his shadow behind them. Name any famous brand, and their private custom clothing lines would likely feature elements designed by this young man.

No matter how ordinary or even tattered a piece of cloth might be, as long as it fell into his hands, he could always turn it into something spectacular.

Consequently, people seeking his designs were endless, ranging from fixers of various agencies to high-society socialites and scions of great families. He was the kind of person who was scatterbrained, lacked a sense of crisis, and never turned anyone away. The heavy burden of managing his daily schedule fell entirely on her, his little assistant.

Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, this guy's schedule was packed tight. He didn't care; when a commission deadline arrived, he would just skip it and slack off.

Apologizing at their doors, enduring their cold faces and insults—that was all her job.

Thinking of this, the assistant's fists tightened. She desperately wanted to give that humming, irresponsible guy upstairs a couple of good whacks to the head to vent the resentment she had accumulated over the past few years.

Soon, Aivmey changed his outfit and walked downstairs, appearing before the assistant in a flashy display.

The young man wore a black and purple smoking jacket. The cutout design on the chest was in the shape of a heart from a deck of cards, making the firm muscle lines of his chest clearly visible. The exaggerated golden fur collar made him look like a jeweled peacock with its tail spread—magnificent and noble. It wasn't hard to tell from the delicate texture of the fabric that this outfit was worth a fortune.

The assistant rarely saw him dressed so formally. In her memory, he only wore this when receiving important guests or appearing at official functions.

"Are we receiving an important guest?" the assistant asked instinctively.

Aivmey walked over to a blooming peony in the corner, plucked a stem with his fingertips, and brought it to his nose to sniff its fragrance.

He slowly turned his eyes, a hint of indifference appearing in his beautiful gaze.

"Yes. And the beautiful guest is already before us."

The assistant looked back and saw the figure of a girl with dazzling golden hair walking out.