Chapter 6
James sat in one of the sleek, minimalist chairs of the training room, his fingers drumming idly against his thigh. The room was buzzing with anticipation—today was the long-awaited makeover day, the first major transformation of the competition. Everyone knew that their look could change drastically, and while some of the contestants were excited, others looked downright nervous.
James himself wasn’t too worried. He had always been open to change, and honestly, he was more curious than anything. Whatever they planned for him, he’d make it work.
The low murmur of conversation quieted as Regulus Black entered the room with his usual air of cool authority. Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, he looked every bit the image of high fashion. His gaze swept over the room, taking in the assembled contestants before he spoke.
"Good morning," Regulus said, his voice even, measured. "“I trust you all got some rest, because today is one of the most pivotal moments in this competition. Today marks the first significant step in your transformation. Over the next several weeks, you will be pushed to your limits, shaped into professionals who can stand on the world’s biggest runways and grace the covers of the most prestigious magazines. But before that, you need to look the part. You need to be refined, sculpted into something marketable—into someone unforgettable.”
A murmur passed through the room. Some exchanged glances, shifting in their seats, while others nodded in silent determination. James exchanged a glance with Marlene, who raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. He could already tell she was eager to see how everyone would turn out.
Regulus continued, "And that is exactly what today is about. Your image is your brand, and for that reason, you will undergo a professional transformation. Some of you may experience small adjustments; others will leave here today looking completely different. To ensure that each of you has a look tailored to highlight your strongest features, I’ve brought in one of the best in the industry. Someone who understands the artistry of transformation better than anyone."
"Allow me to introduce my cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.” Regulus announced. "Renowned designer, makeup artist, and one of the top image consultants in the fashion world. She will be leading today’s transformations, along with a team of elite stylists."
He turned slightly toward the door as it swung open, revealing a striking woman in an all-black ensemble. Bellatrix Lestrange. Even if James hadn’t known who she was, he would have recognized the sheer presence she carried. She exuded an energy that was both electrifying and intimidating, her dark eyes scanning the room with the keen interest of a predator assessing its prey.
Bellatrix’s lips curled into a smirk as she stepped forward, her sharp heels clicking against the polished floor. "Let’s get one thing straight," she said, her voice rich with authority. "This isn’t about what you want. This is about what works. You might have a vision of yourself, but I promise you—I have a better one. Trust the process. You’re here to become icons, not to cling to what’s safe."
James felt a rush of excitement at her words. This was it. The real work was starting now. He glanced around at the others, gauging their reactions. Some, like Marlene and Barty, looked intrigued. Others, like Frank, seemed a little wary.
James sat up a little straighter as Bellatrix Lestrange paced in front of them, her sharp eyes scanning the group with a mixture of scrutiny and intrigue. Next to her, Regulus stood with his usual composed elegance, hands folded neatly in front of him. The contrast between them was stark—where Bellatrix exuded a kind of manic intensity, Regulus was cold precision. A quiet force.
Bellatrix clapped her hands once, demanding attention. “Let’s talk about what makes a model unforgettable.” Her voice was smooth but carried an edge, like a blade just sharp enough to cut. “What separates a passing face from one that defines an era?”
She turned, making direct eye contact with each of them before continuing. “It’s not just about beauty. It’s about distinction. Think about the greats—Winnie Harlow, with her vitiligo, turned what others saw as a flaw into her signature. Adut Akech, whose deep complexion and regal presence demand attention. Lauren Hutton, with that iconic gap in her teeth. The list goes on.”
Regulus nodded beside her, his voice quieter but no less authoritative. “The industry thrives on uniqueness. You aren’t here to blend in—you’re here to be remembered.” His gaze flickered over the candidates, his eyes unreadable. “Some of you will be asked to embrace features you once saw as imperfections. Others will be pushed toward a transformation that enhances what is already striking about you.”
James swallowed, forcing himself to focus. He wanted to listen, truly, but every time Regulus spoke, he found his attention slipping in a completely different direction.
The way he carried himself. The deliberate way he articulated every word. The controlled yet effortless elegance in his posture.
James’ eyes traced the curve of Regulus’ jawline, the sharp angles softened by the glow of the overhead lights. His dark curls framed his face just right, almost annoyingly perfect. And then there were his lips—
James forced himself to look away, heat creeping up his neck.
This was getting ridiculous.
He’d admired people before—appreciated good looks, sure. But this? This was something else entirely. It was distracting in a way that made his chest tighten, that made his fingers itch to fidget with something just to keep himself grounded.
Bellatrix continued, oblivious to James’ internal struggle. “You might hate your new look at first. Change is uncomfortable. But trust the process. By the end of today, you won’t recognize yourselves. And that’s the point.”
James exhaled, forcing himself to nod along, trying to refocus. This was important. His future in the competition depended on it.
And yet, as Regulus glanced over the room once more, James couldn’t shake the unsettling realization.
He wasn’t just admiring Regulus.
He was drawn to him. And he had no idea what to do about it.
Regulus cast one last glance over the assembled candidates, his expression unreadable as always. "I look forward to seeing the results," he said smoothly, his voice carrying just enough authority to make it clear that he expected nothing less than excellence. With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving them in the capable—if slightly intimidating—hands of Bellatrix.
The moment the door shut behind him, Bellatrix clapped her hands together, a wicked glint in her dark eyes. "Alright, darlings, let’s get to work. Follow me."
The candidates exchanged quick glances before getting to their feet and following her into the next room. James took in the space immediately—it was bright, sleek, and filled with the hum of activity. Styling stations were arranged in neat rows, each one complete with a large mirror framed by glowing vanity lights. Hairstylists, colorists, and makeup artists stood ready, their carts stocked with tools and products that hinted at just how drastic some of these transformations would be. The air smelled of hair dye, expensive shampoo, and a faint trace of perfume.
Bellatrix gestured grandly. "This is where the magic happens. Each of you will be assigned to a station, and your transformation will begin immediately. We have a team of professionals here who know exactly what they’re doing, so don’t fight them. Trust the process."
James swallowed, his stomach twisting slightly—not out of fear, but anticipation. He had seen makeovers before, had watched other models go from ordinary to extraordinary with just a few precise cuts and color changes. This, however, felt different. This was personal. His image was about to be redefined.
Bellatrix picked up a clipboard. "I’ll call names, and you’ll take a seat at an available station. The rest of you can wait in the lounge area. Don’t wander off."
She began reading off names, and James watched as one by one, his fellow candidates stepped forward. Lily was one of the first, sauntering over to a stylist with an easy confidence. Marlene followed soon after, exchanging a few words with her assigned stylist before settling into the chair. Barty rolled his eyes at something Bellatrix said but took his seat anyway, slumping dramatically as a stylist ruffled his already wild curls.
James’ name wasn’t called right away, which meant he had time to wait—and watch.
He sank into one of the lounge chairs, stretching his legs out in front of him. His gaze drifted to the mirrors, where reflections of his fellow candidates flickered beneath the bright lights. Snippets of conversation floated through the room—Lily laughing as a stylist lifted strands of her red hair, Marlene already deep in discussion about layering techniques, Barty dramatically lamenting over the loss of his untamed look.
And yet, despite the whirlwind of activity, James found himself distracted by something else entirely.
Or rather, someone else.
Regulus had left the room, but James’ thoughts lingered on him anyway. The sharp cut of his cheekbones, the way his voice held that perfect balance of calm and control, the flicker of something unreadable in his expression when he had surveyed them all. It was frustrating. Regulus Black was an enigma James wasn’t sure he wanted to solve—but he also couldn’t seem to look away.
James exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. He needed to get a grip. The last thing he should be thinking about was the man who held the power to send him home at any given moment.
A stylist suddenly appeared beside him, snapping him out of his thoughts. "James Potter? You’re up next." James pushed himself to his feet, shaking off whatever strange pull had settled over him. It was time to focus. Whatever they had planned for him, he was ready.
Sirius pushed open the door to the small meeting room, the familiar scent of coffee and old vinyl drifting through the studio air. The space was cozy but sleek—dark wood panels, soundproof walls lined with vintage concert posters, and a single long table scattered with laptops, lyric sheets, and empty takeaway containers. His producers were already seated, deep in quiet conversation, but they looked up the moment he entered.
“Morning, Black,” said Leah, the head producer, offering him a quick smile. She had a pencil behind her ear and three tabs open on her screen, each showing different waveform files. “Or should I say afternoon? We weren’t sure if you’d slept at all after last night’s session.”
Sirius let out a low chuckle, dropping into the chair at the end of the table and pulling his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows. “I slept. Just not... deeply.”
“You and your tragic rockstar drama,” Jules the sound engineer, muttered around the rim of his chipped mug that read Mix, Don’t Muddle. “You sleep at all, or did you stare at the ceiling again?”
Sirius smirked. “The ceiling and I had a deep, meaningful conversation. I think we’re engaged now.”
They laughed, but he could feel their eyes flick over him for a moment too long, as if trying to determine how bad the bags under his eyes were today. He ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from his shower, and leaned back in the chair with a soft sigh.
Sirius shrugged, reaching for a copy of the track list Leah slid across the table. It was still rough—only seven of the twelve tracks were recorded in some form, and a few had nothing more than placeholder names—but seeing it printed like that made it feel real. Tangible.
At the top of the list:
1. Supernova (title track)
He traced the word with his thumb, the name still strange and familiar all at once. Supernova—a collapse and an explosion. The perfect metaphor for everything he’d gone through after cutting ties with his family. The anger, the grief, the loss—and the sudden freedom that followed.
Sirius stared at the word, and for a brief second, the room faded out. It was just him and the name.
Supernova.
The moment of collapse. The moment of detonation. A star burning so brightly it tore itself apart. That’s what leaving had felt like. Not freedom, not at first—just destruction. Noise. Loneliness.
And then slowly... light. Thanks to his Moon, Remus Lupin.
“We wanted to start by reviewing ‘Supernova,’” Leah said, tapping a file on her screen. “It's definitely the emotional core of the album, and we think it should be the opener.”
Sirius nodded, eyes still fixed on the title. “It’s the reason the album exists. The whole record is kind of built around it.” he murmured. “That track... it’s what came after I left. Or maybe the part before I knew who I was without them.”
He didn’t need to say who they were. Everyone in the room knew. The press had made sure of that—headlines dissecting the Black family name, the modeling empire, the scandals. The rebellion of the heir who walked away from it all.
Jules cleared his throat and glanced at his notes. “We’ve got those layered vocal takes on the second chorus. I think that’s where it really hits emotionally. The layered vocals in the bridge? That’s the kind of vulnerability people will feel.”
“Like it’s folding in on itself,” Sirius added quietly. “That’s what I wanted. That crushing weight. That moment where you think—this is it. I can’t go any further. And then you do.”
The room was silent for a beat.
Leah reached over and flipped to the rest of the track list. “So. We’ve got solid drafts for seven songs. If we want twelve, we need to figure out what’s still missing. I’m thinking we go for variety—not just tone, but arrangement. Maybe something stripped back?”
Sirius looked up, refocusing. “Yeah. One of just vocals and piano. Something quieter. Vulnerable. Maybe for track ten. A moment to breathe before the end.”
They dove deeper into the session, throwing ideas across the table like sparks—discussing tempos, instrumental moods, lyrics half-written in midnight voice notes. Sirius scribbled notes in the margins of his lyric book, his dark eyes occasionally flicking back to the word Supernova at the top of the track list.
The explosion had already happened. Now, he was building something out of the ashes. And He let himself feel proud.
Not because it was done.
But because it had started.
Because he had started.
James blinked a few times as the contact lenses settled over his eyes, the world coming into sharper focus without the familiar weight of his glasses perched on his nose. It felt strange—unsettling, even—but also... kind of thrilling. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on the constant push of his frames against his face, or how different he’d look without them.
"Don't squint," one of the stylists warned, adjusting the collar of his shirt and stepping back to take in the full picture. "You're going to get used to the lenses quicker if you stop fighting them."
His hair had changed too, though not dramatically. The stylists had darkened it just a touch—a richer brown now, less sun-faded. They’d cut it shorter at the sides, and the curls on top had been coaxed into a looser, more deliberate shape with a soft perm. The usual mess had been tamed into something that still looked natural, but sharper. Controlled and less messy.
He tilted his head. He didn’t look like someone else. He looked like a better version of himself.
“Not bad, Potter,” Bellatrix’s voice called from somewhere across the room, amused and approving all at once. “Didn’t have to dig too deep to find the model in you.”
James offered a faint smile, still blinking against the unnatural crispness of the world without his glasses. “Thanks. I think.”
Behind him, a dramatic rustling of foil made him glance over.
Barty sat sprawled in a styling chair, his entire head wrapped in glinting silver like a sci-fi helmet. He looked completely unbothered, scrolling through his phone with one hand while sipping iced coffee with the other.
“You look like you just stepped off a billboard in SoHo,” Lily chimed in from her styling chair nearby, half her head covered in foils as well. “In the best way.”
He caught her grin in the mirror and returned it, a quiet swell of something like pride blooming in his chest.
“And you,” she looked to Barty. ““you look like a baked potato.
Barty smirked without looking up. “Just wait. I’m about to be a glorious baked potato.”
James laughed softly and turned back toward the mirror—just in time to spot movement near the far end of the room.
Regulus had returned.
He entered quietly, without fanfare, speaking in low tones to Bellatrix as they began weaving between stations. He observed everything with that cool, unreadable focus of his—eyes scanning each transformation, hands folded neatly behind his back, the picture of composed control.
James felt his chest tighten slightly while his heart started to beat a little bit faster than usually.
He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the way Regulus carried himself—like nothing surprised him, like he saw everything before anyone else did. Or maybe it was how his presence seemed to change the energy of the room, make everyone just a little more alert, a little more self-aware.
James straightened, pretending to adjust the collar of his shirt as Regulus and Bellatrix drew closer.
Regulus paused only briefly at James’ station, his gaze sweeping over him in a quick, calculated glance. Just for a second—barely long enough to register. But something in Regulus’ gaze shifted, something subtle and unreadable flickering across his otherwise impassive face. He said nothing. Didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. But his attention lingered longer than it needed to. And James, despite himself, held his breath.
And then he turned back to Bellatrix, murmuring something under his breath.
James exhaled, pulse skipping just a little faster than it should’ve.
Maybe it meant nothing.
But maybe… it didn’t. The way Regulus’ gaze had lingered for just that extra moment too long… it didn’t feel like nothing.
The studio had mostly emptied out by now. Jules and Leah had packed up after making a plan to start production on Supernova next week, and the interns had stopped bustling around with cables and mic stands. The quiet that followed was the kind Sirius always found… a little too familiar.
He remained alone in the listening room, the lights dimmed, the soft amber glow from the corner lamps casting shadows on the leather couch he had half-sunk into. His boots rested on the edge of the coffee table, laces loose, posture slouched—but he was far from relaxed.
The rough demo of “Eclipse” began to play through the speakers, and Sirius’ breath caught almost immediately.
A low, humming synth opened the track—subtle, like the quiet before a storm. Then came the first line, his voice layered over soft piano chords, raw and close like it had been recorded in a dark room with no one else listening.
ECLIPSE
[Verse 1]
I remember the hallway light, flickering gold
Shadows too long, secrets too old
Footsteps like thunder, names said like sins
Tried to stay silent, swallowed within
[Pre-Chorus]
But I was breaking, breaking so slow
They called it loyalty—I called it a chokehold
[Chorus]
And I ran
Past the gates, past the blood in my veins
I let the night swallow the name
I once carried like weight
I was half of a moon,
Falling out of their script—
They watched me vanish
Like an eclipse
Sirius closed his eyes.
He hadn’t meant to write Eclipse.
It had come to him one night at 3 a.m., weeks ago, in his and Remus apartment with his guitar leaning against the radiator. It had poured out of him in one sitting—verses written with trembling hands, like bleeding through a pen. It was a song he wasn’t sure he wanted to record. But Leah had heard the demo and insisted.
And now, hearing it back, it felt like opening a door he’d locked and buried.
[Verse 2]
You told me love had rules I must follow
That blood ran thicker than the sorrow
But I found truth in the silence after
And in my own name, not their angered laughter
[Chorus]
So I ran
Past the lies etched into the walls
Past the portraits and polished halls
I chose the fall
I was half of a moon
But I became the eclipse
And I’ll never go back
To what darkness insists
As the final chords faded, Sirius let out a slow breath, blinking toward the ceiling. The room felt heavier now. But also lighter, in a strange way. Like something had finally been said that needed saying.
There were still tracks to finish. Still pieces of the album waiting to be uncovered.
But Eclipse—this one—wasn’t for the world.
It was for him.
For the boy who ran.
For the man who survived.
He took a breath and slowly began gathering his things—rings back on his fingers, notebook closed, phone unplugged from the charger. His leather jacket hung off the back of the chair, and he shrugged it on almost automatically, comforted by the familiar weight.
But he didn’t leave just yet. There was still a hum in his blood, a creative pull that hadn’t faded. He wasn’t done.
He glanced toward the vocal booth, chewing lightly on the inside of his cheek. There were a few unfinished tracks still waiting for their final layers—Halo Dust, Runaway Galaxy, maybe even the bridge for Orbit. Nothing too heavy. Nothing too raw. Not like Eclipse.
Pulling out his phone, he leaned back in the swivel chair and opened his messages, fingers moving instinctively across the screen.
Sirius: hey love, when do you think you’ll be home tonight? thinking of grabbing sushi.
do we feel sushi?
It took barely a minute before his phone buzzed.
Remus: around 9ish, depending on the train and yes. we always feel sushi. love you 🖤
Sirius smiled to himself, the kind that softened his whole face when no one was watching. He stared at the message for a second longer than he needed to, thumb brushing over the little black heart. That last part never got old.
Sirius: love you more. see you at home
He pocketed the phone and stood, adjusting his mic settings as he stepped into the booth once more. The silence welcomed him like an old friend. He slid the headphones on, cleared his throat, and glanced through the glass toward the control panel.
“Let’s finish this,” he muttered to himself, smiling as the beat of Runaway Galaxy clicked into his ears. His voice found its place, smooth and steady, as the music rose to meet him.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he pictured home—Remus curled up on the couch in one of Sirius’s oversized sweaters, a half-empty sushi box on the table between them, laughter in the dim light.
It gave him all the reason he needed to keep singing.
James stood up from his styling station, the final touches of his makeover settled into place. He ran a hand through his now-smoother hair, feeling the soft curls and the slight wave that had been styled into them. His reflection in the mirror seemed almost foreign — the hair darker and more controlled than before, the absence of his glasses giving him a different look altogether. As he made his way across the room, his mind was buzzing with anticipation. The next step in the process was his Sedcard photoshoot. His heart raced as he tried to shake the nerves.
The assistant who had been guiding everyone through the process gave him a nod. “Your turn, Mr. Potter. The photographer’s ready for you.”
James gave a quick smile and followed the assistant down a narrow hallway, his footsteps echoing slightly against the polished floors. He couldn’t help but glance around, still somewhat in awe of the Black Mansion’s sheer luxury. Everything seemed meticulously organized, from the pristine lighting setups to the elegant decor that blended modern sophistication with a classic grandeur.
When they reached the next room, James was momentarily distracted by the sleek black backdrop set up against one wall. The noble House of Black logo was prominently displayed in the center, gleaming under the bright lights.
“Remus,” James said, his voice friendly as he spotted the photographer working behind the camera. Remus Lupin was already adjusting the settings, a focused look on his face, his camera dangling from his neck as he glanced up at James.
“James,” Remus responded with a welcoming grin. He gestured to the set. “Everything’s ready. Feel free to get comfortable. Just stand there for a moment so I can adjust the lighting.”
James nodded, stepping toward the spot Remus had indicated. The set was simple but striking, with the black backdrop and the glowing logo adding an air of elegance and professionalism. The studio lights were positioned in such a way that they cast sharp shadows on the floor, highlighting the shape of the room. James took a deep breath, trying to shake off the last bit of nervousness.
“Are you ready?” Remus called out from behind the camera, his voice calm but authoritative.
“Yeah,” James said, his posture straightening instinctively as he positioned himself where the lights were brightest. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror just before taking his place — the new him was right there, staring back. The more polished version, the one that fit into this world of glamour and high society.
Remus adjusted a few more settings, and then the camera clicked. James shifted slightly, trying to find the right balance between confidence and composure. The flashes of light seemed to punctuate the stillness of the moment, making James feel almost suspended in time, as though he was witnessing a version of himself he hadn’t quite met yet.
"Look to the left a little," Remus instructed.
James did as he was told, the soft thud of the camera’s shutter punctuating the air each time Remus clicked the button. It felt strange at first, the constant flashes and the sensation of being watched, but he quickly fell into a rhythm, letting his body relax into the process.
“You’re doing great,” Remus said, giving a reassuring nod. “Now just look over your shoulder. Perfect.”
The next few minutes passed in a blur of sharp clicks and controlled movements, with Remus guiding him through different poses. There was something about the way Remus worked that made it easy to let go of his nerves — his calm, collected demeanor, the way he saw the best in his subjects without making them feel pressured. James found himself enjoying the process more than he had expected.
Eventually, Remus lowered the camera and gave a small smile. “That’s it, James. You’re all set.”
James exhaled, grateful for the brief moment to collect himself. The shoot wasn’t as stressful as he thought it might be, thanks to Remus’s steady hand behind the lens. He took a moment to adjust his clothes, still trying to get used to the changes in his appearance.
"Thanks, Remus," he said, giving him a smile as he stepped away from the set. "That wasn't as bad as I thought."
Remus laughed lightly. “It’s all about getting into the groove. But you did well. I think these shots are going to turn out great."
James felt a sense of relief flood through him. He could already tell that this shoot might be a turning point. The weight of the competition still loomed over him, but for now, he could enjoy the moment.
As he moved toward the door, he glanced back at the black backdrop one last time. The House of Black logo gleamed in the lighting, a reminder of the prestige, the legacy, and the expectations that came with being here. For all the doubts he had, the experience was unfolding before him, and whether he liked it or not, he was part of this world now.
“See you later, James,” Remus called after him, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Yeah, see you,” James replied, giving a small wave before stepping out of the room. The next phase of the competition awaited.
The day was slowly winding down, the chaos of the styling sessions now a distant memory. The final touches had been applied to the last candidates, and all the set card photos were taken, leaving the air buzzing with a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation. James stood near the back of the room, watching the final interactions between the team and the models. The soft rustling of fabric being folded, the low murmur of voices—all blending into the background as he processed the day’s events. His eyes flitted from one person to another, but his mind was elsewhere. He kept wondering what the next step was, how much further he would need to push himself to succeed. The stakes felt higher than ever.
Lily stood at the front, the last candidate to be finished. Her newly styled red hair shimmered under the lights, the soft waves falling perfectly around her shoulders, a far cry from the orange mess it had been before. James couldn't help but marvel at the contrast. She looked polished—elegant, even. She was the epitome of the beauty and grace that this industry demanded. Her vibrant, fiery personality had translated so effortlessly into this polished new look.
Marlene stood next to her, twirling a lock of her new, longer blonde hair between her fingers. Her short, blonde wolf-cut was now replaced with sleek, layered extensions that cascaded around her shoulders, the lighter blonde highlights adding a touch of glamour to her edgy appearance. She looked… different. Still Marlene, but a more refined version of herself.
Barty, ever the unpredictable one, had undergone the most drastic change. His wild, black hair with streaks of green was now free of color and chaos. His once-pierced lip and eyebrow were completely gone, replaced by a more polished and cleaner look. He was unrecognizable in the best way possible, his appearance transformed into something more... well, conventional. But there was no mistaking it—he still carried that unmistakable energy.
The past few hours had been full of anticipation. Now, with the day winding down, there was a sense of quiet satisfaction in the air. The team had done their work, and each of them had emerged from it with a polished, new version of themselves.
Across the room, Bellatrix and Regulus had gathered the group together one last time. The final step of the day: a quick debriefing and some words of encouragement—or perhaps warnings. James wasn’t sure what to expect.
Regulus stood before them, surveying the group with a calm, calculated gaze. He nodded, approval evident in his eyes as he took in the new appearances of the candidates. His usual detached demeanor softened just a touch, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He met their eyes, one by one.
“You’ve all done well,” Regulus said, his voice low. “The changes are remarkable, and I’m excited to see how you all carry these new looks into the next phase.”
Bellatrix stood beside him, her expression a mix of pride and satisfaction. She was a master at what she did—there was no denying that. She had transformed them into more than just models; she had given them an image, a presence. She stepped forward, her sharp eyes scanning each of them once more. “You’ve all embraced this change. The next steps will be just as important. Don’t forget that your look is only part of the equation. The real challenge starts now. Stay sharp, stay focused.”
James found himself standing a little straighter at her words, even though he knew she wasn’t speaking directly to him. The weight of the next phase of the competition was starting to sink in. He could feel it in the air, a quiet tension threading its way through the room. There was no going back now.
Regulus gave a subtle nod. “We’ll be in touch regarding the next steps. For now, enjoy the rest of your evening. You’ve earned it.”
There was a slight pause before Bellatrix added, her voice laced with a hint of mischief, “We’ll be looking at the photos in more detail soon. And trust me, you’ll want to impress us. The Setcard Photos will be included in the evaluation.”
And with that, the formalities of the day came to a close. The candidates dispersed, a few of them chatting quietly, but the buzz of excitement was palpable. James lingered by the door for a moment, taking in the scene. The quiet buzz of the room as the team began to clear up, the subdued excitement in the air. It was a moment of calm before the storm of the next challenge. The candidates started to trickle out of the room, some already laughing and chatting, others lost in their thoughts, probably already strategizing. James lingered for a moment, unsure whether he should leave or stick around. He noticed Marlene and Lily heading toward the exit together, still talking excitedly about their makeovers.
As he walked down the hallway, his thoughts drifted to what was coming next. The photos had been a huge step, but it was clear that the real challenges were ahead. The excitement of the day was wearing off, replaced by a strange sense of anticipation.
James shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had a long road ahead, and it wasn’t time to dwell on doubts. He had to focus. He had to prove himself. Tomorrow would be another day, and he was ready for whatever it had in store.