Dressed inconspicuously, a handsome man quietly slipped through the bustling crowds of Berlin.
A pair of oversized sunglasses hid most of his face and allowed little light to be shed on his amber pupils.
Yet they shone through the tinted glasses, like lighthouse beacons amidst storms. They were like a pair of suns frozen in a sea of resin; their brilliance could not be overstated.
Although the man was unknown to them, his stride graceful, his gait far from familiar, he attracted no fewer than every gaze on the street.
As if this attention couldn't sway him even in his dreams, he moved forward. In that very moment, he looked so comfortable, one would believe he hadn't noticed his surroundings.
He was, in that moment, the king of the pavement.
No one thought that he was ordinary. No simple office worker could possess such presence.
No, this was something different.
This was the charisma of one who was born for it. Now, what that 'it' could be was anybody's guess.
