Seventy-two hours later.On the outskirts of Incheon, at the far edge of an industrial complex that had long since lost all meaning—even on maps.
The road ended there.The navigation system stopped giving directions.Steel fences and rusted warning signs remained,the words "No Entry" half-peeled and barely clinging on.
But once past a single fence,the density of the air changed.
Containers and trucks were intertwined.At first glance, they seemed piled together without order—structures hastily stitched together,as if they could be dismantled at any moment.
Yet after only a few more steps inside,that impression completely dissolved.
The layout of the house-truckswas calculated around human movement,and the container modules避shielded themselves from sun and wind,naturally forming pockets of shade.
Between the residential zones and the work areasthere was a very narrow margin,and within that margin sat benches and potted plants.
The citywas a structure designed first around how life should be lived.
3,100 households.
Not temporary housing,but a city that already carried the rhythm of morning and night.
A black van came to a stop.The sound of tires crunching over gravelechoed briefly.
The door opened, andAlessandro Machino,Global Creative Director of GUCCI, stepped out.
A single black coat.No logo. No ornament.No entourage. No cameras.
The moment he took his first step,he stopped—almost instinctively.
The crackle of welding sparks.The short friction sound of cooling metal.Instead of generators, solar invertershummed low, steady, and rhythmic.
The smell of oil hit first,layered over by the aroma of freshly roasted coffee.Deeper inside,the scent of soil drifted from plant-growing containers.
Alessandro looked around in silence,then murmured as if drawing in a breath.
"This isn't… an exhibition."
After a pause, he added, as if confirming it aloud,
"It's a city."
He walked slowly—observing, almost stealing glances.
Silent electric trucks passed by.Children ran along pedestrian decks threaded between trucks.Some waved.Others simply stayed focused on their own work.
Then—he stopped again.
A narrow alley between trucks.A place that, in winter, would normally sit in shadow,where ice would be expected to linger.
But instead of ice,water flowed slowly across the ground.
Alessandro lifted his head.
Along the tops of containers and the outer walls of the house-trucks,thin reflective panels were installed at precise angles.They calculated the sun's position,gathering and redirecting light.
In summer,they reflected direct sunlightto create shade over pedestrian decks.In winter,they guided sunlight into alleys untouched by the sun,designed to melt ice.
The mirrors adjusted their angles automatically,depending on season and time of day.
Without a word,Alessandro stepped on the spot once more.It wasn't slippery.
"Even light…"he said quietly."You didn't control it—you let it live."
On the sides of the house-trucks,energy usage and water circulation datawere displayed in real time.
Each homegenerated its own electricity,recycled its own water,remaining independent—yet sustained together.
Alessandro's gaze slowed.
"Fashion has always been born in cities," he said."Where people are dense, where speed is fast."
A brief silence.
"But here…"
He chose his words carefully, then spoke low.
"A city is being born."
His eyes lingered on the workers.
Thick welding gloves.Oil-soaked work boots.Jackets marked with repeated repairsmade to block the wind.
For some,they were simply clothes to endure in.For others,proof of a day survived.
Alessandro spoke, as if confirming a conclusion.
"This isn't a trend.""It's the basic form of humanity."
Inside a container meeting room.
The outside noise was blocked,yet the movement of the city was still palpable.
Doyoon, Yoo Hajin, and Chae Yisolsat facing him.
The moment Alessandro sat down, he said,
"No presentation is necessary.""This city has already finished explaining itself."
Still, Hajin quietly opened her laptop.
On the screen,the everyday lives of Truck City's residents flowed by.
People heading to work in their uniforms.A family hanging laundry on a container rooftop.A child drawing on the ground beneath an electric truck.
Hajin spoke.
"We don't see fashionas something that decorates."
After a short breath, she continued slowly.
"We see it as a technology that protects life.""Fashion is armor—something that helps people live."
Alessandro remained silent for a long time,as if he had already known this.
Then he lifted his head and said,
"Until now, GUCCI has built runways."
After another breath, he added without hesitation,
"But this time—I want to stand on a city."
The air in the room changed.
He spoke one final time.
"Truck City × GUCCI.""The fashion show won't be at Fashion Week.""Let's do it here.""Let the stage be this city itself—where 3,100 households are alive."
Hajin swallowed.Doyoon looked out the window.
The sun was setting.The glow of dusk reflected off the solar panelson the roofs of the house-trucks.
That day, no contract was signed.No press release was issued.The handshake was brief.
But one thing was certain.
This citywas no longer an experiment.
And the world would see it.
Because GUCCI arrived first.