The interview room was designed to disarm.
Soft lighting. Neutral backdrops. Chairs angled to encourage openness. The host greeted Lune with warmth calibrated to suggest familiarity without presumption. Cameras rolled quietly, unobtrusively.
Lune adjusted instantly.
He leaned forward slightly, posture attentive. He smiled at the right moments, not broadly, not shyly. His answers were brief but thoughtful, paced to allow the host to feel in control.
"I'm just grateful for the opportunity," he said, voice steady. "There's a lot to learn."
Gratitude reassured audiences. Learning implied humility.
The host nodded approvingly. "You seem very grounded."
Lune smiled again, softer this time. "I try to be."
He never corrected assumptions.
When asked about fame, he deflected. When asked about ambition, he redirected. When asked personal questions, he offered anecdotes that revealed nothing—stories about training, about mentors, about discipline.
He framed himself as safe.
Not dull. Not forgettable.
Safe.
After the cameras cut, a producer complimented his composure. "You're easy to talk to," she said. "No ego."
Lune thanked her.
The segment aired later that week, clipped and shared across platforms. Headlines followed predictable patterns:
Rising Star with Old-Soul Humility
Why Lune Calder Feels Refreshingly Normal
A Face You Can Trust
Lune read them once and closed the browser.
Safe was a powerful label.
Safe meant reliable. Marketable. Unthreatening. It invited long-term investment. It discouraged scrutiny. People did not investigate what they believed would not harm them.
He adjusted his future interviews accordingly.
He avoided controversy. He praised collaborators. He expressed uncertainty about his own success. He never challenged the narrative being built around him—he refined it, smoothing rough edges before they became visible.
Media outlets began to use the phrase consistently.
"He's a safe bet."
"Studios trust him."
"Audiences feel comfortable with him."
Lune observed how quickly trust replaced curiosity. How safety dulled critical attention. How journalists stopped asking questions that might complicate the image.
That night, back in the apartment, he sat in the dark and let the quiet surround him once more. The system was working. Fame was doing exactly what he needed it to do.
It was camouflage.
Not by hiding him—but by making everyone certain they already knew who he was.
As long as that certainty held, nothing beneath it would ever be examined.
Lune lay back and closed his eyes, face composed even in solitude.
The world had decided he was safe. And safety, he knew, was the most effective shield of all.