CH55

In the United States, gun ownership is a right guaranteed by the Constitution.

It's a strange country where children can't be left home alone but it's lenient towards them shooting guns.

'Going to the shooting range with a child is also common.'

Legally, there is no age restriction on gun use, and most shooting ranges allow children over the age of 8 to shoot live rounds with a parent.

The Boy Scouts include shooting training as part of their camping program, so the current scene is not strange.

Bang!

There was a slight recoil.

Looking at the approaching target, Ian put down the pink gun. It's a children's rifle that even girls can use for hunting.

"Giggle giggle, suits you well?"

"Shut up. Why did you give me this gun?"

Ian snapped back at Breaker, who was laughing mockingly.

There are plenty of guns with little recoil that children can use, but he couldn't help but speak harshly because the staff insisted on using the gun he gifted to his daughter.

Ian glanced at the staff member who had brought the gun with a smirk.

"Oh! What a pathetic child! How can you lose to a kid? Oh? Your arm is lowering too slowly!"

"Th-that's cheating. The guns are different… Argh! You bastards, don't climb on me!"

Surrounded by colleagues who joyously mocked him, the man sweated profusely doing push-ups as a penalty.

It was the end for the person who was disliked.

Breaker lifted his arm arrogantly over Ian's head.

"Why do I also want to put him in that state? That guy is the weakest among us. Besides, he already lost to me, didn't he?"

"If it was the same gun, I could have done it. And everyone else was desperately shooting at a kid."

"What does age matter in a contest between men? Why should I even bother competing again?"

A subordinate, checking the target, called Breaker, who was teasing Ian.

"Boss, maybe we should ease up?"

"What is it?"

After seeing the target handed to him, Breaker burst into laughter,

"Hahaha, doing this to a fellow man seems a bit much."

The tight hole at the bottom of the target looked like it was aimed at the man's groin.

Laughing with his subordinate at the cheeky kid, Breaker's laughter ceased as he noticed the shots clustered around a point Ian had marked beforehand.

'If this had been a regular target…'

More than half of those laughing and jesting would have faced punishment.

Seeing the kid's sly smile, Breaker was certain.

The kid had lost on purpose.

"Phew, let's talk privately. Move aside, you lot. It's as if all your skills have rusted."

"We did win, though."

"Beating a kid is your pride?"

Chiding his hesitating subordinates, Breaker excused himself to Chloe and moved to a quiet spot.

Left alone, Ian casually settled down, seemingly unfazed.

"Are you some kind of Olympic hopeful?"

"Drama without a script isn't really my field. If they add acting to an event, I might consider it."

"Typical actor talk."

Scratching his head, Breaker got straight to the point,

"You lost on purpose, didn't you?"

"Ah, well, if it had been a standard target, who knows the outcome? Honestly, it wasn't even the same conditions."

"Then, let me rephrase. Why did you deliberately miss?"

"I said I came wanting to get to know you."

Breaker clicked his tongue as he watched his subordinates laugh and joke around. Their pride was as strong as their skills; the atmosphere wouldn't have been so light-hearted if they had lost.

"Maybe I really need to put them through some intense shooting training. Even if the gun doesn't fit their hand, there's a limit."

Muttering as if his pride was hurt, he asked Ian,

"You seem to have some experience with guns. Do you like them?"

"No, it's one of the three things I dislike the most."

Fire, racists, and guns.

How could he like something that had tormented him all his life?

'They might not like this answer, but I'm not going to lie.'

Guns are one of the most hotly debated topics in the US, and he likely was a pro-gun advocate. Ian wasn't about to ruin the rapport they'd built with a lie.

"Really?"

"Really. Look at how many people die each year. How could I like them?"

Breaker's initially tense expression softened into a smile, a response Ian hadn't expected.

"That's a good answer. If you had simply said you liked them, I would have considered giving up on your security."

"Why?"

"I have no interest in guarding a reckless kid who doesn't understand guns are weapons. But you're not one to hesitate when necessary, are you, dropkick boy?"

Ian grimaced at the teasing nickname combined with a mischievous smile.

"Anyway, we'll take care of your security."

"Do you have any preferences for the type of bodyguard? We've got a range from menacing-looking ones to relatively normal-looking ones."

"Normal?"

Ian observed the Skull Tactics personnel, who had started a shooting bet amongst themselves. Their appearance wouldn't be out of place in a gang, to say the least. The word "normal" certainly didn't fit.

Breaker shrugged playfully.

"A bodyguard needs to be intimidating to a certain extent to keep the weirdos away."

"That makes sense. I don't care about the appearance, but I'd like someone who can teach self-defense properly."

"Self-defense?"

Breaker caught the hint.

"For action scenes, right?"

Ian responded with a smile.

A security company often consulted for movies and dramas. That was one reason Ian chose Skull Tactics.

"Alright. There's a guy named Marcus who rolled with stuntmen. I'll assign him to you."

"Sounds good."

"Then, let's look forward to working together, friend."

They shook hands, sealing the deal on proper security.

***

As the Emmy Awards ceremony, watched by over ten million people in the US, approached, the entertainment industry wasn't the only one bustling.

"Who hasn't secured a fashion sponsorship yet?! Have we gotten any responses from the PR agencies?"

"Merrison already chose a designer? Still, try poking around!"

"Brandon? Getting through his wife is faster!"

With even a single Hollywood star's endorsement bringing immense promotional value, luxury brands and famous designers scrambled for sponsorship opportunities.

While some stars managed through PR agencies or stylists, others only accepted sponsorships through personal secretaries.

One actor, in particular, proved to be a headache.

"How come there's no way to reach Ian?!"

"Yes, he doesn't have any PR agencies he's close with nor a stylist."

"Then just go through their agent or someone they're close with."

Even as an Emmy nominee, Ian's career spanned just a year. Compared to stars who had been at the pinnacle for years, his popularity was noticeably different. Yet, many brands and designers found themselves inevitably drawn to him.

'He's the most notable child actor at the Emmys. He'll likely do even better in the future, and he's already popular in Asia.'

Looking at the present and future, he was a must-catch target. Thanks to various efforts, sponsorship requests flooded in, leaving Ian overwhelmed.

"Do they think I have dozens of bodies or what?"

Even having won an Oscar, such sponsorship requests felt like someone else's business. After all, no brand or designer wanted to dress his "ugly" masked face.

After some deliberation, Ian reached a clear decision.

"Thank you for choosing us."

"It makes more sense to go with a brand I'm already a model for."

Choosing the global luxury brand Prosum was better than relying on any designer. This choice was so logical that even those around him agreed. Lexi, the lead designer for Prosum Kids, whom Ian had met during contracts and photoshoots, confidently replied,

"We'll do our best not to disappoint you."

"Thank you, I'm counting on you."

But deciding on the outfit was just the beginning. From choosing who to share the ride to the red carpet with to deciding the arrival time, there was a lot to be determined.

The person Ian chose to accompany him was surprised.

"Are you really thinking of going with me?"

"Why not? You're the showrunner, the highest authority on our drama, right?"

Caitlin laughed lightly at Ian's smooth reply. There was no reason to refuse an escort by an Emmy nominee, but she mentioned one fact.

"I plan to arrive early, around 3 PM. Is that okay with you?"

The Emmy's TV broadcast started at 8 PM, but recording began at 5 PM. Guests were advised to arrive at 3 PM, and the more popular stars tended to arrive later. Despite requests to come early for the recording, many dawdled.

'A pointless status game.'

Popular people wouldn't show up until 4 PM, so Ian understood the logic behind such statements.

"Better to arrive early and wait comfortably than to fight over time with others. Plus, the cliché of the protagonist making a late entrance is too outdated."

"You do have a point."

Caitlin's eyes softened with her smile.

In a place where people change at the slightest hint of fame, Ian remains unchanged. She hoped he would always stay the same.

Finally, the day of the Emmys arrived.

***

Jerry, the MC for the awards ceremony, arrived early at the venue, already buzzing with excitement. The smell of freshly fried corndogs filled the air.

"Really, you want to try frying them yourself?"

"Please, even as a joke, don't say that."

Jerry, who was hosting the Emmys, feigned distress.

He might have considered it if it were just about fifty, but a thousand was unthinkable.

Spending days on a task that didn't even pay by the hour was not cost-effective. In the kitchen, about a dozen people bustled about, and the corn dogs, quickly piling up, were ready to be refried and distributed during the event.

Ian, careful not to get grease on his expensive outfit, examined the paper holders Jerry was looking at.

"You don't need to pay us. Considering the promotional effect, we should be paying you."

"That's alright. How much could it possibly cost for just one? Besides, if we pay, it doesn't feel like we're showing off, right? They're going to love it, aren't they?"

"They will."

Attendees, having managed their figures for the sake of looking good in their outfits, couldn't eat properly during the long duration of the award ceremony. Naturally, they would get hungry, and future events might include distributing food like this time.

'At the Emmys, they distributed 7,000 peanut butter sandwiches, and at the Oscars, they even ordered pizza.'

With past examples to reference, there wasn't a problem. Jerry patted Ian's shoulder and said,

"See you later, then."

After sending Jerry off, Ian approached Dylan, who was ensuring the food was being prepared correctly among the staff.

"Dad, I'm going to head out first. Take care."

"Sure, leave this to me."

Dylan lifted Ian, looking him in the eye.

"We're really proud of you, you know that, right?"

Ian smiled broadly at the straightforward expression of affection. It wasn't just because he was an Emmy nominee. Even if he had been a regular kid, they would have said the same, which made it all the more meaningful.

"Of course, I know."

"Alright, off you go. Don't be late. And you! If you coat the dough like that, it'll end up with holes."

Dylan turned away somewhat embarrassedly, and Ian, chuckling softly, hurried to get ready for the awards ceremony.

The stylist provided by Prosum was amazed when she saw Ian.

"Oh my, why is your skin so good? Is it because you're young? It's incredibly clear. Do you get treatments?"

"No, I don't do anything."

Ian looked at himself in the mirror. His skin was flawlessly pale and clear.

'Has my skin improved too?'

He had never paid much attention to his skin, living with burn scars that made it seem pointless. He knew his health had improved, but he hadn't noticed his skin getting better.

"Genetics really do matter."

The stylist sighed enviously as she dressed Ian in the clothes provided by Prosum. Seeing Ian in the little suit, she gave a thumbs up.

The showrunner shared the same reaction.

"Look at you, all dressed up like a gentleman. Once photos of this get out, there'll be talk. Why did they make this kid look so scruffy before?"

"Should I have taken ugly pictures?"

"Wouldn't that just get you in more trouble?"

Joking around, they got into the car headed for the red carpet. As they approached the awards ceremony, already crowded with people, Ian noticed his phone ringing.

It was a text from Ben, and reading the message, Ian's eyes widened.

-Ayla's pregnant.

"…What?"

Someone was pregnant? Ian rubbed his eyes and read the message again. It remained the same.

"Is she really pregnant?"

In the future he knew, there was no child between them. As Ian looked puzzled, the door swung open.

Stepping onto the red carpet in a daze alongside the showrunner, a reporter asked,

"How are you feeling right now?"

Blinking, Ian responded,

"I can't believe it."

As people took photos, they nodded understandingly at his bewildered expression.

'Must be genuinely surprised about being an Emmy nominee.'

'Kids will be kids.'

A misunderstanding had arisen.