The Greatest Showman #811 – Mystery Gift

"Renly?" Nathan called out as he stood in the hotel room, looking at the vast array of clothes in the closet, feeling slightly overwhelmed. After a moment of silence, he called again, louder this time, "Renly?"

Still, no response.

Confused, Nathan left the bedroom and made his way to the living room, where he saw Renly, clad in a bathrobe, sprawled out on the sofa, fast asleep. His wet hair dripped, evidence of a rushed shower. He hadn't even bothered to dry it, and his flushed cheeks still bore the warmth of the bath. His relaxed posture, paired with the sleepiness of someone freshly awakened, added to the scene's tranquility.

Nathan paused, a fond smile forming on his lips.

Getting out of bed every morning is a struggle, especially during the cold winter months. Over the past three months, filming for Edge of Tomorrow had followed a routine, like that of any office worker—early mornings and long hours. The physical demands were grueling, and aside from the shoot, Renly had to maintain martial arts training, memorize scripts, and prepare for upcoming scenes, all without a moment's rest.

A lazy actor has a lazy filming schedule, while a diligent actor approaches their work with the same rigor.

Finally, filming for Edge of Tomorrow wrapped up, but then came the whirlwind of the Berlin Film Festival. The publicity schedule was relentless, with early wake-ups and back-to-back events, leaving no time for downtime. Renly had been operating on little sleep for days, and Nathan knew just how tempting it must be for Renly to sleep through the day.

He knew, of course, but he also knew that the day's schedule couldn't be ignored. With a mix of amusement and determination, Nathan raised his voice, "Renly!"

Renly groaned, burying his face deeper into the sofa pillow, clearly refusing to get up.

"Go ahead," came the muffled reply from beneath the pillow.

Nathan chuckled and shook his head. "I was going to ask which outfit you'd prefer today," he said, gesturing toward the bedroom. He stopped mid-sentence as he realized Renly couldn't see him, still buried in the pillow. "The ones Eaton labeled—they're all a mess. Next time, make sure the labels stay intact, yeah? Renly? Are you still breathing?"

There was no answer. One second, two seconds... three. Then, Renly stirred, sitting up with a slow grace. His eyes remained closed, though, as he straightened his posture, adopting his usual polite demeanor. "Eaton prepared five suits for formal occasions—the premiere and press conference, if I recall. Roy mentioned something about a dinner? For those events, just go with a formal suit."

After several collaborations, Renly had officially hired Eaton Dormer as his personal stylist.

Being a stylist wasn't easy, though. Each week, stylists traveled to fashion capitals like Paris, Milan, New York, and Tokyo, curating and expanding clothing collections. They also had to stay on top of new promotional catalogs, conduct screenings for upcoming designer collections, and attend every major fashion event to refresh their wardrobe options. This constant work ensured that their clients always had the most relevant and trendy clothes—whether for formal or casual wear, or for special events.

For a female artist, this would also include selecting jewelry—if the artist was lucky enough to land sponsorships from jewelers. For male artists like Renly, it often meant choosing the perfect luxury watch. Eaton had an exceptional understanding of Renly's tastes and frequently selected designs that suited his personality.

Renly, too, had a keen sense of fashion. Having received a similar education growing up, he understood the subtleties of matching clothes, knowing exactly what suited his temperament and when a certain combination wasn't appropriate. This kind of knowledge was ingrained in his demeanor—something money couldn't buy.

Eaton had prepared five formal suits and ten casual outfits for Renly's four-day stay in Berlin. Despite this, Renly's luggage remained surprisingly restrained—much less than the extravagant number of bags carried by many female celebrities attending major events like the Cannes Film Festival.

"Let's go with casual today," Renly mused, as if he were carefully recalling the outfits Eaton had laid out. "The smoky gray shirt, black jeans, and navy trench coat. That should work."

Nathan hesitated, then confirmed, "Are you sure? It's a press conference today."

Renly didn't answer, but simply closed his eyes again, the sleepy bug still clinging to him. Nathan didn't press further. He turned and began to sort through the clothes for the day's look.

The Berlin Film Festival, one of Europe's major film festivals, had a reputation for its immense prestige. Its schedule was packed with interviews, press conferences, premieres, and media events. Over the course of just a few days, popular films could face more than 200 interviews, while lesser-known films could expect at least 60 to 70. Despite being one of the "cooler" festivals, Berlin held considerable global influence.

Despite the film festival's grandeur, however, there were no strict rules for attire. Many filmmakers or actors simply wore casual clothing to events, even the prestigious red carpet. For press conferences, even less formality was required.

At nine this morning, Detachment was holding its first press conference, and Renly had opted for comfort rather than formal wear. Still, the early start time had puzzled him.

Just then, the door opened with a soft creak, and Roy's voice echoed across the room. "You haven't changed yet? The hairstylist and makeup artist are five minutes away. Are you sure you're not ready?"

Roy, already accustomed to Renly's routines, didn't expect an immediate reply. He turned to pay the waiter who had brought in the morning's delivery. "In the meantime, someone left a gift for you. Are you curious?"

Renly didn't answer.

Roy shook his head and smiled. "A traditional English breakfast and... calla lilies? And there's a tuxedo handkerchief. Plus a card. Are you sure you don't want to open it? Could be from an admirer."

Renly's lips twitched in amusement. "You can open it if you like. The signature will probably read 'AGH.'"

Roy's eyes widened in surprise. He picked up the card, which was handwritten in a neat, elegant script. It read:

"Dearest,

AGH."

Frowning, Roy glanced back at Renly, his curiosity piqued. "What's this? Some kind of code?"

Renly's chuckle was low and knowing. "If I said it's a malicious apology gift, would you believe me?" With that, Renly turned, heading toward his room without offering further explanation.

Roy raised his voice in confusion, but Renly was already gone. "Aren't the hairstylist and makeup artist about to arrive?"

As the door clicked shut behind him, Roy sat there, still perplexed, as the mystery of the gift lingered in the air.