#903 - Eight Hundred and Sixty-Six Malicious Speculations

"Good morning?"

Cornell McGregor stared at Renly, disbelief written all over his face.

With a genial smile, a calm and composed demeanor, Renly looked completely at ease—his demeanor more polished than ever. There wasn't even a hint of embarrassment or panic. The chaos of the past twenty-four hours seemed to have no effect on him. In fact, his presence was so collected it reminded one of the time when Renly won three Grammy Awards—his pride was evident even now.

Cornell felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, a suffocating weight that he couldn't shake off. Without even realizing it, he bit the inside of his cheek, the pain only fueling his agitation.

This was a different day. Today, he was the bullfighter in control, and Renly was the wounded beast.

In his mind, Cornell envisioned Renly's mask of righteousness cracking, revealing the hypocrisy beneath. He imagined the slow, satisfying descent as Renly fell from grace, brought to his knees by the storm. This was the kind of victory Cornell longed for—the sweet downfall of someone who had stood so high.

Breaking the silence, Cornell's voice sliced through the tension. "Mr. Hall, yesterday's Entertainment Weekly special report accused you of malicious speculation!"

Cornell's mocking tone, a thinly veiled taunt, echoed through the room. He deliberately mimicked Renly's formality, a mockery disguised as professionalism.

The room instantly turned its attention to Cornell, then swiftly shifted to Renly. Eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and schadenfreude. The temperature in the air seemed to rise.

Renly raised an eyebrow, his expression puzzled, as if he'd heard the question but didn't fully understand its weight. "So what?"

So what?

That was Renly's response? In the face of mounting accusations, a storm of public outrage, and a flood of negative press, Renly's response was a casual, almost indifferent "So what?" He said it with such ease, as if responding to a neighbor's greeting. It was unsettling.

The reporters, initially baffled by his calmness, quickly realized something was unfolding—this wasn't a typical reaction. And as their curiosity grew, they turned their attention to Cornell, sensing the shift in power.

Cornell's emotions exploded, his smile faltering, replaced by a tense, sharp voice that grated on the ears. "So what? Don't you have anything to say in response?"

Renly maintained his composed, polite smile. "Sorry, no."

His response was maddening in its calmness, as if Renly couldn't care less about the storm around him. He conveyed an air of aloofness that seemed to mock Cornell's desperation.

Cornell's anger surged again, his voice rising with frustration. "So, you admit to all the accusations?"

Renly met Cornell's glare, unflinching. "If I said no, would you believe it?"

The tension in the room grew palpable. The reporters exchanged glances, their attention riveted on the clash unfolding before them.

Cornell, now seething, pressed harder, his voice sharp with urgency. "Explain! If not, explain here! We're all waiting for your response, and you think we're here for nothing?"

Renly tilted his head slightly, his calm demeanor unbroken. "So, is this malicious hype?" he asked, his tone more curious than defensive.

Cornell was momentarily stunned by the question. He hadn't expected this kind of response. But his instincts kicked in, and he retorted, "This is not about your first time facing the media! This is about clarifying the facts, responding to accusations!"

Renly smiled, his expression unfazed, while the reporters began to sense the shift.

"Look," Renly said, still smiling. "I responded. I denied all the accusations. You reported it. The news keeps heating up. The exposure rate keeps rising. And now, I've got more PR to do for my Oscar campaign. So, is this still hype? Or is it just...news?"

The words hung in the air, subtly pointing out the irony of the situation. It felt like a game, but one that Cornell wasn't winning.

Renly turned his gaze back to Cornell. "I'm trying to put out the fire with actions, not words. I won't engage with hype, and I won't respond to every accusation. Eventually, this will all die down, and if it's truly hype, it'll fade away. If not, the truth will stand."

His gaze was calm, his voice clear and measured. "The best solution here is for everyone to just walk away. Let this die. If the news stops, the hype stops. All of this—malicious or not—ends today."

Renly's words were deliberate, a quiet challenge to the reporters. If they kept this going, they'd be the ones continuing the speculation.

The room fell into a strange silence. The reporters—once eager to dissect the drama—now found themselves caught in the middle of an unexpected turn. The question was no longer about Renly's guilt or innocence. It was about what they would do next.

Cornell stood frozen, trapped in a dilemma. If he condemned Renly now, he'd risk being the one accused of continuing the hype. But if he accepted Renly's position, it would mean admitting that the story had run its course.

Renly nodded slightly, his smile poised and dignified. "Well, it looks like we've reached an agreement." He took a step forward, as if the interview was over, with no further intention of addressing the negative press.

Caught off guard, Cornell blurted out, "So you're tacitly agreeing with the malicious speculation?"

Renly's smile deepened, his eyes calm and unyielding. And just like that, the ball was back in Cornell's court.