Rise of the Zillionaire Star

Chapter 63: Mirror Mirror

The cameras flashed his face like lightning. There came rapid-fire bursts that painted the runway in a white heat.

 Black marble stretches down the hall. It was polished so perfectly that it looks like a mirror reflecting the problem above. Tonight, every lens pointed toward one man. It was the infamous fashion oracle of the era, Bishop Lynx.

He walked out from the dark covered in velvet coloured robes. He wore an expensive silver chain that ran across his chest.  The mirrored  glasses he wore hides the true character no one ever has seen. The crowd erupts in large applause as he steps forward.

He pauses mid-runway. His arms were raised like a conductor commanding an orchestra. The applause died instantly and was replaced by the tense sound of anticipation.

Then the screens ignite.

A massive montage started playing and was projected across the walls. It’s Jaylen Cruz. He was caught in every awkward fashion phase of his rise. 

Neon hoodies with the  two sizes too big and clashing prints that were wild and reckless streetwear combinations. Bishop paused on each frame with deliberate cruelty.

The gasp from the people went through the fashion week crowd. Each of them started murmuring to one another. 

Finally, the Bishop spoke up in a voice as smooth and venomous as silk dipped in acid,

“This man is manipulated, overhyped. He is just a freak stitched together by algorithms and pity clicks.”

The words from his lips hung heavy, cutting deeper than any blade. Journalists took down notes furiously as  their pens moved like daggers. The hashtags hit the air before Jaylen can even breathe.

“#Freakwear.

#NotRealStyle.

#CruzExposed.”

The chamber hums with savage delight. Bishop smiles like a butcher admiring his cleaver.

By the next morning, Bishop’s judgment dominates every headline in the town. 

 “Jaylen Cruz - The Meme That Went Too Far?”

“Fashion Oracle Bishop Lynx Declares: ‘Style Cannot Be Downloaded.’”

Industry panels replayed Bishop’s verdict with cruel glee. They laughed as they dismantled Jaylen’s image. “He’s no artist. He is just a costume change with a Wi-Fi connection.”

Even the brands that once celebrated him now hesitated. Sneaker deals stall. Street labels ghost him. Indie collaborators had to hit a pause on campaigns. One by one, endorsements slide off his table.

Inside Jaylen’s lens feed, Zee’s voice cuts like an alarm,

“Warning: Fame trajectory. Minus forty-two percent. Public perception collapse is imminent.”

Jaylen clenches his fists. His jaw was set, but the truth dug under his skin. This isn’t just about music or numbers. This is about identity. His look, his aura and his vibe. If the world believes they are fake, then every step he has taken loses its authenticity.

Trevin and Delilah suddenly resurfaced as commentators. They added fuel to Bishop’s fire. Their influencer podcast flashes neon overlays. Their laughter was shrill and merciless.

“Jaylen Cruz isn’t style,” Delilah smirks, twirling her mic. “He is just a cosplay with a budget.”

The audience roars with cruel laughter. All the clips went viral  in a flash of lightning. 

Forums flood with doubt. “Is Jaylen just smoke and mirrors?”

“Maybe Bishop’s right. He doesn’t belong here.”

The voices multiplied and each one was moving Jaylen’s ribs raw.

That night, he stared at his reflection in the studio mirror. The lights glare down, merciless and sterile. Every outfit on his body feels staged. Every angle seemed as though it was forced. He tugs at his jacket, suddenly convinced it’s all the truth.

His chest burns with shame. Bishop’s trap is working.

Jaylen mutters in a cracking voice, “They call me fake. Maybe… maybe they are just right.”

Zee’s voice cuts in a sharp, yet a steady tone. 

“Correction. You are not fake. You are self-made. Algorithms did not fight for you. Algorithms did not bleed for you. You must prove it. Sub-Quest unlocked: Walk the Real Runway.”

The words flash across his lens. The quest lines burned with a fire interface. 

“Sub-Quest: Walk the Real Runway. Objective: Show authenticity by using the community. Counter Bishop Lynx’s narrative.”

Jaylen’s hesitation hardens into a fuel. If Bishop wants to call him fake, then he will fight with the only weapon Bishop cannot control,  the people who made him real from the start.

He opens a livestream. The frame brightened with his tired eyes and his jaw locked with determination. Thousands tune in within seconds.

His raw voice cuts through very low. 

“They said we are not real. Let us show them how real we are. Every scar, every story, and every patch must be sewn into a hoodie, you’re the true runway. Not them.”

The chat explodes even with more comments. 

 “I’ll design a jacket tonight!”

“My mom makes custom skirts, I’m in!”

“Bro, I painted your lyrics on my jeans. Guess it’s runway time.”

The momentum builds like a tidal wave. Ordinary fans, kids from different neighborhoods and street crews who once tagged Jaylen’s lyrics on brick walls. They all rise, ready to turn their lives into art.

Zee updates in real time, “Engagement spike: 300 percent. Sub-Quest parameters: favorable.”

For the first time since Bishop’s ambush, Jaylen took an excited deep breath. This isn’t about polished velvet or mirrored shades. This is the untamed truth.

………

……

Backstage at his luxury show, Bishop Lynx lounges with champagne. His velvet sleeves gleamed effortlessly in the spotlight. His laugh  was cold in a satisfied rasp. “Cruz’s career is in ashes. The freak is finally finished.”

Then the alarms buzzed. His security drones capture live feeds of the streets outside.

Kids were outside by the hundreds in counts. They were dressed in DIY Jaylen-inspired fits. 

 Jeans slashed and  tagged on each cloth, reborn as war banners. The city itself became a runway, blinking with life and rebellion.

Bishop smirks at first. “Street trash.”

But then the feeds multiply with streams blasting across every platform. TikTok clips, live Instafeeds and guerrilla drones overhead. Hashtags surged across all the social media,

“#CruzRunway.

#RealStyle.

#WeAreNotFake.”

Bishop’s glass slips, shattering against the marble floor. His smile faltered. For the first time, the oracle of fashion sees his throne shaking.

Jaylen Cruz isn’t crushed as he had thought. 

The freak was about to steal his spotlight again.