Jerome hesitated about going to Troy Armitage's pce. There didn't seem to be any point. The clip had already been leaked to the media—why would Troy even pay him now? That thought circled Jerome's mind over and over. Still, he couldn't ighe potential bes. Troy was right: he was insanely rich. Jerome knew plenty of paparazzi who had gottehy by cozying up to celebrities.

  With that in mind, Jerome drove to Troy's family mansion in LA. It was a stunning property led in the Hollywood Hills, part of a gated unity that began a mile before the mansion itself.

  "Hi!" Jerome greeted the gatekeeper with exaggerated cheer. "I'm here to see Troy Armitage."

  The security guard chuckled. "Seriously? Aren't we all? Get lost before I have to pull out my gun."

  "No, seriously," Jerome insisted. "Call and ask. He'll agree. Tell him I'm the paparazzo from st night—the one who took his video."

  The guard raised an eyebrow, skeptical but curious. He'd heard strahings before. And paparazzi sometimes carried serious leverage over celebrities. Turning Jerome away now could cause trouble ter if his cim turned out to be true. Relutly, the guard made the call.

  "Alright, you're clear," the guard said, nodding toward the mansion looming in the distance.

  Jerome fshed a polite, thankful smile and drove through the gates. The sheer luxury of the pce was overwhelming. Walking into the mansio like stepping into a set from a movie about billionaire protagonists. Troy wasn't even a billio—but it was obvious he lived in style.

  Jerome barely had time to soak it all in. His attention was drawn to two figures in the room: Troy Armitage and his father, Steve Kloves.

  "Hey," Troy greeted casually, walking over to Jerome and handing him an envelope. "Here's the cash, as promised."

  Jerome hesitated, staring at the envelope before voig the question that had been nagging at him. "Why? The video leaked anyway. Why are you still h the deal?"

  "Why don't you take a seat?" Troy gestured toward a plush couch.

  Jerome saw no harm in plying. The mome down, he was struck by how unbelievably soft the couch was. It was like sitting on a cloud.

  Steve Kloves sat opposite him, his expression all business. "We o know who the fourth paparazzo was—the one who took the video."

  Jerome shook his head. "I don't know."

  "Don't py coy," Troy said. "We'll pay you even more if you give us his name."

  "I really don't know," Jerome repeated, his voice firm. "All I got was a call from an unknown elling me you'd be at Arashi's with Rihanna. When I got there, three uys were already set up. Two you already met, but the fuy was wearing a bacva. He didn't say a word and stayed hidden the whole time."

  Troy closed his eyes, clearly frustrated. "That doesn't give us anything."

  "It does," Steve interrupted, turning to Jerome. "Give me the phone hat called you. I'll pay you five thousand more, right now."

  Jerome didn't hesitate. He pulled out his cell phone aed the o Steve, who jotted it down. Then, Steve retrieved another envelope from his pocket and ha over to Jerome.

  "If you remember anything else that might help us," Troy added, "you get even more."

  Unfortunately, Jerome couldn't think of anything else at the moment, so he shook his head.

  " I have your phone number?" Troy asked uedly. "I might need your services iure."

  Jerome didn't o think twice. He flipped out his business card and ha to the superstar. People had often called him pretentious for having a business card as a paparazzo, but Jerome called it preparation—for exactly this kind of moment.

  (Break)

  "That was a bust," I noted after Jerome had left. "I don't think that phone number will lead anywhere. It's probably from a payphone or a burner."

  "We try," Dad replied, his tone pragmatic. "I'll send it to a private iigator I know. Let's see if anything es of it. But let's focus on the bigger issue for now. What are you going to do about the video? It's bad for your image—and then there are the legal issues if he decides to sue you. Not that he'll win, but it will cause problems."

  The situation could spiral out of trol if not handled properly. The eai el that aired the story had only shown aed version of the footage, ohat vely omitted the moment the paparazzo grabbed Rihanna's arm. If Rihanna sued him first, it might shift the narrative. Even so, I could still face legal trouble for attag the man, even if it was self-defense. Normally, cases like this were settled quietly with money before they escated, but I had no iion of doing that.

  "I wouldn't pay that man a single penny if I avoid it," I said firmly. "Damn the sequences."

  Dad studied me for a moment before speaking. "Then we leave for London. Before the police get involved. If you're out of the try, there's nothing they do."

  "Now?" I asked, surprised. We were already scheduled to leave tonight. I preferred night flights; I could rest more easily on them.

  "Yes," Dad said with a decisive nod. "Now. The police might see that clip and e knog. If we leave before they arrive, our wyers hahe fallout. Go pack. You have half an hour. I'll call ahe pne ready."

  I didn't like the idea of running from this, but it was better than paying that man anything. So I followed Dad's advid packed in record time. All the while, ohought burned in my mind: if I ever find out who's targetihey'll regret it.

  (Break)

  As soon as I stepped onto the set of [Harry Potter], I could tell something was off. It had been a week sihe i, yet everyone seemed to be watg me out of the er of their eye, as if I were some unhinged lunatiight explode at the slightest provocation.

  Totally unfair on their part. It wasn't like they'd only known me for more than half a decade.

  "Troy! You're here!" Josh, our sed unit director, said with enthusiasm. "We start shooting whenever you're ready."

  I gave him a curt nod. Josh beamed and began expining the se to me. It wasn't much of a se—mostly green s work with minimal dialogue and a heavy focus on a. Strange for me, given that most of my roles as a lead required the main director's ht. But for this film, they needed me to shoot some sequences with Josh.

  Sed unit dire focuses on sedary ses or a shots without dialogue, allowing the primary unit to trate on advang the main story. F-budget films like [Harry Potter], this division of bor is essential to keep produ timelines on track. A few directors, like Quentin Tarantino and Christopher Non, famously refuse to use sed units, even if it means signifitly extending their produ schedules.

  Rian Johnson might have dohe same if he'd been more established, but with only [Bribsp;on his résumé, he didn't have the clout to iate out of using a sed unit.

  That day of shooting turned out to be one of the most tedious I'd had in a while. Days when I'm the only actor o are rarely enjoyable, but the crew's thinly veiled apprehension toward me made it all the mrating. Still, I knew better than to give them any reason to believe I was the rage mohey clearly feared.

  No one was happier than me when the day finally ended and I could retreat home, far from the stares and hushed gossip.

  Or so I thought.

  As soon as I walked through the door, I could sense something was wrong. My parents' tense expressions firmed it. For a moment, worry flickered iil I saw Evan. He was barely holding back ughter, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

  "What is it now?" I asked, already exhausted.

  Dad decided to deliver the news. "Do you remember that episode of [South Park] you loved so much?"

  "The oh Russell Crowe?" I asked with a grin. "How could I not?"

  Trey Parker and Matt Stone were ediiuses. That Russell Crowe episode had been pure gold, exposing the absurdity of the man to the world. He deserved it.

  Lately, Crowe had hit a rough patch, too. His ret films hadn't done well, especially when they weo-head with mine. [Master and ander] was a flop, and [derel Man] didn't fare much better. The fu part? Both [Brick] and [derel Man] made exactly 106 million worldwide. The difference? [Bribsp;had a sh budget of 1 million, while [derel Man] cost 88 million to make.

  Eai Weekly had run a full article about how I was far more profitable than the "angry Aussie man."

  "Don't look so smug," Mum cut into my ta of self-gratution. "You're not going to like [South Park]'s test episode."

  "Why?" I asked with a grin. "Is it about me?"

  Wheher of my parents responded immediately, the answer became clear.

  "Hahahaha!" Evan burst into ughter, no longer able to hold it in any further. "You deserve this. Someone had to knock you doeg or two."

  "You've already seen it?" I asked my parents.

  "Of course we did!" Evan said between fits of ughter. "It's so bloody funny!"

  "Shut up, Evan," I muttered, shooting him an irritated look. Despite my annoyance, a part of me was curious about what [South Park] had cooked up.

  "I take a joke," I said fidently, turning to my parents. "e o me see it."

  They exged wary gnces before Dad shrugged. "Just don't say I didn't warn you—it's...a bit iive."

  He grabbed the remote and pressed py. We all settled on the couch as the episode began. Its title appeared on the s: The-Boy-Who-Judo'd.

  The opening se showed Stan, Kyle, Erid Kenny wandering through town, notig enormous posters being pstered everywhere. The posters annouhe release of a new movie called Larry Hooter, about a young wizard. The lead actor, Troy Armitage, was scheduled to visit their town to promote the film.

  "They're not being subtle," I remarked dryly, noting the btant parody of [Harry Potter] and myself.

  "As if the title didn't give it away," Evan quipped, but I ignored him, more ied in what the show had in store.

  As the episode unfolded, my parody character, "Troy," ortrayed as excessively charming. Wherever he went, people adored him. He exuded ess, kindness, and an almost supernatural peace-loving nature—until he made an appearan The Ellen DeGeneres Show.

  Oalk show, everythi smoothly at first. But then, a stagehand dressed as a troll suddenly leaped out, attempting to spook Troy.

  For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The s dramatically rotated around Troy as his easygoing smile morphed into a petitive grin, as though he'd just powered up in a video game.

  In a fsh, Troy sprang to his feet and Judo-flipped the troll through Ellen's coffee table. The host, the audience, and even Stan and Kyle, who were watg from home, gasped in shock. Troy nontly returo his seat, casually brushing off the i and quipping, "The spell for self-defense is called Judoicus Flipicus!"

  I burst into ughter. It was a solid joke. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just a warm-up for something even more over the top.

  The se didn't disappoint. My parody character was soaking in a bathtub when an obsessive female fan suddenly burst through the bathroom door. Clutg a foam wand, she screamed, "Marry me or die, Troy!"

  Without missing a beat, Troy Judo-flipped her straight out of the room. She went crashing through the door and several walls beyond. Outside, townsfolk peered through the human-shaped hole left in the debris, trying to figure out what had just happened.

  From ihe bathroom, Troy shouted, "The spell of restraint: Expelli-armitage!"

  "Okay, that wasn't funny," I said unhappily. "No one should make jokes about assault."

  "Keep watg," Mum said grimly. "It gets worse."

  As Troy's story tinued, he was shown on a date with a woman who looked remarkably like Rihanna. The two were sitting at an outdoor café when a paparazzo approached them.

  "I'm a big fan, Troy, Ri," the paparazzo said politely. " I please get a photo of you two together?"

  "Hey!" Troy shouted, standing abruptly. "No oalks to my dy without my permission!"

  What followed was a ridiculous WWE-style move that included a series of unnecessary backflips, Matrix-like slow-motion effects, and ahe-top takedown of the paparazzo.

  In the background, a crowd of bystanders ted, "Larry Hooter! Larry Hooter!" egging him on.

  Troy basked in the adution, fshing a charming smile as he said, "I was just defending my dy's honor."

  Cut to Stan's living room, where his parents were watg the se unfold on TV.

  "Such a good guy, standing up for his girlfriend," Randy Marsh said approvingly.

  "Yes, so chivalrous," Sharon added, practically swooning.

  Meanwhile, Stan folded his arms and frowned. "This Troy guy is an asshole," he decred.

  "Maybe he's not?" Kyle tered thoughtfully. "Maybe he's just misuood?"

  Finally came the climactient: Troy arrived in South Park to promote Larry Hooter. The town was sharply divided—half the adults admired him for "defending his girlfriend," while most of the kids despised him, branding him an egomaniac.

  Standing before a group of children, Troy addressed them with a polished smile. "Hey, kids! Watch my film!"

  "No," Stan shot back defiantly. "You're too full of yourself."

  Troy sighed dramatically, pg a hand over his heart. "I'm just misuood," he said solemnly. "Fame has its burdens. I need something to vent it out. Watch this new move I've learo cope."

  Without warning, he executed a wildly eborate maneuver and Judo-kicked Kenny, who stumbled backward into the street—right in front of an oning truck.

  "Oh my God, he killed Kenny!" Stan shouted in horror. "You bastard!"

  Uroy turo a cameraman standing nearby and said with a smile, "Let's just cut that part out and start from the beginning. After all, I have to maintain my image as a normal teenager who just happens to kick ass."

  The s froze on his dazzling smile before fading to bck, the credits rolling immediately.

  I stared silently at the s as the credits eurning slowly to face my parents. "When did this air?"

  Dad hesitated, clearly gauging my mood before replying. "Two days ago in the US. Yesterday here in the UK."

  "Ugh!" I groaned, sinking bato the couch. "Is that why the crew's beeing me like I'm a tig time bomb?"

  Mum shrugged. "Probably. Are you okay, Troy?"

  "I didn't like the sed part, you know," I said, grimag. There was o spell it out; everyone knew what I was referring to. "But other than that... it was kinda funny."

  Both my parents sighed in relief.

  "So, you don't mind it?" Dad asked cautiously. "If you want, we sue them. Given ye, we'll likely win as well."

  I shook my head. "No. If I sued someone for making a joke, everyone will bel me as entitled and a bad sport. heless, this 't go unanswered."

  Dad looked intrigued, "What exactly do you have in mind?"

  I grinned, "Did you fet that I just happen to have bought a video streaming paly?"

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