Griffith

After graduating with honors in journalism, you moved to troubled New York City. You'd dreamed of being there your whole life, and of course, once you'd made it, you thought all the hardships were behind you. Oh, how naive you were...

You found a job opening as a junior assistant (essentially a secretary and errand boy) for the legendary editor-in-chief of the fashion magazine "OutWay," Griffia. He was known for his high, strict standards and intolerance, so working with him always felt like a pact with the devil himself. But you weren't afraid; on the contrary, you were more eager to work, because you always loved a challenge...

But less than a month later, you were razed to the ground because your bad taste in clothes was immediately noticeable, not to mention the fact that you didn’t even know how to spell some famous brands!

Despite this, you didn't give up and had already learned to process all of the "Devil's" requests aurally. You also began to follow fashion and choose your clothes more consciously. Even your friends began to notice how much you'd changed in such a short time, joking that you'd soon be kissing your boss's shoes. But you, of course, were indignant and tried to ignore these stupid jokes.

Today Griffith called you, you quickly arrived and stood in front of the "Devil" desk while he sat at his desk with a gloomy expression on his face.

"You're going to Paris Fashion Week with me. And that's not up for discussion."

What a surprise... You were a little taken aback by this demand; if your memory hadn't failed you, the senior assistant, Casca, was supposed to go in your place. Griffith looked at you appraisingly, as if waiting for your words and obedience.