John froze for a moment as Apollo left the room, but a sudden impulse urged him to get up and follow him. He had to speak with him. This god was not only the master of the arts but also a paragon of style, and John, though interested in sartorial art, had never dared to explore it for fear of others' judgment.
In the hallway, he quickened his pace to catch up with Apollo. "Excuse me!"
Apollo stopped, then turned to him with a raised eyebrow, curious.
"Hm? Oh, John, isn't it? What can I do for you?"
John swallowed hard. "I… I saw what you did. The way you sculpted our professor… It was fascinating. But what struck me the most was your sense of style. I’ve always admired elegance, but I never had the courage to dress well myself. I’d like to learn…"
Apollo gave a satisfied smile. "You want to learn the art of dressing well? Finally, someone with taste!" Then, raising his arms in a dramatic gesture, he added, "Unfortunately, my palace on Olympus has disappeared. I am without an earthly home. Will you offer me hospitality in exchange for my teaching?"
John nodded, almost overwhelmed by the opportunity before him.
***
A few minutes later, they entered John's small student apartment. The place was modest: a narrow studio with an unmade bed, a basic kitchenette, and a desk cluttered with notebooks and empty cups. Apollo scanned the room and pursed his lips in disdain.
"By the Muses! How can you live here?" He snapped his fingers.
Instantly, the space transformed. The walls expanded, the ceiling rose. The apartment was now a vast, luxurious loft with smooth spruce-paneled walls, dim lighting, mahogany shelves, a black marble bar, and an oak parquet floor. An immense bed sat in an alcove, and large windows offered a breathtaking view of the city and the green riverbanks below. It seemed to have moved to one of the finest neighborhoods in the city, much to John’s astonishment (and pleasure).
"Better." Apollo sat down in a midnight-blue velvet armchair. "Now, a coffee. Black, of course."
Still in shock, John obeyed and prepared two cups of coffee.
"Good, now let's talk about you," Apollo continued, eyeing John up and down. "Hm. Disappointing."
John blushed.
"We will start with the basics: your body. One cannot wear impeccable clothes without a body that enhances them. Let's fix that."
He stood up, placed a hand on John's shoulder, and closed his eyes. A strange sensation coursed through the young man—a light shiver at first, then a powerful wave sweeping through every muscle, every bone. His back straightened slowly, his shoulders broadened with sculptural precision, while his waist slimmed in perfect harmony. He felt his legs subtly lengthen, giving him an air of power and authority, while his arms, once thin, firmed up and toned without making him look like a bodybuilder.
Then came his face. He felt a slight tension under his skin, as if an invisible sculptor were refining his features. His cheekbones became more prominent, his jawline sharper. His eyes seemed to glow with newfound intensity, framed by subtly reshaped eyebrows. His once-uneven skin became smoother, free of imperfections.
His hair grew, gaining volume and softness, arranging itself effortlessly into a well-groomed style, while a perfectly maintained three-day beard appeared on his face. He looked like Alain Delon in his prime, with a beard giving him a modern and rugged charm.
John looked at himself in a mirror that had appeared on the wall. "My God…"
"Let’s leave metaphysics out of this, shall we? There's only me here," Apollo said with a smirk, then crossed his arms with satisfaction. "Perfect. Now, the wardrobe."
He opened a door leading to an enormous dressing room. John stood speechless before the collection displayed before him.
Suits of every cut and color: three-piece, tuxedos, tailcoats, double-breasted and single-breasted jackets, in the finest fabrics. Custom-made shirts of Egyptian cotton and silk, in every color and collar style imaginable. An endless collection of ties and bow ties in silk. Pleated trousers, chinos. Refined accessories: luxury watches, gold and silver cufflinks, embroidered pocket squares, leather belts, elegant gloves. An impressive selection of shoes: Oxfords, Derbies, Richelieus, loafers, boat shoes. And many more styles he couldn’t even identify.
"Style is not improvised," Apollo explained. "It all comes down to the balance of proportions and respecting the appropriate dress code. Here’s a first example."
He slid a white Italian-collar shirt onto John, the fine fabric hugging his new physique with exquisite softness. The feel of Egyptian cotton against his skin sent a shiver down his spine. Next came a straight-cut charcoal gray vest with five buttons and no lapels. It adjusted itself, cinching his waist and highlighting his broad shoulders and toned chest. Matching trousers followed, tailored with surgical precision, accentuating the strength of his legs without clinging too tightly—conveying the stability and authority of a businessman. Apollo adjusted the pleats, tightened the leather belt, and, with an expert gesture, draped the three-piece suit jacket over John's shoulders, its wide lapels enhancing his physique.
The charcoal gray fabric immediately gave him an unprecedented presence. Apollo selected a golden tie with fine blue stripes, which he tied in a fluid, precise motion into a Windsor knot. He took the opportunity to flick John’s Adam’s apple, causing him to yelp—only to realize that his voice had deepened into a smooth, radio-host timbre. Finally, Apollo pointed at a pair of black patent leather Richelieu shoes, which slid onto John’s feet as if they had been made just for him. So well-polished that he could have shaved with them, they added just the right level of formality to his attire.
John gazed at himself in the mirror, stunned. He was unrecognizable. Every piece of his ensemble fit him perfectly, giving him a sophisticated and commanding presence he had never imagined.
Apollo, meanwhile, approached a rack where his own clothes were neatly arranged. He ran his fingers over a midnight-blue Super 180 wool suit, flawlessly tailored. Then, with divine ease, he removed his tunic in one fluid motion and slipped into a white silk shirt, buttoning it methodically. His vest, perfectly adjusted, hugged his athletic silhouette. He slid into an impeccably cut pair of trousers before donning the jacket, whose lapels gleamed subtly under the dim lighting. With a precise motion, he tied a silk tie in a blue herringbone pattern with burgundy accents and fastened solid gold cufflinks to his wrists.
Standing tall with absolute elegance, he smoothed the folds of his suit and ran a hand through his wavy hair, adjusting it effortlessly. He cast a satisfied glance at his reflection before turning to John.
Apollo smiled. "A good start. Now, my student, the real lesson begins."