belamy20
patreon
1376-1380
🕑 Added 2025-05-05 19:13:43 +0000 UTCChapter 1376: Emotional Turmoil
Decisive. Resolute. Unwavering.
Joan Carter turned and walked away without a trace of hesitation.
Johnny was stunned, frozen in place, completely at a loss. He called out, "Joan… Joan…"
But his voice couldn’t stop Joan Carter’s departure—not even for a second. This sent Johnny into a panic, a deep sense of fear and unease washing over him.
Ahead, in the audience, a wave of boos and jeers erupted. They didn’t care what had just happened with Joan Carter. They had paid for their tickets to watch a performance—why should they be subjected to this kind of disruption?
Boo!
Hiss!
Whistles and mocking laughter filled the air.
The noise surrounded Johnny from all sides. He knew he had messed up, that everything had fallen apart completely. But he had no way to fix it.
Dizziness. Throbbing pain. Anxiety.
His temples pounded, his heart lodged high in his throat, his steps wobbled as if gravity itself had abandoned him. A deafening roar filled his ears.
Johnny could barely stand. He felt like his head might explode at any moment. Something deep in his parched throat stirred, struggling to break free. He couldn’t breathe—he even forgot how to breathe. Spinning in place like a headless fly, the entire world tilted around him.
A rush of heat. A hollow emptiness.
Sweat poured down his back, soaking through his clothes. His forehead was drenched, and his vision blurred.
Ahead, the bright, piercing stage lights melted into his pupils, the sea of darkened faces in the audience gradually dissolving until all that remained was the sound of laughter—
"Hahaha! Hahaha!"
It was as if they were laughing at his naivety, his recklessness. Their twisted expressions morphed into gaping black voids.
They came rushing toward him.
"Joan!"
Amid the chaos, Johnny grasped at the one thing that still made sense. A desperate thought, fragile yet unyielding.
The body never lies.
Before his mind could even process the thought, his feet were already moving—staggering, chasing after Joan Carter. He didn't care about the ongoing performance.
In his desperation and haste, Johnny lost control of his body. His unsteady steps nearly sent him tumbling. Instinctively, he grabbed at the curtain, at the people backstage—anything he could hold onto, like a drowning man clutching at straws. Somehow, he steadied himself just enough to keep going, never pausing to regain his balance.
Boo!
The jeers in the theater grew even louder. Joan Carter leaving was bad enough—but now Johnny was leaving too? The audience’s frustration boiled over into full-blown outrage.
Chaos loomed, threatening to spiral out of control—
But the show must go on.
They had prepared for emergencies like this.
The next scheduled performers were already waiting in the wings. The moment Johnny stepped offstage, two singers took his place, stepping forward hand in hand. Their radiant smiles reassured the audience, working quickly to smooth things over and regain control of the scene.
But they wouldn’t have to keep up the act for long.
"Cut!"
Mangold called an end to the scene.
Silence fell.
The audience members—the extras and background actors—immediately stopped their uproar. They were just following instructions, knowing little about the production itself. When the director declared the scene finished, they obediently returned to their seats, waiting for the next cue.
But no new instructions came.
The crew exchanged glances, stunned into silence.
Once again, they had witnessed something remarkable.
So, what was the truth?
What had happened to Anson last night?
Was this actor—standing at the pinnacle of his profession—truly drunk on his own success, lost in a haze of indulgence? Or was he just another spoiled celebrity, running wild without consequence?
No one but Anson knew the real answer. But did it even matter?
Sometimes, the truth is the only thing that matters, worth any cost to uncover.
Other times, the truth is irrelevant.
Like now.
No matter what Anson had been through the night before, he hadn't disrupted the production. In fact, he had delivered a breathtaking performance.
So real, so immersive, that it blurred the line between fiction and reality.
That sweetness and intoxication.
That recklessness and impulse.
That sincerity and passion.
That innocence and foolishness.
That fear and uncertainty.
A whirlwind of contradictions—intricate yet raw, rich yet chaotic.
Spinning through the haze of alcohol, struggling to hold onto reason but inevitably failing. One second soaring to heaven, the next plunging into hell. The emotional highs and lows tangled together in a dizzying rollercoaster ride.
Not just Reece, but every single crew member was drawn in, completely lost in the performance during Time Passes By.
Originally, this was supposed to be a romantic melody about Joan Carter and her ex-husband. Instead, it had transformed into a heartbreaking song about Johnny’s confession crashing headfirst into reality.
So how were they supposed to see Johnny now?
How were they supposed to see Joan Carter?
…In the end, all they could do was sigh.
A heavy, lingering sigh, exhaling the tangled emotions in their chests.
No one was to blame. The only mistake was time itself.
Meeting the right person at the wrong time always leads to this kind of ending.
At this moment, did anyone still care about what Anson had done the night before?
Perhaps the rumors were true after all.
Maybe Anson hadn’t been indulging in reckless partying last night. Maybe he had been preparing for this role—fully immersing himself, staying committed to his craft even after Eternal Sunshine had brought him overwhelming success.
Perhaps fame and fortune weren’t as important to him as people assumed.
Maybe, he simply loved acting.
In this dazzling, chaotic world of showbiz, not everything is pure darkness.
And yet, some refused to believe it.
The "realists" stubbornly clung to their conviction that the industry was cold, ruthless, and cruel—that was the only truth.
But who said it had to be one or the other?
Anson could have been partying all night and still delivered an outstanding performance. The two weren’t mutually exclusive. Some actors are simply born with that kind of talent.
Wait… something didn’t add up.
If Anson hadn’t been preparing for his role but had instead been lost in the allure of fame, wouldn’t that mean he was just naturally gifted?
Wouldn’t that mean he was far more talented than anyone had ever given him credit for?
Wouldn’t that mean he wasn’t just a pretty face but a true, brilliant actor?
On the other hand, if Anson had been preparing, working tirelessly despite his reputation as a "decorative actor," then didn’t that mean he was more dedicated and hardworking than people assumed?
So… which was it?
Either way, whether they admitted it or not, whether they believed the rumors or sought the truth—
Every path led to the same conclusion.
And the "realists"—those who dismissed him—suddenly found themselves speechless.
Which was harder to accept?
That Anson was a natural-born actor who could shine even in a haze of excess?
Or that he was a dedicated performer who never let go of his dreams, even in an industry that tried to define him?
Which version of the truth were they supposed to believe?
And why, no matter what they chose to believe, did they still feel like they had lost?
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 1377: The Structure of Performance
Something… seems a little off.
No matter whether people believe the rumors about Anson or not, he appears to be in an unbeatable position. This turn of events has caught everyone off guard.
So, what should the skeptics do?
Wait a minute—no, no, something's wrong. They need to clarify one thing—
To be honest, Anson’s recent performance wasn’t that impressive. It was passable—just barely. It had nothing to do with last night’s rumors.
It was just an ordinary performance. There’s no need for excessive praise—really, no need.
Hollywood is just that superficial.
For top-tier stars, even a slightly decent performance gets exaggerated praise from their devoted fans, while truly talented actors remain unknown, buried in the shadows beyond the glitz and glamour of the industry. People don’t admire skill—they admire profit.
And Anson?
Maybe he’s not just a pretty face—he does have some acting talent. But that’s about it. There’s no need to view him differently just because of his immense popularity and success. The "Matthew Effect" in Hollywood is way too strong. At the very least, the crew shouldn’t blindly follow the hype.
Stay calm. Stay rational!
The skeptics and realists try to maintain their composure amid the overwhelming excitement on set, holding onto their opinions and biases to prove themselves right.
Unfortunately, they don’t last long.
The theater audience tries to stay quiet, waiting for the director’s next instructions, but as time drags on with no word from him, they sit restlessly in their seats. Eventually, they can’t contain their excitement. They exchange glances, lean in, and whisper to each other in hushed tones.
Back and forth, the buzzing sound quietly vibrates in the air.
Not loud, not chaotic—yet impossible to ignore.
The expressions, the gestures, the excitement in their eyes—they all reveal admiration and astonishment. Emotions pass from one person to another, sparking small fires in the air. The temperature rises. It’s impossible not to feel the genuine joy and exhilaration filling the room.
This—more than any words or arguments—is the most direct and powerful proof:
Clearly, that performance was anything but “ordinary.”
And the director?
Mangold takes a deep breath, holding it in his chest, unable to exhale.
To be honest, Mangold and Kitsch have been discussing for a long time how to capture the subtle emotions between Johnny and June Carter.
Johnny and June—neither of them were perfect. They both made mistakes. They both had weaknesses and dark sides they didn’t want to show the world. But that doesn’t erase their musical achievements, nor does it diminish the deep emotional bond they shared.
People always long for gods—flawless, untouchable idols to worship. They paint these figures as perfect in their minds, following them blindly, whether they’re athletes, musicians, Nobel laureates, or politicians.
And when these idols show even the slightest flaw, people do everything they can to tear them down, dragging them from their pedestals.
That’s why, when they can’t find a true god in the real world, they turn to myths and faith for solace.
But the truth is—no one is perfect. Not even in myths and legends.
So for Walk the Line, portraying Johnny and June’s relationship in a way that resonates with audiences is absolutely crucial.
And now, Mangold has found the answer—
Through Anson.
When Johnny tries to break boundaries and get closer to June Carter, what is he thinking?
The answer is—he doesn’t know.
All this time, Mangold and Kitsch have tried to give Johnny a reason, a logical explanation, a character arc that fits the movie’s narrative. But now, through Anson’s interpretation, a different, unexpected answer emerges.
Johnny himself is lost.
Confused, overwhelmed, exhausted, drowning in the noise. From family to love to friendship, from career to personal life—beneath the glamorous surface, everything is a tangled mess. Johnny may seem like a reckless womanizer, indulging in fame and excess, but in reality, he is struggling, caught in the whirlpool of the entertainment industry.
He is simply trying to survive.
When he looks at June Carter—yes, his feelings are real, his attraction is genuine—but more than that, he is suffocating in the chaos of fame. Like a drowning man, he desperately reaches for a lifeline, clinging to anything that might save him.
Yes, it’s an instinct for survival. A silent cry for help.
Love is just one piece of a much more complex emotional puzzle.
But the timing is wrong.
June Carter is also struggling. She can barely keep herself afloat, let alone save Johnny.
Meeting the right person at the wrong time—no one did anything wrong, yet in the end, they still hurt each other and parted ways.
And so, Anson chose to build the character this way.
Alcohol. Insomnia. Exhaustion. Weakness. Irritability.
Running on empty, yet acting on impulse, driven by adrenaline. Joy clashes with anxiety, happiness collides with fear—the world is a blur.
So, was Johnny right? No, of course not.
But was Johnny wrong? Well… maybe not entirely.
A complex scene, yet in Anson’s performance, it unfolds with layers and depth, striking Mangold right in the heart—a sour, bittersweet ache.
Finally, Mangold exhales.
“Good.”
His voice isn’t loud, but it carries across the entire set.
“Absolutely brilliant.”
“Anson…” Mangold calls his name but then hesitates, trailing off. He searches for the right words for a long moment but ultimately gives up.
“…Thank you.”
Gasp.
A wave of astonishment ripples through the crew. They suck in sharp breaths, stunned.
But Mangold doesn’t give them time to react. “Let’s keep rolling. Switch camera angles—we’re doing close-ups. Face close-ups.”
“Reese, Anson—just go with your instincts.”
No delays. Mangold wants to capture this moment, preserve the feeling, and translate it onto the screen—so that audiences can experience every nuanced emotion the actors bring to life.
At last, Mangold understands why Johnny and June Carter’s love endured, why it remained unbreakable even after half a century.
This wasn’t just love.
It was two wounded souls, who, after years of missed chances and pain, finally found their way to each other.
If the camera can capture even a fraction of this connection, Walk the Line will be a massive success.
Mangold is certain of it. His two actors have given him everything he could have dreamed of. Now, it’s up to him, as the director, to bring it to life.
(End of Chapter)
*Chapter 1378: A Perfect Continuation*
Bang, bang, bang. Bang, bang, bang—
“June?”
“June!”
Johnny pounded on the dressing room door frantically, his voice urgent and desperate, laced with a tension teetering on the edge of despair.
The shoot continued.
On stage, everything was going smoothly. Even after switching camera angles and reshooting the scene three times, Anson and Reese remained fully immersed in their roles. The emotions between them—pulling and resisting, rising and falling in a delicate dance—were captured with stunning precision. Even a single glance carried weight.
Mangold seized the momentum. As the stage was reset for another live performance scene, he moved to the backstage area to film the next scene.
June Carter had left the stage and locked herself in her dressing room. Johnny, relentless, abandoned his performance and chased after her.
The emotional tension needed to carry through.
The force of Johnny’s pounding on the door alone conveyed the turmoil burning inside him, a struggle boiling over, muffled yet relentless, one heavy knock after another.
Desperately, he called June Carter’s name, but there was no response.
“June, open the door.”
“June! Open up!”
Finally, a voice, thick with emotion, came from inside. “Just leave me alone, Johnny, okay?”
Johnny refused.
He kept twisting the doorknob—left, right, left, right. Inexplicably, the lock had failed. With a gentle push, the door swung open.
June Carter hurriedly buried her face in her hands, trying to hide her distress.
Johnny, drenched in sweat, his breath unsteady, looked at her. “I… I… What did I do wrong?”
Silence.
His pupils trembled violently, his eyes reddening. “June, it’s just a song.”
In an instant, June Carter lifted her head. Tear tracks were still visible on her flushed cheeks. Her sorrow-filled, despairing eyes gazed up at Johnny.
She felt the weight of words trapped in her chest, an urge to explain—but as she looked into Johnny’s widening pupils, filled with naive innocence and complete oblivion, she realized it was useless.
Even if she explained, what difference would it make?
June Carter shook her head sadly. Her anger had faded, leaving only a quiet, pleading voice. “Please, stay away from me.”
One sentence. One look.
It hit Johnny like a sledgehammer.
He froze, all the emotions swirling in his eyes fading away like a receding tide.
Only panic remained. Endless, overwhelming panic.
At its peak, panic turned into fear.
Beneath that fear lay a deep sadness and bitterness, a storm raging in his clear eyes.
June Carter looked at Johnny. Johnny looked at June Carter.
So close, yet they couldn’t reach each other. Everything had gone wrong.
Horribly wrong.
In that moment, breath caught in their throats.
Mangold closed his eyes.
His ears rang, drowning in the struggle.
So, Johnny turned on his heels and returned to his dressing room. Unable to contain his fury any longer, he wrecked everything in sight—his guitar, the couch, anything his eyes landed on. He surrendered completely to alcohol, letting himself spiral into the abyss of fame and fortune.
And June Carter? She chose to keep her distance from Johnny. Later, she met her second husband, a relationship that was far more stable and enduring. Away from Johnny’s world, she didn’t lose herself. Instead, she continued to shine in her own way, reaching new heights in her career.
They each went their own way.
Maybe they were just too young at the time. But that’s life.
Right time. Right place. Right person. All three have to align. If even one piece is wrong, the puzzle will never fit.
Mangold opened his eyes again, staring at the monitor. In those deep, clear eyes on the screen, exhaustion weighed heavily, dragging them down after all the tearing apart—
Slowly, slowly, until darkness swallowed them whole.
“Cut!”
Finally, Mangold spoke.
“Perfect!”
He sprang to his feet, suddenly realizing his entire back was drenched in sweat. He had done nothing but sit behind the monitor, yet his mind and emotions had been fully consumed by the scene, riding its highs and lows. He was soaked.
Excitement flashed in the eyes of the crew. Faces lit up with exhilaration, unable to hide their elation.
It wasn’t just the audience—everyone on set felt it too. The satisfaction of nailing a difficult scene surged in their chests.
So, should they clap?
But then again… remembering all the rumors floating around before today’s shoot, wouldn’t applauding now be admitting they were wrong?
Before anyone could reach a conclusion, a sudden gasp broke the silence.
“Anson!”
Noah, who had been watching Anson intently, was the first to notice something was wrong. Right before his eyes, Anson’s knees buckled, and he collapsed.
Reese, still shaking off the scene, hadn’t fully stepped out of character. Then she saw Anson fall.
“Anson!”
Luckily, Anson wasn’t completely out of it. With sheer willpower, he grabbed onto the wall and the doorframe, breaking his fall. Instead of hitting the ground hard, he merely slumped down, his body drained.
Even so, he let himself sink, lying flat on the floor, eyes closed, trying to steady his breath.
His heart pounded wildly.
Thunderous. Relentless. Almost ready to burst.
He needed a moment.
Noah slid across the floor, panic written all over his face. “Anson! Anson, are you okay?”
“Anson, what’s wrong?”
“Anson, can you hear me? Anson!”
Anson groaned at the noise and weakly waved a hand. “Noah, I just need some sugar. I need to get my blood sugar back up.”
Noah shot up instantly, not even caring about the bruise forming on his knee.
“Water too. Juice. Anything. I need fluids.”
Noah nodded furiously. “Anson, wait here. I’ll get something.”
His words barely hung in the air before he dashed off.
Chaos erupted.
Not just Noah—everyone on set scrambled in a frenzy.
That was when Anson realized that if he didn’t open his eyes soon, the entire set would fall into complete disarray.
Letting out a long breath, he sat up and raised his hand toward Mangold. “Director, I’m fine.”
Mangold stared at him, speechless. Then he dropped back into his chair, his heart still hammering.
Out of the corner of his eye, Anson saw Reese approaching. He turned to her. “Sorry for scaring everyone. I just need some sugar.”
Reese smiled and reached into the props bag, pulling out an energy bar. “I get it. After a night of drinking, you must’ve been starving, right? But for the sake of the performance, you only ate a little—just enough to get by. Too much, and you’d feel it in your stomach while singing.”
Anson stared at her, stunned. “Are you sure this isn’t just a prop? It’s actually edible?”
His playful tone made Reese laugh out loud.
(End of Chapter)
*Chapter 1379: Open and Honest*
Pfft.
Unable to hold back, Reese let out a light chuckle. "It's just a bit of experience. After spending enough time on set, you naturally develop your own techniques."
"Looking at it now, I guess I've been rolling around in Hollywood a few years longer than you."
Anson unwrapped an energy bar. "Don't worry, I won’t take that as a comment on my age."
His teasing made Reese’s smile even brighter, but as she quietly observed Anson, her smile gradually faded. This—this was the real Anson.
The familiar expression she knew so well.
Reese studied Anson carefully. He noticed and turned to look at her. "What? Do you only have one, and now you're debating whether to share this energy bar with me?"
"Ha." Reese let out a small laugh. "So this is the real you, isn’t it?"
Anson looked puzzled.
Reese continued, "Before filming started, you deliberately pretended not to understand my concerns. You were already in character, blurring the lines between the film and reality, weren’t you?"
Thinking back calmly, from the moment they first met, Anson had never been the cold and aloof type. Even during their first encounter, when she had secretly followed him to figure him out, he had left a deep impression on her—nothing like how he had acted earlier today.
From reality to film, from actor to character—Reese finally realized the intertextuality between the two. In the movie, Johnny had never truly understood Joan Carter’s struggles and predicament. His reckless actions ultimately led to their complete separation—
Their love was cut off before it could even bloom.
It was precisely because of Anson’s demeanor before filming that Reese seamlessly transitioned into her role. Feeling every emotion deeply, she portrayed the character with complexity and nuance. The blending of truth and illusion made the entire performance flow effortlessly.
As an experienced actress, Reese could sense the shift in the filming atmosphere.
The entire shoot was not only smooth but immersive. The boundary between reality and fiction blurred more and more. In certain moments, she felt as if she was Joan Carter. The lines became her own thoughts, and the dialogue flowed naturally. Everything felt different.
And she wasn’t the only one. The crew on set felt it too.
Now, as she looked at Anson, drained from the performance, Reese knew she had found her answer.
Anson blinked a few times and smiled. "Reese, thank you for the compliment. I appreciate you giving me credit, but I was just preparing for my role."
"You know, I’m not a professionally trained actor. No one really believed I could handle a complex, delicate performance—including the director. He only cast me because he wanted an actor who could also sing. So, I had to work even harder to make sure I didn’t drag everyone down."
"Now, it seems I managed to do my job well."
"Oh yeah!"
Anson even clenched his fist in a small celebration.
A smile crept onto Reese’s lips. She let out an exaggerated sigh. "Now I can finally relax. Whew… I was actually worried about my reaction before filming started—about how I kept obsessing over your attitude. I guess I should apologize for overanalyzing things."
"But now that I know it was a misunderstanding, I don’t have to. Turns out, you’re just a terrible person."
Reese expected Anson to look nervous, embarrassed, or flustered.
But he didn’t.
Anson simply shrugged. "In a way, we have to accept an unfortunate reality—everyone sees the world through their own unique lens."
"Gender. Age. Culture. Family. Environment. Personality."
"And so on. Each of us views the world through our personal filters. We can never fully align with someone else’s perspective. The best we can do is engage in conversation, broaden our understanding, and expand our view of the world."
"So, Johnny couldn’t completely understand Joan Carter—just like I can’t fully understand you."
"There’s no need for you to apologize for your assumptions."
His tone was calm and sincere.
Reese was momentarily stunned. When she looked at Anson again, a hint of admiration flickered in her eyes—
This kind of wisdom was rare in Hollywood.
"But." Anson paused. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me."
As she watched the corners of Anson’s mouth lift in a smile, Reese couldn’t help but smile back.
This time, she didn’t apologize. Instead, she met his gaze. "That performance just now—it was incredible. Acting alongside you was an honor."
Such a simple sentence, yet it swelled inside Anson’s chest, making his smile fully bloom. "Thank you."
After a brief pause, he added, "Even though I’m not used to compliments like that… thank you."
Reese burst into laughter. "Trust me, you’ll be hearing them a lot more from now on."
The conversation didn’t continue because Noah returned, bringing an energy bar and a cup of hot milk.
Anson stared at the milk, puzzled. Normally, wouldn’t it be coffee or tea? Where did the milk come from?
Then, he saw Lucas standing behind the monitor—serious-faced, like a dark-clad Lucifer, silently watching the set.
Anson didn’t question it. He obediently drank the milk, finished the energy bar, and felt warmth return to his cold, stiff limbs as his blood circulated again.
Without taking another break, he stood up, staying in character and maintaining his emotions to finish the next scene—
A violent one.
After being rejected by Joan Carter, Johnny still couldn’t understand why. He returned to his dressing room and trashed it in frustration.
Compared to the layered and emotionally charged scenes earlier, this raw, explosive performance was actually more challenging. Anson had to stay in a state of pure rage—feeling like the Hulk, swelling with uncontrollable anger, unleashing it on the objects around him.
The key wasn’t just "releasing" anger—it was "performing" it.
The difference between a movie and real life is that actors must work with the camera.
In real life, smashing a guitar is simple. But on camera, the angle, force, posture, and expressions all matter—ensuring the destruction looks visually compelling and fits the film’s rhythm and editing.
Running offers a similar example.
In reality, sprinting is just sprinting—you go all out. But in a movie, actors must control their speed to maintain facial expressions and posture, ensuring the shot looks good and aligns with their character.
Action scenes follow the same rule.
Thanks to his experience filming Spider-Man, Anson had a solid grasp of these technicalities. The scene wasn’t difficult, but it required control.
Filming an action scene while hungover was physically draining. As he wrecked the room, his energy dwindled. By the end, he struggled to even lift the sink, his face flushed, breathing heavily—utterly exhausted.
(End of Chapter)
*Chapter 1380: Eager to Try*
Clearly, Anson was exhausted.
His physical energy was depleted. Despite his youth and vigor, last night’s hangover and lack of sleep, combined with an intense day of physically and mentally demanding scenes, had taken their toll. Sweat continuously poured from his body, and he could no longer push through. His performance in front of the camera inevitably revealed a trace of fatigue—
Perfectly timed. A flawless match.
This state of exhaustion was precisely a reflection of Johnny’s emotions.
Angry, yet powerless.
Irritated, yet stifled.
In the break room, he struggled frantically, only to expose his own cowardice and helplessness. By the end, drained of all energy, he clung to the sink, using every ounce of strength but still failing to dismantle it. His face turned as red as a monkey’s behind, his teeth clenched tightly as he stubbornly fought against himself.
He even… looked foolish.
“Cut!”
Mangold’s voice rang out again, sounding refreshed and exhilarated.
The shoot had far exceeded expectations, fueling Mangold’s creative enthusiasm. He was already eager to move on to the next scene.
Work had become a form of enjoyment.
“For the next scene, let’s reset the stage. The actors should take a break and freshen up. Once they’ve changed into their next costumes, we’ll continue.”
Inspired and in high spirits, Mangold’s voice carried a distinct lightness. No one needed to ask to sense his good mood.
And it wasn’t just Mangold.
The atmosphere on set was subtly shifting.
Gossip and rumors seemed to have completely vanished. The crew members were finally refocusing on their work, each fully invested in the shoot. Even the way they glanced at Anson had changed. Though no words were exchanged, everyone seemed to have their own thoughts.
Change doesn’t happen overnight, but it was undeniably in motion.
*Whoosh…*
Anson let out a long breath—he truly needed a break.
His racing heart pounded violently against his chest, his eardrums buzzed with a relentless roar, and the entire world seemed to spin. Even as he took deep breaths, he still felt lightheaded, as if oxygen were in short supply. His body, every single cell, was drowning in exhaustion—like he had just finished a marathon.
It felt as though a fire was coursing through his veins.
*“Hey!”*
Among the extras in the theater audience, background actors and temporary cast members were also granted a much-needed short break. One by one, they relaxed, finally able to catch their breath.
But compared to the crew, they were noticeably more excited. Unable to contain their emotions, the thrill was evident in their expressions. Originally, they had worried that participating in a film shoot might be like revealing the secrets behind magic tricks—stripping away all the charm. Yet, they found themselves immersed in a different kind of experience.
The hum of their chatter reflected the energy of the set that day.
Among them, one figure stood on tiptoe, jumping high with an exuberant smile, eyes gleaming as they waved excitedly at Anson.
Sitting on the edge of the stage, his legs dangling, Anson, half-awake and completely drained, still managed to catch sight of the figure. He blinked in surprise, momentarily stunned, but soon, a natural smile curved his lips. His amusement rose from deep within, and he waved the person over.
Sure enough, like an energetic little deer, the person hopped and skipped through the crowd, weaving their way toward him before finally stopping to gaze up at Anson.
The stage wasn’t high, but with Anson’s naturally tall build, sitting there made it necessary for the person to tilt their head up to meet his eyes. In doing so, they could clearly see his expression, the exhaustion in his gaze, and the beads of sweat dripping from his soaked hair.
*“Oh, God. You look absolutely terrible.”* The kid giggled.
“Hah!” Anson laughed out loud, completely unfazed. “I never imagined acting could be this exhausting.”
“I thought all it took was standing in front of the camera, looking cool, striking a few poses, and the money would just roll into my pocket. Working while on vacation, soaking in admiration from fans—everything should’ve been perfect. But instead, I look like a mess. God, I don’t even dare look at myself in a mirror right now.”
His self-deprecating tone was merciless.
The kid’s eyes crinkled into crescents. “Well, that’s what you get for insisting on relying on talent when you could’ve just coasted on your looks.”
Anson spread his hands and shook his head lightly. “Humans… we’re just greedy.”
That little joke made the kid burst into laughter.
But soon, realizing how loud they were, the kid quickly covered their mouth, glancing around anxiously, afraid of disturbing others—like a guilty little thief.
The sight made Anson chuckle. “Relax. It’s break time. You can enjoy it. This isn’t Carnegie Hall.”
The kid lowered their hands. “Heh.”
Anson gave them a once-over. “How did you end up here? And why are you working as an extra? Don’t tell me you skipped school?”
Standing in front of him was none other than Jack Forrest—the New York teenager.
Seeing Jack on set, Anson couldn’t hide his surprise. This was an encounter he hadn’t expected at all.
For once, Jack looked a little shy. “What if I told you… I’m going to be an actor?”
Anson blinked. “Huh?”
Jack watched his expression and burst into laughter. “Haha! You should see your face right now.”
Realizing how fatigued he was—so much so that his usual composure had slipped—Anson quickly forced a polite smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that…”
Jack waved him off. “I know, I know. Anson, you don’t have to worry about me.”
Back when they were filming The Elephant, Jack had shown interest in acting. He could have easily taken on a role in the film—it would have been a perfect fit. But in the end, he declined, mainly out of fear that his father would find out.
So… what had changed?
That was why Anson was so surprised. His first instinct was to be concerned about Jack’s situation.
Clearly, Jack understood. “I was just kidding. I’m not planning on becoming an actor. But I am interested in film, so I joined a production crew. Right now, I’m working as a small assistant in the production department, learning the ropes. Next, I want to explore cinematography. I think cinematography is the soul of a movie—the bridge that connects the director and the actors. It sounds really fascinating.”
Anson: “Wow.”
“So, you’re working on a film crew now?” Anson’s eyes widened. “Do you want me to talk to our cinematography team? Maybe they’d let you observe?”
Jack quickly shook his head. “No, no, no! I’m not working on this set—I’m with another crew. But when I heard you were filming here, I snuck away just to surprise you.”
“And…” Jack’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “I wanted you to be the first to know—I finally have a dream. And I’m going to chase it.”
With that, Jack beamed at Anson, his eager expression brimming with excitement, as if he couldn’t wait to embark on this journey.
(End of Chapter)
