"Never in a million years did I think Anson was like this!"
"Wasn't he supposed to be just a pretty face?"
"He looks like a slacker who'd be happy with a passing grade, but then—plot twist—he's the straight-A student who claims he didn't even study?"
"Jesus Christ, who does he think he is? Robert De Niro? Another take? What on earth is Steven thinking, agreeing to this?"
"I thought it was finally Thursday, only to realize it's just Tuesday."
"Wait, how many films has he starred in, again?"
Murmurs filled the air, unspoken but clear as day in the glances exchanged around the room.
It was obvious—they were displeased. Especially with Anson, the least experienced member of the crew, making such a request. The fact that veterans like Christopher and Natalie didn't object only made the atmosphere more tense.
The undercurrents were strong.
If looks could kill, Anson was sure his back would resemble a porcupine. Luckily, no one in the "Cat and Mouse Game" crew had laser vision, but the weight of the stares still felt like a burning sensation on his skin.
Even Steven gave Anson a look, one that seemed to be tinged with a bit of schadenfreude.
That look seemed to say, "You got what you wanted; now let's see if you can pull off something special, haha."
As a director, Steven was fully aware of what was happening within the crew, but he didn't plan to interfere. Nor was he going to change his mind.
Earlier, during the kitchen scene, Steven had been moved by Anson's performance but didn't alter his shot design or filming process for it.
And now, Steven still wasn't planning to change his filming schedule. But since both Anson and Natalie had expressed that they thought another take was needed, Steven couldn't help but think, maybe he should give Anson a chance?
After all, everything was still on schedule, and an extra take wouldn't hurt. So, Steven, in a rare moment, nodded.
So, should he maybe allow himself a bit of hope?
Anson was absolutely certain—he could see a "haha" in Steven's eyes. The smile hidden behind Steven's white beard was unmistakable, as if he was enjoying the show.
Anson had never imagined he'd one day be the reason for a delayed wrap. But he didn't dwell on it; he quickly refocused because he knew that the only way to avoid things getting worse was to give it his all and finish the next take as quickly as possible.
He needed to concentrate.
The calmer Anson became, the more he was convinced that taking this risk was the right move. It seemed like he had finally touched the door to method acting—
He wanted to give it a try.
With a slight adjustment to his breathing, Anson calmed down, without hesitation, doubt, or distraction. He didn't even recall the lines for the scene; instead, he immersed himself in an emotion, a blend of confusion and disorientation, as if he were drifting through distant memories of a past life.
As he quieted his mind, the world began to grow louder—not with noise, but with the sounds of blood flowing, the heartbeat, and the rhythm of his breathing echoing in his eardrums. His tongue could almost taste the bitterness and confusion, pulling him abruptly into the water—
Clear and icy blue, the lake slowly swallowed him, and though he tried to call for help, tried to find his way, his focus blurred. The vague figures on the shore grew fainter, almost consumed by a blue haze, while his throat could not produce a sound.
Was it fear?
No.
Maybe, deep inside, there was a flicker of it, but at this moment, it was more a numbness, even a willingness to let himself sink slowly.
Where were his father and mother?
Who was he supposed to call out to?
Then—
A dull thunder roared, exploding in his ears.
"Action!"
The air fell silent.
He was angry, indeed. Before entering this room, anger had occupied his mind, like a volcano constantly erupting.
Lately, he had noticed changes at home. His mother always had various "friends" visiting, and these uncles would come when his father wasn't around, leaving their coats on the couch in the living room. When they and his mother emerged from the room, they would gaze at him with a satisfied look and even offer him gifts.
It disgusted him.
But he had been avoiding it, never daring to confront the truth behind the thin veil.
Today, he finally couldn't hold back.
He saw another suit jacket on the living room couch. He didn't even want to touch it; it just seemed filthy to him. So when he saw the owner of the coat come out of the room, he exploded.
Completely lost control.
However, this "uncle" seemed different from the others. He didn't leave right away; instead, he told him to calm down and led him into the room.
A sense of dread gripped his heart, and he felt like he was drowning—
But can someone drown on dry land?
His chaotic thoughts swirled in his mind, and then he entered the room:
His mother. His father. The "uncle." And an old woman he didn't recognize.
Wait, what was going on? What had happened here?
Run.
Every cell in his body was screaming, but it was as if he had lost all control. The anger within him froze into a cold, numb state as he stumbled into the room. Without understanding why, he sat down beside his mother, his eyes filled with panic and confusion, trying to make sense of the chaotic activity around him. Yet, his mind was blank.
He was completely paralyzed.
What should he do? What should he do? What should he do?
The entire world fell silent.
Behind the monitor, Steven also froze. He wasn't even aware that his neck and shoulder muscles had stiffened, leaving him staring blankly at the screen. It was as if he saw himself in that moment—when his parents had sat at the dining table and told the children they had decided to divorce.
The same panic. The same bewilderment. The same fear. The same confusion.
On one hand, he had always sensed the change; the ominous feeling had been there all along.
But on the other hand, he wasn't sure how things had escalated to this point.
So, was everything really falling apart?
On screen, Steven saw those eyes—clear, blue eyes, with slightly reddened rims, though no tears fell. The pupils quivered slightly, the focus blurred and dispersed. Despite the stillness, he could hear the roar of a world breaking apart.
Unintentionally, Steven's gaze locked with those eyes through the monitor.
Buzz.
A deafening hum filled his ears.
If there truly was a god of acting, then this was the moment of divine intervention. The flood of emotions in that single glance was overwhelming, more real and more complex than any words, actions, or expressions could convey. A thousand unspoken words were hidden in those blue depths—
Surging. Misty. Boiling. Spreading.
It was like the monsoon rains before summer, endlessly drizzling, endlessly drizzling, drawing the entire world into a humid, oppressive heat.
There was no escape.