….
Regal leaned back slightly. "Since we are on the topic… You should probably start keeping your 'temporary' assistant in check. He has been making a mess on MY set."
Ross knew exactly who he was talking about.
Danny Foster.
That guy was a problem.
In fact, today was especially bad. He had definitely crossed the line this time.
….
During a lunch break on the set, the crew was enjoying a relaxed atmosphere, chatting and eating.
Tim, a light technician, was carefully carrying his plate of food to a table, and right as he was about to sit, Danny ….just so happened to bump into him.
The result? Tim's lunch went flying, landing squarely on his crisp white coat.
And that was all it took.
The very next second, Danny flipped his own plate into the air before smacking him straight across the face.
It didn't stop there.
He raised his hand for another.
Ben jumped in like some makeshift hero, but the guy was clearly scared out of his mind. His enthusiasm didn't quite match his ability to defuse the situation.
Thankfully, Darren was nearby and stepped in, pulling Danny away and saying. "That's enough, Danny. What's wrong with you?"
Danny, looking smug, backed off, but the set was now tense, with everyone watching in horror.
That's when Regal arrived.
"What the hell is going on on my set!!?"
- the entire set was dead silent.
It was the first time anyone had ever heard Regal raise his voice. Hell, some of them didn't even know he could yell that loud.
Regal didn't waste a second as he walked over to Tim, handing him a napkin and gently saying. "Here, let's clean you up."
Tim, still shaken, started dabbing at his coat, his hands trembling and humiliated with food on his coat and a red mark on his face.
"Sir, you don't have to–" the guy began, voice uneasy.
"Don't move." Regal's voice was clear and even, cutting through the tension of the room and rendering the man instantly quiet.
He carefully dabbed away at the worst of the stain before letting out a slow breath.
Regal then looked up at Ben, who had been hovering nearby, shifting uncomfortably.
"What happened?"
Ben, still a little rattled, swallowed and quickly relayed the short version of events, how Danny had 'accidentally' knocked into the guy, how the food had spilled, and how the slap came way too fast after that.
Regal listened. His expression didn't change. But the air around him did.
Then, without a word, he stood up.
He turned towards Danny so fast that some people thought they actually heard his neck snap.
He stared at him - cold, unreadable, sharp enough to slice steel. Regal's attention momentarily dropped from Danny's eyes to his hair to his feet - measuring, evaluating whatever it was he was calculating that meant nothing in the end.
Then he spoke - yet there was an eerie intention behind his almost soft voice.
"Get off my set."
Danny, shocked, protested. "Wha-!"
"Out. Now." Regal didn't let him finish.
Ross had been silent the entire time but decided this was the moment to chime in, bellowing at the top of his lungs. "ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF? THE DIRECTOR TOLD YOU TO GET OUT, SO GET OUT ALREADY!"
Danny's lips moved, but no sound came out, and when he noticed Regal merely continuing to circle him - still, quiet - he succumbed to the shaking from inside.
A chill ran down his spine.
Realizing he had no support, he huffed and left.
As soon as he was gone, people shuffled out of their spots, but the charge persisted.
Nobody stopped him.
No one acknowledged him as he got off.
Instead, everyone stared at Regal, still very much in control, his very presence rendering the air around them heavier.
Finally, after an eternity, Ross sniffed and said. "Well. That was dramatic."
Regal didn't react immediately. He only turned back to the light tech, giving him a firm nod.
This wasn't the first time Danny had caused trouble.
But up until now, the issues had been minor, petty inconveniences mostly dealt with by assistants and lower-level crew members. Some incidents probably never even made it to Regal's ears.
The reason? Danny belonged to a big agency. More importantly, he was Ross Oakley's assistant. That alone shielded him from repercussions.
But now, the problem has grown too big to ignore.
….
While Ross acknowledged that the fault lay on his side, that didn't mean he was willing to stand there, letting Regal point fingers at him in front of all these people.
There was a certain pride he had to uphold.
Ross's gaze hardened as he met Regal's eyes. "You are getting more and more arrogant."
Regal didn't so much as blink. "Your assistant is the one who is arrogant."
Ross's expression darkened. "What?"
Without warning, he shoved back his chair and stood up abruptly. The movement was forceful enough that the table in front of him jerked up a little, making an uncomfortable sound.
The set fell silent again.
Regal remained unfazed.
His eyes stayed locked onto Ross, unwavering. And he asked. "Why do you look down on people, Sir?"
He knew there was no real need for what he was about to do. After all, even without his interference, the person who deserved to be put in their place would face the consequences eventually.
But… for some reason, Regal couldn't stop himself.
Ross Oakley was, by all means, a decent man. That much was clear.
Which made the sharpness in his tone and the dismissiveness toward those around him all the more baffling.
And then, of course, there was the other reason.
Regal wanted to get close to him.
In Hollywood, connections were everything.
Winning over someone as stubborn and seasoned as Ross could prove valuable.
Because if Ross Oakley was on his side, Regal could get away with being unreasonable to certain people whenever he needed to be.
But he also knew Ross wasn't the kind of man who could be won over through charm or courtesy.
No. With him, normal methods wouldn't work.
So, Regal opted for the next best thing, getting under his skin.
In a way that Ross couldn't even call him out for.
Ross scoffed. "Excuse me?"
Unfazed, Regal pressed on.
"Is it because you are Ross Oakley?" His voice remained unreadable, but there was a subtle sharpness behind it. "So, who cares what your assistant does, right?"
Ross's jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"That arrogance—" He spat out through gritted teeth.
His chest rose and fell sharply, barely restraining the anger simmering beneath the surface.
"I swear." He bit out, his voice low but seething. "At this rate, I would love nothing more than to ruin your entire career. Just for the hell of it.
His words cut through the space between them, ringing loud and clear.
And it wasn't just Regal who heard it.
The entire set fell into deeper and dead silence.
People froze mid-step. The sound of shifting equipment halted. The low hum of casual conversation disappeared.
All eyes turned toward them.
And Ross… did not like that.
Yes, he had been civil with Regal.
But that was only because it was Regal.
Ross Oakley didn't care about anyone else.
His sharp gaze swept the set and fell on the person who was nearest to him.
"What the hell are you all looking at?" He snapped, his voice slicing through the silence.
No one moved or dared to answer.
The stillness lingered, heavy and unmoving.
Then, Regal took a slow step forward.
His eyes locked with Ross's, steady and calm.
"That's not how you should handle things, Sir." He said evenly.
"…?!" Ross' eyes flicked toward Regal, stunned for half a second, as if unsure whether he had actually heard him right.
But Regal was already shifting his focus.
Without sparing Ross another glance, he crouched slightly beside the nearby assistant, Ten, the same man Ross had just berated.
"I am sorry about that, Ten." Regal apologized sincerely.
Ten blinked. "Ah—no, it's fine. Really."
Regal straightened and cast a glance over the crew. "It was just a minor disagreement. You can carry on with your work."
There was a brief hesitation. A pause in the room's rhythm.
But gradually, the tension eased.
The crew exchanged glances, then slowly returned to their tasks.
The scrape of moving equipment and the low murmuring of conversation filled the space once again.
Ross stood there, watching the entire exchange in silence.
Then, he exhaled sharply.
And chuckled.
A low, dry sound.
Ross leaned forward slightly. "Are you seriously trying to teach me, Ross Oakley, how to behave with others right now?"
Regal finally spoke. His voice was low, barely above a murmur, making sure only the two of them could hear.
But he smiled. "Would you stop yelling for a second, sir?"
Ross's eyes narrowed. His lips twitched slightly, caught between irritation and reluctant amusement.
"Arrogant brat." He muttered, locking eyes with Regal. His gaze hardened, but there was something else behind it.
Something almost… entertained.
"You are definitely crazy."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The air between them was still.
Then, just as abruptly as his outburst, Ross Oakley sank into his chair.
He folded his arms across his chest, his posture stiff, but no longer bristling.
As they settled into their seats, Regal crouched down slightly, gathering the scattered papers that had slipped off the table when someone nearly flipped it over.
With practiced ease, he stacked them neatly and placed them back on the table.
Ross's eyes narrowed at the papers.
"What's all this stupid child scribbling?" He muttered, eyeing them with thinly veiled disdain.
Regal glanced at him, his tone flat.
"They are not 'stupid child scribbles.' They are the concept sketches for my upcoming comic adaptation of my web novel."
Ross exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed.
"Hah… Well, that just makes them worse than some kid's scribbles - Garbage."
Regal's patience thinned ever so slightly.
.
….
[To be continued…]
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