"Director! Jesus Christ!"
"I almost threw up my lunch."
"I can't stop laughing, but I don't find it funny. I think I've gone mad."
There was a wave of complaints, protests, and laughter—chaos filled the room.
The extras in the public theater were completely bewildered, stunned, and had no idea what was happening. One moment, the entire crew was on edge, repeatedly shooting and failing, unable to make any progress. The next moment, it seemed like everyone had collectively lost their minds, as if they were high on helium, with reason flying out the window.
They looked around in confusion.
But, to be fair, although they didn't understand what had just happened, the atmosphere of the latest take felt different, as if a weight had been lifted.
So, that's a good thing, right?
All eyes turned to the stage, focusing on Christen.
At that moment, Christen was slumped in a chair, her shoulders and limbs completely relaxed, her gaze fixed on the audience, chuckling quietly.
Without stopping, Christen looked again in the direction of the monitor.
"Director, are you sure?"
When it comes to acting, the actor always knows best.
Christen had to admit that her recent performance was filled with mistakes—there were moments of hesitation, missed lines, and distractions. It was far from professional. Yet somehow, the performance flowed smoothly, seamlessly transitioning between reality and illusion.
It was half acting, half genuine.
The line between the two blurred.
Christen didn't have time to doubt herself or feel frustrated; she was completely carried away by the impact of reality, letting her emotions run wild within the framework of the performance. It all came together naturally.
The details flowed effortlessly.
When the scene ended, it felt like a weight had been lifted, the pressure on her shoulders dissipating without a trace.
It had been a long time since Christen had experienced such a unique performance.
The chaos remained, but there was also an undeniable sense of satisfaction.
She almost... enjoyed it.
But this was just the actor's perspective.
Maybe that sense of satisfaction was just an illusion.
Or perhaps her standards for a good performance didn't match the director's.
In the end, the director's opinion was what mattered.
Sam met Christen's gaze and gave a thumbs-up.
"Everything's perfect."
Sam had no idea how Christen had managed to transform so suddenly, how her performance became so smooth and detailed. But he had a bold theory—maybe it had something to do with Anson.
Sam raised his voice. "Maybe you should thank your scene partner."
Christen laughed heartily. "I agree."
With a quick motion, Christen stood up from her chair, strode to the front of the stage, and dramatically dropped to the ground, extending her right hand.
Slap!
Christen and Anson completed a high-five.
A smile crept onto Christen's face. "Welcome back."
The crowd stirred.
People could no longer contain themselves. One by one, they turned their attention to Christen and Anson.
"Anson... Anson, Anson..."
The murmurs and whispers couldn't be suppressed.
It wasn't just the extras; even the rest of the crew finally took notice—Anson Wood, the film's undeniable male lead, had returned to the set.
The previously dull and lifeless atmosphere of the crew instantly became electric. Excitement and enthusiasm spread like wildfire, overwhelming any attempt to hold it back.
Word spread quickly from one person to the next:
Anson is back!
It didn't take keen insight to notice the shift in the air. The mood in the entire theater changed, brightening as if the clouds had cleared, filling the room with vibrant energy.
Even seeing it with their own eyes, it was hard to believe that this was all because of Anson.
No wonder, when Sony-Columbia had tried to stir up trouble, the entire crew had stood firmly by Anson's side. At first, they thought it was out of sympathy due to his injury, but now it was clear that the situation was far more complicated than that.
Reed Diamond felt a twinge of anxiety.
He had just been on stage with Christen, performing a scene. In the film, Reed played the actor who shared the stage with Mary Jane.
The shoot had been grueling, and apart from the extras, Reed had suffered the most. But as a small supporting actor, Reed didn't have much say in the matter. He just had to soldier on and handle everything himself.
And then, out of nowhere, the shoot was completed in one smooth take.
Just like that?
Reed was still dazed, standing on stage, unsure of what to do.
When he noticed Anson, the 37-year-old actor still didn't know how to react. He stood frozen in place, scratching his head awkwardly.
In fact, Reed wanted to approach Anson and introduce himself. But he hesitated, thinking he wasn't important enough. After all, none of the other extras dared to cozy up to him either. Anson was the star of the show—what did Reed matter?
Reed took a deep breath, summoning his courage.
Anson was just another actor, another person. No need to scare himself. As a fellow actor, what was wrong with saying hello?
Trembling slightly, Reed stepped forward, not noticing how stiff and awkward his movements had become.
He was too busy worrying about how to start the conversation.
When Reed had joined the cast, Anson was in the hospital, so they'd had no interaction. Should he welcome Anson back first or introduce himself?
As he hesitated, slowly inching forward, he realized that Anson had already noticed him.
Reed said, "Hey."
He felt like a fool.
But Anson didn't seem to mind. "Hey, Reed. Sorry for interrupting your performance earlier. I hope it didn't throw you off."
Reed: ...
He was stunned.
Christen noticed. "Reed?"
Reed finally snapped out of it, staring intently at Anson. "You know who I am?"
Anson nodded. "Of course. 'Homicide: Life on the Street,' Detective Mike Kellerman."
Reed felt like he'd been hit in the throat, unable to believe his ears.
It might sound unbelievable, but Reed had been working in Hollywood for a full decade, even longer than Christen. He was mostly active on television, often in recurring roles.
Yet after ten years, Reed still hadn't had a breakthrough in his career. Even when he appeared in films, his roles were often limited to a few lines—like in Spider-Man 2.
That's Hollywood for you. Beyond the 1% of glamorous success, the challenges faced by the remaining 99% are far greater than people realize.
Reed wasn't much different from the extras around him. Acting was just a job, a nine-to-five office gig. The fame, the spotlight—it had nothing to do with him.
Did Reed want success?
He dreamed of it.
He didn't have grand expectations. He didn't need the general public to know his name or recognize his face. He just hoped that when he joined a cast, he wouldn't have to introduce himself over and over.
If just one person could remember his name—just one person—that would be enough.
After all, he had been on TV for ten years.
Today, that dream came true, and it came from none other than Anson.
Reed was overwhelmed.