Word by word, Jack's remarks were entirely sincere. He believed Anson was petty, overly sensitive, and childishly naive.
After speaking, Jack patted Anson's shoulder lightly, as though comforting a small child, displaying a demeanor of magnanimity, as if he were above quarreling with Anson.
Anson, however, did not panic. Instead, he smiled—a wide, deliberate smile.
"No, of course not. Jack, how could I possibly ask you to do that?"
"But you could've at least given me a heads-up. Something like, 'Hey, buddy, Sony Columbia is planning to stab you in the back. I'm letting you know in advance. While I can't sacrifice my own prospects, and I'll still audition, at least I won't secretly jump at the opportunity to join in on the backstabbing and wait for the media to break the news, only for you to find out from the headlines.'"
"Your silence—was it because you were afraid I'd object and ask you not to audition? Or was it guilt because, deep down, you knew this was a rotten thing to do?"
A single statement struck the bullseye.
After Anson finished, silence fell. The atmosphere froze.
Jack took half a step back, looking at Anson in disbelief, as if trying to gauge the seriousness of his words. "Are you serious?"
In contrast, Anson remained calm, offering Jack a composed smile and a slight shrug. "I'm just trying to express how I feel."
Jack stood frozen, unsure how to respond.
Unexpectedly, it was Ryan who broke the silence.
Ryan Phillippe cast a few disdainful glances at Anson, unable to comprehend what made him deserving of even a shred of praise.
"Hmph."
Lowering his head, Ryan muttered sarcastically under his breath.
"What's the big deal about this?"
"This is Hollywood. Stuff like this happens every day. People secretly snatch scripts, steal roles, and even outright destroy others' careers. Nobody's whining about it like it's the end of the world."
"Life goes on. If you can't protect your roles and seize your opportunities, that's on you. Nobody owes you anything for being fragile."
"What's more, no one even stole anything from you. Aren't you still Spider-Man? The film just released and is a massive success. Give others a break."
"Jack is your friend, isn't he? There's no need to go overboard."
Indeed, twisting the truth and calling a deer a horse—Hollywood's vanity fair at its finest.
Anson simply laughed.
"So, now it seems I'm the one at fault?"
"Jack, if someone calls you a victim, does that make you one?"
Jack's eyes widened in fury, glaring at Anson like saucers.
Anson raised both hands in mock surrender, feigning innocence.
Jack turned away in exasperation.
Ryan: ???
Anson didn't deny Ryan's words, yet somehow the entire exchange felt off.
Ryan furrowed his brows, sizing up Anson with distaste. No matter how he looked, he just couldn't stomach him.
Anson's gaze flitted between Ryan and Jack. By this point, any lingering conflict was gone.
Because he understood—they didn't care. Worse yet, they might mock his frustration and restraint behind his back, ridiculing him for being too afraid to voice his grievances.
In his second life, Anson no longer intended to live under others' judgment. He would openly face his own feelings and thoughts. No one else had the right to speak for him.
"Yes, this is Hollywood. No one cares about conscience or limits. In this profit-driven vanity fair, debating morality is unwise. Here, it's all about survival of the fittest."
"But."
"Just because everyone does it doesn't make it right."
"In times of war, life is cheap, corpses litter the streets, and murder becomes routine. But that doesn't make killing right."
"When an opportunity presents itself, you can choose to stain your hands with blood—or not."
"The same goes for this vanity fair. In the name of profit, people recklessly harm others. But just because everyone stabs backs doesn't mean you must."
"There's no need to justify your filth or decay by pointing to others' ugliness."
The truly striking part of Anson's words lay in his tone.
He wasn't angry, accusatory, preachy, or venting. Instead, his voice was calm, like discussing a lunch menu. His words carried a sense of measured restraint, tinged with a faint smile at the corners of his lips.
Yet it was precisely this composure that sharpened the underlying sarcasm, stinging like needles wrapped in silk.
Ryan hesitated, trying to formulate a rebuttal or defend himself, but ultimately failed. He muttered under his breath, dismissive.
"Holier-than-thou. You think you're Mother Teresa? Who knows whose blood stains your hands."
Without waiting for Anson to respond, Ryan turned away, grabbing a beer, avoiding further eye contact.
Beside him, Jack's expression wasn't much better.
Taking a deep breath, Jack struggled to compose himself, gesturing as if to defuse the tension. He raised his hands in a calming motion, attempting to prevent further conflict between Ryan and Anson.
Looking at Anson, Jack appeared sincere. "I didn't realize you felt so strongly. I thought you wouldn't mind. There was no scheme, no malice involved. Besides, you won, didn't you? You kept the role. I had no idea you'd hold a grudge."
"If that's the case, I apologize. I'm sorry. I hope this doesn't affect our friendship."
Though it sounded like an apology, his words subtly blamed Anson, assuming Anson's feelings on his behalf. With one casual "I thought you wouldn't mind," the issue was downplayed.
And so, the matter returned to its original state: Anson, the petty, oversensitive loser.
It was an apology, but not really an apology.
But it no longer mattered.
Anson realized their perspectives were entirely mismatched. He'd spoken at length, yet Jack's takeaway was simply—
"Alright, fine. You're right. Happy now?"
A perfunctory concession.
Continuing this pointless argument was futile.
Anson decided to end the discussion. "Of course. In Hollywood, everyone's friends, right?"
Jack froze. "That's it?"
Seeing Anson's attitude, Jack grew even more frustrated, feeling humiliated.
What stung more was the memory of Kristen's disdainful gaze, her condescending smirk, as if he were a vile insect. He couldn't stand it.
"No," Jack said, shaking his head. After thinking it over, he continued, "No, I'm not sorry. I did nothing wrong."
"I don't understand why you're so hung up on this. It was just an audition. Sony Columbia called me, invited me to audition."
"So, I auditioned."
"What, was that some heinous crime? Or are you just afraid of losing your role?"
One sentence after another, Jack's words grew more aggressive, finally dropping the pretense of civility.
For the first time, Jack's true emotions showed, abandoning the friendly façade.
(End of chapter)