Have you ever wondered, while scrolling through your phone, and asked yourself: Do the producers and directors truly value the supporting roles? ....
The "extras"... they claim these parts are pivotal, not just in the script, but in preventing plot holes.
It's a foundational step before a lead role... in fact, they are essential pillars. Didn't you realize that?
It is profoundly obvious.
Sam's eye caught something—his own reflection in the mirror... his eyes. The two reflections gazed back at each other.
There is someone inside... demanding to be noticed.
He was sitting in a chair in the makeup room, facing a technician who was professionally applying makeup to his face.
The technician sighed as he looked at Sam's utterly extinguished face.
"You are clearly suffering..."
The corner of Sam's lips lifted slightly as he let out something resembling a laugh.
"Is it that obvious? I thought I was hiding it well."
The technician was slightly confused by his words.
"It's not what you think... sitting here and waiting all this time just for an extra role... don't you think that's a waste?"
"Yes... they are wasting your time, and I am the main reason for wasting your time." Sam scoffed slightly.
"No... you're a bit pessimistic. In the end, I get a fixed salary. It's you, though; you won't earn much. Are you truly satisfied? I feel like I would refuse if this role were offered to me... it's just a servant, after all."
The technician's words struck him, but Sam showed no emotion on his face.
"I wholeheartedly support your decision... If I were in your place, I would have refused too."
Sam offered no excuses to prolong the discussion. He didn't try to justify himself. What could he possibly say? What would happen if he objected in some way, or refused outright?
Nothing would change. Things would remain as they always had, and always would.
You end up realizing that, at the end of the road, you will rot alone... or perhaps, with something else. Those are the vermin, the death-sniffing rats that seek out your corpse so they don't starve.
Trying to maintain optimism was futile.
He remained there, yes... perched on the chair, addressing the reflection and the fragile mirage.
[Message Received via the XXXX App]
A single click echoed with a sudden flaw in his eardrum. He glanced at his extremely old-model phone.
Even a monkey wouldn't accept this type of handset. He decided to open it to check the message, naturally... to see who remembered him.
He double-tapped the power button. The phone woke up to the lock screen, showing the message notification from the messaging application.
He opened it, looking at the sender's profile picture.
[We must break up... You deceived me.]
[You are just an idiot... You need treatment... I won't waste my life on someone like you.]
But... but was there a difference.. A choice? There wasn't. Things were utterly inevitable and extremely cruel.
The breakup wasn't important; it was bound to happen anyway.
[I wish you a happy life.]
Life was difficult. The complexities of reproduction and love, in all its forms, simply weren't available (to him).
Money and sex... that's what life is all about.
She chose to dedicate her life to a partner—a man who was rich... and handsome.
She chose what was guaranteed.
That's perfectly fine... If I were a girl, I would have seduced him myself.
The reality of time saved him, the clock was ticking... his specific scene time had come.
His stomach ached intensely—it was cramping, tightening, and corrosive—but he endured... enduring even more.
Once he got his pay, he would buy some painkillers... and he would get better. He had to get better for a while.
Gagging noise...
In the midst of his walk, something rose in his throat, and he let out a faint vomit mixed with some blood.
The makeup was smeared... his vision dimmed... his stomach convulsed.
He grew weaker, but... unfortunately... he did not stop.
He continued walking past the wires on the set, clutching his stomach as if he had been shot there.
The crew, the workers, and the other actors looked at him.
The Director looked at him... feeling disgust... He sighed.
"...Yoo-hoo. You... Are you alright?"
Sam took a deep breath, lifted his head, and smiled.
"Don't worry, Mr. Director. I will be fine; it's just minor discomfort."
The Director swallowed hard.
"Are you sure? Do you need a break?"
"No, no. I'm fine, I swear... I'm not in pain."
The Director shrugged, perplexed.
"Just have him show his back to the camera. His makeup is ruined... And... bring the workers to clean up the vomit."
Sam, now dressed in his servant clothes, was placed in front of a table with a piece of cloth... he had to act the part of a servant wiping the table.
The camera focused on the main characters... and he only appeared with his back to the frame, in the background... not even a corner role... just an extra.
Sam realized, as he was truly dying, that in the end... the highest role he could ever reach was that of a servant.
The most noble and beautiful profession... suited him perfectly.
Dying in a servant's uniform was not the disgrace; the disgrace was that he hadn't realized a long time ago that this was his true station.
As a tea server... A man somewhere would say that he died... but he died sad, and utterly unfulfilled.
"One... two... three, and Action!"
Sam looked up in the middle of the scene, catching his reflection in a mirror on the set... and saw his tears.
And his face, which wasn't even handsome... and he vomited one last time.
"Stop! Are you okay?"
The young man did not respond, for he had fallen to the floor... dead.
"Doctor! Get the doctor over here!"
"Give him medicine! Is he alright?"
Good... he didn't die alone.
But he thought... and wished that if there were another life... he would at least be a servant... and that he would never again despise the servant's role... because it was better than being an extra.
"Was that exaggerated...?"
Wait, didn't you get affected? Far in the farthest corners of the universe, it is better to wake up early in the morning.
Somewhere... in another universe... in an extremely strange world...
The sun was shining brightly over the Academy of Magical Heroes.
This was the first day for the exceptional students in their extraordinary experience at the Academy, which would graduate the next generation... of powerful heroes.
"You are so annoying! How many times must I tell you to hurry? I will be late for the first day! You are useless!"
A noble, beautiful girl was furiously angry. She was stunning with her gorgeous blonde hair, venting her unrestrained rage upon the servants who were carrying her belongings.
"You imbeciles! You get paid wages yet you do nothing!"
The daughter of the Smorgoth family possessed an extremely volatile temperament.
This was not normal for the excellent eldest daughter. However, after she was rejected by the Fifth Prince, Edmund Lazard, she became utterly enraged.
She wanted to hurt him, but after her conspiracy was exposed, she received severe punishment from her father.
This ordeal left her in her current state, earning her the title of The Mad Smorgoth Girl.
This only increased her fury, causing her to rage even more. She even rejected all the rich young men who attempted to appease her and propose marriage.
But she rejected them all and began to take pleasure in attracting the attention of the Fifth Prince... even if it was through insult.
She was sick to a degree that was unimaginable.
"Hey, you! Get out of here, or I will punish you! And you, too! Get lost!"
"You are so weak! My little sister could carry that faster!"
She wanted to arrive quickly... to see Edmund and make him witness her new appearance... so he would see how beautiful she was and fall in love with her.
But her fury stemmed from the fact that all the servants were too slow and incompetent in her eyes.
She proceeded to dismiss the servants one after the other...
In the midst of her anger, she drove away every single servant...
And no one was left to carry the remaining belongings.
Suddenly... Clara felt angrier and angrier.
She had driven everyone away.
But suddenly, a person emerged from the carriages... with a thin, frail body and short stature.
He looked around suspiciously, clutching his shoulders and feeling himself as if he were possessed by a ghost. Clara looked at him with disgust and fury.
"You there! Yes, you! What were you doing in the carriage not working? Do you want to be dismissed?"
The servant pointed to himself, his mouth suddenly wide open, and his eyes glistening with shock.
He stood there motionless, which made Clara severely angry.
"If you don't move now to carry the bags and belongings... you will be punished!"
She didn't want to dismiss him, because he was the only servant left here... and she had dismissed all the others, even her personal attendant.
Now she was alone with this servant.
"In the name of Smorgoth, if you do not move, you will be severely punished!"
Clara Smorgoth looked at the servant, who seemed to her as though the world had spun around in his mind to the point of fainting.
"Smorgoth... You are Smorgoth?"
"You truly are an idiot! You don't even deserve this last chance!"
"The Goddess of the Rebels... You are Clara Smorgoth!"
"Who are you talking about? I am indeed Clara... and you are a servant... so obey me!"
Yes... he's gone.