"Why?!"
Rebeca Verne didn't hold it in. The question burst out too loud, cutting through the room before she even realized she'd spoken. Alex hadn't asked her to perform, hadn't requested a line read, hadn't even told her to take a step forward. It was an immediate verdict - clean, efficient, almost cruel in how quickly it landed.
She stood there for a few seconds, as if her body needed time to accept what her mind refused to process.
Rebeca wasn't used to being rejected like that - not without ceremony, not without soft edges, not without the industry's artificial politeness that usually comes before someone is quietly shown the door. And if she was honest with herself, she hadn't even been sure she wanted to play Misa Amane at first. The role felt ungrateful, almost humiliating: a girl radiant on the surface, trapped in a devotion so intense it bordered on sickness, orbiting a man who barely saw her.
Still… this was Alex's project.
And Alex's reputation wasn't something luck could build. People in the business said he had an almost obscene instinct for turning material into a phenomenon - and that when he chose someone, their entire trajectory shifted. More than that, there was a silent truth Rebeca tried not to admit even to herself: she wanted to work with him again. She wanted to prove she could do it, to see herself under his direction one more time - not as "the pretty face of the moment," but as someone who deserved to last.
That was why she'd crossed an ocean. Why she'd walked into that room with her mother glued to her side, shoulders tight, heart racing.
And that was why Alex's "no" felt like a slap.
"I don't think you can carry the weight of a film's female lead," Alex said, never raising his voice, as if he were commenting on the weather. His honesty didn't sound malicious - but it had the chill of someone who refused to hesitate.
It was almost a considerate way to put it. The less polished version would've been: you don't sell tickets, the audience won't believe you, I'm not betting on you.
Rebeca felt her face burn.
Beside her, her mother tried to respond on instinct, defensive - but her voice came out restrained, careful, as if she were speaking to someone who now stood too high to be addressed the way she used to.
"A-Alex… I mean, Director Alex… you didn't even let Rebeca try… this… this doesn't seem fair."
She'd started to call him the way she always had, with old familiarity. But one good look at him - legs crossed, surrounded by foreigners, wearing that comfortable, dominant posture that somehow made the room feel smaller - killed the word in her throat and replaced it with "Director" out of sheer social survival.
Alex didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head.
"Ma'am… your daughter has made quite a few films. How many of them were actually successful?"
The question hit the table like a heavy object.
Rebeca and her mother had no answer. Not because they had nothing to say, but because any defense would sound hollow in a room where numbers and impact spoke louder than pride.
Rebeca took a slow breath, swallowed the knot climbing her throat, and tried another route - the tremor in her voice something she hated herself for.
"Then… can I audition for a role in Reapers? Nell…"
Her mother stiffened instantly. The idea of her daughter "going back" to television still bothered her, even if this was a massive title, even if the entire world was watching.
Alex didn't answer right away.
His gaze dropped - and lingered for a few seconds longer than Rebeca could tolerate without reacting. Instinctively, she raised a hand to her chest, as if she could hide what he was assessing with the same cold practicality someone used to pick wardrobe.
When he finally spoke, he did it with a slow shake of his head.
"Sorry. That doesn't work for you either."
Rebeca blinked fast. Her chest tightened. Two rejections in a row, with no room to breathe.
"Why?"
The word came out smaller than before, almost broken. She was on the verge of crying, and she hated it - hated being there, exposed, after deciding she'd even accept a series role just to be part of a major project… only to be dismissed like she wasn't worth the attempt.
Alex leaned back in his chair, as if it were obvious.
"Nell was written as a very specific kind of beauty… with a physical presence you can't fake."
He didn't say more, but the subtext was impossible to miss. The kind of truth nobody liked to hear spoken aloud.
Rebeca bit down hard on her lip, her face burning with anger and humiliation. For a second, she turned, ready to walk out and never look at him again.
Then Alex spoke again, unhurried, as if offering the last scrap of mercy.
"If you really want to be in Reapers… there's a role that fits you better. Miyako Shiba. You can try for that."
Rebeca stopped mid-motion and turned her head slowly. Her eyes were red, shining with anger and hope at the same time.
Miyako Shiba?
She didn't even remember seeing that name in the materials she'd received - maybe she'd skimmed past it because it wasn't a "big" role. Alex seemed to read the doubt on her face and explained with the calm of someone who'd expected this reaction.
"Not many scenes. Maybe one episode." He flipped through his folder as if it didn't matter. "But she's a traditional woman - gentle, with a quiet sweetness. I think you fit."
Miyako Shiba. Kaien Shiba's wife. A short, luminous presence… and a fast tragedy, swallowed by the violence of that world. A small role, but loaded with emotion - the kind that, if done right, stays in the audience's memory like a cut.
Rebeca's mother, however, went rigid.
One episode?
So… barely a special appearance. Barely a named extra.
Her face darkened, and it was more than disappointment - it was the kind of indignation that appears when someone feels they're being punished.
"Thank you for your… kindness, Director Alex," she said with a smile that wasn't a smile. "But that role isn't right for our Rebeca."
She reached to pull her daughter away, as if the conversation were over.
But Rebeca didn't move.
She stood there, fingers pressing into her own lip until it hurt, as if fighting a war inside herself. Pride versus hunger. Vanity versus future. Her mother's voice versus that stubborn need to prove something - even if it meant taking scraps.
Then she lifted her chin, still furious, and spoke like she was driving a decision into the floor.
"Fine. I'll do it."
Her mother spun in shock.
"Rebeca, are you crazy?!"
The outrage came from the same place it always did: status, image, career. Rebeca was "a star." Stars didn't take one-episode roles. Stars didn't settle for less.
Alex looked surprised too. For a fraction of a second, he studied her with real attention - not the ruthless gaze from earlier, but something closer to respectful curiosity.
Then the corner of his mouth rose, a small smile, as if her stubbornness had triggered something he recognized.
"Congratulations," he said. "After all these years, you're finally going to act in a good story."
…
Not long after Rebeca left - her mother still wounded, still furious, still trying to swallow her pride - the door opened again for the next audition.
A foreign girl walked in, two years younger than Rebeca, with striking blond hair and a restless, electric posture, like her body carried too much energy to stay still. She took a deep breath, shut her eyes for a second, and when she began, her voice was firm and theatrical, like she was stepping onto a stage.
"Sing… Knights of the Gazelle!"
It was the release phrase - the moment a character stops being mere presence and becomes spectacle.
When she finished, she was breathless, trying to hide how tense she was, stealing a look at Alex as if his approval were a verdict between life and death. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, and it was impossible not to notice how - almost inconveniently - it matched exactly the kind of presence Alex had described.
This time, yes. The character demanded it.
Alex folded his hands and asked, straight:
"Your name?"
"Margot…"
Alex blinked, studying her more closely.
That face was hard not to recognize. Not yet as "the hottest name in the world," but as someone one step away from exploding - still rotating through mid-tier projects, still waiting for the one role that would turn her into an obsession.
And Alex, who had a nose for that kind of thing, felt the opportunity like a coin dropped at his feet.
"Are you free right now?"
"I-I… am," she answered quickly, afraid to say the wrong thing.
"Good. Pack your things. You're coming with me. We'll start preparations in my country, then we move to location."
Margot froze.
"What?"
…
By the time Alex left the United States with the cast and crew, flying west - toward mountains and the dry cold of a remote region where the sky felt closer to the earth - news about Reapers had already slipped beyond anyone's control.
In the country where Netfi was based, rumors became headlines. And as always, the moment they were translated, they turned into a storm back in Alex's home market.
"#Mark confirmed in Reapers"
"#Margot, new international bet, joins the cast"
"#Alex rejects Rebeca Verne over pay dispute"
It was a calculated push. Netfi had invested heavily. They'd bought international exclusivity. There was no chance they'd let the publicity machine sleep. They weren't just promoting a series - they were manufacturing an event.
Nearly ten hours later, the moment the group stepped off the plane, the chaos proved that the real heat wasn't overseas.
The press hit them like an invasion. Reporters surged from every direction, microphones thrust forward, cameras raised, flashes popping like weapons. It looked like an apocalyptic film scene - except instead of monsters, it was people starving for an exclusive frame.
Mark and Georgia drew attention immediately. One good angle, one click, and the proof was there: it wasn't a rumor anymore. It was real. International stars were in Reapers.
But then a sharper-eyed reporter spotted something no headline had clearly announced.
Rebeca Verne was there too.
And she wasn't there as a visitor. She was moving with the group.
Hours later, the biggest search platform in the country exploded with trending topics:
No.1 - "#Rebeca Verne may have joined Reapers#"
No.2 - "#Iconic duo reunites after 7 years?#"
No.3 - "#After 7 years, Rebeca returns to a series?#"
Alex didn't stop for interviews. He didn't even pretend to be friendly.
"In a few days, I'll release updates on filming progress. For now, please don't delay our move to the location."
Protected by security, he got into the car quickly, closing the door like he was shutting the outside world out.
Because the truth was simple: outside was noise. Marketing. Hunger.
The real story would only begin when the cameras turned on.
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