....
Ross played it as hurt.
A father looking at his son and realizing, truly realizing, that he didn't know him at all. And as he finished the last line, he allowed himself a small exhale, opening his eyes to see what kind of reaction he would get.
Would Regal throw a tantrum?
Or would he do what every other director had done, nod along, adjust his notes, and convince himself that whatever Ross had delivered was exactly what he had wanted all along?
Ross blinked.
Regal wasn't in his seat.
?His brows furrowed.
For a fraction of a second, confusion flickered through his mind.
On the other side of the room, Alexander, who had been sitting silently until now, suddenly shot to his feet.
Excitent lit up his face.
He clapped. Loudly. Without restraint.
For a brief mont, he felt as if he were on the set of the movie [Following]... and this was a shoot Regal just shot.
But then reality settled in.
His hands slowed. His face darkened slightly as the truth caught up with him. His applause weakened with each clap... until there was no sound at all.
I am not about to get chewed out for this, right?
Ross, still caught between confusion and amusent, took note of two things.
One - Regal was gone from his chair.
Two - the young man clapping enthusiastically was a complete unknown.
Ross gave him a fleeting glance, a few seconds, nothing more, before dismissing him entirely.
And then—
Movent.
Ross caught it in his periphery.
Regal was suddenly there.
Right in front of him.
Too close.
Not in a way that felt confrontational, no aggressive stance, no posturing - but in a way that made it painfully clear he had sothing to say.
Before Ross could so much as process it, Regal spoke.
And God, did he speak.
The words poured out of him like a dam breaking, fast and relentless.
Not praise. Not blind approval.
Analysis.
Regal tore into the performance like a man possessed, dissecting every shift, every alteration, with an almost surgical precision.
He wasn't just noting the obvious changes, any half-decent director could do that. No, he caught the smallest adjustnts. The ones so subtle that even seasoned professionals would have missed them.
What he liked.
What he didn't.
What worked.
What didn't.
And then, just as suddenly, he started telling Ross what to keep. Not just allowing, but outright insisting on certain alterations.
"You adjusted the last line too." Regal's eyes didn't waver, sharp and direct. "You softened it. The original was colder. More restrained. You gave it warmth."
Ross raised a brow. "Didn't work?"
"It worked." Regal didn't hesitate. "But it's not the tone I want."
?Ross blinked.
There it was! Not a polite nod. Not a hesitant suggestion. Not the usual dance of directors tiptoeing around his ego, afraid to say sothing he wouldn't like.
Just a straight answer.
Blunt. Direct. No hesitation.
Regal wasn't backing down.
"Hold the expression from the second half of your play." Regal continued, as if he hadn't just done the impossible by standing his ground. "It added sothing I didn't think of. But change the lead-up back to what's in the script. The coldness is necessary. And that mont at the end—"
His brow furrowed slightly, like he was replaying it in his head. "Your choice of eye contact. It was good, but I need it to linger a fractional mont longer. That's the difference between guilt and resolve."
For a mont, Ross could only stare.
This kid was either completely insane -
Or actually knew what the hell he was talking about.
...and in the back, Alexander watched the scene unfold with trembling eyes.
He was ready.
Any second now, Ross was going to snap - explode at Regal for daring to critique him so bluntly. Alexander could already see himself stepping in, trying to restrain the inevitable conflict before it spiraled out of control.
But... it never ca?
Ross didn't raise his voice. Didn't scoff. Didn't storm out.
He just... listened?
And that was the most unnerving part of all.
Alexander, as a self proclaid admirer of him, had thought he knew Ross.
But right here, right now...
He had been wrong.
No.
Everyone had been wrong.
Minutes passed, sharp exchanges, precise adjustnts, a rhythm forming between actor and director that shouldn't have been possible.
Then, finally, Ross turned toward the door.
He stepped out without a word, but just before disappearing into the hallway, he shot one last glance at Regal and Alexander.
His expression was unreadable.
Then -
A quiet murmur as the door swung shut.
"Weird."
....
.
After that, the auditions continued.
Now, only one role remained uncast.
Regal hadn't made his final decision yet, but his mind kept circling back to one na. He scanned the list again.
Kristen Stewart.
Yes, that Kristen Stewart - who acted in the film 'Twilight' in his forr world.
So had dismissed her as stiff, expressionless. Others swore she had untapped potential buried beneath the wrong scripts and direction.
Here?
She was still an actress on the rise.
A different trajectory, a different industry, but perhaps the sa untapped potential. Whether it was the sa quiet intensity he had once seen glimpses of or sothing entirely new, he was about to find out.
Because now, it was her turn.
The door creaked open.
And just as expected—
She walked in.
....
Ross lounged in the back seat of his car, gaze unfocused as he watched the city blur past.
The last few minutes had been... interesting, to say the least.
Buzz—!
Just then his phone rang.
His gaze dropped to the screen, and the mont he saw the caller ID, he shifted in his seat. A slow smirk crept onto his face as he picked up.
"What is it, Stephen Hawking?"
"Nothing much." The voice on the other end replied, casual but with a trace of curiosity. "Heard you had an audition today. Just checking in, wanted to see if you actually managed to land the role you were after."
Ross chuckled, pridefully. "? Auditioning and not getting what I want?"
"Yeah, yeah." Stephen sighed. "It's just funny to that you still have to audition at all."
Ross's grip on the phone tightened slightly at that. His smirk thinned. "Cut to the chase. What do you actually want?"
Silence stretched for a mont before Stephen finally spoke again, his tone deceptively light. "Don't try anything funny during the shoot."
The words were casual, almost offhand, yet the warning sat heavy between them.
Ross raised a brow. "Huh?"
"Are you actually worried about sothing?" he mused, then let out a short, knowing laugh. "Wait - don't tell this is about your grandson's debut? Damn, Stephen, you have gone soft."
A beat of silence. Then—
"...My grandson?"
Stephen's voice held genuine surprise.
"He is in the movie too?"
Ross blinked.
Then blinked again.
For the first ti in a long while, words actually failed him.
"...You didn't know?"
There was another pause on the other end of the line. A asured one. Then, Stephen let out a low chuckle.
"Well, I do now."
Ross exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Are you serious? The old man himself, the great Stephen Sr., the all-seeing, all-knowing, utterly insufferable–"
"Careful."
"-didn't even realize his own grandson was in the sa damn film?"
Stephen humd, unconcerned. "You overestimate how much I care about the industry these days."
Ross scoffed. "Yeah? Then why the hell did you call just to tell not to screw around on set?"
"I was talking about you."
Ross opened his mouth, then closed it.
...well, he wasn't wrong.
But of course, Ross knew Stephen was lying.
By now, the buzz around Stephen Hawking's grandson's debut was sothing most would at least be intrigued by. Regal, as always, had already taken steps to ensure the news reached the right ears, strategically leaking just enough to pique curiosity.
"Forget about that." Stephen cut him off, his voice firm. "Just listen to what I say. Don't cause any trouble."
Ross scoffed. "And why the hell should I listen to you?" He leaned forward slightly, voice edged with defiance. "Moreover, who said I even agreed to this role? Sure, I passed the audition, but I can walk away whenever I want."
"Then don't." Stephen said. His next words ca softer, almost hesitant. "...you might regre-"
Tut-!
Ross ended the call.
He already knew what Stephen was about to say.
And yet, he wasn't offended. Not in the slightest.
Regret?
...He chuckled under his breath. He had too many already. Adding another wouldn't change anything.
So no, it wasn't regret that unsettled him.
It was sothing else.
Sothing about Stephen's tone.
That last second, his voice, usually so unwavering, had softened. Almost uncertain.
Ross blinked.
Processing.
And then, it hit him.
His fingers slackened around his phone as realization set in.
Stephen Hawking.
The man Ross had been chasing since the mont he stepped into this industry.
The man he had fought, desperately, relentlessly, to surpass.
And yet, no matter what he did, Stephen had always remained a mountain too high to climb.
For years, Ross had waged war against the bitter truth that he might never reach that peak. That deep down, he had already given up, but refused to admit it.
And now...
That very sa Stephen Hawking had just admitted–
In his own way–
That he was envious - of Ross.
For landing a role in a film of ....what a second film director?
Ross exhaled slowly.
He still couldn't quite believe it.
What the hell was happening?
.
....
[To be continued...]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
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