1271-1275

Chapter 1271: The Final Push

Miles glanced at Anson, plucking a single guitar string:

Buzz!

That look, that movement, that posture—everything about Miles was issuing a warning to Anson. Are you sure? Are you ready? Can you handle this?

Anson responded with a rapid, dazzling cascade of drumbeats, a torrential wave crashing toward Miles—a bold, upright answer.

Miles shook his head lightly and plucked another string:

Twang!

The second warning. This time it seemed more restrained, yet the force behind the pluck carried an unmistakable intensity, waiting to erupt with deliberate precision.

But Anson didn’t back down. His drumbeats surged forward like a summer storm, overwhelming and relentless. With each strike, he unleashed an intricate, energetic rhythm that poured down like a torrent.

Nearby, Connor and Lily were the enthusiastic spectators, cheering on the duel with unbridled excitement.

Reese, meanwhile, was unable to contain her exhilaration. She swayed her skirt, her light steps brimming with mischief, as if she could no longer suppress the thrill bubbling inside her.

Thump thump thump. Buzz buzz buzz.

Back and forth.

Boom boom boom. Twang twang twang.

You push, I block.

Finally, Miles made his move. His right hand struck the guitar strings—not plucking, but slapping.

The rhythm and melody intertwined, creating a power that matched Anson’s ferocity. The tension spread like wildfire, neither side yielding an inch.

Anson mirrored the intensity, his hands alternating between the guitar strings and the body, transforming it into a percussion instrument. He manipulated the materials and their varying textures to produce an astonishing array of sounds, creating the most exquisite music with the simplest of tools.

Watching Anson and Miles turn string instruments into percussion, Reese marveled at their playful, almost party-like duel. Their back-and-forth clashed yet harmonized in an inexplicable way, stirring the heart and igniting passion.

The room throbbed with energy, the heat and excitement palpable.

It was just a musical performance, yet it felt like two martial arts masters dueling atop Mount Hua—waves of fervent energy rolling through the air, leaving everyone breathless and drenched in sweat.

Reese could no longer hold herself back. She burst into dance, spinning with abandon.

This, she realized, was what live performance felt like.

Now, Reese finally understood why Anson chose to play incognito in New York bars. She also understood his enthusiasm when she expressed a desire to visit a recording studio.

The answer was here.

The barrier she had been desperately seeking, yet couldn’t overcome, was right here.

Feel it. Experience it. Embrace it.

It wasn’t just about pitch, tone, or lyrics—it was about the band, the audience, and the soul hidden behind the music.

Every detail, every element, was part of the performance.

To truly grasp the essence of live music, one had to listen to every part, understand every existence, and immerse oneself fully.

This was also why director James Mangold insisted that all the musical performances in the film be performed by the actors themselves. It was the only way for them to bridge the gap between real-life figures and artistic creation, blending into the roles completely. It was the sole gateway to exploring the artistic lives of Johnny Cash and June Carter.

The greater the ambition, the greater the challenge.

No wonder Reese had been stuck at the threshold, unable to take the final step.

After circling around in search of answers, Reese had finally found the key.

It seemed Anson had already unraveled the mystery. Knowing Reese’s struggle, he had deliberately created this opportunity to guide her toward her own epiphany.

Indeed, Anson was nothing short of remarkable.

Creating Summer Midnight, a groundbreaking album that stunned audiences and garnered critical acclaim, Anson had proven his immense talent.

But that wasn’t the main point.

The true revelation came during the Grammy Awards performance. That one act showcased Anson’s profound understanding of music and the stage.

A true genius.

Reese was now certain that Anson’s decision to star in Walk the Line was no coincidence. He was no mere “pretty face.”

Everything was aligning as she had imagined: this collaboration was bound to be extraordinary.

Even before entering the production phase, Reese was already brimming with excitement.

Her steps light and joyous, she resumed singing after the exhilarating duel between Anson and Miles. Fully immersed in the moment, Reese found her rhythm.

“I walked into a bar that day,

Dropped a coin in the jukebox to hear it play.

Didn’t know which song to choose,

Just let the coin pick for me some jukebox blues.”

Unintentionally, Reese revealed a glimpse of her true self. Her carefree spirit bubbled to the surface as she began spinning in place.

Spinning, leaping, her eyes closed.

Her skirt flared as the world seemed to spin with her, and in that fleeting instant, she recaptured the innocence and purity of childhood. Inadvertently, she grasped the brilliance and vibrancy of June Carter’s soul.

Perhaps this was June Carter’s essence.

When faced with hardship and pain, some people escape into alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, or gambling. The medium doesn’t matter; what matters is the temporary respite they find in these distractions. It’s an illusion, a fleeting escape that never resolves the underlying issues.

Take Johnny Cash, for instance. He could solve others’ problems but never face the mess of his own life.

Others, however, choose to confront their struggles head-on. With optimism and determination, they seek new possibilities. They might not find all the answers, but at least they dare to face reality, pursue dreams, and explore uncharted territory.

June Carter was one of the latter. Her challenges were no less daunting than Johnny’s, yet she was the true adult in their relationship.

Suddenly, Reese wondered: why would someone as resilient as June Carter fall in love with someone as troubled as Johnny Cash?

Sadly, she would never have the chance to ask June Carter herself.

Unconsciously, Reese’s peripheral vision caught sight of a figure, a smile so radiant it demanded attention even when not in focus.

Before realizing it, her gaze shifted.

In the brilliance of that smile, their eyes met.

It was Anson.

Handsome and dashing, exuding effortless charm.

So different from Ryan Phillippe.

Though Ryan, too, was a "pretty boy," he carried a boyish, innocent quality, a youthful naivety.

Anson, on the other hand, possessed a mature, weathered allure. His charisma, forged through trials and tribulations, shone with understated brilliance.

He wasn’t dazzling or flamboyant, yet his presence effortlessly commanded attention. The elegance in his demeanor transcended mere appearances.

A glance, fleeting yet profound.

Another, and one was captivated.

Their eyes met, the air between them charged. Her heart pounded against her chest, its echo a resounding rhythm in her ears.

The melody lingered, her singing becoming instinctive.

In that brief moment, the line between reality and illusion blurred.

June Carter followed her instincts, singing with abandon. The joy and happiness in her heart blossomed into a smile, radiating as she sang with unrestrained delight.

“I’ve played more jukeboxes

Than anyone around,

But that rhythm I heard tonight,

Could make the night spin round.”

For a fleeting second, Reese felt she had grasped the essence of June Carter.

Perhaps this was the beginning of understanding her.

Chapter 1272: Lost in Time

Spinning, leaping, sleepless through the night; twirling gracefully until utterly exhausted. Feeling the rhythm with the body, stamping out the beat with every step. Notes bloom proudly in the infinite universe, with dazzling starlight cascading down unrestrained.

The world is swept into a realm of brilliance.

In a daze, Joan Carter spread her arms, spinning in place endlessly. Sunlight, fine rain, and gentle breezes fell into her embrace, bustling together. Her smile, as if played by musical instruments, scattered harmoniously within the melody.

She spun until her steps finally ceased, though her dress still danced in the air.

Joan Carter turned back to the microphone. Her chest rose and fell; her breathing burned. Only then did she realize how exhilarated she was, struggling to catch her breath.

But she didn’t care.

“Play me some jukebox blues—I’ve never heard a rhythm like this. I’ve danced my shoes away.”

Her breathing, slightly erratic, nearly disrupted the rhythm, but she managed to regain control. At the very moment her performance ended, she raised her arms high—

*Tap. Tap.* Twice.

She kicked off her shoes, stood on her toes, and spun freely within the melody. The music surged with ever-growing fervor and joy.

The coolness of the guitar, the cheerfulness of the keyboard, the depth of the bass, and the elegance of the cello intertwined—a collision of sounds akin to a bright summer afternoon suddenly overtaken by a torrential downpour. Missing the chance to find shelter, one simply danced in the rain, letting their soul melt into the warm, wet chaos. Slowly, it felt like self no longer mattered.

“My jukebox blues, oh, jukebox blues.”

Laughter swirled from her chest.

Dancing until utterly exhausted.

At last, the music stopped, and so did Joan Carter’s steps.

Her feet, barely stable, wobbled as if resisting gravity’s pull. She stumbled slightly but couldn’t have cared less. She laughed freely, arms raised high, leaping again, her eyes shimmering with light—

“Another one?”

Anson’s lips curled into a smile as he turned to look at his bandmates. They exchanged glances, all equally ignited with passion. Each forehead gleamed with sweat, yet their smiles were just as radiant.

Anson tilted his chin ever so slightly, signaling to the group. In their eager gazes, his fingers plucked the guitar strings once more, resuming the music.

Undoubtedly, this was yet another unique experience. Playing, enjoying, creating not their band’s original music, nor newly composed tracks, but timeless classics across eras.

Everything returned to the heart of music.

To avoid Hollywood’s attention, as all eyes fixated on Anson, Miles and the others discreetly departed early. They flew to Nashville and then drove to Memphis.

This was why the band arrived slightly later.

For Miles and the others, it made no difference—they slept through most of it. Hazy and groggy, they crossed half the North American continent, spending most of the journey in dreamland, unaware of their exact whereabouts.

It was just another job—

In truth, the band wasn’t privy to all the details: the buzz surrounding "Another Ray of Light," the pressure from Apple and Warner Records to begin recording urgently. They had only heard bits and pieces. Everything happened so quickly.

Can you imagine?

At this time last night, they had just arrived at the Staples Center to walk the red carpet. Tonight, they found themselves in a Memphis recording studio, half-dazed and semi-conscious, barely understanding their purpose.

Yet this job was evolving into a celebration.

Work no longer felt like work. Performing no longer felt like performing. It was pure joy, akin to returning to the streets, playing music simply for love, basking in the resonance and vigor of melodies.

Happiness, truly, is not complicated. People make it so.

One by one, all eyes turned to Anson, orbiting around him.

Reese sang, leaped, and danced. It felt as though a flame burned within her chest. At times, she thought she was Joan Carter. At other times, she returned to being Reese, the boundary between fantasy and reality blurring in the world of music.

So, how did it all begin?

Does it matter?

Not at all.

Immerse yourself. Let loose. Lose yourself in the rhythm.

Her heart pounded fiercely, but Reese’s gaze remained fixed on one figure, one face, glowing in the interplay of light and shadow.

Time lost all meaning in that moment.

In a small corner of Memphis, music took flight.

Anson and his bandmates dove into their work. Yet it was hard to discern—was this a musical endeavor or a cinematic one? Perhaps both.

What was certain, though, was that Reese spent her days immersed in the recording studio, working with the August 31st band, much to some people’s disappointment.

The fact that Anson delayed joining the "Walk the Line" film crew for several days sparked grumbling. Even though he was in Memphis, the delay, excused or not, upset some in the production. Yet no one dared voice their frustrations. For someone of Anson’s stature, even the director, James Mangold, acquiesced to every whim, eagerly accommodating him. They could only hope Reese would intervene.

But what happened?

Within just one afternoon, Reese was “won over.” Instead of escalating tensions and dragging Anson back, she too became engrossed in the studio. Suddenly, the film crew couldn’t find Reese either.

This silenced the complaining staff and disappointed gossip-hungry onlookers. A brewing drama fizzled out before it even began.

Memphis remained tranquil, its ripples barely forming before settling back into calm.

Meanwhile, Los Angeles stayed equally serene.

No one noticed Miles’ departure or Anson’s journey to Memphis. Instead, there was mild surprise—

Anson moved so decisively, heading to Memphis immediately after the Grammy ceremony, showing no attachment to the Oscars.

With a single pivot, Anson left Hollywood executives to face their shame over the Academy's missteps. The greater the Grammy’s success, the deeper the sting. By leaving promptly, he gave them no room for damage control.

Classic Anson—merciless and precise.

Beneath the surface, however, unseen currents churned. The stiller the surface, the more intricate the underlying dynamics.

Then, an unexpected player entered the game—

Apple?

(Chapter Ends)

Chapter 1273: Tripartite Collaboration

Apple—a computer company.

Although the launch of the iPod thrust them into the highly competitive music player market, this wasn’t entirely groundbreaking. Many computer companies had already started producing digital music players. Ultimately, Apple was still a tech company, fundamentally distinct from the entertainment industry and artistic creation.

In fact, Apple didn’t mind this stereotype.

It gave them a slight advantage, allowing them to mask their strategic intentions and secure a head start. Everything had to proceed quietly and be firmly in place before competitors could catch on.

This is why Apple preferred swift and decisive action. From the perspective of leveraging the Grammys’ momentum or executing Apple’s overarching strategy, time was of the essence.

What Apple didn’t know was that Warner Records shared the same urgency.

Though the August 31st band had disbanded, their album Midnight Summer had sold over five million copies, followed by four Grammy wins. Their performance at the awards show was the highest-rated moment of the night. One wave of success followed another, creating an unstoppable frenzy.

But what if this momentum was disrupted by leaked insider news?

The consequences would be unimaginable.

Warner Records was scrambling to regain control.

On one front, Miles and his bandmates were preparing to form a new group. While Warner Records showed interest, they wanted to first hear the band’s music. Since most of the songwriting for August 31st had been done by Anson, Warner was unsure about the style and potential of this new group. They needed a reference point before determining its market positioning.

On the other front, Anson was returning to his primary career as an actor. However, Warner Records didn’t want to lose him—more importantly, they didn’t want rival labels to sign him. They were doing everything possible to convince Anson to continue creating and releasing music as a solo artist.

Warner Records needed to act before news of the band’s breakup leaked. They had to seize the opportunity and offer Anson a deal—only a fool would let this chance slip away.

The single “Another Light” emerged in this context.

Warner Records saw it as an opportunity to make waves while delaying news of the band’s breakup.

Thus, despite having their own agendas, Warner and Apple quickly reached an agreement, and the negotiations progressed with remarkable ease.

Typically, collaborations between large companies involve extensive deliberation, with interests being pulled in multiple directions. The complexity often exceeds expectations.

However, in this case, Warner Records and Apple swiftly found common ground.

Both companies were interested in digital music distribution and recognized the potential for a powerful partnership. But the finer details required long-term planning, which would take more time.

Coincidentally, the single from August 31st presented an ideal test case. Both sides decided to use this as an opportunity to experiment and assess feasibility.

Apple aimed to showcase the broad potential of digital downloads and the unique advantages of integrating iPod with iTunes.

Meanwhile, Warner Records sought to evaluate Apple’s distribution capabilities and gather data on the digital music market.

So, the two companies quickly struck a deal—speed was critical.

While Apple raced against time, Warner was doing the same.

Both companies showed vision and decisiveness, avoiding unnecessary squabbles over minor details because their focus was on the larger, long-term benefits.

In less than 48 hours, the partnership was finalized.

Apple's Role

The digital release of “Another Light” would be exclusive to iTunes. However, Warner Records wouldn’t participate in the digital revenue. Instead, August 31st would sign a single-song agreement with Apple as independent artists.

At the time, the digital music industry lacked clear standards. When platforms directly signed agreements with independent artists without label involvement, revenue shares ranged widely from 30% to 70%. There was no default industry standard.

Many musicians had called for unity with record labels to establish fair practices, creating a more equitable framework for future independent artists.

But Apple made a compelling offer:

August 31st would receive 80% of the digital revenue.

In other words, for every dollar a song earned, the band would take home 80 cents—a groundbreaking deal.

Of course, Apple’s generosity had limits. This arrangement applied solely to “Another Light,” and it was designed to pave the way for future collaborations.

Warner Records' Role

Warner Records would handle the physical release of “Another Light.”

However, they decided against releasing it as a standalone single—it wasn’t cost-effective.

Instead, Warner invited August 31st to dig into their archives for additional tracks to bundle with “Another Light” in a deluxe edition of Midnight Summer.

Yes, a deluxe edition.

Warner planned to re-release the band’s album as a commemorative gesture, celebrating August 31st as a chapter in music history.

This move not only allowed fans to enjoy “Another Light” but also revisit the band’s extraordinary journey through additional tracks.

Naturally, Warner would adhere to the terms of their existing contract with the band. While Warner wouldn’t claim a share of the digital sales, they incentivized the band members by offering a $100,000 bonus for every million deluxe edition albums sold—split equally among the four members, with no upper limit.

Execution

In just two days, a major collaboration was finalized.

Unfortunately, the pressure now fell on August 31st.

With Apple and Warner rushing to implement the agreement, the band was left scrambling. They had to complete recording quickly to enable the companies to proceed.

Anson: ???

“Wait, you want me to write more songs? Wasn’t this supposed to be just one track? How did this escalate? Nobody asked for my opinion! You think songwriting is as easy as eating or drinking? Seriously? I’m suing you exploitative capitalists for overworking me!”

Meanwhile, Miles and the others gazed skyward with equally pained expressions, overwhelmed by the relentless pace.

At a 45-degree angle, they stared wistfully into the heavens.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 1274: A Cloud of Doubt Over the Diva*

The sunlight was just right.

Warm and pleasant, dry and bright—it was the kind of weather that made people want to bask in its glow.

The early February morning in Memphis carried a touch of chill, a hint of laziness, and a sense of ease. Though it wasn’t warm like spring, the crispness of winter was still evident. Compared to Los Angeles’ scorching and arid sunlight, Memphis felt gentler—bright without being blinding, radiant without being overwhelming. Strolling down the streets, one's footsteps naturally became lighter.

The night had just faded, and the city was slowly waking up. The streets still felt stiff, not fully unfurled. Stepping out of the shadowed interiors and into the sunlight, one could light a cigarette and steal a moment of idleness before the day’s hustle began. Add a cup of coffee and a donut to that, and everything would feel perfect.

Finally, Walk the Line was ready to begin filming. Today was the first day of production.

After waiting and postponing, and then waiting some more, the day had finally arrived.

Early in the morning, crew members began arriving at the shooting location one after another.

But as they exchanged glances, they couldn’t suppress the wry smiles creeping onto their faces. A sense of absurdity filled the air, making it hard not to laugh.

“...Wasn’t the first scene supposed to be shot on Linden Avenue? Why are we here instead?”

“Who knows? Everything was planned out perfectly, and then they changed it last minute.”

“I heard it was because of Anson.”

“Of course, it’s Anson. Who else could it be? The whole production revolves around him. So, what’s the issue this time?”

“Apparently, he felt the first scene should be shot in the recording studio because he’s still ‘in the recording studio mindset’ and thinks ‘it just feels right.’”

“And here we are? All the prep work from the past two weeks scrapped just like that?”

“Well, hey, it’s Anson Wood. We should be grateful, right? A top-tier star taking their role seriously. We should be thrilled to witness the making of a legend.”

Ha-ha. Ha-ha-ha.

The laughter rippled through the group, but the sarcasm and mockery behind it were unmistakable.

Indeed, Walk the Line had finally started production, but only after being delayed for an entire week—not a day or two, but a full seven days.

Yet even on the long-awaited first day, chaos still reigned. Just yesterday, with a single command, the entire shooting plan was overhauled.

The film’s producers and director, James Mangold, had envisioned capturing the essence of the era as authentically as possible by shooting on location. Forest Studios supported this vision, agreeing to fully cooperate.

This meant filming in multiple cities:

Memphis. Nashville. Dallas. Houston. Los Angeles. New York.

And so on.

To control costs, the production couldn’t afford to shoot chronologically. Instead, they had to rearrange the script based on the cities and locations available for filming, which posed significant challenges for both the crew and the cast—especially the cast.

This method meant actors couldn’t follow the emotional arc of their characters chronologically. They had to deeply understand their characters’ life stories and emotional states to deliver compelling performances at any given point.

Take Memphis, for example:

This was where Johnny Cash returned to North America after his military service, started a family, and had two children. Yet, he was trapped in a mundane life, struggling to pay rent while still nursing dreams of a music career.

This was also where his marriage to Vivian faced numerous challenges. Despite moments of happiness, there were more conflicts than resolutions, until Johnny seized his first opportunity to pursue music.

This turbulent chapter in Cash’s life spanned many years but would be condensed into just five to ten minutes of screen time, demanding exceptional skill from the actors.

Originally, the first scene was planned to be shot on Linden Avenue—

This was where Johnny and Vivian lived during the early years of their marriage, sharing both joy and hardship.

Director Mangold had carefully selected a few relatively simple scenes for the first day of filming to help Anson ease into Johnny’s world.

Everything had been meticulously arranged.

No one anticipated a last-minute change just twelve hours before filming began.

Instead of Linden Avenue, the shoot was moved to Union Avenue.

Union Avenue 706, now a museum, was once the home of Sun Records.

Founded by Sam Phillips, Sun Records launched the careers of icons like Elvis Presley and Johnny Cash. The label was instrumental in shaping the golden age of country and rock music.

Though its glory days were long gone, Sun Records still held a special place in the hearts of music fans, attracting visitors from around the world to its museum.

Mangold had gone to great lengths to negotiate with the museum, eventually securing permission to use the space for filming, aiming to recreate the authentic atmosphere of the era.

However, no one—including the museum staff—expected such unpredictability.

The shoot, originally scheduled for two weeks later, had been abruptly moved up.

The museum, not a major historic landmark, typically saw few visitors, especially in the winter off-season—fewer than 100 people per day.

But even a small number of visitors could be inconvenienced by the museum’s closure for filming, potentially disappointing fans who had traveled specifically to see it.

The museum staff was understandably unhappy with the production’s capriciousness.

No one knew how Mangold convinced them to go along with the sudden change, but even setting aside the museum’s frustrations, the crew found the situation absurd.

For them, every detail required careful planning. The last thing they needed was unforeseen chaos—

And yet, here they were, scrambling to clean up the mess created by Anson’s spur-of-the-moment decision.

While the “artists” relaxed in their trailers giving orders, the exhausted crew worked tirelessly to bring these whims to life.

Frankly, no matter how charismatic Anson might be, it was hard to swallow.

And to make matters worse, even in this chaotic situation, Anson kept them waiting.

The crew, already primed for action, had to remain on standby, stuck in limbo like statues in a game of “Red Light, Green Light.”

The film hadn’t even started shooting, yet the frustration among the crew was palpable.

Sure enough, divas will be divas. Business acumen aside, Anson had mastered the art of keeping the crew on their toes.

If nothing else, he exuded an undeniable aura of stardom—

A bona fide A-lister, capable of commanding an entire production with his whims.

What else could they do but grin and bear it?

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 1275: Caught in the Act*

"…So, does anyone actually know what’s going on? We've been standing around here like fools for an entire week."

"No idea. The world of superstars is beyond the understanding of us mere mortals."

"Who knows? Maybe he's working on some artistic creation!"

"Hahaha."

"This isn’t the first time. Remember what happened during 'Spider-Man'?"

"That was different, though. He was injured…"

"Injured? Or so they say. Who knows the truth? Everyone in Hollywood should know by now that the ‘truth’ is just what they want you to see. What’s really happening behind the scenes is anyone’s guess."

"Exactly. Maybe he figured out Sony-Columbia was trying to give him trouble, so he faked an injury to throw them off and catch them off guard."

"Now the whole of Hollywood is praising him, which makes it even more suspicious. It feels like a PR stunt to cover something up."

"After spending so long in Hollywood, you should’ve learned by now. These so-called superstars might look classy and glamorous on the outside, but do you still believe they’re like that in private?"

"Totally agree. Even that so-called 'legendary heartthrob' might not be all that. Like Tom Cruise—honestly, he strikes me as childish. I’d bet anything he’s not 5’8” (173 cm); he’s probably no taller than 5’6” (168 cm), at most!"

"So, you're saying Anson is secretly a regular guy like the rest of us, right?"

"Hahaha."

"I have no illusions about him, okay? Let’s be clear: I’m not into men. God, I just hate these self-absorbed Hollywood stars. Beyond their pretty faces, they’re utterly useless. I can’t stand their stupidity and entitlement."

"You’d better pray he behaves himself when filming starts."

"I seriously doubt it. He’ll probably come up with some excuse like ‘artistic inspiration’ to mess with the crew, and I bet the director won’t say a word against him."

Blah, blah, blah.

The chatter went on endlessly. Gossip is like Pandora’s box—once opened, there’s no shutting it. Out came all sorts of rumors, truths mixed with lies, flying around like a chaotic whirlwind.

The point wasn’t even the discussion itself; it was just venting. Before long, the conversation had veered off into the stratosphere.

Even as they gossiped, they didn’t seem to know what they were even talking about anymore.

Cody Caffey rolled his eyes, his thick, dark beard shifting animatedly as he spoke.

"Anyway, he’s a superstar. Thousands of teens scream for him, some probably willing to throw themselves at him. They worship him like a god. And us? We’re just nobodies tagging along for the ride."

The gossip continued, but the atmosphere suddenly shifted without warning.

Ahead, a few people were nervously putting out their cigarettes, their expressions twitchy and exaggerated, as if their facial muscles had lost control.

Cody, ever oblivious, didn’t miss the odd behavior but didn’t care either. Instead, he shot them a glare and spat out sarcastically, "What? Did you see Lucifer himself?"

"Haha, nice try. Your faces are screaming that Anson is right behind me, aren’t they? Seen too many Hollywood movies and TV shows, guys. That trick doesn’t work. Give it a rest."

"Let me tell you, even if Anson were standing here, I’d say the same thing."

"He’s a self-centered jerk who doesn’t give a damn about our workload. We get paid per project, not per hour. Sitting around here doing nothing for days doesn’t just mean no extra income; it messes up our schedules, and we might lose out on future gigs."

"He’s a top-tier star raking in millions like it’s pocket change. Meanwhile, we don’t even know where our next job is coming from. We’ve got families to feed, okay?"

The more Cody talked, the more worked up he became, his anger spiraling into a rant.

Just as his fury peaked, a voice came from behind him.

"Why don’t you file a formal complaint, then? If he’s leaving you hanging all day."

Cody snorted. "Are you stupid? Filing a complaint is like painting a target on your back. Next thing you know, you’re out of a job. There are countless people in Hollywood ready to take your place."

The voice persisted. "If this situation is truly unjustified, you should fight for your rights. The union would back you. But if the union doesn’t support it, that means it’s within industry norms. Film schedules are rarely set in stone. Are you just venting because you know you don’t have a real case?"

Cody froze, ready to snap back, but then his brain finally caught up.

He stopped dead, his mind blank, staring at the suddenly evasive or anxious faces of the people in front of him.

They didn’t need to say anything. Their expressions told the truth.

A wave of dread washed over Cody.

"He’s right behind me, isn’t he?"

His voice trembled. No one answered, but their sidelong glances and avoidance were answer enough.

His heart sank.

Oh, God. Why me? Everyone in the crew gossips about actors and directors. No one gets caught. Why me?

A voice broke the silence, tinged with teasing.

"I don’t bite, I swear. Whatever they say about me in Hollywood, I can promise you, I don’t bite."

The humor didn’t land. Cody was too horrified to laugh.

Taking a deep breath, he mustered his courage, gritted his teeth, and turned around—

"Hey."

The greeting came from the front.

Cody realized his eyes were shut tight, his face set in grim determination as if he were marching to his doom. Forcing them open, he was met with Anson’s warm, smiling face.

"Oh."

A strangled groan escaped Cody as his knees nearly gave out.

Badmouthing people behind their backs wasn’t unusual in Hollywood. Everyone did it.

But getting caught by the person you were trashing? That was catastrophic.

In that instant, Cody’s world crumbled. Sure, everyone had been trash-talking Anson, but of course, he was the one who got caught.

He was sure his job was done for. Nobody likes being the subject of gossip.

Despair. Misery. Agony.

Cody’s face conveyed it all, louder than words.

Anson, unable to suppress his amusement, let his smile widen.

"Good morning. What’s your name?"

Cody blinked, then groaned again.

Anson blinked, too, realizing how it must have sounded. "I’m just asking your name…"

But to Cody, it felt like the beginning of a reckoning. His name hovered on his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it, as if surrendering to inevitable doom.

What now?

Even after bouncing from set to set, Cody had no clue how to handle this.

---