1201-1205

Chapter 1201: Pretending to Be Melancholic

The 61st Golden Globe nominations have been announced.

"Elephant" was completely ignored, earning zero nominations and missing the chance to replicate the achievements of Pulp Fiction after its Palme d'Or win a decade ago.

Even "The Butterfly Effect" fell short of expectations, securing only a single nomination for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy.

So, what does this mean?

Anson: Nothing important.

Who cares about the Hollywood undercurrents reflected in the Golden Globe nominations?

Who cares about the unseen power plays behind the nods and snubs?

Who cares about when the "pretty face" label will finally be shed?

At this moment, the only thing that matters is that "The Butterfly Effect" got nominated.

One bite at a time, one step at a time—there’s no need to rush.

Although Anson longed to open new doors and explore more possibilities, he was perfectly fine with carrying the "pretty face" label a bit longer. After all, the success of both "The Butterfly Effect" and "Elephant" had already exceeded all expectations.

People shouldn’t be too greedy.

Anson was satisfied with the current achievements—this year had brought more than enough surprises.

Besides, take a look at the full list of Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy nominees:

• Bill Murray, Lost in Translation

• Jack Nicholson, Something’s Gotta Give

• Johnny Depp, Pirates of the Caribbean

• Jack Black, School of Rock

• Finally, Anson Wood, The Butterfly Effect

Among them, only Jack Black broke into the Hollywood mainstream after High Fidelity in the early 2000s, earning his first Golden Globe nomination this year. The other three are legends.

For Anson, earning a second consecutive nomination and standing alongside these icons was a joyful moment.

Clearly, not everyone saw it that way.

Reporter Questions:

• "Anson, are you disappointed with the Golden Globe nominations?"

• "Do you think director Gus Van Sant was unfairly overlooked?"

• "Did you expect 'Elephant' to be completely snubbed?"

• "Do you think Rachel McAdams and Heath Ledger were ignored?"

• "What are your expectations for tonight’s ceremony?"

• "You're the only representative from 'Elephant' tonight. Do you feel lonely?"

• "Did you anticipate this nomination outcome?"

Tonight was the Golden Globe Awards ceremony.

When Anson appeared at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, the world seemed to fall silent—not for lack of sound but because the deafening wave of attention drowned out everything else.

Even more intense than last year.

Last year, Anson had already made history at the Golden Globes, transforming his public image after the Catch Me If You Can buzz. This year, he ascended further.

For twenty minutes, the red carpet scene was a storm of cheers, flashes, and chaos. Everyone who arrived before or after Anson paled in comparison. The Hilton Hotel’s entrance was dominated by one name:

Anson Wood.

Naturally, the press bombarded him with sharp, provocative questions. Their hunt for headlines was relentless.

By the time Anson entered the venue, he had spent over thirty-five minutes on the red carpet, enduring a relentless barrage of flashing cameras and screams. Despite his experience, he felt overwhelmed—his vision swam with flickering lights, his ears roared with noise, and even his balance faltered.

Who knew walking a red carpet could be such a workout?

Needing a breather before entering the ballroom, Anson sat in the hotel lobby and asked a waiter for a bottle of water.

Sinking into a sofa, he cleared his mind—until a moment later, a figure stopped beside the adjacent sofa and smiled.

“I don’t know what to be more surprised by,” came the voice, raspy yet captivating. “The fact that the red carpet outside is still losing its mind over you, or that your hair looks so silky smooth, like you didn’t even break a sweat. Perfection, as always. My God.”

“Wow,” Anson murmured, his scattered thoughts snapping back into focus. He looked up and saw Scarlett Johansson smiling at him.

Wearing a light mauve strapless top, her golden curls pinned up to reveal her graceful neckline and shoulders, Scarlett radiated elegance. It was a subtle declaration: Hey, I’m eighteen now. Stop seeing me as a child star.

The year 2003 had been monumental for Scarlett. Lost in Translation and Girl with a Pearl Earring had both sparked critical acclaim, transforming her from a child actress into a rising star. Entering the awards season, Scarlett had emerged as a formidable contender, cementing her new identity as an artistic muse.

Tonight, she was here with purpose.

Anson blinked, his gaze lifting slightly. “My hair?”

Clearly, he hadn’t given his hairstyle any thought, but he allowed a small smile to escape. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Scarlett’s expression was earnest. “It is! You have no idea how much effort hair requires. I think my stylist used three cans of hairspray tonight. I feel like I’m wearing a Michelangelo sculpture on my head.”

Anson couldn’t help but laugh.

Scarlett regarded him quietly, her smile softening. “That’s better. Smiling suits you more.”

Anson paused, then shook his head with a sigh. “I’m not sad. I’m fine. Honestly.”

Scarlett raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really? You sitting here all alone with that expression looked quite melancholic.”

Anson couldn’t help but chuckle in exasperation. “Dear Scarlett, I’m just sitting here drinking water. Please don’t make up stories.”

Scarlett raised her hands in mock surrender, her face an innocent mask.

It was clear she didn’t believe him, and Anson spread his hands with a shrug. “Let the media fabricate their drama; don’t you join them. Why would I be sad?”

“Hey, if someone says they’re fine, shouldn’t we believe them? Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Scarlett widened her eyes. “You know, we humans often say the opposite of what we mean. ‘I’m fine’ can sometimes mean ‘I’m not fine.’”

Anson burst into laughter again. “So, what should I do to prove it? Breakdance on the red carpet?”

Scarlett pretended to scrutinize him seriously. “Wow,” she gasped theatrically, covering her mouth with both hands. “I didn’t know you could dance. I’d love to see that. Why don’t you give it a shot?”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 1202: Why Not Dance

Scarlett was obviously joking, her eyes gleaming with playful mischief.

Honestly, she couldn’t imagine Anson dancing.

Anson spread his hands. "Hey, I know I'm no Broadway boy, but I can dance."

Scarlett looked skeptical.

Anson added, "Well, until I was seven."

Scarlett burst out laughing.

Anson couldn’t hold back either, a smile spreading across his face. "You know, when you’re desperate for playmates as a kid, you lose control whenever you hear your dad’s best friend’s car pulling up outside."

"I’d start running around the house like a maniac, breakdancing like I was Michael Jackson performing at a sold-out concert for a hundred thousand people."

"God, I was such a pest that my dad had to stop me: ‘Quiet, Anson, quiet down now!’"

Scarlett couldn’t stop giggling.

"But I still couldn’t help myself. I’d sprint to the door, waiting for it to open, just to see my friends—my dad’s best friend’s twins, my age, who liked all the same things I did."

"You wouldn’t believe how wild we were."

As he spoke, a trace of nostalgia softened Anson's face.

He had let something slip.

These memories belonged to his past life. Back then, he was an only child, always eager for visits from his parents’ friends because they’d bring their kids along.

But now? What about this Anson Wood’s childhood?

Scarlett didn’t notice. "Trust me, I get it. I hate my siblings."

Scarlett’s words made her laugh before she even finished.

Anson snapped back to reality. Luckily, he hadn’t blown his cover. Lucas, being much younger, wasn’t perceived as his childhood playmate.

Though when he thought about it, Lucas did appear in many corners of the original Anson’s childhood memories.

Scarlett turned to Anson. "Did you know that many animals dance during courtship?"

Anson’s mind returned to the present. "Like peacocks showing off their feathers?"

Scarlett nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly!"

Anson’s smile reappeared. "As kids, we were just happy—sometimes without knowing why…"

Scarlett finished, "Dancing without restraint."

Anson nodded. "Exactly, it’s instinctual. So actually, I’m a fantastic dancer. People might’ve missed out on a great performer."

Scarlett tilted her head slightly. "I agree."

Anson blinked, caught off guard. "You agree?"

Scarlett finally caught on. "I mean the instinct part, not the world-class dancer part."

"Haha." Anson didn’t mind. "So, do you like dancing too?"

Scarlett tilted her head. "As a kid, I was obsessed with the Spice Girls."

Anson let out a sigh. "Oh."

Scarlett’s eyes lit up. "You know them?"

"Of course. Victoria Beckham? But it wasn’t just her. Their music was everywhere. Who didn’t know them?"

Scarlett beamed. "I still remember the first time I saw the music video for Wannabe on TV. They wore leopard prints, lace, and spaghetti straps, just owning the Midland Grand Hotel under the chandeliers, crashing parties, being unapologetically themselves."

"I remember it vividly—it was morning. I was dressed for school, eating cereal, when the video played, and I thought, ‘What the heck is this?’ You get it, right?"

Anson couldn’t stop laughing, nodding. "A whole new world."

"Exactly! You wouldn’t believe the visual impact. The music stuck in my head like glue, so much that I choreographed my own dance, imagining myself twirling under a chandelier while the whole world applauded me."

Anson grinned. "Wow. Really?"

Scarlett laughed at her childhood antics, unable to stop smiling. "Want to see it?"

Anson immediately straightened up. "Absolutely!"

Scarlett stood, adjusting her stance. "I don’t know if I remember it. It’s been years, so the moves are probably rusty. No laughing."

Anson rubbed his hands together. "No, no, I wouldn’t dream of it."

Scarlett repositioned herself. "Let me think for a moment."

Anson blinked dramatically, his eyes sparkling. "I’m already impressed."

Scarlett caught Anson’s teasing gaze, the mischievous glint in his blue eyes making her pause. Looking around the Hilton lobby, she noticed the crowd from the awards show milling about. Embarrassed, she turned back to Anson.

His ocean-blue eyes gleamed with playful amusement.

Scarlett covered her face. "No."

Anson widened his eyes, disappointed that the fun had been cut short. "Hey, Scarlett, don’t worry—it’s just me here," he coaxed like a devil whispering temptations.

Scarlett shot him a glare. "Now I’m 100% sure you’re fine."

Anson feigned regret. "Busted, huh?"

Scarlett smirked. "Do your fans know how annoying you are?"

Anson shrugged lightly. "I hope not, or they’d probably start throwing punches."

"Haha." Scarlett couldn’t help but laugh, her smile blooming fully.

But as the laughter faded, Scarlett grew thoughtful.

She understood that feeling—being seen as a child, a pretty object. People looked down on you, their concern and kindness dripping with pity and disdain, hiding subtle prejudice behind fake smiles.

It was uncomfortable.

Maybe Anson truly didn’t care about nominations and awards, but the constant scrutiny was undoubtedly exhausting. Scarlett was going through it herself, standing under the spotlight and enduring malicious glances.

If she struggled, how much harder must it be for Anson?

Last year’s Golden Globes had him as a prime target; this year’s, even more so. He’d be scrutinized under the microscope of fame.

Yet, they couldn’t complain, show anger, or even hint at vulnerability. People would call them ungrateful, and worse, see their soft spots as weaknesses to exploit.

The Vanity Fair world was a coliseum for predators.

So, Anson had built his armor, shielding himself completely.

But tonight’s awards ceremony was just getting started.

Maybe Scarlett was overthinking. Maybe Anson wasn’t weighed down by such burdens. Maybe he could brush off criticisms lightly.

After all, he did say he was fine.

Scarlett took a deep breath, wanting to confirm her thoughts. "Anson—"

She was interrupted as someone in the lobby recognized them, barging into the conversation with enthusiasm.

Anson and Scarlett exchanged a glance, their eyes laughing. Scarlett couldn’t help but let her own smile blossom, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 1203: A Strategic Misstep*

"Hey, Anson, Scarlett..."

Orlando Bloom, unaware of the unfolding tension, spotted two familiar faces in the hotel lobby. His smile radiated joy as he eagerly waved and called out to them, his enthusiasm palpable.

This charming actor, who rose to stardom as the elven prince in The Lord of the Rings, had recently captured countless hearts again as the blacksmith in Pirates of the Caribbean. His rising popularity made him a sensation.

Currently, in Hollywood, when it came to leading men with undeniable looks, only Orlando could rival Anson. Tonight, both were set to ignite the red carpet.

Faced with Orlando's innocent and sincere smile, brimming with enthusiasm as he opened his arms in a warm gesture, Scarlett and Anson couldn’t bring themselves to respond coldly. Exchanging a knowing glance over Orlando’s shoulder, they both smiled in unspoken agreement. Scarlett was the first to turn toward Orlando, her voice filled with warmth as she greeted him.

After some light-hearted chatter, the trio made their way toward the banquet hall.

Their entrance immediately captured everyone’s attention. The subtle hum of voices and the rustling of fabric could be heard as heads turned to watch them walk in. For a moment, they stood as a united front before splitting off to mingle with their respective circles.

Before long, whispers and giggles began to ripple through the Hilton hotel’s halls.

The buzz? People had begun referring to the trio as “Charlie’s Angels.”

The movie Charlie’s Angels, which hit theaters in 2000, had made a splash with its unconventional approach. The title itself, translating directly as "Charlie’s Angels," revolved around three female spies played by Cameron Diaz, Drew Barrymore, and Lucy Liu. While marketed as an action film, the characters were often seen as eye candy. The producers and director deliberately set the movie apart from traditional spy films by leaning into its vibrant and playful aesthetic, diverting attention from its less-than-realistic fight scenes to its visually striking moments.

The film's success led to a TV series in 2002 and a sequel in 2003. Despite Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle earning $100 million domestically and $270 million globally, its $120 million budget left Sony-Columbia licking their wounds.

Now, dubbing Anson, Scarlett, and Orlando as “Charlie’s Angels” carried an unmistakable undertone. Laughter and whispers spread like wildfire through the hotel corners, carrying with them sly amusement.

Anson, however, found himself in a precarious position.

Orlando wore the "eye candy" label effortlessly. Scarlett, with two critically acclaimed dramas under her belt, had carved a place for herself in the awards circuit. That evening, she was a double nominee: Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy for Lost in Translation and Best Actress in a Drama for Girl with a Pearl Earring. This dual recognition highlighted her successful transition to serious roles.

Anson? Not quite.

Both The Butterfly Effect and Elephant occupied a gray zone—films with enough buzz to make a dent but not entirely aligned with awards season standards. Anson’s attempts to break free from the "pretty face" mold were evident, but he still found himself typecast.

It was like trying to peel off a wetsuit—awkward, cumbersome, and painfully public.

Just then, a voice broke through the murmurs, bringing things to a head.

"...Angels! Ha, you should’ve seen their entrance! They struck a pose as if to say, ‘Hey, everyone, we’re here!’ Absolutely classic ‘the angels have arrived.’”

Russell Crowe, whiskey in hand, was animated in his imitation. His slurred words and flushed face betrayed his inebriation as he gestured wildly, eliciting laughter from those nearby.

But then, the mood shifted.

"Russell... Russell!" someone whispered urgently, attempting to warn him.

Unaware, Russell continued his jest. "Ha! Angels indeed! Ladies, really..." His breath reeked of alcohol as he chuckled.

Finally, one of his companions had no choice but to call out, “Hey, Anson.”

Silence fell like a guillotine. All eyes turned toward the figure approaching them, whose curious smile was impossible to misinterpret. It was Anson himself.

There’s an art to gossiping—namely, not getting caught. But Russell had been caught red-handed.

For a moment, Russell froze. The alcohol-induced haze lifted just enough for him to gather his thoughts and brace himself.

Anson, however, handled the moment with poise. "So," he said with an air of curiosity, "which one am I?"

"Natalie? Alex?" he mused, tilting his head. "Probably not Dylan. I don’t think I have Drew Barrymore’s million-dollar smile." His sincere tone rendered the group speechless, their laughter frozen in place.

Anson’s gaze shifted to Russell. “Hey, Russell. Charlie’s antics aren’t your style, right? After all, those flashy moves? Leave them to us.”

The room held its breath as Russell’s face turned a deeper shade of red, caught between embarrassment and intoxication.

Anson had deftly referenced Russell’s next film, Cinderella Man, a biographical boxing drama about a man overcoming hardship—a subtle jab likening him to the fairytale character.

The tension lingered only a moment longer before Anson walked off, unbothered.

Back at his table, the stolen glances and murmurs persisted, but Anson remained unfazed. Let them look, he thought. This is the nature of the profession. It’s not like losing a piece of himself—or, if it was, he mused, at least it might help with weight loss.

As the night progressed, the awards ceremony unfolded. Anson’s role in the evening was clear: a handsome distraction, a talking point, a prop.

In truth, he wasn’t a frontrunner for any awards.

At just 20 years old, he was considered too young. The Butterfly Effect, while notable, lacked the weight to secure a win. His nomination alone had been a surprise.

Yet, when the envelope for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy opened and Bill Murray was announced the winner for Lost in Translation, why did it still feel like every eye in the room darted toward Anson?

*Chapter 1204: Things Don’t Go As Planned*

"Bill Murray, Lost in Translation!"

The award is announced—

No surprises here. Tonight’s top contender for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy wins, as expected. Thunderous applause erupts.

After all, getting nominated depends on skill, but winning requires luck—especially at the Golden Globes, which has proven this point several times tonight.

Russell didn’t win; the Best Actor in a Drama award went to Sean Penn for Mystic River.  

Scarlett also came up empty-handed, with the Best Actress in a Drama award going to Charlize Theron for Monster, and Diane Keaton winning Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy for Something’s Gotta Give.  

So, Anson missing out on the award shouldn’t come as a shock, right?

Especially since Bill Murray was always the frontrunner.

Then why, amid the standing ovation, did whispers and sidelong glances filled with pity, ridicule, and even sympathy seem to gather around Anson?

It was as if, like a koi fish failing to leap over the dragon’s gate, his attempt to break free from the “pretty face” label fell flat during awards season.

Was this how envy painted Anson—a man shackled by his own image?

Though his films dominated the box office, Anson still couldn't claim all of Hollywood. His glamorous transformation would need more time and effort.

The situation was... intriguing.

The man in question, however, wasn’t sad or frustrated. He enjoyed the awards ceremony like it was a party—completely relaxed, with no nerves or burdens. Even Noah and Edgar seemed more anxious than he did.

But to others, Anson seemed woeful, clouded by failure, desperate to shed his "pretty boy" label but crashing headfirst into a wall. The invincible Anson, riding high on fame, wasn’t invincible after all. Sympathetic and encouraging looks followed him wherever he went.

The sight made Anson want to laugh and cry.

And then—

Amid the bustling gazes, Anson noticed Scarlett looking at him.

Scarlett: Are you okay?

Anson: You chose Bill? Not surprising.

Scarlett: Why is everyone staring at you?

Anson: Shouldn’t you be handing Bill some flowers?

Scarlett: Ignore them.

Anson: I think you should give Bill a hug. The director’s already waiting.

The two exchanged a series of mismatched remarks through glances, then both smiled and turned their attention back to the stage.

On stage, bathed in spotlight, Bill Murray noticed the distraction in the crowd. Staying true to his comedic nature, he quipped:

"Hey, the spotlight’s up here."

"Now, is there anyone here tonight more handsome than me? If so, please stay quiet—I'll buy you dinner after."

The room erupted into laughter!

With his trademark charm, Bill brought everyone back on track. The ceremony briefly bubbled over thanks to Anson, but order was quickly restored.

Amid the commotion, the 61st Golden Globe Awards came to a close.

As usual, the Hollywood Foreign Press Association expertly divided the spoils, ensuring everyone left reasonably satisfied. They subtly hinted at the trajectory of the awards season with the results—stable and predictable.

The night’s big winners were clear:

- Best Drama Film: The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, which also snagged Best Director, Best Original Song, and Best Score, sweeping four wins from four nominations.

- Best Musical or Comedy Film: Lost in Translation, which also earned Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy and Best Screenplay. Sofia Coppola, the youngest Coppola, made a splash with only her second film.

- Mystic River took home Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor in Drama, rebounding from its lukewarm Cannes reception.

- Cold Mountain, with its star-studded cast of Nicole Kidman and Jude Law, saw Renée Zellweger break through to win Best Supporting Actress, cementing her golden period following Chicago and Bridget Jones's Diary.  

These four films emerged as the frontrunners in the first phase of awards season.

The most surprising disappointment? Master and Commander. This highly anticipated epic, lauded by critics, kept hitting roadblocks. Not only had Russell lost his Oscar momentum, but he might not even secure a nomination. The film’s overall buzz and awards potential were fading fast.

It didn’t make sense.

With its quality, cast, subject matter, and marketing, Master and Commander was expected to dominate. Yet Cold Mountain overshadowed it entirely.

Some whispers suggested Russell Crowe’s draw wasn’t strong enough—perhaps even outshined by Anson’s ability to generate buzz.

For Russell, Master and Commander was supposed to be his ticket into the $20 million salary club. Instead, it became a stumbling block.

No wonder he lost his cool during the Golden Globes, even oddly directing his frustration toward Anson.

However—

None of this had anything to do with Anson. His films Butterfly Effect and Elephant weren’t even in awards season discussions. Their massive box office success generated buzz but turned out to be an illusion. By the end of the Golden Globes, that bubble had burst.

The ceremony concluded, but the night didn’t end. Los Angeles transformed into party mode, with celebrations popping up all over the city.

Scarlett left the Hilton Hotel to find a long line of elegantly dressed actors and directors waiting outside, looking as exhausted and irritable as regular people after the four-hour marathon of maintaining perfect appearances.

Instead of joining the line, Scarlett moved along the crowd, scanning curiously.

Finally, at a small stairwell tucked away in a corner, she found him.

Under the gentle glow of warm yellow light, his handsome face was partially shadowed, his expression unclear, but his piercing blue eyes gazed quietly at the commotion below.

Leaning against the wall, holding a half-eaten burger and with a bottle of soda at his feet, he looked entirely at ease.

Scarlett smiled, her curiosity piqued. "Are you playing hide-and-seek?"

(End of chapter.)

Chapter 1205: Heartbroken

“Are you trying to play hide-and-seek?” Scarlett asked, her face full of curiosity.

Anson spread his hands with a helpless smile. “It seems my technique needs improvement—I’ve already been caught.”

Scarlett couldn’t hold back and burst out laughing. “I thought you’d be the first to leave.”

Anson didn’t budge, keeping his posture still, only glancing subtly in a direction. “Alas, I’ve been trapped by the crowd. Their enthusiasm was overwhelming; I couldn’t say no.”

Following Anson’s gaze, Scarlett spotted the long line at the Hilton Hotel’s entrance. A wave of inexplicable amusement swept over her.

Actors, directors, producers, studio executives—at this moment, no one was exempt.

Everyone had to hand over their ticket to the valet, who would then hop into a golf cart and drive a mile to fetch their car from a distant parking lot before they could leave.

Why?

Not enough space.

With over three thousand people attending tonight’s awards ceremony, the Hilton’s underground parking alone couldn’t possibly suffice.

It’s the same in Los Angeles as in New York. Award venues always suffer from parking shortages.

When arriving on the red carpet, everyone shines gloriously. But when the ceremony ends? Chaos ensues.

In fact, the Golden Globes aren’t the worst. After all, the Hilton has its own parking lot. But the Oscars, held on Hollywood Boulevard with no parking facilities, turn the post-event traffic into an utter disaster.

So, once the ceremony ends, some stay behind to socialize further, some leave early to prepare for after-parties, and the majority obediently line up to wait for their turn.

Anson’s little quip made Scarlett chuckle again. “You don’t have to be so tense. Everyone’s absorbed in their own worlds; no one’s paying attention to you. You’re safe here.”

Anson shook his head solemnly. “You should’ve seen what just happened...”

Before he could finish, someone passed by, first noticing Scarlett and then spotting Anson. They immediately put on a sorrowful expression, spread their arms wide, and hugged Anson.

“Oh, darling, are you okay?”

Jennifer Aniston, dressed in a black deep V mermaid gown—elegant and sexy—stopped to give Anson a moment of her time.

Through Jennifer’s shoulder, Anson glanced at Scarlett and mouthed, *“See? Exposed.”*

Scarlett quickly lowered her head, hiding her amused smile.

Anson politely responded, “I’ll be fine. I believe I’ll get through tonight. Thank you, Jennifer.”

Jennifer hugged him tightly. “Oh… That’s good. That’s really good to hear.”

Releasing him, she clasped his right hand firmly, her face a mix of sympathy and reassurance as she tilted her head to study him. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”

Anson replied with a bright smile.

Satisfied, Jennifer nodded at Scarlett before walking away.

Not far off, Brad Pitt observed the interaction with an amused expression, his gaze unreadable in the dim light.

Was he taking pleasure in Anson’s “misfortune” tonight, or could he relate to what Anson was enduring?

Watching the entire scene unfold, Scarlett’s eyes glinted with mischief as she turned back to Anson, unsure how to start.

Anson, however, seemed perfectly at ease. Gesturing to his burger, he asked, “Care for a bite? I’ve got cash. A burger’s on me.”

Scarlett couldn’t hold back her laughter as she watched Anson take a massive bite, his cheeks puffing out comically. “So… are they always like this?”

Anson shrugged lightly, waving his hand in front of his face as if indicating his expression. “Apparently, they see the restrained sorrow and pain written all over my face. I think they understand me better than I do.”

Scarlett took a deep breath. “I was going to check on you, but now, it seems like if I ask, ‘Are you okay?’ one more time, you might explode.”

“Pfft...” Anson, his cheeks still stuffed, made a playful exploding gesture, his facial features exaggerated to match.

Scarlett doubled over laughing, tears streaming down her face.

Anson raised an eyebrow and took a sip of soda. “Sorry to disappoint, but no, I’m not heartbroken.”

“I don’t know what happened with Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt in the past—if they wept inconsolably after missing out on the Oscars, shoving their fists in their mouths and drowning in booze. But…”

Scarlett laughed even harder as Anson mimed stuffing his fist in his mouth.

“But I’m thoroughly enjoying this moment.”

“Even being a ‘pretty face’ isn’t something just anyone can claim.”

Scarlett’s jaw dropped in surprise, clearly not expecting such candidness from Anson. “I didn’t think I’d hear that term from you. Hey, aren’t you a bit too nonchalant?”

Anson smiled. “My dear Scarlett, if you can win on looks, why rely on talent? Isn’t it those who lack looks who have to rely on talent?”

Scarlett tilted her head and scrutinized him. “Why does that sound so… off?”

Anson continued, “Take Alain Delon, for example—a masterpiece of handsome craftsmanship, as if the creator spent extra hours perfecting him. Yet, in films, he’s a detached, hollow vessel. His emotions and performances are all surface-level, clearly ‘acting.’ He dissolves depth into a void.”

“If someone like Alain Delon also had talent, we’d have to question if the creator spent all their time sculpting him.”

“That’s unfair.”

Scarlett threw her head back, laughing freely. “So… are you comparing yourself to Alain Delon?”

Anson answered with a straight face. “I’m not denying it.”

Scarlett laughed so hard she nearly choked, drawing glances from nearby onlookers. Embarrassed, she tried to shield her face, albeit poorly.

Looking at Anson, her eyes sparkled with humor. “Has anyone ever told you you’re narcissistic?”

Anson said, “You’re the first.”

His matter-of-fact expression made Scarlett pause before her smile widened. “You know what? I don’t think you’re an Alain Delon.”

Anson’s face fell into a mock heartbreak.

Scarlett’s eyes twinkled slyly. “Actually, I don’t think you’re just a pretty face. Marlon Brando never thought of himself as one, did he?”