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Chapter 1171: *A Perfect World*

Everything, so simple.

No grand stage was needed, no intricate instruments, no dazzling lights—just a guitar and a voice, and that was enough.

The melody flowed from the depths of the soul, a soft murmur and low hum that tugged at the heartstrings.

Creaaak.  

The bar door swung open again, cold air clawing its way inside with a fierce rush, briefly intruding with the chaos and noise of the outside world.

But this time, no one paid it any mind.

When Anne Hathaway entered the bar, this was the scene she saw: a small tavern with only a handful of patrons, all immersed in their thoughts, gazing at the stage with quiet focus, swept away by the soaring and passionate melody.

And then, she saw him.

The man, so carefree yet so confident, so unruly yet so unrestrained—wherever he was, as long as he spread his arms, the world would fall into place.

He sat still in the hazy glow of the dim light, its soft beams sketching the outline of his figure. His deep blue eyes, hidden in shadow, were profound and tranquil, and though he looked down on his luck with nothing to his name, all he needed was a guitar.

Fingers danced across the strings as he sang with abandon.

That pure, clear voice climbed higher and higher, and when it reached its peak, a faint rasp betrayed the wear and tear of life’s scars and hardships, slipping through momentarily before vanishing.

Then, his voice fell silent, leaving only the wild strumming of the guitar. The collision of his fingers and strings became a ballet of abandon and madness, dancing recklessly.

It was as if he stood on the edge of the world.

He didn’t need an audience.

He was completely lost in his own melody, singing at the end of time, at the edge of existence—

The towering mountains, vast oceans, and endless stars all bowed before him.

The surging, electrifying melody ignited the blood of every listener present, setting their hearts racing faster and faster until it became one with the wind.

They forgot themselves.

Anne stood there, staring blankly at his figure.

In that moment, she saw the traces of life’s trials and tribulations etched into him, yet also the optimism and grace with which he faced those struggles. The light radiating from deep within his soul was mesmerizing.

That calm and composure—it was the essence left behind after everything superficial had been stripped away.

The music climbed higher and higher, reaching a peak before returning to simplicity and tranquility, leaving behind only a faint, gentle smile on his lips.

The raging waves in the bar slowly ebbed, peace settling in.

The man’s gaze fell lovingly and gratefully on the guitar in his arms—his old companion who had been with him through it all. He began to hum softly once more.

“But if you truly loved me, then why did you leave me?”

“Take me away, take me away…”

“All I want, all I need, is to find someone—someone just like you.”

The wild winds, the crashing waves, and the burning heat all subsided, returning to the calm of a summer afternoon. It was as if they were lying on a green meadow at the edge of a cliff, hands behind their heads, gazing up at the ever-changing clouds.

The soft, drizzling melody lingered, extending endlessly into the sunlit sky.

“So much like you… mm-hmm…”

Gentle and far-reaching, the long, drawn-out note carried the thoughts further and further, smoothing every edge and ripple until all was still.

“You… oh-oh-oh…”

The strings hummed softly as his fingers came to a stop, leaving the lingering vibrations to tremble silently in the air.

Finally, the performance ended.

He remained seated, as if holding onto the moment.

The bar fell into utter silence. No one wanted to break this fragile stillness. The faint background noise seemed even more distant, highlighting the peace in the room, while their hearts beat loudly in their chests.

Then, he spoke again.

No accompaniment, just his voice, like a lullaby.

“Mmm… mmm…”

The breeze, the drizzle, and the sunlight caressed the scars on their hearts, gently healing them.

At last, it was over.

He lifted his gaze and immediately saw the group standing at the bar’s entrance.

With so few people present, the new arrivals stood out effortlessly. Just a glance was enough to notice them.

He saw her.

And she saw him, their eyes meeting unexpectedly, locking her into those deep blue eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat.

For some reason, Anne’s mind conjured a scene from Casablanca:

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

Caught off guard, a faint heat rose to her cheeks.

Before Anne could gather her composure, the patrons in the bar erupted into applause.

The thunderous clapping broke Anne’s awkward moment. She quickly averted her gaze, joining in with the applause. But when she looked back up, the man had already shifted his attention back to the guitar in his arms.

The bar was alive with excitement.

Despite the small audience, they clapped as if giving their all, channeling their overwhelming emotions into the act of applause.

Bittersweet yet joyful.

Relieved yet sorrowful.

Everyone had their own story, but they all found resonance in the melody, awakening memories and healing old wounds they thought had long since closed.

It was an unspoken connection, a collective immersion. The fiery emotions were too intense for words, leaving only the mechanical motion of clapping.

The applause wasn’t loud—the bar had fewer than twenty people—but it filled the space completely, brimming with passion and warmth.

Under the stage lights, the man leaned toward the microphone.

“No need to be so enthusiastic, or I might get the impression I’m performing at Madison Square Garden. Then I’d have to start charging admission.”

The playful joke drew a round of laughter.

The man, unfazed, continued, “Feel free to relax and enjoy your time. Don’t worry, I don’t mind if you just savor the moment.”

With that, he didn’t wait for a response and gently strummed the guitar again.

Soft murmurs rippled through the bar as people resumed their conversations. But this time, the mood was different—soon enough, attention turned back to the stage.

After all, wasn’t this why they chose a bar with live performances?

Even though the man, “Levien Davis,” was an unfamiliar name, it didn’t stop them from appreciating his music.

“Anne?”

The voice of her companion pulled her back to reality. She quickly masked her emotions and turned to find Jake Gyllenhaal’s wide eyes staring back at her.

“We should find a seat. We can’t just stand here forever.”

The others in their group were already seeking out a spacious spot.

Anne took a deep breath and forced a smile to mask her inner turmoil. “Of course. I just thought the performance was good. Looks like we picked the right place.”

*Chapter 1172: Recklessly Bold*

Soft singing, quiet murmurs, that pure, crystal-clear voice floated effortlessly through a silky melody. The scenery of the river of time flowed gently in the heart, like a quiet stream.

On stage stood a man, so at ease, so free, and so unrestrained, as if dancing lightly within his own musical world, thoroughly content with himself.

Even without an audience, it didn’t matter. He stood at the edge of time, singing his heart out.

His presence, carried by the soft glow of the lights, spread like mist, transforming the atmosphere of the entire bar. On a night of biting cold and snow-covered streets, it brought a quiet peace, a careful kind of warmth that expanded like the aroma of hot cocoa by the fireside.

This wasn’t Anne’s first time watching Anson perform—

Putting aside his band August 31st, Anson had already showcased his voice in The Princess Diaries.

But this was still a version of Anson that Anne had never seen before.

A single guitar. Wandering the world. The weight and majesty of time gradually unfolding in the melody—not with roaring waves or dramatic storms, but in the simplest, quietest storytelling. A savoring of every moment of life.

So simple, yet so captivating.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Who could have guessed that Anson had such a side to him?

So different, yet so... unmistakably Anson.

“Anne?”

A voice beside her startled her. She quickly masked her expression, afraid that her awestruck look might betray her thoughts. She glanced over, feigning calmness, only to find that no one seemed to notice.

Jake Gyllenhaal leaned in slightly, turning his gaze to the stage for a closer look.

“That’s Anson, isn’t it?”

Anne: ???

In an instant, the enveloping atmosphere vanished like smoke, and Anne was pulled back to reality.

Though she didn’t know why she was nervous or what exactly was making her anxious, her heart pounded relentlessly, as if it might leap out of her chest.

Ryan Phillippe, seated nearby, perked up the moment he heard the name. Following Jake’s line of sight, he asked, “Where?”

Recently, Reese Witherspoon hadn’t stopped talking about Anson—

Anson thinks we should feel the music, not just the melody but also the lyrics.

Anson thinks we should dive into their lives to understand their choices.

Anson is road-tripping—can you imagine? By himself, no companions. Oh God, I could never do that.

It was always Anson this, Anson that. Though Anson had never actually entered their lives, Ryan feared their lives had already been overtaken by a stranger.

And now?

He came to New York for a movie audition, went out for dinner with actor friends, and still couldn’t escape the shadow of this man. What was going on?

Left, right—Ryan scanned the room but couldn’t spot Anson. He began to doubt his own sanity, wondering if he was hearing things.

Ryan retracted his gaze and looked at Jake. “Did you just say Anson?”

Then he turned to his side, seeking confirmation to ensure he wasn’t imagining things. “Claire?”

Claire Danes, seated to Ryan’s right, was on a completely different wavelength from the group. Cool and composed, she sat still, seemingly pondering whether to order a cocktail or go straight for dinner.

Yet, upon closer observation, one might notice that Claire’s gaze occasionally swept the bar. She couldn’t help being curious about Anson.

After all, Hollywood had been abuzz with comparisons between Anson and Leonardo DiCaprio—not just in popularity and accomplishments but also in looks and charisma. Everyone said Anson was the second coming of Leonardo.

Claire, who had not only worked with Leonardo on Romeo + Juliet but had also nearly starred with him in Titanic, couldn’t help but feel intrigued.

Ryan’s question startled Claire, and her expression briefly turned awkward.

But Claire didn’t deny it. Instead, she played along. “I didn’t see him. Jake, are you sure you weren’t seeing things?”

Jake blinked, his first reaction being self-doubt. Had he made a mistake?

Then, shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. There was no way he could mistake someone like Anson. He was too distinctive. But how to explain it?

Jake glanced between Claire and Ryan, noting the doubtful looks in their eyes. He sighed dramatically, raising his hands in exasperation and waving them as if trying to catch Anson’s attention.

“Hey, Anson!”

The shout cut through the room like thunder in a clear sky.

Anne was stunned.

Was he really that direct? The performance was still ongoing! Was this even okay?

The sharp, piercing gazes of the crowd immediately focused on them. Anne’s shoulders tensed as she inwardly prayed for Anson, fearing the worst.

Yet, Anson on stage remained calm, entirely unflustered.

“Shh.”

“The performance is still going. The Fox network’s reunion show is around the corner.”

Light, humorous, a gentle quip that instantly drew chuckles from the audience.

The crowd hadn’t caught the content of the shout—only the disruption. Their first instinct was annoyance at someone breaking the performance’s order, wanting the troublemaker to leave.

But with that witty remark, the tension eased, and attention returned to the stage. Nobody pursued the issue further.

Jake, however, wasn’t satisfied.

“This isn’t Carnegie Hall,” he muttered under his breath. “We don’t need to be so uptight. And why am I being singled out when everyone else is whispering? What’s their problem?”

Still, Jake begrudgingly fell silent, though his eyes remained locked on the stage, glinting with excitement.

“That’s Anson.”

“Look, that’s classic Anson. The guy’s got a full beard now, looking like some vagabond.”

“But I’m sure that’s him.”

“What’s he doing here? Doesn’t he have a band?”

Jake’s incessant chatter left Anne exasperated. “Jake, the performance is still happening. Can we at least show basic courtesy?”

Jake spread his arms wide as if ready to take flight. “This is how you enjoy music in a bar!”

Claire shot Anne a glance before addressing Jake in a measured tone. “Llewyn Davis, didn’t you see the show’s poster outside?”

“If it’s really Anson, it means he doesn’t want to be recognized.”

“And judging by the crowd’s reaction, no one has recognized him.”

“So, let it go. You’re making things unnecessarily complicated.”

Jake wasn’t fazed. He pulled a face and replied, “What’s complicated about it? Do you think that guy can stay unnoticed for long? Everywhere he goes, he stands out. If he wants peace, he should try Africa. I bet it’s quiet there.”

Despite his quip, Jake finally settled down, refraining from causing further commotion.

However, when the performance ended, Anson casually packed up his guitar, slung the case over his shoulder, and began walking straight toward them.

(To be continued)  

*Chapter 1173: Naturally So*

Just thirty minutes—that was all. The performance wasn’t long.

What’s more, moments of happiness always seem fleeting. Before there’s time to savor them, to truly immerse oneself, they’ve already passed in the blink of an eye.

“…Thank you. That concludes today’s performance.”

No lengthy speeches. Anson wrapped up the show cleanly and decisively.

In the cozy tavern, two audience members approached, holding their glasses, enthusiastically praising Anson's performance and asking if he had any records available—

This scene didn’t surprise Anson.

During his street performances across Europe, it was often the same. People would stop to enjoy the music, and if they liked it, they’d buy a record as a keepsake.

It was something fascinating.

At the turn of the millennium, even as digital music began to emerge, people still passionately bought physical albums.

It wasn’t just about listening habits; it was also a form of collection, a lifestyle, a cultural identity. Vinyl records, portable cassette players, radios—they all offered a way to let music flow slowly, even if one couldn’t choose individual songs on demand. Instead, there was the joy of listening to an entire album in sequence, from start to finish, letting it unfold like a story.

Because of this, when musicians made albums, they had to consider their coherence and completeness. Even the order of the tracks was crucial.

An album wasn’t just a collection of songs; it was a whole—a concept, a narrative.

Twenty years later, such habits would gradually change, be disrupted, and eventually overturned.

The convenience of digital music led to a lack of patience for listening to entire albums. People would pick and choose their favorite tracks instead. Naturally, more and more artists focused solely on their singles, and the overall quality of albums declined. As a result, fewer and fewer people bought physical albums.

In the end, a vicious cycle formed.

The evolution of any culture is never simple; it often bears the imprint of its times.

When Anson returned to the early 2000s, he thought he would struggle to adapt. There were no smartphones, no digital music, no streaming platforms, and even transportation was less convenient. Life seemed full of inconveniences.

Reality, however, proved otherwise.

Not only did Anson adapt seamlessly, but truth be told, he found himself liking this life more.

Everything felt more genuine.

The most obvious and direct difference was the connections between people.

As the internet became more convenient, people often hid behind screens, using nicknames and avatars to communicate in the virtual world. Over time, real-world interactions with actual people became uncomfortable, even awkward, leading to a growing social distance in physical life.

Now, things were different.

Looking at the two faces before him, beaming with enthusiasm, so real and so close, Anson could clearly feel their emotions through their eyes and smiles.

It was evident—they genuinely loved tonight’s performance.

Anson smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I haven’t released any works yet.”

“You should,” said the young man with long hair.

Next to him, the man with a goatee nodded earnestly. “Indeed. Music this great deserves to be heard by more people.”

The young man with long hair nodded repeatedly. “Like the band August 31st. Gold will always shine. Talented people like you deserve more attention. More importantly, we deserve better music.”

Sincere, passionate, pure.

Anson felt his heart relax and unwind. “Thank you. I hope that day will come. And when it does, I hope we meet again.”

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Anson hesitated for a moment before finally making his way toward Annie and Jack’s table.

Even before he got close, Anson could see the bright spark in Annie’s eyes, making the corners of his mouth lift into a smile.

“Hey, good evening.”

Annie shot up from her seat so quickly she nearly toppled the entire table—

Flustered, she grabbed the table, and Anson hurriedly did the same. The three people at the table stared, wide-eyed and dumbfounded, at the chaotic scene.

The air froze for a second.

Anson let out a long breath. Disaster averted. “So, how’s the evening going? Smoothly?”

Annie took a deep breath instead. “You mean, the part where I almost flipped the table? I guess we should ask the ones directly affected.”

A small self-deprecating joke successfully eased the awkwardness.

Anson turned to look at the three others at the table. Beer had spilled, and they were frantically mopping it up with napkins. He offered a smile. “If anyone needs to use the restroom, now’s the best time to claim a spot.”

Jack, who had been quietly observing Anson under the dim tavern lights, finally seemed certain.

He stepped forward, arms wide, and threw himself at Anson with such exuberance that it felt like a sloth clinging to a tree. Wrapping himself around Anson’s neck, he was overjoyed.

“Hey, buddy! I knew it was you.”

He shouted as he turned to Claire and Ryan.

“I told you! It’s Anson.”

“Oh no, wait—he’s James Bond now, on a secret mission. Sorry, 007. I guess we should shut up and not blow your cover.”

Lively, playful, warm, mischievous.

Jack was always like this—his emotions high and unrestrained, like fireworks bursting in all directions. It wasn’t easy for others to keep up with him.

But tonight, he was a bit over the top.

Even Anson was caught off guard, left momentarily stunned. Jack swept through like a tornado, leaving Anson wondering—

Had he missed something?

This was their first meeting in nearly six months. No calls, no messages—not even a postcard.

More precisely, it was the first time Anson had seen Jack since his injury on the set of Spider-Man 2.

A lot had happened during that time. Jack hadn’t visited Anson, and there had been rumors of Jack plotting to steal Anson’s role.

And now, this.

Everything felt disconnected, as if key moments were missing, yet here they were, skipping ahead as though nothing had ever happened—

Jack was practically hanging off Anson.

So, this was Jack’s response? Acting like nothing had happened? As if his fallout with Kristen hadn’t happened? As if the heated recasting drama over the summer wasn’t related to him? As if they were still the closest of friends?

Something felt off.

But looking at Jack now, so effortlessly genuine, so warmly familiar, Anson couldn’t decide whether to admire Jack’s remarkable acting or chide himself for being overly suspicious.

Anson chuckled, shaking his head. He patted Jack’s back. “Careful now. I haven’t trained in ballet. We might both end up on the floor.”

A lighthearted quip instantly lifted the mood.

(Chapter End)

*Chapter 1174: Petty and Narrow-minded*

Finally, Jack landed softly on the ground, his feet steady, though his right hand still rested on Anson's shoulder. "So, why are you here?" he asked.

Anson raised an eyebrow slightly. "That question seems out of order. Shouldn’t I be the one asking you? You’ve barged into my game storyline, disrupting my mission. What’s going on?"

Moreover, the current situation left Anson completely puzzled—

How on earth did these people come together?

His gaze inevitably fell on Anne in the end.

Anne immediately caught on. "Auditions. We just finished an audition. With the blizzard outside, there’s no way to catch a cab. Rather than braving the awful weather to head home, we decided to find a place to warm up."

At this point, Claire, who had been silently observing and making no effort to conceal her gaze, raised her right hand and lightly tapped her eyebrow with her index finger.

"Claire-Denise."

Anson immediately understood. They hadn’t introduced themselves yet, and this was Claire’s subtle reminder.

"Anson-Wood," he said in turn.

Claire’s expression turned curious. "I thought you were Lewyn-Davis."

Anson didn’t hide his surprise. "You’re the first person to notice my stage name. Most people either miss it entirely or forget it because they don’t recognize it. But you remembered it."

Claire responded with a noncommittal expression.

Anson noticed Ryan-Phillippe standing nearby, his expression shifting with barely concealed restlessness. Anson looked over, prepared to introduce himself to Ryan.

But he was interrupted.

"Does that even matter?" Jack cut in abruptly, hijacking the conversation. "You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?"

Anson withdrew his gaze and turned back to Jack—

His expression was natural, warm, and friendly, without any trace of animosity.

If Jack wasn’t an exceptional actor, then it meant he genuinely didn’t realize there was an issue.

Could it all be a misunderstanding?

Did Kristen misinterpret Jack’s intentions? Or was there a miscommunication?

No, that wasn’t it.

If it were a simple misunderstanding, Jack wouldn’t have stayed completely absent when Anson was hospitalized. Only Kristen had come to visit, while Jack remained invisible the entire time.

If there were no underlying issues, Kristen wouldn’t have broken up with Jack shortly after the incident. Moreover, Jack hadn’t reached out to Anson—not a visit to the set, not a phone call, nothing.

Something was clearly wrong.

Of course, Anson could play along with Jack’s act, pretending everything was fine to maintain their superficial friendship.

Or he could ignore it entirely, silently harboring his suspicions while keeping the peace on the surface.

In Hollywood, isn’t that how things usually work?

To be precise, expecting genuine friendship in a place like this is foolish. As long as no one stabs you in the back, they’re already a good friend. Betrayal for the sake of self-interest is hardly news.

They weren’t kids anymore. There was no need to be so naive or idealistic.

But Anson didn’t want that.

Having been given a second chance at life, he didn’t want to continue wearing a mask, feigning ignorance while hiding his true feelings behind a fake smile. It was exhausting and depressing. That wasn’t the life he wanted.

Honesty, openness, straightforwardness—

At the very least, he didn’t want to betray himself.

He could cooperate and play along in this scenario, easing into the group’s dynamic without immediately confronting Jack. But he chose otherwise.

So.

Anson raised his chin slightly, his gaze clear. "A secret mission naturally requires secrecy."

"I don’t think you need to worry about it."

"Jack, when I was injured and hospitalized, what was the deal with all those sensational news reports?"

There was no sarcasm, no malice. Anson didn’t want to jump to conclusions or let anger cloud his judgment. He chose to confront the issue openly, giving Jack the chance to explain himself.

The air grew noticeably tense as all eyes focused on them.

But surprisingly, Jack didn’t seem nervous or flustered. Instead, he looked genuinely confused and blurted out, "What news?"

There was no pause, no hesitation, no guilt, no unease. His reaction appeared entirely sincere.

It was Anson who was momentarily caught off guard. Could it really have been a misunderstanding?

If so, all the better. Anson was more than willing to apologize for his misplaced suspicions.

However, before he could speak, Ryan, who had been silent all this time, suddenly broke in. "Is it about your audition for Spider-Man 2?"

Jack froze, glancing at Ryan for confirmation before turning back to Anson with a puzzled look. "Is that what this is about?"

"Seriously? That?"

His expression betrayed genuine surprise and disbelief—

It took Anson a moment to process it. Jack was sincere.

This wasn’t a misunderstanding; the event had indeed occurred. But to Jack, it was so insignificant that he hadn’t even registered it as an issue.

To someone like Jack, who had grown up immersed in Hollywood culture, this was nothing out of the ordinary. He couldn’t comprehend Kristen’s guilt or Anson’s disappointment.

To him, wasn’t this simply business as usual?

At this moment, Anson pursuing the matter any further might seem petty and narrow-minded.

For a brief second, Anson questioned himself:

Was he overreacting?

Was he being overly dramatic?

Was he turning this into something bigger than it was?

Maybe he shouldn’t pursue it.

Maybe he should accept that this was just how Hollywood worked.

Maybe he should laugh it off and move on.

Maybe he should pretend nothing had ever happened.

But that second passed quickly, and Anson’s resolve returned—

He wouldn’t let Jack’s dismissive attitude make him doubt himself, nor would he let Jack’s indifference convince him that he was in the wrong.

Gaslighting tactics wouldn’t work on Anson.

He didn’t see himself as a victim, but neither did he believe the matter was "no big deal."

Looking Jack straight in the eye, Anson spoke with calm determination. "Yes, that’s exactly what this is about."

Jack was momentarily stunned, his reaction a mix of absurdity, surprise, and amusement.

"Anson, you can’t be serious. This tiny thing?"

Turning to the others, Jack began to explain.

"At the time, Anson was injured, and no one knew when he’d be able to return to the set. So, Sony-Columbia had to prepare for contingencies."

"They approached me, asked if I was interested in the role, and I said yes. I auditioned."

"Anson, you don’t seriously think I should’ve turned down the opportunity because of you, do you? We’re friends, but I’m not so noble as to sacrifice my career for you."

"So, did it hurt you?"

"Come on, man, it was just a minor thing. That was ages ago. You’re still holding onto this?"

Every word pointed at Anson, making it seem like he was the one being unreasonable for dwelling on the matter, as if he were the one in the wrong.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 1175: Calling a Deer a Horse*

Word by word, Jack's remarks were entirely sincere. He believed Anson was petty, overly sensitive, and childishly naive.

After speaking, Jack patted Anson's shoulder lightly, as though comforting a small child, displaying a demeanor of magnanimity, as if he were above quarreling with Anson.

Anson, however, did not panic. Instead, he smiled—a wide, deliberate smile.

“No, of course not. Jack, how could I possibly ask you to do that?”

“But you could’ve at least given me a heads-up. Something like, ‘Hey, buddy, Sony Columbia is planning to stab you in the back. I’m letting you know in advance. While I can’t sacrifice my own prospects, and I’ll still audition, at least I won’t secretly jump at the opportunity to join in on the backstabbing and wait for the media to break the news, only for you to find out from the headlines.’”

“Your silence—was it because you were afraid I’d object and ask you not to audition? Or was it guilt because, deep down, you knew this was a rotten thing to do?”

A single statement struck the bullseye.

After Anson finished, silence fell. The atmosphere froze.

Jack took half a step back, looking at Anson in disbelief, as if trying to gauge the seriousness of his words. “Are you serious?”

In contrast, Anson remained calm, offering Jack a composed smile and a slight shrug. “I’m just trying to express how I feel.”

Jack stood frozen, unsure how to respond.

Unexpectedly, it was Ryan who broke the silence.

Ryan Phillippe cast a few disdainful glances at Anson, unable to comprehend what made him deserving of even a shred of praise.

“Hmph.”

Lowering his head, Ryan muttered sarcastically under his breath.

“What’s the big deal about this?”

“This is Hollywood. Stuff like this happens every day. People secretly snatch scripts, steal roles, and even outright destroy others’ careers. Nobody’s whining about it like it’s the end of the world.”

“Life goes on. If you can’t protect your roles and seize your opportunities, that’s on you. Nobody owes you anything for being fragile.”

“What’s more, no one even stole anything from you. Aren’t you still Spider-Man? The film just released and is a massive success. Give others a break.”

“Jack is your friend, isn’t he? There’s no need to go overboard.”

Indeed, twisting the truth and calling a deer a horse—Hollywood’s vanity fair at its finest.

Anson simply laughed.

“So, now it seems I’m the one at fault?”

“Jack, if someone calls you a victim, does that make you one?”

Jack’s eyes widened in fury, glaring at Anson like saucers.

Anson raised both hands in mock surrender, feigning innocence.

Jack turned away in exasperation.

Ryan: ???

Anson didn’t deny Ryan’s words, yet somehow the entire exchange felt off.

Ryan furrowed his brows, sizing up Anson with distaste. No matter how he looked, he just couldn’t stomach him.

Anson’s gaze flitted between Ryan and Jack. By this point, any lingering conflict was gone.

Because he understood—they didn’t care. Worse yet, they might mock his frustration and restraint behind his back, ridiculing him for being too afraid to voice his grievances.

In his second life, Anson no longer intended to live under others’ judgment. He would openly face his own feelings and thoughts. No one else had the right to speak for him.

“Yes, this is Hollywood. No one cares about conscience or limits. In this profit-driven vanity fair, debating morality is unwise. Here, it’s all about survival of the fittest.”

“But.”

“Just because everyone does it doesn’t make it right.”

“In times of war, life is cheap, corpses litter the streets, and murder becomes routine. But that doesn’t make killing right.”

“When an opportunity presents itself, you can choose to stain your hands with blood—or not.”

“The same goes for this vanity fair. In the name of profit, people recklessly harm others. But just because everyone stabs backs doesn’t mean you must.”

“There’s no need to justify your filth or decay by pointing to others’ ugliness.”

The truly striking part of Anson’s words lay in his tone.

He wasn’t angry, accusatory, preachy, or venting. Instead, his voice was calm, like discussing a lunch menu. His words carried a sense of measured restraint, tinged with a faint smile at the corners of his lips.

Yet it was precisely this composure that sharpened the underlying sarcasm, stinging like needles wrapped in silk.

Ryan hesitated, trying to formulate a rebuttal or defend himself, but ultimately failed. He muttered under his breath, dismissive.

“Holier-than-thou. You think you’re Mother Teresa? Who knows whose blood stains your hands.”

Without waiting for Anson to respond, Ryan turned away, grabbing a beer, avoiding further eye contact.

Beside him, Jack’s expression wasn’t much better.

Taking a deep breath, Jack struggled to compose himself, gesturing as if to defuse the tension. He raised his hands in a calming motion, attempting to prevent further conflict between Ryan and Anson.

Looking at Anson, Jack appeared sincere. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly. I thought you wouldn’t mind. There was no scheme, no malice involved. Besides, you won, didn’t you? You kept the role. I had no idea you’d hold a grudge.”

“If that’s the case, I apologize. I’m sorry. I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship.”

Though it sounded like an apology, his words subtly blamed Anson, assuming Anson’s feelings on his behalf. With one casual “I thought you wouldn’t mind,” the issue was downplayed.

And so, the matter returned to its original state: Anson, the petty, oversensitive loser.

It was an apology, but not really an apology.

But it no longer mattered.

Anson realized their perspectives were entirely mismatched. He’d spoken at length, yet Jack’s takeaway was simply—

“Alright, fine. You’re right. Happy now?”

A perfunctory concession.

Continuing this pointless argument was futile.

Anson decided to end the discussion. “Of course. In Hollywood, everyone’s friends, right?”

Jack froze. “That’s it?”

Seeing Anson’s attitude, Jack grew even more frustrated, feeling humiliated.

What stung more was the memory of Kristen’s disdainful gaze, her condescending smirk, as if he were a vile insect. He couldn’t stand it.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. After thinking it over, he continued, “No, I’m not sorry. I did nothing wrong.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so hung up on this. It was just an audition. Sony Columbia called me, invited me to audition.”

“So, I auditioned.”

“What, was that some heinous crime? Or are you just afraid of losing your role?”

One sentence after another, Jack’s words grew more aggressive, finally dropping the pretense of civility.

For the first time, Jack’s true emotions showed, abandoning the friendly façade.

(End of chapter)