Ethan's next and final scene in Detective Noir wasn't much. He wasn't delivering a line this time—just sitting at the bar in the background, nursing a fake whiskey as the lead characters played out a pivotal conversation. It was the kind of scene meant to blur, to add ambiance. He was, once again, scenery. And after the rush of delivering his first-ever speaking line with no NG, it felt a little like being demoted.
Still, Ethan stood quietly, focused, trying not to fidget or breathe too loud as cameras rolled. His fake drink was room temperature. His bar stool creaked slightly every time he shifted. Across from him, Lila Devine and Cole Vance were running lines.
Then the notification popped up.
{ Bonus Mission Issued }
Objective: Get Noticed by the Director.
Reward: Line Delivery (Intermediate)
Penalty: None
Ethan blinked. A bonus mission? With no penalty? That was new.
"A freebie?" he whispered.
"Think of it as a rare celestial alignment," the System responded in its usual flair. "Something to make you marginally less disappointing."
Ethan grinned. The mission was simple—get noticed. How? That was the tricky part. He was in the background. He wasn't even supposed to be part of the scene. But... the mission didn't specify how he had to get noticed.
It didn't say for the right reasons.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Getting noticed" could mean pulling focus, interrupting, or doing something unscripted. If no good opportunities came along... why not manufacture a little chaos?
And as if the universe was listening, the scene began—and something did go off-script.
Cole Vance stood up from the booth, where the camera was fixed. He leaned in a little too far, voice louder than the previous takes. Then, instead of giving his next scripted line, he spun around and said something completely unexpected:
"You ever notice how this bar smells like regret and cheap perfume? I swear the ghosts drink more than the customers."
Everyone froze for a half-second.
Lila blinked. Her eyes darted toward the director, then back to Cole. Her lips parted, but no sound came.
She wasn't prepared. She never ad-libbed.
Lila Devine had a reputation for precision. She was strict about script adherence. Her technique was clean, methodical, and deeply trained. She refused to improvise—it was beneath her process, she once said in an interview.
Cole Vance, on the other hand, was an unpredictable genius.
Originally a stand-up comedian with a sharp tongue and quicker wit, Cole transitioned to acting two years ago and shook the indie scene to its core with his debut film Clementine, where he played a bitter poet driving an Uber across LA, lost in personal tragedy and sardonic inner monologues. Rumor had it he improvised half his scenes in that film, but instead of derailing the tone, he deepened it. His performance felt lived-in, raw, electric. Critics hailed him as the second coming of early Brando, with a touch of Gervais.
He was the kind of actor who treated scripts as suggestions and found the soul of the character in the silences between lines. It frustrated traditionalists. It infuriated Lila.
Their dynamic on set was tense at best. She thought he acted superior, all effortless talent and half-serious smirks. She had worked her way up, polished and poised, the festival circuit darling waiting for her big studio crossover. In her mind, she was the star. Cole was the gimmick.
The only one who seemed to enjoy the conflict was the director—Felix Ardano.
Felix was a wiry man in his early forties with eyes too intense for someone who still wore ironic band tees and vintage scarves. He had a string of low-budget, critically acclaimed shorts behind him and a couple of experimental features that no one had seen but everyone pretended to respect. Detective Noir was supposed to be his breakthrough. He had poured years of ideas into it—script revisions, aesthetic references, long midnight calls with his cinematographer.
He loved chaos. Controlled chaos. And he believed in what he called "organic performance emergence," which meant letting actors go off-script if it felt real. He'd worked with Cole before. He knew what Cole could do.
So when Cole broke the script this time, Felix didn't yell "cut." He leaned in.
Lila hesitated. She wanted to stop. She glanced toward Felix with a questioning look. He gave no direction—just kept watching, mouth twitching in a near-smile.
That was Ethan's cue.
He stood up.
In the background, he was just a man sitting at the bar—but now he wasn't. Now, he was part of the scene.
"You think ghosts drink?" Ethan said suddenly, voice quiet but clear. He turned on his stool toward Cole, tilting his glass. "I always figured they were the ones who sobered up too late."
A pause.
Cole looked at him. Then smiled.
He rolled with it.
"Guess that makes you a philosopher, huh?" Cole replied, still in character, gesturing with a lazy motion. "Tell me, philosopher—what do you see when you look at her?"
The camera hadn't stopped.
Ethan didn't think. He just felt. He stared into his glass, then toward Lila's character, and let the moment carry him.
"Trouble. The kind you want to love even though you know you'll drown in it."
A beat.
Lila blinked.
Felix leaned forward.
The cinematographer didn't stop.
No one called cut.
It was happening. Ethan could hardly believe it himself. His voice trembled slightly—not from nerves, but from raw momentum. He was in the scene. With Cole Vance. And for the first time, he wasn't pretending.
When the scene came to its natural end, Felix finally stood.
"Cut."
Silence.
Then a slow nod from the director. "Let's keep that one. Unexpected, but... it worked."
Lila didn't say a word. Her expression was unreadable.
Ethan, heart thudding, slowly sat back down.
{ Bonus Mission Complete: You Have Been Noticed. }
Reward: Line Delivery (Intermediate) Unlocked
A wave of warmth spread through him. The System purred.
"Well, well well. Look at you, unscripted and unforgettable. Maybe you do have a future after all."
Ethan didn't respond. He just let the moment settle, riding the fading high of performance, of presence.
He had jumped. And he hadn't fallen.
He had flown.