The email came in just after noon.
Ethan was sitting at the tiny kitchen table in his apartment, still in his hoodie from the night before, fingers wrapped around a mug of lukewarm coffee. He'd been refreshing his inbox every few minutes, heart sinking a little more with each passing hour.
When the subject line appeared—"Callback Results - Vincent Lasker Project"—his chest tightened like a fist was pressing down from the inside.
He clicked it open.
The message was polite, warm even.
Thank you again for your audition and for sharing your interpretation of Jamie with us. Your performance was memorable, and your presence stood out during the initial round.
After careful consideration, we've decided to move forward with another actor who brought an additional edge and dimension to the character during the final callback.
We genuinely hope to see you at future auditions. Please continue your journey—you have something real.
The words didn't hit all at once.
They landed piece by piece. Like a slow fall. Soft but final.
He read the email three times. Then just sat there, blinking.
{ Mission Failed: Secure the Role }
Penalty Applied: Perception Debuff — Script Comprehension Now Blurred for 5 Days
The golden screen faded, and suddenly Ethan felt the shift. Subtle, but terrifying. He reached for the script he'd been reading on the side—just a sample scene from another open call. The words stared back at him, intact and legible, but something felt... off.
He could read them. But they didn't click. The rhythm was missing. The flow. It was like trying to follow lyrics without hearing the music.
He dropped the script with a hollow thud.
His chest ached—not with panic, not even anger. Just a slow, gnawing grief. Like something had slipped through his fingers, and now all that was left was the echo.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
So close.
He had been so close.
"You did good," the System said softly.
Ethan blinked. "What?"
"You were good, Ethan. Maybe not perfect. Maybe not the best. But there's no shame in what you did back there."
It was the first time the System hadn't come in swinging with sarcasm or smugness.
Just... understanding.
Ethan swallowed hard. "Then why do I feel like I'm not even moving?"
"Because you're measuring yourself by the result, not the distance. You used to flinch just reading lines. Now you're getting callbacks. You stood next to professionals and held your own."
He didn't know what stung more—the failure or how much it still mattered to him.
A long silence passed.
Outside, the city buzzed on like nothing happened. The traffic, the birds, the wind rattling a loose windowpane.
"You think they'll call me back for something else?"
"If they don't, someone else will. Or you'll find another door. That's how this works."
Ethan sighed. Closed his eyes. Let the silence settle.
This wasn't the end. It just felt like one.
But maybe... it was also the beginning of something else.
A different kind of fight.
And for the first time, the voice in his head wasn't just a judge. It was a witness.
An hour later, his phone buzzed.
Felix Ardano.
Ethan hesitated before answering. "Hey."
"Ethan," Felix's voice came warm through the line, "I was about to call you even if you didn't pick up. You okay?"
Ethan leaned against the counter, voice flat. "Didn't get the role."
Felix hummed, unsurprised. "Yeah. Vincent gave me the rundown this morning."
That caught Ethan off guard. "So you knew before I did."
"I did. But I wanted to hear it from you," Felix said. "And I wanted to tell you something important."
Ethan waited, expecting criticism. A lesson. A lecture.
"You impressed people," Felix continued. "Even if it didn't go your way this time. Vincent said your cold read was the one that lingered in the room."
"But not enough to land the role," Ethan muttered.
"No," Felix said honestly. "But sometimes casting isn't about being good. It's about being right. The guy they picked? He just had a sharper edge to the character. Fit what the director was already picturing."
Ethan was quiet for a moment. "So I was just filler?"
"No," Felix said, firmer. "You were a contender. And that's not nothing, especially this early. Think of it this way—every room you're in now becomes a room that remembers you later. That's how this works."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "Still sucks."
"I know it does," Felix said. "But now you take that pain, and you sharpen it. Keep refining your work. Don't just act—observe. Watch everything. Break down performances. Look for what moves you, then learn how to recreate it."
Ethan felt the bitterness give way to something else. Not peace. But maybe... permission.
"Thanks," he said quietly. "Really."
"I'm here," Felix replied. "I saw something in you back on that set, and I still do. You're not just trying. You're chasing. That matters."
Ethan hesitated. "Would it be okay if I called you again sometime? ... to talk?"
Felix chuckled. "You better. I wouldn't have called if I didn't mean to stick around. We're in this now, kid."
The call ended.
And for the first time since the email arrived, Ethan felt like he wasn't standing on the edge alone.
But as the silence returned, Ethan looked at the script he'd dropped.
He picked it up again. Tried reading it.
Still—no spark.
The words were words. They didn't live. They didn't breathe. They just lay there like ink on paper.
"How am I supposed to get better if I can't even read a scene properly?" he muttered.
"You'll have to work smarter," the System replied. "Break it into pieces. Listen to performances. Study tone, rhythm. Watch rather than read. You're not blocked, Ethan. You're rerouted."
He stared down at the page.
Maybe the System was right. Maybe this was another obstacle, not a wall. Five days of struggling wouldn't break him.
It would just make him fight harder.
And maybe—just maybe—learn a new way to stand out.