"Guess they can’t believe to see someone like you in here. You can still back out to save some face before the panel kicks you out of here."
Cedrick slid his eyes toward Simon and let a slow, confident smirk creep across his face. "It’s alright. Standing before humiliation... is something I’ve grown used to. Pride doesn’t weigh on me anymore."
Simon’s smirk twitched involuntarily, a flicker of unease crossing his eyes for the briefest moment before he forced himself to look away.
What the hell is wrong with this guy? He’s giving me the creeps!
His brows furrowed as he tried to shake off the strange feeling Cedrick gave him. Dismay settled briefly on his face, and he looked down at the script in his hands. But instead of reading, he closed his eyes, taking a moment to center himself. Even with the first actor of their batch starting, he fought to focus, attempting to ignore the unusual tension radiating from Cedrick.
"Haha," Simon chuckled softly, eyes still shut, his voice tinged with incredulity. "The hell is that delivery?"
Slowly, he cracked one of his eyes open, then the other, tilting his head to watch the actor stumble through the line. Ridicule laced his every glance.
"That’s not how he was supposed to say that," Simon muttered under his breath, mocking the actor’s awkward performance with subtle disdain.
Meanwhile, Cedrick observed Simon from the corner of his eye. He noticed the change in him—the subtle shift that made Simon seem almost like a different person. But instead of feeling threatened, Cedrick felt... amused. Quietly, he continued to watch, letting his expression remain calm, almost unreadable.
One by one, the actors came up to the small stage in front of the panel, given a minute to prepare. Occasionally, Director Sarian requested a different scene, keeping them on their toes, testing their adaptability.
Soon, number 114 was called.
"I guess that’s me," Simon shrugged, giving Cedrick a measured look. "Watch and learn."
Without waiting for further instructions, Simon trudged toward the space in front of the panel. But he did not stand like the others. Instead, he grabbed a high stool on the way and set it carefully in front of them.
He perched on it, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips, eyes squinting slightly in a way that exuded quiet confidence. "Good afternoon, panels," he said smoothly.
Every eye in the room narrowed slightly—Lola, the twins, Director Sarian, the older woman, the younger man—all instinctively drawn to the air of authority and calm control Simon carried.
His confidence didn’t feel arrogant. It felt measured, controlled, calm. And it had the same chilling undertone that Ryker would naturally carry, the type of calm that made people trust him without even realizing why.
Director Sarian arched a brow, slightly pleased by the aura Simon radiated. He didn’t offer praise lightly, but he could sense Simon’s experience, the kind that survived the industry long enough to be refined.
The other panel members nodded subtly in agreement. Even Lola leaned forward, intrigued. The twins, on the other hand, pouted slightly, as though evaluating him in their own childish way.
"I like your aura," Director Sarian commented. Rarely did he compliment anyone before or after a performance, but something about Simon warranted it. "You have a minute to prepare. Your script is with you, correct?"
Simon chuckled lightly, a soft, effortless sound. "It’s alright, Director Sarian. I don’t need a minute."
Director Sarian arched a brow. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I don’t like wasting people’s time," Simon replied, maintaining his calm smile. "I value mine, so I expect others to value theirs as well."
"Haha!" Director Sarian laughed, pointing at him with a quick, approving gesture. "That’s a good one."
The irony wasn’t lost—the line itself was part of the script. Ryker would say something similar, a reflection of his character: someone who valued time, demanded respect, and subtly compelled others to respect him in return. It was a defining trait that drew the audience’s attention, earned their respect, and marked the character as uniquely intimidating yet magnetic.
****
In the waiting room, the actors watched Simon on the monitor. Unlike most auditions, this waiting room was equipped with a monitor to observe the performances of those ahead. The purpose wasn’t to shame but to offer insight, to showcase mistakes and subtle nuances, providing a reference for those yet to meet the panel.
"That’s the first time I’ve heard Director Sarian sound happy," one actor sighed, leaning back in his chair. "But I can’t blame him. Simon is... amazing."
"He may be an arrogant prick," another actor chimed in, "but he’s skilled. No wonder the production invited him for this role."
"He started before the panel even asked him to. That’s experience for you," someone else whispered, awe clear in their voice. "He’s just... cool."
"Honestly, he’s probably getting the role already," murmured another. "Unless someone is better, he’s Ryker for sure."
A minority of them murmured quietly, claiming Simon wasn’t anything special, but the majority felt discouraged. The panel’s satisfaction before Simon had even begun his first scene sent a clear message: this would be a performance to beat, if anyone could.
"Let’s see how he handles it," someone whispered, leaning closer. "Maybe we can do better than him..."
*
*
*
"That’s good." Director Sarian rocked his head slightly, watching Simon’s execution. "Simon, have you memorized what happened on page thirty?"
Simon offered a slow and deliberate nod.
"Can you do that part as well?"
"Of course," Simon replied smoothly, inhaling deeply to center himself. He had anticipated this. Page thirty was the most challenging scene—a scene without dialogue, requiring emotional depth conveyed purely through subtle expression and presence.
Ryker sat alone in a dark room, silent yet expressive. The audience would interpret myriad emotions: sadness, amusement, trauma, even quiet satisfaction. And the final, haunting laugh—different from anything before—was the climax of that scene.
Simon reopened his eyes slowly, his gaze attentive as the crew read the script aloud. The first "action" echoed softly, signaling the start.
His eyes shone with an intricate mix of softness and tension, his mouth curling subtly before retracting, his expressions layered and fleeting. Every micro-expression carried weight, a cascade of emotions seamlessly intertwined.
The waiting room, the crew, the panel—including Lola—watched in quiet awe.
"Hah," Simon let out a short, airy laugh, deliberately timed. His eyes met the camera, steady and commanding.
"A...mazing," one crew member whispered under her breath.
Indeed, Simon was remarkable. Every nuanced detail was captured perfectly. For the majority in the room, he had already earned Ryker’s role—even before the scene was technically over.
But not for Lola, who was quietly smirking as she glanced in Cedrick’s direction, who, at the same time, gave her a short look.