William Carter also laughed, twisted the doorknob and said, “I’m glad I remembered. I’m off now.”

The door closed, and the room grew quiet. Ethan Sullivan didn’t touch the sandwich or coffee, but picked up the director’s working script and carefully read through it while having breakfast.

Suddenly, there was a sharp “scrape” from the ceiling.

Upstairs, 201 was the styling room. John Brooks had just finished hair and makeup, and as he stood up, the chair leg screeched against the floor. He went inside to change clothes—cheap sweatpants and a hoodie, the look of Samuel Green.

Jason Wright came in to assist, his expression just as it had been when John Brooks left the private room last night, his hormones in chaos. That’s because he already knew Ethan Sullivan’s true identity, as well as all of John Brooks’s bizarre antics.

Taking off his outerwear, John Brooks bare-chested, shook out the hoodie. “Didn’t I tell you? I apologized. Teacher Sullivan won’t hold it against me.”

Jason Wright’s mood had gone through impending doom, a narrow escape, constant anxiety, and needless worry, and now had shifted to trying to turn the tide.

He said, “Is not holding a grudge enough? The original goal was to get Editor Sullivan to appreciate you.”

John Brooks said, “We never should’ve set such an ambitious goal.”

Jason Wright said worriedly, “Even though things started off badly, it’s only just begun. You need to act seriously, and absolutely no more screw-ups. You have to slowly win back Editor Sullivan’s impression of you.”

“I get it.” John Brooks started taking off his pants.

Jason Wright said, “You get nothing. Besides, when you see Editor Sullivan, you must be respectful, smile sweetly, and go out of your way to be helpful. Always remember, you’re a nobody who needs to cling to the big shots—don’t act like some spoiled rich kid.”

John Brooks said, “I’m already wearing these crappy sweatpants. My airs are gone.”

Annoyed by Jason Wright’s endless nagging, John Brooks made a quick getaway. He’d always been thick-skinned and figured last night’s incident was perfectly behind him, even though it had ended with Ethan Sullivan slamming the door.

Coming out of 201, John Brooks walked down the stairs with his hands in his pockets, arms pressed tightly to his sides, afraid the mottled walls or stair rail would brush against him.

At the last step, he stopped, noticing a new sign on the door of 101—Screenwriter’s Lounge.

John Brooks strolled up to the door. Click—the door suddenly opened.

Ethan Sullivan was holding tape and a piece of paper, which read “No Admittance.” He hadn’t expected someone to be right outside, and was stunned for a second. When he saw who it was, he froze for several more seconds.

John Brooks had changed his eyebrows—natural, but not refined.

His eye makeup was so light it was almost invisible, but it actually made his eyes look even more youthful. His short hair was tousled, his face softer, and there was a small light brown mole on his left cheek. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shoelaces untied, looking every bit the unreliable high schooler.

At his audition, William Carter had said he didn’t look twenty-seven or twenty-eight at all—he had a real boyish vibe.

The two stood on either side of the door for a moment. John Brooks spoke first: “Good morning, Teacher Sullivan.”

Ethan Sullivan ignored him, fiddling with the tape in his hands.

John Brooks remembered Jason Wright’s advice, took half a step closer, and offered, “Teacher Sullivan, let me help you put that up.”

He took the paper. The handwriting was strong and beautiful. Pressing the paper to the door, he asked with concern, “Teacher Sullivan, did you sleep well last night?”

Ethan Sullivan glanced up at John Brooks. Thanks to this idiot, he’d dreamed of his father who’d passed away years ago, and after waking, couldn’t get back to sleep. Now, faint bluish circles shadowed his eyes.

John Brooks quickly changed the subject: “Have you had breakfast? If not, I can ask my agent to get you something.”

Ethan Sullivan finally spoke: “No need to be so attentive.”

Called out, John Brooks felt a bit awkward and retorted, “I’m just naturally helpful.”

He glanced at Ethan Sullivan, feeling conflicted. Knowing Ethan Sullivan’s identity made him feel he couldn’t afford to offend him, so he was restrained. But his first impression kept making him forget who Ethan Sullivan was, and he wanted to act freely.

John Brooks made another effort to curry favor, asking, “Teacher Sullivan, if I have questions about the script, can I come to you for advice?”

Once the sign was up, Ethan Sullivan tapped the paper, answering with the words “No Admittance.”

Rumor had it that Ethan Sullivan didn’t like interacting with actors in private—turns out it was true.

It took John Brooks just five seconds to go from trying to get in to giving up. If he couldn’t cling to this big shot, so be it. He said, “I’m off to the set, see you around, teacher!”

Filming was split into A and B teams, two groups—sometimes divided by lead and supporting roles, sometimes by interior and exterior scenes.

Today, John Brooks was with Team A, shooting some trivial daily life scenes in a few shops across the street.

The already narrow street was packed. Besides the crew and onlookers, a bunch of young girls had shown up. John Brooks walked back and forth, but no one called out to him—clearly, the girls weren’t his fans.

One scene was set in a snack shop: Samuel Green and a few troublemaking friends eating Chongqing noodles. To protect his voice, John Brooks never smoked or ate spicy food, but Samuel Green lived in Chongqing and loved spice.

First take, John Brooks couldn’t handle the heat, made a face, and the director called cut. Second take, he kept his expression steady, but his tongue was so numb from the spice he couldn’t say his lines clearly. Third take, he was fine, but the two supporting actors messed up their timing.

It took four takes to get it right. John Brooks was sweating buckets from the spice, and his makeup was ruined.

During the twenty-minute break between scenes, he went back to touch up his makeup and change clothes. As he walked out of the snack shop, Jason Wright handed him a big bottle of pure milk.