All the stars were gathered in a loose semi-circle, standing beneath the overcast sky. The set they were in wasn’t extravagant yet—it was the ruins where the Ninth Circle first takes place.
Most of the main cast had congregated to the front while the extras hovered in clusters behind, watching in amazement.
Only Sangwon Lee wasn’t present in the huddle. The Imperial Class actor stood near the catering table, sipping on a small cup of black coffee. Since most of the past cast was dead except for Shin—who was the game maker—he didn’t feel the need to hear Victor PD’s words because he already knew about it.
At the front, Victor PD stepped forward, clipboard in one hand and a wide smile on his lips.
“Let’s lay down some house rules,” he began. “This is a hybrid format. We film on and off. We will arrange your accommodation near the site whenever we film.”
“Along with that, when we film,” he glanced around, “I expect full commitment. This is high stakes.”
Victor continued. “I’ve been invited to international award shows for a reason. I don’t tolerate incompetence. You’re all actors. You’re here because you’re actors. Don’t make me question that.”
His eyes traveled deliberately across the crowd until they landed on Devon, the assistant director, standing behind a light stand. “My assistant director made sure of that, I believe.”
Meanwhile, Jace, who was in the back, began sweating bullets. He appeared like someone had stuck a furnace under his seat.
Zeno caught the smallest change in Victor’s tone as the man turned toward the extras.
“And of course,” Victor added, “if anyone has anything to relay, especially those at the back—” his hand gestured toward the extras “—pass it through Devon first. Not me. That’s the chain of command.”
Zeno tilted his head slightly. Victor still wore that easygoing smile.
Victor clicked the pen in his hand once.
“That’s it,” he finished. “Familiarize yourselves with the environment. We’ll begin shooting according to the schedule. Starting with the backstory scenes.”
With that, he walked away toward Sangwon, who greeted him with a casual nod. The two began talking in low tones, their body language relaxed but closed off from everyone else.
Meanwhile, Jace went to find Zeno, which wasn’t too hard because he was practically glowing amidst everyone on the set.
As soon as they were together, Jace let out a long breath, bending over and planting his hands on his knees. “Gosh, I think I just lost five pounds from stress.”
Zeno quirked a brow at him. “From sweating through your jeans?”
“I think my spine is wet.” Jace straightened, patting his back. “Anyway, he’s so cool, right? Victor PD is so cool.”
Zeno didn’t reply. He was watching Victor and Sangwon talk.
“I mean, I’ve watched all of his interviews and award show acceptance speeches. I wanted to tell him how cool he is,” Jace inhaled. “I should tell him.”
He turned, puffed his cheeks, and marched over just as Victor walked past them again on his way back to the equipment tent.
Jace lifted a hand slightly.
“Uh—Victor PD, sir!” he called.
Victor passed by without looking at Jace’s direction.
He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Maybe he didn’t hear me,” he mumbled. “He’s probably just… busy.”
“Or maybe he’s ignoring you on purpose,” Zeno muttered dryly.
Jace looked at him, aghast. “Why would he? Victor PD is so kind!”
Trying to shake off the awkwardness, Jace cleared his throat.
“Anyway… you should be the one nervous.”
Zeno glanced at him.
“Isn’t your dancing scene scheduled to be filmed later today?” Jace grinned.
***
What were they all doing here?
That was Zeno’s first thought as he stepped into the dimly lit rented bar near their set. He’d been told he was third to film today, so he’d stayed in his hotel room most of the day.
Eventually, Moby went to get him to get his makeup done before taking him to the bar.
Jace had tagged along, trailing after him. Zeno didn’t mind. Most of the time, Jace had the thinking capacity of a semi-intelligent snail, so it wasn’t a big deal.
However, when the automatic doors slid open, Zeno couldn’t help but pause.
Sora was there, legs crossed elegantly, holding a martini glass. Beside her was Sangwon, wearing a black baseball cap and sipping beer like it was water. Shin was chatting with them, his laughter echoing under the low hum of music. Misha was at the far end of the booth.
She was seated quietly, eyes downcast, munching on a basket of fries.
Zeno’s brows knit slightly.
He hadn’t expected anyone else to be around—especially not the main cast.
“Zeno!” Shin called, raising his glass. “Yo! Come here!”
Sora raised an eyebrow, appearing to want Zeno to join them.
Billy gave a quick wave from behind the booth’s edge, where he’d been mixing his own drink.
Shin motioned him over again. “We just finished shooting our scenes together in the set and ended up here! I figured we could watch your scene together.”
Jace nudged Zeno lightly with his elbow. “You should go,” he said. “I’ll talk with the others.”
Zeno tried to stop him, but Jace was already on his way. Zeno sighed and shook his head before walking toward the main cast.
As he stood next to the booth, Misha immediately looked away, her eyes focused on the fries.
Zeno’s gaze tracked the movement of her fingers—how she gently picked one up, tapped it twice on the edge of the basket, and then dipped it neatly into the sauce.
Misha turned slightly, catching his stare from the corner of her eye.
‘What is his problem?’ she thought.
Meanwhile, Zeno’s mind went somewhere else entirely. ‘Fries,’ he thought. ‘I want fries.’
“Zeno!” Billy’s voice snapped him out of his trance as the same-aged idol/actor slung an arm around his shoulders.
“You nervous?” Billy grinned, pulling him into a half hug.
“No,” Zeno muttered, eyes still faintly distant.
Billy chuckled inwardly.
‘Ignorance is bliss,’ he thought, patting Zeno on the back. He had read the script because he was curious about Zeno’s role. It turned out he was a stripper who was good at dancing.
Billy wanted to laugh out loud since he saw Zeno dance at the studio. That was only a few weeks ago, and there was no way he could pull off such a choreography.
Just then, Moby appeared from the side. “Zeno,” he called. “It’s time for you to change.”
Zeno stood without a word and nodded, quietly slipping away from the booth and heading toward the back hall where the costume racks and dressing rooms were located. He’d already had his makeup done earlier—sharp, with light contouring and a glossy, sweaty shine. Devon wanted him to look like he’d just come from a long, hellish shift.
Zeno stopped in front of the rack labeled with his name.
The outfit hanging on it made him pause.
It was… simple. An office outfit. White button-up. Slacks. Glasses. Loafers. But slung neatly next to it was a dark leather harness.
It had a Clark Kent vibe.
Zeno exhaled through his nose and nodded. He could work with this.
Just as he reached for the button-up, he heard footsteps behind him.
Devon.
The assistant director gave a polite smile and nodded.
“Looking good,” he said. “You’ve got a really nice build, Zeno. Perfect for what I had in mind for the dance sequence.”
“Thanks?”
He started to put on the button-up when Devon raised a hand.
“You need to wear the harness first.”
Zeno turned to him with narrowed eyes.
“The harness before the button-up,” he smiled. “So it could be seen right after you rip it.”