“Are you alright, miss?” Moby asked right after she finished her scene with Zeno. She was just an extra with a few lines; however, she had extensive acting knowledge. It was a scene where Andre was angry because he was going to be given less time in the bar, and she would be the person to relay that.
In the end, they don’t settle on anything and Andre will go to the stage feeling angry. This will aggravate Andre’s feelings and lead him to agree to being recruited to the Ninth Circle right after.
“Huh?” the woman muttered, turning to Moby, who had given her a cold bottle of water. Her face was red from the short acting sequence, and she couldn’t believe that someone had pulled her into a scene and finished it so fast!
“Miss?” Moby asked again.
She finally snapped out of her daze before taking the bottle of water with a deep bow. “Ah, yes. I’m sorry.”
Moby smiled. “It’s alright. Have you been in the industry for long?”
She pursed her lips. “Not in acting. I’ve been behind-the-scenes for a long time, though.”
Moby beamed. “How is working with our artist?”
“Zeno?”
Moby nodded enthusiastically.
A small smile appeared on her lips. “He’s good,” she muttered. “One of the best I’ve worked with.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Moby said with a tilt of his head.
Meanwhile, outside, Victor PD had just arrived with the usual quiet force he carried into any room. Devon trailed closely behind, holding a can of chilled coffee. Without missing a beat, he handed it to Victor, who took it without hesitation.
“Has he started?” Victor asked, eyes scanning the half-lit stage.
“About to now, sir,” Devon replied.
Victor cracked open the can and took a sip. “Alright. I’m tired. I want to wrap up quickly.”
Devon nodded. “Understood.” He stepped aside and pressed a button on the intercom clipped to his collar. “Ready lights and music. We’re going live.”
Backstage, Zeno stood in the small, dimly lit prep area behind the curtains. He was dressed in a clean-cut office outfit—white button-up tucked into black slacks, chest strapped into a subtle harness that glinted beneath the folds. He rolled his neck slowly, hands at his sides, eyes closed.
He needed to feel this. Fortunately, it was easy. He didn’t want to do this dance sequence anyway, so he channeled that slight irritation, making his fists unconsciously clench.
From the stage, Devon’s voice echoed through the megaphone.
“Scene 21. Take one. Action!”
The music began—a slow build of low synths and faint percussion.
Zeno opened his eyes.
“Fluidity, activate.”
[Fluidity is active. Remaining time: 00:59:57]
Zeno took his first step forward.
Smoke machines hissed from the sides of the stage as a figure emerged from the shadows.
Zeno stepped into the light, the upper half of his face hidden by a black mask that glinted beneath the spotlight. The edges of the mask curled like a smirk, the mystery of it only drawing more eyes to him. His shirt clung to his body, slightly undone at the collar. And in his left hand, he carried a plain, wooden chair—ordinary in shape, but as he set it down in the center of the stage, it might as well have been a throne.
Every head in the room turned. They knew it was a scene, but they couldn’t help but feel immersed. Even without doing anything, Zeno was able to capture their attention.
Sangwon found himself raising an eyebrow while Sora discreetly turned on her hand fan despite the cold air blasting in the room.
Billy, on the other hand, leaned forward in anticipation. He couldn’t wait for Zeno to make a fool out of himself.
Zeno’s movements weren’t hurried. He walked like he had all the time in the world—like the stage belonged to him. Like the very concept of shame had never existed.
The lights dimmed just slightly more, casting shadows across his jawline. The music surged again, and with that, he began to move.
A subtle body roll. The way his shoulders rolled into his hips, and how his feet stepped in time—it was smooth and clean.
Sora felt her skin grow hot. This felt like she was truly in a strip club!
Zeno reached the center of the stage and circled around the chair, his fingers tracing the wood. Then, in one fluid motion, he lowered himself onto it. His back arched slightly, not in vulgarity, but in elegance. His fingers combed through his hair as he tilted his head, letting the rhythm breathe through his body.
Then the switch.
He snapped his head to the left, spinning the chair halfway. His legs straddled it now, and his hands ran down the sides of his thighs before thrusting his hips forward—not exaggerated, not crude—just enough to emphasize control.
It was power dressed as grace. It was sensuality without shame.
The extras who were supposed to be reacting as audience members didn’t need to pretend. They were caught. Eyes wide. Breaths held.
“Is he actually…” one of them whispered.
“A good dancer?” the other finished.
Shin shook his head in amusement. Goodness, this was unfair! The kid was good at dancing, too?
Billy’s mouth had gone agape. There was no way! Those were very simple movements, so he must have learned it in two weeks. However, he couldn’t fake the next steps now!
From the corner, Misha crossed her arms, leaning into the booth wall. Her lips twitched into a scoff, but her chest rose with a faint hitch.
That’s not how he danced during their class at the studio!
Zeno moved like liquid metal—thanks to his booster but also to his sudden increase in skill. His body curved with the music as he leaned back, chest exposed from the undone buttons. The moment hovered, and then—
In a sharp, clean motion, he gripped the front of his shirt and ripped it open, the fabric tearing cleanly from his shoulders to his waist.
Buttons flew everywhere and the harness that none of them expected to be there was exposed.