Closure.
For most, closure meant peace. An end. A conclusion to a chapter.
It was the word people whispered when they wanted to let go—when they wanted to move on without really addressing the cracks beneath the surface. It was the name they gave the illusion of healing without consequence.
For Zeno, who has lived over twenty lives, closure was not this quiet surrender.
Closure meant justice. It was people getting what they deserved—no more, no less.
That was what real closure looked like.
He stood at the edge of the set, arms folded, watching like a hawk as the extras ran through the growing heat.
Zeno kept his gaze on him, watching how he lost his cool.
“What the fuck are all of you doing?”
The extras froze in place, most of them not expecting such crude words to come out from someone like Victor.
Victor clicked his tongue and discarded his canned coffee to the ground, expecting someone else to pick it up.
Then, a small smirk appeared on Zeno’s lips. Of course, he wasn’t a stranger to his uncle’s two-faced personality.
Back when he was still Sanjae, Victor was nothing but his father’s little brother. He was the “lost sheep” of the family, the one everyone had to keep making excuses for.
Except Victor wasn’t treated like a disappointment. No, he was defended and coddled.
Especially by Sanjae’s father.
Even when Victor came back broke, empty-eyed, and full of ideas he couldn’t execute, it was Sanjae’s father who lent him money. “Just a small loan to kickstart my production house,” he had said.
One of those loans was the seed that birthed Ninth Circle.
During that year, Sanjae also had the worst medical emergency in his entire life.
He still remembered how his parents sold the truck that Sanjae had bought from writing a novel for an entire year! Meanwhile, Victor kept promising he’d return what he owned.
Spoiler! He never did.
Victor never returned anything. He was a leech, Zeno realized.
A man who only ever clung to people who could serve him. And if they couldn’t, he discarded them.
Now, here Victor stood again, screaming at those he deemed beneath him.
No wonder he was utterly kind in front of the main cast—it was because he thought they benefited him.
Zeno shook his head and leaned against the cold, concrete wall.
“Do it right,” Victor coldly said.
The extras resumed their blocking, but it was still a little bit sloppy and frantic.
One girl slipped and hit her knee. A boy tried to help her up but got barked at for being out of position.
Victor’s voice cracked the air again.
“Move like your life depends on it! Do you want to be fucking replaced?”
The fear in their eyes was real now. Zeno looked around until his gaze landed on Jace. He was drenched in sweat, cheeks blotchy from heat and exhaustion.
Victor yelled another order, and Jace sprinted to adjust a barricade on the ground. His hands slipped once, then again, the prop too heavy for one person. An assistant ran toward him to help, but Victor yelled before they could.
“Don’t help him! He said he could do it; let him!”
Jace smiled brightly and nodded in agreement. “I can do it,” he smiled and tried again.
Zeno puffed up his cheeks as he watched these extras, desperate for a role that would kickstart their career, prompting them to follow the command of someone who had “authority” over them.
It appeared they didn’t want to retaliate because of this invisible hierarchy.
It had been an hour since they started, and the sun was glaring down on them. At this point, someone was going to collapse soon.
Zeno’s words were proven true after a couple of seconds when a man standing right next to Jace suddenly fell to the ground.
Some flinched but kept going, unsure whether to stop or pretend like nothing had happened.
They had heard Victor’s warning, and they didn’t want to be replaced.
Others turned for a moment; however, since there were a lot of bodies on the ground, they didn’t pay much attention, some even stepping on his body.
However, even from afar, it was clear that this man wasn’t acting at all.
It seemed Jace had the same idea as Zeno as he stood still, trying to call for help from the staff.
However, even then, the staff was also unsure of whether to intervene.
Jace knelt beside the extra and gently shook his shoulder. “Hey… hey, are you okay?”
Victor frowned when he saw the scene through the screen.
“What are they doing?” he muttered.
“CUT!”
Everyone stopped again, some glancing toward Jace’s way with a bit of disdain. Some of them just wanted to get it over with.
“He’s not waking up, sir!” Jace called from a distance.
Victor sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “That is good then. Let’s consider him dead in the scene. Just keep going!”
Jace looked up, still crouched beside the unconscious man. “Sir, I think he really collapsed—”
“Did I stutter?” Victor bellowed, “Do you want me to replace you right now. What even is your name?”
Jace’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He hesitated to answer.
“Jace, sir,” he finally responded.
Victor shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “A no-name causing a scene.”
At that moment, Zeno had already started walking. None of them had noticed him yet.
As he walked, Jace’s words echoed in his mind.
“I hope it works out this time.”
That shy smile. That grimace disguised as hope.
He could already see the man’s fingers curling into a palm, ready to strike.
Same old Victor.
The moment Victor’s hand started to descend, a firm hand gripped his wrist mid-air.
Gasps rang out in the set when they finally noticed Zeno.
Victor’s frown deepened as he turned to the culprit. However, he stopped and froze when he saw who it was.
Zeno tilted his head to the side.
“What are you about to do, Director?”