The moment Jorah's eyes flicked to Daifu, a fellow actor from the same studio, the realization swiftly dawned on him. Tanner had omitted a crucial detail - Daifu's presence at the audition.

It made sense; Tanner wouldn't bet everything on Jorah, so having an ace in the hole couldn't hurt.

It also didn't hurt that Daifu was rumored to be gay.

While sighing internally, Jorah took a moment to study Daifu behind the reflective barrier of his aviators.His face was bright and earnest.

"Oh my god. I'd heard rumors, but I can't believe it's actually true." He clutched the script to his chest, smiling at Jorah.

"Seeing is believing they say," Jorah's voice dripped with sarcasm.

The other man's smile widened, oblivious or otherwise indifferent to Jorah's coldness .

Unaffected by Jorah's coldness, Daifu's smile widened."I'm really happy to see you here."

Jorah regarded him with an icy glare "Can I help you with something?"

"No." Daifu shook his head, smile undaunted. "I just came to wish my studiomate good luck."

"Wishes received." The curt response followed.

Daifu's bright eyes sparkled as he waved to Jorah. "Break a leg," he offered before leaving Jorah to himself once more.

His eyes followed the young man until he joined a group across the room. He wished he could break someone's leg.

The sudden thought of violence made him smirk.

But the humor was fleeting. Jorah's gaze hardened once more as he settled against the wall, creating an invisible barrier between himself and the world.

His eyes rested on the figure across the room once more, their eyes locking in a silent exchange that seemed to pierce through the thrumming tension of the space. In those cold gray eyes, Jorah read a clear message "You don't belong here."

He was frowning at Angry Brows' hostility when from his peripheral vision, he spotted someone's tentative approach.

"Uh, excuse me," came the tentative voice.

Jorah afforded the newcomer nothing more than a sidelong glance.

"Are you Jorah Jindaya?"

The person standing before Jorah looked barely out of his teens, with freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks and a mop of tousled chestnut hair framing his face.By Jorah's assessment, he looked so out of place, it was almost laughable.

The boy's smile wavered for a moment before shining even brighter, showing the indent of a dimple.

Jorah heaved a sigh.The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, the semblance of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Slowly, he pulled his aviators down, showing his eyes for the first time since his arrival and replied. "No. I'm a Monkey's Uncle."

To his surprise, the young man actually laughed.

Jorah looked at him quizzically.

Not caring to engage with this person anymore, Jorah put his glasses back in place and proceeded to ignore him.

"This is so exciting." The young man looked around the room "But I'm so nervous." His eyes fell on Jorah "Do you have any tips Mr. Jindaya?"

Jorah stared at him incredulously. "Here's a tip for you." The young man's eyes lit up in anticipation. "Leave me alone."

The young man's smile dimmed slightly.

Before Jorah could feel any satisfaction however, the smile returned even brighter. He looked at Jorah with shining eyes. "All the best Mr. Jindaya.I will be cheering for you."

Before Jorah could even reply, the boy was gone with a bounce in his step.

"What a strange kid." he mused.

He watched until the smiling boy returned to his peers.A few people gathered around him, no doubt seeking to get the play by play of their brief exchange.

They were too far away for him to hear the conversation. He could only watch their expressions as they were seemingly regaled.

"What a circus," Jorah muttered to himself .The room continued to hum with energy. As the time ticked on, each man clutched his script like a lifeline, their hopeful eyes betraying their hunger for a break.

He shifted uncomfortably, utterly vexed by his circumstances. Who knew the day would come when he'd be at a place like this?

"Three years," he muttered. For three whole years, he'd faced ridicule and derision, mocked by faceless judges with pens more lethal than swords.

He clicked his tongue. Compromise was a bitter pill to swallow, and Jorah's throat constricted at the thought. He couldn't have it both ways; he couldn't dismiss the auditions that shaped careers and also complain about being overlooked. He'd promised since day one that he would do it on his own, no shortcuts.

Even if he was annoyed, he had to suffer through this part for his plan to work.

While they waited, he could feel their gazes and spot their lenses pointed surreptitiously. Now was not the time to focus on them.

His gaze landed on the first scene breakdown Tanner had sent; an emotional breakup fraught with raw vulnerability and heartache.

He flipped to the next scene, his eyes scanning the lines that depicted a physical altercation. It was definitely more his style. But even this, he knew, would be executed with just enough imperfection to raise eyebrows but not suspicions.

And then came the third, the one that truly tested his resolve: a romantic scene. Jorah's stomach churned with distaste at the thought. He imagined reciting those lines, feigning a passion he neither felt nor wanted to convey, and a wave of revulsion washed over him.

His gaze lifted from the script in his hand as a subtle shift permeated the room. The casting assistant, clipboard clutched to chest, arrived to address the sea of anxious actors: "We're going to be starting in a few minutes."

The announcement was eclipsed by an abrupt commotion at the door—shuffling feet, a collective turn of heads. Whispers skated across the air, turning into hushed squeals that fluttered like moths to a flame.

Someone new had arrived.

It was cinematic, the way every head turned in unison, as if drawn by unseen strings toward the epicenter of this gravitational pull. Jorah could almost hear the nonexistent sound of a needle scratching across vinyl, the soundtrack of life pausing for effect.

He tilted his head thoughtfully to the side, his eyes trained on the man. With just a cursory glance, he looked handsome but not spectacular enough for this kind of response. His thin framed glasses sat perched neatly on his nose.

A black beanie covered his hair.

All eyes were on him as he moved to an available chair. His gaze swept across the room, not lingering on anyone too long.

With his arrival, the room's atmosphere was transformed.

As if on cue, several individuals sprung from their seats,clustering around this figure, eager and awestruck.

Watching this scene, Jorah was slightly perplexed. Just who was this person who'd evoked this kind of response?

Jorah observed as they approached him, offering enthusiastic greetings and compliments, while others simply stared, seemingly awestruck.

Amidst the torrent of interaction, with eyes darting from face to face and nods of acknowledgment, he smiled. That smile seemed to emit its own light, radiant and disarming.

It was more than just a smile,it was an invitation to forget the world's edges, to bask in the warmth of something pure and unguarded. Jorah found his lips curving upwards in response, an involuntary mimicry he couldn't control. It spread through him, that glow, like the first sip of coffee on a cold morning or the comforting embrace of an old friend.

This stranger seemed to have an effortless command of the space around him with zero effort on his part. When he found himself smiling, Jorah immediately schooled his expression, resenting the intrusion into his own well-guarded solitude.

Shutters clicked, merging into a melody that seemed out of place amidst the backdrop of nervous script-flipping and line-muttering actors. Jorah's frown deepened.Wasn't this supposed to be an audition?

His thoughts knotted together, seeking rationale in a situation that defied the norm. It was much worse than when he'd arrived. The room had been transformed into an impromptu fanmeet.

Jorah's eyes narrowed as the gathering swelled, a human hive buzzing with excitement. His gaze tracked each movement as people jostled for proximity to the young man, their phones extending outward as if offering tributes to a silent deity.

The air was thick with anticipation and Jorah found himself leaning forward unconsciously towards the epicenter of attention.

A brief flicker of irritation cut through his wonder. This wasn't the time nor place for celebrity worship — He assumed this person was someone. Why else would they be acting like that? Most in the room had been reduced to star-struck bystanders, snapping photos while they grinned.

Jorah leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, a fortress of skepticism to shield him from the infectious enthusiasm that threatened to dismantle the room's professionalism. He forced his attention away, returning to his own script, the words suddenly seeming dull in comparison to the human drama playing out across the room.

"Focus," he muttered to himself

"Can you believe it?" one of the men beside him whispered, leaning toward his companion with a conspiratorial tilt to his head.

"Never thought I'd see him in person," his friend responded, eyes wide with excitement, their voices above a whisper. Unlike before when their voices were hushed when talking about him, now they made no effort to conceal their conversation about the newcomer.

It had swept through the room like a tidal wave, those voices.

"Oh my God it really is him. It's Nine."

"Jesus Christ," someone else breathed out, not far from Jorah, their voice laced with the sort of reverence usually reserved for legends or miracles. "He's even more handsome in person."

"He's really back! And he's here! I have to tweet this" The exclamation came from a cluster of men who had been practicing their monologues just moments before. They now stood slack-jawed, scripts forgotten,phones pointed across the room to the beanie wearing man now named Nine.

A whispered question floated to Jorah's ears, pulling him back into the undercurrent of speculation. "I wonder what role he's auditioning for"

"Does it even matter? He's amazing." The voice was almost a purr, filled with such unabashed admiration that it grated Jorah's nerves.

He shoved the irritation down. He needed to focus, to remember why he was here. But the whispers continued, a relentless stream of veneration for this person, and Jorah couldn't help but wonder: What did he possess that could transform a room full of actors into starstruck spectators?

At a glance, he seemed cute enough with his little glasses, but not enough to warrant this kind of behavior.

To Jorah's left a pair of hopefuls huddled nearby, their voices carrying an unmistakable fervor. "I hope we get to test with him," one murmured.

Jorah didn't understand. Why had his arrival transformed the room like this?

His gaze snapped back to his script as the hopeful beside him let out a wistful sigh. "If you're so lucky. You wish."

They orbited him like satellites, each vying for a moment in his presence. Jorah's grip on his script tightened, the paper crinkling under the pressure.

"He went to sit with Gage," one of the nearby chatterboxes whispered, a note of awe threading their voice.

Jorah's ears perked up despite himself. Gage. That single word acted as a label, putting a name Mr. Angry Brows.

Against his will, Jorah watched as the two men met. There was no formal handshake, no stiff introductions; instead, there was a warmth that unfolded naturally between them. The pair hugged with a camaraderie that seemed to echo from a shared past. Much to Jorah's surprise, Angry Brows actually smiled.

The flock settled around them, a protective barrier of bodies and buzzing excitement. Jorah's focus narrowed. It wasn't just the admiration that irked him; it was the disruption, the imbalance Nine introduced into a room already fraught with nerves and ambition.

"They know each other," the realization dawned.

"They played in the same series before. Although they didn't play as a couple. I wonder if they'll get the main roles. I'd totally ship them." More information snaked its way to his ears.

It was ridiculous.

The very idea of shipping, of rooting for relationships, seemed so out of place here, amidst the cutthroat tension of auditions.

What strange universe had he stumbled into where competitors were paired off like characters in a fanfiction? He scoffed but no one noticed; they were too busy constructing fantasies around Nine and Gage. He was no longer the focal point of the room.

Across the room, amidst the buzz of excited voices and the shuffling of eager bodies,as if on cue, their gazes locked.There was no warmth in Jorah's look, only a cold, hard challenge, but the returning stare held an inquisitive spark, a flicker of recognition and a shadow of a question.

It was a silent exchange, over in a heartbeat, yet it resonated with Jorah, leaving an uncomfortable prickle on the back of his neck.

Another announcement crackled through the air, a lifeline thrown into the chaotic waters. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. We are ready to begin auditions. Please prepare for your call."

In an instant, the room morphed from a social hub into a sea of islands. Actors retreated into their personal spaces, heads bowed over scripts in silent prayers. Lips moved without sound, hands gesturing to invisible partners, each person enacting a private performance for an audience of none.

Jorah felt the shift, the return to reality.They were finally about to begin and he would be done with this nightmare.