AutumnXd
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CHAPTER 21
🕑 Added 2025-04-30 10:06:41 +0000 UTCRaul held the script in one hand, while the other constantly wiped away sweat. The pages visibly trembled in his grasp.
Aisha found it a little funny and tried to comfort him. “Why are you so nervous? It’s not like we’re going to eat you.”
Raul let out a couple of dry laughs.
Not convincing at all—Julian was still twitching in the corner!
He tried his best to calm down and focus on the script.
When he first signed up, he thought, There’s no way I’ll get the part, so why not go big? Naturally, he auditioned for the lead.
To avoid repetition, each actor auditioning for the same role had to draw a random scene from the script.
Julian had drawn the zombie brawl at the train station.
Raul’s draw was a scene where the protagonist and his group are chased by zombies to a safe carriage, but the people inside refuse to open the door. One companion sacrifices themselves to buy time. When the door is finally broken down, the protagonist erupts in fury and punches the man who had refused to open it.
The part Raul had to perform was the final moment—when the protagonist lashes out and questions the man.
Anger. How do you express anger?
The current mainstream acting approach involved categorizing characters and assigning standardized emotional responses for each type.⁴
This method had become so extreme that an actor’s skill was judged by how well they fit those standards—regardless of authenticity or emotional impact.¹¹
Raul hated that.¹
And judging by how the panel stopped Julian’s performance earlier, clearly, they did too.
If this was just about ticking boxes, even the best from the Mixed-Beast Troupe wouldn’t hold a candle to the extras from Swan Castle.
He was going to do it his way—the so-called “wild” method, the one that mainstream actors scoffed at.
“Begin.”
Raul recited the lines one last time, set the script aside, took a deep breath, and slipped into the role.
Anger… What would make me angry?
His daughter in danger—not an accident, but because someone deliberately put her there.
The dummy before him no longer looked fake. It was the person who had endangered his daughter.³
His gaze sharpened.⁶
No, this isn’t enough. Too thin.
I just escaped death. I’m exhausted. I can’t understand why others shut the door. I’m disappointed in their indifference.
What else?
A companion sacrificed themselves to buy time, and I couldn’t save them.
Resentment.
Yes, resentment.
The outward rage masked a deeper helplessness.
Raul’s face twisted with a mix of fury and grief. He stared at the dummy—but his gaze wasn’t focused. It was hollow, as if he was looking into himself.
He struck. One punch knocked the dummy over as he grabbed its collar tightly.
His sudden outburst made the onlookers involuntarily take a half-step back.
The first line came as a roar of fury: “WHY DID YOU CLOSE THE DOOR?! WHY?!”
A beat of silence. Only heavy breathing.
“You selfish bastard.” The insult carried exhaustion more than rage.
“We could’ve all made it…” His voice trembled. He knew now that anger was useless.
“Why…?” His lips shook. Anger, grief, helplessness—all mixed together. The final question was weak, so weak it felt like he had been the one punched to the ground.
The performance ended. Silence fell.
Everyone was stunned. They had never seen a performance like that—so raw they couldn’t even tell if it was “good.”
But one thing was clear: it was far more powerful than anything else they’d seen.
Raul snapped out of the role, nerves bubbling again as he looked around.
Was that good? Bad? Say something!
Clap—Clap—
It was Drogo, leading the applause.⁵
Once he started, Ms. Flyn and Aisha followed.
The Mixed-Beast Troupe finally caught on, cheering and whistling enthusiastically.
Drogo was pleased. After a morning full of cookie-cutter performances, this one finally made his dragon eyes light up.
Seeing how immersed Raul had been, he might even be one of those “method actors.”
“A truly memorable performance, Mr. Raul,” Aisha said, speaking on behalf of the panel. “The role is yours. Congratulations.”
“Whew.”
Raul finally let out a breath. He had thought he’d be ecstatic—regardless of whether this “Phantom Shadow” project succeeded, the lead’s pay alone would let him improve his life. At the very least, he could send Marlene to a good school and stop wandering from place to place.¹
But now that he had it, something deeper stirred—his performance style had finally been recognized. A sudden sense of purpose took root.
He wanted to do the role justice. He wanted Phantom Shadow to succeed. He wanted his performance to be seen by more people. He was an actor—and he craved recognition.
“Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”
“No need to thank us just yet. That little girl over there bawling her eyes out—is she your daughter?”¹
Raul turned. Marlene was more emotional than he was.
Her face was streaked with tears. She knew how hard her father had worked.
He picked her up and comforted her.
“Just curious,” Aisha suddenly said, “Would your daughter be interested in acting?”
After being tormented for hours by exaggerated, academic-style performances from the otherworldly drama schools, Drogo had decided to switch things up.
He rejected actors from the big-name troupes, opting instead for people who could be themselves.
It wasn’t that the professionals were bad—they were too good. But their training didn’t match what Phantom Shadow needed.⁸
Their habits were set in stone, their muscle memory too deeply ingrained. It would take too long to retrain them—better to pass.
So if pros wouldn’t work, why not go straight for people who naturally fit the role?
At the peak of method acting, the performer becomes the character.
But what if you just find someone who already is the character?
There were Earth films like that—where some no-name actor crushed a scene alongside stars, simply because they were just playing themselves.²⁵
And with that change in thinking, Drogo’s eyes landed on Raul’s daughter.
He didn’t even have to work on building a father-daughter dynamic.
That afternoon’s casting results were noticeably better—especially thanks to the Mixed-Beast Troupe, who supplied multiple roles.
An orc who used to fight underground matches was cast as the loving husband type.³
A deep gnome who had begged for food for years after surfacing from the underworld got the beggar role.⁷
A shapeshifter was cast as the manager of the alchemy plant—not because of a fitting backstory, but because he could morph into Raghu Kulman.⁹
With this approach, they didn’t even need to limit casting to the auditioners.
For the old lady roles, they found two goblin besties who had been inseparable for forty years.
For the baseball club from the original script, they just asked the dodgeball team from the Spellcaster Academy.
As for the train conductor? Easy. They brought in the conductor from the vacationing Travel Express to earn a little extra cash.⁵
Too bad the Sutton Kingdom hadn’t adopted a “political correctness” culture yet—otherwise, with the sheer racial diversity of Holy Mountain Express’s cast, they’d be swimming in awards.³¹
With the cast set, next came costume design. To maintain realism, everyone (except the shapeshifter) kept their usual looks with only slight adjustments.
Meanwhile, word came in from Drogo’s film studio island—the set construction was nearly complete.
