The next day, Luca arrived at the studio early.
Compared to before, his complexion was unusually pale, as if he had been seriously ill. However, his dark eyes were exceptionally bright, almost piercing.
Everyone in the crew noticed his change, but out of professionalism, no one asked. They merely glanced at him and then continued with their tasks.
Luca didn't speak either. He sat cross-legged on a wooden cabinet, eyes closed, like a meditating monk, his expression calm and unbothered.
Assistant director José Padilha noticed his demeanor and was secretly surprised.
After filming for so many days, Luca had always paced around nervously before each scene, muttering to himself or sighing. Once, he even broke a cup, giving off an anxious vibe that made others around him feel uneasy.
But today was different. He exuded a calmness from the inside out, serene and composed.
"What on earth happened?"
José scratched his chin in confusion.
"Hey, Luca!"
He approached with a grin, trying to start a conversation.
Luca merely nodded slightly and closed his eyes again.
"Uh..."
José's smile froze on his face, like pigeon droppings dried in the sun. He finally understood what it meant to be ignored. Luca was clearly paying him back for the cold treatment he had received before.
"Heh..."
A light chuckle arose from the surrounding crew, laced with sarcasm.
"What are you laughing at? Hurry up and get ready."
José waved his hand and returned to his seat, glaring at someone.
"Such a show-off!" he grumbled. Feeling like his rant wasn't enough, he quietly added, "It's already been six days without progress. If this continues, we might as well give up."
Luca ignored him and continued meditating.
At 9:30 AM, director Babank arrived. As usual, he entered the set, sat behind the monitor, and adjusted the setup.
Once everything was ready, Babank shouted, "Action!"
The day's filming began again.
Luca lay inside a unique wooden box, with a movable panel above. The camera was positioned in the open space, allowing it to rotate 360 degrees around Luca to capture every angle of his expressions and movements.
"Whoa..."
As filming began, Babank stared at the monitor for a while before letting out a gasp. His eyes widened in disbelief.
"Teacher, are you okay? Are you having a heart attack?" José turned around to find Babank trembling, fists clenched, and breathing irregularly, as if showing symptoms of a heart attack.
"Where's your medicine?"
José frantically patted him down, searching for his meds.
"Get lost!"
Babank took a deep breath and shoved him away. Standing up, he sternly commanded, "Everyone, stay sharp! Give me 100% effort. If there's any mistake, don't blame me for not being polite."
"Got it!"
The crew, knowing he was serious, immediately shifted to their best performance.
"What happened to the director?"
José asked curiously.
"Do your job!" Babank glared at him, put on a headset, and adjusted his reading glasses on his nose.
He stared intently at the monitor, his fists tightening as footage streamed in.
José wanted to ask if he needed water, but fearing expulsion from the team, he scratched his head and resumed his role as assistant director. He oversaw everything from extras to logistics.
Seeing the crew member with a spray bottle, he called out, "Jami, why are you still here? Go spray sweat on Luca."
Since the protagonist in *Buried Alive* was trapped in an underground box, the prolonged time would make him sweat profusely, soaking through his clothes.
Actors couldn't sweat that much on cue during a performance, so they used spray bottles.
"José, there's no need today. Luca doesn't need sweat touch-ups."
The crew member replied.
"No need?" José frowned.
"Yes, I checked earlier. During the performance, he's sweating on his own. His forehead, face, and chest are all drenched, soaking his clothes just perfectly."
The crew member marveled.
"Sweating on his own?"
José scoffed, not convinced.
He recalled Babank mentioning that there were legendary actors in Hollywood who could control every muscle, vein, heartbeat, and even sweat during an explosive performance, almost god-like.
But José had never witnessed this himself, so he doubted it. How could someone control their sweat? That seemed harder than controlling thoughts or emotions.
Now hearing the claim that Luca could manage his own sweat, José was 120% skeptical. Luca was just a novice actor. How could he possibly do that?
Shaking his head, José moved to the monitor. Luca was performing a phone call scene—
"It's so hot, I can't breathe."
"Please, save me."
"I'm telling you, I'm in some place in Iraq. Please save me."
On screen, Luca's breathing quickened, sweat pouring down his forehead, his shirt drenched.
As he wiped his forehead, fresh beads of sweat appeared instantly.
"Whoa..."
Seeing this, José shivered. Whether from excitement, fear, or cold, he couldn't tell, but his body trembled.
"How is this possible?"
He widened his eyes, watching intently.
Following Luca's performance, his heart raced, feeling as if someone was squeezing it, creating a strange, addictive tension.
José was shocked. When did Luca's acting improve so much?
No, wait, this wasn't acting. He wasn't even acting anymore.
In the footage, Luca's every move, expression, and tone felt like instinctual reactions, as if it were real, without any flaws.
When he held his breath during the phone call, his actions and posture were perfect.
José tried to think of a better way to perform, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn't find a more perfect approach. He doubted anyone could do it better than Luca.
This role belonged to Luca. His performance was irreplaceable.
"How did he suddenly become so good?"
José couldn't figure it out. Just yesterday, Luca's performance was flat with no signs of improvement. But in just one day, he had not only broken through, but soared to an entirely new level.
"José, the lunchboxes are ready. When should we eat?" A staff member quietly asked.
"Lunch? It's barely time for lunch!" José frowned and checked his watch, then froze. It was already 1:00 PM.
What the heck?
He remembered filming had just started, and he had only been standing behind the monitor for a little while. How had it already become 1:00 PM? Where had the time gone?
"José? Assistant director José?"
The staff member nudged him, sensing something off with everyone on set today. They seemed dazed.
"Hold on."
Still confused about where the time had gone, José leaned down and gently said, "Teacher, it's 1:00 PM. Shall we break for lunch?"
He called a few times before Babank finally shifted his gaze from the monitor to José's face.
"Lunch?"
Babank frowned. "Push lunch back today. Give everyone a slice of pizza and a can of coffee. No one is allowed to leave their posts."
"As for Luca, let him be. He's in the perfect state right now, transitioning from energized to exhausted. This isn't something you can act; it's a real physical and mental reaction. This state is incredibly valuable. Once interrupted, it's hard to regain."
Babank explained.
"Teacher, do you think this take is good?"
José asked excitedly.
Babank hesitated, then waved his hand and focused back on his work.
José shook his head, worried that the director's body couldn't handle the constant excitement and lack of movement. But then he remembered something Babank once said: "Filmmaking and living—I don't know which is more important."
It was clear how dedicated he was to his craft. Resting wasn't an option, not even in death.
"Forget it."
José started organizing lunch, just as the director had instructed: pizza and coffee while continuing to work, no breaks allowed.
They worked straight through, eating while filming, until it was suddenly 8:00 PM.
"Cut!"
At 8:25 PM, Babank shouted the first "cut" of the entire shoot.
Everyone on set froze, looking toward the monitor. What did this mean? Was filming over?
Babank didn't respond.
Thud.
A pale, weak figure slowly crawled out of the box. As Luca stood up, his body swayed and collided with a nearby shelf.
A crew member quickly helped him, guiding him to sit down on the floor.
Everyone on set looked at him with deep respect.
It had been 22 days since the shoot started.
Luca had spent 22 days inside that box, enduring the suffocating, hot, and cramped space without complaint, never missing a single day.
He performed with complete dedication every day, and more impressively, he withstood the oppressive atmosphere of the set.
At the beginning of filming, Babank had said he wanted to turn the set into an invisible box, trapping Luca inside to help him better embody the character's suffocation.
In a way, the entire crew had buried Luca alive with their cold treatment.
And now, he had finally emerged from that box.
On the 22nd day of filming, he worked continuously for 11 hours, from morning until night, without eating or drinking, fully immersing himself in the role. Finally, on that day, with sheer determination, he managed to crawl out of the coffin.
This kind of person... so strong. No wonder, even after breaking his spine, he was able to stand up again and become a big star. Such a person is truly remarkable.
*Clap, clap, clap~*
Suddenly, there was a burst of applause from the set, though no one knew who started it.
Luca was sipping his coffee. Hearing the applause, he turned his head in confusion toward the crowd, his eyes full of bewilderment, having no idea what had just happened.
His mind was still stuck on the storyline.
The protagonist, nearly losing consciousness, finally heard the rescue team approaching.
The sound of the rescue team came from above, and they shouted as they dug someone out. But that person turned out not to be the protagonist.
In the end, the protagonist was supposed to die.
If I hadn't managed to crawl out of the coffin, maybe that would have been better.
Wait, no!
I can't think like that.
This is just acting.
"Are you satisfied with your performance?"
Burbank squatted down and asked calmly.
Luca paused for a moment. "I don't know."
He shook his head again, still dazed. "I don't even know what I just did."
At this point, he only felt incredibly exhausted. Every muscle in his body had lost its strength. He just wanted to collapse for a while.
"Do you want to keep going?"
Burbank asked.
Luca thought for a moment. "I think I can do better."
He wasn't sure how today's performance went, so he couldn't judge it, but he felt that if he kept going, he would definitely improve.
"Alright, we'll continue tomorrow!"
Burbank patted his shoulder and had a few people take Luca home.
"Director, you already called 'cut.' Why continue?"
After Luca left, José asked in confusion.
Everyone in the crew turned to look as well.
Burbank lit a cigar and lazily lay back on the couch.
"Because his potential is greater than any actor I've ever seen."
The old man's voice carried a hint of excitement as he exhaled. "If he wants to keep going, then let him. I'm eager to see how far he can grow."
"..."
The crew looked down, somewhat reluctant. They were all exhausted from working with the production for so long.
"Luca and I are the investors. We're giving you the chance to make more money, and you're still not happy?"
Burbank said unhappily.
"We are happy, but having to stay silent every day, with faces like we're attending a funeral... it's too hard. If this keeps up, I might get depressed," the cameraman mumbled. He was a chatterbox, and the silence over the past few days had nearly driven him crazy.
"Yeah, exactly!"
Everyone chimed in.
Burbank snorted. "Fine, starting tomorrow, the ban is lifted. You can talk as much as you want. A bunch of chatterboxes!"
"Haha, that's great!"
Everyone cheered up.
Burbank shook his head and waved José over, whispering a few instructions.
"Uh... Director, is this really okay?"
José hesitated.
"There's nothing wrong with it. I'll take full responsibility."
"Alright, then!"
As night fell, the crew gradually dispersed.
José was the last to leave the set. He glanced at the starry night sky.
"Today was really unforgettable. Tomorrow... oh well~"