It all started with that small act.
A little play in a small countryside school. Rows of restless children dressed in handmade costumes, playing out an old folk tale. I didn't have any important lines. At most, I was Villager A. Or maybe Villager B. Just another face in the background, shouting meaningless words while the "heroes" stood at the front of the stage.
But when the lights dimmed and the audience clapped, when the clicking shutters of parents' cameras echoed in the hall, I felt something strange in my chest. My heart pounded, my ears buzzed, and even though no one was looking at me… I felt alive.
That was the moment.
Yes—that was when I got hooked on acting.
From then on, I studied harder than anyone thought possible. I watched plays, broke down performances, and read books until my eyes stung. Even though everyone told me acting wasn't for someone like me—average looks, stiff expressions, and nothing "special" in my voice—I kept pushing.
And somehow… somehow I made it into Eastern Media and Acting University.
It was supposed to be a dream come true. A prestigious academy that promised every newcomer a chance to step into the world of stage and screen. A platform where rookies became stars.
But dreams are fragile things.
Two semesters passed, and every time a student play or project was announced, the same thing happened: the teachers hand-picked the talented ones, the ones with charm, and the ones with potential. Not me. I was rejected so many times, my inbox felt like a graveyard of failed applications.
No matter how much I tried, no matter how desperately I rehearsed—my "average" face and "average" skills never caught anyone's eye.
…At least, that's how it should have been.
"So you must be wondering why I'm saying all this," I muttered to myself in the dim glow of my rented dorm room.
This morning… something strange happened.
When I opened my eyes, still dazed from pulling an all-nighter reading scripts, there it was: a blue screen hovering in front of me. Like the error screens you get when your computer dies, only this one wasn't on a monitor.
It was floating.
[ Billion Acting System Activated. ]
My heart nearly stopped.
Beneath the words, I saw the very script I had been reading last night. Every character had a name, a description… and a price tag.
["Purchase: Character's emotions, experiences, and memories."]
[Cost: $1,000.]
"What the hell…" I rubbed my eyes, splashed water on my face, and even stumbled into the shower, but the screen didn't vanish. The glowing letters followed me through the steam, shimmering above the tiles like a cruel joke.
"I must've drunk too much last night," I muttered, trying to laugh it off. But even after toweling my hair dry, even after sitting on my bed in disbelief, the screen still stared back at me.
I wanted to ignore it. I really did. But my eyes kept drifting to one name on the list: [Sung Ho]—the very role I wanted to audition for today.
Almost without thinking, my finger hovered over the option. I laughed bitterly at my own immaturity, then whispered:
"…Fine. Let's see how far this delusion goes."
I tapped it.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
A sarcastic smile tugged at my lips. "Figures. I really am losing it—"
Then the world spun. My vision blurred, my lungs tightened, and I collapsed back onto the bed, gasping like a fish dragged onto land.
And when I opened my eyes again, something inside me had changed. A torrent of foreign emotions, memories, and even instincts surged through me. I wasn't just Li Wei anymore. I was… someone else.
My voice trembled as I whispered to the empty room:
"…Is this real?"
When I finally came back to my senses, the numbers on my phone screen nearly gave me a heart attack.
Thirty minutes.
I had been sitting there, blank-eyed and gasping like a lunatic, for half an hour. And today… today was my audition for Sung Ho.
"Sh*t!"
I scrambled into my clothes, half-buttoning my shirt, almost forgetting my bag in the process. With my wallet stuffed into my pocket, I bolted down the narrow staircase of my apartment, nearly colliding with the old landlord sweeping the hallway.
The morning air slapped me awake as I sprinted toward the bus stop. Sweat stung my eyes, but my chest felt strangely… light. Almost excited.
Because every time I blinked, fragments of another life flashed across my mind.
The calloused grip of a guitar. The awkward smile of a boy learning to laugh through pain. A dozen small scenes stitched together into something bigger.
Sung Ho.
I wasn't just memorizing him from a script anymore. I knew him. His loneliness, his hopes, his bittersweet charm—it was all there, etched into my bones as if I had lived it myself.
On the bus, I leaned against the window, clutching the strap of my bag. My eyes closed, and I let those memories wash over me again and again. His laughter. His tears. His stubborn optimism.
My lips curled into a smile I didn't recognize as mine.
'Is this what the System gave me? A whole life… for just a thousand dollars?'
My pulse quickened, not from nerves, but from sheer anticipation. For the first time in years, I wasn't afraid of auditioning. I was itching for it.
By the time I reached the college gates, my chest burned from running, but my head was clear. I hurried through the familiar corridors and pushed open the heavy door of the rehearsal hall.
Inside, only a handful of students remained. Most auditions were already finished.
At the front desk, a bored assistant scribbled notes while flipping through forms. On the side, two students waited—the last contenders for Sung Ho.
One of them caught my eye immediately.
A tall boy with neatly styled hair, leaning casually against the wall, his smile warm enough to light up the room. His sunny aura made him look like he had stepped straight out of a commercial. Everyone seemed to notice him when he entered, and right now, even the assistant glanced his way more than once.
I slowed, feeling a pang of pressure in my chest. I recognized him.
+
Zhang Yue.
A familiar name on campus. He had already made ripples in student films and minor online dramas. Always cast as the cheerful friend, the radiant supporting character who carried scenes with his natural charm. He didn't need to act. He just had to be himself, and the audience loved it.
Swallowing my nerves, I approached and whispered, "Sorry… am I late?"
Zhang Yue turned, his grin effortless. "Not at all. You're right on time."
That sunny smile made my chest tighten.
Because for the role of Sung Ho—a warm, supportive friend to the protagonist—he was the perfect fit.
Almost too perfect.
If this had been a normal audition, Li Wei knew he had no chance of winning.
In the past, he would have stood here trembling, clutching the script as his mind went blank. He would have been crushed the moment he saw Zhang Yue's radiant confidence, that natural charisma that made people gravitate toward him without effort.
But today was different.
Today, Li Wei carried more than a script. He carried the life of Sung Ho within him.
The warmth, the laughter, the stubborn persistence, the subtle ache of loneliness—every piece of the character flowed through his blood. Right now, he knew Sung Ho better than anyone else in the world.
So instead of panicking, Li Wei let his eyes drift to the lines of students forming for different roles. Voices murmured, papers rustled, and footsteps echoed against the wooden stage. Their turn was coming soon, and a few more latecomers slipped into the line behind him.
From the corner of his eye, Zhang Yue glanced his way. His lips curved into that same dazzling smile as he asked, "So, are you confident?"
He wasn't even holding the script. He didn't need to. His posture screamed ease, like he was born to stand in front of the judges.
Li Wei returned the smile with a humble nod. "Uh… yeah. I feel a bit more confident this time. I've been reading the script for a while, so… I guess I'm ready."
It was understated, almost self-deprecating, but there was a quiet steadiness in his tone that surprised even himself.
"That's great. Same with me." Zhang Yue chuckled, extending his hand. "I'm Zhang Yue. Nice to meet you."
Li Wei clasped the handshake firmly. "Li Wei."
The brief exchange ended, and as their names were called, both young men straightened their posture, walking toward the stage. Li Wei's eyes caught the middle-aged woman seated at the judges' table. Her round glasses reflected the stage lights, hiding the fatigue in her eyes, but her posture told the story well enough.
She was tired—tired of watching mediocre auditions, tired of lifeless performances.
She was also the writer of this very project. For her, this wasn't just a college play; this was her script, her characters, and her story. And she would accept nothing less than perfection.
On stage, two figures were already waiting: the chosen male lead and female lead.
The boy, tall with sharp features and a voice that carried naturally even in casual conversation, was none other than Chen Hao. He was a popular pick on campus—not only for his polished looks but also for the depth of emotion he could bring to any role. Teachers often praised him as the kind of student destined to go professional the moment he graduated.
Standing at his side was Lin Qian. A girl whose beauty drew every eye the moment she stepped into a room. But she wasn't just a pretty face; her skills were undeniable, honed through years of training. Acting ran in her veins—her mother was a well-known actress who had graced both television and stage, and Lin Qian had inherited both her talent and her poise.
Together, Chen Hao and Lin Qian were already campus legends. They were the perfect pairing: the strong, handsome lead and the graceful, talented heroine.
And now, the supporting role of Sung Ho would be chosen to stand beside them.
Li Wei exhaled slowly, centering himself. This is it.