She gingerly picked up a piece of the stir-fried pork with her chopsticks.
She put it in her mouth and chewed twice.
Her eyes suddenly popped wide open. Then, she covered her mouth with one hand while pointing at the plate with the other, making muffled "mmm-mph" noises.
Cassius's heart skipped a beat. "What's wrong? Too spicy?"
He remembered that Koreans could handle their spice. They ate kimchi like it was going out of style! They practically lived on the stuff.
Lee So-yeon shook her head vigorously.
After finally swallowing, she let out a long breath, her eyes shining with a scary intensity.
"It's not too spicy! It's magic! Aish! How can this flavor be so aggressive but so harmonious? Why is the pork so tender? This sauce... this wok hei..."
"Oppa! Where did you learn this? Hogwarts: Asian Campus?"
Cassius: "Thanks for the compliment. It's just Master Chef... I mean, basic citizen operating procedure."
He scooped some rice for himself and started digging in.
He had to admit, the satisfaction of cooking for yourself was hard to beat.
The kick of the peppers, the char of the pork, and the savory umami of the sauce blended perfectly, especially paired with the steaming white rice.
It instantly healed his stomach, which had been tortured by American fast food and Korean instant meals for too long.
Lee So-yeon had completely abandoned her image.
She was sweating, nose red, mumbling "Mashisoyo" (Delicious) and "Daebak" (Awesome) in Korean through mouthfuls of food.
"Slow down. No one's gonna steal it," Cassius said, watching her wolf it down. It was funny, but also kind of sad.
This girl probably hadn't eaten a decent home-cooked meal since she got here.
Which made sense.
Korea didn't exactly have a diverse menu. It was seaweed soup, tofu soup, and bibimbap all day, every day.
"Oppa~"
Lee So-yeon finished the last bite of rice and slumped onto the sofa, patting her stomach with a look of pure bliss. Her eyes were glazed over.
"I've decided!"
"Decided what?"
"My future boyfriend must know how to make Stir-fried Pork with Peppers!"
She looked dead serious. "This is a mandatory requirement. More important than a green card!"
Cassius almost choked on his rice. "Your standards for a partner are surprisingly down-to-earth."
After the meal, the vibe between them was noticeably better.
After cleaning up the dishes, Cassius pulled out his phone and looked at the audition info from Rob again.
It was an indie film project called Echoes of Silence.
The role was "Li," a Chinese international student suffering from a crisis of identity and immense loneliness in an American university due to cultural barriers and language issues.
In the script excerpt, the character had long internal monologues and complex emotions that needed to be conveyed through subtle expressions and eye acting.
Before, seeing a role like this would have made Cassius's scalp tingle with anxiety. He would have felt completely out of his depth.
But now, feeling his control over his emotions and seeing the steady rise of the stats on his panel, he felt a strong desire for the first time.
This wasn't a stereotype role from Han. It wasn't a background board with three lines.
This was a real character. Flesh and blood. A challenge.
"What are you looking at? So serious."
Lee So-yeon leaned over to peek at his screen.
"Echoes of Silence audition! Wah~ sounds way fancier than the burger commercial!"
Cassius put away his phone and took a deep breath. "Gonna go try my luck tomorrow."
"Fighting!"
Lee So-yeon shouted the slogan instinctively.
Then she remembered Cassius's lecture on fitting in. She quickly covered her mouth and switched phrases:
"Good luck, bro!"
Cassius smiled and didn't correct her.
He walked to the window and looked down at the sleepless lights of Los Angeles.
Tomorrow was going to be another battle.
---
The audition for Echoes of Silence was in Culver City, in an office space that looked like a converted warehouse.
The air smelled like old cardboard boxes and cheap coffee.
The hallway was packed with waiting actors.
Every face was written with the desperate hunger of "Pick me, pick me."
The atmosphere was a bit more civilized than the Santa Monica labor market, but the core anxiety was exactly the same.
Cassius found his name on the sign-in sheet, grabbed sticker #37, slapped it on his chest, and found a corner to sit in.
He scanned the room.
Most of the candidates were Asian. They ranged from green students to seasoned veterans who looked like they'd seen it all.
Today was all about internal competition.
He took a deep breath and ran through the script scenes in his head again.
The character "Li" had two scenes:
One was at a party. Unable to fit in due to language and cultural differences, he sits silently in the corner.
The other was back in his empty rental apartment. Facing a video call from his family overseas, he forces a smile to tell them he's fine, only to have an emotional breakdown the second he hangs up.
The first scene tested static presence and eye acting. The second tested emotional explosive power.
For the Cassius of a month ago, this would have been Hell Mode difficulty.
But now...
"Number 37! Cassius!"
An assistant poked her head out and called.
Cassius stood up, straightened his only decent dark shirt, and walked into the audition room.
The room wasn't big and the furnishings were sparse.
Three people sat behind a long table.
In the middle was a white woman with messy hair and black-framed glasses—presumably the director.
On the left was an expressionless middle-aged Asian man—likely the producer or writer.
On the right was Rob, who had invited him.
Rob didn't react much when he saw him. He just gave a slight nod, his eyes not showing any particular expectation.
That was normal.
They hadn't seen or spoken to each other in a month. Cassius was actually surprised Rob even remembered him enough to invite him!
"Cassius, right?"
The director in the middle, Sarah Jones, flipped through the papers in her hand, her tone flat.
"Let's begin. Start with the party scene."
No camera. Just three pairs of scrutinizing eyes.
Cassius walked to the center of the room, where a single chair was placed to represent the corner of the party.
He sat down. He didn't curl up or try to look pitiful on purpose. He just relaxed his shoulders slightly, keeping his spine straight.
His eyes didn't focus on any of the judges.
Instead, he stared blankly at the air in front of him, as if looking through the walls to a noisy party that had nothing to do with him.
He didn't make any exaggerated expressions. Only the corners of his mouth dipped downwards, almost imperceptibly.
Not sadness. Just the exhaustion of being used to the barrier.
His fingers tapped lightly on his knee, twice, unconsciously.
Like an involuntary tic synchronized with the rhythm of his inner loneliness.
The whole performance lasted less than a minute. The room was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air conditioner.
Director Sarah pushed up her glasses. She didn't speak, but a flicker of surprise passed through her eyes.
The Asian man next to her remained expressionless, but his fingers paused in flipping through the resume.
Rob raised an eyebrow slightly.