The next few days blurred together as Ethan continued his routine on set. Each morning, he arrived early, ready to face whatever challenges the day would throw his way. The battle scenes grew more intense, the props more battered, and the crew more exhausted, but Ethan thrived in the chaos. There was something about the grind, about solving problems under pressure, that made him feel alive.
By now, he had earned the trust of the crew. Marge no longer gave him side glances to check his work, and Eric often called on him for help without hesitation. Even the director, Rick Donovan, had started to acknowledge him with a nod or a quick "good job" after a scene went smoothly. Ethan wasn't just the new intern anymore—he was part of the team.
It was the middle of another long shooting day when something happened that pushed Ethan to a new level of responsibility.
The scene involved a close-up fight between two of the lead actors—Luke, playing Commander Durin, and another actor named Mike, who was playing a rival soldier. The swords clashed as they followed the choreographed moves, and everything was going well until Luke swung his sword a little too hard. The blade collided with Mike's shield, and with a loud crack, the sword snapped in half.
"Cut!" Rick shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "What the hell happened?"
Ethan rushed forward, grabbing the broken sword. His stomach sank. He had inspected it that morning, but clearly, the stress of the shoot had been too much for the prop to handle.
Rick stormed over, his face red with frustration. "We can't have props breaking like this! We're already behind schedule, and now we've got to reset the shot. Do we have a replacement?"
Ethan quickly scanned the props table. They had a backup sword, but it wasn't an exact match. He swallowed hard and picked up the replacement, handing it to Rick. "We have this, but it's not perfect. I'll fix the original during the break."
Rick looked at the sword, his jaw tight. "It'll have to do for now. We can't afford more delays." He glanced at Ethan, his expression softening slightly. "Fix it as soon as you can. We need it back for the next scene."
Ethan nodded, already mentally planning how he'd repair the broken blade. As the crew reset the scene, Ethan hurried to the props area and grabbed a toolbox. He knew this was his moment to prove himself—if he could fix the sword quickly, he'd be able to prevent any more delays.
Finding a quiet corner of the set, Ethan laid out the broken sword and got to work. He carefully examined the crack, trying to determine the best way to reinforce the blade without making it too obvious. It was a tricky repair, but he had done things like this before in his old life. His hands moved confidently, shaping a thin layer of resin to bond the pieces together and adding a support strip along the inside of the blade to prevent further damage.
The minutes ticked by as he worked, the noise of the set fading into the background. For a brief moment, it felt like he was back in LA, working on one of those small, underfunded indie films where he had to pull miracles out of thin air just to keep the production going. This was where he excelled—finding solutions when things seemed impossible.
By the time the break was called, Ethan had finished the repair. He carefully inspected the blade, making sure it would hold up under the stress of the fight scenes. It wasn't perfect, but it was solid. He stood up, wiping his hands on his pants, and hurried back to the set, where Rick was already waiting.
"Got it fixed?" Rick asked, his tone still sharp but less frustrated.
Ethan handed him the sword. "It should hold. I reinforced the blade, but I'll keep an eye on it during the next few scenes just in case."
Rick tested the weight of the sword, swinging it lightly before nodding in approval. "Good work, Ethan. Let's hope this one lasts."
As the crew prepared for the next scene, Ethan felt a surge of pride. He had handled the situation under pressure and fixed the problem quickly enough to avoid any major delays. It wasn't glamorous work, but it was important, and he was proving that he could handle whatever was thrown at him.
After the scene wrapped, Luke approached Ethan, holding the repaired sword. "Nice job fixing this. I didn't think it could be saved."
Ethan smiled. "Thanks. Just doing what I can."
Luke chuckled, slinging the sword over his shoulder. "Well, keep it up. You're making the rest of us look good out there."
As the day went on, Ethan continued to handle the props, moving from scene to scene with a growing sense of confidence. He was starting to feel more comfortable in his role, and the crew had begun to rely on him for more than just the basics. He was solving problems, keeping things running smoothly, and learning more about the inner workings of the production with each passing day.
It was late in the afternoon when something unexpected happened. Marge called Ethan over to the costume area, her face unusually serious.
"We've got a problem," she said, holding up one of the lead costumes. It was torn, the fabric ripped along the side in a way that couldn't be easily fixed.
Ethan frowned, examining the tear. "Can we patch it up?"
Marge shook her head. "Not without it looking obvious, and we don't have time to make another one."
Ethan thought for a moment, his mind racing. This was a crucial costume for the next scene, and they couldn't afford to shoot without it. He looked around the set, scanning the props and costumes they had on hand.
Then, an idea struck him. "What if we alter one of the secondary costumes? There's one over there that's the same color and fabric—it's not perfect, but if we modify it, it could pass for the lead costume in the wide shots."
Marge raised an eyebrow, considering his suggestion. "That could work. You think you can handle the alterations?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah, I'll need about 20 minutes, but I can do it."
Marge handed him the torn costume. "Alright. Get to work."
Ethan grabbed the secondary costume and brought it over to the sewing machine. He quickly began making the necessary alterations, adjusting the fit and adding details to make it look as close to the original as possible. His hands moved fast, but carefully, making sure every stitch was in place.
When he finished, he held up the newly altered costume and inspected it closely. It wasn't an exact replica, but it was close enough that no one would notice on camera.
Marge walked over, giving the costume a once-over before nodding in approval. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."
Ethan smiled, handing her the costume. "Let's hope it holds up."
The rest of the day flew by in a whirlwind of activity, but by the time the last scene wrapped, Ethan felt a deep sense of accomplishment. He had handled two major crises, and the production had stayed on track. As he packed up the props, Marge approached him again.
"You've got a good head on your shoulders," she said, her voice softer than usual. "I've seen a lot of interns come and go, but you're different. You think on your feet, and you're not afraid to get your hands dirty."
Ethan nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "I just want to help."
Marge smiled faintly. "Well, you're doing more than that. Keep this up, and you'll have a future in this industry."
As Ethan walked out of the studio that night, the sky darkening overhead, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. He was building momentum, proving himself day by day, and earning the respect of the people around him.
This wasn't just a second chance—it was the beginning of something bigger. And Ethan was ready for whatever came next.