The room was completely silent and dark. Even the smallest sound or breeze could feel scary. A little light shone from the corner, just enough to see. A man sat at a desk, staring at his computer screen. He wasn't moving much, just sitting still, his eyes glued to the screen. The white glow from the screen reflected in his eyes, making him look empty.

Suddenly, his phone rang. The sound broke the quiet, and he jumped. He looked at the phone, already knowing what it was about. With a sigh, he picked it up.

"Hello? Clein speaking," he said, tired. "The boss gave me the night shift again. Like always. You can go have fun. We'll hang out some other time. Yeah, bye."

He hung up, looking at his phone, now feeling more angry than tired. He tossed it aside and turned back to his computer, the screen still showing nothing but black and white.

"How many days will this keep happening?" he muttered to himself. "I'm so tired. I'm losing it."

He grabbed his hair with both hands, pulling as if trying to release his frustration. "I didn't even want this job. How did I end up here?"

For a moment, he lay back in his chair, feeling the weight of everything on his shoulders. His hands tightened, like he was holding onto a rope he didn't want to let go of.

But then, he forced himself to sit up straight again. He fixed his hair and looked back at the computer screen. His eyes were tired, but he knew he had no choice.

"I have to finish this," he whispered. "There's no other way."

After closing his computer, Clein checked his phone, glanced at the time, and grabbed his bag. He was tired of everything. Turning off the lights in the room, he walked to the gloomy bus stop. There were no other passengers waiting—only silence surrounded him. He sat down, staring blankly at the empty street.

At the bus stop, a poster of a famous actor caught his eye. But Clein wasn't surprised or disappointed; he had long accepted that the world of fame wasn't meant for him. The bus arrived, and he stepped inside, feeling as though the only thing that understood his silence was the bus itself. As it shook and rattled down the road, Clein sat emotionless, staring at nothing, just watching the world go by.

The bus passed dark, quiet streets, including his own home. His house was barely visible in the night. When he finally opened the gate and entered his bedroom, the walls were covered with posters of actors, famous movie quotes, and autographs—reminders of a dream he once chased. Without changing clothes, Clein collapsed on the bed, hoping for a new morning.

When he woke up, he panicked. "I'm late again," he muttered, rushing to the bathroom. He glanced at his toothpaste—it was all dried up. His toothbrush was worn out, its bristles mostly gone. Even the soap was so small he could barely hold it. He washed his face with only water and stared into the mirror, touching his reflection with a frown. Throwing the soap away, he splashed some more water on his face and returned to his computer desk.

The room seemed a little brighter than last night. Just as he sat down, a familiar voice interrupted him. "Hey, Clein."

Startled, Clein turned to see Gary. "Oh, hey," he replied.

Gary gave him a once-over, noticing Clein's messy hair and clothes. "Did you rush here this morning?"

Clein paused, thinking, then answered, "Yeah, a little. Why?"

Gary smirked. "That explains why your hair and clothes look... decent for once."

Clein quickly adjusted his shirt and ran a hand through his hair. "You know I'm not a morning person, and I had a night shift yesterday."

Gary nodded. "Yeah, I get it. You've been doing a lot of those lately." Then, with a more serious tone, Gary added, "By the way, you remember borrowing 800 dollars from me?"

Clein's heart skipped a beat. His eyes shifted to the computer screen. "Yeah... I remember. Don't worry, I'll pay you back."

Gary sighed, "I'm not doubting you, but it's been three months. I'm not pushing you, but I need the money soon. We're all trapped by this game—fame, money, power—it's what everyone chases. I know you're no different. I need to pay someone else, and the deadline's coming. Alright, I'll leave you to it."

As Gary walked away, Clein looked down at his old, dusty shoes. He whispered to himself, "Should I sell my shoes? My clothes? My phone? My house? Or… myself?"

His phone suddenly rang. Groaning in frustration, Clein muttered, "What does he want now?" Hesitantly, he answered, "Hello, Clein speaking."

"Hey, Clein, it's James. How are you?" came the voice on the other end.

"Yeah, I'm alright. What about you?"

"I'm doing fine too," James replied. "So, how's the assistant producer job going for you?" Clein asked, sounding defeated.

"Ah, you know how it is—stressful, no time to breathe," James said, before quickly adding, "But now, you're about to have your own stress."

Clein frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I've got an offer for you," James said. "I know you've always wanted to be an actor, and I know things didn't work out before, but now's your chance. You're going to be in my movie."

Clein's eyes widened in disbelief. He stood up from his chair, laughing awkwardly. "Haha, James, come on, don't joke with me. You know I've had a rough time lately, and I can handle it because we're friends, but this isn't funny."

James sounded serious. "I'm not joking, Clein. Meet me at Block Restaurant at 6:30. This is real."

"But… my job?" Clein stammered.

"Forget your job! This offer is bigger than that," James urged. "You know what to do."

Clein took a deep breath. "Alright... I'll be there at 6:30."