Leo Vance finally lifted his head.
Not out of interest.
Out of irritation.
He looked at the woman standing in front of him and felt a strange disconnect. This Avery Rivers looked nothing like the one printed on glossy magazine covers. No carefully controlled smile. No soft, pleading eyes.
Her gaze was empty.
Not hollow—empty, like two deep wells filled with cold, unmoving ink.
Leo clicked his tongue and crushed his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray.
"Fine," he spat. "You want the role?"
He stood up and pointed toward the center of the room.
"Act the scene where the protagonist finds out her father sold her to pay off a gambling debt."
His eyes were sharp, almost cruel.
"You have thirty seconds."
No script.
No preparation.
No explanation.
This wasn't an audition.
It was an execution.
Avery nodded once.
Inside her mind, the system responded instantly.
[System Function Available: Training Space.][Time Dilation Mode: Active.][Ratio: 1 Hour (Training) = 1 Second (Reality).][Cost: 5,000 Prestige Points.][Confirm Entry?]
Confirm, Avery answered.
The world froze.
Darkness surrounded her.
Then—life began.
She was no longer Avery Rivers.
She was a child in a small, suffocating house. The smell of alcohol soaked into the walls. Coins rattled endlessly in her father's pocket. Promises were broken every night.
She grew up too fast.
She learned how to stay quiet.
How to disappear in plain sight.
She watched her mother cry herself to sleep.
She watched debt collectors bang on the door.
She learned that love could be traded.
Hours passed.
Days.
Years.
She lived the character's entire life.
Not as an actress.
As a human being.
She felt the moment.
The exact moment.
Her father sat across from her at a table that shook slightly. His hands trembled as he avoided her eyes. The room smelled like smoke and sweat.
"I fixed it," he said.
That was when she understood.
There was no scream.
No tears.
Just a soft, tearing sound inside her chest—as if something fundamental had snapped.
Hope.
Trust.
Meaning.
It all collapsed inward.
The world narrowed.
Emotion compressed.
Pain reduced into a single, unbearable point.
Dimensionality Reduction.
Then—
Reality snapped back.
Only one second had passed.
Avery stood in the dingy office again.
Leo Vance was still mid-breath.
Avery didn't speak.
She didn't look at him.
She slowly walked to the corner of the room and sat down on the floor.
Her movements were calm.
Mechanical.
She leaned her back against the wall and let her hands rest limply in her lap.
She didn't cry.
She didn't cover her face.
She stared at a single crack in the concrete wall.
At first, nothing seemed to happen.
Then—
Her body began to tremble.
So slightly it was almost invisible.
Her shoulders sagged, as if the weight of gravity had increased only for her. Her breathing slowed—not shaky, not broken—just… empty.
And her eyes—
The light drained out of them.
Not dramatically.
Not suddenly.
It was gradual.
Like a candle burning down to nothing.
Until what remained was a body sitting upright.
Alive.
But already dead.
Leo's cigarette slipped from his fingers.
It hit the floor.
He didn't notice.
He couldn't blink.
His throat tightened painfully.
He had seen this scene performed before.
By A-list actors.
Award winners.
People who cried on cue. People who screamed, knelt, begged, and shattered furniture.
All of it now looked childish.
Exaggerated.
Fake.
What Avery was doing wasn't acting.
It was absence.
The kind of emptiness that only comes after something inside a person has been completely erased.
Leo took an unsteady step forward.
"Stop," he whispered.
His voice trembled.
"Stop… please."
Avery didn't react immediately.
It took her a second to return.
When she finally looked up, her eyes were calm again.
Present.
Human.
Leo let out a broken laugh and dragged a hand through his hair.
"This isn't method acting," he said hoarsely.
"This is execution."
He looked at her like he was seeing fire after years of darkness.
"The role is yours."
He turned away suddenly, hiding his face.
"I'll sell my car," he said. "I'll sell my damn furniture if I have to."
He looked back at her, eyes burning.
"We start filming next week."
The system chimed softly in Avery's mind.
[Technique Acknowledged: Dimensionality Reduction Acting.][Effect: Emotional Compression + Authentic Presence.][Director Trust Level: Absolute.][Warning: Industry Shock Probability – High.]
Avery stood up calmly.
She dusted off her hoodie.
"Thank you," she said simply.
As she walked out of the office, the sun briefly broke through the clouds outside, casting light across the cracked pavement.
Behind her—
A masterpiece had just taken its first breath.
End of Chapter 8