The Role

Evening. A family dinner. The quiet dinner had curdled into something heavier. The head of the family let out a weary sigh.

“Bobby, do you understand this could literally end your career?”

“Yes.” The eldest son gave a faint nod, finishing the last piece of bread.

“And you’re still going through with it?”

“If I succeed—”

“And if you don’t?” his father cut in.

“If I succeed, I’ll fulfill my dream.”

“Son…” His father nervously wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “You have to understand; I’m worried about you. This might be too much.”

“Thanks for your concern.” Bobby wiped his face and stood up. “I’ve already made my decision. I’m doing this. Thanks for dinner — it was great.”

“…”

His father couldn’t find the words. He could only watch in silence as his son got dressed and stepped outside.

***

Dawn spilled across the fields. In a golden sea of wheat, a small white blur darted ahead.

“There you are!” the man in the straw hat shouted. “Catch it, Bobby!”

Bobby lunged and caught the rabbit, holding it as it struggled in his arms.

“Third time this week,” Uncle Stan muttered. “I told you to be more careful.”

“Sorry,” Bobby said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“It’s your last day anyway,” Stan added. “So? Did the farm help?”

Bobby hesitated.

As he recalled the past week, his expression tightened slightly. Having lived in the city his entire life, daily physical labor had been… too much. Waking up at sunrise, walking around in dirty clothes, surrounded by animals — and their manure… And yet, despite the discomfort, Bobby smiled.

“I think it did,” he said. “Thanks, Uncle.”

“Take the rabbit. Call it a late birthday gift.” Stan waved it off.

“Two months late.”

“A gift’s a gift.”

Bobby looked down at the animal in his hands. Its slightly square muzzle twitched.

“…Steve.”

“Oh, you’re naming it? That usually makes things harder to—”

“Uncle.”

“Right. Well. A pet needs a name.” Stan cleared his throat.

By sunset, Bobby was back in his apartment. He spent the day buying everything Steve might need. Within minutes, the rabbit was asleep in its new cage.

“Yeah… I should sleep too. Good night, Steve.”

After a shower, Bobby lay on his bed and reached for his book — Valley of the Gods: Birth of Divinity. He had read it eleven times. The pages were worn, marked with color.

An hour later, he fell asleep without noticing.

Morning.

Bobby woke with the book still in his hand. He set the kettle, washed his face, and paused before the mirror.

“I am Robert Benedict Wilson.”

His gaze sharpened slightly.

“I’m twenty-five. I have both parents… two little sisters, and a younger brother.”

In the kitchen, he made a simple breakfast. Just before eating, he grabbed a carrot and walked to the living room.

“Morning, Steve. Your favorite.”

The rabbit squeaked and began eating.

“When I’m at work… you’ll be alone,” Bobby murmured.

A moment later, he took out the carrier. Steve looked unusually content. Bobby smiled faintly and tapped him on the nose. The rabbit twitched.

Then he placed him inside and headed to work.

***

Crimson fields. Countless warriors tore into each other in a brutal clash. One by one, soldiers lost their limbs — arms, legs, ears, heads spinning through the air in every direction. Amid the chaos, right in the middle of the battlefield, a lone young man lay sprawled on the ground. His already red hair was soaked in blood so dark it looked almost black. Covered in wounds, he crawled away from the slaughter. But the soldiers, too consumed by the fight to notice him, trampled over him, slowing his desperate escape.

Suddenly, the air around him seemed to tighten.

In front of him, he saw a pair of boots, drenched in blood. Lifting his gaze, he found himself staring at a towering figure. A middle-aged man clad in white armor, a flowing cape billowing behind him. His violet hair, like the rest of his attire, was stained with blood.

“You fought well.”

The man tossed the words toward the youth and stepped forward.

Drawing his sword from its sheath, the silver blade caught the sunlight. Hundreds of enemies ahead froze. He raised the sword toward them.

A flash of light and all of them were left headless.

“You! What are you do—”

The enemy general stared at him in horror before his body suddenly began to pour blood. With a casual motion, the man drove his hand into the general’s chest. Just as easily, he pulled out the still-beating heart. Raising it above his head, he crushed it.

The heart burst into liquid, which slowly dripped into the mouth of the violet-haired man.

“And… cut!” a voice called from somewhere beyond the battlefield.

Several people in suits and tracksuits stepped onto the field. The young man who had been bleeding out moments ago calmly stood up. Someone handed him a bottle of water, and he drained it with a smile.

“Good job, Nate,” said the man with violet hair.

“Thanks, Robert.” Nate grinned. “Your first appearance turned out great too. Now it’s up to the editor and the VFX team.”

“Yeah…”

“By the way, is that your rabbit over there?”

“Hm.” Bobby nodded, sipping tea from a thermos. “His name’s Steve.”

“Steve… after the game character? You play—”

“Yeah, after the game character.” The corners of Bobby’s mouth lifted slightly. “He’s got a bit of a square-shaped face.”

“How original,” Nate chuckled.

“Bobby, a minute.”

A man in his fifties, wearing square glasses, approached them.

“You did well… but we need to add a moment where you realize Nate’s character is the one you’re looking for. Show surprise, but the kind your character tries to hide, and doesn’t quite manage.”

“…Got it.” Bobby nodded. “But in the book, doesn’t he only realize it later? That part in the script always bothered me. I just never had a chance to ask.”

“Bobby, this isn’t a book — it’s a film. We can’t adapt seven hundred pages into two, two and a half hours. You read the script; we’ve condensed a lot. And we changed this moment to keep the pacing tight.”

“…Understood.”

“Good. Take a break, then we’ll run it again. Get some rest and fix your makeup.”

Bobby gave a short nod and headed to the dressing room. A young woman quickly adjusted his wig and makeup, then took a special paint and “dirtied” his face and hair.

“Thanks, Amy. You can leave me alone for a couple of minutes.”

“Of course.”

She left quickly. Alone in the room, Bobby stared into the mirror. His gaze narrowed as he studied the details of his face.

“I am Vaivald Aurelian the Third. Son of Markh, general of the Isle of Life. I am thirty-three years old. I haven’t seen my family for seven years since I fled my home. I fight for the freedom of the Isle of Life. I am ready to kill thousands for my goal — and I have already killed hundreds.”

Bobby lightly slapped his cheeks a couple of times. Then he stepped out of the dressing room and walked toward the stage, flooded with bright white light.

***

A week later.

Returning home late in the evening, Bobby collapsed onto the couch. Today, he had spent hours jumping across the set for action scenes.

“Deal with it. You signed up to do your own stunts,” Bobby muttered, staring at his reflection in the dark screen of the turned-off TV.

He was about to just go to bed when he suddenly heard a squeak. His face twisted slightly as he forced himself up and made his way to the door. The carrier with Steve was still there. Gathering what little strength he had left, he placed the rabbit into its cage.

“Why are you looking at me like that…” Bobby muttered, fighting the urge to just close his eyes and fall asleep on the spot. “Fine, I’ll get you a carrot.”

He took the leftover carrot from the fridge. Standing by the cage, he hesitated for a moment. Then, making up his mind, he picked Steve up and handed him the carrot.

“You know, I like carrots too,” Bobby said, watching the rabbit chew. “But ever since you showed up, they all go to you. Hah…”

Watching the rabbit eat, Bobby couldn’t help but smile. When the little creature finished, he somehow felt… satisfied. Without even thinking, Bobby tapped the rabbit on the nose. It had already become a habit. As he watched the rabbit’s ears twitch, a lump suddenly rose in his throat. Breathing grew heavier. He yawned, and his eyes began to sting with tears.

“So that’s what he felt… Still, I’m glad I took you.”

Morning. As usual, Bobby woke up early and went to the kitchen. After setting the kettle to boil, he headed into the bathroom. Washing his face, he looked at himself in the mirror.

“I am Robert Benedict Wilson. I’m twenty-five years old. I have both parents, two little sisters, and a younger brother. I… what am I even doing?”

“I am Vaivald Aurelian the Third. Son of Markh, general of the Isle of Life. I am thirty-three years old. I am a warrior — a general who will do anything to achieve his goal… I will do anything.”

Slapping his cheeks a couple of times, Bobby stepped out of the dressing room.

***

Suddenly, a grand palace was swallowed by radiant light. Above the armored soldiers, an angel rose into the air. Six fiery wings spread behind him, almost merging with his crimson robe.

“Hah… hahahaha…” the angel laughed from behind his mask.

Then, all at once, he felt something approaching. He turned sharply—but it was too late. A massive shadow slammed him into the ground. The shadow quickly shrank and returned to its owner — a man in a blue coat with violet hair.

“Master Vaivald!” A red-haired youth grabbed the man’s arm. “Don’t! You’ll die if you go there. Th-that’s an angel! We should run!”

“Rudi…” Vaivald spoke quietly. “I have to go. This is my fate. Take the others and get as far away as you can.”

“B-but… Master, what about your dream? What about your daughter?” Rudi’s voice broke. “Why!?”

The red-haired youth dropped to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Rudi… let go. I’m the only one who can do this.”

“No! I’m going with you!” Rudi stood up. “Let the others run, but I’ll fight by your side!”

“Why would you die with me!” Vaivald shouted.

“If my death helps you, even a little, even for a second, a moment… and gives you a chance to live… then I’m willing.”

Something twisted across Vaivald’s face. His eyelids twitched as he squeezed them shut. The sound of his teeth grinding echoed faintly. With great effort, he swallowed. When he opened his eyes again, everything broke through at once — pain, sorrow, anger, rage, longing…

Vaivald unclenched his fists, blood dripping from his palms. He raised a trembling hand and brought it to his student’s face. Gently, he tapped him on the nose. Rudi broke into a wide smile. The master always did that during training… and before battle.

“You… were my ray of light. You lit up the endless darkness…” Vaivald whispered so quietly Rudi couldn’t hear. “Forgive me. I was never a good teacher.”

Side by side, Vaivald and Rudi walked toward the angel.

“And… cut!” the director’s satisfied voice rang out. “Brilliant. That was a ten out of ten — from both of you. Alright,” he turned to the nearby crew, “prepare the next scene. We’re moving into action. This one’s important. Bobby, Nate — keep it exactly like that.”

“Hah, you don’t hear praise from him often,” Nate said, dropping to the floor, exhausted.

“No surprise,” Bobby shrugged. “You’re acting like you’re possessed. First time I’ve seen crying and a voice break that natural.”

“Thanks, Master,” Nate grinned. “But hearing that from you…”

“What?”

“You’re completely crushing me.” Nate let out a bitter laugh. “Since the start of filming, two months now, you’ve been doing it every time. How?”

“What are you talking about?” Bobby frowned, taking a bottle of water from the staff.

“You… those little gestures, your expressions… You build everything up for the finale. That’s top-tier acting.”

“Well, thanks.”

“Now we just have to do the same tomorrow.” Nate sprang to his feet. “Tomorrow’s the most important day.”

“Yeah…” Bobby nodded faintly — then suddenly choked slightly, his gaze dropping to the ground for no clear reason.

“By the way, the whole cast’s going out tonight. Korean barbecue, I think. You coming?”

“No,” Bobby replied flatly, without lifting his head.

“What? Why—”

“I’m just not going.” His hand suddenly trembled, water spilling from the bottle. “I’ll have dinner at home.”

“Suit yourself…”

“Alright! Places, everyone!” the director’s voice rang out, snapping all the actors back to attention.

***

Bobby came home earlier than usual. He set Steve’s carrier down on the floor and headed to the kitchen. From the fridge, he took out the marinade he had prepared the day before. He turned on a video — after watching it over ten times, he finally started cooking.

Four hours passed.

Bobby closed the curtains and turned off the lights. He sat down at the table. A new tablecloth covered it; expensive dishes, a gift from his mother, were neatly arranged, along with several candles. In front of him stood a large plate and a glass of water. On the plate lay a steak. He had finished it with a special sauce and arranged vegetables beside it: asparagus, potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, and cucumbers.

Bobby stared at the plate. With a trembling hand, he cut off a piece of steak. Finally, he brought it to his mouth.

He closed his eyes.

A moment later, his eyes stung.

“…Tasteless,” he said into the silence.

***

Late at night, Bobby went to the bathroom. He almost threw up. In the dark room, he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

“I am Vaivald Aurelian the Third. Son of Markh, general of the Isle of Life. I… am disgusting.”

A man with violet hair stood amid a pile of corpses. His emotionless face watched as crows descended upon the dead. Then, reluctantly, he shifted his gaze forward.

“Why…”

Before him stood a red-haired youth. Rudi’s body was riddled with holes, and there was no trace of life left in his eyes. Like a newborn child, nearly blind, he stared at Vaivald.

“…I’m sorry.”

It was the only thing the violet-haired man could force out.

His face seemed devoid of emotion, almost cold. And yet, Rudi found his answer in it. Vaivald’s expression defied words. Bloodied, it carried sorrow and regret so deep that even the half-blind Rudi could see it.

Slowly, Vaivald reached out toward his student.

He barely touched his nose.

And then he struck.

Vaivald pierced his student’s chest. Tearing out the heart, he brought it to his mouth. He forced it down and collapsed to his knees.

“And cut—” the director was about to finish the perfect take when he noticed something.

A single tear slid down Vaivald’s face.

“…Tasteless.”

His voice trembled. His eyes twitched strangely, and his hands slackened.

“…Cut,” the director said quietly.

Suddenly, slow, solitary clapping echoed across the battlefield set. It was the director. Others followed. Soon, the entire crew applauded the actor kneeling at the center of the stage. Some of the cast and staff even wiped away tears.

“Alright. Next scene.”

The director’s voice snapped everyone back into motion. Bobby remained on his knees. His gaze was empty, and all he could do was breathe.

“…Bobby!”

“Huh?” he said, as if waking from a dream.

“God. That was insane.” Nate wiped his tears and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, next scene. The set team’s going to start complaining again if we stall.”

“Huh? Yeah…”

Bobby slowly got to his feet and went to shoot the next scene.

***

Back home, Bobby sank onto the couch. Putting all his effort into simply breathing, he sat there for hours. Then, suddenly, he felt hungry.

Struggling against a wave of nausea, he walked to the fridge and took out a carrot. Sitting back down on the couch, Bobby paused. He placed the cage on his lap. Slowly stroking the empty cage, he bit into the carrot.

He chewed.

Something in him stalled.

A piece of carrot slipped from his lips.

“…Tasteless.”