Los Angeles International Airport.
After a month and a half of nonstop global promo, the Fast & Furious 5 Asia tour was finally over.
The whole cast dragged their suitcases out of the terminal, all of them looking wiped.
"Finally home," Paul stretched with a groan. "I swear I never want to see another long-haul flight again."
"Numbers look solid," Vin said, still satisfied. "China pre-sales already broke records. Korea and Japan are hyped too."
"All thanks to Cass," Gal shot him a quick look, eyes bright. "His pull in Asia brought us a ton of extra buzz."
Tyrese kept it real. "I just wanna go home and sleep for three days."
They laughed, said quick goodbyes, and split into separate cars.
Cassius climbed into the black SUV his agency had sent. Rob was already waiting in the back seat.
"Welcome back, superstar." Rob handed him a fresh coffee. "Promo numbers are excellent. Universal's thrilled. They're already talking Fast 6 contracts—your base pay's going up and your backend points are getting bumped too."
"Nice," Cassius took a sip. "Anything else?"
Rob's expression turned serious. "Spielberg's assistant emailed your work account this morning. Something about a project update. I haven't opened the details yet—check it yourself."
Cassius frowned, pulled out his phone, and logged into his work email.
There it was. Sender: Spielberg's production office. Subject: Update on the Interstellar Project.
He clicked.
"Dear Cassius,
First, thank you for your continued interest and the time you've invested in this project.
I regret to inform you that due to personal contract changes with Paramount Pictures, I will no longer be directing Interstellar. This was a difficult decision, but based on the current contractual framework, I have no choice but to step away.
I've had deep discussions with Jonathan Nolan and the producing team. They understand my situation. While I can't continue, I still believe strongly in the story's potential.
I want you to know that before I exited, I gave Jonathan and the team a very strong recommendation for you. I believe your acting style and professional attitude are a perfect fit. Jonathan said he will seriously consider it and will reach out once the project restarts.
Again, I'm sorry for the change. I hope we have the chance to work together on something else in the future."
Cassius stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Rob noticed his face. "Bad news?"
"Spielberg's out of Interstellar. Contract stuff."
Cassius passed him the phone.
Rob scanned it quickly, eyebrows rising. "But he still recommended you. In Hollywood, a Spielberg rec carries serious weight."
"Yeah, but now the project has no director," Cassius said. "Paramount could reshuffle everything. Big movies like this—if the director walks, the whole thing can stall or change direction."
"True," Rob nodded. "Still, Jonathan's still on board. He and his brother Christopher wrote the script together. As long as the script exists, the project still has a pulse."
Cassius leaned back against the seat, watching the familiar Los Angeles streets roll by.
A month ago he'd been excited about possibly landing the lead in a Spielberg film.
Now the director was gone and the whole thing was up in the air.
But he didn't feel crushed.
Hollywood worked like this—projects died and came back to life all the time.
"What now?" Rob asked, already a little anxious. He'd been quietly pushing this project too.
"We wait," Cassius said calmly. "Wait for word from Jonathan. In the meantime, keep pushing Fast 6 negotiations and look at every other script that's come in."
He wasn't short on offers.
But Interstellar was the one he'd wanted most from his past life. Getting to be part of it would feel like closing a personal loop.
"Got it. I'll set everything up tomorrow."
The car pulled up to Cassius's Beverly Hills house.
He grabbed his bags and walked inside.
Three months away—the place felt a little cold and empty.
He opened windows to air it out, then pulled up his system panel.
Progress sat at 87%.
Thirteen percent left until the next upgrade.
Last upgrade unlocked the skill fusion panel. He was curious what this one would bring.
Cassius took a long shower, changed into sweats, and fired off a polite reply to Spielberg's office thanking him for the recommendation and expressing hope for future collaboration.
Then he sent a short, professional email to Jonathan Nolan's production company, attaching his latest résumé and reel.
That done, he collapsed on the couch and passed out.
He slept straight through until the next morning.
When he woke, he felt surprisingly refreshed. The expensive couch had been worth every penny.
He made coffee, sat down at his laptop, and saw a new email waiting.
Sender: Nolan Brothers' production company.
Subject: Audition Invitation.
The tone was polite but cool and businesslike.
Christopher Nolan had taken over the project. The script had been rewritten. Because of Spielberg's recommendation they were giving Cassius the chance to audition.
The subtext was clear: We weren't planning on you, but Spielberg's word carries weight, so here's your shot. Whether you get it depends on you.
Cassius smiled, opened the attached script pages.
It was close to the version he remembered from his past life, but the father-daughter emotional thread between Cooper and Murph had been dialed way up.
Every major decision was now tied tightly to that relationship.
He closed the laptop and called Rob.
"You see the email?"
Rob sounded busy on the other end. "Nolan's people are being pretty formal. I asked around—Jonathan's not exactly a fan. He thinks your recent heat is too 'commercial' and worries you might not carry the heavy emotional weight this role needs."
Cassius laughed. "Funny, because I've been carrying heavy emotion in The Hunger Games and Fast 5 just fine."
Anyone whose hard work gets written off as "just hype" would get annoyed. He was no different.
"You know how they operate. In Nolan movies the characters serve the story, but they still have to feel real. They probably assume a lot of your success came from studio marketing."
Rob paused. "Still, it's an opportunity. Spielberg's recommendation got you in the door. They wouldn't even offer the audition otherwise. You've got two weeks. What's the plan?"
"What else?" Cassius stood up and walked to the window. "Read the script, dig into the character, prepare for the audition. Oh—and find me a performance coach. Someone who specializes in inner life and emotional explosions."
He needed to push himself hard, and a good coach would drop high-quality orbs while he trained.
"On it," Rob said, half-joking. "Want me to find someone with a three-year-old daughter so you can practice being a dad? I've got a friend—"
"No thanks, I'm good," Cassius laughed, catching the joke.
He hung up, reopened the script, and started reading from page one, slow and careful.
The deeper he went, the more he thought about his panel sitting at 87%.
This audition might be exactly what he needed to hit the next level.
High-stakes emotional work like this—if he broke through—would drop serious orbs.
Three days later, afternoon.
Cassius followed the address Rob had sent and found the small acting studio tucked away on a quiet side street.
The storefront was tiny—just a simple black sign with white letters: Marcus Lee Studio.
Below it, smaller text: Actor Training & Character Development.
He pushed the door open. Inside it was bigger than it looked.
A young woman with dreadlocks sat at the front desk. She glanced up. "Cassius Cass? Marcus is upstairs waiting for you."
The wooden stairs creaked as he climbed.
The second floor was one big open room with mirrors on three walls and scuffed maple floors. A few chairs sat by the windows.
An Asian man in his fifties stood with his back to the door, staring outside.
"Marcus Lee?" Cassius said.
The man turned.
Gray-streaked hair, simple gray T-shirt and khakis, face lined but eyes sharp and alive.
"Cassius." Marcus stepped forward and shook his hand. "Rob filled me in on the role and what you need."
"I want to try," Cassius said.
Marcus studied him for a second, then nodded. "Have a seat. We'll talk first, then get to work. Two-hour sessions. Rob told you the rate?"
"Ten thousand dollars," Cassius sat down, still a little surprised. "That's not cheap."
Marcus smiled, the lines around his eyes deepening. "It's expensive, but you get what you pay for. People come to me for two reasons. Some are stuck in a real rut and can't break through on their own. Others are cramming for a big role in a short time."
"You look like the second kind."
"I need to find the feeling of being a father in just over a week," Cassius said honestly. "Not a regular dad. A spaceman who has to leave his kids behind, maybe forever."
"Bring the script?"
Cassius handed over the partial pages focused only on Cooper's scenes.
Marcus flipped through quickly, zeroing in on pages 38 and 112.
"Have you ever been in love? Ever broken up with someone?" Marcus asked suddenly.
"Yeah."
"How did it feel?"
"Depends. Some were peaceful, some weren't."
"Now imagine leaving the person you love most—not because you stopped loving them or because it didn't work out, but because you have to go. A voice tells you that if you leave, humanity might survive. If you stay, everyone dies. But you can't explain that to her. She won't understand. You just have to leave her world. And you know she'll hate you for it."
Marcus leaned forward. "That's exactly what Cooper feels toward his daughter Murph."
Cassius stayed quiet.
"It's not ordinary father-daughter love," he said slowly. "It's love mixed with massive guilt."
"Exactly. You get it."
Marcus stood up. "Looks like you already understand the theory. Let's get to work."
The first session, Marcus didn't have Cassius act the actual scenes.
Instead he ran him through a series of exercises that seemed unrelated at first.
"Close your eyes. Imagine you have a daughter," Marcus's voice filled the quiet studio. "How old is she? What does she look like? What's her personality? When did she first call you Dad?"
Cassius tried to picture it.
He couldn't see a clear face, but he could feel a warm, fuzzy sense of responsibility—a small life that depended on him completely.
"Now imagine you have to leave her. Not for a few days. For a place so far away you don't know if you'll ever come back. What would you say to her before you go? How would you say goodbye?"
A golden orb dropped from Marcus:
[Fatherhood Perception +12]
Cassius absorbed it instantly.
A wave of deep paternal emotion flooded his mind.
For a moment he really felt like he was looking at his own daughter—and knew he could never reach her again.
He didn't speak. His breathing grew heavier.
[Emotional Immersion +9]
Another purple orb dropped—this one from Cassius himself.
He absorbed it on the spot.
Marcus had no idea about the orbs. He kept guiding. "Don't think with your head. Feel it in your body. Does your throat tighten? Does your chest feel heavy? Do your hands want to clench and then let go?"
Cassius followed every instruction.
He suddenly felt real physical discomfort, like something vital was being ripped away.
"Good. Open your eyes."
Marcus brought him back. "Remember that feeling. That's what Cooper feels when he leaves home. Not just sadness—it's a physical tearing away."
The rest of the session Marcus pushed him harder.
He made Cassius repeat simple lines—"I'll come back," "Trust me," "Take care of your mom"—over and over, each time with a different emotion: firm, uncertain, comforting, commanding, pleading.
Orbs kept dropping.
Cassius kept absorbing.
His body moved through every emotion, then pulled back out again.
Marcus had him sit on the floor, close his eyes, and run his hands over the wood like it was his daughter's old crib railing—feeling it change from smooth and warm to rough and cold, symbolizing her growing up and their growing distance.
It felt strange, but the orbs rained down.
During a short break Marcus handed him water. "How do you feel?"
"Tired," Cassius said honestly. "Not body-tired. Heart-tired."
He tapped his chest.
"Normal. Emotional work drains you."
Marcus took a sip himself. "You know what your biggest problem is right now?"
"What?"
"You're too perfect."
Marcus gestured with his hands. "Every expression, every movement, every pause in your voice is technically flawless—but it's too textbook. Real fathers, especially one like Cooper carrying this much weight, their emotions aren't neat. He might laugh when he should be sad, his hands might shake when he should be strong, he might go silent when he should explain. That's what feels human."
Cassius understood.
He'd seen plenty of actors in his past life give technically perfect performances that still felt empty.
Some had rough edges but felt completely real.
"Ready to keep going?"
"Ready."
Cassius didn't hesitate.
He could already feel himself growing.
The afternoon session went deeper.
Marcus pushed him toward emotional explosions.
"Cooper keeps most of it locked down, but pressure like that always finds a crack."
"There might not be big outburst scenes in the script, but you have to find the moments where everything is boiling inside while the surface stays calm."
He had Cassius act the goodbye scene to empty air—but without crying. Just red eyes, trembling voice, holding it together.
Then he had him sit on the floor again, touching the wood, imagining time flying forward as his daughter grew up and the distance between them widened.
Orbs continued to drop at a steady rate.
Cassius absorbed every single one.
By the end of the session he felt completely drained—but sharper than he had in weeks.
Marcus wiped sweat from his forehead. "Not bad for day one. Same time tomorrow?"
"Same time," Cassius said.
He left the studio feeling lighter, even though his body was exhausted.
The panel progress had already ticked up.
He was getting closer.