Transmigrated as a Cannon Fodder Reject, Then Became a Movie Star-Chapter 73: Crisp

[Slice Of Life Chapter 🙂‍↕️]

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It was the morning of the next day—Saturday—and Erisia was on a call with Director Lennard.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, light brown hair pulled into a loose bun, a notebook open in front of her with yesterday’s scribbles bleeding into the margins. The morning light poured through her window, streaking across the sheets, her phone pressed to her ear.

"Director Lennard," she began, flipping to a clean page, "I just wanted to ask a few things—about the auditions and... acting in general, if that’s okay."

On the other end of the line, his slightly gravelly voice hummed with amusement. "You’re already asking questions before breakfast? That’s a good sign."

"I take that as encouragement," she replied dryly.

He chuckled, low and short. "Then you’re learning fast."

That was all the invitation she needed. She fired off questions like bullets. Acting techniques, practice routines, how to study expressions, whether she should rehearse monologues daily or focus on natural reactions instead. She even asked if it was worth joining those chaotic casting groups on social media—the ones full of self-tapes, rumors, and unverified casting calls.

He didn’t make her wait long for answers, though most came wrapped in his usual cryptic tone—half guidance, half test.

When she asked about acting techniques, he said, "Don’t chase the character. Let the moment happen."

She frowned, pen hovering mid-air. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"You’ll understand when you stop thinking about what to understand."

Erisia stared at the wall, unimpressed. "...That’s not helpful."

"Not yet," he said. "But it will be."

She sighed and wrote it down anyway—’Don’t chase the character. Let the moment happen.’ It looked like nonsense in her notebook, but something about the way he said it stuck.

When she asked about practice routines, he said, "Record yourself, then forget yourself. The camera doesn’t want effort—it wants truth."

She muttered, "Right. Truth. Got it. I’ll just casually embody the truth before lunch."

He chuckled again. "Sarcasm’s a sign of overthinking."

"I’ll make sure to overthink quietly next time."

Finally, she asked about the audition stages. That, at least, got a clearer answer.

"There are four in total," Lennard said. "You’ve completed the first. The second will narrow down the list considerably, and by the fourth, all the roles are already decided—the last round is mostly a table read and chemistry testing between the confirmed cast."

Erisia jotted it all down, nodding even though he couldn’t see her. "So... when and where is the next one?"

"I’ll add you to the audition group chat in a few hours," he said. "They’ll post the time and location there. Don’t worry—you’ll have time to prepare."

"Alright. Thank you, Director Lennard."

There was a small pause—then a quieter note in his voice.

"I hope to meet you in person soon," he said. "And to see some improvement in your acting when I do."

Before she could respond, the line clicked, and the call ended.

Erisia stared at her phone for a few seconds, caught between relief and mild terror.

Improvement, huh?

She glanced down at her notebook. It was full of scribbles, arrows, and one line underlined twice: Don’t chase the character.

She closed it with a small thump and muttered, "Guess I’d better make sure I don’t embarrass myself next time."

Then, with resigned determination, she opened her laptop, typed ’how to act natural on camera’, and braced herself for whatever cryptic nonsense the internet would add to Lennard’s.

Yesterday, she’d left the hospital in the evening because Seliora had insisted she stay a little longer. So she did. After brunch, Kealith went back to working—or, as Seliora described it with exasperation, ignoring everyone in sight.

Before leaving, Seliora had taken Erisia’s hands warmly and said, "Come whenever you’re free, dear. The hospital gets dull, and he won’t admit it, but he could use other people’s company aside from his family."

Erisia had glanced toward Kealith then, who didn’t look remotely concerned—barely looking up from the document he’d been scrolling through. Typical. Still, she’d agreed.

So now, she was going again that afternoon.

As she set her phone down, her gaze drifted toward the notebook on the bed—pages full of Lennard’s riddles disguised as advice.

Just then, the sound of a door clicking open broke her concentration. Rita stepped in, holding a pale pink cat carrier with little Rein’s curious face pressed against the mesh front.

"Guess who just got back from her first check-up?" Rita said, swinging the carrier gently as she shut the door behind her.

Erisia brightened immediately. "Oh, you took her already? I thought the vet said something about two weeks after adoption?"

"They did," Rita said, placing the carrier on the couch. "This was her first proper visit since we brought her home. Just a routine check-up, but the doctor asked so many questions—about what she eats, how often she sleeps, her litter box habits... everything. I felt like I was filling out a college application for her."

Erisia laughed, sliding her notebook aside. "So, how did she do?"

Rita grinned. "Perfect. Apparently, we’re feeding her really well—she’s right at a healthy weight. The doctor even said she’s got a good appetite and strong lungs."

"Strong lungs?"

"You’ll hear why in a second." Rita unlatched the carrier door.

The moment the flap lifted, Rein darted out and made a beeline straight for Erisia’s lap, letting out a tiny, indignant mrrrow! as if demanding compensation for the morning’s ordeal.

Erisia laughed, scooping her up. "Oh, poor baby. They must’ve poked and prodded you, huh?"

Rein responded with another soft meow and promptly burrowed into the folds of Erisia’s loose shirt, her little paws kneading at the fabric before she settled.

"She’s been like that the whole ride home," Rita said, watching with a fond smile. "Clingy and dramatic. I think she’s realized how spoiled she is."

"Well, that makes two of us," Erisia said, scratching behind Rein’s ear. "She gets attention, snacks, and compliments. Meanwhile, I have to survive acting advice that sounds like a fortune cookie."

Rita laughed. "At least one of you’s thriving."

Erisia smiled faintly, still running her fingers through Rein’s soft fur. "Yeah, she really is."

The kitten purred louder, her tiny body warm against Erisia’s palm.

Rita asked, "Have you even eaten breakfast? It’s almost noon."

Erisia blinked, then sighed, waving vaguely at the open notebook. "I’ve done all the chores in the house, just got off a call with Director Lennard, and I’ve been studying his—" she paused, grimacing, "—critic advices. Which is why I totally forgot about breakfast. But I already prepped the ingredients in the kitchen. I’m sorry..."

She stood up, grabbed a soft gray hoodie from the chair, and tugged it over her head, pushing a few stray strands of hair back into place. "Let me just make something simple."

Before she could take a step, Rita caught her wrist. "It’s okay," she said, exhaling through her nose in that patient-but-done-with-you kind of way. "Let me cook, and you help. Come on."

Erisia hesitated, then gave a helpless smile. "You just want me to chop onions so you can critique my knife skills again."

Rita grinned. "Exactly. Builds character."

"Uh-huh. So does starvation."

They both laughed. Rita gave Rein a light ruffle on the head—earning a half-hearted flick of the kitten’s tail—before heading toward the kitchen. Erisia followed, stretching as she walked.

The late morning light slanted across the countertops, warm and golden. The ingredients she’d mentioned—eggs, tomatoes, a loaf of bread, and some greens—were already laid out neatly, proof of her earlier attempt at productivity.

Rita rolled up her sleeves and gesture,. "Alright, Chef Assistant, whisk those eggs. I’ll handle the pan."

"Yes, Head Chef."

Erisia cracked the eggs into a bowl. The air filled with the comforting rhythm of small domestic sounds—the sizzle of oil, the clink of utensils, the low hum of conversation.

"You know," Rita said, stirring the pan, "you’ve been taking this acting thing really seriously lately. I’ve never seen you this... obsessed."

Erisia smiled faintly, whisking the eggs a little harder than necessary. "Yeah. Guess I’m just scared of messing up."

"You won’t," Rita said, glancing at her. "Even if you do, you’ll figure it out. You always do."

Erisia met her gaze briefly, her chest softening with gratitude. "Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment."

"It was one," Rita said, smirking. "Now pass me the salt before I turn into Director Lennard and start saying weird philosophical shit about seasoning."

Erisia laughed, shaking her head as she reached for the salt. "Please don’t. I can only handle one cryptic mentor at a time."

"Deal," Rita said, flipping the eggs onto a plate. "Now, sit. Breakfast—or whatever this counts as—is served."

As they sat together at the kitchen counter, Rein padded in silently, tail up, before hopping onto Erisia’s lap again.

"Guess she’s here for moral support," Rita said dryly.

Erisia laughed, scratching the kitten’s chin.

Then, after breakfast, Erisia washed up the dishes with Rita, showered, and got dressed—pulling on a soft beige, cropped, long-sleeve shirt with one shoulder pulled down.

Her hair, dried and straightened, was tied into a low ponytail with side curls as she grabbed her bag and headed downstairs.

Outside, the midday air was crisp. She adjusted her sunglasses, expecting to call a cab—only to pause when a familiar black sedan idled at the curb.

The same car from yesterday.

Erisia blinked, lowering her sunglasses a little. The driver stepped out almost immediately, spotting her, and gave a courteous bow of his head.

"Good afternoon, Miss Erisia."

She took a few cautious steps forward, her brow creasing. "Wait—you’re the one who picked me up yesterday, right?"

"Yes, ma’am."

Her confusion deepened. "Then... why are you here again? I didn’t call for a car."

The man smiled politely, hands clasped in front of him. "Mrs. Asheborne asked me to come pick you up, ma’am."