Suguru Geto was an up-and-coming film director known for his perfectionism. His latest project, a high-profile psychological thriller, could cement his career—if executed correctly. The only problem? The studio had forced him to cast Satoru Gojo as the lead.

Satoru was an A-list actor, undeniably talented but a PR nightmare—late to set, rule-breaking, too charming for his own good. Suguru protested, but the producers insisted. “He’s a box office draw.” When Satoru strolled into auditions thirty minutes late, sunglasses on, grinning like he owned the place, Suguru knew this would be a disaster.

From day one, they clashed. Suguru demanded precision; Satoru thrived in chaos. He improvised lines, ignored blocking, and flirted shamelessly with the crew. “Trust me, director,” he’d say, smirking, before doing the opposite of what he was told. It drove Suguru insane. But no matter how much Satoru got under his skin, Suguru couldn’t deny his brilliance. Every take was electric. If Satoru was this good without trying, what could he do if he did?

Their tension exploded during a crucial scene. Satoru kept holding back. Frustrated, Suguru snapped. “Do you even take anything seriously? Or are you just afraid of what happens when you do?” Satoru’s smirk faltered—just for a second—before he walked out.

The next day, everything changed. Satoru delivered a performance so raw, so real, the entire set fell silent. Suguru watched, breathless. Satoru had been taking it seriously all along—he just never trusted anyone enough to show it.