Oscar vs. Sion Lee, Part 4
Ten in the morning. Woken by the shrill beeping of his alarm, Sion let out a long, lazy yawn.
"Yaaawn..."
Filming for Fight Club was scheduled to begin next week. During these brief breaks between projects, Sion made it a point to get as much sleep as humanly possible.
Having slept for nearly twelve hours, his fatigue was completely gone.
This is the best part about being in your twenties, he thought.
His body bounced back instantly, and the quality of his sleep was superb. He leisurely made his bed, stretched to shake off the lingering grogginess, and headed down to the first floor.
After washing his face to fully wake himself up, he cooked and ate six eggs for breakfast.
Having taken care of his basic survival needs, he headed out to the garden with a cup of coffee to enjoy the sun and do some light gardening.
Before he knew it, afternoon had arrived.
"..."
Sion stared blankly at the framed photograph of his parents. Noticing a thin layer of dust on the glass, he gently wiped it away.
It's nice to have some peace, he mused.
Right after his regression, he had been so busy that his first instinct every morning was to step outside and scan the perimeter for paparazzi.
But now, it felt as though he had graduated from that frantic phase. He had finally learned to let go, if only a little.
Part of it was finding peace of mind, but it was also due to the advice he had received from those around him.
"When you pretend to be someone else for too long, you easily lose track of who you really are. You have to guard against that."
"The moment the line between your work and your private life blurs, you're finished as a celebrity."
"Please, be careful not to let your very existence become nothing more than a commodity..."
Jack Nicholson, Tom Cruise, Jim Carrey... These were the pieces of advice shared by those who had walked the path of immense success before him.
An actor is their own commodity. Therefore, one must always look after the self that is so easily neglected.
And besides...
Perhaps it was because he had spent so many years holed up inside his house after ruining his life in his past existence, but Sion secretly preferred spending quiet time alone at home rather than going out.
Not just gardening, but I've also gotten used to having quiet dates at home with Elena.
Sitting on the sofa, holding each other while watching movies and debating them... Those peaceful moments made him feel like the real 'Sion Lee' he had long forgotten.
Right then, the phone rang loudly.
At this hour... is it Chloe?
But when he picked up, an unexpectedly unpleasant voice echoed through the receiver.
"Hello, Mr. Lee. I trust you've been well?"
It was Harvey Weinstein.
"...How did you get my number?" Sion asked, his voice cold.
"Oh, come now. In this town, everyone is just one connection away. I'd like to discuss some business with you personally."
"If it's a casting offer, please go through my agency formally," Sion replied.
"No, no. It's nothing like that. I'm talking about this... 'show' we've been putting on."
Sion raised an eyebrow at Harvey's choice of words.
Calling it a mere 'show,' are we?
Yet, beneath the bluster, Sion could sense a subtle hint of capitulation. Harvey's tone was still arrogant, but the very fact that he had reached out directly to appease Sion and request a meeting spoke volumes.
Maybe it's time to wrap this up, Sion thought. With a complete and utter victory, of course.
"Fine. Where should we meet?"
"Let's meet at the Fairmont. In about an hour..."
Hanging up the phone, Sion let out a bright, refreshing smile.
"Maybe I should take a bath first?"
And so began Harvey Weinstein's descent into the hell of waiting for a six-hour-late guest!
Seven in the evening. Harvey, exhausted from waiting, had already ordered a steak and was picking at it blankly.
"...Whew."
Finally, Sion Lee strolled in.
The sheer, shameless audacity of it left Harvey Weinstein utterly speechless. He could only stare in stunned silence.
Wearing a loose-fitting jacket that did little to hide a belly resembling a giant inner tube, Harvey glanced out the window at the setting Los Angeles sun before asking cautiously, "Did you get into a car accident on the way here?"
"No, I just took a bit long washing up," Sion replied smoothly.
"Did you get a full-body skin graft?" Harvey muttered dryly.
"Haha, what a joker. If even a single gram of me went missing, a lot of people in this world would weep," Sion chuckled.
"...If you were going to be late, you could have at least given me a heads-up."
"I had faith that you'd wait," Sion said nonchalantly as he sat down and immediately ordered dinner.
"You don't mind, do you? If we swap out coffee for steak?"
"O-of course not. I've already ordered mine, so please, eat up."
Though he forced a genial tone, Harvey Weinstein was boiling with rage inside. He wanted nothing more than to leak this story to every newspaper in America, heavily spun to paint Sion Lee as an arrogant diva throwing a massive tantrum.
But he knew that even if he did, it wouldn't leave a single scratch on Sion. He could only grind his teeth, his jaw muscles twitching beneath layers of thick fat.
Even if he exposed this, the public's reaction would be predictable:
So what? He's always been like that.
If it's against Harvey Weinstein, he's allowed to do whatever he wants.
That was exactly how the American public viewed the two of them right now.
Sion Lee had masterfully positioned himself as the underdog, all while maintaining his cocky, brilliant persona.
Yes, that was the most infuriating part. If anyone attacked Sion, they were seen as a bully picking on the weak. But when Sion attacked, it was viewed as a delightful rebellion against the powerful establishment.
"Are you alright, Harvey?" Sion asked, looking completely innocent.
Knowing full well that Sion was doing this deliberately, Harvey felt like he was developing an ulcer just trying to keep his composure. But he had no choice. It was time to bring this long war to an end.
Thanks to Sion's brilliant speech on the live show, public opinion had swung entirely in his favor.
Calls for self-reflection and reform within the Academy were echoing from all corners. The situation was so dire for Harvey and his campaign team that a few damage-control articles wouldn't be enough to turn the tide.
That was why Harvey had swallowed his pride and requested this private meeting. It would surely disappoint the 'powerful figures' backing Albert Payne, but he had to put out the fire first. If he let this war drag on, there was no telling what kind of stunt Sion Lee would pull next.
Swallowing his pride, Harvey spoke. "It certainly feels like... a new era has arrived."
"In what sense?" Sion asked.
"In the sense that the Academy is being questioned."
"What are you talking about? People aren't idiots," Sion scoffed. "Hollywood has been around for decades, and audiences have grown up watching masterpieces. They know how to recognize a good film. Shakespeare in Love was a decent movie, but your campaign was just way too over-the-top."
"..."
Sion was poking right at Harvey's sore spot with cold, objective facts.
"But hey, it's fine," Sion added.
"...?"
"It's just a local film festival, after all. Like a bunch of old folks playing lawn bowls."
"You... really mean that, don't you?"
"Of course. More precisely, it's a feeling of 'so what?' Why can't I call it an old, local film festival? Jean-Luc Godard, Andrei Tarkovsky, Akira Kurosawa, Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubrick—none of them ever won Best Director."
Sion listed the legendary masters of cinema, pointing out that there was no need to place so much weight on such an award. In the late 90s, this was an incredibly radical statement.
"I mean, I'm not saying it's completely meaningless, but there's no need to treat it like some sacred holy grail."
"...So that was your point. I understand."
"Of course, I also think everything I'm saying right now is ultimately meaningless."
Hearing this, Harvey Weinstein narrowed his eyes. What is this brat trying to say? he wondered.
It was meaningless, yet it had meaning. It was a metaphysical paradox.
Sion broke it down into simpler terms.
"I'm saying, let's not act like we're some kind of gods."
"...How ironic. It feels like that very message has made Sion Lee look like 'some kind of god' to the public."
Harvey's true feelings slipped out. Harvey was a man whose entire career was built on packaging things to make them look grand. He had imported all kinds of indie films from America and Europe, using the praise of critics to imbue them with deep meaning and draw in audiences. That was how he had created a cultural movement.
"There's a reason Chanel can charge such exorbitant prices, isn't there?" Harvey argued.
"Sure. It's expensive because everyone wants the brand," Sion countered. "But the Academy isn't 'everyone.' Do the Academy members represent the entire American public? Of course they don't, which is why they deserve to be questioned and criticized. Let's be real—who are those voters to decide the worth of a film?"
Sion leaned forward.
"And that's exactly why I have the public's support."
Because 'everyone' had resonated with Sion Lee's words.
"The funny thing is, even someone like me could fall from grace at any moment. That's the kind of era we're heading into, Harvey. The days when you could control the media by bribing a few journalists are over. If you do bad things, you'll be punished. If you do good things, you'll be praised. That's the reality of being a 'public figure' now."
The public might make mistakes sometimes, but that was a risk they had to accept as people who made their fortune and fame off the public's attention. Sion laid out his logic with absolute certainty.
Hearing this prediction of the upcoming 2000s, Harvey felt a chill run down his spine.
"So, Harvey, here's my point."
With the face and demeanor of a true public idol, Sion delivered his final warning.
"Everything comes to light eventually. If you don't want to end up completely ruined in your old age, keep your hands off the actresses."
"..."
Harvey Weinstein felt as if he were staring at his ultimate adversary—Sataniel himself. In that moment, he knew with absolute certainty that if he crossed Sion Lee, he would be utterly destroyed.
A few days later, an article sent shockwaves through America.
It was an interview with the famous Hollywood producer and head of Miramax, Harvey Weinstein.
With that, Sion Lee's victory was sealed.
"He finally tucked his tail," Charlie remarked.
"Yeah, we should leave it at that. We're all working in the same industry, after all," Sion replied.
The public reacted positively to Harvey Weinstein's attempt to gracefully back down and embrace Sion Lee's perspective.
Furthermore, because Sion's attacks on the Academy had already exposed some of Harvey's behind-the-scenes machinations, anyone with even a passing interest in the situation could easily read between the lines of the statement.
But for industry insiders, the news was an absolute bombshell.
Those who knew Harvey's notoriously ruthless personality and the inner workings of his Academy campaign team understood the truth: Sion Lee had completely crushed Harvey's pride. Since Harvey was never one to back down from a fight, the concession was all the more shocking.
As for Harvey himself, reading his own interview in print was a bitter pill to swallow.
It's all over...
Albert Payne had cut ties with him, leaving only a brief message: "I'm disappointed."
That made it official. Any chance of Harvey climbing higher into the elite circles of high society was gone.
With his path to rubbing shoulders with billionaires and politicians permanently blocked, Harvey prepared one final counterattack as a 'film producer.'
...But even that was completely ruined.
"He said he won't do it."
"...What?" Harvey asked, his eyes widening in disbelief at his assistant's report.
"He said he's already booked for another film..."
The assistant, sensing the icy tension, quickly slipped out of the office, leaving Harvey in a state of utter despair.
"Haha... ha... haha..."
The shock of his recent meeting with Sion Lee, combined with Frederic Patterson's rejection, felt like a physical blow to his skull.
His grand plan—to groom Frederic, who had a decent track record, good looks, and an easily manipulable personality, into a new star to rival Sion—had been completely crushed before it even started.
Now, there was only one thing left for him to do.
"Siiiiiiiiooonnnn Leeeeeeeeeee...!"
He screamed the name at the top of his lungs, pouring all his resentment and curses into the empty room.
While Harvey Weinstein's mental state was crumbling to pieces in his office...
"..."
Late afternoon, Hollywood.
Frederic Patterson sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap, looking like a nervous teenage girl riding in a boy's car for the first time.
The low rumble of a Porsche 911's exhaust vibrated against the asphalt.
The sports car sped smoothly through the warm, palm-tree-lined streets of California in April.
Sion Lee, driving with his sunglasses on, glanced over. "You okay?"
"A-about what?"
"Rejecting Harvey Weinstein's offer. That was a massive opportunity for you."
"Yeah, I guess..." Frederic laughed awkwardly, looking like a writer who had just survived a brutal deadline.
"I mean, I always thought money was the most important thing... but I guess there are things more important than money."
"Friendship?"
"Haha, are you kidding, Sion? Friendship is something you only read about in textbooks."
"Agreed," Sion nodded.
Frederic glanced at him, remembering the real reason he had declined the offer.
"I just felt like it would become a huge pain in the ass."
At the end of the day, unless an actor crossed a certain threshold of power, they were nothing more than a studio's puppet. If they didn't align themselves with the right people, they would be manipulated, used, and eventually discarded.
Having picked up some street-smarts from hanging around Sion, Frederic easily realized that working with Harvey would lead to exactly that kind of fate. So, he turned down the offer.
"Because freedom is more important."
"Oh..."
Sion was genuinely impressed. This 'young actor' had realized something that Sion himself had failed to grasp in his entire past life. It brought a strange sense of nostalgia and warmth to his chest.
"But wait, where are we going anyway?" Frederic asked.
"To the set."
"What set?"
"Shut up and just follow me."
Sion decided it was time to reward Frederic's loyalty. Wanting to keep this guy close in one way or another, he drove toward a massive studio lot filled with giant soundstages.
Thanks to the recent controversy, Sion's influence on the set had grown even stronger.
Stepping out of the car, Frederic looked around awkwardly like a country girl visiting the big city for the first time, trailing closely behind Sion.
Sion led him forward, stopping in front of a massive soundstage door.
"...So, what are we filming?" Frederic asked.
In response, Sion grabbed the heavy sliding door and threw it open with all his might.
With a loud, metallic screech, a wave of intense heat and energy rushed out from inside.
Standing inside were dozens of rugged, muscular men.
"Welcome to Fight Club," Sion announced, as if introducing him to the real deal.