Men's World (1)
Frederic Patterson. Twenty-seven years old. He was, without a doubt, a pretty decent actor.
His acting skills, honed steadily since childhood, and his quick-witted adaptability on set were both outstanding. His slick, slightly roguish good looks meant he was rarely cast as the typical leading man, but rather as the protagonist's best friend, a scene-stealing sidekick who dies halfway through, or a somewhat clumsy villain.
If we were talking Sherlock Holmes, he'd be John Watson. In Top Gun, he'd be Iceman. In The Godfather, Fredo Corleone... Yeah, that kind of vibe. An actor with a very distinct, personal niche.
He started his career as a child actor in 1985 at the age of thirteen, and was now entering his fourteenth year in the industry. He had appeared in a total of thirty projects, ranging from extra roles to supporting and leading parts. Despite his relatively young age, he was a fairly well-known face in Hollywood.
The absolute peak of his career was, without a doubt, The College Player, the project that helped him transition into adult roles. If you asked random people on the street about him, they'd quickly recognize him: "Oh, Frederic?" and follow up with, "I like him! Not like, super obsessed, but he's cool."
To sum it up, he was a "pretty decent" actor sitting somewhere between B-list and A-list—relegated to supporting roles in big-budget action films, but occasionally stepping up as the lead in mid-budget romantic comedies. Yet, he himself would often say of his status:
"Why do I need to be super famous? As long as I make decent money and live well, that's enough."
Since he wasn't the type to harbor grand ambitions for his acting or career, Frederic didn't have any major complaints about his position. Just like the nickname "Paprika" someone had given him, he was perfectly content to exist quietly somewhere in Hollywood, do his job, and collect a paycheck to match.
And at this very moment, he was deeply regretting it.
I must have lost my mind.
...He shouldn't have turned down that offer back then.
Instead of accepting Harvey Weinstein's recent offer, Frederic had ended up taking a minor, low-profile cameo in Sion Lee's new film. ...To be honest, when Sion had invited him, saying, "Just come and watch," he had showed up at the rehearsal with no other thought than to just look around.
And some time after that...
In this sunless, hellish place, he found himself choreographing fights with a bunch of sweaty men. Surrounded by a ring of shirtless men screaming at them to fight, Frederic clenched his fists. Channeling the classic beat-'em-up game Streets of Rage, he threw the first punch according to the choreographed sequence.
But Sion easily slipped the punch as Frederic rushed forward.
Huh?
And then, a fist flew straight at him. Frederic collapsed, reacting to the sharp pain grazing the tip of his nose. As he lost his balance and fell, a ruthless pounding was unleashed upon him.
"W-Wait! Time! Time out!"
"What do you mean, time out?! This is Fight Club!"
"This is Hollywood, you bastard!"
He tried to resist meekly, but it didn't work at all on the hyped-up Sion. Amidst the throbbing pain, Frederic recalled the recent past.
A massive warehouse-turned-set on the outskirts of Hollywood. Inside, the team had already spent several days choreographing the fight scenes. In an industry where an actor's physical condition was practically everything, filming in this raw, visceral way was a completely new experience for Frederic. At first, he had found it quite intriguing, if a bit baffling.
But as always, the moment he saw Sion Lee displaying his natural leadership qualities in that space, he knew for sure. Ah, this violent momentum... it was all that bastard's doing.
Sion led the men like a demagogue, and before he knew it, Frederic had been swept up into the crowd. ...Yes. Swept up by the atmosphere, he had somehow agreed to join this story in a minor, cameo-like role. After that, despite having only a minor role, he received the full script and read it cover to cover. ...It was a good story. Even if it felt a bit extreme. Still, since the lead was Sion Lee, he vaguely figured it would do well this time too.
Once all the contracts and scheduling adjustments were wrapped up in the blink of an eye, the words Sion Lee had said burned themselves into his mind.
I should have run away back then.
And so, back to the present.
"..."
He wanted to go home.
Frederic huddled in a corner, nursing his throbbing eye.
"Bwahaha! Yes! More! Hit him harder!"
On the other hand, a shirtless Sion Lee was laughing uproariously as he watched the fights. Lacking the sheer bravado to easily insert himself into this world of hyped-up men, Frederic quietly sniffled and tried to calm himself down, praying that someone, anyone, would notice his plight...
And as if his prayers had been answered, someone cautiously approached his side.
"Are you alright?"
Edward Norton. With his gentle, handsome features and slightly slender build, he was playing the "Narrator," the protagonist of this film. A genius actor who had won the Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actor right after his debut in Primal Fear, and subsequently proved his acting chops in American History X. Though some still questioned his box-office draw, he possessed an undeniable presence that made him more than qualified to lead a film. Above all, he was one of the few sane people on a set drenched in masculine madness...
"Haha, today is really fun."
...Or maybe not.
"The way you dodged that punch earlier was killer. I can't wait to see it on film."
Throwing a few mock punches into the air, Edward watched Sion, who was currently giving a speech in the center of the crowd. His eyes sparkled with interest and admiration. A man who had started as a child actor and had now risen to become a young icon of Hollywood. With the recent Academy controversy added to the mix, his charisma on set had reached its absolute peak.
"Anyone hurt?!"
No one answered the question.
"Who kicked some serious ass today?!"
"It feels like he's actually built a real fight club, doesn't it?"
Fight Club was, quite literally, a movie about a fight club. Based on the novel of the same name, the story followed the "Narrator," an office worker feeling empty in life, who meets a rough-around-the-edges man named Tyler Durden. Together, they start brawling and eventually establish a fight club, setting off a chain of chaotic events.
Sion, who had landed the role after proving his rugged, gritty side in Bad contract, was currently transforming into an entirely different person. He smoked constantly, and his body fat had been completely stripped away, leaving him looking like a walking Greek statue.
"To think he's already like that before we've even started filming..."
Is the movie really worth all this? Frederic wondered, utterly speechless as he watched Sion's almost excessive, deep immersion into the role.
The news that Sion Lee was filming a new movie quickly spread throughout Hollywood. In the first place, he had no intention of hiding it.
Waiting outside "Tyler Durden's house," a set built in an industrial zone in South LA, he casually chatted with his co-stars, smoking cigarettes right up until the cameras rolled. Paparazzi who had painstakingly tracked him down began snapping rapid-fire shots from a distance, capturing him in a crimson-red leather jacket.
The image of him casually smoking a cigarette was immediately blasted across newspapers nationwide. Fans across America, hearing the news of Sion's new project, were filled with surprise and anticipation at this raw, fresh side of him they had never seen before.
"Damn, what kind of movie is he shooting this time?"
"A new Sion Lee movie? I seriously can't wait."
"Haaah... He really feels like a real man now!"
"So sexy! Hot! He's so damn cool!"
The fallout from his recent public stunts was perfectly aligning with the film's concept, carrying the momentum forward.
They probably think the whole incident is over and done with. Harvey Weinstein, Albert Payne.
Sion Lee smiled leisurely as he scrolled through the compiled reactions.
But this is only the beginning.
In the relentless cycle of reality, where things are rarely wrapped up in a neat little bow, Sion felt a surge of motivation. With the turn of the millennium looming in 1999, he fully intended to make this entire year his own, active on all fronts. Above all, the "revolutionary" image he had cultivated through his recent stunts would shine brightly in his next two films. And as always, he planned to use that momentum to entertain people, rake in massive amounts of cash, and solidify his position in the industry.
Of course, even for someone as busy as him, there were times to rest.
"Close your eyes."
On an afternoon when there was no filming, Elena quietly visited Sion at his house. The moment she saw his face—battered and bruised from training for Fight Club—she was instantly furious. Without saying a single word of complaint, she immediately found the first-aid kit and began applying ointment to his face.
"You know, the way you treat my wounds even when you're mad is incredibly attractive—ow, ow, ow!"
"Sion?"
"Y-Yes?"
"Would you mind helping me keep my fingers relaxed?"
"...How?"
"By keeping your mouth shut."
Narrowing her eyes, Elena carefully dabbed the medicine on. Seeing the bruises around his eyes made her heart ache, but at the same time, a thought crossed her mind.
"Was it fun?"
"..."
"Hmm?"
"...You literally just told me to keep my mouth shut."
"Y-You can answer this one. I asked first."
Only then did Sion flash a boyish, innocent smile.
"It was fantastic."
"You said it's called Fight Club, right? I actually read the original novel..."
"You... read it?"
"Of course. I was curious since it's the source material for your new movie."
Elena hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"To be honest, I don't really get it. Why starting a fistfight leads all the way to trying to overthrow the system... I mean, I can understand the progression intellectually, but my heart doesn't really connect with it. Fighting until you're black and blue like that... is that really what you think a man's world is?"
"Pretty much."
Seeing her genuinely curious expression, Sion pondered for a moment, choosing his words carefully. Fight Club was a film about the exhaustion of consumer capitalism. The castration of masculinity, the vague anxiety right before Y2K, the disillusionment with an ordinary life. It was a sort of anthem that tied all of those together to advocate for liberation from a suffocating reality.
"Ellie, have you ever wanted to just punch someone?"
"...I, well, I don't know."
"I think about it almost every day. To be honest, I'm not exactly known for having a saintly temper."
"Y-You do have your moments, but..."
"I'm confessing this in the spirit of true repentance."
Lately, as he immersed himself deeper into the character of Tyler Durden, these impulses had been boiling over.
"During rush hour, when I see a car parked on the shoulder with its hazard lights flashing, I just want to ram right into it."
"You... barbarian..."
"But don't you like this barbarian?"
"..."
Her face flushing red, Elena couldn't fully comprehend his thoughts, but she couldn't deny them either.
"Society has become too rigid nowadays. Wealth is inherited, and it's not like the old days where being a good street brawler actually meant something. Now, you're expected to sit at a desk, study, get a good job, and then meekly do exactly what the people who climbed up before you tell you to do..."
Hadn't Sion Lee experienced something very similar recently? But in the old days, it would have gone like this: he would have landed a couple of solid punches right on Harvey Weinstein's jaw, and when the fat bastard managed to stand back up, still arrogant, they would have fought it out fair and square. Then, he'd take his severed head, fly over to New York—packing the head neatly in his carry-on luggage—and throw it down in front of Albert Payne like a gauntlet before challenging him to a duel. Fight. Win. Take everything.
"But modern men have had those desires castrated."
"And this movie is going to awaken them... If what you're saying is true, isn't that a little dangerous?"
"In what way?"
"Because it's a vandalistic film that completely rejects and seeks to overthrow the system."
"It's fine, it's fine. A movie is just a movie."
Sion Lee smiled easily, completely unbothered. Watching him, Elena felt a strange, inexplicable sense of anxiety. First of all, the man saying these things was just too incredibly captivating. His body fat was completely gone, leaving his forearms corded with veins, and his face was, as always, flawless. And above all, he had the "narrative" he had built up over the years. From a "Teen Heartthrob" to a "Broken Prince," transitioning from an immature, troublemaking brat to a powerful heir apparent, and now, with his recent Oscar-targeting statements and live broadcasts, he had cultivated a rebel image. In this state, if he starred in a movie like Fight Club and casually spewed anti-establishment rhetoric... wouldn't some people take it seriously? Because the messenger, Sion Lee, was just too charismatic. If that actually happened, it would truly become a legendary film in more ways than one.
"Even so, I..."
Elena gently caressed Sion's face.
"I don't want you to get hurt."
Sion froze for a moment at her tender voice... before letting out a soft smile.
"Don't worry, Ellie."
April 27, 1999. Filming for Fight Club was past the halfway mark. Currently, he was doing an interview with Rolling Stone. A clean-cut male reporter sat with pen and paper, running two recorders as if determined not to miss a single word. He wondered if the reporter had always been this meticulous, or if he had become this way deliberately after the Academy incident.
"Hello, Mr. Lee. Thank you for taking the time today."
"Ah, thank you. It's a pleasure."
The upcoming sequel to his action blockbuster franchise was being promoted with an overwhelming marketing budget, far eclipsing the somewhat modest campaign of the first film. The reporter's first question was:
"First of all, I'm curious to hear how you feel about all of this."
"Many stars dream of a moment like this—when their influence grows to the point where they can act with complete freedom. In that sense, Bad contract was the project that brought me 'freedom.'"
"That's interesting. Most people tend to think actors are already free..."
"Of course, compared to people with regular office jobs, we are incredibly free. But our situation isn't all that different. Having to walk on eggshells around the higher-ups and feeling suffocated by them is just a part of our daily lives too."
Sion continued the interview in a relatively casual tone, as if his explosive remarks on the live broadcast had never happened.
"It's all thanks to the fans. So, in a way, I'm acting for them."
Slowly, bit by bit, sowing the seeds of "liberation."