Two Special Appearances (2)
American sitcoms of this era typically ran for twenty-two to twenty-four episodes, with seasons kicking off in September. They dragged things out by airing reruns or clip shows during Thanksgiving, the holidays, and advertising dry spells, somehow stretching the broadcast all the way to May of the following year. The season finale would air then, pulling in the highest possible ratings, which were then used to set the advertising rates for the next season. Since June through August was the off-season—when viewers spent more time outdoors—this broadcast cycle was practically set in stone. In short, 1990s American sitcoms were structured to squeeze out as much money as possible within a twenty-two to twenty-four episode run... Or at least, that was Sion's explanation.
The four lead actors listened in a daze.
It was the fourth week of November, Thanksgiving week. The College Player had just finished airing its eighth episode and was taking a week off with a clip show. Everyone had been relaxing at home when Sion Lee suddenly called them out of the blue—using phone numbers they had no idea how he'd obtained—and gathered them at his house.
The house felt a bit desolate for a Hollywood superstar's residence. Chelsea Cartwright, who had been slightly bewildered by the sudden summons and the lecture, was the first to ask a question, like the model student she was.
"How do you know all that so well?"
"Know what?"
"About the broadcasting structure. Do actors usually think about that kind of stuff?"
"They have to. Otherwise, you get bled dry without even realizing it, and then you're replaced by someone else without a trace."
In the past, the old Sion—who had known nothing and hadn't even bothered to learn—had been replaced like a ghost the moment his utility ran out. Having gone through a grueling re-debut, he knew all too well how miserable an actor with no utility could be. Now, having experienced a miracle, he was doing his absolute best every single day to ensure he would never be treated that way again.
Sion calmly continued his explanation like a strict teacher. To survive as an actor in Hollywood, three things were required: luck, connections, and value.
"And the reality is, even if you have all three, you can still end up buried."
"Ha." Frederic let out a scoffing laugh. "Those are all incredibly hard to get. And what the hell is 'value' anyway?"
"The sum total of being handsome, acting well, being great on talk shows, and generating massive buzz. Like me."
"..."
"..."
"..."
It was so true that no one could argue.
"I understand why someone who lacks those three has no choice but to laugh like an idiot and pretend to be cool. You look like you're dying for a cigarette, but smoking is banned within five hundred meters of this place."
"Yeah, yeah. I won't smoke, I won't. Mr. Superstar."
Having definitely lost his edge as the season progressed, Frederic didn't even snap at Sion's provocative remarks. Seeing this reaction, Sion smirked, deciding he could proceed. He turned to Susan, who had been wearing a huffy, 'Well, at least I'm not the only one getting picked on' expression.
"Now, pretty Susan. Look over here, will you?"
"Huh? Wh-what is it? Just spit it out..."
"I said you can still get buried even with all three. Why do you think that is?"
"I-I don't know."
"Because many Hollywood stars don't know how to showcase them smartly. They just wallow in pathetic self-pity, drink, ride motorcycles, race through the desert, crash, ruin their faces, and completely wreck themselves."
"...Is he talking about himself?" Dominic whispered to Chelsea, but Sion caught it instantly.
"Only up to the part about crashing in the desert. Anyway, my point is that if you want to make it big in Hollywood, even your 'daily life' has to be strategic. It's fine to go to clubs because you want to have fun. But you have to treat it as work."
"Hey, Mr. Lee." Frederic, who had been listening quietly, called out politely and let out a long sigh before continuing.
"That's a fucking great speech. You're right. We're professionals. We should live as 'actors' with all our hearts, doing our best in every situation. No scandals, entertaining people, showing the qualities of a superstar like you. But you know what? There are people in this world who just can't do that."
"Who? You?"
"Yeah. Me. You want to know something? Back when I was a child actor, right before the camera started rolling, I was told my parents were getting divorced. They only saw me as a commodity. Even after I hit it big with The College Player... they'd come around whenever they had a chance, tearing each other down just to get on my good side for the money. In a situation like that, how could I not drink?"
"My parents are dead."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Both of them."
An immense silence fell over the room. Frederic's reaction was priceless. He froze completely like a stone, his face turning pale, then flushing red, unable to say a single word as his eyes darted around frantically.
Having dropped the bomb, Sion maintained a casual smile, looking at them with slightly softened eyes.
Yeah, in the end, that's just how it is.
They were all just desperate souls struggling to survive in Hollywood. The industry and the public treated them as mere 'products' to promote and consume. Having to expose everything from your looks to every detail of your daily life to nameless, faceless strangers, only to be judged on every single aspect—it was, in truth, an immense amount of stress.
That was why so many stars faded away even after achieving glory in their youth. Yet, cold as it was, there would always be someone else waiting to seize and replace that fleeting moment of glory.
"People don't care about those 'minor' details. No, if anything, they just consume it as an entertaining drama. Other people's misfortune is fun. Frederic, you've experienced it too. People giggling as they look up your mugshot from the police station."
"...Ugh."
"I'm saying we shouldn't get swept up in it. Because that, at least, is something we can choose."
"Sion..."
"Oh, Susan. Please spare me that maternal look you give to men with tragic backstories. Honestly, if we hadn't chosen this life of being 'clowns,' would punks like us have ever achieved this level of success? In the end, it's just a way of life that brings in massive amounts of money. And we have the talent to walk this path. Though, of course, my talent is by far the most badass."
"...Yeah, yeah, you're the best~"
"Since we're already here, let's entertain the world even more thoroughly. As 'professionals.' If you trust me and follow my lead from now on, I promise you: by the time your next contract rolls around, you'll be able to upgrade your cars. If you're lucky, maybe even your houses."
Sion made eye contact with each of the four, one by one, like a true mogul.
"Let's hit a thirty percent rating. Around episode twenty."
His attitude was slightly different from how he had treated them before. It was a stance of 'networking'—a signal that he would no longer treat them as adversaries, and that he would pull them up with him if needed.
"The story is good, and it has 'me.' Yet, the fact that our average rating isn't higher means people just don't have enough reasons to watch."
"...Ha." Frederic realized he had been under a massive delusion. It wasn't just about being handsome, acting well, and having star quality. Those were merely the results. Sion had crafted his every single move, his entire daily life, to become an actor and a star to achieve those results. Realizing he could never catch up if things stayed like this, a certain feeling began to creep up inside him.
"So, what do we need to do?"
"We cause trouble. Calculated trouble, like real actors. Let's make sure our faces are plastered all over the newspapers so people won't be able to resist watching The College Player."
Sion laughed loudly, a grin so wide it bordered on villainous. The four of them felt a sudden chill. The fact that this man was currently the biggest 'brat' in all of Hollywood... finally hit home. Or perhaps, he was just a born showman.
A few days later. In front of a club.
"...Is this the place?" Chelsea Cartwright looked around anxiously. She was currently dressed in an outfit almost identical to her character, Nancy, from The College Player. A short denim skirt, a tank top, and sunglasses. She felt incredibly awkward in clothes so different from her usual street style.
The man standing next to her, Dominic Cobbs, pulled his cap down low, let out a long sigh, and spoke.
"The line is fucking long."
"Sion said to stand in line until people recognize us. ...And get closer to me."
"Dammit, this feels like kissing my sister."
"Bear with it. ...You haven't actually done that, have you?"
"Am I crazy?! I'm saying it feels that way because we're too close!"
"Hehe, true... We have known each other for a long time."
Chelsea, slipping her arm through Dominic's, gazed off into the distance. Following Sion's 'direction' to 'have a drink before you go,' the two of them were already slightly tipsy. Having had alcohol for the first time in a very long while, Chelsea felt a pleasant buzz, and memories of her early days with Dominic and the other cast members floated through her mind.
In the beginning, it was pure joy. The reason was simple: the sitcom was a hit. The 'chubby' Chelsea, who had repeatedly failed auditions, vanished, replaced by the 'glamorous' Chelsea. Suddenly, everyone wanted to cast her. Using that momentum, she even landed roles in several indie films... She had been happy up to that point.
But Hollywood gradually began to dissect and tear her apart. Whenever she wore revealing clothes, articles analyzing her bust size would be published. People started calling Chelsea Cartwright a 'bimbo,' conflating her with Nancy from the sitcom. Even during interviews, the questions she received most were about whether she was dating anyone. But the deepest wound came when a childhood friend gave an interview claiming she 'used to play around a lot' when she was younger.
Each time, it felt like an indelible scar was carved into her soul, and Chelsea grew increasingly withdrawn. But watching an actor like Sion Lee gave her a strange sense of catharsis. He was a star who never shrank back, always saying exactly what was on his mind.
There were still plenty of people who hated Sion. Even now, gossip rags claimed he was a fraud, and trashy tabloids used baseless rumors to speculate that he had an STD. Yet, Sion crushed them all with his overwhelming star power. The malicious articles didn't disappear, but people became even more curious about the wild brat's next move, finding his every action fascinating. And they cheered for his work. Chelsea felt she finally understood why Sion Lee had become such an unstoppable force.
"..." Shaking off her hesitation, Chelsea made up her mind and stepped forward, squaring her shoulders. The movement accentuated her chest. She felt incredibly self-conscious as men and women alike stole glances, but she resolved to think of herself like Sion. Look all you want. But you can't touch.
The two continued to wait in line. As the bouncer took his time deciding whether to let them in, whispers began to ripple through the crowd as people recognized Dominic and Chelsea. The buzz quickly reached the front, and before long, the club owner came running out to greet them.
"Dominic! Chelsea! I'm a huge fan!"
"...Ah, dammit."
"Oh no..." Chelsea hid behind Dominic, pretending to be embarrassed. Seeing this, the onlookers' eyes went wide.
"We just came to dance quietly, so this is a bit awkward."
"Oh, come on! In that case, you definitely have to come inside. We'll make sure you're well taken care of tonight!" Seeing the two acting bashful, everyone's imagination began to run wild. Based on past articles and broadcasts, Chelsea had the most wholesome and sensible image among the four leads. Yet, here she was, showing up at a club in a jaw-dropping outfit. And with Dominic, of all people.
A secret rendezvous between two characters who weren't even a couple on the sitcom? The club owner grinned from ear to ear as he guided them inside, then leaned in to whisper to the bouncer following him.
"Call Angelo. Tell him to get here as fast as possible. We've got a massive scoop."
There was a saying: 'Hollywood has eyes and ears everywhere.' Even the owner of a small club like this usually had at least one reporter on speed dial. And reporters with those connections would rush over at a moment's notice to snap exclusive photos, paying a handsome price for the tip.
Like an adventurer party entering a yawning dungeon, Dominic and Chelsea stepped boldly into the club. And by the next morning, an event was about to unfold that would send a small shockwave across America.
December 14, 1992. By the time episode eleven—the midway point of the season—aired, the ratings for The College Player had shattered the twenty-seven percent mark. Viewers were flocking to the sitcom for two main reasons.
The first was the 'dating rumor' between Dominic Cobbs and Chelsea Cartwright, which had generated massive buzz a few weeks prior. The rumor that the real-life actors of two characters who were strictly friends on screen were actually 'together' set off the imaginations of the public, especially women who loved entertainment gossip.
The second reason was the 'hidden charm' Chelsea Cartwright had kept under wraps. When candid-looking photos revealed her stunning figure, interest skyrocketed—particularly among a male demographic that usually ignored romance-heavy sitcoms like The College Player.
That viral buzz translated directly into curiosity, which in turn boosted the sitcom's ratings. While those two factors were the strongest hooks this time, the four actors had also been working tirelessly under Sion's 'direction' to generate all kinds of viral moments, big and small.
In a way, the ratings were climbing due to external factors rather than the show itself. However, the production company and the network had no reason to turn away the attention. When it came to the numbers, the underlying reasons didn't matter at all.
"My friends, there is a saying." Before filming began, Sion stood in front of the four actors and spoke.
"Insults evaporate, but money is forever. Unless you make bad stock investments, co-sign a bad loan, or get robbed, that is. So whether it's hate or whatever, it's better than indifference. In fact, it's much better."
Sion continued his speech like a drill sergeant, and the four actors stood before him in perfect, disciplined attention.
"Look at the results. Thanks to your hard work, more people are tuning in to our show. Now, all we have to do is repay them with our 'work,' just as we always have."
The College Player, a well-made sitcom crafted with the utmost care by the production team under Paramount Studios. And its lead actors, who had consistently performed through seasons one, two, and now three. They had finally awakened—poisoned by the potent toxin known as Sion.
"Thirty percent. Can we do it, team?"
Confident that they could hook the audience as long as they got them to watch, they shouted in unison with eyes full of determination.
"Thirty percent ratings, let's go!"
"Let's fucking goooo!"
"Money! Money! Money!"
"Only money conquers all! If you have a million dollars, you can even block bullets!"
Watching this scene of absolute madness from afar, head writer Ethan Simons muttered to himself.
"What the hell is that... It's terrifying."