Swing in Chicago, Part 1

The space before him was packed with people. Chicago O'Hare International Airport, famous for being one of the busiest in the world. Stepping off the plane, Sion Lee looked around, observing the cold scenery—something he hadn't seen in Los Angeles—with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity.

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With his luggage hastily stuffed into a suitcase and a backpack, he reflected on the differences between the two cities once again. If Los Angeles feels like a sprawling anthill, Chicago feels like a densely packed beehive. Sion smirked, quite pleased with his own analogy.

Chicago was the third-largest city in the United States, following New York in the East and Los Angeles in the West. Situated in the heart of the Midwest, it had historically grown as a hub for transportation, logistics, and manufacturing. However, it was currently undergoing a painful transition as manufacturing declined in the face of industrial shifts.

To put it bluntly, the city suffered from extreme temperature swings, high population density, high crime rates, and a massive wealth gap. Perhaps because of these harsh conditions, Chicago was often depicted in media as having a much heavier, more realistic atmosphere compared to Los Angeles.

Glamorous, breezy Los Angeles versus heavy, gritty Chicago. Sion felt the contrast between the two cities mirrored the difference between his own exterior and interior. And right now, Chicago was undoubtedly what he needed more.

Anyway, this is good. It was a long-awaited homecoming. The city where Sion was born and raised, a place he had never set foot in again after his mother's death in his past life. Technically, it was a return after thirty years, but thanks to this strange phenomenon called regression, it didn't feel all that different from the childhood etched in his memory.

Passersby occasionally glanced at his striking, tall figure, but none of them imagined that Sion Lee, the hotshot Hollywood actor, would be standing here. To them, he was just a young man with a strikingly ethereal, handsome face. This anonymity actually allowed Sion to move about with confidence.

First, he headed outside the airport and hailed a cab. "Uptown, please."

"Heading home from a trip?" the cab driver asked, a cigarette dangling from his lips, looking curiously at Sion through the rearview mirror at his sunglasses.

"No, just here on a short vacation."

"Here? Isn't California way better for that?"

"Haha, well, I actually just came from California."

"Oh, is that so? What brings you here then? Surely not to watch a Cubs game. Here for the jazz?"

"That's definitely part of it. Though it'd be even more perfect if I could listen to the Cubs while watching a jazz game," Sion replied smoothly, playfully swapping the verbs.

The confidence he had forced himself to project back when he was an actor with a ruined face now blended naturally with his current appearance, creating an effortless, charming warmth. Charmed by his demeanor, the driver remarked with interest,

"I don't say this to passengers often, but... you look like you've broken a lot of hearts."

"Haha, thank you."

"Just make sure you don't get mugged. Uptown's got plenty of punks. But if you're traveling, shouldn't you be heading downtown instead of Uptown? Most of the cheap hotels are around there."

"My vacation is going to be on the longer side, so I decided to crash at a friend's place. A friend named 'Rent'."

"Ah, I see. You've got it all figured out. ...Man, I feel like I'm interrogating you. Sorry about that."

"Not at all. It's nice chatting with a fellow Chicagoan after so long."

"Oh! You're from Chicago? Bwahaha! Well, that just made my day!"

"So, does that mean the ride is free?"

"I'm sorry, what was that, sir?"

"..." Sion laughed awkwardly at the driver's sudden shift back to business and looked out the window at the city skyline bathed in the setting sun.

September 17, 1990. The very beginning of autumn, transitioning out of summer. A city of extreme seasonal shifts and sharp daily temperature drops, Chicago's air carried a distinct chill. Suddenly, memories of his childhood came flooding back.

Just as the driver had said, Uptown was a rough neighborhood. The streets were lined with pubs, theaters, and dance halls, and naturally, the people who worked in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠those establishments made up most of the local population.

Sion had lived in a place like that with his mother. She had worked as a theater cleaner and a grocery store cashier to get by. Their run-down apartment building was filled with aspiring artists, and perhaps influenced by that environment, Sion had naturally set his sights on making a living as an actor.

In a way, Uptown in North Chicago was the birthplace of both Sion Lee the human and Sion Lee the actor. And now, he was restarting both of those lives right here.

How poetic, Sion thought, feeling a strange sense of symbolism.

The real estate agent laid eyes on Sion, and his eyes went wide. He immediately began showing him fully furnished apartments loaded with amenities that he had previously claimed were unavailable when they spoke over the phone from Los Angeles. Even more surprising, he offered to keep the rent at the original, lower rate. Beaming with an excess of hospitality throughout the tour, the agent smiled warmly.

"S-So, Sion! If you ever need anything at all, please don't hesitate to call me!"

Though slightly taken aback by the overwhelming kindness at first, Sion quickly understood. Actors were used to people showering them with favors ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out of sheer starstruck admiration. The key was not to reject it out of awkwardness, but to accept it gracefully and use it to one's advantage.

"Thank you so much! You're incredibly kind. I'm sure I'll be very comfortable here thanks to you."

"Oh, no, not at all! It's an absolute honor to find a good place for you."

"I only came here for a quick break, but I never expected to meet someone so wonderful right off the bat." Sion gave a subtle wink. At that refreshing smile, the ordinary middle-aged white man looked as though he had just successfully completed a top-secret mission. He practically bounced on his heels, feeling like a secret agent for the day.

After securing an autograph for his daughter—who apparently counted Sion as her absolute favorite actor—the agent couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "Um, if you don't mind me asking... why did you choose a place like this? There are plenty of nice hotels nearby..."

"Ah, those places are practically breeding grounds for paparazzi," Sion replied smoothly, lowering his voice with a conspiratorial air. "I'm really hoping to avoid that here. If they find out where I am, I'll have to pack up and leave immediately."

"...Oh! I won't say a word to anyone, I promise!" Sion smiled inwardly. By fostering a sense of shared secrecy, he had successfully ensured his whereabouts wouldn't be easily leaked.

Once the agent left and Sion was finally alone, he surveyed the apartment. Well, this is actually better than I expected. It was still a cheap apartment, of course. The wooden floorboards creaked with every step, and there was a dead bug in the corner of the wall. Still, it was a furnished two-bedroom apartment with a bed, a refrigerator, and a washing machine. He would probably need to buy a few more things as time went on, but since he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had traveled light, this was more than enough for now.

First, I should grab some local magazines and get something to eat. This teenage body burns through energy like a gas-guzzling clunker. Making a quick mental plan, he headed back out.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the chill set in earnest. Having spent so much time in perpetually warm Los Angeles, the sudden draft sliding down his spine prompted Sion to add a jacket to his shopping list. A few street musicians were performing nearby, while in a dark alleyway, a group of sketchy-looking men stared intently in his direction. Swapping his expensive sunglasses for a worn-out baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, Sion decided to keep a low profile for now and headed toward the commercial district.

What should I eat? Ideally, something that brings back old memories. While pondering, he spotted a newsstand and stopped to buy a few local magazines first: Movie of Chicago, Acting Chicago, and Stage on Chicago. Then, he walked into a nearby Chinese restaurant and ordered. Chop suey, orange chicken, and chow mein. It was the cheap comfort food he used to eat all the time as a kid.

Having skipped lunch, the hungry teenager practically inhaled the food as soon as it was served. All the while, his eyes never left the magazines spread out beside his plate. "Ugh, that's the stuff." Sion patted his stomach, slumping into a relaxed posture he would never dare show his fans. He might have returned to a youthful body, but the habits he had picked up during his years of reclusive retirement in his past life couldn't be entirely erased.

There are actually quite a few filmmakers in Chicago. While there were many reasons Hollywood became the mecca of cinema, one of the most interesting was its suitability for outdoor shooting. In the early 20th century, Hollywood, with its vast urban landscapes and diverse natural environments, was the perfect place to shoot movies, drawing filmmakers away from the East Coast. And Chicago now felt somewhat similar.

It must be because of its unique atmosphere. The year was 1990. Unlike the hopeful, flashy 1980s, the end of the Cold War had led people to look inward, focusing more on the human psyche. This was the era when issues that American society had ignored or swept under the rug during the Reagan administration finally began to come to light.

Fashion trends shifted from neon colors to denim and black, and the indie film Sex, Lies, and Videotape winning the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival sparked a massive wave of interest in independent cinema. Present-day Chicago was the perfect backdrop for exactly those kinds of films.

Since the city itself is part of the Rust Belt. Compared to warm, laid-back California, Chicago birthed works that burned with a raw, artistic soul. Realism, minimalism. The style of focusing on ordinary, everyday characters aligned perfectly with the direction Sion wanted to take.

The problem is, do these kinds of movies even want me? That was why he planned to audition. Would they even accept me, though? That was the real concern. Sion was already a somewhat established name in Hollywood, and it was standard practice for him to review offers sent through his agency first. Indie filmmakers might be hesitant to cast him for a variety of reasons.

But Sion hadn't come here with half-hearted resolve. He meticulously combed through the magazines, reading audition notices, industry updates, film analyses, and news, trying to gauge the overall climate of the film industry at the time and see if there were any projects he remembered. In an era before the internet was widespread, looking up casting calls in physical magazines and newspapers was the norm.

As he lost himself in nostalgia, flipping through the pages for quite some time, his eyes caught a very familiar name in the classified ads section.

Why does every lead role requirement always demand 'intense emotional performances'? Did some actors' guild force them to put that in? Regardless, brief descriptions of other roles and detailed shooting schedules followed.

It looked like they were planning to shoot throughout the winter on location in Chicago. The pay was a modest stipend and meals provided... with a possibility of profit-sharing upon theatrical success, subject to negotiation. It was the textbook definition of an indie film contract.

But this man is the director.Daniel Summit. In the future Sion remembered, this director would receive highly complex, polarizing reviews. At the same time, he was also one of the directors Sion genuinely loved.

"...So this was when it started." Seeing that name here made his heart race, filling him with a thrill akin to falling in love.

"Whew..." Inside a cramped, smoke-filled office, a young white man was puffing away on what was probably his tenth cigarette. His name was Daniel Summit. Having graduated from film school and received a modicum of recognition for his talent, he was a lucky bastard who got to direct his own film early on.

But who exactly had recognized his talent? His parents. Born into a wealthy family with a lawyer for a father, he had spent his childhood watching countless movies on the television at home. That passion quickly became his dream, driving him to where he was today. But now, having finished his studies and stepped into the real world, a cold, harsh reality awaited him.

Is this what filmmaking is really like? He had managed to secure a small budget to make an indie film from a studio run by his father's friend, but it came with a mountain of interference. Why don't you try casting this actor? The story is too abstract. And so on. Thanks to the constant nagging, he felt like his secret battle with hair loss was getting twice as bad.

I have to finish pre-production by next month, no matter what. Winter was fast approaching—the only season in which his film could be shot. He desperately wanted to cast a decent actor by then. But under the weight of various pressures, time continued to slip away, and Daniel was slowly burning out.

Sometimes, the sheer exhaustion made him want to throw in the towel and run away, but every time, he held on by remembering his dream. A dream that went beyond a mere hobby—the dream of making his own films.

"...I wish I could just blink and have the shoot already finished." He began sorting through the actor profiles submitted to him. Naturally, there were only a handful.

Well, I suppose that makes sense. Who in their right mind would want to star in a film directed by a greenhorn fresh out of school, a kid who could barely even be called a director? The few applicants he did have were rookies spamming their resumes to every open casting call just to build a portfolio. In other words, he had to judge them solely on their headshots rather than their experience.

As he flipped through the profiles one by one, his eyes suddenly widened. "What the... Who's playing a prank on me?"

Sion Lee. Was there anyone in the film industry who didn't know that name? A trash actor who only starred in trashy romance movies. Recently, he had made headlines for throwing tantrums on set and getting into a fistfight with a fan on the red carpet. He was notorious for his absurd antics, but one thing was absolutely certain: there was no way that Hollywood brat would apply for his film.

"Hmph." Daniel crumpled the profile into a ball and tossed it toward the trash can. But his aim was off; the crumpled paper ball rolled across the floor and stopped right in front of a man who had slipped into the room unnoticed.

"I told you to open a window when you smoke."

"...Ah, sorry."

"And put your trash in the bin where it belongs."

"Wow, Fred. You sound exactly like my dad."

"Watch it."

"Ahem..." Glaring at Daniel, who was scratching his cheek awkwardly, the man picked up the crumpled paper and smoothed it out. His name was Fred Rocks, the CFO of Philip Studios—the production company investing in Daniel's film. He was also a father figure to Daniel. As his eyes scanned the crumpled resume, they went wide.

"Daniel. Don't tell me you were just going to throw this resume away?"

"Of course. It's obviously a prank, right? Why on earth would the real Sion Lee be here?"

"You idiot! Even if it's a prank, it's worth checking out! It's not like you're drowning in applicants anyway! Call him right now and tell him to come in for an audition!" Shoved by Fred's booming voice and the paper thrust into his face, Daniel grumbled as he picked up the telephone receiver.