**Chapter 277: Happy New Year**

Christmas had arrived. 

Brazil is the largest Catholic country in the world, with over 81% of Brazilians practicing Catholicism, which is one of the three major branches of Christianity.

As a result, Christmas is the second most important holiday in Brazil, only behind Carnival.

Leading up to Christmas, the government decorates large public parks, main streets, and popular public areas with tall Christmas trees adorned with lights, bows, and stars atop the trees.

After nightfall, the lights on the trees illuminate, creating a dazzling display.

In Rio de Janeiro, the City of God, there are many festive activities in the city center on the day of the holiday.

On the main commercial streets, many women dress in sexy Santa bikinis, wear little red hats, and hand out gifts. On the beaches, there are soccer and volleyball matches, while in the squares, people crowd together, drinking beer, dancing samba, and singing loudly.

The holiday atmosphere is extremely lively.

The Kelly estate was no different.

On Christmas Day, eight Christmas trees were set up in the yard, each adorned with shiny ornaments, wreaths, twinkling lights, and small gifts. Snowman dolls and festive reindeer were also placed around, creating a joyful atmosphere.

Kate had invited Aunt Regina's family, as well as Márcio, to celebrate at home. With Gina joining, it was a lively family gathering.

They enjoyed a barbecue together, drank beer, exchanged gifts, and attended a dance, celebrating a very festive Christmas.

After Christmas came the New Year. Brazilians love to relax and party, so any holiday is a good excuse for them to celebrate.

Unlike the family-oriented Christmas, for New Year's Day, people prefer to go out. If there's a forest nearby, they'll go hiking; if there are mountains, they'll go climbing in search of the legendary golden birch fruit. Beaches, naturally, get packed with people.

This year, the Kelly family chose to go on a trip to welcome the new year.

"Luca, hurry up, we're about to leave!"

On New Year's morning, Luca was fixing his clothes in front of a mirror—T-shirt, capri pants, sneakers—when he heard a few shouts urging him downstairs.

"Coming!"

He put on his sports watch and glanced at the mirror once more.

After being back for a month, his skin had tanned into a bronze color, making him look even more like a Brazilian.

He gave a slight grin at the mirror before heading downstairs to the front yard.

In the yard, Kate was already ready, her long hair tied up, wearing a white tank top and fitted pants, making her look sharp and athletic. Her skin had also darkened a bit, and she looked incredibly fit, like a secret agent.

"Where's your hat?" Kate asked as she closed the car's trunk.

"Uh..."

Luca paused. "I forgot."

He scratched his head and turned back toward the house.

"Your hat's right here!" Lima waved the hat from inside the car, leaning out of the window. 

She looked at Kate and asked, "Kate, what's been going on these days? Why does Luca seem down? He was fine when we were in Salvador."

"He's practicing his acting. His new role is someone buried underground, so to get into character, he's been spending hours in the closet to feel the darkness and confinement," Kate said, shaking her head, a bit helpless.

When it comes to acting, Luca can be quite obsessive. These days, he's been crawling into closets by day and writing reflections at night, fully immersing himself in the role. It's almost become an obsession.

"Luca, aren't you afraid of getting claustrophobic spending all that time in closets?" Lima laughed.

"No, claustrophobia usually stems from traumatic experiences in childhood. I've never had any such issues," Luca replied.

"What about depression? I've heard a lot of actors suffer from depression."

"Definitely not! I have you all keeping me company, so how could I ever be depressed?" Luca spread his hands and smiled.

"You better not get depressed, or I'll beat you up every day," Kate teased, shaking her fist. Then, suddenly, she grabbed Luca's ear playfully.

"Happy New Year, darling!"

"Haha, I want in too!" Lima laughed, reaching out from the car window and grabbing his other ear.

"Happy New Year, darling!"

"What are you two doing, pulling on my ears?" Luca asked, puzzled.

"It's a blessing! Did you forget?" Kate laughed.

Luca thought for a moment. In some parts of Brazil, it's a tradition to pull each other's ears on New Year's Day as a form of blessing.

"Alright!" he said, pulling on both their ears and giving each of them a kiss on the cheek.

"Happy New Year, darling!"

"Haha, what about Gina? Gina, can we pull your ears?"

"..."

"Never mind, Gina's shy!" 

"Hahahaha~"

After some more laughter, the group of four hit the road: driver Luca, beauty Kate, sexy Lima, and fierce Gina.

They embarked on their New Year's trip.

Having lived in Rio for some time, they'd already exhausted the city's tourist spots.

Since they had some time, they decided to travel a bit farther this time.

They first visited Rio's cathedral for a New Year's prayer, then headed to the southwest to dive around Ilha Grande, climb Parrot Peak to catch parrots, take a boat ride to explore a tropical rainforest reserve, and go gliding off the mountaintops in Boituva.

The four spent three or four days touring the southeastern region before returning to Rio, satisfied but deeply tanned.

After Christmas and New Year's, the festive atmosphere slowly faded, and everyone returned to their work.

Lima had an ad shoot, so she flew back to New York early.

Kate resumed her usual busy schedule, busier than a president.

Luca was also due to start filming soon.

The "Buried" crew had been preparing for over half a month, and on January 10th, filming officially began in a studio in Rio.

The set was simple, just a few wooden boxes equipped to hold cameras. The crew was small, consisting of only 33 people, all of them old colleagues of director Babanque, with the youngest being over 30.

Luca was the youngest.

When he arrived on set, he greeted everyone.

But no one responded, and they all looked at him with strange expressions. Whether he offered beer or barbecue, no one engaged. They all remained cold and distant.

The atmosphere in the crew was eerily strange.

When filming began, Babanque didn't say much—just told him to lie in the box and act. From start to finish, it was all about intense performance.

There were no breaks, no "cut," no feedback or direction. He'd finish one take and then go again.

No matter how he acted, old bald Babanque just sat there, resting his chin on his hand, watching coldly.

By evening, after Luca crawled out of the box, drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted, the only words from Babanque were, "Wrap for today. See you tomorrow!" 

Everyone left.

Soon, he was the only one left on set.

Luca felt like he'd been tricked.

How could any actor endure this kind of shooting?

He thought it was just the first day.

But the second day was the same.

And the third.

Every day, he was alone in the box, performing a one-man show.

No matter how he performed—whether he did well or poorly—he received no feedback at all.

It was like working with a bunch of ghosts.

By the fourth day, it was still the same. He crawled out of the narrow box, dripping with sweat and completely drained, with no one offering a hand to help him up.

"That's a wrap!"

Old bald Babanque waved his hand dismissively.

"Wait!" Luca cracked open a cold beer, chugged it down, and exhaled deeply before walking over to confront the old man.

"Director Babanque, what is this? Are you trying to use silent treatment to force me to quit?"

"..."

Babanque stared at him blankly.

Luca clenched his fist, wanting to punch him, but remembered that the old man had cancer and heart disease, so he was untouchable.

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Director Babanque, we had an agreement before filming that you would give me guidance during the shoot.

But now we've been shooting for four days.

You haven't said a single word.

Not only have you stayed silent, but no one else in the crew has spoken to me either.

Are you trying to force me to quit?"

"..."

Babanque remained silent, just staring at him. The rest of the crew stayed silent too, simply watching.

Luca was furious. "Will someone please say something?!"

"This is how I direct. If you can't handle it, you can leave," Babanque replied, waving dismissively as he turned to walk away, followed by the others.

"Wait!"

Luca stepped forward. "I've done my research. This isn't your usual directing style. You typically give guidance to your actors. Why are you using a different approach for this film?

Are you deliberately making things difficult for me?"

"..."

Babank didn't speak; he just looked at him. No one in the crew spoke either, they all just watched.

Luca snapped, "Would you guys say something!"

"This is how I direct. If you can't handle it, you can leave."

Babank waved his hand and turned to walk out, with the others following behind.

"Wait!"

Luca stepped forward, "I did some checking. This isn't your usual directing style. You usually guide actors during filming. Why did you change your approach for this film? Are you purposely giving me a hard time?"

"…"

Babank remained silent.

Luca, frustrated, said, "I did say that if I gave up, you could recast and continue the project. But there's a condition—it must be because I feel I'm not up to the task and willingly give up the role. If I don't want to give it up, it doesn't matter who you find. I own half the rights to *Buried Alive*. Without my approval, this project will stay shelved forever. Is that what you want?"

"... You want my guidance?" Babank said calmly.

"I just want you to act like a normal director!" Luca retorted flatly.

"Why do you want my guidance?" Babank asked again.

"You're the director; it's your responsibility," Luca said firmly.

Babank shook his head. "Guiding actors isn't the director's responsibility. There's no rule that says a director *must* guide the actors' performances. The fact that you want guidance means you're not happy with your own performance. If you're not satisfied, then what's the point of my guidance?"

"…"

That sounded a bit like twisted logic.

"If you're satisfied with your own performance, then you wouldn't need anyone's guidance. You wrote the script; your understanding of the character is deeper than anyone else's. No one can guide you—you're the only one who can guide yourself. You've been acting for four days, and you've played this scene over twenty times. Are you happy with your performance?"

"…"

"You're not satisfied? Then you already know the answer. What more could I possibly guide you on? Or are you hoping I'll say 'good enough,' so you can move on, all while still feeling unhappy about your previous scene, leading to another poor performance? And when it's all done and the film is criticized, you can blame me for it?"

"…"

"Young man, a truly good actor never looks for problems in others," Babank said as he pushed open the door to the soundstage and walked out.

"Master, is this really the right approach?" The assistant director, José Padilha, hurried to catch up.

"What's wrong with it?" Babank responded while walking. "I've said it before, this is how I direct. If you can't handle it, you can leave."

"Master, working like this creates so much pressure. Being on set every day feels like attending a funeral. You need to manage the mood a bit better. The atmosphere is so heavy. After a while, even beyond Luca, we're all feeling the strain."

"This is how I direct. If you can't handle it, you can leave."

"Me?" José forced a grin. "I can manage. But Luca… he's a top model and a big star. He doesn't need the money or fame. Everywhere else he goes, people treat him like royalty. But here, it feels like everyone is treating him like the enemy. How much longer can he take this?"

"I've said it before, this is—"

"Stop, stop, stop—Master, could you come up with a new line?" José joked, grinning. "Master, are you really planning to kick Luca out and give the role to Santoro? I don't think Santoro is any better than Luca. Over these few days of filming, in this stuffy heat, he's been lying in a closed box for four days without a single complaint. Compared to many young actors, he's doing quite well."

"So what?" Babank asked.

"So what?" José was momentarily stunned.

"You've said all that, but what are you really trying to tell me? Are you suggesting you have a better, more pleasant way to shoot this film?"

"I don't!" José admitted.

"Then shut up!" Babank snapped. "I never make bad films. Whether it's the box office or critical reception, I'm always able to justify my films to myself. That's why my actors must be able to convince themselves before they can convince me. No exceptions."

"I get it, Master. How about I buy you a drink?" José said quickly.

"With my heart condition, you're offering me alcohol? Are you trying to kill me so you can take over as director?"

"N-no! I would never!"

"Hmph!"

Babank walked away.

José scratched his head and looked back at the soundstage, sighing to himself. "Of all the people to work with, it had to be Master Babank. This is pure self-torture!"

Inside the soundstage, Luca stood for a while, thinking over Babank's words. The old man was right. If you can't convince yourself, how can you convince anyone else? But acting has never been a one-person job. If you're just figuring things out by yourself, lying in a coffin and acting solo, then why have a director at all? Couldn't you just handle it alone?

The reason he sought out a director was to gain experience, but how could he do that in this situation? Figuring it out alone meant constantly doubting yourself, over and over, killing your own passion for the craft. It was too cruel.

"Is Babank telling the truth, or is he just messing with me because he wants to replace me?"

Luca wasn't sure.

But giving up had never been his style.

Since the old man said to guide himself and to first satisfy himself, that's what he would do. In his previous acting experiences, once the director called "cut," he let go of the performance, not dwelling on whether it was good or bad. But this time, he wanted to be his own judge and make himself proud.

He walked over to the monitor. "Farkas, I'd like to review the footage from the past few days."

The assistant director, Farkas, nodded and rummaged through his bag, pulling out a reel of film and placing it on the table. It was labeled with the date, from two days ago.

"Thanks!"

Farkas still didn't respond.

Luca shook his head. This place was insane. The old man had an iron grip on the entire crew.

At home, Luca took out his professional equipment to watch the footage. The film had been carefully edited. A full day's worth of performance had been cut down to less than four hours.

Sitting in his home theater, he watched closely, replaying the footage over and over, finding some insights.

The next day, he went back to the set and lay down in the wooden box to perform again.

The old man and the crew still didn't say a word. They clocked in and clocked out like before.

Luca no longer asked Babank for guidance. Each day, he pushed himself to the limit, performing until he was utterly exhausted, and then went home at night to watch the footage until he fell asleep on the couch.

Days passed. He felt his performances improving, but Babank still didn't say a word.

He often had a dismissive look on his face, as if saying, "You failure, you don't deserve my guidance."

"…"

Luca became depressed. He didn't know how to act anymore. He had completely lost his way.

(End of this chapter.)