Chapter 54: A Skill More Important Than Acting

"Matthew Horner visits Britney in the hospital and spends the night—relationship confirmed!"

Even Matthew himself hadn't expected to land on the front page of so many tabloids in such a manner. Overnight, he had become widely recognized.

"It's reported that Matthew Horner stayed overnight in Britney's hospital room. According to insiders, the two of them…"

One tabloid even included explicit and indecent descriptions, as if the journalist had witnessed the scene firsthand.

Another tabloid published a photo of Matthew getting into Rachel McAdams' car the day before, accusing him of two-timing.

Reporters had also dug up nearly everything about Matthew's background, which also made it into the papers.

Many journalists were stunned. How could an unknown like Matthew have shared the screen with Angelina Jolie and Winona Ryder? How did he land such a significant role in Ridley Scott's upcoming film Gladiator?

But Matthew followed his agents' advice to the letter: no matter the time or place, say nothing.

At a golf club in Orange County, southeast of Los Angeles, Helen Herman handed her golf club to the caddie and turned to the middle-aged man beside her.

"Eric, I'm not recommending some no-name actor here."

She had come not only to avoid Britney Spears' agents and label reps but more importantly, to meet with Eric Polk, a producer.

"I know. Britney's rumored boyfriend," Eric Polk said, adjusting the brim of his visor. "He was an extra on Girl, Interrupted and Ridley's Gladiator."

Helen smiled and walked with him to the next hole. She'd done her homework. The production Eric worked on needed a large number of somewhat experienced, yet not-too-famous actors. Matthew lacked a bit of experience, but it wasn't hopeless.

Eric walked ahead and spoke as he moved. "Helen, for something like this, you should be talking to Tom Hanks or Steven Spielberg."

"I don't have that kind of pull," Helen admitted. "And my father refuses to call them for me. So I came to you."

She'd never planned to rely on her father's connections anyway. Favors like that are one-time use only—wasting it now would be foolish.

"This is a war drama, right?" she asked as they walked. "There must be lots of roles aside from Richard Winters—tons of supporting roles?"

Eric paused to think. "Yeah, there are quite a few supporting characters. Tell you what, send Matthew Horner's info to my assistant. I'll make sure he gets an audition invite."

"Thank you—"

"Don't thank me yet," Eric cut her off. "That's all I can do. Whether he passes the audition or not is out of my hands."

Helen nodded but still said, "Thanks, Eric."

She knew well that Eric Polk was one of the lower-ranking producers on this project. The real decision-makers were Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg. In front of people like them, small fish like her didn't get a say.

Since he'd already done her a favor, Eric added, "The team will be auditioning in L.A., then flying to the UK and France for training and filming. All these roles are soldiers—tell your guy to bulk up and look the part."

Helen thought of Matthew's naturally muscular build from years of physical labor and replied, "That won't be a problem."

Eric took his club from the caddie and waved her on. "Come on, next hole."

As they continued playing, Helen waited until Eric was in good spirits before saying, "Matthew's features are a bit rough. Could you suggest a tough-guy role for him?"

To be honest, she didn't have much faith in Matthew's acting. Compared to emotionally complex characters, war-movie tough guys were easier and often more appealing to audiences.

Eric, not caring too much since it was a minor role anyway, waved a hand. "Sure. Wait for my call."

In Westwood, Los Angeles, Matthew stayed home, avoiding the press. Early that morning, he'd spotted paparazzi lurking downstairs, so he canceled his usual jog. No big deal—he had plenty to do indoors.

Reading the newspaper and books was now a daily habit. His reading skills had improved significantly in the past few months—ordinary material was no longer a challenge. But writing? That was still a disaster. Like those kids who are eloquent when speaking but fall apart when writing essays.

Luckily, he didn't plan to be a writer—just an actor.

Still, once his reading improved further, he planned to start working on his writing. In the future, with social media becoming widespread, it would be important to express himself online without constantly needing ghostwriters.

He'd looked into it. Blogs already existed in North America. He even thought about starting one—posting his thoughts, sharing photos from set—but a good computer was still expensive, and his writing sucked. Maybe later.

Another reason for the delay? He'd just bought a new phone and a secondhand TV-VCR combo last week. He rented a pile of films by Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, and Daniel Day-Lewis. He even installed a full-length mirror on his apartment wall—ready to study their performance styles in depth.

He also went back to acting coach David Astor, a veteran actor without formal academic training. David gave him an unconventional method to mimic performances from legendary actors. He even provided a highlight reel of their best scenes.

According to David, if Matthew practiced long and hard enough, he might not become an acting genius, but at least he'd hit average-level acting.

Matthew popped in a Godfather tape, watched for a while, and then struck a Marlon Brando pose in his chair. With no scene partners, he could only act in front of the mirror. But no matter how hard he tried, compared to Brando on-screen… something just felt off. It was all surface-level.

Sure, judging acting is subjective—but only once you're good enough. For a beginner like Matthew, the gap between him and the greats was obvious.

With limited talent, he knew the only way forward was grinding—massive amounts of consistent practice.

Sure, some geniuses debut with Oscar-worthy skills, but those are unicorns.

He finished the Godfather tape and rewound it to rewatch the scenes that struck him. Standing in front of the mirror, he began mimicking Brando and Pacino, talking to himself, playing both parts.

There were no viewers, no feedback. But Matthew was all in—completely immersed in the world and characters of the film.

In his twenty-plus years—half of which were spent overseas—he had never been this focused.

After several months in the Hollywood circle, he understood something: for nobodies like him, opportunities were everything. But catching those fleeting chances? That required skill—a skill not everyone is born with.

He remembered a story he once read on a smartphone. A famous actor had just won an Oscar and proudly told his acting coach. The coach scoffed and said, "You're no better than any of my other students. The only difference is—you got the part. They didn't. Nothing to brag about."

Back then, Matthew found the story inspiring. Now? He saw through it.

That story was just glorified motivational fluff—like the empty platitudes people used to post on social media.

What mattered most wasn't the acting coach's burn—but that this guy got the part, and others didn't.

Why did he get the part? Divine intervention? Luck?

No. Landing the role—and keeping it—is a skill in itself.

A skill even more important than acting.

Matthew continued practicing late into the night. When his stomach started growling, he peeked outside. No paparazzi in sight.

He changed clothes and headed out—to grab dinner at that Chinese restaurant he'd discovered a few days back.

Meanwhile, on a different part of Hollywood Boulevard…

Michael Sheen stepped out of a small diner after dinner.

After some rest and treatment, the injury on his backside had finally healed. But thinking about the humiliation—and the embarrassment of seeing the doctor—still filled him with rage.

The doctor had told him the injury wasn't severe to begin with, but alcohol and greasy food made it worse—causing inflammation.

Michael immediately thought of that meal Matthew treated him to—he'd been played!

He didn't know where Matthew lived, and the guy was always unreachable by phone. So for days now, Michael had been lurking near Red Penguin Company's office, hoping to find that despicable bastard and finally settle the score.