NO SINGING! BECOME AN ACTOR OR DIE

Chapter 2: The MV Star's Talent

Dirga raised his spoon to put the porridge into his mouth. He had to act fast, or everything would be lost again.

His mother watched Dirga, her eyes half-closed with worry that she awkwardly tried to hide. Disbelief still clung to the faint lines on her forehead.

Dirga knew this was strange. Yesterday afternoon he had been a shy boy busy drawing Nirvana posters; now he was a hungry hyena that had smelled blood.

“Darling, are you sure you want to be an actor? Your father’s friend in Jakarta said that world is terribly cruel,” his mother said, smoothing down Dirga’s stray hairs. It was warm and soothing, and Dirga knew this warmth was what he had to protect.

“I’m sure, Mum. First, I’ll be a commercial model. I just want to try it out. If I’m on TV, who knows, I might even win an award,” Dirga replied, emphasising the word ‘award’ to justify his absurd obsession.

Dirga’s mother sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed, dismissing it as a random phase of seven-year-old creativity.

“Alright then. Tomorrow morning, I’ll try calling the Advertising Branch Office at the radio station.”

That night, Dirga, whose soul was trapped in a child’s body, no longer felt his appetite. All that remained were calculations and strategy.

After his mother left, he locked his bedroom door.

The System Window remained. Light blue, towering before him.

[MAIN QUEST S1: REINCARNATION 76]

[Target Objective: Obtain a lead role in a film (rating B minimum) OR win a prestigious award in a film/TV career before the age of 8.]

[Time Limit: 364 Days Remaining.]

Dirga repeatedly slammed his forehead into the soft pillow. Annoyed, frustrated, and constrained. Not by fate, but by the obligation to break his own promise to his past musician self. Acting! The world of pretence he hated with a passion.

“Okay. Fine. We’ll try to accept this cursed destiny,” he whispered to the invisible system.

Though difficult, Dirga would try to accept it.

“That’s it,” Dirga suddenly exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in his bed, which still smelled of cheap detergent. He remembered the hundreds of music videos (MVs) he had to film throughout his past career. Decades standing in front of the lens, under the spotlights, with dozens of directorial commands: “Dirga, face the camera. Dirga, sharp eyes. Dirga, heartbreak.”

It wasn't all that difficult. He could definitely handle it.

Camera-centric.

[User Artistic Talent Analysis.]

[Accumulated Knowledge: Asian Pop Superstar (Level 99, Locked).

Unlockable Modules: Stage Experience, Mastery of Visual Emotional Projection (70 Top Asian MVs).]

[Initial Acting Chance: Increased (C+).]

“Singers and actors have different essences, but the core is the same: the stage,” he muttered, pulling his knees to his chest.

“I don’t know how to be Romeo, but I know how to channel the ‘emptiness of a star’ through my eyes at a 120-degree angle towards a 35mm camera.”

Dirga looked at his small body. Vulnerable, awkward. Yet, in a world not yet polluted by social media and cable television, the charm of an innocent child was currency. Furthermore, he possessed the complex emotions of a forty-year-old man. If he could successfully project them, he was bound to succeed.

Tap-tap-tap

A light knock came at the door.

“Big Brother Dirga? Are you asleep?”

Anya’s voice. Small, cheerful, five years old, with a high-pitched and adorable sound.

“Not yet, Anya. Why?” Dirga replied, reverting to the persona of the wise, slightly boring older brother for his sister.

The System Window immediately dimmed, recognising the need for character privacy.

Anya entered slowly, wearing Doraemon pyjamas and clutching a worn blanket. The scent of fragrant soap and sweets accompanied her.

“Anya heard you say you wanted to be on TV? What are you going to be?” she asked, climbing onto the bed and resting her small head on Dirga’s lap.

Dirga hugged the small shoulder. His sister, who in the future lost everything because she had to bear the family’s debt, and was also trapped with an abusive husband.

This time, Dirga had to save her and make her happy.

“I want to be famous,” he said softly. He hid his real plans beneath layers of innocence. “Then I’ll have lots of money. Anya can buy any toy she likes, and Dad won’t have to work so hard anymore.”

Anya’s eyes sparkled. “Really? Wow, Big Brother Dirga is amazing! Does that mean you’ll be singing on TV a lot?”

Thump.

Dirga struggled to maintain his overly thick, forced smile.

“No, not singing,” Dirga said carefully. “I want to be an actor. Someone who pretends to be other people.”

“Pretending?”

“Yes, like pretending. I can pretend to be a King. Pretend to be a rich kid who can buy all the toys he wants, be a superhero, and lots of other things I can play,” Dirga joked, trying to make the story realistic in a child’s eyes.

Anya giggled, finding it hilarious. “Pretending? That sounds fun!”

“Yes, it’s great fun.” *Disgusting*, Dirga thought.

Dirga waited for three days that felt like three years, until his mother contacted her friend, a manager for child advertisements at a small local agency based behind the radio station building.

The manager, a young woman named Dina, met them in her cramped agency office, where the smell of old air conditioning mixed with cigarette smoke on the faded carpet.

Dirga took a quick look at Dina, a woman in her twenties, serious-faced, tired, and the person who would become his assistant and strategic ally in the future. Dirga knew Dina from his future as the best manager in Asia, who handled A-list superstars, but at this age, she was just an ambitious young woman in a small agency.

“Dina, I’m sorry to bother you. My son here… he’s a bit strange. He’s suddenly possessed by the idea of being on TV,” his mother said, squeezing Dirga’s hand.

Dina nodded, offering a weak smile. “That’s alright, Ma’am. Dirga, you’re seven, aren’t you? Do you have any experience, dear?”

Dirga shook his head innocently, playing with his fingers as if he were shy, though he was actually setting his deep, impressive tone.

“I just want to gain experience. Dad says if we’re good at posing, we can succeed quickly. I like learning new things. If you want me to act as a tourist, I can pretend to be one,” Dirga replied.

Dina was stunned.

His mother suppressed a proud smile, thinking Dirga had prepared a clever little speech. Dirga used mature diction, far removed from the vocabulary of a child his age—a sign of maturity he used to his advantage.

“O-okay,” Dina said, slightly bewildered. “Right now, the fastest and most potential entry point is an audition for a new potato crisp commercial. Our target image is a cute, clever, playful child. Here’s the script.”

Dina placed the thick script on the wooden table. Dirga quickly picked it up, ignoring its thickness, and immediately looked at the core details.

SCENE: BOY IN THE YARD, TRYING TO TRICK HIS FATHER INTO GETTING THE LAST CRISP.

THEME: Innocent mischief, persistence.

CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: Wide eyes, teasing smile, comical.

It was boring. The type of role Dirga hated in MVs. Simple, one-dimensional.

Dirga scanned the script in minutes, his eyes focusing on a small clue in the character description:

[Please present an aura of cuteness with a slight touch of emotional persistence.]

Emotional persistence. He only possessed an unrivalled warehouse of heartbreak, he just didn’t know how to load it onto this chubby face.

“How about it, Dirga? Can you make the audition tomorrow at two in the afternoon?” Dina asked.

“Yes, I can,” Dirga replied. He put the script back down with a mature gaze. “I will do my best.”

On the way home, his mother was still worried about Dirga’s transition.

“Are you sure you can memorise all that, darling? It’s quite thick, you know,” his mother said in the public transport vehicle that smelled of kerosene.

“It’s easy, Mum. It’s like reading the same cooking recipe every day. If you repeat it enough times, you’ll remember,” Dirga replied with the pragmatic logic of a forty-year-old man.

Dirga had one day.

He decided that comical acting was a disadvantage for him, while heartbroken eyes were a weapon. If the producers were just looking for a ‘cute and mischievous’ child, they could pick anyone, as Dirga was sure his rivals would present exactly that. Dirga had to give them Dirga 2.0, the latest version. An actor who instinctively brought existential sadness into a light role.

He poured out all his visualisation knowledge. Dirga stood in front of the mirror, training his pupils, trying to project the longing for his lost future onto this seven-year-old face. The pain of the accident’s fire. The defeat against the System. The forbidden desire to sing again.

He stood in the middle of the room, practising his posture so it wouldn’t be too ‘childish’ in front of the camera. Shoulders slightly forward, at a 45-degree angle. The hero pose from his future MV, ‘Fallen Angel’.

“Sharp eyes,” he whispered to his own reflection. “Eyes full of calculation.”