Actor in Hollywood

Quiet, ordinary, routine.

The cars and pedestrians passing by didn't stop or even glance at the filming area. There was no sign of the film crew, and if you weren't paying attention, you might miss it entirely.

But Anson could still tell that the figures moving through the school corridors and playground—carrying walkie-talkies, holding schedules or supply lists, and communicating as they hurried along—were clearly part of the crew.

Moreover, something seemed off. Maybe there was an NG (No Good take), or a prop malfunction, or perhaps the director had lost his temper. The crew seemed tense.

"Excuse me."

Standing by the roadside, Anson was observing the filming situation ahead. The wind carried a voice toward him. Instinctively, he thought someone was asking for an autograph or a photo, as he'd developed a conditioned response to such requests during his recent time in Los Angeles. But when he turned, he saw a woman pushing a stroller, smiling politely as she indicated the road ahead.

Anson understood and immediately stepped aside.

"Oh, sorry."

The woman looked at Anson, gave a polite smile, and nodded slightly before continuing on her way with the stroller. She clearly didn't recognize Anson—after all, it wasn't obligatory for everyone to recognize him just because he was Peter Parker.

This experience made Anson realize why Hollywood actors often consider themselves the center of the universe, assuming that everyone must know them. It's all an illusion created by the bubble of Los Angeles.

Only when they step outside that small world can they regain a sense of humility and simplicity.

Portland was like that, and so was Vancouver.

Apparently, one Spider-Man movie isn't everything.

Anson finally walked forward and, unsurprisingly, was stopped by a security guard with a serious expression.

"Sorry, we're filming here. No unauthorized personnel allowed."

This time, Anson wasn't surprised.

He had already noticed that the security guard had been watching him from a distance. With no one else lingering around, Anson's presence stood out. The guard had probably spent the whole day without much to do, so now, when the opportunity arose, he was eager to act.

Anson considered whether he should call Chris, but before his thoughts could develop, he calmly spoke.

"Why don't you radio the production assistant or assistant director?"

His demeanor was unhurried, confident.

Anson naturally exuded a unique aura, even though he had just stepped out of a taxi instead of a private car. The security guard hesitated, taken aback by Anson's presence, and his initial assertiveness faltered. He looked Anson up and down, unsure of what to say.

Anson didn't get angry; the guard was just doing his job. And it wasn't his fault he didn't recognize Peter Parker—not everyone had to watch Spider-Man, even if they were working security for a film set.

In fact, Anson respected the guard for diligently doing his job. A smile appeared on his face. "It doesn't hurt to ask, right?"

The guard hesitated but was swayed by Anson's calm confidence. He pulled out his walkie-talkie, giving Anson another once-over.

"Anson Wood. I'm here to visit Chris Evans."

Anson said.

The guard paused for a moment, then spoke into the walkie-talkie.

"Mr. Ford, there's someone here named Anson Wood who says he's here to visit Chris Evans."

"What? Who did you say?"

"Anson Wood."

"…Are you sure?"

"That's what he said."

Then, there was nothing.

The guard's words received no response. He called out a couple more times, "Mr. Ford? Mr. Ford?" but the other side remained silent.

Confused, the guard inspected the walkie-talkie as if it might be malfunctioning, but before he could figure it out, he heard the sound of an engine approaching.

Huh?

The guard turned to see a golf cart speeding toward him, coming to a halt with a high-speed drift at the entrance. Out stepped Mr. Ford, the man on the other end of the walkie-talkie.

The guard was stunned. How did this happen so fast?

However, Ford didn't pay any attention to the golf cart. He dashed over, looking like a whirlwind.

"Mr. Ford…" The guard's call was lost in the wind.

Benjamin Ford naturally assumed it was a prank. He'd been taking his time, thinking about how to scold the joker. But as soon as he caught sight of the tall, striking figure in the distance, standing there commanding attention with just his presence, he floored the gas pedal, making the golf cart look like a Ferrari.

"Anson, huff, huff, Anson…"

"Sorry…"

Benjamin was out of breath, trying hard to smile, but his heart was pounding so hard he thought it might explode. He felt like he was suffocating.

Anson, on the other hand, remained calm, using his right hand as a metronome to gently signal Benjamin to relax. "Calm down, calm down. We've got time. No need to rush."

Huff, huff.

Benjamin followed Anson's lead, trying to regulate his breathing. Finally, his racing heart began to slow, and he swallowed nervously, regaining his composure.

Before Benjamin could speak, the security guard, sensing something was off, cautiously approached and anxiously asked, "Mr. Ford, what's going on?"

"I, uh, I just…"

But Benjamin didn't have time to explain. "Anson, what brings you to the set? Sorry for keeping you out here, that was our mistake."

The guard's attitude shifted from icy to warm in an instant, like going from winter to summer.

Anson chuckled, waving it off. "No need. I think this security guard did a great job. That's something to be proud of."

The guard looked at Anson and exhaled a sigh of relief. "That's how it is, right?"

His nervous expression was undeniable, and Anson reassured him, "Exactly. So, no worries, you didn't do anything wrong."

Then Anson turned to Benjamin. "Looks like I need to work harder."

A small joke lightened the mood, bringing smiles back.

Benjamin relaxed as well. "If Spider-Man isn't enough, I don't know what else will do the trick."

What started as a joke took an unexpected turn when Anson looked at the security guard. "What kind of movies do you like?"

The guard was caught off guard. "I, uh, I don't really watch movies. I just like to watch TV sometimes."

Anson spread his hands. "Seems like I should start doing more TV then."

The light-hearted exchange lifted the mood even further.

Finally, Anson looked at Benjamin, who got the message and made an inviting gesture. "Please."

As Anson and Benjamin rode off in the golf cart, the security guard stood there, watching them go. He mulled over the name "Anson," then thought of "Spider-Man," and found himself a bit intrigued.

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