Yes! He's the god of acting

Morning sunlight spilled across William's face, his lashes fluttering as he slowly opened his eyes.

"I'm back…" he murmured, rubbing the corner of his eye and exhaling deeply.

After the draw, he'd wandered the stage for what felt like forever, searching for an exit he couldn't find. Only when the bell rang and the curtains lifted did he automatically return.

"Current audience anticipation: 23%... Right back at the death line again." William muttered, recalling the last glimpse of the system screen. "I need to do something—fast."

"Hey… bro…"

Henry sat up, his eyes red-rimmed with sleep. The old mattress crackled beneath him as he shifted. "Morning."

"Morning." William glanced at the clock on the wall, then reached into his coat pocket and handed Henry their last few copper coins. "I've gotta head out. Don't know when I'll be back. Grab something to eat with this, alright?"

"Where are you going?"

"To catch myself."

"…What?"

William threw on a worn-out coat and tucked yesterday's envelope from the Enforcers into its inner lining. Before heading to the door, he ruffled Henry's hair.

"Don't ask too many questions. Just stay home and wait for me. Got it?"

"Yeah," Henry nodded obediently.

Once William had gone, Henry got up and stared at the front door—or what was left of it. Two gaping holes yawned open where the panels used to be, and his brow furrowed instantly.

"…How am I supposed to fix this?"

He eyed the coins in his hand, pocketed them silently, then fetched a heavy hammer and a few scrap planks from inside. Measuring the doorframe, he set to work.

Just then, a shadow appeared beyond the broken doorway, startling him.

A man in a wool overcoat stood there, a deep navy scarf knotted neatly at his collar. Silver-rimmed glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, giving him an air of intellect and refinement.

But even those thoughtful eyes looked slightly confused as they took in the state of the house—with what remained of its door.

He seemed ready to speak, thought better of it, then attempted a knock—only to find no door to knock on.

So he stepped up to the jagged frame and peered inside.

"Can I help you?" Henry asked, tilting his head.

"Is Mr. William home?"

Henry's gaze sharpened at the mention of his brother's name. He studied the man for a moment longer before replying, "What do you want with him?"

The man removed his gloves and drew a letter from his coat, holding it up calmly.

"I heard Mr. William was in need of a doctor," he said. "So... I've come."

The wind was bitter, slicing through William's coat and biting at his neck. He shivered.

"You heading somewhere, son? I'll give you a ride!" A wiry, dark-skinned man pulling a rickshaw trotted up beside him, flashing a toothy, yellowed grin.

William gave him a sidelong glance. "Enforcement Headquarters."

"Oh, I know the way! Just dropped off two others there. You guys all going for that cadet selection, huh? Look, since fate brought us together—I charged them ten coins, but for you? Just seven. Deal?"

"…No, thanks."

"Six, then. Final offer."

"I don't have any money."

"No money?" The man frowned and looked William up and down before huffing and wheeling away, muttering, "No money, still wants to be an Enforcer... unlucky kid."

William: …

He clenched his red, frozen fingers and picked up the pace, headed toward Sector Three's central district.

Last night, he'd made a decision. If he wanted to avoid suspicion—if he wanted to stay ahead of the Enforcers' investigations—he needed to get ahead of them.

He needed to become one of them.

Join the investigations. Control the narrative. Stay close enough to erase the trail.

"I join. I interfere. I mislead. I survive."

That was William's new plan.

He crossed a few streets and finally arrived at the towering glass dome that loomed above Sector Three's modest clay buildings.

"Damn… this place is impressive," he whispered, eyes wide. "How much of the budget went into this?"

In a district full of two-story mudbrick homes, this building stood out like a modern art museum built in the middle of a farming village.

Other young recruits were arriving as well, letters in hand. They exchanged cautious nods, polite smiles—every one of them a competitor.

Roughly seventy candidates had passed the written exam. Half were expected to fail the physicals. That left thirty openings—same as every year. The format might change, but the cut never did.

In other words, everyone walking through that door was a potential rival.

Inside, under the glass dome, a line of recruits stood stiffly at attention. They all wore plain civilian clothes, but their posture was military—backs straight, muscles taut, like soldiers awaiting inspection.

William was among the last to arrive and had to take a spot at the end of the line. As he settled in, an Enforcer scanned the room, nodded at the list.

"Everyone's here."

Another Enforcer lifted a clipboard, ready to speak—when the headquarters doors suddenly swung open.

Two figures strode inside, purposeful and cold.

The taller of the two flicked away a spent cigarette and crushed it underfoot. The black coat he wore shimmered with four silver stripes, and the sharpness in his gaze swept across the room like a blade.

Becker. Sector Three's top Enforcer.

Everyone stiffened instinctively—except William.

He narrowed his eyes in surprise. His gaze locked onto the back of Becker's head.

That guy's here already? After what happened last night? After the beating he took?

How hard is this man's skull?

"Is that Becker?"

"I can't believe it's really him..."

"Who's Becker?"

"Sector Three's first-ranked Enforcer. Only officer here with four stripes."

"I heard he made Level Four by the age of twenty-four. Even folks in Aurora City couldn't keep up with him. A total prodigy."

"Then why isn't he in Aurora City now?"

"Rumor says he pissed off someone high up..."

"I heard he's unbeatable in a fight. My mom's a huge fan."

"Wait—how old is your mom?"

"Almost fifty."

"..."

With Becker's entrance, whispers rippled across the group. Even the Enforcers straightened up and fell silent, standing at attention.

Becker paused under the glass dome. He felt it—a faint prickle down the back of his neck, like someone was studying his weak spot…

He turned sharply. A roomful of cadets stared back.

Their gazes dropped instantly. No one spoke. Silence fell like a shroud.

"I'm Becker," he said, voice steady. "Top-ranking officer of Sector Three."

"The next three days are your trial. Out of seventy-two of you, only thirty will pass."

Thirty. Lower than expected.

William frowned slightly. The odds were worse than he thought.

Others exchanged uneasy glances.

"But—among those thirty," Becker continued, "three of you will earn early access to the Ancient Arsenal."

Gasps.

Even nearby officers looked stunned.

William didn't understand.

More than half of the cadets didn't either.

Seeing their confusion, Becker smiled faintly. "Do you know the difference between a Patrolman... and a true Enforcer?"