Chapter 12: A Heart Unspoken
Leon's heart beat a steady rhythm in his chest, each thump echoing like a drum in the silence of the audition room. The polished floor reflected the stark overhead lights, stretching shadows across the room in elongated shapes that seemed almost alive. Two figures sat across from him: Selene Ardent, the theater club president, and Professor Vivia. Selene's crimson eyes glimmered faintly, sharp and calculating, while Vivia's calm gaze held the kind of quiet intensity that could unearth secrets he hadn't even realized he was hiding.
He swallowed hard, tasting the dryness in his mouth, and took a slow, grounding breath. The tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his fingers—it was all familiar. He had felt it countless times before in front of crowds, but today was different. Today wasn't just about performing a role. Today, the weight of expectation pressed harder because he had chosen a piece that left him completely exposed: a confession.
With a deep inhale, Leon activated his skill: Acting Master.
Immediately, warmth surged through his bones, spreading from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes. The room softened at the edges. The sterile light seemed warmer, the air heavier, almost electric. In that instant, he was no longer Leon. He was the character he had imagined in the quiet park during evening hours, where the fading sun painted everything in shades of amber and rose. The imagined leaves rustled softly in a breeze he could almost feel. The scent of damp earth and grass filled his senses.
He took his first deliberate step forward. His hands fidgeted for a brief moment, brushing against the imaginary air, before settling into a posture that was both vulnerable and poised.
"I… I've been meaning to say this for a long time…" His voice quivered, barely above a whisper. The words hung in the space between reality and imagination. "But every time I try, the words… they just… vanish."
Selene's crimson eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. She leaned slightly forward, resting her elbows on the desk, fingers tapping lightly against the polished surface. At first, she resisted the pull, keeping her usual composed and analytical demeanor. But every subtle tremor of his voice, every hesitation in his step, drew her attention like a magnet.
Leon glanced down briefly, his gaze tracing the imaginary cobblestone path beneath his feet, then lifted his eyes to meet the unseen presence. A faint, shaky smile tugged at his lips.
"I guess I've been scared…" His voice grew steadier, tinged with quiet determination. "Scared that if I say it… everything might change. That you might… not feel the same."
Each word was deliberate, every pause measured to allow the weight of vulnerability to sink in. Selene leaned in, unconsciously mirroring the cadence of his speech with the rhythm of her fingers. Her mind, trained to evaluate, couldn't help but notice how naturally the emotions flowed through him.
Another step. Leon's hands opened slightly, as if offering a tangible piece of his heart to the imaginary figure before him. "But… I can't keep it inside anymore. I… I like you. I've liked you for… longer than I can even remember." His words trembled in the quiet room, raw and unpolished, yet perfectly honest.
Professor Vivia's gaze never wavered. Her brown eyes followed his every movement with quiet scrutiny. A tiny furrow appeared on her brow when Leon faltered for a fraction of a second—but it softened immediately as she saw him regain his composure. He was authentic. Unpretentious. Real. That was what mattered, and she noted it silently, the tiniest nod acknowledging his skill hidden beneath her neutral expression.
Leon's voice softened further, now intimate, almost a whisper. "And even if you don't feel the same… I just… I had to tell you. Because not saying it… it's been tearing me apart inside."
Selene's lips pressed into a thin line. She leaned back slightly, fingers steepled, evaluating the performance. Not a smile. Not disapproval. Just measured contemplation. And yet, beneath the layers of professionalism, curiosity flickered. He wasn't acting like a student following directions—he was living the emotion. He was sincere, natural, effortless even. Her pulse quickened slightly, though she would never allow it to show.
Leon's hands extended subtly, palms open, his posture offering not just his confession, but his vulnerability. "So… there it is. My truth. I… I like you. I care about you. More than I probably should."
The room seemed to pause with him. His chest rose and fell as he fought to steady his trembling voice. Step by careful step, he moved closer, each movement deliberate, every gesture weighted with intention. Voice gentler now, full of hope tempered with fear:
"And… if you feel even a fraction of what I feel… maybe… we could… try. Together."
The words lingered. The silence pressed in, and for a heartbeat, even the sterile room seemed transformed into the imagined park. The golden light of sunset painted imagined shadows, the breeze whispering secrets of courage and fear intertwined.
Selene's crimson eyes flicked toward Professor Vivia briefly, then back to him. She allowed herself a quiet exhale she didn't realize she'd been holding. Her posture softened ever so slightly, the rigid lines of authority relaxing into the faintest acknowledgment of interest. Three days, she thought. Three days and he can do this…?
Vivia's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual, then returned to neutrality. The subtle nod she gave, imperceptible if one weren't paying attention, marked the quiet approval of an evaluator who had seen thousands of students pass through her room. This one… was different.
Selene's voice cut through the tension, sharp yet not unkind. "How many days have you been practicing?"
"Three days, since I registered," Leon replied, still catching his breath. His pulse pounded, but his voice was calm, measured.
Selene blinked, astonishment flashing across her expression. Her fingers tapped lightly against the desk as if to punctuate her disbelief. "Three days…? How… how can anyone act nearly perfectly with just three days of practice?"
Leon shrugged subtly, an almost casual motion that belied the adrenaline coursing through him. "Well… I started three days ago, yes."
Her gaze softened fractionally, betraying a hint of respect. "Well… you pass. But… why choose the confession script? Wouldn't the villain role suit you better?"
Leon met her gaze evenly. "I chose this because my voice matches it. The villain's lines… my voice wouldn't convey them properly."
Selene inclined her head ever so slightly, the faintest acknowledgment of approval hidden behind the mask of her professional demeanor. Yes… his voice is soft, natural… perfect for this role.
"Very well," she said, voice even, composed, yet carrying a subtle undercurrent of fascination. "You may leave for now. Come back tomorrow after class."
Leon exhaled slowly, the tension draining from his shoulders. The skill faded, leaving him himself again—nervous, yet triumphant. He stepped into the hallway, the hum of the school greeting him, the chatter of students filling the air like a tide washing over him. And in the quiet corner of his chest, a small spark of pride flickered—proud not for the skill, not for passing, but for having dared to bare a part of himself, even to an imagined heart.
As he walked, the golden afternoon sun streamed through the windows, warming his back. Each step felt lighter than the one before, a subtle rhythm echoing the confidence blooming inside him. The audition was over—but the moment, the confession, the living of the scene—would linger far longer.