As Matthew strode away from the set, only his agent Maurice seemed to care. The rest of the crew—director, producer included—barely gave him a second glance, as if this kind of situation was completely routine.
Pushing open the door and walking out of the temporary filming site, Matthew took a deep breath of relief as he stepped into the open street lined with blue skies and quiet, wide roads. He couldn't quite explain it, but he felt an odd sense of surviving a disaster—partly from this bizarre experience of having his soul cross the Pacific Ocean into a new body, but also from narrowly escaping what felt like a seductive trap.
He had no car. His agent had driven him earlier, and it was clear Maurice wouldn't be giving him a ride now. So he could only follow the direction from memory and walk along the broad road.
It was January, but Los Angeles wasn't cold. After walking a bit, Matthew took off his coat, the breeze through his long-sleeved shirt making him feel much more comfortable.
Palm trees lined both sides of the road. As he passed each one, Matthew would glance up at it. He had always lived in the North, struggling every day just to survive—he'd never had the luxury to visit Southern California.
Now he no longer had to swing a sledgehammer, but the struggle to make ends meet still haunted him.
According to the memories left behind by the previous owner of this body, all he had in the world was a few dozen dollars and a second-hand phone.
And the crew, especially his agent Maurice, definitely wouldn't let him go easily. A breach of contract fine of fifty thousand dollars might not be much in Hollywood, but it wasn't a small sum for someone like him. He'd probably be receiving legal letters or court summons soon. Even if he settled out of court, he'd still owe a fortune.
For someone in his situation, that amount was astronomical.
Crossing into a new life only to immediately fall into crushing debt… Would they go as far as demanding he repay it with his body—force him to shoot more of those "romance-action" films?
The way the crew acted made that seem likely. Maurice especially didn't seem like the forgiving type.
"Ugh…" Matthew sighed, "Different place, same miserable fate."
He was a bit troubled, but not bitter. He'd grown used to hardship.
Ahead, under the shade of a palm tree, there was a bench. Matthew walked over and sat down, not even brushing off the dust. Leaning back, he looked up at the blue sky, pondering what he should do next.
Continue struggling just to survive, as before? Was that all his life would amount to?
"Don't you want money and beautiful women?"
Maurice's voice echoed in his head. Matthew thought of that blonde woman—her face might not have been as alluring as her body, but she had still ignited something primal in him.
Was he really going to spend his whole life drifting in mediocrity, or would he fight to climb to the top?
That wasn't even a question.
His fists slowly clenched.
"I want a better life! I want to roll around in piles of cash! I want to party with a dozen beauties!"
He wasn't refined. He hadn't received a fancy education. He was just another struggling nobody. So yes—his goals were vulgar. But they were real.
Now that he had a goal, the question was: how to achieve it?
Looking at the wide road ahead, Matthew understood that even the loftiest dreams required a step-by-step path. You couldn't just dream—you had to walk the road.
Sure, becoming the President of the United States could also achieve his goals, but that clearly wasn't an option.
The road forward wasn't obvious. Past experience had taught him that this world's class divisions were very real. Climbing the social ladder was no easy feat.
Though he didn't fully understand Americans, the highly connected world he came from—where a smartphone could bombard you with endless (and often fake) information—suggested the U.S. was probably even harder to break into.
Opportunities did exist, but only for the prepared and capable—not for guys like him with no particular skills.
He wasn't being self-deprecating—just realistic. Big dreams required solid, practical steps.
After resting for a bit, Matthew got up and continued walking. While walking, he began analyzing himself. Surely, among the memories of two different lives, there had to be something useful.
High-tech skills? None.
Finance or economics? A guy struggling for three meals a day didn't have time for that.
Write some hit novel to be adapted into a movie? He had a middle school education at best, and his previous self hadn't even finished school. Reading complex material was hard, let alone writing it.
Aside from a good-looking body and physical strength—and maybe driving—he really didn't have any standout skills.
After going over everything, he realized, sadly, that even with two people's knowledge combined, he still couldn't do any of those "cool and high-paying" intellectual jobs.
In that moment, he finally understood the truth behind the old saying: "If you don't work hard while you're young, you'll regret it when you're old."
Stopping under a palm tree, Matthew suddenly understood why the previous guy had come to L.A. chasing a Hollywood dream. Given his talents and background, the odds of making it in Hollywood were actually better than in those "respectable" fields.
Most importantly, Hollywood's entry barrier was relatively low. From the information the previous owner had collected, he knew:
Jim Carrey was once a janitor.
Madonna worked in a fast food joint.
Brad Pitt used to dress up as a McDonald's mascot.
Johnny Depp sold pens over the phone.
Harrison Ford was a carpenter.
Even the legendary James Cameron used to drive trucks…
These now-famous stars had all been nobodies—real nobodies.
But they'd climbed the ladder. Now they were rich, famous, and disgustingly successful.
There were just too many examples like this. Hollywood seemed like the perfect place for an underdog to rise.
Of course, it couldn't be that easy—he just didn't know the traps yet.
After thinking things through, Matthew realized that the most realistic and likely path to success was in Hollywood.
Your position in life determined your vision. From where he stood, at the very bottom, Hollywood looked like the most reachable ladder.
"Hollywood, huh…" he looked in the direction of the Hollywood Hills from memory. "It's gotta be you!"
As the word "Hollywood" echoed in his head, a vivid image flashed before his eyes: living in a luxurious Beverly Hills mansion, a garage full of limited-edition sports cars, dozens of naked blondes frolicking in a pool, and lines of reporters waiting to interview him…
Now THAT'S living. That's the life I want!
Since he couldn't think of any other way to change his fate, Matthew decided to chase the same dream the body's previous owner had—becoming a Hollywood star.
Now that he had a clear goal and a possible path, he felt lighter inside. He picked up his pace and walked with renewed energy.
"I'm going to make tons of money!" he suddenly shouted. "I'm going to be a big star!"
His shout made two cyclists look at him like he was crazy before pedaling away, shaking their heads.
Still, getting that off his chest felt good, even if he knew the road ahead would be difficult.
The previous owner of this body had signed up with an extra casting agency but never got a real shot in a Hollywood production. To make ends meet, he'd worked part-time for a party services company as a driver… until he got scammed into an "opportunity" that ended with him filming that nasty scene.
Going over all his Hollywood-related memories, Matthew realized he had no immediate connections. The first step had to be finding a job to survive in L.A. before chasing acting gigs.
Thinking of jobs, that old driver gig actually wasn't bad—work started in the evening, ended in the morning, and he had his days free to look for acting roles.
Plus, it offered occasional chances to meet people in the industry.
After weighing the options, Matthew decided it was worth returning to that job. He pulled out his second-hand phone, searched for a bit, then dialed a number.
"Hello…"
A humble male voice answered. "This is Red Penguin Services. How can I help you?"
"Hello, Mr. Lister." Matthew spoke sweetly, knowing how to talk in situations like this. "This is Matthew. Matthew Horner. I'm coming back to work for you."
The voice turned snarky, "You again? What do you want now? If it's nothing important, I'm hanging up."
"No, wait!" Matthew quickly said. "I just want to come back and earn a living with you again."
"Didn't you quit?" the voice wasn't letting up. "Didn't you say you were going to be a big star and make millions?"
Matthew kept his tone humble. "That was just me being dumb and getting scammed. You were right all along. You've got a good eye—you saw through it immediately."
"Hah! Told you so, kid," the man was clearly pleased. "You're inexperienced. Stick with me and learn something."
"That's exactly why I called." Matthew jumped in. "I want to learn from you. If I hadn't been scammed, I wouldn't realize how good you've been to me."
"Alright, enough flattery." The voice softened. "You want back in? I'll give you thirty minutes. Be at the office within half an hour, and you can work tonight."
Matthew immediately promised, "I'll be there!"