Tycoon Actor in Hollywood

As Lucas sat at the drum set in the small practice room at the Palace Theatre, he began to play. The rhythms flowed from his hands, a result of countless hours of mental practice in his Mind Workshop.

Damien, who had a solid background in music, watched from the corner, his eyebrows rising higher with each passing minute. When Lucas finished, Damien let out a low whistle.

"Wow, Lucas. That was... impressive. Really impressive," Damien said, unable to hide his surprise. "I didn't know you could play like that."

Lucas shrugged modestly, "I've been practicing."

Damien nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. "You know, I had originally planned to have Kyle Crane double for you in the more complicated drumming scenes. But seeing you play just now..." He paused, considering. "Do you think you could handle those scenes yourself?"

Lucas smiled. This was his chance to really push himself, to use the skills he'd honed in his Mind Workshop. "Yeah, I think I can do it," he said confidently.

Damien looked at him skeptically. "Are you sure? Some of those sequences are pretty intense. It's not just about playing the drums, it's about conveying the emotion, the struggle..."

Lucas nodded, his expression serious. "I'm sure. I know it'll be challenging, but I want to give it my all. I'll dedicate myself completely to getting it right."

Damien studied him for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Alright, if you're up for it, let's give it a shot. We can always fall back on Kyle if needed."

Lucas nodded in agreement.

He couldn't tell Damien about his Mind Workshop, but he was determined to prove that his unseen preparation would pay off.

After his talk with Damien, Lucas turned back to the drums, his hands finding their rhythm once more.

This time, he poured his heart into the performance, letting the music flow through him. His body moved with fluid intensity, each beat resonating with raw emotion. The sticks became an extension of his arms as he navigated complex patterns, his face a mask of concentration and passion.

Mid-performance, Lucas caught sight of J.K. approaching from the corner of his eye. The older actor stood there, his posture rigid and his face contorted into a scowl that could curdle milk. It was pure Fletcher – intimidating, unimpressed, and utterly terrifying.

Lucas felt a jolt of adrenaline. J.K. had slipped into character without warning, kicking off an impromptu rehearsal.

Feeling challenged, Lucas channeled Andrew's desperation to prove himself, drumming with even more fervor.

As the final cymbal crash faded, J.K.'s face softened, the menacing Fletcher persona melting away. Lucas looked up at him, still slightly breathless, and asked, "What do you think, sir?"

J.K. broke into a warm smile. "Personally? I thought it was fantastic. You've got some serious chops, man."

Then his eyes hardened slightly, a ghost of Fletcher flickering across his face. "But Fletcher? He'd probably say something like, 'If that's your idea of keeping time, no wonder you're always rushing or dragging. My grandmother could play with more precision, and she's been dead for 20 years.'"

Lucas couldn't help but laugh, both impressed and slightly unnerved by how quickly J.K. could slip in and out of character.

J.K. looked at Lucas with a hint of concern. "Hope I didn't offend you there. It's just how the character of Fletcher thinks."

Lucas laughed softly, shaking his head. "It's fine. I know that's exactly how Fletcher would react."

J.K. nodded, then hesitated before continuing, "Speaking of which, Lucas, about the rehearsal..."

"Yeah?" Lucas encouraged, sensing J.K.'s unease.

J.K. took a deep breath. "You know there are scenes that involve literally humiliating Andrew, right? Like the slapping scene. Are you... are you okay with that?"

Lucas paused, noticing J.K.'s growing tension. He smiled reassuringly. "Of course it's fine. It's part of the story, part of the character. I'm all in."

J.K. nodded, but Lucas could tell he was still hesitant. It was clear J.K. was worried about potentially offending or hurting the "Hollywood golden boy."

Before they could discuss further, the production crew and other cast members arrived, ready to start the rehearsal. Damien got everyone into position, and Lucas took a deep breath, slipping into Andrew's skin.

As the scene began, J.K. transformed before Lucas's eyes, becoming the intimidating, ruthless Fletcher. The air in the room seemed to change, crackling with tension.

Damien called action, and Lucas felt himself shrink into Andrew's nervous, eager-to-please posture.

As the scene began, Lucas stood to the side, watching the band play under Fletcher's direction. J.K. embodied Fletcher perfectly, his posture rigid and his eyes sharp as he led the ensemble with strict precision.

When the original drummer was dismissed, Lucas took his place behind the drum set, a mix of excitement and nervousness playing across his face. J.K., still in character as Fletcher, approached him with an initially kind demeanor.

"Let's see what you've got, Neiman," J.K. said, his voice deceptively gentle.

As the band began to play, Lucas's face lit up with enthusiasm. However, J.K. quickly zeroed in on a slight mistake, his expression shifting instantly.

"Stop, stop!" J.K. barked, cutting off the music. He turned to Lucas, his eyes narrowing. "Did I just hear you drag?"

Lucas's face fell, embarrassment coloring his cheeks as he stammered, "I-I don't think so, sir."

J.K. leaned in, his voice low and menacing. "Oh, you don't think so? Well, I know so. Are you one of those single-tear people?"

Lucas flinched, looking genuinely intimidated. "N-no, sir."

J.K. raised his hand as if to slap Lucas, but at the last moment, his swing lost its force, barely grazing Lucas's cheek.

From behind the monitor, Damien frowned. The hesitation was clear, and as the scene continued, it became increasingly obvious that J.K. was pulling his punches, both literally and figuratively, when it came to Lucas.

As Damien was about to call it quits, Lucas spoke up, "Can we have another take?"

The crew paused, and they all gathered around to watch the replay. Lucas turned to J.K., his expression earnest. "Mr. Simmons, you don't have to hesitate around me."

J.K. looked sheepish, his kind nature shining through. "I just... I'm worried about accidentally hurting you or, God forbid, ruining that million-dollar face of yours."

Lucas couldn't help but chuckle. He placed a reassuring hand on J.K.'s shoulder. "Look, you don't have to worry about that. Even if I get hurt or you somehow manage to deform my face," he paused for effect, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I'll just sue the production and retire early."

The crew burst into laughter, the tension in the room dissipating. Even Damien cracked a smile.

Lucas continued, his tone more serious now, "But really, I'm here to make this film as authentic as possible. Don't hold back on my account. I can take it."

J.K. studied Lucas for a moment, then nodded, a newfound respect in his eyes. "Alright, kid. If you're sure. But don't come crying to me when you need plastic surgery."

Lucas grinned. "Deal. Now, shall we give it another shot?"

Damien, looking relieved, called out, "Alright, let's reset. Take it from the top!"

As everyone moved back into position, there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere. J.K. squared his shoulders, slipping back into Fletcher's skin, but this time with a glint of determination in his eye. Lucas, for his part, looked both nervous and excited.

The scene began anew, and this time, J.K. didn't hold back. His hand connected with Lucas's cheek with a resounding smack. "Is that your idea of being on time? If you want to be one of my top musicians, you have to earn it!"

Lucas's face contorted with genuine shock and humiliation. His eyes watered slightly as he stammered, "I-I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

As Lucas fumbled with the drums, clearly rattled, J.K. couldn't help but wonder if the young actor was truly acting or if he had genuinely humiliated him in front of everyone.

His hand connecting with Lucas's cheek again, but with less impact than intended.

When Damien called cut, J.K. immediately approached Lucas, concern etched on his face. "I'm so sorry, Lucas. Was that too much?"

Lucas chuckled, rubbing his cheek. "It's fine, really. Let's watch it back."

They gathered to watch the playback.

As they reviewed the footage, Damien and the crew noted the improvement in J.K.'s intensity, but it was clear there was still room for more.

Lucas wasn't satisfied. "Let's do it again," he insisted. Then, with a grin, he added, "And Mr. Simmons, don't be afraid to really let me have it this time."

The crew laughed, but there was an undercurrent of respect in their amusement. Here was Lucas Knight, Hollywood's golden boy, willingly subjecting himself to physical and emotional humiliation for the sake of his craft.

The rehearsal began again, and this time, J.K. fully embraced Fletcher's intensity. His hand connected with Lucas's cheek with a resounding smack that echoed through the room. Lucas stumbled, genuinely caught off guard by the force.

J.K., now fully in character, bore down on Lucas. "Is that the best you can do, you worthless little ingrate? My dead grandmother could keep better time than you!"

Despite being visibly shaken, Lucas stayed in character as Andrew. His voice trembled, but he managed to stammer out, "I-I'm sorry, sir. I'll do better. Please, give me another chance."

The crew and co-stars watched in stunned silence. J.K.'s transformation into Fletcher was so complete, so terrifying, that many felt a chill run down their spines. They knew J.K. was a kind man off-camera, but at that moment, he was the embodiment of their worst nightmares of an abusive teacher.

At the same time, their respect for Lucas grew exponentially. Despite being knocked off balance, both physically and emotionally, he didn't break character or complain. He took the intense berating and responded as Andrew would - terrified but desperate to prove himself.

Performing before them were no ordinary actors, but two who were willing to push themselves to the limit for their art.