Screen Actors Guild

On a spring morning, the sunlight in Los Angeles was warm and gentle, driving away the chill of early spring.

Henry drove with the window open, one arm hanging casually out of it as he leisurely soaked up the refreshing spring sunshine.

Although Los Angeles was a busy metropolis, traffic was fairly smooth as long as it was not yet rush hour. That was why Henry could drive at such a relaxed pace toward the Screen Actors Guild.

Cafés and fast-food restaurants that sold breakfast were not open that early. If he wanted breakfast at this hour, he could only look for street vendors.

Though Henry had only been in Los Angeles for a little over three months, his Kryptonian dog nose—more sensitive than any animal's—combined with his own initiative, had allowed him to memorize most of the city's good places to eat and have fun.

Street vendors were not to be underestimated. Just like the snacks at night markets back home, some truly outstanding food could occasionally be hidden in these humble stalls.

These elderly illegal immigrants, who might not have American citizenship or green cards, perhaps had a few treasured tricks from their homelands that would make people want another bite after the first.

Henry did not mind supporting people like that. As long as the food tasted good, that was all that mattered.

As for whether it was sanitary... all that could be said was that a Kryptonian's stomach was a mystical thing.

As long as Henry did not see anything revolting, he could even drink Ganges River water.

But if he saw something inhumane, then even if the E. coli levels were within limits, he could still end up vomiting and having diarrhea for days.

It was purely a case of psychology affecting physiology.

Of course, any place Henry considered worth visiting regularly would definitely not have anything nauseating going on, and its flavor was guaranteed as well.

When circumstances allowed, there could be no compromise when it came to food. It was the last shred of stubbornness carved into his bones.

Take the spicy Mexican burrito in his hand, for example. In a country that did not favor spicy food, it was a single flash of red amid endless green.

It was not as if Henry had never considered recreating the miracle of Sichuan flavors on this land, but even the cleverest housewife could not cook without rice. Without suitable ingredients, there was nothing he could do, even if he had the skill to stir-fry mapo tofu until a golden dragon appeared.

Breakfast consisted of three Mexican burritos. For a drink, he had stopped by a coffee shop run by an elderly Frenchman, where he could get estate-grade coffee that had not yet become fashionable. At the very least, it was far better than Starbucks or those chain coffee shops that served dishwater-grade swill.

Paul's coffee shop opened very early and offered breakfast as well. But for a classic French breakfast, there were only croissants and other kinds of bread to choose from, so Henry decisively chose something with meat.

Of course, Henry was not so tactless as to eat a burrito inside Paul's coffee shop, even if he was drinking Paul's coffee. It was better to do less of that sort of hate-inducing thing.

So he kept all of it in the car, driving, basking in the sun, and contentedly eating breakfast at the same time.

By the time he arrived at the Screen Actors Guild, there was still a little while before opening hours. Henry sat in his car, finished breakfast, and picked up a book by Shakespeare.

His Super Brain and heightened senses ensured that he read incredibly fast and would never fail to understand something—unless he came across a fallacy that was flawed to begin with.

But literary works sometimes needed to be savored slowly, chewing over the words and experiencing the feelings of the characters. Henry did not dislike things that had to be taken slowly.

When speed had become instinct, things that could make him slow down became all the more precious. That was also one reason Henry loved studying cooking, because while waiting for food to cook, none of his superpowers could help him.

Just as a little Shakespearean theater was playing out in his mind, a sharp series of knocks on glass interrupted his thoughts.

Since the car window was open, the person was actually knocking on the windshield directly in front of him. Henry easily saw who it was and said with a smile, "Ah, Marianne, it's you. Morning. Your makeup looks beautiful today. Is that Chanel NM?"

"Haha, wrong. It's N12. I searched forever to find a shade that suited me." The speaker was a middle-aged beauty with visible crow's feet, though she had maintained herself exceptionally well in every other respect.

Henry picked up an unopened cup of coffee from the passenger seat and handed it over. "Black coffee from old Paul's place. Sweetheart, I guarantee it'll keep you energized all day."

"Oh, that's wonderful. If I don't have a cup of black coffee in the morning, I really have no energy all day." Taking the cup, the glamorous middle-aged woman beamed. "Come on. You came early to see whether there are any new casting jobs too, right?"

Henry got out and followed Marianne. "Yeah. Were any new films approved yesterday? Any casting notices released?"

"Unfortunately, no new casting notices came in yesterday. But I heard all of the Big Eight Film Studios have some major productions in development. You could find a personal agent and have them ask around for you."

Marianne was a clerk at the Screen Actors Guild, helping process registration documents and casting materials sent over by production companies.

For Henry, who did not have a personal agent, she counted as someone close to him within the guild. All it took was a cup of coffee each time as payment.

Henry asked again, "Has no production team contacted me about the audition materials I submitted before?"

"What a shame, baby Henry. If a production team wanted to contact you for an audition, I would definitely notify you immediately. If you haven't received anything, then there wasn't anything." Marianne opened the guild doors while putting on an exaggerated expression that practically begged to be smacked.

Henry followed her in and glanced at the bulletin board in the lobby. Sure enough, it was no different from the notices posted yesterday.

It was not that Henry did not trust Marianne. The reason he had become familiar with her in the first place was because he came to check the bulletin board day after day. After she had taken the initiative to chat with him several times when she had nothing to do, they had gradually become acquainted.

Marianne habitually tidied the guild counter while checking her memo pad to see what appointments were scheduled for the day.

With that glance, she unexpectedly noticed something. "Huh? Little Henry, don't you have acting work today? Is it really okay for you to be wandering around the guild?"

Henry looked up at the clock and replied leisurely, "Today's an on-location street shoot, only a few blocks from here. No rush."

This was Henry's first experience joining a major production. But in truth, it was merely a B-movie with a budget of less than ten million, another thing headed straight for the video market.

Even so, its procedures were much more standardized. Even background actors like Henry had to stay with the production.

Today's shooting location was nearby, so he had conveniently parked his car at the Actors Guild. Otherwise, finding parking would have been another headache.

Though he was walking, Henry did not even use Super Speed. He simply headed toward the closed-off street at the pace of someone taking a stroll.