Shaun Graham stared at the ground, his gaze slowly losing focus, sinking into deep torment, as if his world was falling apart.
"I'm sorry."
Since the accident, Shaun had apologized countless times, but the more he said it, the less sincere it felt. Even he didn't believe it anymore. One apology couldn't make up for his mistake—especially not when Anson's suffering was entirely because of him. Saying "sorry" felt utterly insignificant.
But what could he do?
Even if he gave up his own life, it still wouldn't be enough.
Staring quietly at the ground, his thoughts drifted away, sinking into an endless void, letting himself float in the darkness.
"…Shaun?"
A voice called out to him, like a thunderclap, pulling Shaun abruptly back to reality. His gut churned, but without time to think, his first instinct was to bow deeply.
"I'm sorry."
The words came out automatically.
Nora frowned in frustration. "Why are you apologizing? Anyone overhearing this would think I forced you to say that."
Shaun froze, quickly correcting himself, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't apologize so carelessly."
Nora felt her anger rise, but then she noticed Shaun's bandaged hands, with traces of blood seeping through. She realized—he was a craftsman, someone who relied on his hands for his livelihood.
But still, Nora didn't let her emotions soften easily. "I'm Anson's mother, Nora. Can you tell me what happened?"
She knew people like Shaun depended on their skills, and one accident or mistake could cost them their job. Anyone good enough to join the "Spider-Man 2" crew had to be highly skilled, so a mistake like this shouldn't happen, especially not such a serious one.
She needed the truth.
Nora understood that Lucas was likely investigating, but that didn't stop her from seeking answers herself.
Though anger burned inside her, it didn't cloud her judgment; instead, it sharpened her focus.
After Nora finished asking all her questions, she informed Shaun that Anson wanted to see him, but because Anson needed rest, their meeting couldn't be long.
Shaun stood at the hospital room door, his right hand on the handle, hesitating—
He didn't know how to face Anson. It seemed like all he could offer was another empty apology, and that thought filled him with despair.
Taking a deep breath and gathering his courage, Shaun finally pushed open the door.
Creak.
Inside, it was silent—so silent that the door's creaking felt unnaturally loud. Shaun tiptoed in, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would leap out of his throat.
On the bed, Anson lay peacefully with his eyes closed, as if he were lost in a dream.
Shaun grew more anxious. If Anson was asleep, should he leave? But Nora had said Anson wanted to talk to him—should he stay?
He was stuck, unsure of what to do.
"…I just confirmed, this isn't a morgue or an operating room."
A voice broke the silence, making Shaun jump in surprise, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest.
Looking toward the voice, he saw that Anson was awake, smiling at him.
"Sorry, I fell asleep waiting. I'm guessing my mom grilled you pretty hard, huh? How many rounds of interrogation have you been through today?"
Anson's tone was light, playful, with a touch of humor.
But Shaun couldn't smile. He tried to move his lips, but no sound came out. His mind was a mess, with no coherent thoughts.
So, Anson's words hung in the air awkwardly.
Anson understood.
In his past life, as a working man, Anson had experienced moments like this:
Sometimes he'd messed up, causing bad outcomes. Other times, even if it wasn't entirely his fault, his mishandling of a situation led to disaster. And sometimes, he was the scapegoat, taking the blame for others.
Everyone had responsibilities to bear. But once the mistake was made, the focus should shift to fixing the problem. Rather than endlessly harping on the mistake, it was better to face the crisis head-on—
If one could atone for their wrongs, that would be ideal. But if not, well, the reckoning of old and new debts together was always an option.
Besides, even if it wasn't Shaun, it could've been someone else. Anson still had filming to complete, meaning his life would remain in the hands of wire-riggers like Shaun.
They had to face this situation together.
So, when Anson saw Shaun, he immediately understood.
Anson smiled slightly. "You're not preparing to apologize again, are you?"
Startled, Shaun looked up at Anson.
Anson continued, "If apologies could fix everything, what would we need the police for?"
Shaun: "…"
Anson chuckled. "No reaction? 'Meteor Garden'? Did it not air in the States? Never mind. My point is, I don't need your apology. What's done is done. Apologies won't change anything."
Shaun's expression tightened.
"But I do need your help," Anson said, his tone shifting.
"First, I need you to cooperate with the investigation. We need to figure out the real cause and make sure this never happens again. We need to find the culprit."
"Second, I need you to gather a team—the wire-riggers and stunt coordinators—so we can pool our expertise. Let's see if we can come up with a safer method for filming, something that adds extra safety measures, instead of putting all the weight on your shoulders."
"I know work for stunt coordinators is getting harder to find. CGI is replacing what you do, and wire-riggers might eventually disappear entirely. You can't even find apprentices anymore."
"But I still believe that some directors will stick to traditional filming techniques. Your craft is still a unique art form in cinema, but we need to adapt it for modern times."
Shaun was dumbfounded—completely stunned.
Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?
He couldn't keep up with Anson's thoughts, his mouth slightly open, his shock unmistakable.
"Of course, it's not that you guys don't want to develop new techniques. It's just that you don't have the funds."
"Fine, before someone else gets hurt, I'm willing to sign a check. Let's do something meaningful. What do you think?"
Shaun felt like he was going crazy—completely crazy.
Anson hadn't blamed him. Not only that, but he was also offering to help.
How did this even happen?
Shaun, overwhelmed with confusion and fear, couldn't even muster a smile. "Anson… I'm sorry."
The words felt so hollow. His mind was racing with thoughts, but they all boiled down to that one feeble word, with no real power.
"I just…" Shaun stammered, staring blankly at Anson.
Without warning, Anson's expression darkened. "Do you think I'd lie here, lashing out in rage, wallowing in self-pity, and venting my anger at everyone around me, wishing I could sacrifice you to make it all better?"
"Or do you think that one mistake on your part, getting yelled at, sued, and losing everything would somehow make me feel any better?"