"I heard your movie didn't go over so well with the review board. If you ask me, it's because the action scenes weren't exciting enough. Luke could help you with that," Director Cohen said straight to the point.
"I've seen the promo clip Luke did for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. His sword work was incredible—but I don't think it really fits my film," Director Johnston replied hesitantly.
"You probably don't know this," Cohen continued enthusiastically, "but Luke isn't just good with swords—he's an all-out, high-intensity action actor, kind of like Jackie Chan. Imagine him running through the jungle and ruins while being chased by dinosaurs—that'd be thrilling to watch!"
"You've got a point," Johnston admitted. "That could really add something to the film. Can I hire Luke as my stunt coordinator?"
The moment Johnston said that, Luke instantly sensed that his earlier fears had come true.
He still didn't want to give Luke a real chance.
"Are you kidding me? Luke doesn't need a stunt coordinator's paycheck," Cohen said sharply, his face darkening. "I want you to give him a real role—something meaningful—not just a behind-the-scenes job."
"I like Luke too," Johnston said carefully, "but I really don't see how I can use him."
"What's that supposed to mean? Are you a racist too? Do you also think actors don't deserve to be leads in Hollywood?" Cohen snapped, furious.
"Damn it! That's not it at all," Johnston shot back. "But audiences won't buy a lead. My movie's already on thin ice—I can't afford to make things worse!"
"You…"
Cohen wanted to argue more, but the words got stuck in his throat.
Johnston's concern wasn't baseless. Jurassic Park III already had low expectations from the public. If he replaced the lead with a actor, the project might just crash completely.
As a director, he was responsible upward to the studio and investors, and downward to the crew. He couldn't afford to take that kind of risk.
Cohen sighed heavily, ready to give up persuading him.
"Luke, looks like tonight's not our lucky night," he said, turning toward Luke—only to find him laughing loudly.
"Hahaha…"
"Luke, what's so funny? Are you okay?" Cohen asked, concerned.
"Is something funny here?" Johnston said, annoyed.
"I'm laughing at how naïve some people can be," Luke said, his tone cutting. "They're already staring at failure, about to throw their careers away, and they're still hesitating. Tell me—if that's not funny, what is?"
"Luke, don't say things like that," Cohen warned.
"I think you know exactly what I mean, Director Johnston," Luke said confidently.
Johnston's face alternated between pale and flushed. He was clearly struggling inside.
"He's got no way out," Luke thought. "If he doesn't work with us, Hollywood's going to chew him up and spit him out."
And that last jab hit home.
After a long pause, Johnston finally said, "Kid, you're right. I've got nowhere else to go. So what do you think I should do?"
Hearing that, Luke knew he'd finally cracked him.
As someone who had lived this life before, Luke knew Johnston's background well.
He'd started as a special effects artist, working under George Lucas on Star Wars as a concept designer and SFX artist.
Later, he'd won an Oscar for Best Visual Effects for Spielberg's Raiders of the Lost Ark.
But as a director who'd come into the field late, he knew how rare opportunities were—and how much he needed success to prove himself.
If he failed now, no studio would give him another big chance.
In Luke's memory of the future, after Jurassic Park III flopped, Johnston didn't recover for over a decade. It wasn't until Captain America: The First Avenger that he finally got another shot at directing a blockbuster.
So Luke understood his deepest fear: he couldn't afford to lose.
To convince him, persuasion wasn't the way—provocation was.
Cohen's approach had been to show Johnston the benefits of hiring Luke.
But Johnston was too cautious. He'd rather give up those benefits than risk alienating his audience.
Luke flipped the script—he went straight for Johnston's fear. Fear is always stronger than greed.
Because that's human nature: the fear of losing something outweighs the joy of gaining it.
"So how do I turn this around?" Johnston asked again when Luke didn't answer right away.
"If we do two things," Luke said firmly, "this movie can still be saved."
He'd already started calling Jurassic Park III "our movie."
"I'm listening."
"First," Luke began, "we need to give the film a real moral core—and strengthen the character development."
"What kind of core are we talking about?" Johnston asked.
"The harmony and coexistence between species," Luke explained. "If we've already created the dinosaurs and we're not going to destroy them, then learning how to coexist with them becomes inevitable.
"We should use the film to explore how different species—and races—can benefit from and coexist with one another. That's why the cast shouldn't just be white; it should include Black and Asian characters as well."
Sure, part of this was Luke arguing for his own inclusion—but it also happened to align perfectly with modern Western values and social ideals.
"And the second point?" Johnston pressed.
"The second," Luke said confidently, "is that I'll personally design the dinosaur chase sequence. To make it exciting, the escape can't just be random running—it needs clever use of the environment."
"All right," Johnston said after a pause. "Give me your detailed plan. If it convinces me, the lead role is yours."
"I won't let you down," Luke said, smiling. "Just wait for my good news."
At last, he let out a deep breath. He'd cleared two major hurdles tonight.
He finally had a foothold in Hollywood.
For many filmmakers, after making it big at home, breaking into Hollywood was the ultimate dream.
And honestly, it was hard to blame them. Especially around the year 2000, when the country still had a strong sense of Western superiority.
Even by 2024, the cultural dominance of the West hadn't really changed.
No matter how successful you were in Asia, you'd still only be called an "Asian star."
But if you made it in Hollywood—you'd be called a global superstar.
Coming back home after that would be like descending from the heavens—instant fame and universal praise.
A total power shift.
So why didn't more people try?
Because it was just too damn hard.
Tonight, through his battle of wits with two white directors, Luke had experienced firsthand how difficult it really was for an Asian actor to break into Hollywood.
Now, all he needed was a solid, workable plan—and he'd finally cross that last, hardest step.
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