Extra's Rise In Hollywood: I Can Gain Character Skills-Chapter 27: Skill: Advanced Teaching

Liam took a deep breath as he stepped into the high school classroom set. The room was perfectly styled to resemble a real classroom: rows of wooden desks with slightly scuffed surfaces, posters of scientific formulas and motivational quotes plastered on the walls, and a dusty chalkboard at the front. The artificial lighting mimicked the bright overhead fluorescents you’d find in any typical school.

He stood in front of the class, clutching a small stack of papers meant to resemble a lesson plan. The other actors, playing high school students, were scattered across the desks. Some slouched lazily, others tapped away on imaginary phones or scribbled on pretend notebooks, already getting into their roles.

Liam adjusted his tie and looked out at the group, a faint flicker of nervous energy running through him. This wasn’t just about playing a role—it was about proving he could handle it.

Aiden Foster, the director, stood behind the camera with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on the scene. His instructions had been simple: bring the substitute teacher to life. Liam had to exude the awkward authority of someone walking into a chaotic high school class for the first time.

"Alright, everyone!" Aiden’s voice cut through the chatter on set. "Positions! And... action!"

The room instantly fell silent, and the soft hum of the cameras came alive. Liam shifted his weight and took a deep breath. This was it. Showtime.

He stepped up to the desk at the front of the classroom, placing the stack of papers down. "Good morning, class," he began, his voice steady but slightly hesitant. "I’m Mr. Anderson, your substitute teacher for today."

The "students" exchanged knowing looks, their faces lighting up with mischievous grins. A few leaned toward each other, whispering and snickering. It was exactly what Liam expected—substitute teachers never got any respect.

One boy, lounging with his chair tipped precariously back, muttered just loud enough for Liam to hear, "Great, another babysitter." His friends chuckled under their breath.

A girl sitting near the window rolled her eyes dramatically. "I bet he doesn’t even know what he’s teaching," she said, smirking at her neighbor.

Liam ignored the comments, keeping his composure. He glanced at the "lesson plan" in front of him, flipping through the pages for effect. "Alright, settle down," he said, his tone calm but firm. "We have a lot to get through today, so let’s not waste time."

The snickering continued for a moment, but Liam didn’t flinch. He walked around the front of the room, exuding a quiet confidence that seemed to catch some of the "students" off guard. He picked up a piece of chalk and began writing on the board, his movements steady and deliberate.

[Skill: Advanced Teaching]

[Ability Status: 20%]

As the scene continued, Liam found himself slipping deeper into the role. The initial nervousness he’d felt melted away, replaced by a surprising sense of focus and control. He turned back to the class, gesturing toward the board where he’d written a simple math equation.

"Can anyone solve this for me?" he asked, scanning the room.

The students didn’t answer immediately, some still trying to test his patience with smirks and side conversations. Liam stayed calm, letting the silence stretch just long enough to create a subtle tension in the air.

Finally, one of the "students" raised their hand, clearly playing along. Liam smiled slightly, nodding at them. "Go ahead."

The student stumbled through an answer, deliberately getting it wrong. The class erupted in laughter, but Liam didn’t miss a beat. "Close, but not quite," he said smoothly, turning back to the board. "Here’s where you went wrong."

He broke down the solution step by step, his voice steady and confident. As he spoke, Liam felt an odd sense of clarity wash over him. The words flowed naturally, his explanation concise and engaging. He caught glimpses of the "students" actually paying attention now, their feigned disinterest giving way to genuine curiosity.

[Skill: Advanced Teaching]

[Ability Status: 36%]

The host will receive bonus experience based on performance.

Liam’s mind briefly registered the notification, but he didn’t let it distract him. He was in the zone now, fully immersed in the role. He turned back to the class, meeting their eyes with a newfound confidence.

"See how simple that is once you break it down?" he asked, gesturing toward the board. "It’s not about memorizing formulas—it’s about understanding the process."

For a moment, the classroom was silent, the students appearing genuinely engaged. Even the ones who’d been the most disruptive earlier seemed to lean forward slightly, their attention caught by his explanation.

"Cut!" Aiden’s voice rang out, breaking the moment. The hum of the cameras stopped, and the room erupted into motion as the crew began preparing for the next take.

Liam blinked, snapping out of the role as reality came rushing back. He glanced at Aiden, who was walking toward him with a clipboard in hand. The director’s expression was calm but approving.

"Not bad, West," Aiden said, his tone even. "You handled that well. Felt natural."

Liam nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks," he said, his voice steady but still laced with the excitement bubbling inside of him at the gain of a new skill

Aiden gave him a quick nod before turning to give instructions to the crew.

...

Next scene.

Chapter 37

The classroom was bathed in a warm orange glow as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the desks. Liam, in character as Mr. Anderson, stood at the teacher’s desk, his back to the chalkboard. The once-chaotic classroom was now eerily quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves outside the window. The day’s energy had finally settled, but the weight of it lingered in the air.

Anderson sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. His shoulders sagged slightly as he looked out the window at the setting sun. "It’s truly hard being a teacher," he muttered to himself, his voice low but filled with emotion. He stared at the empty rows of desks, his gaze pensive, as if each one carried the memory of a student’s presence.

Pausing for a moment, he leaned against the desk, his fingers drumming lightly on the surface. "The classroom is a stage, but the audience is untrained," he murmured, almost poetically. "They don’t yet know the weight of their words or the value of what they’re being taught. And yet... they teach me as much as I teach them."

For a moment, Anderson allowed himself a small smile—an ironic one, full of both frustration and admiration. He exhaled, straightened up, and began packing his things: the "lesson plan," his pens, and the stack of papers he had barely touched.

Sliding his bag over his shoulder, he cast one last glance at the classroom. The sunlight bathed everything in a nostalgic hue, like a fleeting memory frozen in time. "What a strange profession," he said softly to himself. "You give so much, expecting nothing in return. And yet, you keep coming back."

As Anderson stepped out of the classroom, the faint creak of the door echoed down the empty hallway. He walked with an unhurried pace, his footsteps soft against the tiled floor. The school was mostly empty now, the muffled sounds of distant conversations barely audible. By the time he stepped outside, the cool evening air greeted him, tinged with the faint smell of autumn leaves.

His bike was leaning against the school’s outer wall, exactly where he had left it. Anderson walked over, unfastened the chain, and hopped on, adjusting his balance as he began pedaling down the street.

The ride was peaceful at first. The golden-orange glow of the setting sun stretched over the quiet neighborhood, casting soft light on the rows of houses and small shops. Anderson’s thoughts drifted as he pedaled, reflecting on the day. It had been tiring, but not without its moments of fulfillment.

As he turned a corner, passing by a narrow alleyway, a faint noise made him slow down instinctively. His brows furrowed as he strained to hear. Faint laughter echoed from the alley—a harsh, mocking sound that sent a chill down his spine. He stopped his bike and turned his head toward the sound.

What’s going on? Anderson thought, his grip tightening on the handlebars. He reversed his bike slightly, peering into the dimly lit alley. His heart sank when he saw what was happening.

Three boys stood in a loose circle around another boy, who was crouched against the wall. The smaller boy’s head was down, his shoulders trembling slightly as the other boys taunted him.

"Hahaha, you’re such a loser," one of the bullies sneered, shoving the smaller boy lightly but enough to make him flinch.

"Yeah, maybe if you weren’t so pathetic, people would actually like you," another chimed in, his tone dripping with cruelty.

Anderson’s jaw tightened as he recognized their faces. These kids are from my class, he realized, his stomach sinking. The bullies, who had spent most of the day ignoring his instructions, were now throwing their weight around. He frowned deeply, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. Quietly, he began recording the scene, angling his phone carefully to capture the boys’ faces and actions without drawing attention to himself.

After a few seconds, Anderson slipped the phone back into his pocket. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and rode his bike closer to the alley. Stepping off, he called out firmly, "Hey! Stop it!"

The boys froze at the sudden interruption, their heads snapping toward the sound of his voice. For a moment, there was silence as they processed who had spoken. Then one of them sneered, recognizing him. "Oh, it’s the substitute teacher," he said, his tone dripping with disdain.

Another boy smirked, crossing his arms. "What’s he gonna do? He’s not even a real teacher. He won’t be here tomorrow."

The group laughed, but their confidence seemed slightly shaken by Anderson’s presence. He walked toward them slowly, his expression calm but unyielding.

"I don’t care if I’m not going to be here tomorrow," Anderson said, his voice firm but measured. "What I care about is what I’m seeing right now. Bullying someone because you think it makes you stronger doesn’t make you strong—it makes you weak."

The smaller boy, still crouched against the wall, looked up at Anderson, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and relief.

One of the bullies stepped forward, attempting to mask his unease with bravado. "What are you gonna do about it? Call our parents?"

Anderson stared at him, unflinching. "Maybe," he said simply, his tone calm but with an edge that hinted at more. "Or maybe I’ll show this video to the principal. How do you think she’ll feel about seeing you guys picking on someone after hours?"

The boy’s smirk faltered, his confidence visibly wavering. "You wouldn’t."

Anderson raised an eyebrow. "Try me," he said, his voice even but firm.

The group exchanged nervous glances before finally stepping back. One of them muttered under his breath, "Whatever, this is boring anyway." Without another word, they walked past Anderson, shoving their hands into their pockets as they disappeared down the street.

Anderson turned to the smaller boy, who was still sitting against the wall. "You okay?" he asked, his tone softer now.

The boy nodded hesitantly, wiping at his eyes. "Yeah... thanks," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Anderson crouched down to his level, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "You don’t have to thank me. Just remember—you’re worth more than whatever they were saying. Don’t let them get to you."

The boy nodded again, his expression slowly relaxing.

Anderson crouched down slightly to meet the young boy’s gaze, his tone soft but calm. "Do you have a phone, John?" he asked gently.

The boy blinked up at him, his expression caught between surprise and embarrassment. "You... you remember my name?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.