The Last Frame

The Pratunam's Prince (2/2)

POV Film - Part 2

My legs started shaking again.

"The devil drinks Cold Brew..." I muttered to myself. "Great. I hope he likes cheap Cha Yen (Thai iced tea) too."

I took the first step toward the door. No turning back.

I took a second step, reading the sign on the CEO's door more clearly. My stomach felt tied in knots. But before I could take the third step to open that door, a hand covered in large rings grabbed the collar of my 'Executive Beige' shirt from behind.

I was yanked backward with incredible force.

"Ui-ui-ui! Where do you think you're going, jha?" Jae Soda whispered, still gripping my collar tight.

"To a meeting, Krap..." I answered stuttering. "Khun Thorn..."

"Khun Thorn will eat you alive if you go in there looking like a panda that fell down a chimney." She pointed at the black soot smudge on my collar and my wrecked hair.

She looked into her bag.

"What do you think, Lucky? We have to help, right? Think of it as accumulating Bun (merit)... very heavy merit if we help with this job."

She pressed the doll to her ear, nodded seriously, and sighed.

"Okay. Lucky says if you get rejected, the energy of this floor will turn gloomy and ruin Jae's Feng Shui too. Follow me."

Without waiting for a reply, she dragged me along. Not toward the exit, but toward a polished wood side door.

I glanced at the sign on the door. The icon was unmistakable: a female silhouette wearing a skirt.

"Jae Krap!" I braked on the marble floor, almost sliding. "Are you crazy? This is the ladies' room! I'll be arrested before I even get hired!"

Jae Soda didn't even slow down. She used her stiletto heel to kick the door open with a loud Bang!

"Oiy, kid, don't be dramatic." She pushed me inside, into a room filled with the scent of lavender and mirrors with gold frames. "A bathroom is just tiles and drainage pipes. Jae's art has no gender, Golden Boy. Now, shut up."

Luckily, the restroom was empty. She shoved me in front of a giant mirror, and I was nearly shocked by my own reflection.

Jae was right. I really did look like a panda. The cheap mascara I'd used to make my eyebrows look thicker had run because of the sweat from the motorcycle ride, and my hair was defying gravity in all the wrong directions.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing to a small velvet chair.

"But..."

"Nang loei! (Sit now!)" She and the doll seemed to shout in unison (even though the doll stayed silent, I swear I saw its expression change).

I sat down. Jae Soda opened her magic bag. Out came wet wipes, a powder compact, a small comb, and a can of hairspray that looked like a chemical weapon.

"Close your eyes and shut your mouth."

Then she began her assault.

Starting with cold wipes on my neck, she scrubbed off the motorcycle soot with painful efficiency. Then she patted powder onto my face to erase the shine from the sweat.

"Your pores are decent enough for makeup," she critiqued in a professional tone while pressing the puff onto my forehead. "But these dark circles... don't you sleep, jha?"

"I... sometimes I film videos until 4 AM, Krap," I mumbled with my eyes closed.

"Hmm, night energy. Terrible for the skin."

I felt the comb detangling my hair. She pulled, smoothed, and styled.

"A tip for meeting Khun Thorn," she said while applying hairspray in precise, short bursts. "Don't make him feel like you need him. He's a predator, jha. If he smells fear or poverty, he'll pounce. You have to walk in there like the world owes you a favor."

"But I'm scared out of my mind, Krap," I confessed.

"Then act!" She stopped, tilted my chin up, and turned my face to the light. "Isn't that why you're here? Pretend to be a bored prince who intended to come buy this building and is already thinking about changing his office wallpaper. Not a young man whose entire wardrobe isn't worth the watch he's wearing."

She stepped back and packed everything into her bag with lightning speed.

"All done. Open your eyes."

I opened them.

The boy in the mirror was still me, but in the "HD" version. My skin looked flawless. My hair was styled into a luxurious pompadour (and held as still as plaster by that spray), and the smudge on my shirt was almost gone. I looked... expensive. Or at least like a premium-grade copy.

"Wow..." I blurted out. "Thank you, Jae Soda."

She shrugged, adjusting her kimono.

"Don't thank Jae. Thank Lucky over there. And if you ever get famous, remember who saved your face before the contract signing. Jae accepts payment in brand-name bags, or just offers plenty of Nam Dang (red soda) to Lucky. That's enough."

She pointed to the door.

"Now get out, before someone comes in to pee, and we have to explain this is performance art. Go!"

I staggered out of the bathroom, feeling like a new person but confused at the same time.

I returned to the main hallway. The CEO's door was still there, looking just as intimidating as before. But now, with my perfectly set hair and the powder soaking up my nervous sweat, I felt my chances of a heart attack drop by at least 5 percent.

I took a deep breath, remembering the advice of the witch in the restroom.

"A bored prince who came to buy the building."

I straightened my back, adjusted my collar, and pushed those double doors open.

The room was freezing. That was the first thing I felt. Colder than the hallway. Colder than the North Pole.

A giant glass desk stood imposing in the center. Behind the desk, with a panoramic view of Bangkok as a backdrop, was the man.

Krit Assavarat... or 'Thorn.'

He didn't look up when I walked in. He remained focused, signing documents with a pen that looked heavy and expensive.

"Wrong bathroom? Or did you sneak off to touch up your face?" he asked coldly, his hand never stopping. "You're four minutes late."

I froze. My 'bored prince' persona wavered instantly.

"I... there was a technical difficulty with the lift, Khun Thorn."

Finally, Thorn stopped. He dropped the pen onto the glass desk; the sound echoed through the silent room. He looked up, and those dark eyes pierced right through me. He scanned me—perfectly styled hair, flawless skin—and stopped at my eyes.

"Technical difficulty..." he repeated with a condescending smirk. "Jae Soda got her hands on you, didn't she? I can smell her hairspray from here."

He gestured toward the empty leather chair in front of him.

"Sit down, Passakorn. Let's see if your talent can withstand a close-up without an internet filter."

I obeyed, walking to the chair like I was heading to an executioner's block. But before I could sit, a side door—one I hadn't noticed at first—opened.

"Did you call me, Khun Thorn?"

That voice was so familiar... calm, deep, and controlled.

I whipped my head around.

A man was standing there. He wore thin-rimmed glasses, a plain black T-shirt, and had the expression of someone who hadn't smiled since 2019. He held a tablet like a shield.

My brain short-circuited for a moment... I had heard a voice just like this before.

The man looked at me. For a split second, I saw a spark of recognition—or was it panic?—in his eyes. But it vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of cold professionalism.

"Ah, Frame," Thorn said, leaning back in his chair like a satisfied emperor. "Come in. I want you to meet our new project."

I looked back and forth between Thorn and the man named 'Frame.'

My cheap freelance editor... was an associate of the CEO of Apex?

I felt like the marble floor beneath my feet had vanished. How did I manage to get contact at this high-level?

"Sawasdee Krap," Frame said. His tone was calculated, but not unkind.

"Sawasdee Krap," I replied.

I reached out to shake his hand. His hand was freezing. He gripped it firmly and professionally, a stark contrast to my palm, which was now damp with nervous sweat.

"Frame..." I repeated his name softly. "So you're the one my friend knows..."

"I am..." He paused for a moment before continuing. "The Chief Editor of Apex." He answered without further confirmation, letting go of my hand and sliding into the chair next to me without meeting my eyes again. He was acting strange. How did P'Take describe me to him?

I felt my face flush.

I'd have to settle this with P'Take later. Did he secretly send videos of me in my pajamas, without makeup, singing off-key during outtakes to this guy?

"Do you two know each other?" Thorn's voice sliced through the air, sharp as a razor blade.

Frame was about to speak, but I was faster.

"I know a friend of his, the one who edits for my channel."

Finally, Frame looked at me. Behind his glasses, his eyes narrowed slightly... Play along, right?

"Yes... exactly that," Frame said, turning back to his boss. "I've seen... most of his videos... already."

Thorn looked satisfied, or perhaps he was just too lazy to pry further. I hid a small smile, knowing a big name in the industry had watched my videos. P'Take, oh P'Take... your contacts are truly top-tier. Thorn swiveled his chair and picked up a remote, pointing it at the giant screen on the wall.

"Very well. Now that introductions are finished, let's get to the point. Passakorn, look at this."

The screen flickered to life.

It was my YouTube channel. But seeing it here, in a room filled with glass and steel, projected in 8K resolution... my videos looked a bit... shoddy.

Thorn played one of my most popular shorts: "When the neighbor steals the Wi-Fi." On the screen was me, dressed as 'Pa p**n,' wearing a neon pink floral dress, messy lipstick, a shower cap, and screaming at someone while holding a pot.

The voice echoed through the pristine room. My high-pitched, affected screeching sounded incredibly ear-piercing.

Thorn watched with a blank expression, while Frame looked down at his tablet, refusing to look at the screen.

I wanted to die. I wanted to dig a hole in this Italian marble and bury myself along with Jae Soda's doll once and for all.

"Funny," Thorn said, with no humor in his voice. He paused the video exactly on a frame where I was making a hideous face. "For an audience buying instant noodles at 7-Eleven at three in the morning, this is gold. But for Apex? There's a lot of work to do."

He turned to me.

"You have a talent for comedic timing, Passakorn. But your personal image is a mess. You sell low-brow humor, which works to an extent. But Apex sells Desire. No one wants to get involved with Pa p**n, right?"

That statement hit the mark so hard I almost choked on my own saliva.

"I... I can play many roles, Khun Thorn. I can do drama, and..."

"Is that so?" Thorn raised an eyebrow. "Frame, show him."

Frame sighed. He tapped his tablet screen, and the image on the TV changed.

It wasn't Pa p**n anymore.

It was the video from last night. The one I filmed in my bedroom pretending to be dumped by a boyfriend. But... it wasn't the same video I had sent.

The yellow light of my bedroom had been color-graded into melancholic blue and grey tones that felt heart-wrenchingly lonely. The sound of the fan in the background was gone, replaced by a heavy silence and a barely audible, soft piano melody.

On the screen, that person didn't look like me at all.

My eyes sparkled with a deep, soulful sadness. The editing had removed the shaky breaths of my nervousness, leaving only pure emotion. The slow zoom on my face as I ate rice through my tears transformed a pathetic scene into a piece of cinematic art.

I looked handsome... no... more than that. I looked... Fragile. Like someone you wanted to pull into a hug and protect from the whole world.

My mouth hung open. I turned to look at Frame. He was intently wiping a non-existent smudge off his tablet screen.

"Is... is this me?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"This is what Frame sees," Thorn corrected. "And this is what I want to sell... 'The Lost Boy.' The boyfriend who needs saving. That is Apex."

Thorn turned off the screen, returning to the room to silence. He slid a black leather folder across the glass desk. It stopped perfectly in front of me.

"This is a five-year exclusive contract, Passakorn. Everything we will do to remodel you is included, with no deductions from your base pay."

I opened the folder. The numbers on the first page made my vision blur. The salary listed was more than the profit Yai made from selling coffee over two years—and that didn't even include the percentages from various advertisements.

It was salvation. It was the money to renovate the shop for Ta and Yai. It was the air conditioning for my bedroom. It was financial freedom.

"What's the trap?" I looked up and asked. Jae Soda had warned me... the devil always demands a price.

"Smart kid." Thorn smiled at Frame, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Clause 4.2," Thorn replied, leaning back in his chair. "Total control over image rights."

Frame cleared his throat and read the text aloud, sounding like a judge delivering a verdict.

"The Artist agrees to grant the Company absolute authority over all social media, public appearances, and the selection of appropriate branding. All previous content deemed inconsistent with the new image direction must be permanently deleted or archived."

A chill ran down my spine.

"Delete?" I looked at Thorn. "You want me to delete my channel? The work I've done for five years? Those five hundred thousand followers?"

"Followers who love a clown?" Thorn said coldly. "You should know your numbers... every time 'Pa p**n' disappears, your numbers drop. But how far do you think Pa p**n can take you? I'll give it one more year before people get bored. It's starting to plateau. It's hard to write scripts that are different. Everything will start to look repetitive... We will migrate your fan base to a new official channel when you debut. A channel that looks more luxurious, more professional. But as for 'Pa p**n'? She must die today. You cannot be the 'National Prince' and the 'Gossipy Neighborhood Auntie' at the same time. The internet is never merciful, and brands like Chanel don't sponsor comedians who wear feather dusters or shower caps on their heads."

I looked down at the contract, then up at Frame.

In my heart, I wanted the person sitting there not to be him, but his friend... my friend named 'Take.' I wanted Take was there to say: "No, Khun Thorn. Comedy is his soul."

Frame looked up and met my eyes. Behind those glasses, his gaze was unreadable. It might have been pity, or perhaps boredom. He took a deep breath; I could see it.

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Film," Frame said softly. "Few people ever get the chance to expand their horizons like this... to 'rewrite' themselves."

Rewrite... So, all this time, I was just a sketch?

I thought of Yai Mon shouting for ice. I thought of the crowded buses without AC. I thought of the stack of electricity bills sitting on top of the fridge.

Dignity in art and freedom of thought are valuable... but unfortunately, they don't pay off those debts.

I picked up Thorn's heavy pen. The metal felt freezing.

"Goodbye, Pa p**n," I whispered.

I signed my real first and last name: Passakorn Satcha.

The sound of the pen scratching against the paper was the loudest sound in the room.

Thorn smiled. This time, it was a real smile... the smile of a successful predator.

"Welcome to Apex, Nong Film." He gathered the folder back immediately, as if afraid I'd change my mind. "Later, Manow, your personal Marketing Manager, will take your passwords to handle everything. Frame will arrange the practice room schedule with your partner tomorrow."

"Partner?" I asked, confused.

"Yes. You didn't think you'd be shining alone, did you?" Thorn stood up, a signal that the meeting was over. "Every light needs a shadow. Or in your case... you need a bigger spotlight to help draw out your aura."

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Frame stood up as well.

"Follow me," he said in a soft voice... did he sound nervous? "I'll take you where you need to go."

I walked out of the room behind Frame. My legs felt heavy as lead. The door closed behind us, cutting off the arctic cold of Thorn's office.

We walked down the quiet, carpeted hallway. When we were far enough away from the boss's room, Frame stopped. He didn't turn to look at me, but kept staring at the end of the hallway.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice warming slightly.

"Sorry? About what, P'Frame?"

He blushed slightly. I didn't understand why.

"Nothing... just... about your channel."

"It's okay... actually, Khun Thorn was right. The scriptwriting was getting harder and harder. Like I've said it all, done it all..." I sighed. "But I think I'll miss being able to do crazy things."

He gave a small smile and finally turned around. Without Thorn there, his shoulders looked much more relaxed.

"The partner Thorn chose for you... is... he's experienced. Technically, he's a very good actor... but he doesn't have your 'Sauce' for ad-libbing. So, try to understand the scripts sent to you well."

"Who is he?" I asked.

Frame adjusted his glasses. In his eyes, there was a warning that went unspoken.

"His name is Light. I don't know how he'll treat you. I don't think he'll be mean, but then again... what goes on inside actors' heads isn't exactly my specialty... Just don't let him 'erase' your identity, that's all..."

Before I could ask what he meant, he glanced at the clock on his tablet and started walking again.

"Let's go. Those two have an appointment in twenty minutes. And I have to finish erasing five years of your life from the internet before dinner."

I followed him, analyzing everything that had happened since I stepped into this building. It all happened at the speed of light. I felt a bit annoyed at P'Take. His friend Frame is a 'big deal' at Apex—knows the owner, has a look that seems expensive, even if he's quiet and stoic.

But now I had a strange feeling... a feeling that told me the hardest part wasn't killing 'Pa p**n,' but surviving someone named "Light."