The audition room was in Soundstage 3. A few people were already waiting outside.
Raphael scanned the hallway and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Plenty of familiar faces.
In the corner sat Ewan McGregor, legs crossed, flipping through a magazine.
When he saw Raphael walk in, he paused, then grinned.
"Raphael? What are you doing here?"
Raphael walked over.
"Auditioning. What, only you're allowed?"
Ewan stood up and bumped fists with him.
"Aren't you still shooting Fast? I figured you weren't interested in this one."
"Fast is Fast. Pirates is Pirates."
Raphael smiled. "Good roles are never too many."
Ewan nodded and lowered his voice.
"Competition's pretty stiff. See that guy over there?"
He jerked his chin toward a man in a dark blue suit. "Jude Law. And that one — Tobey Maguire."
Raphael followed his gaze.
Jude Law sat by the window, legs crossed, coffee in hand, expression calm and unreadable.
Tobey Maguire sat on the other side, head down reading the script, occasionally looking up and smiling shyly at passing crew members — exactly the vibe of his character.
Raphael almost laughed. The kid really did look like the perfect awkward everyman.
"Anyone else?"
Ewan shrugged.
"Heard Orlando Bloom was supposed to come, but he got food poisoning yesterday and got rushed to the hospital. No way he's making it today."
Raphael raised an eyebrow.
Orlando Bloom — the original Will Turner.
Food poisoning?
That excuse felt… convenient.
Looked like the "great cosmic will" was at work again.
He didn't comment, just nodded.
"Then it's a fair fight."
Ewan laughed.
"Fair fight? You serious?"
"Why?"
"You forget how you destroyed me in the Star Wars dojo?"
Ewan kept his voice low, half teasing. "With your sword skills plus the exact vibe Jerry Bruckheimer eats up — you've got a damn good shot."
Raphael didn't reply, just smiled.
They chatted for a few more minutes until a production assistant opened the door.
"Raphael Lee, you're up."
Raphael stood, nodded at Ewan, and followed the assistant into the audition room.
The room was large. A long table sat at the front with five people behind it.
In the center was a silver-haired, commanding man — Jerry Bruckheimer, Hollywood's top producer and the driving force behind Pirates of the Caribbean.
To his left sat a bespectacled man — director Gore Verbinski.
To his right was a woman in her forties, the casting director.
Two other men Raphael didn't recognize — probably writers or producers.
"Raphael Lee."
Jerry Bruckheimer looked down at the sheet in front of him and read his name. "The Fast and the Furious, Star Wars Episode II, The Matrix Reloaded — you had a busy year."
Raphael nodded.
"Pretty good projects."
Bruckheimer looked up. His eyes were sharp, like a hawk's.
"Star Wars Episode II hasn't even come out yet, but I saw the sword footage."
He paused. "Bob Anderson's recommendation letter — I got it."
Raphael was surprised.
Bob Anderson — the old sword master from the Star Wars set.
He'd written a recommendation?
"Thank you," Raphael said.
Bruckheimer leaned back.
"Will Turner needs someone who can fight, but not too aggressively. He's a blacksmith, an ordinary man, not a warrior. He picks up a sword only because he has to — not because he wants to."
He stared at Raphael.
"Can you show me that feeling?"
Raphael didn't answer right away.
He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.
When he opened them again, his entire presence had changed.
He was no longer the "Skywalker" who had shocked the sword master on the Star Wars set.
He was a blacksmith.
A young man who had run a forge in Port Royal for years, hammering iron every day, occasionally looking up at the sea with something unspoken in his heart.
His shoulders relaxed slightly. His fingers curled naturally, as if still gripping a hammer. His gaze settled on an empty spot in the air — a mix of quiet longing, quiet worry, and quiet resolve.
"I'm Will Turner."
His voice was low, slightly rough.
"I grew up in Port Royal. Never left. I hammer iron every day — swords, knives, horseshoes. Sometimes I wonder what's on the other side of the sea."
He paused.
"But I know I don't belong there."
The room was silent for a few seconds.
Bruckheimer's eyes lit up.
Verbinski pushed his glasses up and leaned forward.
Raphael continued. His expression shifted from distant to a restrained determination.
"If someone threatens her — no matter who, no matter how many — I'll pick up the sword. Not to kill. To protect her."
When he said those words, his tone stayed soft, but every syllable landed like a nail in the air.
No killing intent — just simple, stubborn resolve.
The audition room stayed quiet.
Then Bruckheimer smiled.
He turned to Verbinski.
"What do you think?"
Verbinski adjusted his glasses.
"I think… everyone else can go home."
Raphael gave a small bow.
"Thank you."
He stepped out of the room and gently closed the door behind him.
In the hallway, several heads turned at once.
Ewan was the first to walk over.
"How'd it go?"
Raphael smiled.
"Wait for the call."
Ewan stared at him for a few seconds, then sighed.
"Alright, I get it. It's yours."
"Not confirmed yet."
"It is."
Ewan clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm good at reading people. Congratulations."
They chatted a little more until the door opened again.
"Ewan McGregor, you're up."
Ewan winked at Raphael and walked in.
Raphael stood in the hallway for a moment, about to leave, when Jude Law walked past without looking at him, footsteps quick, expression tight.
Tobey Maguire came over next, smiling shyly, and offered his hand.
"Raphael Lee? I'm Tobey Maguire."
Raphael shook it.
"Nice to meet you."
Tobey smiled.
"I caught a bit of your audition from the door. Really strong."
"Thank you."
Tobey nodded and walked away.
Raphael stayed where he was, watching his back disappear down the hallway.
Twenty minutes later, the assistant came out again.
"Raphael Lee, please come back in."
Raphael pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Bruckheimer stood up, walked around the table, and extended his hand.
"Will Turner is yours."
Raphael shook it firmly.
"Thank you."
Bruckheimer smiled.
"Don't thank me. You earned it."
Raphael didn't say anything, just smiled.
He remembered what Ewan had said earlier.
"Good roles are never too many."
---
When Raphael left Disney Studios, he checked the time — 11:30 a.m.
His flight was at 4 p.m. He still had a few hours to kill.
He called Jessica.
"Got it."
Her voice on the other end was full of joy.
"I knew it! Celebrate tonight?"
"Can't tonight. Gotta fly back to Miami."
"Okay. Be safe. Love you."
"Love you too."
---
At 4 p.m., the plane took off on time.
By 8:30 p.m., Raphael landed in Miami.
The crew sent a car to pick him up and take him straight back to the hotel.
The next morning, filming resumed.
The following days went back to normal.
Raphael showed up on set every day, ran lines with Paul, worked with the stunt team, and repeated the car chase scenes under Rob Cohen's direction.
Everything was the same as before.
The only difference?
He had Will Turner now.
---
Friday afternoon, Raphael had just finished a chase scene and was sitting in a folding chair drinking water.
Paul walked over and sat beside him.
"Heard you landed that pirate movie?"
Raphael turned to look at him.
"You've got good sources."
Paul grinned.
"Small town, big gossip. Your agent Ari called Neal last night. I was right there."
Raphael nodded and didn't say anything.
Paul suddenly spoke.
"Your character… he's a blacksmith?"
"Yeah."
"Like, actual blacksmithing?"
"Yeah."
Paul looked at him with a strange expression.
"Can you even blacksmith?"
Raphael paused, then laughed.
"No. I'll learn."
Paul laughed too.
"Honestly, I kinda want to see you hammering iron."
He stood up, patted Raphael's shoulder, and walked off.
Raphael leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
Learn blacksmithing?
In that dream world, he'd broken more swords than he could count.
Blacksmithing was nothing.
---
A few days later, in the afternoon, Raphael's phone rang.
It was Ari.
"Contract's here."
Ari sounded a little pissed. "Disney's."
Raphael leaned back in his chair.
"How much?"
"Three million."
Raphael stayed quiet. He knew Ari had more to say.
Ari kept going.
"Three million for the male co-lead. Depp got ten million. They used that to pressure me — 'Depp only got ten, three million for a newcomer is already generous.'"
His voice rose.
"Generous my ass! The Matrix two hundred grand was because the role was small. Fast thirty million was for two films back-to-back! Three million? They're treating us like beggars!"
Raphael waited until he finished.
"How much did you counter with?"
"Eight million."
"What did they say?"
Ari still sounded furious.
"They showed me Depp's contract!"
Raphael laughed softly.
"Ari, let me ask you something."
"What?"
"How many films do you think this series can make?"
Ari paused.
"This… depends on box office."
"If the first one hits, there'll be a second, a third."
Raphael said, "At that point, the salary won't be three million anymore."
Ari didn't speak.
Raphael continued.
"If you fight them hard now and squeeze out eight million, they'll give it, but they'll be pissed. Next project, they'll drop me first."
Ari sighed.
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"Sign it."
Raphael said, "But add two conditions."
"What?"