Looking at the prices of the purchasable items on the panel, Raphael's eye twitched.
Even with a massive discount, the costs were still astronomical.
His entire net worth wouldn't even cover the loose change needed for these abilities.
However...
His gaze landed on the "Complete Jedi Knight Training Memories." At five hundred grand, it wasn't exactly cheap, but compared to Anakin Skywalker's Force affinity, it was practically a steal.
Interestingly, both of these items had a 99% discount applied.
More importantly, he had already memorized most of the knowledge during his year in the Star Wars universe. Buying this package felt less like learning from scratch and more like "activating" and "systematizing" those memories, turning them into officially recognized skills that he could use flawlessly in the real world.
"I'll take Anakin's Force affinity and the complete Jedi training memories. Put it on my tab," Raphael told the panel. "Same deal as last time—I'll pay it off when the check for my next movie clears."
The panel flickered, and new text materialized:
[Debt recorded. Balance must be paid in full between the theatrical release of Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones and the release of your third starring film. Failure to comply will result in the random revocation of a previously purchased ability.]
Raphael let out a sigh of relief.
He had plenty of time.
He stood up, walked over to the window, and yanked the curtains open. The Los Angeles sun flooded the room, illuminating the distant, iconic Hollywood sign.
Today was the day. He was auditioning for the role of Anakin Skywalker in Star Wars: Episode II.
And right now, he was probably the only person in the galaxy—no, the entire universe—who truly understood the character inside and out.
Raphael adjusted his collar in the mirror, a confident smirk playing on his lips.
"George Lucas..." he muttered softly. "Are you ready for a completely different kind of Anakin?"
---
At 1:00 PM, Raphael drove into Century City, on the west side of Beverly Hills, following his agent, Ari Emanuel.
This was the 20th Century Fox studio lot, where Lucasfilm was holding the casting calls.
Raphael pulled into a parking spot, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car.
He looked completely different than he had the day before. The transformation was night and day.
His freshly styled, slightly wavy brown hair, sharp features, piercing eyes, and straight nose gave him the undeniable aura of a devastatingly handsome heartbreaker.
He bore a passing resemblance to a young Keanu Reeves, but with a softer jawline—none of Brad Pitt's heavy square jaw or Henry Cavill's butt chin.
If this were twenty years in the future, his impossibly perfect, almost CGI-like face might have people whispering about plastic surgery.
But in the early 2000s Hollywood, Raphael just looked like Leonardo DiCaprio Pro Max—a golden ticket that guaranteed he could write his own ticket in the industry.
And that was before factoring in his physique.
Standing at a solid 6-foot-1, with a lean, heavily muscled build, he was completely out of DiCaprio's league, physically speaking.
As for his actual physical capabilities? Forget about it.
Even against the superhuman brawlers of the Fast franchise, like Dom or Hobbs, the current Raphael was absolutely certain he could take them down.
Compared to that, the previous actor slated for Anakin, Hayden Christensen, was tall but had heavily sloped shoulders and a scrawny, narrow frame.
On purely physical terms, Raphael had already won.
Throw in the fact that the subtle, cosmic influence of his cheat code was already working its magic on George Lucas, and Raphael couldn't fathom anyone actually beating him for the part.
He kept it simple today: a plain black crewneck t-shirt, dark jeans, and a jacket draped over his arm.
Ari had been very specific about the wardrobe.
"Don't show up in a suit. George hates it when actors look like bank tellers. But don't look like a slob, either. Remember, you're playing a Jedi Knight, not a street thug."
While Raphael was cool as a cucumber, Ari was a nervous wreck.
"Relax, Ari. Nobody's beating me for this. Not even if Leonardo DiCaprio himself walked through that door."
Raphael tossed out the joke to try and ease his agent's anxiety.
It had the exact opposite effect. Ari immediately tensed up even more.
"What do you know? I mean... where did you hear that? Did your brother Philip tell you? I guess he does have the connections..."
Raphael rolled his eyes.
"Stop psyching yourself out. Just because a tabloid prints that Leo is open to auditioning doesn't mean he's actually showing up. It's just smoke and mirrors from Lucasfilm. Sure, the guy is a massive Star Wars nerd, but being a fan doesn't mean he wants to commit to a franchise."
Raphael couldn't help but chuckle as he remembered a story that would come out years later from one of Leo's ex-girlfriends.
According to her, Leo had once rented out an entire theater to screen Star Wars for them on a holiday. During the movie, he pulled out a toy blaster and a lightsaber from God knows where, waving them around and making his own sound effects while she watched in disbelief.
Peak dork behavior.
But why would such a die-hard fan pass on actually starring in the movies?
It hadn't even been five years since Titanic made him the biggest star on the planet. Leo was in his absolute prime; he could have had the role of Skywalker just by making a phone call.
But knowing what he knew about the future, Raphael understood Leo's real game plan.
DiCaprio had already locked onto his true obsession: winning an Oscar. He was a dedicated "artist" who wouldn't let anything derail his pursuit of the Academy Award.
Signing onto a massive sci-fi franchise like Star Wars would have derailed his credibility with the Academy for years.
So, die-hard fan or not, Leo wasn't touching the Anakin audition with a ten-foot pole.
Raphael broke down his logic for Ari. The agent wasn't entirely convinced, but it was enough to finally calm him down.
Outside Soundstage 7, a dozen or so young actors were already waiting. They were all tall, handsome, and undeniably leading-man material.
Glancing around, Raphael recognized a few of them—some were making waves on television, others were fresh out of prestigious drama schools.
"Great, another one," a blonde guy muttered to his friend, eyeing Raphael. "Mixed race? Interesting... wait, why does he look so familiar?"
"Are you blind? That's the co-lead from The Fast and the Furious. He's blowing up right now!"
Raphael ignored the whispers.
He signed in at the reception desk, grabbed a laminated number "37," and found an empty chair to wait.
Muffled dialogue drifted through the walls of the soundstage, occasionally punctuated by George Lucas's distinct, slightly nasal voice.
"Let's run it again. Give me more emotion... No, not just angry. Suppressed anger."
A few minutes later, an actor walked out, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Raphael opened his copy of the script, but he wasn't really reading it.
He was closing his eyes and diving back into the dream world, reconstructing the Anakin he had met face-to-face. Not Hayden Christensen's portrayal, but the actual, breathing Chosen One.
He remembered the fire in the kid's eyes, the agonizing pull of his destiny, the desperate, almost toxic obsession with the woman he loved... and that final, complex look of relief mixed with profound loss when he finally walked away from the Jedi Order.
"Number 37! Raphael Lee!" a PA called out from the door.
Raphael stood up, adjusted his collar one last time, and strode into the soundstage.
The audition room was brightly lit but sparsely furnished. A long table sat in the center of the room, occupied by five people. Dead center was George Lucas himself—wearing his signature glasses and a plaid shirt, his hair a little messy. He looked more like an eccentric engineer than a legendary Hollywood director.
To his left was casting director Robin Gurland. To his right was producer Rick McCallum. Raphael didn't recognize the other two; probably a writer and an assistant director.
An open space was cleared in the middle of the room for the performance. A camera was set up in the corner, the red light glowing steadily to indicate it was rolling.
"Raphael Lee?" Lucas asked, glancing down at the headshot and resume in front of him. "Nineteen years old... The Fast and the Furious just came out. Neal Moritz put in a good word for you."
"Yes, Mr. Lucas," Raphael nodded, his tone respectful but not sycophantic.
Lucas looked up, analyzing Raphael through his glasses. His gaze was sharp and intense, like he was trying to x-ray Raphael's soul.
"Height and build fit the profile," Lucas muttered mostly to himself. "The mixed heritage... honestly, it grounds the character in the Star Wars universe better than Hayden did. Robin, thoughts?"
Casting director Gurland pushed her glasses up her nose. "He's got the look, absolutely. But we need to see the chops. Raphael, have you read the script?"
"Cover to cover, three times," Raphael confirmed. "I also rewatched the original trilogy and The Phantom Menace to make sure I had the tone dialed in."
"Good." Lucas leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Now, tell me: who is Anakin Skywalker? How do you see him?"
It was the make-or-break question. Every actor who walked through that door got asked the same thing. Lucas used it to gauge their fundamental understanding of the character.
Raphael didn't answer right away.
He closed his eyes for a brief second—not for dramatic effect, but to pull the real Anakin back to the surface of his mind.
When his eyes snapped open, the air around him seemed to change. The arrogant swagger of a 19-year-old Hollywood hotshot vanished. In its place stood a young man crushed under the weight of an impossible prophecy, tearing himself apart between duty and desire.
"Anakin isn't a hero," Raphael began, his voice quiet but coiled tight with tension. "At least, not in this chapter. He's a walking contradiction. He's the Chosen One, but he has no idea what his destiny actually means. He craves ultimate power, but he's terrified of what it will cost him. He's desperately in love with Padmé, but he's suffocating under the rigid rules of the Jedi Order."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air before delivering the killing blow.
"The core of his tragedy is this: he was born with the strongest connection to the Force in the history of the galaxy, but that gift isn't freedom—it's a cage. Everyone expects him to be a symbol. The Jedi Council expects him to bring balance. Obi-Wan expects him to carry on a legacy. Padmé expects him to stay pure and noble. But Anakin... Anakin just wants to be a man."