Handholds.As if I might fall off a platform I could step over without thinking.
While the crew debates modifications, I notice movement in my peripheral vision. Beyond the main set, in what looks like a prep area, someone is working at a counter. Flour dust catches the light as hands shape dough with practiced efficiency.
Trinity.
She's smaller than I imagined from her audition video, more compact but somehow more substantial. Her dark hair is pulled back in a practical bun that's already coming loose, and her hands move with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what she's doing.
While everyone else focuses on managing the orc problem, she's making bread.
"Korgan?" Jessica's voice rings through my observation. "We're ready to continue."
The crew has repositioned several props and marked new boundaries with tape. Someone brings out a backup torch, this one mounted more securely. Jussel double-checks my jacket for tears or loose threads.
"Let's run through the contestant introductions," Jessica says. "Obviously they're not here yet, but we can practice the timing and movement."
For the next hour, I perform a elaborate rehearsal with imaginary human women. Step down from the platform, walk to position one, engage in thirty seconds of scripted small talk, move to position two, repeat. The cameras track every movement, and Jessica calls out adjustments to my posture, my expression, my entire presence.
"More approachable in the shoulders, Korgan."
"Can you soften the eyes a bit?"
"Perfect! Now hold that expression while you move to the next position."
Soften the eyes.As if my eyes are weapons that need dulling for human safety.
During a break between rehearsals, I find myself looking toward the prep area again. Trinity is still working, now rolling out what looks like pie crust. Her movements are economical, purposeful, completely absorbed in the task. She's not performing for cameras or adjusting her behavior for an audience—she's simply making food.
Authentic,the producers called her. Watching her work, I understand what they meant.
"She's impressive, isn't she?"
Jussel has appeared beside me, following my gaze. "Trinity, I mean. Most of the contestants are nervous wrecks right now, getting their makeup touched up, practicing their introductions. She asked if she could use the catering kitchen to make something for tonight."
"What's she making?"
"No idea. Something with cinnamon, though. The whole area smells incredible."
As if summoned by our conversation, the scent reaches us. Warm, sweet, comforting. The kind of smell that makes you think of home, family, safety. Everything this artificial set is designed to simulate but can't actually provide.
"The other women are going to hate her," Jussel continues with obvious amusement. "She's making them look high-maintenance by comparison."
Through the archway that separates the main set from the prep area, I watch Trinity slide something into an oven. Her apron is dusted with flour, her sleeves rolled up to reveal practical forearms. She moves like someone comfortable in her own skin, unimpressed by the elaborate theater happening thirty feet away.
Something unsettles him,I think, remembering Jonah's notes about my character arc. But what unsettles me isn't Trinity herself, it's the recognition that she might be the only genuine person in this entire production.
"Places, everyone!" Jessica's voice dashes through the moment. "Final rehearsal before the contestants arrive!"
Jussel hurries back to his station while I return to the platform. The entrance music swells again, and I walk through the choreographed routine one more time. Step down, position one, thirty seconds of charm, position two, repeat.
But now I'm thinking about flour-dusted hands and the confidence of someone who creates instead of performs. About authenticity in a space designed for illusion.
Remain emotionally distant,I remind myself. This is strategy, not romance. Image rehabilitation, not mate selection. Whatever Trinity Lewis represents genuineness, competence, unaffected humanity. It's irrelevant to my actual mission here.
The tribal council didn't send me to find love. They sent me to prove that orcs can be civilized, attractive, worthy of respect and alliance. Every interaction will be evaluated through that lens. Every choice will either advance that goal or undermine it.
Trinity might be authentic, but authenticity is a luxury I can't afford.
"Excellent work, Korgan," Jessica says as the rehearsal ends. "You're really getting the feel for it. The contestants should start arriving in about an hour, so take some time to center yourself. Tonight's going to be amazing."
