Thump. Thump, thump, thump.
His heart pounded uncontrollably.
Little Frank's fingertips, holding the glass of water, tightened almost imperceptibly. His knuckles turned slightly white, and ripples appeared in the clear water, revealing the tension and excitement that balanced on a knife's edge.
Every cell in Little Frank's body was screaming to flee the scene, to get away from this FBI agent. He could never be sure when his cover might be blown or when the agent would detect something off. Every additional second he stayed here increased the danger.
Still, he restrained himself—
Haste makes waste.
No one wants to fall right before the finish line, but countless criminals do just that, tripping up right at the exit.
Drink water. Stay calm. Keep composed.
Little Frank's eyebrows relaxed again. His expression didn't change much, but his gaze deepened slightly, showing a thoughtful demeanor.
Turning around, he carefully examined the FBI agent. If the agent could suspect his identity, he could equally suspect the agent's identity. That's only fair, right?
"Sorry, may I see your badge?"
Carl didn't hesitate, "Of course."
With a straightforward and upright manner, Carl pulled out his badge from his coat pocket and handed it over—
FBI.
Clearly, Carl wasn't lying.
Carl Hanratty.
He remembered that name.
Little Frank studied the badge carefully, silently memorizing the details. If an FBI agent had him in his sights, it meant his movements were exposed. He would need to stay alert from now on.
"Better safe than sorry." Little Frank quickly scanned the information but didn't linger too long to avoid revealing his ignorance of authentic law enforcement credentials. He promptly returned the badge to Carl.
"Tough luck, Carl. If you'd been here five minutes earlier, you would've caught him red-handed."
Little Frank turned back to his desk. Under the guise of organizing evidence, he packed up his key tools of crime, right under the FBI agent's nose.
Carl wasn't suspicious; he even joked with "Barry Allen" in front of him, "No worries, ten seconds later, and you'd have been shot dead."
Ha-ha.
Carl smirked, seemingly pleased with his little joke. But ultimately, humor wasn't his strong suit. His smile quietly faded away, and he awkwardly adjusted his expression, changing the topic before "Barry" could respond.
"Do you mind if I go with you guys? I have to see this guy."
Little Frank quickly finished packing up, trying to remain calm. "No problem at all."
But—
"Do me a favor, wait here for a moment. I need to go downstairs and get some evidence. I don't want the maid coming in to make the bed."
Reasonable.
In that split second, he came up with an appropriate excuse. Though not perfect, it could at least buy him some time.
Sure enough, Carl didn't suspect anything.
Little Frank's steps were steady and firm as he headed towards the door. But, he couldn't hurry—he couldn't rush.
"The LAPD should be back any moment now..."
Little Frank tried to sound casual while his steps maintained a consistent rhythm towards the door. The exit was getting closer and closer. His heart pounded wildly, hammering against his chest. He had to summon all his strength to remain calm and steady, not giving away any signs—
"Wait."
Carl's voice called from behind.
The finish line was within reach, but was everything about to fall apart now?
At the core, Little Frank was still a nervous wreck. His first thought was, "I've been exposed."
Damn it!
Oh no!
Damn!
Little Frank finally couldn't hold back. His eyebrows knitted together, his teeth gritted, revealing a grimace of frustration and pain, filled with annoyance, exasperation, and irritation.
The camera captured it.
Throughout the entire scene, he had been calm and elegant, expressing emotions and thoughts through subtle details, using fleeting nuances to sketch out the character's edges.
Until now.
Finally, finally, we see an "exaggerated" expression. It is this stark contrast that instantly makes Little Frank's character vivid and three-dimensional—
Even if he acts calm, even if he is brazen, even if he is smart and clever, he is ultimately just a kid—a minor. The annoyed expression shows a hint of immaturity and youthfulness, like a green lime, sour yet refreshing. His handsome and dashing face also gains a touch of a unique aura.
Beautiful!
However, the more it is like this, the more he needs to stay calm; the more he needs to be fully immersed. The entire set quieted down, and all eyes were focused.
In the frame, Little Frank was torn in that split second.
What should he do?
The door was just one step away. He could run. He could drop all his tools and make a break for it, hoping his speed would be enough to lose this FBI agent, who seemed to lack practical experience. But he couldn't take that risk.
He didn't know if the FBI agent had any colleagues waiting at the ground floor exit or if the agent could draw his gun in time to shoot.
He wasn't willing to gamble on those odds.
In an instant, with his heart caught in a tug-of-war, he turned left again—
He stopped, steadied his expression, and turned to face Carl.
He couldn't let it all fall apart now!
This was the third time he abandoned an easy escape route, but it was also the most crucial. He needed every ounce of strength and courage he had to stay calm.
The third time.
His eyes showed a hint of determination. The irritation and regret were quietly hidden away, and he didn't force a smile. Instead, he responded as calmly as possible, with the demeanor of someone handling official business.
A smooth turn, calm and composed, moving steadily and quietly, he met Carl's gaze, as if everything were perfectly normal.
The natural light created a strange and wonderful hazy atmosphere in that moment.
Carl stood at the foot of the bed, near the window, backlit, looking toward the door.
Little Frank stood at the doorway, facing the window, bathed in the golden sunlight streaming through the curtains.
A reversal.
Carl, representing justice, was hidden in shadow, his face and expression invisible, silently obscured.
Little Frank, representing crime, was exposed in the sunlight, calmly and openly embracing all scrutiny and examination.
The focus should have been on Carl because he broke the silence, holding the initiative and suspense. But, unexpectedly, Carl's face was completely obscured by the backlight, shifting all attention to Little Frank. The gaze rested on his face.
Serenity, composure.
Those deep blue eyes, like the Aegean Sea, shimmered with ripples, and the undercurrents quietly disappeared. All that remained were white sails and seabirds leisurely drifting.
In a daze, crime seemed to transform into justice, boldly exposed under the golden sunlight without disintegrating, displayed openly before the world. This frankness and sincerity silently pulled every viewer into his camp, willing to follow him even if it meant falling into the depths of hell.
And then, unconsciously, they stood on Little Frank's side.
They should have hoped for Carl to arrest Little Frank and uphold justice, but at that moment, a thought quietly emerged—a hope that Little Frank could successfully escape.
They knew it was wrong, knew it was criminal, yet they couldn't help but feel that way. That illicit thrill left their mouths dry and their hearts racing.
A beam of sunlight, a single look, a perfect reversal.
In that moment, an unparalleled atmosphere was created. The god of cinema had descended. This was a cinematic moment. The entire audience fell silent.