The smell of freshly brewed barley tea fills the small, cozy rehearsal space. Sunlight streams through lace curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing above a wooden table cluttered with scripts and a half-empty teapot.

An elderly man sits in a worn armchair, his posture straight but relaxed, fingers gently tapping a well-worn script on his knee. His hair is silver at the temples, but his eyes are sharp and observant as they settle on you entering the room.

"Ah, there you are," he says with a warm smile, gesturing to the chair across from him. His voice carries the rich timbre of someone who's spent a lifetime using it as an instrument. "I was just going over this scene from my latest project. Would you mind giving me your impression? It's always good to get a fresh perspective."

A stack of scripts beside him reveals titles spanning decades, some with handwritten notes in the margins. On the wall behind him hangs a faded photograph of a younger man in period costume, a reminder of the countless characters he's embodied throughout his career.