....
It was a war.
A quiet war.
A Hollywood war.
And the na on their dartboard had just been circled in red.
Obviously, it was regarding Regal's recent actions.
However, this is not because of the impending release of [The Hangover] - after one more successful promotional bait.
No, they could simply copy that.
Yet, it isn't also because of his creeping advances toward Marvel, or his indie comic ventures clawing for attention.
In their books - Comics are already dead.
Then what?
It was about [Harry Potter].
The mont they got the hint of the word slipped into the open - that he wasn't just adapting it, but directing it himself - it triggered this eting.
They all knew. Of course they did. You don't keep sothing that big truly secret, no matter how low Regal tried to fly.
Also, they were sure Regal was aiming for a franchise movie.
aning big numbers of gas.
Dana broke the stillness. "But what if it backfires?"
They all glanced at her, then away. No one said it, but they shared the sa fear. Regal already had reason to hate them - from the rejections they gave [Following].
If he decided to treat them as enemies now... he would have options. And plenty of rivals, including the people sitting here would be happy to open the gates for him.
In this room, trust was currency no one carried. Every studio head here had tried to bury another at so point.
So they can't act alone and in turn beco soone else's scapegoat, and whatever they do should be from five of them....
...and they all imdiately know how pointless it is.
In fact this eting in itself is pointless.
Because deep down, each of them knew - if Regal had approached any of them with [Harry Potter], they would have leapt at the chance.
Sure, there would be conditions. Power plays. But they would still fight for it.
Now? Their pride wouldn't let them admit it.
Brad leaned in, trying to provoke her. "When did you beco such a scaredy cat? No, maybe you were to begin with."
Dana stood, slipping her bag over her shoulder. "This is pointless. I will take my leave."
Leon finally looked up from his tablet. "Let's not make it personal. We all know the truth. If he cos knocking, every one of you will grovel - so louder than others. What I want to know is... how far are you willing to crawl? Because judging by the silence, you are all waiting for soone else to make the first move."
Marlon gave the faintest smirk. "Look who's talking... I guess you are still pissed he rejected to direct your [Power Ranger]'s film."
Brad slamd as it was getting out of topic. "Enough. This isn't the ti for jabs."
Marlon didn't flinch. "Brad... you sound desperate. Why are you so eager to crush a bug? Starting to think you are scared of what he might beco. Honestly you seem pathetic to ."
"Hehe..."
That earned a few dry laughs - genuine ones, but edged.
None of them said it aloud, but the truth hovered like smoke: they didn't really believe Regal could pull it off.
Or maybe they don't care even if he could - because no matter what he did they were sure he couldn't overpower their decades of work.
So they don't care. Not really. Not after decades of dominance. Not in a town they had ruled like emperors. Hollywood didn't shift without their nod.
And yet, beneath the polished wood of that boardroom table... sothing stirred.
Just the willingness to actually co together ant one thing - they are at least vary of Regal's future potential.
And that was enough to raise a flicker of doubt.
An edge of unease.
...yet that is all.
He is still a brat in front of them.
....
Location: Red Studios – Executive Conference Room
Monday(Two Days Later) - 10:41 AM
....
The blinds were halfway drawn, letting in strips of sunlight that crossed the polished table like prison bars.
The walls were lined with concept art from recent hits - but none of Regal's.
His films were handled too independently for studio-branded flair.
Inside sat six people, but only two voices mattered.
Deonte Maravich, the president of Red Studios.
Pete, mid-40s, and currently slightly anxious. He sat with one leg crossed, a tablet in hand, phone buzzing with updates. The kind of executive who knew the temperature of the industry before the thermoter even moved.
Maravich spoke first, voice quiet but heavy.
"Pexi. Vista. Apollo. Whitebridge. Sa room."
A pause. Then:
"And no seat for us?"
Pete gave a small nod without looking up. "Confird. Source says Brad Carter initiated it."
Maravich's brow twitched. "Brad Carter... of Pexi?"
Pete stopped scrolling. "You think this is about Regal?"
The both of them know the history between them... but only to the extent Regal is aware of.
It's the first step in working with sothing... but here he is partially betting on Regal so it is only obvious that they note down the in's and outs of the people they had to deal with if they are working with him.
Maravich didn't answer right away. Then he did - cold and clear:
"No. Not Regal." Maravich said quietly. "It's about us."
He understood the rules of this ga. Always had.
The big five didn't share a table unless the stakes were existential.
Or, occasionally, embarrassingly petty.
But this - this was neither.
This was a move.
And a ssage.
Red Studio wasn't welco.
"We are the ones giving him wings." Maravich muttered. "Post team, rental gear, tax incentives - none of them touched him until we did."
Pete looked up from his screen. "So... what do we do now? Pull out?"
Maravich's jaw twitched. "No. We don't drop Regal."
Not yet.
He still had use.
Regal's fire was lighting their path - for now. But if that fla sputtered... if he failed or misstepped... then cutting him loose wouldn't be an act of betrayal.
It would be survival.
Because once they backed off, wrapped up what they needed, and left him to burn.
They would be safe.
That's how the system worked.
Regal would disappear.
And everything would return to the proper order.
So no - they didn't have much to lose.
Two or three films? That was scrap tal in the machine.
Expendable.
Maravich told himself Regal deserved to survive - if not for their sake, then for his own. A useful disruptor. A pawn with sharp teeth.
But what he hadn't realized–
What he had fatally misread–
Was that Regal wasn't a tiger cub still learning the forest.
He was already full-grown.
Fangs bared. Roaming.
A predator in his pri.
And not looking to serve the jungle. Looking to rule it.
Pete's voice broke the silence again, quiet but tense. "Still... he is becoming too much."
A long silence.
Then Maravich spoke, his voice low, like sothing spoken at a graveside.
"He is. And he will only get worse."
Another pause. Longer.
"It's going to be a bloodbath."
There was an old saying in Hollywood:
The world may change. The stars may fall. But the big five remain.
Because even if a new player rose from nothing, their first order of business wouldn't be to welco him.
It would be to erase him.
Only then would the old war resu.
But for now?
All four swords were pointed in one direction.
And Regal stood alone at the tip.
....
anwhile, across the city...
Regal tapped out a ssage with his usual unhurried confidence, thumb hovering for just a second before he hit send:
[...a movie date?]
Barely a second passed before the screen lit up with a reply:
Gwen: [Pick up in twenty, and I will pretend to be surprised.]
He smiled, subtle, amused, then stood from his desk, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair.
On the way out, he passed by his secretary's desk.
"Samantha, I am done for the day. You should clock out too."
Samantha looked up from her monitor, startled. "You sure? You have got three—"
"Tomorrow." He was already moving.
As he crossed the hallway, the building quiet and sun filtering through the tall vertical blinds, his shoes echoed against the marble floor. To the right, a few guest chairs lined the wall - most empty.
Except one.
A man sat there.
Big. Not just gym-big, but unnatural. The kind of physique that didn't co from healthy eating or pushups. A fra carved like it belonged to a fantasy villain, wearing a gray suit just a bit too tight around the biceps, hands folded.
Regal didn't stop. Just passed him with peripheral awareness–
–but the man stood.
No words.
Just the clean, chanical rise of a man not waiting for permission.
Regal slowed. Half-turned.
"You are not riding with today?" He said, tone dry.
The man remained silent.
Still.
Watching.
Regal waited. A second.
Then turned back and kept walking.
A voice followed him, low and clipped:
"Fine."
Regal stopped... glanced back.
The chair was empty, and the man was gone.
....
By the ti he pulled up to Gwendolyn's place, she was already waiting out front.
As he walked over, she raised a brow. "That fast? You didn't even make wait."
"Trying to impress you." Regal smirked.
They were halfway through a greeting when footsteps approached from behind.
The sa man.
The bodyguard.
Gwendolyn blinked, eyebrows lifting. "Uh... who is that?"
Regal turned his head slightly - his eyes twitched, just a flicker.
He stepped closer to the man, lowering his voice.
"I told you not to ride with ."
The man didn't flinch. "That is why I followed in the back."
Gwen tilted her head. "Wait, he didn't co with you?"
Regal glanced at her. "No. He didn't co with ."
"He didn't?"
He gave a small shrug. "More like... he ca for ."
"That's the sa thing."
"Not exactly."
Regal waved a hand, brushing it off. "Anyway - he is my bodyguard now. Na's Rock."
He paused, then added under his breath. "...Not that Rock."
Different Rock.
Though even saying it, Regal couldn't help the uneasy flicker in his chest. Sothing about the whole 'Rock' thing still didn't sit right.
Gwen squinted at the man. "You need a bodyguard now?"
Regal grinned. "Better safe than sorry. Madam."
He walked around to open the front door for her - but Rock was already there, holding it open, impassive.
Gwen laughed, startled. "Well... thank you."
Rock nodded once. Nothing more.
As she stepped in, she glanced at him again. There was sothing strange in the way he looked at her - not cold, not protective. Almost... reverent.
Admiring, even.
She couldn't place it. But it didn't feel threatening.
So she let it go.
For now.
Outside as Regal was walking over to the other side... and just before he slipped into the car he gave a smirk Rock.
"Don't get all grumpy just 'cause she didn't recognize you. The makeover's solid, man - even I had to do a double take."
Rock didn't respond. Just turned and walked back to his car in silence.
Regal shook his head, buckled in. "This guy's only polite with Gwen."
Gwendolyn grinned as she settled into her seat. "He is funny."
Regal gave her a look. That half-amused, half-knowing kind of stare that said if only you knew what kind of man he really was.
But he didn't say it out loud.
There was a reason Regal had brought Rock in - despite the 'rocky' start, a few misunderstandings, and the total lack of charm.
Because Regal could feel it.
He wasn't safe anymore.
Hollywood never had been.
And never would be.
Rock wasn't just a bodyguard.
He was a signal.
The first quiet step in Regal's shift toward real power - not the kind won by deals or charm, but the kind you survive with.
Because in this world, before you rise...
You have to stay alive.
And Regal was starting to see just how brutal the path ahead would be.
....
[Two Week Later]
Regal was calmly easing his way back into [The Hangover] set, his mind already focused on tomorrow - the start of the second official shooting schedule.
His checklist was half-finished, notes scattered across his tablet, when his phone buzzed.
[Seren]
It was his sister.
He picked up without hesitation - only to hear a different voice on the other end.
["Hey, man. It's "]
It was Keanu.
["Got so bad news. And, uh... sorry in advance."]
Regal's brows furrowed. "You are still alive, right? Just checking."
["Of course I am—"] Keanu began.
But his sister's voice cut in over his. ["Don't take forever, okay? My mobile bill is already overdue."]
A second later, a thud ca through the receiver.
Then Keanu again, wounded. ["Ow! Why would you hit ? I am already hurt!"]
Regal leaned back, shaking his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Yep - still alive, still dumb.
"Alright." He sighed. "Let's hear it. What happened?"
.
....
[To be continued...]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
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