The private jet sliced across the Pacific, sunlight flashing white along the wings.
Band was practically vibrating with excitement, flipping through Variety and reading the headline over and over. "Link , we made the cover! They're calling you—'the Rule Breaker from the East'!"
Link leaned against the window, his expression calm and unreadable. Clouds rolled beneath them like waves, an endless deep blue stretching below.
He didn't respond.
In his mind, a pale blue interface hovered quietly.
[Function: Empire Blueprint (Basic)]
The light screen trembled slightly, as if waiting for his command.
[Function One: Resource Insight — Costs 1,000 Influence. Scans a target's finances, connections, and weaknesses.]
[Function Two: Strategic Simulation — Costs 1,000 Influence. Simulates the success rate of business decisions.]
A glint flashed in Link's eyes. He lifted his hand and tapped the air. The screen dissolved into threads of light and sank into his palm.
—This was the real prize of this trip.
The Palme d'Or? A cover story? None of that really mattered.
What he'd gained was the ability to see straight through Hollywood.
The plane touched down smoothly in Los Angeles. The moment the cabin door opened, a wave of dry heat rushed in.
He took a deep breath. That familiar American smell.
Just as he stepped off the stairs, his brick-style cell phone began to vibrate.
An unfamiliar New York number.
Link pressed the answer button. "Link."
On the other end, a steady voice with an undercurrent of pressure came through. "This is Robert Shaye."
—President of New Line Cinema.
Band's smile froze instantly.
"Young man," Shaye began politely, "you did a great job."
Then his tone shifted. "But you embarrassed Harvey at Cannes. Now all of Hollywood is watching to see how I respond."
Link listened, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
Shaye continued, "New Line is willing to come in as your strategic investor. Thirty percent equity, and we'll handle global distribution."
Band's face went pale. This wasn't just distribution—it was a buy-in, a grip on the project's lifeline.
If they accepted, Pangu Pictures could easily turn into a subsidiary working for New Line.
Band was about to speak, but Link raised a hand to stop him.
"Mr. Shaye," Link said slowly, his voice calm to the point of indifference, "I think you've misunderstood something."
"When I mentioned New Line at Cannes, I wasn't asking for shelter—I was handing you a knife."
"A knife sharp enough to stab straight through Harvey's heart."
The air seemed to freeze.
"The Mask will make at least two hundred million dollars at the North American box office."
"You can invest, but no more than fifteen percent. The rights stay with Pangu. Final cut—don't even think about it."
"Young man, you're arrogant!" Shaye snapped, finally losing his composure. "Do you have any idea that without our distribution network, you're nothing?"
Link was silent for a moment. He pulled up the system panel.
[Activating Resource Insight — Target: New Line Cinema]
[Influence Consumed: 1,000]
In an instant, New Line's cash flow gaps, internal factional fights, and Shaye's precarious position on the board all flashed through his mind.
Link exhaled, lifted his head, and his gaze turned mirror-cold. "Then let's do the math."
"Your last truly profitable movie was A Nightmare on Elm Street. That was three years ago."
His tone was flat. "And your current financials… they're ugly."
Silence. Vacuum-thick silence on the other end of the line.
"If you don't land another hundred-million-dollar hit," Link continued, "your seat on the board isn't exactly secure, is it?"
"Harvey may be a drowning dog, but he still has Miramax. You, Mr. Shaye, need a win—a win big enough to crush your internal opposition for good."
"So the handle of that knife is in my hand. Whether you take it or not—that's your choice."
Thirty seconds of silence.
"…Fifteen percent. North American distribution is ours."
"Deal."
The call ended.
The wind tugged at the hem of his suit, carrying a faint scent of burnt gasoline.
Band walked up, his expression complicated. "Link … how did you know all that?"
Link stood on the tarmac, looking at the glittering city skyline in the distance, and smiled faintly. "Because I can see it."
—
Pangu Pictures Headquarters.
When Howard pushed open the office door, Link was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Several financial reports lay spread across the desk, along with a draft contract.
"Link , we've got trouble," Howard said, his face tense.
"Harvey has filed complaints through his lawyers with both the Directors Guild and the Screen Actors Guild."
"He's accusing Pangu of 'unfair competition' and demanding a full review of all our project contracts."
Link was silent for a few seconds.
Sunlight streamed in, cutting his face in half—light and shadow.
"If the unions take the case," Howard said tightly, "our new film could be shut down immediately."
Link nodded, calm as ever. "I know. Prepare two statements—one for the public, one internal. I'll finalize them tonight."
Howard opened his mouth as if to say more, then swallowed his words and backed out of the room.
The office fell quiet again.
Link sat down, opened a drawer, and took out a cigarette.
The flame reflected off his fingertips, but his eyes were fixed on the city outside, glowing gold in the setting sun.
"Trying to move against me?" he murmured. "Then you'd better be sure you can afford the price."
—
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Come in."
Martha peeked inside, holding a long black box.
"Link , a package just arrived. They said it was special delivery."
Link looked up at the box.
No sender. No markings.
His gaze darkened as he slowly reached out.
"Put it on the desk."
The wind slipped in through the window crack.
The air suddenly felt… cold.