September 19, 1997.
The harsh weights of life had beaten him down; when routine consumes you, it drags you along a path that robs you of living, leaving you clinging to Billy's childlike solution of juggling multiple fields. He was a weary actor and a weary character, making his last film, while others focused on their rehearsals and box office share—this time, less centered on Billy. As much as one can, and when a true sense of identity is needed, he took a deep breath, letting today stretch into an entire month. No one could deny him a day in bed, where his mind and body could rest in the continuity of life.
In one burst, Silo wrote two books—drafted, polished, and illustrated by hand in just nine days. For days now, he had understood the weight of the different works, of which only one remained unfinished, the rest published in intervals of two years, as the record company had planned, while Angels of the Night awaited its turn. Of course, this left him time to finish Fullmetal Alchemist—80 episodes in the first series, 70 in the second. It was a challenge that pushed his practice to the limit, and he repeated it twice, the first to ensure his work could sustain at least three or four divergent realities. So far, only two scripts existed; the other two he would leave solely as manga or spin-offs contained within a single volume.
Meanwhile, Naruto had 65 episodes, in which he pushed the aura of ninjas and their attitudes to the limit, crafting verses that gave intensity and emotional weight to the scenes. Billy created a true tale in the style of Naruto, weaving five ninja villages with at least 100 personalized ninja characters, and another 500 across different clans. Each section narrated the clans' histories and stories, showing how he made the Uchiha more diverse—some escaped, some fled, some survived. Fights became more interesting, grounded in wit, deception, and traps. More children and men were spared; some hid, others forgot their past lives, while others lived in vengeance like Sasuke, who took complete control of the scattered ones. Yet, it left a bitter aftertaste—each plot escalated to a ridiculous scale.
-Thanks for the comics,- said Gorman, who had been sent to Australia. He brought his children with him for five days, taking them on outings—a way to commemorate ten years of work at Lux Animation, with trust, support, a raise, and new social security benefits tied to the sports system, which granted scholarships for children in any sport they chose. Tennis was the choice he made for his children.
-Well, I must say I expect the utmost care. There are 21 kilos in this suitcase. It must travel as your carry-on and be secured with you at all times. You'll be flying business class. I hope you don't let me down,- Billy said, watching Gorman nod. He saw in him a noble man who only wished to work and be with his children. Gorman earned $31,000 a year; he now earns $33,000. Anne earned $200,000 a year, set to rise to $205,000 the next year, thanks to agreements and bonuses. Managers earned between $39,000 and $41,000, while animators earned $40,000 to $70,000 annually. Without commissions or social benefits, for example, Anna Symanska's commissions raised her income to $90,000 a year. Raimon earned $150,000, while Billy spent nearly $200 million annually on salaries across his companies—paying $50,000 each to 3,000 people was absurd, yet everyone, even those with lower salaries, earned among the best because of solid benefit plans.
Gorman, with only high school and a technical course in bookselling, would have earned $22,000 in another job—nearly $10,000 less. With these resources, he could buy houses and more. He wasn't as fortunate as animators, some of whom earned high commissions from merchandising and ratings, providing passive income.
Billy was moved, but all he could do was extend his hand and clasp it firmly.
-Enjoy your vacation,- Billy said.
The television company earned between $2.2 billion and $2.4 billion; subtracting salaries, advertising, and investments, just under $130 million remained, which was used as banking reserves for investments, for acquiring more venues, recently poured into the expansion of the Japan conference, and the purchase of IP and licenses—including films—for the channel.
-Thank you, Mr. Carson. I'll carry out my duty with all my strength,- Gorman replied, knowing well the weight of what he carried.
Billy had no doubts.
Seeing the man's tired eyes, something inside his heart tightened, but he knew it wasn't the moment for charity. Soon, the time would come to do as much as they wished—his strength was what mattered.
...
Billy didn't know what else to do. He was entirely unoccupied, his head had no expectations, his mind telling him he should enjoy the beach—but he failed miserably, for what he truly desired was elsewhere.
-Whoever wishes to do what they shouldn't,- Billy murmured, now speaking with Raimon.
-I've been practicing voice-over work, and a little bit of acting too—only as a stunt double. And, well, I see now it's harder than I thought. So many things I once believed would be easy are far more difficult,- Raimon replied.
-Acting is harder,- Billy answered, sighing inwardly. -Sometimes I'd like to say anyone could do it, but an impulse is never as simple as it looks. Thousands of ideas linger in the mind.-
-I hate all of this,- Raimon muttered.
-I want you to prepare to purchase the Samuel Goldwyn Company libraries, and of course, acquire the Orion Pictures catalog. It's interesting to secure those libraries for a price—we have some money to spare,- Billy replied.
He was certain—the library of channels was growing, almost like a dance ballad rising in its defense.