[Owen POV]
"I should read her script later on."
George nodded at my words and asked, "Oh. By the way, she wants you to act in it, if you can."
I froze for a few seconds. "I'm not a movie star."
"Yet. She wrote the script specifically for you," George teased. "As long as you keep this level of height for another month or two," he added with slight anxiousness.
I could suppress my growth since I had only grown 1 cm, but I didn't want to stay this small for longer. It would depend on how good her script was before I decided whether to suppress it or not.
"How can you even make the movie? Your company doesn't have any money, and you don't have any agents to make it work."
George and Jessica weren't under any talent agency, so it was harder for them to negotiate deals with major studios. George had started his own production a couple of years back but only had Serpent's Son to show for it.
He smirked. "Well, I have a plan."
"Well, what is your plan?" I asked, taking the bait.
"It's simple enough. Everyone wants to invest in movies. Jessica's first script being sold so fast allows me to talk her up to investors. I could tell them, 'Two major studios competed to get her script,' and fool some gullible rich man out there."
I nodded in understanding. He had a solid plan there.
"Once one investor injects funds into my production company, I can use that to snowball into more investors, so I can get the budget for the film." He pointed at me with his dirty ice cream spoon. "If I showed them your dailies—recorded scenes—from Serpent's Son, I think I could get the first investment in one month."
"One month?" I was shocked. "That means it might take many more months for the project to actually start."
George rubbed his hair. "Yeah, that's how it usually works. Sometimes, even getting the funding for a movie takes years—especially since we're outside the major studio system."
After being backstabbed and abandoned by his agent and the major studios, George didn't want to work with them anymore. It also meant having to take longer to start up a project.
"I could try to reach out to Sony or Touchstone, but they'd likely take over the whole project, which I want to avoid," George said with a sigh.
Jessica had specified that she wanted George to direct and me to act in the movie. She wouldn't accept any other arrangement after what happened with her first script.
"So, how much money are you thinking?" I asked, faking intrigue while calculating in my head.
"Hmm… The movie will be shot mostly in Philadelphia, so it will take 4 million at the very least. That's if we use mid-level actors instead of top-tier ones." George rubbed his chin as he gave a rough estimate.
"Only 4 million?" I raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? The last one took half a million, and we only shot in one place."
George smiled. "Yeah. Four million will be enough to start, and maybe I'll need another 1–2 million for post-production."
"So, six million in total, huh? If you find an investor, how will the profits be split?"
"Depends on the contract. It could be 90–10, with my company receiving 10, or even lower. Unless I funded it myself, it'd be hard to get a higher share without prestige. I could maybe get 10 because I was nominated for an Oscar once before."
I nodded before asking, "If you have the money, how fast can production start?"
"We could start pre-production tomorrow," George said. "But we still need to cast the roles, hire the crew, lock down filming permits in Philadelphia—and actually get there. Best case? A week. Longer if casting drags."
I considered the idea of investing myself, but the risk was huge.
The biggest hurdle wasn't shooting the movie—it was distribution and marketing.
George explained that just getting a mid-level release—around 600 theaters—would run about eight million dollars for prints and marketing alone. A wide release? Double that.
Since his production company had no distribution network of its own, they'd have to take the finished film to a major studio and negotiate a deal for marketing and release. The distributor would cover those costs, but in exchange, they'd claim a large share of the profits.
That was the standard industry practice for independent film production. Unless he had hundreds of million to build the distribution pipeline, that was the best choice for his production company right now.
If we finished the film but couldn't land a solid distributor, it could flop no matter how good it was. Bad marketing would kill it just as fast.
When I asked about his plan, George shared something interesting. One of his friends worked at Sony Pictures Distribution.
They wouldn't touch his art-house projects, but they were desperate for a mainstream hit. Right now Sony was the weakest of the big six studios so they wanted to expand their entertainment library.
"By the way, George, what is the name of your company?"
He scratched his cheek embarrassedly and said, "Well, I was under the influence when I registered the production company name. It's called Burn-It Films."
"Pffft—" I snorted and burst out laughing. His last name was Burnett, so I guess he was trying to make a pun or something.
"Laugh all you want for now. I'm going to change the company name soon," he said, laughing too.
"What are you going to change it to?" I calmed down and asked.
"I don't know yet. I'm going to get Jessica to come up with it. Do you have any suggestions for the production company name?" he asked me back.
In my past life, there was a studio called A24. For the longest time, after reading some fake information online, I thought it was referring to August 24. Turns out, it was some highway name, which pissed me off greatly.
"If you can set up a release on June first, or July first, then you can name your company like this." I wrote on a piece of napkin using the pen I always kept in my pocket.
[J01 Film]
I showed it to him.
George's face beamed. "Wait. That's actually pretty clever. People can read it as Joi, which sounds like joy. A company that brings joy to the viewer."
"Too bad your first movie is a supernatural thriller, though," I teased.
"Eh, it doesn't matter as long as it's entertaining." He shrugged it off.
A tween girl and her friend barged into the ice cream shop suddenly, making us turn towards her.
Michael immediately rushed towards her and said, "Hi. I'm sorry, but we're closed for now."
"No! You're not closed. They are eating—what is that, fruit?" The girl pointed towards my plate and showed a little disgust.
"No. Miss, we're not serving anyone right now," Michael tried to explain to her. "That big-shot movie director is renting this entire place for a contract signing with an actor," he added.
"Alison, I told you this was a bad idea." The curly redheaded girl with freckles and braces tried to pull her brunette friend away.
"No! Charlotte, we've been hanging out in this restaurant every day after school for about a year now! I demand to see the manager! I think it's unfair to close the place just because some old, dirty man is trying to suck up to some kid actor—who, by the way, I've never even seen on TV before!"
I narrowed my eyes on the girl and finally realized who she was. "Oh. You're that frisbee bitch."
"Frisbee what—?" She was flabbergasted, as were George, Michael, and her friend.
"What did you just call me—? Wait… You're that FOUR-EYED ASSHOLE who threw my frisbee away! Do you even know what I went through to get that disc back? A dog caught it and we had to circle the park three times chasing it!"
"Pfft—" I burst into laughter.
"You dare to laugh?!" she yelled, furious.
"Well, your misery is very amusing to me. It's fun to see bad stuff happen to bad people," I added. "Michael, take her picture and stick it on the door. She's banned from the place for two weeks."
"WHAT?! For what reason?!" she demanded.
I listed them off for her. "One, breaking in on an important business meeting when the sign says 'Closed.' Two, throwing a frisbee at the owner's face and not apologizing. Three, just being overall annoying."
Flabbergasted, the girls froze for a few seconds before the redhead asked, "You're the owner?"
"Ah, don't worry… Charlotte, right? I'm not banning your pretty face from eating here. In fact, when you come in next time, you can get anything you want—it's on the house. I'm just banning that ugly mug."
"Hey! I happen to be very pretty! And I'm also a child actor, you know! Unlike you, I've acted in over… ONE commercial."
"One?" George raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing her face. He'd thought she was going to say ten—or at least more than two—so her answer caught him off guard.
I smiled politely. "No. Michael, kick her out."
"Don't do it, Michael! I'm warning you!" She took a step back in alarm as Michael approached.
Michael shrugged sadly. "Sorry. I can't go against the boss's wishes." He snapped a picture of her, startling her, then dragged her out of the restaurant.
"I'M NEVER GOING TO FORGET THIS! REMEMBER ME, FOUR EYES! I'M GOING TO BECOME YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE!"
"Remember who?!" I shouted after her.
"ALISON! BRIEEEEE!!!!" she screamed as she walked out the door.
"No wonder you stink like cheese!" I teased.
"FUCKNUGGET!" she cursed under her breath, regretting giving me her last name. Her friend quickly followed her.
I chuckled before turning back to George. "So, where were we?"
George paused for a moment. "You know what? I think you can handle yourself in Hollywood. There are a lot of people like her there, so you have to protect yourself carefully."
David Lee pushed his daughter in a wheelchair past the screaming tween outside. Michael helped them up the ramp and into the shop.
They came to my table and joined us. Sarah, the Korean-American girl, had that delicate beauty one would expect from a K-pop idol—large, clear eyes framed by long lashes, porcelain skin that seemed even paler under the café lights and glossy black hair falling neatly over her shoulders.
Even so, there was a fragile, sickly undertone to her face, as she was still recovering from a long coma. She kept staring at me while David greeted us.
"Mr. Burnett. Owen." He shook hands with George and then sat across from his daughter.
"Is this Sarah? You're looking healthier now," George said warmly, feeling a sense of camaraderie.
She nodded politely, not really knowing who George was. David explained to her, "He had a similar experience to yours. But in a different… parameter, right, George?"
"Yeah. They were sucking my talents while killing me slowly. It wasn't trying to take over my body," George explained.
Sarah turned to look at him fully. "Really? What did yours look like?"
"It was a porcelain doll. Life-sized." George said simply.
Sarah shuddered and reached her skinny hand to grab mine. "That sounds scary too," she said softly.
I grimaced before sighing at David, wondering why he'd brought her here. I guessed she wanted to meet her savior, but I didn't want her developing a dependence on me. That would make it harder for her to readapt to society.
Sarah suddenly commented, "Your hand is very small. In fact, you're very tiny. Are you sure you're the one who saved me?"
"Sarah!" David was flabbergasted.
I smiled in amusement. "No, it wasn't me. In fact, who are you?"
She froze, pulling her hand back. "What—? You're not? So—Sorry."
"He is. He's teasing you," George exposed me.
Sarah turned to me again, eyes narrowed. "You tricked me," she said angrily.
"Owen, you really suck at dealing with girls, huh? You'll never get married that way," George teased.
Well, I'd been married before. I didn't think I wanted to repeat that experience.
"Well, you're over 40 and still single. So…" I shot back.
David chuckled while George's eyes widened. Even Sarah giggled a little.
"Oh, David. George is trying to get funding for his movie. Do you think the venture capital fund you're managing would be interested in investing?" I asked hintingly.
I was the one managing it, but it was too obvious if I both invested and acted in the movie, so I was using David as a middleman. I even registered as the CEO of the VC fund under my real name– Jack Kennedy.
The investment fund was called Ten Times Investment– Or TT Investment for short.
If the movie actually had the same success as The Sixth Sense in my previous life, it would easily double—maybe even triple or quadruple—my investment.
George turned to David, eyes sparkling. "Wait. David, you're managing an investment fund?"
David caught on immediately. "Yeah. If you want me to bring it up to my boss, write a proposal and I'll give it to him."
He played it smart, making no promises until he heard more from me. George wanted to meet the owner himself, but David told him the man was a recluse and didn't want to be bothered.
"Just a short proposal will be fine," David clarified.
After that short discussion about the movie, David asked about Sarah. "Will there be any side effects from the… you know?"
I turned to Sarah, who flinched under my gaze. "Hmm… Sarah, your dad told me you were a ballet dancer before the accident."
Sarah sighed, looking downcast. "Yeah. But the accident broke my leg. And since I was in a coma, there were complications with the healing, so I'm not going to be able to do that anymore."
David placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, anxious to hear my answer.
"How old are you, Sarah?" George asked.
"I'm 16 this year," Sarah replied sadly. She had been dancing ballet for over 12 years—more than a decade's worth of work, now rendered useless. She felt hollow inside.
I studied Sarah briefly with my sixth sense, then smiled. "You know, the demon made some arrangements to live in your body."
"What?" all three of them said in unison. Sarah looked disgusted.
"What did he do to me?" she asked, eyes welling up.
"It depends on what kind of demon he was. He had three masks, so I'm guessing he was born from the stage resentment of people who live and die by the stage."
I grabbed another fruit slice and continued, "I don't think he wanted to take over your body for fun. I think he wanted to stand on stage like the others."
I'd investigated Sarah's theater before, which led me to that conclusion. The demon wasn't residing at her dance school—it was at the theater, since I sensed lingering energy there.
That place also hosted stage plays and acting classes, so the demon fed off the negative energy from the people there to grow stronger.
"You might want to try acting. I think he rebuilt your body for that—elevating your ability and talent greatly in the process," I said casually.
"Really?" Sarah's eyes widened in shock.
"Really?" George echoed, a spark of anticipation in his voice.
"Really?" David repeated with a disappointed tone, looking at George with thinly veiled suspicion, knowing he was already sizing her up as a potential hidden gem.
"Well, after your physical therapy is done, you can try it out," I told her.
Sarah beamed slightly and then said, "You'll be with me when I'm figuring it out, right?"
"Hell no," I blurted out, which made David and George frustrated at my callousness in dealing with the still-recovering girl.
"You're a survivor, Sarah. You don't need me. You can do it on your own," I told her comfortingly.
Sarah grumbled and reluctantly agreed. "Fine."
That night, I went by Jessica's house to read the script.
The script wasn't what I expected. Although it had a similar main character—the boy who could see ghosts—this one took a different approach.
The boy came to his own conclusion about the ghosts: that he had to listen and talk to them for them to go away.
He bounced between multiple families who were freaked out by him—talking alone in a room, seeing things that weren't there—until he ended up with his childless aunt, who didn't mind that he was a creepy kid.
He didn't want to be sent away again, so he forced himself to be normal around her.
The script made me feel melancholic. It was quite sad, like the anime Natsume's Book of Friends. The boy forced himself to be normal, to survive all on his own by repressing his gifts.
The main character—the kid—anchored the entire story, so it was a huge responsibility for the child actor to make the movie work.
"Which is where you come in," Jessica said giddily.
"Fuck," I cursed under my breath.
Well, it was still a good script, so I decided to give it a try. David contacted George the next day and told him he had managed to persuade his boss to invest $5–8 million in the movie—but he wanted a clear accounting budget sheet, with no Hollywood-style accounting.
George was extremely excited. The news of him getting the budget for the movie traveled fast, and soon, many agents were knocking on his door to sell their talent for the project.
[General POV]
"George Burnett, huh?"
A thin, lanky man in a black suit picked up the photograph of the director. Beside him was a life-size porcelain doll, walking on her own.
"Amusing." The man chuckled, revealing a sharp fang. A black, bat-like wing appeared from his back, and a pair of large, bloody-red horns grew from his forehead.
"He managed to break free from Envy, and now, he's thriving." The man chortled. George's picture suddenly burst into flames and vanished completely, turned to ashes.
His office was a shrine to power. Framed Variety and Hollywood Reporter covers adorned the walls — "$200M Box Office Smash," "The Man Who Made Stars," "The Kingmaker"
Awards from Cannes, Venice, and the Oscars sat on shelves beside ancient relics and priceless art. One corner displayed a silver-plated script binder signed by half of Hollywood's A-list.
"My little Envy, be a dear and go fetch something special from my vault—not too special, just something good enough to create a good relationship with the director. My senses tell me he's riding gold," the man said lazily.
The spirit messenger, stolen from her original owner, opened up a huge black vault with a gold-plated lock and rudder.
Inside were countless treasures—Van Gogh paintings, a mummy from Egypt, gold coins, katanas and samurai gear, a geisha head, some dead bodies, huge stacks of cash, and multiple herb cases.
The doll brought out a red box from the vault and showed it to the demon.
"That one? Hmm… I think it's too precious to give to him," he grumbled, then turned excited. "BUT! Since it's probably going to piss off Envy, it's a huge plus—and I think it's a great investment to give to him."
The doll paused for a second. Although it didn't speak, the demon understood.
"Hmm? George could be the one who killed your sister? Not likely. I saw him yesterday when he met his friend on the 24th floor. He's not the one."
Greed laughed demonically. "Besides, I don't think a human being could've done that. It must've been one of us messing around."
He opened the box, revealing a shining herb: a 99-year-old ginseng, turned into wine.
"Hmm… Perfect." He grinned and tossed his card inside. A dark smoke appeared from the card and then it disappeared.
The card read– {Victor D'Ambré
Chairman & CEO — Aurum Pictures
Financing • Production • Global Rights Packaging}
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