[Owen POV]
I was in a good mood to meet the maker of Jurassic Park. However, what greeted me were two fat Universal studio executives.
"When is Mr. Spielberg coming?" I asked, crossing my legs on the chair, leaning into the backrest, and staring them right in the face.
"He's coming later." Maury—the fat one with glasses—poured some sparkling water into my glass. "Before that, allow me to congratulate you on your rise to stardom. You've had an unprecedented rise, unlike any other."
The other one, Goldstein, a fat guy with a bald head—hair on the sides, none on top—guffawed and said, "Many current A-list actors took years to get where they are. You did it with two movies."
"I'm not an A-list actor," I said, slightly wary of their buttering up.
Maury grinned and said, "Not yet. But you could be—with our help."
He took out a contract and laid it down on the table.
"What's this?" I asked without picking it up.
Goldstein said, mimicking Maury's energy, "Your path to superstardom. Take a look."
I picked up the contract and began reading the overview they'd put at the top. The contract was thin, only a few pages.
They wanted to lock me into a multi-picture deal before signing me up for the Jurassic Park movie.
"Just sign it first. Then, we'll bring you to meet Spielberg," Maury said excitedly.
I looked at him with disbelief, wondering if I looked like a dumb kid.
Suddenly, a man in a well-crafted Italian suit, carrying an expensive leather briefcase, came to the table and took a seat next to me casually. "Sorry I'm late. I had a court case this morning."
David Lee, my lawyer with the esper ability, greeted the two and handed them his law firm's card.
"Legal Lee Law Firm?" Goldstein narrowed his eyes slightly.
"I'm Mr. Owen Chase's legal representative in all of his dealings in Hollywood," David said confidently. "Since you've turned this casual lunch into a business meeting, I think my presence is necessary, don't you agree?"
I wasn't going to come to a production meeting without my lawyer.
"When—how did you even know this place—" Maury was truly stupefied.
David picked up the contract and began reading it. The clauses and the traps floated in front of his eyes, and he understood the contract almost instantaneously.
After a brief pause, he looked up at them, his tone cool and cutting.
"This isn't a standard appearance agreement. This is a disguised exclusivity clause. The moment my client signs this, it automatically binds him to a five-picture contract under your studio's discretion—with no fixed timelines and full activation rights on your side."
He flipped a page, tapping one line with his pen.
"Here, it says you reserve the right to 'initiate production holds' if he engages with any other studio. That means even if Owen lands another film elsewhere, you can block it by reactivating this contract at will."
He looked at both men, expression unreadable.
"So before you ask for a signature, why don't you show me the full-length version of this contract—the one that isn't wrapped in this neat, three-page brochure meant for actors who can't read between the lines."
Maury's smile faltered. Goldstein's hand twitched toward the contract, as if to take it back, but David placed his briefcase on top of it, firm and deliberate.
"Because if you don't," David continued smoothly, "we'll assume you're trying to circumvent fair contracting standards—and that this meeting was an attempt at coercion under false pretenses."
He smiled disarmingly. "Which, I'm sure your legal department would love to explain to the press."
The air went still. Maury leaned back in his chair, eyes darting to Goldstein as if asking silently what to do next.
Goldstein chuckled softly, his eyes sharp.
"David, right? You're new here, I take it. You might not know how things work in this town."
David didn't answer. His expression stayed calm, unreadable.
Goldstein leaned forward, elbows on the table, his tone still light but his words venomous.
He looked directly at me. "See, Hollywood's a very small place. Everybody knows everybody. And when someone—how should I put it—declines an opportunity like this, people start to wonder if they're… difficult to work with."
He smiled. "Working with a studio is different from being indie. It's really hard to cross the starting line here."
He added, "And that sort of reputation spreads fast. Real fast. Studios get nervous. Directors stop calling. Suddenly, the offers dry up, and all you've got left are art films and indie projects that never see daylight. Happens all the time."
I didn't flinch, even when I could feel the weight of the threat hidden under his polite words. In fact, I was amused by it.
They were blackmailing me based on the assumption that I wanted to pursue fame and become the world's top star.
I was only here because of the dinosaur.
David gave a slow, deliberate smile.
"Are you done making veiled threats, Mr. Goldstein? Because I'd love for you to repeat that sentence again while I start recording this meeting. Just for documentation purposes."
He took out a tape recorder from his inner suit pocket.
Goldstein's smirk faded.
I too had a recording tape actually, underneath the table, recording the conversation from the start.
David leaned in slightly, voice lowering. He lifted the briefcase, took the contract, and handed it neatly to me.
"Owen, what should you say at this moment?" David asked, in a fatherly tone.
I turned to the two execs and said, "I'll think about your offer."
Maury tried to recover the situation with a nervous laugh.
"Now, there's no need to make things ugly, gentlemen. We were just offering a chance to be part of Universal—"
David cut him off smoothly. "Don't act kind. It's beneath you."
"You can't take the contract. That's Universal's proprietary material—it can't be shared with others," Goldstein quickly said, snatching the contract from David's hand.
David was taken aback for a moment, but he didn't say anything. He just stood up and left with me.
"Obsidian. You know what to do." I tapped my black snake ring as I saw the execs keeping the contract inside their bag.
"You can expect some retaliation from them," David said with a worried face. "They might actually do it."
I shrugged. "I don't really care. If Universal acts out, then the other five big studios will swoop in—offering me generous contracts just to placate me, and slowly bait me to their side."
"It might take years though before that happened." David chuckled teasingly.
I shot him a dirty look and we got into our cars. I waited for a couple minutes before my black snake returned to my hand.
She spat out a wet, 200 pages contract on my red leather seat and coiled up on top of it, as if expecting compliments.
"Thank you Dian. You did really well." I scratched on her snake hood while she happily shook her tail.
Once the execs realize the contract is gone, they would enter panic mode.
There was no instance in the history of Hollywood where a studio contract was exposed to the public.
I waited for a bit more, and a beautiful woman came to the car. She opened the door and let herself in.
Ripping off the skin mask from her face, Elena grimaced and said, "They aren't going to let it go."
"It's fine. Did you get any dirt on them?" I asked her casually. Micheal and Elena did their normal thing and watched me from the shadows.
I didn't ask them to, but they felt the need to protect their sect leader.
"Plenty." Elena said with a slightly disgusted face.
I chuckled and said, "We can expect a smear campaign after this."
Elena looked at me with disbelief and said, "You laughed. Is this amusing to you?"
"Very."
…
Day 1 of the Smear Campaign. Thursday.
[Universal insider claims Owen clashed with Spielberg during pre-production talks.]
It was a small headline in the Hollywood Reporter magazine.
Then, Variety followed suit.
[Sixth Sense Star Owen Chase Rejects Universal's Multi-Picture Deal — Industry Insiders Call It 'Career Suicide.']
I read the article and laughed. It wasn't something major, but for the industry insider, it was enough to tell them that I was radioactive.
Compared to losing Universal deals, it was better to not hire me for anything anymore.
"They worded it like I had rejected a major role. I rejected a cameo." I muttered with amusement.
David and Micheal– my lawyer and manager, were more worried about this matter than me.
Claire– 4CLOVER CEO, actually came to my place to meet me because of it.
"What happened?" She asked without accusing me of anything. I shrugged, smiling slightly.
David intervened and said, "Don't bother with him. He's actually enjoying this."
He took out the Universal contract and handed it to Claire. "Take a look at what they were trying to leash him with."
Claire flipped the contract slowly and her brows furrowed more and more.
She turned to me and said, "Thank you for rejecting this. Otherwise, they might ruin the O-Class project."
Claire added, "Jessica's Supernatural Teen Detective movie failed hard at the box office. Universal produced it for 20 million, only getting 2 million back. So they are holding it against her– even though they are the ones who didn't want her to join the production in the first place."
Suddenly, she grinned and said, "I wonder what the execs' faces will be like when they know your lawyer is the same lawyer Jack Kennedy has."
David said to Claire, "I have contacted one of my friends in Premiere magazine. She's someone vicious, but fair. She'll come by tomorrow to interview Owen."
Day 2 of the Smear Campaign.
Unlike the social media era, the smear campaign in this world was one sided. The target couldn't defend themselves anywhere.
On the tv, a news channel picked up the story.
"Hollywood's newest sensation might be in hot water — why did Owen Chase turn down Steven Spielberg?" The news anchor on the USA Network read the embellished story.
"I guess the execs are waiting for you to apologize now." David said with a smirk.
"Eh, they are really presumptuous. I'm not going to, ever."
The reporter from the Premiere magazine arrived at the Montecito building and entered my duplex.
Elena told me she was asking her and the kids there a couple of questions when she walked by the courtyard. Gael apparently exposed something to her casual questioning.
Like the fact that I owned the building, and gave them a place to stay.
Lisa Harmon was a tough woman. She has a pointed nose, sharp eyebrows and wore a pantsuit to the interview.
She took off her shoes at the entrance of my door before coming in.
"Can we record this for documentation purposes?" She asked as a cameraman set up a camera from behind her.
"Sure." I replied easily.
After the initial introduction about my age, where my hometown was, how I was like in my childhood, she truly began her line of questioning.
"'Serpent's Son' premiered at TIFF and stunned critics. What was that night like for you?"
"I was asleep." I replied jokingly. "I'm not old enough to go to TIFF. I was working on Hold On Tight at that time and got the news from reading a newspaper the next day."
"Did you have a prior relationship with George Burnett before recording the Sixth Sense?" She asked.
"Not George. Jessica Sloane. I was working as an illustrator for her children's book. George was her best friend. I heard he couldn't make the film since no one is sane enough to actually go through it, so I got curious."
Harmon added, "Is it because of the sleeping with snake scene?"
"Yup. Especially that. It wasn't dangerous since all of the snakes were mellowed out by some gas, but no child wants to do that. I was a midget at that time, so I can do it."
"Thus began the collaboration between you two. You worked together on the Sixth Sense, which is a mega hit. And now, there's some rumors you are going to be working together on a next project under the 4CLOVER banner."
The interview went on for a while. Until at the end where she finally asked about the scandal.
"Before we close," she said casually, "I heard from a source inside Universal that you rejected a deal that could've changed your life. Is that true that you rejected Spielberg's offer?"
I smiled faintly. "If I had taken it, I'd have no life left to change."
She chuckled, though it was clear she didn't understand what I meant.
"Delivery!" Suddenly, Elena came into the room, wearing a mask and sunglasses, placed an envelope into Harmon's hand and then walked away.
"Is that? The girl from the courtyard–" Harmon was in disbelief. "What's this?" She picked up the envelope with curiosity.
"Oh. I guess an anonymous informant has sent you something special. It's definitely not us who gave it to you. You got it from an anonymous source!" David said glibly.
Harmon's eyes lit up, understanding the subtle messaging behind it and told her cameraman, "Stop recording."
It was sealed in a plain brown envelope, a black wax stamp pressed on top — a snake coiled around the letter O.
"Since you've seen the headlines," he said evenly, "you should see what they actually offered." David approached her closely.
He flipped through the first few pages, then slid one across the table.
"Read this line here."
Harmon leaned forward, scanning the section. Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
{All creative works conceived or developed by the Artist during the term of this agreement, regardless of medium, shall be deemed work-for-hire under the ownership of Universal Pictures and its affiliates, including Universal Music Group and Penguin Random House.}
She looked up. "Wait. So even if he—"
David finished for her, calm and cold. "—paints a picture, writes a book, or sings a song. Yes. They'd own it. All of it."
Harmon flipped a few more pages. Her face darkened.
{The Studio reserves the right to defer, suspend, or reactivate the Artist's obligations at its sole discretion, provided that such reactivation shall nullify any third-party engagement entered into by the Artist.}
She shut the file. "Jesus Christ." Harmon looked at me. "And they thought you'd just sign this?"
"They thought I wanted to be famous," I said simply.
For a moment, the room was silent except for the rattle of the ceiling fan.
Harmon set the document down carefully.
"You know," she said finally, "if I write about this, it's going to cause an earthquake."
"Then write it," I said.
"I'm not worried about me not writing it. I'm worried about what will happen to you if I write it. They might blacklist you forever." She said, internally battling between her career as a journalist and her humanity.
"I don't mind actually. I'm just doing this for fun. I have enough money already." I told her.
She nodded and said with a disappointed expression, "You know. I have seen both of your movies. I'm a fan of yours, so I'm a little peeved about the prospect of not seeing you on the big screen anymore."
"Should we continue discussing the contract?" David offered. She nodded immediately. I went to get some coffee and left them alone.
David leaned in. "You see that section? Cross-divisional coordination rights. That's their trick."
{The Studio may exercise collaborative oversight with any affiliated or partner entities to ensure brand consistency across all media formats.}
Her head snapped up. "So that means—"
"Universal Music, Universal Interactive, even their publishing arm," David said. "If Owen writes a song, they can force him to release it under Universal Music Group."
"He just released his single a week ago. They are already trying to swallow him whole?" Harmon was aghast.
{The Artist shall remain available for activation under this agreement at the sole discretion of the Studio, superseding prior or concurrent obligations, and shall defer any third-party engagement until written clearance is obtained.}
He tapped it with his pen. "That's how they'd interrupt any other film he's making."
Harmon frowned. "You mean they could just—pull him out?"
David nodded. "Let's say Owen's shooting a 4CLOVER movie in Vancouver. Universal sends a letter invoking activation. He's legally obligated to drop everything and report to Universal — even if no project exists yet."
"They can literally invent one to pull him away," He added. "Call it a development hold."
"Development holds," Harmon repeated softly.
David's smile turned bitter. "In practice, it's a chokehold. They can freeze an actor for years, claim 'creative delays,' and keep them from working anywhere else. That's how they bury competition."
She stared at the document. "How's this even legal?"
"It barely is," David said. "They worded it to skirt the De Havilland Law. You know — the one that limits studio control to seven years of personal service."
"So they disguised it," she said.
"Exactly. Instead of a continuous seven-year term, they broke it into project activations. Technically, each one resets the clock."
Her eyes widened. "So it could go on forever."
David gave a thin smile. "As long as they keep him 'in development.'" They'd have to release him when it's almost 7 years though."
I took a sip of coffee and sat back down, "To answer your initial question. Spielberg wasn't there that day. They used his name to bait me."
Harmon gave a dry laugh, still staring at the papers. " They could've turned you into their property."
"They tried to," I said. "The contract is kept confidential, so no one knows about it. Or they can't prove it even if they were trapped since it has built in NDA."
She crossed her arms, thoughtful. "If this ever got out publicly…"
"It won't," David said. "They'll deny everything. We only wanted you to see it."
She nodded slowly, fingers brushing the wax seal. "You know," she murmured, "Hollywood always whispers about studio traps — but this? This is a whole different species."
I smiled faintly.
"So," she said finally after taking a long time to process, "they used Spielberg's name to bait you? Told you to sign first, then meet him?"
"Yup," I said. "The whole thing's on tape."
David opened his briefcase and set a small cassette recorder on the table.
"You can hear everything — the manipulation, the bait, the coercion."
Harmon turned sharply. "Can I listen to it?"
David hesitated. "Off record."
She nodded.
He pressed play.
Maury's voice came through clearly:
{"Just sign it first. Then we'll bring you to meet Spielberg."
Then Goldstein's laugh.
"Don't worry, kid. Everyone does it this way."
The sound of a glass clinking. A pause.
Then my own voice — calm, cold: "Is that so?"}
When the tape clicked off, Harmon exhaled slowly. "Jesus Christ."
David closed the recorder. "You see the picture now."
She ran a hand through her hair. "That's not just sleazy. That's entrapment."
She paced, the wheels turning behind her eyes. "If I run this — even without the contract — it'll blow up. Universal will bury me. Maybe even sue."
David smirked. "They'd have to prove it's false first."
She shot him a look. "And they can't, can they?"
"Nope. If they wanted to sue for defamation, they'd have to risk discovery, which meant proving the contract didn't exist."
Harmon saw the contract in her hand and her eyes lit up.
"Ah. So you hold the leverage now." She understood it clearly.
She sat down again, pulling her notepad closer and began scribbling furiously.
"I'll write it. Even if my editor kills it, it'll exist on record. The truth has a way of leaking when people are this arrogant."
Her gaze fell on the envelope again. She reached into her blazer, pulled out a Polaroid camera, and clicked.
A flash went off. Then another — close-up, of the signature page and the "five-picture clause."
David frowned. "You shouldn't—"
She met his eyes. "I know what I'm doing. If this disappears, at least I'll have proof it existed."
Then she turned to me. "You really don't care if this burns?"
I shrugged. "Let them burn. I already have another film lined up."
Harmon studied me for a long moment, then smiled faintly. "You're either insane or untouchable, Owen Chase. I can't tell which yet."
"He's a bit insane." David told Harmon with a sigh. "It's really hard being his lawyer."
She laughed under her breath. "I can see that." She agreed with him.
Then, she left after getting what she wanted.
David turned to me and asked, "Do you think she'll post the story?"
"Who knows? Elena said she really wants to do it." I said, waving at Elena as she entered my house again.
…
Day 7 of the Smear Campaign.
I spent my days directing the movie as Jack Kennedy when the story dropped.
Harmon kept the sources anonymous, never mentioning my name, but the story still shook all of Hollywood.
Elena approached me as she read the article in Premiere magazine.
"Owen. I want to ask you something. Can we do this…"
She sat beside me and talked about her plans. I was intrigued by them and decided to try it.
Reporters were swarming Universal's company building to confirm the authenticity of the story.
"There! Maury and Goldstein! They're Universal studio executives responsible for talent management!" A tall reporter — who was Michael in disguise — guided the crowd of reporters to swarm the two men.
Maury and Goldstein were surrounded by reporters. As the cameras shoved into their faces, one reporter asked, "Can you share your opinion about the contract?! Is it really true that Universal is writing predatory contracts to cage actors?!"
Maury and Goldstein wanted to reply using the PR-approved language, but suddenly, they found their minds hazy and blank.
Bayani — the esper with the sound ability — mimicked their voices.
"Owen Chase didn't sign the contract, did he? So you can't say it's predatory if there's no prey," Maury said.
Goldstein added, "Besides, the contract should never see the light of day. No one should know what we lock our talents with."
The reporters were stunned. Maury and Goldstein became speechless.
Goldstein quickly said, "We— We didn't say that!"
"That's confirmation, isn't it? Is the target of the contract Owen Chase? Was the story floating around him being difficult to work with as part of the retaliation from the studio?" Michael asked, truly acting as a reporter right now.
"We—" Goldstein couldn't say anything.
Michael pressed on, "Did you not call the editor of Variety magazine at 8:32 p.m., the day after your meeting with Owen Chase, where he rejected you, to plant fake stories about him and blacklist him from the industry?!"
He provided the name of the editor, their bank account that Gael pulled, and the deal with Goldstein.
The entire thing was recorded live by ABC News, and audiences all over the world were shocked by the reveal.
It was a huge scandal.
I watched the entire thing go down from my house. I wasn't involved in what my sect member was doing– in fact, I didn't even know the full details of it before it went down.
I know Micheal wanted me to lend him Shiryu, and he knocked out the true reporter he's disguising himself with before swarming the two people.
"They are growing up well." I smiled with satisfaction.