Neha led Ishaan and Simi through the polished corridors of TOABH Talent Management, the glass walls reflecting their purposeful strides. The air hummed with creative energy—soft murmurs of staff coordinating shoots, the faint click of cameras testing angles, and the rustle of portfolios being shuffled. They paused at a sturdy wooden door engraved with "Priya Sharma, Department Head," and Neha gave a quick knock before pushing it open. Inside, the office was a blend of modern elegance and professional restraint—sleek furniture, a large desk cluttered with neatly stacked files, and a panoramic window offering a view of Andheri's bustling streets.
Priya Sharma rose to greet them, a woman in her 40s with an air of quiet authority. Her dark hair was pulled into a meticulous bun, not a strand out of place, and her well-maintained skin glowed under the office's soft lighting. She wore a tailored navy blazer over a cream blouse, exuding an official demeanor that commanded respect. Her sharp cheekbones framed a warm smile as she adjusted her glasses. "Neha, good to see you again," she said, her voice smooth and welcoming. Her gaze shifted to Ishaan, appraising him with a professional eye. "And you must be Ishaan. You look even better in person than in those videos—taller, with a presence that leaps off the screen."
Neha beamed, stepping aside. "This is the 'Modern Ninja' we've been raving about. The YouTube fame is just the start."
Priya gestured to the plush chairs opposite her desk. "Please, sit. Let's get to business." As they settled, the leather creaking slightly under their weight, she leaned forward, hands clasped with a practiced ease. "Given your existing popularity on YouTube—those millions of views—and Neha's glowing recommendation, we're excited to move forward. We'd like to offer you a test shoot for a clothing brand targeting the youth market, with a techno-inspired aesthetic, as we discussed. It's a one-time payment of ₹1,00,000 for the shoot. If the brand loves the outcome and the advertisement performs well, we'll propose a long-term contract with better terms."
Simi, sitting to Ishaan's right, leaned in with a confident tilt of her head. "I'm Simi Singh—daughter of Mr. Singh, a respected name in Mumbai's business circles. I've seen Ishaan's potential up close. He's got the charisma and skill to be a massive hit. You won't regret this."
Priya's eyebrows lifted slightly, the Singh name carrying weight, and she nodded with renewed interest. "That's a strong endorsement, Simi. Ishaan, your only concern seems to be keeping your face hidden?"
"Yes," Ishaan replied, his tone steady and resolute. "It's non-negotiable."
Neha jumped in, her voice reassuring. "We've planned around that. The mask is your brand—your YouTube identity will carry over seamlessly."
Priya smiled, her confidence unwavering. "Excellent. We'll honor that. I'll have my assistant draft a contract—₹1,00,000 upfront, payable today. We've already set up a studio downstairs with clothes from the brand. If you're ready, we can do the shoot right now. Saves time, and we can gauge the fit immediately."
Ishaan considered the proposal, the figure—a lakh upfront—flashing through his mind like a lifeline for Madhura and Niti. He nodded. "Let's do it."
Priya pressed a button on her desk intercom. "Rita, prepare a contract for Ishaan—₹1,00,000 advance, mask clause included. Bring it to the studio." Within minutes, her assistant, a brisk young woman with a clipboard, entered, handed Priya the document, and scurried off to ready the shoot. Priya slid the contract across the desk, and Ishaan read it carefully—payment terms, confidentiality, mask retention—all airtight. He signed with a steady hand, and Rita returned with a payment slip, which Priya countersigned and handed to him.
"Follow me," Priya said, leading them out. They descended to the basement studio, a cavernous space alive with activity. Bright lights blazed, casting dramatic shadows, while racks of clothing—black hoodies with neon circuitry patterns, pants with embedded LED strips—lined the walls. A photographer adjusted his lens, assistants scurrying with reflectors, and a makeup artist waited with a minimal kit for the mask's edges.
Ishaan, unfamiliar with modeling's rhythm, felt a flicker of uncertainty. Neha sensed it, stepping closer. "I'll guide you," she whispered. "Just follow my cues." The photographer, a wiry man with a keen eye, directed Ishaan to a marked spot. "Stand here—slouch a bit, like you own the room. Tilt the mask slightly—cold stare." Ishaan complied, his martial arts training lending a natural grace. Neha coached him further—how to shift his weight for a casual edge, how to angle his body to catch the light. "Now sit—cross your legs, lean back," she instructed, and he did, the mask's shadow adding mystery.
The shoot unfolded over an hour, each pose a blend of tech-inspired edge and masked enigma. The photographer snapped relentlessly, calling out adjustments—"Chin up, hands in pockets, now turn!"—while assistants swapped outfits. Ishaan adapted, his focus sharpening with each click. Simi hovered nearby, offering encouragement, while Priya observed from a monitor, nodding approvingly. "He's got it," she murmured to Neha.
Finally, the photographer lowered his camera. "That's a wrap—brilliant work!" He scrolled through the shots, the screen filling with striking images—Ishaan's masked figure dominating the frame, the clothing's futuristic vibe amplified by his presence. Priya and Simi exchanged thrilled glances. "Incredible," Priya said. "The brand will eat this up." Simi grinned. "Told you—he's a natural."
Sweat beaded under the mask, but Ishaan felt a quiet pride. They returned to Priya's office to finalize details, her assistant preparing a follow-up schedule. "We'll review the edits and pitch to the brand," Priya said. "If they greenlight, expect a call for the long-term deal."
They bid farewell, stepping into the afternoon sun. Neha suggested a nearby coffee shop, and the trio settled at a corner table, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with their relief. Over cups, Neha leaned in. "Ishaan, that shoot was outstanding. You'll need a manager to navigate this—schedules, contracts, negotiations."
Ishaan frowned, no name surfacing. He pulled out his phone, dialing Ravi. "Hey, it's me. Just did the shoot—₹1,00,000 upfront. They want more if it works. Need a manager."
Ravi's voice crackled with excitement. "Me! I'd kill to manage you for this. And good news—I filed for 'Modern Ninja' as a company. Next contract, we'll register under that—keeps your identity locked."
"Perfect," Ishaan said, hanging up. He turned to Simi and Neha. "Ravi, my friend, will be my manager. Next time, we'll use the company name—Modern Ninja."
Simi clapped, her enthusiasm infectious. Neha nodded, impressed. "Smart move. This could be huge." The chapter closed with the clink of coffee cups, Ishaan's masked future taking shape.