Chapter 9: Chapter 9: What was that?

There’s a tall building in front of me. It has a huge entrance decorated with green plants and colorful flowers. Entertainment registration, it says in front of the building. This is the main branch in which dreams soar or get crushed. They get crushed most of the time.

I walk inside the building, and the lady at the entrance counter instructs me to go to the 5th floor. This is where newcomers register. I exit the elevator and enter a big room filled with many chairs, tables and counters. The line is short. Someone gives me a form. I sit down to fill it out.

I write the information required.

“Can I sit here, sir?” a short, friendly looking guy says to me.

“Of course,” I say.

He filled out his form, and we made small talk. His name is Rico, and he’s young but experienced in the field.

“I’m pretty nervous about this. It’s been my dream for a long time. After working and finding people I can trust from my films. We’ll have our own company.”

He’s a director who made some small but successful films and shows. Actors and personnel seem to like him, and they’re joining him as he starts. They funded it together. They wanted more creative control over the direction and casting of their shows.

Compared to me. He looks so bright. My reasons are garbage compared to this guy.

“My company name will be K.T. Media. I hope we’ll be successful enough to rank within the top 1000 someday.”

“Haha, maybe if we’re blessed and lucky.”

“What’s the name of your company?” says Rico.

“Immortal agency.”

“Oh, an agency. So you’ll focus more on handling your own stars. So you’re connected with artists. Were you a manager or scout before?”

Connections? What’s that? Can I eat it?

We have one artist and one other employee. My sole artist is also down.

The people at the counter call our names. Perfect timing.

“Let’s meet again if we don’t crash and burn, haha,” I say.

“I’ll search for your company in the rankings! Check mine out too,” says Rico.

“Let’s meet at the end of the year. Higher rank buys the other a drink?”

“Deal.”

He’s a friendly guy. We work in the same industry. Some competition and connections won’t hurt.

I hand over my form to the counter and pay the registration fee. It was 100 gold coins. It was a pretty sizeable sum, considering an average salary amounts to 10 gold a year.

“Sir, please go to room 5 to complete your registration.”

“Thank you.”

Room five is a simple room with chairs and a single table. I sit down and wait. A woman enters the room. She sits in front of me and speaks about legal jargon. Generic information about contracts, risks and how it’s a cutthroat business.

“Sir, contracts are binding and blessed by the Author. The protections here will protect you as well as your staff. It is quite expensive. Are you sure you want to register?”

“Yes. I am.”

She looks at me straight and sighs.

“Punk. Listen here.”

What’s with this tone change?

“You might be some rich boy looking for fun. Registering here won’t allow you to fool girls.”

“You’ll be an unranked agency. If you’re planning to scam people. Give up now!”

I’m not scamming people, ok?

“The Author blesses these contracts. It is powerful. It’s not just a piece of paper.”

“I know that. I know what I signed up for.”

“That’s hard to believe. You don’t even have a single artist. We get many people like you looking to scam or impress others. It does not work. You are wasting money.”

It looks like that, huh? I have one artist. Ok?

“I have an artist, ok? I’ll have her under contract soon.”

“Sure you do.”

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“Honest.”

“Listen, dumbass. I’m helping you save money here.”

“I have a plan, and the money won’t go to waste.” Why is she so rude? Let’s calm down. It might be a tactic to disincentive spoiled rich brats.

She talked about money. How important it is. To not waste it, along with insults directed at me. Her spiel was never-ending. Thirty minutes of nonstop speaking. Are lungs made of steel? Did she even breathe?

“So you’re not gonna change your mind? Gonna waste money, punk?”

She got way ruder. What is this? Her face turns into an ugly mug.

Something pops up in my head. It says: Looks unique. Just like everyone else. Hideous on the inside, though.

“Yes. I would like to finish my registration.”

“Fine. Waste your parents’ money. I don’t care.”

It’s done at last. She made it harder than it needed to be.

“Well, that’s that. Where’d you even get the money, kid?” why is she still this rude?

“I got it from a relative of yours, actually.”

“What? Who?”

“Your mom.”

Haha. What’s with that face? It’s a joke. A small comeback. A little immature? Yes. Quite funny, though.

“So you’re that punk! Scum!” she screams at me, her face looking like a devil.

Wait. What?

“So you’re the bastard tricking my mom!”

It wasn’t me!

“I was kidding!” I say.

“You little dick punk! I’m gonna kill you!” she lifts a chair and throws it at me. I dodge it. Easy. My action ignites her anger.

I tell her to calm down but she’s not listening! She screams at me.

“Sending me pictures and photos of my mom with your face hidden. I found you! YOU’RE DEAD!”

Why would someone do that?

She flips the table. I dodge it. The table made of glass shatters, creating a big sound. No sharp glass shards hit me. It’s a miracle. This girl’s gone crazy. Run away from this crazy woman. An object flies in and sticks to the wall in front of my face. It was a photo.

Are photos this sharp? It’s embedded on the wall. This is insane!

I got a glimpse of the photo. The woman is making out with the man behind her. They were both naked on bed making love.

Something pops into my head. It says: Can get dates easier.

Lucky guy. She doesn’t look like her mom, though. Must have got her dad’s looks.

Her anger at the picture means this guy’s not her father. Also, is she blind? I’m not the guy in the photo! We don’t look alike!

Quick! Tell her something to calm her down.

“Oh. Your mom looks nice.” Why would I say that? Brain? Mouth? One of you better answer!

A violent aura releases. The entire building must have felt it. A Demon. It exists.

Something hits the space beside my face. It’s her fist. Now embedded in the walls.

It misses my head.

I’m in the clear.

I’m still alive.

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