….
"Good, now moving on… the budget you estimated for [Iron Man] sits around 120 million USD."
"Got that..." Regal replied with a small nod.
For a moment, the room lingered on that number.
Everyone here remembered what Regal had pulled off last time.
The final cost of [Spider-Man: Web of Destiny] had landed at 129 million USD - 3 million under the initial 132 million estimate.
A miracle by industry standards.
Event films never came in clean. They bled money, every delay or accident ballooning into headlines.
Yet Regal had delivered a global spectacle and somehow returned money to the table.
Of course, it wasn't like the film happened to be smooth sailing.
There were setbacks, clashes, production nightmares.
But every time, Regal found a solution.
Now, even the usual grumpy ones in the room carried an unspoken confidence in him.
He had proven himself.
More reassuring still, Regal wasn't just the director here - he was also on the line financially.
According to the contract terms, Regal held the authority to personally finance anywhere between 10% and 50% of any future project undertaken by the studio.
For [Spider-Man: Web of Destiny], he had invested 40% of the budget.
And as he informed them now, he intended to do the same for [Iron Man].
What often slipped people's minds, however, was that Regal wasn't just investing as a filmmaker - he was also a major shareholder.
Over the past eight months, his stake in MDC had quietly climbed from an initial 28% to a commanding 40%, as he steadily bought out the minor shareholders.
As of now, MDC only have three major blocks remained:
Tolliver and Carrow, holding a combined 15%.
Stan Lee, with a hefty 20%.
Gwendolyn's father, with 15%.
Definitively, Regal's own 40% made him the largest stakeholder by far.
The remaining 5% was scattered among stragglers, though Gwendolyn was already in advanced talks to buy them out.
Those discussions were moving positively, as the current valuation of MDC stock had skyrocketed. Investors who once saw it as dead weight were now desperate to cash out while the iron was hot.
Their fear was simple:
What if Spider-Man was a fluke?
What if the next film stumbled and the house of cards collapsed?
None of them had the stomach to test their luck.
But Tolliver and Carrow's stance was different.
They saw Regal not just as a director, but as someone who had risked alongside them.
Which made the next words land easier than expected.
"...Well." Tolliver finally said, his voice carrying hesitation. "We have no issues with it."
….
[-Next Day-]
The meeting from yesterday had tied up all the loose ends.
The [Iron Man: 1] budget was locked, the technical team finalized.
Pre-production could finally accelerate, and now the single biggest task loomed: securing the cast.
Audition calls went out at once, carrying the highest priority to every major talent agency in Los Angeles, New York, and London received them.
The message was clear - this audition call wasn't optional.
For Regal's next film, doors would open, schedules would bend if needed.
It didn't matter whether they were box office A-listers, Oscar darlings, or journeymen still fighting for their breakout.
Regal's name carried weight no one in the industry could ignore.
After [Spider-Man: Web of Destiny], he wasn't just a director.
He was a ticket to legacy.
One agency, however, stood taller than most when it came to Regal.
Iconique Talent Agency.
It was a known fact that they had been involved with him from the beginning of his first film [Following].
The bond was strong enough that when Regal's projects moved, Iconique moved with him.
Inside the Iconique Talent Agency headquarters, Christopher Bennett sat proudly behind his gleaming mahogany desk.
Of all the men in the city, he had reason to look the most content, perhaps even smug.
Ever since his agency had struck gold by collaborating with Regal, the doors that once creaked open with effort now swung freely, ushering in opportunities that other executives would kill for.
Christopher hummed an off-key tune as he rubbed his brass nameplate with a white cloth, puffing little breaths onto it to make it shine brighter.
It was a ridiculous little ritual of his, one he secretly enjoyed when the office was empty, polishing the nameplate like it somehow reflected his own success. He even started to whistle, horribly off-key, when—
Cough.
A sharp, deliberate sound cut through the room.
Christopher froze, cloth nearly slipping from his hand.
He yanked the nameplate upright, straightened his tie, and sat ramrod-straight, all the stiffness of a man caught mid-daydream. The whistling vanished like it had never existed.
"Boss, Anne said I should meet you."
Cool, professional, perfectly familiar.
Christopher cleared his throat, forcing a smile. "Yes… of course. Come in."
Only the door was always wide open - the sudden information had drained the color from his face.
"Damn Anne." He muttered under his breath.
He froze for a beat, torn between instinct and pride. Then, exhaling, he forced himself into casual posture, pretending nothing had happened.
Christopher told himself it was fine. Nothing at all. Just another day.
If only it were anyone else.
But it was - Grace.
At least she was tight-lipped. He could live with that.
If it had been that, Jr. Stephen… he didn't even want to imagine it.
The door clicked shut behind, and Grace crossed the room with the kind of assurance only earned by experience.
She was no longer the wide-eyed debutant who had stumbled into Regal's [Following] two years prior.
Back then, she had been little more than a promising newcomer plucked from obscurity.
Now, she carried herself differently, the grace of someone who had shouldered roles that stuck with audiences, who had survived the grind of auditions, contracts, and the endless cycle of Hollywood scrutiny.
She wasn't yet an A-lister, that elusive crown still sat a rung higher, but she was close, painfully close.
One or two more standout roles, the kind that critics loved to carve into history, and she'd make the climb.
"Grace." Christopher said as he nudged the file forward. "You have got an audition."
Grace asked with an expectant look. "What's the script?"
"Superhero film."
Her expression fell instantly. "Another one?"
The disappointment wasn't feigned.
For the past month, the industry had erupted in a frenzy of superhero scripts.
Studios scrambled to commission whatever half-baked material they could, hoping to ride the seismic aftershock of Regal's Spider-Man.
Grace had already turned down two separate offers - both lucrative on paper, both insultingly hollow once she'd read the scripts.
They weren't films. They were cash-grabs dressed in tights.
Even now, she could already feel the distaste bubbling up.
"What's the role?" She asked, her tone wary.
"The lead's assistant." Christopher paused deliberately, then added with a sly grin, "But there is an inside info I got personally from the writer of the film - that the role could evolve as romantic interest in future."
Grace blinked at him.
Then, with a flat look, she deadpanned. "That sounds even worse."
She had seen this kind of plot development too many times.
The token female character, dropped in as window dressing, her only growth being a sudden pivot into love interest territory. Inevitably, it meant short skirts, impractical outfits, and half the script spent either being rescued or scolded.
Grace's first instinct was to brush it off, to mutter a quick "Pass it" before Christopher could waste another word. But before she could speak, his voice cut through.
"It's Regal's film."
"...." Silence.
Grace sat perfectly still, the words hanging in the air.
Now that her eyes shifted down to the script with red papers, it is clearly matching the type Regal adopted from [Harry Potter] time to prevent from photocopying it.
A slow smile crept across her face, half amusement, half anticipation.
"You could have just started with that, sir." She said, tilting her head, playful yet sharp. "I am auditioning."
It seems he was really dissatisfied with the happenings of the past few minutes.
Christopher added leaving it to her. "Then you might want to take a look at her."
Grace pulled the file toward her, feeling the rough texture of red paged script with a watermark of her name 'Grace Violet' on each page.
Immediately, she flipped it open and her eyes landed on the name at the top of the first page:
Virginia "Pepper" Potts.
Her brow creased. "Pepper?"
She murmured, as though testing the oddity of the name against her tongue.
It felt almost comic, like something pulled from a bygone era. But as her eyes moved down the page, the profile began to take shape.
She wasn't just an "assistant."
Regal had made sure of that.
The notes outlined her as sharp, fiercely competent, someone who could go toe-to-toe with Tony Stark's arrogance without losing herself in his shadow.
She wasn't written to be ornamental - she was written to be necessary.
The glue that keeps Stark Industries functional while Tony plays god, Grace read. The one person who can say no to him and mean it.
She lingered longer than she expected, eyes scanning through bullet points of her first few scenes.
The banter. The restraint. The quiet power hidden in her subtle reactions.
This wasn't the tired archetype she had feared. This was… something else.
"She is not there to be saved…" Christopher said, reading her expression. "She is there to assist him, and Regal knows it. Look at the dialogue notes…. half the time, she is the only one cutting through his bullshit."
Grace exhaled softly, almost in disbelief. She could already hear it - the rhythm of it. Tony's ego crashing against Pepper's dry wit, and neither side giving ground.
"This isn't an 'assistant turned love interest…'" She said under her breath. "This is…"
"A partner." Christopher finished.
Grace finally closed the folder, tapping her fingers on the cover as though she needed something physical to anchor her thoughts.
For the first time in weeks, she felt that quiet thrum in her chest - the one that came when she knew a role could change everything.
Pepper Potts wasn't written to be background. She was the counterbalance to a man spiraling out of control.
And Regal wanted her to audition.
Grace lifted her eyes to Christopher, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "When do I read?"
Christopher chuckled. "Already scheduled, you are on Regal's calendar next week. And Grace–
"Don't underestimate him. If he wrote her this way, it's because he is betting on her becoming more than anyone expects."
Grace held the folder a little tighter, as though it might slip away.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn't rolling her eyes at another superhero script.
She was intrigued.
….
The ripple of Regal's next audition spread fast.
By the time the team sent out the official audition entries, every corner of Hollywood's talent machine had heard the news.
[Iron Man] wasn't just another superhero project - it was Regal's next film.
That alone turned the entire playing field upside down.
At smaller agencies, the atmosphere bordered on chaos:
Assistants hustled between cubicles with manila envelopes, actors sat in lobbies clutching pages of dialogue they barely understood, and agents barked phone calls into headsets, already angling for better slots in the casting schedule.
Few of them had even opened the script breakdowns.
Fewer still understood that this wasn't a simple comic book flick.
They only saw two words: Regal and MarvelD Studio.
For some, it was desperation.
They remembered the frenzy when Regal cast Spider-Man.
Unknowns turned into stars overnight, and their agencies had watched helplessly from the sidelines.
This time, no one wanted to miss the wave.
Even actors who had scoffed at "cape films" six months ago were now rehearsing lines in mirrors, coaching themselves into smirking billionaire geniuses or quick-witted assistants.
Most of them still didn't grasp Regal's obsession with world-building, or the fact that every character - even the side ones - was being laid like chess pieces on a much larger board.
To them, Iron Man was just another paycheck, a quick fame lottery.
The monologue was the same in office after office:
"Play the ignorant teenager, get the role, become the next Andrew Garfield."
"The assistant? Probably just arm candy. Doesn't matter, the exposure is huge."
"Who cares about the long game? Regal's name alone guarantees a hit."
But none of them knew what Christopher Bennett already did.
None of them understood that Regal wasn't casting for one film, he was casting for ten. That these roles weren't some random roles - they were anchors for a multiverse.
So while Grace studied Pepper Potts as though she were reading Shakespeare, across town, other actresses were laughing at the name, practicing how to pout or look flustered in heels.
While RDJ was privately grappling with how to turn his own flaws into Tony Stark's mask, dozens of other actors were treating the character as if he were a cartoon playboy in red armor.
The frenzy was real, but the understanding wasn't.
In agency after agency, the same line was repeated:
"Just get in the room with Regal. Even a single scene in his film is better than nothing."
And somewhere in Regal's office, reviewing headshots stacked in piles, he would know exactly which of them saw the role for what it really was - and which of them didn't.
.
….
[To be continued…]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
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