Part XX - The Final Tally
He immediately plunged into the heavy, local distribution work, starting with the highest priority: confronting his most reluctant retailer. His first stop was The Collector's Vault. Marcus carried the box of new inventory into the quiet shop and placed one pristine copy of Chapter 2 on the glass counter. Gary looks at the book, not touching it, his expression a tight knot of reluctance. "The binding is as thick as the first one. That's not sustainable, Marcus."
"Take a look inside, Gary," Marcus countered, leaning closer. "You said the first was a fluke. This is the second. This is the quality of the commitment." Gary finally picked up the book, flipping through the interior pages that showed the developing world of Bloomer. His frown didn't lift, but his refusal didn't come either. He slid the book back to Marcus, pulled out his ledger, and began writing. Marcus cut him off before he could finish the order.
"Wait, Gary. The list price is changing."
Gary froze, pen hovering over the page. "Changing how? The dollar price was already a gamble."
"It's fifty cents now," Marcus stated, his gaze level and challenging. "Five zero cents. We're creating the market, Gary. We undercut every dime-store pamphlet. We don't just prove we're good; we prove we're the only game in town for a fair price. We are the new choice."
Gary slammed the pen down. "You idiot. You're giving away premium paper for pocket change! You'll never cover your printing costs!"
Marcus leaned in, dropping his voice. "Maybe I was asking for too much at a dollar," he conceded quickly, his gaze sharp. "But this is the bridge, Gary. We prove the audience is there at fifty cents, we drive demand for the next eleven chapters, and then the price for the collected Volume goes back up to three dollars. I'll worry about the costs, Gary," Marcus said, his voice dropping, "and you just try to keep them on the shelf."
Gary stared, his jaw working as he tried to formulate a professional retort to the raw street economics Marcus had just laid bare. He couldn't. The logic was flawed, reckless, and yet compelling to the local customers. He simply sputtered, his face a mask of impotent rage. Ignoring the shopkeeper's obvious fury, Marcus grabbed the boxes of the new inventory. He took a prime section of the front counter and aggressively cross-stacked the new Chapter 2 next to the remaining Chapter 1 copies, setting a bright, hand-drawn sign clearly marked 50¢ on top of each stack.
Gary finally found his voice, a low hiss of malice. "This display better not scratch my counter, Marcus."
"Then hope it sells out before the day is over," Marcus replied evenly, not breaking eye contact. Marcus held Gary's furious gaze for another second, letting his refusal to be intimidated sink in. Then, he gave one quick, decisive nod, turned on his heel, and walked out. He threw his empty boxes into the van and drove off, leaving the ultimate test of his market strategy to play out without him.
As Marcus drove away, he missed the first stirrings of excitement at the Vault's entrance. Walking up to the door was a small group: Leo and Miguel were with Rick, a 13-year-old Japanese American kid known for his sketchbooks and neighborhood murals. Rick, looking skeptical, held a copy of the first chapter. "I still can't believe I paid a dollar for this bootleg," grumbled, flipping through the pages of Chapter 1. "But Miguel, man, the line work is clean. This isn't that thin newsprint DC and Marvel use. The paper is heavy, the color separation is perfect, and it's got that stillness in the staging. It's giving me ideas for my next wall."
"Dude, I told you," Miguel insisted, pointing toward the door. "It's not bootleg, it's just different. That ending of Chapter One? That's why you gotta see Chapter Two."
"Fine," Rick sighed. "Let's see if this I. Tuffen guy can keep the magic going. But I swear, if the registration is off and the colors bleed—like they do on the usual books Gary gets—im throwing it at Gary." Rick pushed the door open, the brass bell giving a sudden, sharp chime.
The three boys sprinted past the long boxes, their eyes magnetized to the new release shelf. They immediately spotted the familiar, bright orange stack of Bloomers and the Monkey King, but something was different. Leo slapped his hand against Rick's arm. "Check it! Fifty cents now!" The change from a $1.00 investment to a $0.50 impulse buy had triggered a profound psychological shift. They rushed the rack as one, a singular, grabbing frenzy of small, desperate hands. Rick snatched a copy, flipping through the thick, glossy pages. He looked up at Miguel, his voice full of awe. "Man, this feels like a magazine!" Miguel, his small face wide with shock, fanned out the comics he had clutched. "We can get four of these for two bucks!" exclaimed. They dumped a stack of wrinkled quarters and dimes onto the counter, snatched their copies of Dragon Ball, not bothering to ask for a bag. They raced out of the store, arguing over which panel to look at first. The brass bell screamed its sharp, final exit, leaving a sudden, suffocating silence in its wake.
Gary's eyes were fixed on the empty slot on the new release rack. He was convinced this was the end of the "fluke," yet he refused to restock it, determined to let the silence prove him right. For the next week, the Vault remained unnervingly quiet. Gary's focus was fixed on the cash register, waiting for the expected disappointment, but the single copies kept moving, one by one. By Friday, the small stack of Chapter Two was gone, and the last Chapter One copies followed it. The market had judged.
Gary's usual sour demeanor had not merely been replaced, but annihilated, leaving behind a vacant stare of defeat that looked past the present moment and into a terrifying future. He didn't look at the crumpled bills; he was past the raw, transactional loss. His gaze was instead fixed on the enormous, gaping empty space on his new release rack, the single, agonizing spot where the orange glow of Bloomers and the Monkey King had only just rested. He hadn't sold out the heavy cartons Marcus had dropped off—not even close, but the small, crucial sliver of his display space was now vacant, a black hole of missing inventory.
The loss of those few copies, which had moved with terrifying speed, was a greater shock than any massive loss. It proved this wasn't a one-off curiosity, like Sprede's frantic visit; it was a pattern. The demand was bubbling up from the unpredictable chaos of children and the casual impulse of the street—the very people Marcus was targeting with the 50-cent price point. The sight of that empty space was a physical sign that his entire philosophy was hemorrhaging sales to a product he hated.
In twenty years of business, he had never witnessed such velocity, such an utter lack of consumer hesitation. His entire philosophy—that quality was secondary to nostalgia, that predictable inventory was safe inventory—had just been shredded by a price point that mocked his expensive, stagnant inventory. The silence in the shop, once the sound of his control, was now the deafening echo of his obsolescence. He hadn't lost a few dollars; he had lost the future of his business, built on a foundation of predictable demand that had just crumbled.
The consequence of this judgment was absolute and self-evident. The flawless arrival of Chapter 2, delivered exactly on schedule, was the final, undeniable proof of the entire Phoenix strategy. The initial cross-stacked run of 50 copies of Bloomers and the Monkey King (Chapter 1) and the new Chapter 2 clearing out of The Vault in less than a week initiated the steady growth that systematically moved the entire remaining inventory of Chapter 1, clearing the suffocating financial burden from their books. The victory was profoundly psychological.
The truth of the book's success traveled faster than any magazine review. Market pressure built steadily from the grassroots, where the comics served as proof of bragging rights:
Days later, at a local park bench, Rick showed the book to his new peer, Sal, Maria's technical skill visible on the page.
Rick: (Thumping the cover) "Yo, look, man. This paper ain't newsprint. It's solid. This thing is way too heavy for fifty cents. You try to find this level of art on a Superman comic for fifty cents—you can't. It's a straight-up gift."
Sal: (Eyes scanning the final panel of Bloomers and the Monkey King) "That's wild. Hold up, man. Is that true? The ending everyone's talking about? Where the Monkey King tells the girl she lost her balls?"
Rick: "Yeah! That's the hook! He checks her out while she's asleep and shouts it out. It's right there on the last panel. That's why everyone's gotta backtrack and find the dollar Chapter One first. You gotta see that panel before you read what he does next."
This grassroots energy created a widespread, compelling reason to acquire the initial Chapter 1. This sustained effort finally resulted in the complete sell-out, confirmed by the market's definitive response by the end of July. The company's success was anchored in sustained quality and compounding visibility, not fleeting initial buzz.
This growth was quantified by the actions of the toughest critics. More critically, the establishment had cracked:
George, the dedicated collector, returned to the shop and was the first to ask for Dragon Ball. Gary looked up, surprised to see the man who had only bought silver-age keys approaching the counter.
George: (Nodding curtly) "Gary. I'm here for the new Dragon Ball. Chapter Two, at fifty cents. And if you have another one of the first, I'll take that too. For a friend."
Gary: (Swallowing, picking up the new issue) "They're moving fast, George. You... you enjoying the book?"
George: (Gently tapping the cover, inspecting the perfect spine) "The paper stock, Gary. This weight. This gloss. It holds the ink like a Whitman. It's built to grade. That's the difference, isn't it? Permanence. You know I only buy permanence."
With a curt nod—the transaction complete, the judgment delivered—George turned and walked out of the shop, leaving Gary alone with the echo of that final, crushing word: Permanence.
Gary, defeated, retreated to the back, his hand shaking as he picked up the phone receiver to call Marcus. He placed the receiver against his ear, his jaw tight.
Gary: "Marcus. It's Gary. Listen, we sold out of the last run you gave me. Every single copy. Your book is a phenomenon. It is a new market, Marcus. You were right. I'm adding new stock. I'm taking a flyer on the future."
Marcus: (A sharp intake of breath) "Sold out? Gary, that's... that's big."
Gary: (His voice softening slightly with newfound purpose) "And George, the collector? He said he's buying because of the paper. That means I need to make a commitment. If you can make a marketing banner or something for the shelf, it would help the market even more."
Gary paused, the silence stretching. He delivered the order in a low, forced voice: "I need you to fill an order for one thousand copies—one thousand of Chapter One, one thousand of Chapter Two, and if there's a Chapter Three, put me down for one thousand of that as well. That's three thousand books, Marcus. Make it happen."
Marcus: (Silence, followed by a shaky exhale) "...Three thousand, Gary. You got it."