The tea house sat above the city like a secret.
No sign outside.
No online listing.
Only those who already knew were allowed through the sliding wooden doors.
The scent of aged tea leaves and sandalwood drifted through the air, calming on the surface, deceptive underneath. Deals were made here—quiet ones. The kind that rewrote futures without raising voices.
Clara Wu arrived five minutes early.
She wore a tailored gray suit, conservative, professional. Her hair was tied back tightly, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her calm exterior.
This meeting mattered.
No—this meeting could decide whether Channel 9 lived or died.
A server guided her to a private room.
Someone was already inside.
The woman sat with perfect stillness, dressed in black, posture relaxed yet commanding. A wide-brimmed hat cast her face in shadow. Sunglasses hid her eyes completely.
A ghost.
Clara paused.
"You're… A.R. King?" she asked cautiously.
The woman shook her head once.
"I'm A.R. King's representative," Avery replied.
Her voice wasn't her own.
The System Voice Modifier layered it—lower, neutral, impossible to age or gender precisely.
Clara exhaled, then sat.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet," she said. "Your… client's script has already been through my top analysts."
She hesitated, then added honestly, "They haven't stopped talking about it."
Avery inclined her head slightly.
"My client doesn't waste time," she said. "Let's be direct."
Clara nodded eagerly.
"We want Sherlock," she said. "Exclusively. Channel 9 will fast-track production. Prime marketing push. Full creative respect."
She leaned forward.
"And we're prepared to offer very generous terms."
Avery lifted her teacup slowly, the movement precise.
"Generous," she repeated.
Clara felt an inexplicable pressure settle over the room.
Avery set the cup down untouched.
"The script is yours," she said calmly. "But on three conditions."
Clara stiffened.
"Go on."
Avery raised one finger.
"First," she said, "Channel 9 will cast Leo Vance's upcoming film projects on your network."
Clara blinked.
"Leo Vance?" she asked. "The blacklisted director?"
"Yes."
Clara hesitated.
Titan Management had destroyed Leo years ago. Associating with him meant risk—advertisers pulling out, subtle pressure from distributors.
"That could provoke Titan," Clara said carefully.
Avery's head tilted slightly.
"Titan is already provoked," she replied. "You just haven't noticed yet."
Clara swallowed.
Avery raised a second finger.
"Second," she continued, "you will never ask for A.R. King's real identity."
Clara frowned.
"That's… unusual."
"It's non-negotiable."
The tea house seemed quieter.
Clara considered it.
Anonymous creators weren't unheard of—but this level of secrecy suggested something dangerous.
"Why?" Clara asked.
Avery's voice remained flat.
"Because the moment you know," she said, "you become vulnerable."
Clara felt a chill.
Avery raised her third finger.
"Third," she said, "you will give me the 11:00 PM time slot next month. One hour. National broadcast."
Clara's eyes widened.
"11:00 PM?" she repeated.
That slot was dead.
Low ratings.
Minimal ad revenue.
Most networks used it to dump failed experiments or reruns.
Clara hesitated longer this time.
"That slot is… not ideal," she said carefully. "Even with Sherlock, we planned an 8:00 PM launch."
Avery leaned back.
The chair didn't creak.
"11:00 PM is perfect," she said.
Clara frowned.
"No offense," she said, "but that's where shows go to die."
Avery's lips curved slightly beneath the shadow of the hat.
"Not when I'm done with it."
Silence stretched.
Clara searched for leverage.
"What is this 'special project'?" she asked. "If we're taking this risk, I need to know—"
"You don't," Avery interrupted gently.
The interruption wasn't rude.
It was final.
Clara stared at her.
Avery continued.
"You need ratings," she said. "You need cultural relevance. You need something Titan can't choke."
She leaned forward just enough for her presence to fill the room.
"I'm offering you a Trojan horse."
Clara's pulse quickened.
"What happens if Titan retaliates?" she asked quietly.
Avery didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she reached into her coat and slid a thin folder across the table.
Clara opened it.
Inside were projections.
Not estimates.
Models.
Viewership spikes.
Social media engagement curves.
Audience migration maps.
Every graph pointed upward.
Sharp.
Aggressive.
Impossible.
"This is…" Clara murmured. "These numbers—"
"Are conservative," Avery said.
Clara looked up sharply.
"You're saying the 11:00 PM slot could outperform prime time?"
"I'm saying," Avery replied, "that you'll redefine prime time."
Clara closed the folder slowly.
Her hands trembled.
She thought of her employees.
The interns.
The editors who hadn't been paid bonuses in two years.
The network that had been laughed at in industry circles.
And then she thought of Titan.
Arrogant.
Untouchable.
She took a deep breath.
"If I agree," Clara said, "I'll be burning bridges."
Avery's reply was soft.
"Bridges only matter if you plan to retreat."
Clara laughed once.
Short.
Nervous.
Then she straightened.
"Channel 9 accepts all three conditions," she said.
Avery nodded.
"Good."
She stood.
The meeting was over.
"Wait," Clara said quickly. "One more thing."
Avery paused.
Clara hesitated, then asked, "Why us?"
Avery turned slightly.
"Because," she said, "you're desperate enough to be brave."
She walked toward the door.
As it slid shut behind her, Clara sat back, heart racing.
She had just made the biggest gamble of her career.
Outside, Avery stepped into the night.
[System Notification][Major Deal Secured.][Influence Expansion: Television Sector – Initiated.][Path of the Mogul Progress: +12%]
Another panel blinked.
[Loyalty Tracker Update:]—Clara Wu: 41% (Cautious Alignment)
Avery dismissed it.
Loyalty would come later.
Right now, fear and hope were enough.
She removed the sunglasses briefly.
Her reflection stared back from the dark glass of the tea house window.
Cold.
Focused.
Unrecognizable from the girl Titan had tried to erase.
"11:00 PM," she murmured to herself.
That slot would become legend.
And when the world finally asked who A.R. King was—
She would decide whether to answer.