Humans and aliens (i.e., Thor) could be considered two different circles. Meanwhile, Hawkeye and Black Widow, who had a close relationship from the start, formed another tight-knit group of their own.
These overlapping and crisscrossing small circles within the larger group made interpersonal dynamics difficult to handle. But at the same time, that's what made the story so fun.
You could tell just how well Laila pulled it off by listening to the audience's laughter—she had once again nailed what was arguably the hardest part of the entire narrative. Whether people had supported her or doubted her from the beginning, they couldn't help but silently acknowledge it now: no one else could have pulled this off quite like she did.
Just a few lines of dialogue, a few short scenes—and the personalities, conflicts, and tensions between each of the main characters were perfectly portrayed. Not a second of screen time was wasted. Something that should've been a clumsy juggling act had become an effortlessly entertaining sequence. That alone was enough to make anyone watching reflect—and take notes.
Among the audience tonight were several young directors from Dragon Soul Studios. As they watched, they couldn't help but ask themselves how they would've approached these scenes. Would they have handled them as well as Laila had?
The moment they pictured it, they could only smile bitterly to themselves.
Not even close.
Genius was the kind of thing that made ordinary people feel hopeless. Plenty of directors older than Laila were still trailing far behind her—no matter how hard they tried, they could only eat her dust. The gap never seemed to shrink.
And for anyone who knew her well, they knew this wasn't about privilege or family background. Everyone had seen how she got her first film made—and how each one after that climbed step by step to the top.
During the training phase of the New Wave Program, Laila—both the boss and a "senior"—had personally taught several masterclasses.
If word ever got out that the New Wave Program came with this kind of bonus, half of Hollywood's aspiring filmmakers would be lining up around the block to apply.
To those within the program, her lectures were invaluable—lessons they'd benefit from for the rest of their careers. She never held anything back. She freely shared insights and strategies that most outsiders would spend years researching and simulating just to figure out.
No matter what questions were raised in class, Laila always responded with the most detailed, insightful explanations. Her students never wasted the opportunity—they asked her about everything from plot structure to shot composition to technical tricks.
And those answers? They turned into proven experience—fueling the constant output of quality films from both Dragon Soul Studios and Phoenix Pictures.
To outsiders, it looked like Laila had locked down a group of up-and-coming filmmakers just by dangling the New Wave Program in front of them. What a steal, right?
But only those inside knew—the real winners were them. In return, they were more than happy to stay with the company, earning good money and learning more than they ever imagined.
The movie continued, its plot unfolding like a visual feast. Naturally, there were a few critics who had wrangled their way into the premiere—some through shady backchannels—who came with the express purpose of finding faults.
To them, commercial films inherently lacked artistic merit. In their minds, real cinema was about deeper meaning, about moral lessons and reflections on humanity. It was supposed to teach people to be better, to promote righteous values and noble worldviews.
So what could a superhero blockbuster possibly offer?
Reflection?
Human nature?
Redemption?
Yeah, no.
Sure, The Dark Knight had sparked some meaningful conversation. But even someone as talented as Laila couldn't make every commercial or superhero film reach that level.
Take Avengers, for example—what was there to reflect on? Hero saves the world? Please. That's the oldest trope in the book.
If Laila could hear that kind of smug critique, she'd probably spit in their face.
"If you want a film that educates you on the meaning of life—don't watch a commercial blockbuster!"
Commercial films are made to make money. People only pay when they're entertained. Sure, there were plenty of viewers who enjoyed deep, meaningful cinema—but the vast majority treated movies as escapism.
Commercial blockbusters existed for the majority. Their job was to give the audience a fun, thrilling experience, to help them unwind and enjoy their time. That was the success of commercial cinema.
Ask yourself—how many regular folks actually want to spend money to sit in a theater and feel miserable for two hours? Who wants to be emotionally pummeled by bleak realities and existential angst during their downtime?
Most people are just ordinary folks. They want to laugh, cheer, and leave the theater feeling good—not crushed. They're not critics. They don't need to analyze the underlying societal issues in film.
If someone did want an educational experience?
Go watch Planet Earth.
Go binge documentaries.
Or if you really want enlightenment, go watch Lanmao's 3000 Whys.
And now, the story had reached its pivotal moment—the aliens had arrived.
A column of light pierced through the sky, opening a portal that revealed countless celestial bodies beyond—and a dense swarm of alien invaders charging through.
Laila had completely redesigned the alien system, abandoning the original version's robot-like drones and mindless war puppets. Instead, she gave them intelligence—and more terrifying combat capabilities.
She firmly believed in one thing:
"Only a strong villain can make a righteous hero feel truly great."
So she had no problem making the aliens much stronger.
Their offensive power had been leveled up twice over, which meant the Avengers had to respond with even greater strength.
The screen filled with high-octane action—explosions, mid-air battles, futuristic weapons lighting up the sky. Laila was confident: this battle sequence alone could win the film a Best Action Scene award.
And she wasn't the only one who thought so.
The fans were already going wild—but so were the other attendees, regardless of why they had come. Even those who arrived with skepticism were now fully immersed.
"These visuals are insane!"
"This fight is absolutely epic! Damn!"
When Laila had worked on the choreography, she told the stunt team to make every move look good. It had to be stylish. Sure, hits needed to feel real—impactful, brutal—but there also had to be a sense of agility, flow.
She'd never been a fan of traditional Western fight choreography—it always felt clunky to her. Either it was just punching and kicking, or it devolved into bodies rolling on the ground.
Even though Western superheroes didn't quite fit the mold for Eastern martial arts, there was still room for refinement. At the very least, their movements could be improved—made sleeker, sharper, more dynamic.